True Confessions by Electa Rome Parks Page A

switch it up.”
    “Don’t be scared,” I kidded.
    I laughed and proceeded to paint her nails hot pink.
    “So, what do you think?” I asked as I finished and looked at my work.
    “It’s different. That’s for sure.”
    I looked at her and saw the girl Daddy fell in love with; she was still there.
    “I bet your gentleman friend will love this.”
    Mother blushed and surprised me by saying, “I bet he will. Do my toes.”
    To her credit, she wore it for a week before taking it off.
     
     
    Most days, I didn’t think of Drake. Other days, he’s all I thought of; I even saw him in my dreams, when I closed my eyes at night. He hadn’t attempted to call me, that I knew of, since the last time he had me in tears. Drake was right: he would see me sooner or later because we worked for the same company. In time, we would run into each other, and Drake was a very patient man. That I knew for a fact. The question was, would I be strong enough to see him?
     
     
    Mother and I had already eaten; the dinner dishes were washed, dried, and placed back in the cabinets. It was a quiet, lazy Saturday evening and I decided to retire to my room and write in my journal. It was amazing how therapeutic writing my feelings and thoughts down was becoming. Seeing the details on paper put everything into clear focus. Some of my confessions were shameful, but I blamed them on love.
    Mother wanted to ride out for ice cream later on. Her one vice was Baskin Robbins’s butter pecan, two scoops. Of course, I knew tomorrow was church. She had forced me to attend church service for the last few Sundays. Mother said for me to hand my problems over to Jesus and He’d fix them. I truly hoped so because my problems were many and I couldn’t handle them by myself. So I sought divine intervention.
    As she dozed off, head bobbing now and then, I glanced over at Mother. Her reading glasses were perched on the tip of her nose and the newspaper she was reading had fallen, scattered, to the floor at her feet. She really was a great person, and I loved her for all she had done for me. She had put her life on hold for me.
    I didn’t want to hurt Mother, but I had made the decision to search for my birth mom and I intended to ask Taylor to help me with the process. It was a big step, but I needed to know where I came from; I felt it would help me in my recovery process to finally have my questions about my birth family answered. I felt that some of my insecurities, which hindered my relationships, were rooted in feelings of abandonment by my birth mother.
    After her divorce, Mother gradually built a new life for herself. I was so proud of her. Now she had a male friend who took her places and treated her like a queen. She had one close girlfriend, Mrs. Baker, who visited and gossiped with her. Since her retirement last year, she was even more active in her social and civic organizations. Other than talking on the phone to them, she had given up these people and activities to care for me.
    By now, Mother was in serious sleep mode and was softly snoring, even though she’d swear up and down that she didn’t. As I bent down to kiss her cheek, I placed a dark green throw across her torso, then walked to my bedroom with a can of Coca-Cola in hand. Drake was always telling me I drank too much soda. In the past, when we went out, he would refuse to buy me any at restaurants. He made me drink water. For a while, I tried to heed his advice and totally cut them out, but now, I found myself drinking two or more each day.
    I found my journal where I had last laid it down. Reading over the last entry was sort of painful. What was I thinking? What was I doing? Unfortunately, I wasn’t thinking with my head and the situation only got worse. A lot worse.

Chapter 11
     
    Dear Journal,
After what transpired in Drake’s office, I should have run for the hills. I’ve never, ever done anything like that in my life. I can’t believe I let it happen. Maybe it was the