I wrote this book for those dealing with issues from their past and not being able to fully move forward. For the woman struggling with the absence of her father or a mother she can’t “reach.” For the man who lost his childhood because he had to protect his family from the man who should’ve been protecting them. For the person using sex, alcohol, and other vices to help numb the pain of it all. For that woman or man faced with an unwanted pregnancy. For that person considering suicide. For the abandoned, abused, and the lied to. For someone struggling with who she is, afraid of the person he sees in the mirror, and the one tired of trying to just be. You are who I wrote this book for. We are all on a journey, trying to put our pieces together, hoping at some point to make sense of it all. Anything that can help us along the path is a blessing. It is my prayer that Parallel Pasts is that “anything” for you.
A story about two individuals fighting their pasts for the chance of everything they’ve never had, and in the process, learn to live a more authentic, fulfilling life.
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2 / Fatima
I turn on the shower as hot as I can stand it.
I watch as the steam fogs up the bathroom. Stand in front of the mirror, stare at my disheveled reflection until the fog restricts my view. Feel like I’m falling apart at the seams. My reflection tells me the same story.
David opened this can of worms. Then going to see Grandma, I swear she opened my mouth and dropped them down my throat. This has got to stop.
I tie my locs up and put on a shower cap. Brush my teeth before getting in the shower. I grab my purple exfoliating gloves off the rack behind me. Lather up with a sea kelp and aloe body wash I made and try my best to scrub the scent of David off of me. Want to get rid of every trace of him from my skin. I knew I should not have gone over there.
Tears mixed with sweat from the steam run down my face. I taste the salt on my top lip. Pain from yesteryear consume me. Pain from my parents’ departure. Pain from my own.
When my parents left me, I left me as well. Figured, if my own mother and father didn’t love me, how could I. What is love anyway? Nothing more than an overused four-letter word synonymous with pain.
The tears continue to fall. I quit trying to understand why I’m such an emotional wreck. Quit trying to understand the things I am not meant to understand. I just let the tears flow. Allow them to cleanse my soul as the soap cleanses David from my pores.