Blended Family

Eventhough the story is lite in delivery, the topic will hit home to the majority  of Americans.

“Shea” moved out of the apartment she shared with my future husband after he moved me in. My first encounter with her in 1974 was when I sent Dan a letter on black stationary with silver ink telling him when I would be able to accept his invitation to visit. Shea called me at my home in the mid­-west and told me that Dan was her man and they were living together. When he called me, I told him I would not be coming to California and why. Well, eventually, Dan and I met again and this time he would not take no for an answer. Dan flew to my home and moved me to LA with him; we married; and eventually moved to the central valley.

 

In the meantime, Dan’s former girlfriend married his cousin, and they lived in our town. She referred to herself as my husband's children's godmother in order to stay in their lives. When our daughter would act up, she would run to Shea. This brought us together. If you can't beat them, join them.

 

When I became ill and ended up in the hospital, it was this same woman who took care of me (not his family or friends, nor mine since they were 3000 miles away), and arranged for the top African American gastroenterologist to manage my case. I have helped her move on several occasions and we became shopping partners along with two of her friends. She even planned and coordinated our seventh year anniversary vow renewal ceremony.

 

I have had my share of health related challenges. When my body would swell from one of those conditions, Shea would administer the injections; I couldn't stick myself.  Shea shows up at the majority of my husband's family's events and always extends a helping hand. Once when I was stranded in Los Angeles due to car trouble, she showed up and made sure we made it back to home.

 

Our friendship even includes my husband's ex-wife… Now that is another story, but this is a memory of one of my “sister-friends”. Shea has been a wonderful friend, despite our rocky beginning, wouldn't you say?

Just A Taste of "Sweetie".

Sweetie and Me

I don't know when I met my friend Sweetie (the name she gave herself). Through our teens we were always together. I thought we were best friends but it took living to learn we were not. We didn't live in the same neighborhood but we both came from large families and had the same first name, not "Sweetie". That's where the similarity ended because we looked nothing alike. In those days I thought I was chunky and she had the ideal body. I had brown skin, dark brown eyes, and hair that leaned towards kinky. After high school I wore an Afro...it was the sixties and "Black Is Beautiful" was the mantra. On the other hand, she was a little shorter than I was and she was and very fair. My friend had hazel eyes, ample breast, a big “bright” smile and long hair; that is how I used to remember her.

As I look back on that time in my life I realize that Sweetie was a fake and I was too. Actually she was ahead of her time and we didn't know it. By the standards of those days, she had it all. I remember she had a slamming body, an infectious laugh and she knew how to work a wig. This was pre-high school graduation; silky hair was still the image of beauty. I never let on I discovered her secret...I didn't realize at that time how private she was or how many secrets she carried.

I still remember how I discovered that her hair was not naturally all hers. Long before we had weaves, my friend would cut up a wig and sew it into her own hair. She worked really hard to conceal the added parts but periodically I would get a glimpse of her scalp. I knew she had a skin condition because of the flurry of dandruff that was always on the shoulders of her favorite black turtleneck sweaters.

Sweetie never combed her hair but carried a little stiff brush. She would gently run it over the top of her hair. Once while standing over her I could see the top of her head and I saw the tracks. For some reason I didn't say anything or ask any questions because I knew I wasn't supposed to see that. In actuality I was as much a fake as she was because I played into it. It was as if to question or comment on her hair I would be pointing out a deficiency that would change the fantasy I had about the person she was and how much better her life was than mine.

Sweetie had several sisters, all older than we were. That meant, I believed, she had more clothing and a bigger closet than I had. I have one older sister. That sister is seven years older than I, therefore her style was different from mine and we had different taste (we still do). But my friend’s sisters were only one to three years older and they were able to share clothing. This meant she could go weeks without wearing the same thing twice.

She came from a large family as I did. Her mother and her father were married. All of her brothers and sisters had the same parents; that was not the case in my family. It wasn't until years later I learned that Sweetie's dad had another family they just didn't talk about.

I was smarter than my friend; well, I made better grades. We didn't share dreams as I have done with other friends. I guess it was because we didn't really have a lot in common. As I look back now, I understand what made us think we were friends.

After high school I got married. She didn't but had a little girl. The little girl was petite and like her mother, very fair with silky hair and hazel eyes. There came a time when I was unhappy in my marriage and she was unhappy in her relationship so we decided to become roommates. We had a lovely three bedroom apartment in a very nice area. I had my room and bath she had her room and our girls shared the third bedroom and bath.

We lived together for several months; just coming and going; passing one another. I worked for the state and she worked for a very well known manufacturer of home appliances. I worked in administration while she worked doing assembly. On the surface she made quite a bit more money than I did. But once a year her company went on strike or laid-off their workers for unspecified periods of time. My employment however, was consistent. We were “the grasshopper and the ant”. While she was working, her earnings were large and she enjoyed shopping and living large. Sweetie had no savings account to speak of because every year she would go into panic mode about how she was going to cover her expenses.

Once during her lay-off she asked me if I could get her a job at the state. She was tired of the uncertainty. I told her I would do my best. Because of the level of my job and the political climate, it was not difficult to do that for her. I was able to secure a clerical job for her. A friend had a crush on her and she wanted to work for him. He was older and ran a department where he called the shots. Not long after she started her new job, Sweetie informed me that she wanted a job like mine. Well, I had put in my time and legitimately earned my position; volunteered my time and worked whatever hours were needed to get the task completed. I knew I had paid my dues. My friend's view of entitlement came to a head when she insisted, a second time, she wanted a job like mine even though she had no experience. She didn't know (or care) what it took for me to get there. When I told her boss (who happened to be the gentleman with the crush) she wanted a management position, he was outdone. He couldn't believe she was bold enough to say that even if she did want that. It became clear she felt her job was beneath her, and she wouldn’t last long. When the strike was over she went back to her old position and without notice quit her state job and moved out of our apartment leaving me high and dry.

I was shocked to come home and find half of the apartment empty and the rent was due. By this time I knew my future husband. In his style, he immediately took charge, got me set up in a two-bedroom upstairs unit in the same lovely complex. It was less expensive and being on the second floor made me feel more secure. I was living alone with my daughter. He lived and worked in another division in another town. Time has a way of working things out. My husband and I were married for years and living in California before I found out this friend had come on to him. When I spoke to other male friends, I found she tried to seduce every single man that had been in my life whether we dated or not.

After approximately 20 years in California, I returned to my hometown for visit. I learned that Sweetie lived around the corner from my sister. My friend did not know that I was aware of the things she had done. My sister didn't know it either and wanted to surprise us both by inviting her over. When I went to the door, there Sweetie was. She had gained 40 to 50 pounds; she had no hair; her nails were bitten to the quick and she looked pitiful. I was embarrassed for her and my heart hurt for her. I couldn't believe this was the same woman who for years was an image of beauty in my hometown. The curvaceous and envied body was gone, the hair and trendy clothing, gone. She looked like a bag lady. Life had not been kind to her.

Before seeing her that day I didn't think kindly of her; rather, I carried a grudge for how she had taken advantage of my friendship and tried to engage in physical relations with guys she knew I cared about. That was the first time I could actually say, "We reap what we sow", but it didn’t make me feel good. The next to last time I heard about Sweetie, she had lost her dear daughter, was homeless, and an outcast from her family. When I look back, there are things I could have done differently where she was concerned. While the memories I’ve just shared were just a few examples of how she devalued our friendship, I never wished her ill will. I do pray that as we enter the sunset years of our lives she find or have found some happiness and joy.

Update: Since writing this memory, in May, 2010, Sweetie died. She transitioned in June, 2011. The cause of her death was not publicized and none of the classmates I’ve spoken to know the details…I’m on the west coast, she lived in the mid-west. One of my family members sent a copy of her obits with this note,” didn’t you know this lady”? After getting over my shock, I started contacting fellow classmates and was surprised to learn none of them (living in the same town) even knew she had died…so very sad.

While I can’t say I miss her, I do better understand her. I better understand myself. I know the areas where I could have been a better friend to her and her to me. The lessons I’ve learned because of that relationship made me a better friend to all of the women in my life. I have a lot of girlfriends that I can happily say are as close as a sister…I cut my friendship teeth on my friend with the same name as mine.