It was hot outside the courthouse. Sweltering hot. It was the kind of hot that could make a Georgia Peach spoil in the summertime. Lena sat outside on a wooden bench that faced the courthouse and stared at Lady Justice who stood atop of the clock tower on the historic Renaissance Revival stone building. Lady Justice looked worn with defeat in her eyes. 
 
Twenty minutes passed. The beads of sweat that were on Lena's forehead began to roll down her face. It was too hot to wear all black in the Georgia heat, but she was mourning, mourning the death of justice in the legal system. 
 
She sat on the bench flabbergasted by what the District Attorney told her. The DA called Lena on Monday and said that she wanted to meet with her to discuss the case. Lena said that she would be available to meet with her at the end of the week. So Friday the 13th at high noon was when they met. Imagine meeting someone on an unlucky day during the time of a decisive confrontation. She didn't expect to hear good news, so she wore black in anticipation of what was to come.
 
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Whitfield," the DA said as Lena walked into her office.
 
"Good afternoon," Lena replied.
 
The way the DA greeted her was grim, so Lena knew the meeting was not going to end well.
 
"Look, Mrs. Whitfield, I'm going to cut right it. Mr. Whitfield's lawyer presented evidence that hurts your credibility. Because of that, I am not going to prosecute him."
 
"But I have a recording of the incident. It should surely be enough to prosecute my husband."
 
"OK, let's listen to it," she said skeptically.
 
Lena played the tape. It replayed verbatim everything that happened that early morning in November.
 
After the tape had stopped, the DA looked at Lena aloofly. "Mrs. Whitfield, I cannot use the tape as evidence. Mr. Whitfield did not say anything to you in an aggressive manner nor did it prove that he hit you. It shows that you were aggressive towards him. Based on that and your lack of credibility, I am not going to prosecute him."
 
"The legal system in Georgia is fucked up," Lena said as she got up to leave. She picked up her purse and stormed out of the DA's office.
 
"What is wrong with the criminal justice system?" Lena thought. "The system is supposed to protect victims like me and instead, it slapped me in the face by dismissing the charges. The DA is just another person that my narcissistic, soon-to-be ex-husband manipulated. How could she not see how conniving he is?"
 
Lena began to think back to that early morning in November, a day that started off ordinary and ended up with her lying on the ground. 
​

My mom was beautiful. She was not that "she has a nice personality" beautiful but a rare beauty that you use to describe natural scenery - breathtaking and radiant, untouched by human hands.

My mom was born in Okolona, Mississippi and was the youngest of 5 kids. Her family made it its mission to serve in various ministries to promote the gospel of Jesus Christ. Her dad was a deacon at Mr. Zion Missionary Baptist Church. Her family was there during every service and every event at church. With the help of her parents, my mom found her place to minister through the church's choir. My mom had vocals similar to Dorothy Dandridge - warm and sultry. Every Sunday, the church cried "hallelujah" and "amen" as my mom sang gospel hymns. She was satisfied as a seamstress at Cooper's Dry Cleaning and Tailor's and a lead vocalist in Mt. Zion's choir until she met my dad, Major Thomas Dillard. At the time, he was stationed at Columbus Air Force Base and was visiting his aunt, Nellie Mae, during the Christmas holiday. Although my father was agnostic, he followed the traditions of Aunt Nellie, and they went to the Christmas service at Mt. Zion. It was there that he met my mom.

The Christmas program was like any other church's: the children's ministry reenacting the Nativity scene, the minister preaching about the birth of Christ, and the choir singing Christmas songs. Everything was mundane until he heard my mother sing "O Holy Night." At the altar call during service, my father gave his life to Christ. "Only God can create a voice as beautiful your mom's," he would often say when he talked about his salvation. 

My mom and dad only dated for three months when they got married. My mom's father thought that my dad was using the gospel to corrupt his precious baby girl. He tried very hard to keep my mom from dating my dad even to the point of giving her an ultimatum. When my mom chose my father, he kicked her out of the house and disowned her.

My dad felt indebted to my mom for choosing him over her family, so he decided to make an honest woman out of her. My mom was 19 when she married my dad who was 34. Life moved very fast for my mom who was yet a woman when she became a wife, and shortly after, a mother. My dad was on assignment throughout their marriage, and we moved around a lot which hindered my mom from creating roots and lasting friendships. Without the knowledge of understanding herself as a woman, and the lack of support, companionship, and intimacy she had as an Air Force wife and mom, my mother began to get emotionally detached. Life took a toll on her, and the effervescent woman I admired and loved began to fade. Sure, she was beautiful, but each day my mom's bright light became dimmer and dimmer. On the afternoon of April 1, 1995; my mother committed suicide while my younger brothers and I took a nap.

TO BE CONTINUED...

​"So how did that experience at the ice cream parlor make you feel, Porsche?" Dr. Brinson asked.

My voice cracked as I replied, "My innocence was taken from me as the officers escorted me from the ice cream parlor to the police car. Everyone in the neighborhood knew I was a good kid and still, no one came to my rescue, not even my parents. From that moment on, I knew that no matter how good I was, some people would think negatively of me because I'm black."

Tears rolled down my face, and Dr. Brinson passed me a tissue. 

"And why did you feel that way?"

"When my parents got to the ice cream parlor, Mr. Key continued to fabricate the story of me stealing. My parents didn't defend me, even though they knew that I would not steal. Instead, they offered apologies and gave Mr. Key ten dollars for his troubles and the candy that went missing. Mr. Key decided not to press charges, and I was released back into the custody of my parents. From that moment forward, I knew that my parents couldn't shield me from pain and I began to rely on myself for protection. My friendship with Emily slowly but surely ended. I bottled up a lot of pain and anger throughout the years. I didn't realize the effect that the ice cream parlor incident had on me until my camaraderie with Paisley ended."

"Who's Paisley?"

"Paisley was who I wanted Emily to be."

"Do you care you elaborate?"

I sat and closed my eyes. My mind traveled back ten years ago to 2006. It was my last semester at Walker University, and I was living the life. I was able to enjoy the perks of being an adult, like brunch in Midtown Atlanta and partying until the early morning, but didn't have to worry about the responsibilities of being one, like paying rent and major bills, since I was still a student. Since I completed most of my credits, I was barely at Walker. I spent most of my time as an intern at the Atlanta office of The Maketa Group, a global marketing and PR firm. That's when I met Paisley.

​New Year's Eve 2000.
 
The snow that fell from the bluish gray sky overshadowed the bright lights and musical sounds of cars and people.  The snow covered the bare trees in Central Park and I watched in awe through the window of the Royal Suite in the Ritz-Carlton. The snowfall felt as if magic touched the Big Apple. A few friends told me that New Year's Eve in New York City luxury is beautiful but seeing it in person was breathtaking. I stood by the window in my bathrobe taking in the view when Joseph came behind me and gently kissed me on my cheek. The warm touch of my husband of 20 years melted my heart.
 
"Bonjour, cheri! (Good morning, darling)" Joseph said as he handed me a mimosa.
 
"Good morning, dear," I responded and took the mimosa.
 
I turned around and looked at my husband. Joseph looked debonair in his gray Calvin Klien slim-fit pinstripe suit. His suit was paired with a Saks Fifth Avenue checked dress shirt and a Lanvin silk tie. The vibe that he conveyed was of power.
 
"What are you doing up so early?" he asked me.
 
"I could ask you the same question," I responded.
 
"8 am is not early for me, cheri. It is the hour of business men solidifying deals of advancement."
 
"I thought this trip was about us celebrating our anniversary."
 
"It is but you know, business never sleeps and neither do I. Today will be a short day for me, though. I'll be back by 1 pm. Then we can celebrate the rest of the day and bring in 2001 together."
 
"Promise?" I asked.
 
"I promise, cheri," he responded. "If I'm not here by 1 pm, then you can go to Saks and get a mink coat." He kissed me on my cheeks and walked down the hallway to exit our suite.
 
"As if I need to take a mink coat back to Louisiana!" I yelled just before he opened the door.
 
"Well then, you know I'll be back by 1," he said smiling and walked out the door.
 
I smiled and turned back to the picturesque view of Central Park. My thoughts wandered to my life with Joseph.