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showingthroughtome · 7 years

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8: june 27th

“No.” She disagrees sternly, brow furrowed while suggesting, “Just, next time not in a place where my dad can see. You know if he catches us, he wont stop making jokes about it for the rest of our lives.”

read below - mibba (soon) - story page - word count: 1462

“You need to be quieter.” Harry whispers loudly in the dark at Jessica from across her freshly cut backyard, standing under the tree they made a log swing with three summers ago. It still hangs there as Harry suggests, “They won’t fly away so quickly if they can’t hear you from five feet away.”

“They are lightning bugs, Harry. I don’t think they rely on that sense as much as you think. It’s all about the agility.” Jessica smiles, speaking at a quieter volume just in case Harry is onto something. A tiny light that flashes in the corner of her eye causes her to attempt a capture but the loud slapping of her hands together results in nothing. So maybe she isn’t the quietest hunter, at least she isn’t terribly uncoordinated like a certain someone else.

Harry ignores her jab and chooses to focus only on his advice, reaching for a lightning bug in complete silence but his hands flail about, aiming horribly, coming up just as empty.

“Not so good, are you Styles?” Jess laughs. She moves to an area deeper into the back of her yard where she thinks she sees more flashes. As she waits, her eyes vigilantly search through the darkness. The only light coming from her back porch is bright enough to allow her to see bigger things but tiny black bugs are practically invisible - which ironically is what makes the lightning bugs look so cool to look at.

At this point, she can’t even pay attention to Harry. She lets her focus drift from everything except catching one of the bugs before him. It takes a few minutes of this intensity, and finally, she swings an arm to where she sees the quickest of flickers and closes it into her hand. She cups her other hand around it to give it more space to breathe, peeking in to see the tiny bug sitting on her skin.

“I got one!” She beams in victory, searching around the lawn for him. He’s sitting on the tree swing, glowing kind of orange from the old bulb in her porch light. “What are you doing?”

“Swingin’.” He says with too much nonchalance, and pumps his feet to move faster than he had been before she caught him.

She shrugs, because if he wants to play around while in a serious competition then that’s on him. “You said the first person to catch a lightning bug gets treated to dinner by the other person from wherever they wanted.”

She holds up her hands, keeping them sealed so the bug won’t get out before she shows him. The bug flashes through the cracks of her fingers and she prepares to gloat, thinking of what she’ll order from her favorite mexican restaurant.

“Yeah, I know that.” Harry moves his hand from his lap to show an open palm, a black bug circling it without flying away. Jessica’s jaw drops as she parts her hand and immediately, her bug is back in the air.

She rushes to stand in front of Harry and reaches for his hand when he slows his swinging enough. “What the fuck?”

Bringing his palm closer for examination, the bug flickers, moving around his thumb to the top of his hand. Jess follows and flips Harry’s hand over into the palm of hers.

“It landed on me just a minute before you caught yours.” He squeezes her hand. He raises his eyebrows, “Told you that you were too loud.”

Jessica pulls her hand away because she hadn’t intended on holding onto Harry’s and snorts. “Whatever. I actually caught mine. I still think I win.”

“I caught him… luring him in with my graceful nature.” He smiles at her, wide and beautiful. Innocently impressed with himself and the fact that he won. It is all very cute really - how he is charming enough to have elusive bugs cling to his skin.

Jessica examines his face as he peers at her like that - to lock it away in her memory - then groans, “As if.”

Jess turns around and walks away from Harry, aggravated. It’s just that, she never wins when it comes to him. Every game they play, every bet they make, Harry wins. Even when she tries so much harder than him. Something about the universe just works in his favor and she’s thinking maybe that same force is what’s making him seem so undeniable to her right then.

He is right behind her as she heads for the picnic table sat under the other large tree in her backyard. “Don’t be mad, Jess. You know you like burgers from Five Guys too.”

“Not as much as La Rosita’s black bean burritos.” She huffs and sits on the wooden table top, arms flopping down and head hung low, avoiding eye contact. She traces the lines of her dirty white converse over and over again to keep herself preoccupied.

“I’ll teach you my charm so maybe next time you can win and I can buy you one of those.” The words come out surprisingly sweet as he lightly nudges her knee with his knuckles. “All kinds of things will be flocking to you - butterflies and all that.”

Her frustration only grows the more his words endear her heart. She’s in a constant battle for rule over her dominating emotional state. She leans back, facing him, examining him one more time because she just has to. And yeah, she feels frustration as she exhales, “You’re the most annoying boy I have ever known.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. You’re just…” Jessica stops to think of the right word, fixating on his bottom lip as he smirks. Her gaze shifts up to his nose, and then his eyes, “Frustrati-”

Harry swoops this time, into her, out of nowhere. His lips are on hers before she can finish her sentence, as her eyes widen in surprise for a moment before they drift shut.

Their second kiss happens in a completely different way than their first. The second kiss doesn’t happen in the basement as the climactic high point of minutes upon minutes of edging closer until their lips meet. It happens in the dark in Jessica’s backyard against the picnic table her family hosts barbecues on.

She’s leaning forward once she can react to the feeling, her body pressed up against his as she parts her lips and his hands circle her waist. Harry deepens the kiss with his tongue, taking his time while Jessica cautiously moves a hand up his torso to where his neck meets his jaw. They may be moving slow, but their hearts are both pounding at their chests with excitement.

Whatever friendly boundary there is around them, they have definitely crossed it. Especially when Jessica releases a humming sound on accident that prompts Harry to tighten his grasp on her, bringing her that much closer. The pace picks up and he pushes her back so he is the one leaning over her, and what was once one kiss turns into bursts of little hungry ones. His hand roams up the back of her spaghetti strap tank top and her knees part so he can move in closer, making her world blur in and out with the taste of him.

But, reality snaps back too clear and she recalls where they are. Where her parent are - in the living room, watching the new Matt Damon film.

Pushing him back quickly, she hops off the table to peer through her kitchen window. Just because she doesn’t see anyone doesn’t mean no one saw them. If someone did, neither Jessica nor Harry would hear the end of it - about how they knew it all along… whatever it is.

“Why did you do that?” She twists around, hand on her hip as her heart still races.

Harry looks even more out of sorts than her - red, puffy, just-been-kissed lips, dilated pupils, heavy breathing. He shakes his head, running his hand nervously over the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I thought you’d want to.”

“And because you wanted to?” Jess wants to clarify things this time, so that when she wants to kiss him again, she won’t have to wonder for weeks and weeks whether she should or not. She inhales deeper and steps closer, smiling shyly as Harry hesitates to answer.

“Yeah.” He finally nods, exhaling the air that seems to be filling her lungs. “Sorry if you didn’t want to and I misinterpreted things.”

authors note:

hiya! its been a while but ive been pretty busy and im back at the ol campus. so for the next three months ill be doing a lot of school with some writing on the side. but have no fear lol i have some chapters written so when i have time, ill be updating!

please please let me know whatcha think! id love to hear after this chapter! its a big one huh???? that kiss has been brewing and we heard what happened in the basement which i think was obvious but you know you know, we have answers now :)

thanks to @what-comes-from-within for being such a real one and editing this for me !!!! youre the best :)

okay! im off to do school ish things!

- lauren xxxx

#1dff #a big one!!!#let me know your thoughts please!!!!!!!!#incredible

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mattyslittleworld · 5 years

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East Keansburg

P: Rob Sellig

2:48 am / Thursday morning. Im listening to this new Tsu Surf & Mozzy project, thinking about this kid I grew up around. Ive been reading he passed away, which is such a shame. We grew up playing basketball together at St. Catherines in EK, middle school, high school, alternative high schools, programs together. Troubled youth. I have this specific memory of him from years ago. I believe I wrote about it in my last blog post, about watching somebody get curb stomped. I was a lost kid, me and my friends aimless, drifting from group to group. Ended up spending a lot of late nights in EK wandering the streets. This night specifically, there were about 7 of us. A homie of mine was interested in writing graffiti, and this was before music, so graffiti was basically my identity. So we met up at his house, where my friend had a group of heads over, and they were partying, selling, and just going off. He lived with his parents, which speaks volumes, because at this time in my life, everyones parents gave up...nobody gave a fuck, except mine, but they couldn't control me. One thing leads to another, my boy wanted to go bombing. So we leave his house with our paint, and just take the streets, 5 reckless kids fallowing us on skateboards and bikes. Wasted, loud, rowdy, reckless, but as an outsider, I found a silver lining in their terror....it was a middle finger to the society that never gave them a chance. It was a brotherhood. This specific kid, at this point, was in and out of county, witnessed him fighting over and over in school, and in the streets since day 1. We were walking tall through the backroads in EK....they were spray painting cars...houses...anything. No fucks given. Wasted...they were breaking windows...kicking dents in BMW’s. Playing music off the phone...they were all they got. Another group of kids ended up on the same block....and they went off. A fight broke out....and I have this specific memory of boy ripping his shirt off, passionate, raging with anger, to protect his brotherhood, his street crew, his family. Being around him since I was a little kid, school, ball, mutual friends....I never got to know him deeper than this...but I would always see him and just salute his pride, and his will to stand on his actions, and his will to fucking fight for who and what he loves. Rest In Power fam. A lot of homies reading this from EK who follow my music...yall know who I am talking about. I never got to know this man - but I salute him for how much of HIM HE REALLY WAS. I remember in 2006, I was a freshman in high school, and my cousin ended up in a fight with a senior over a friend who passed away. My cousin was intoxicated during this time, in school, and I ended up beating the dog shit out of this senior as a young kid. These EK boys were the only ones who showed love, who stood tall behind me, making sure I was good, safe, and assuring me I was doing the right thing. Cant let your family go down like that. Rest In Peace man.

Last year, days before Tsu Surfs album Seven 25 dropped, he doubled back and we hit the studio and recorded a song called “Make You Proud”. He dropped the album very shortly after and it went #2 on iTunes in under 24 hours, and I was sure I wasn't going to see that man ever again. A year later, here we are...a day before he drops this joint project with Mozzy...that debuted at #5 on itunes, were dapping up at a film set in Queens, NY to film the music video. A YEAR LATER, this man gave a fuck enough to pull up and bless my career with this video. That meant a lot to me. I specifically remember feeling alone, hopeless, in some of the darkest moments of my life. Just listening to his tape over and over and over....running laps at the track at Mader Dei Highschool. It gave me hope, it motivated me to get over the feelings that were weighing me down. My life was changing, and this eased the pain. Nobody likes the motions of change if it includes losing people you love....losing the ability to do things you love...and going places you love. You have to find new health, new wealth, and new routines. My new found routine was coffee in the morning...spending an hour studying the industry...listening to my podcasts...then immediately running laps listening to his tape. Anything after that was subjective. Nowadays its basketball instead of running laps....but it gave me health. Mentally and physically. I could collect my thoughts. I could hear real stories....being gunned down 5 times and bouncing back...then charting. Here we are. On set....once again with Rob...my brother on the directing tip. My new lovely friend Victoria, who's a beautiful, ambitious, ride or die artist of her own. Robs pops. Mike Oliva, who is a SAVAGE photographer and film maker himself. It was a trip. Over the past year, kids at bars, hardcore shows, normals, civilians, people from all over and the world have been DMing me about simply just a teaser and a photograph of me and Surf in a studio. With Albee Al, Casanova, Cage - its all a specific group of people. Mainly mainstream music consumers...radio listeners...people who are tapped into Instagram and culture. But with Surf - Ive had the pleasure of speaking to people from all walks of life. Old hardcore friends telling me how much his movement has touched their lives...so wild. I was late to his wave...Belv actually told me to tap in and do it, and that's my brother so I made sure I did for the team. We drank hot chocolate and coffee, listened to our favorite music so loud, have such great conversations, got amazing footage that im so proud of, and just overall killed the mission. Nothing makes me more happy. This was a moment for me....because for the first time...im not in silly poppy clothes...im myself...im spitting bars on it...I feel and look like the person who was painting freights in 2007. And that is very important to me. Sometimes you can get swallowed by the wave youre riding...and I am guilty of that. It influenced so much of me...and recently I said look...fuck all this. Fuck everything except for whatever inside me still lingering before back and forth. Because if those passions, those tendencies, those people, are still here and within me...theyve been growing all this time, strong, sticking by me, and that's me. Shitty hoodie. Airmaxes or vans, shitty hat, stupid hair, cutty as fuck, smiling. dirty skateboard kid just trying be great man. I miss my old Mercer Ave skate crew. Its been years.

Im starting to go through a new awakening where im witnessing the ones around me unfold in such a distasteful manner. Its pretty crazy to spend time with people, face to face, and have dinner, coffee, laughing with each other one on one....and in my head at the same time think...this mother fucker dead ass hates me. Wants to kill me. Wants me to fail. Fucks heavy with EVERYONE who has done wrong to me. Has talked shit behind my back. Has stabbed me in the back. And they are such fucking clowns....they don't know that I know...and they don't even comprehend that im being a bigger person and not addressing shit below me, because I don't have room for shit like that in my life. This is the time where people fuck with you one foot in, for opportunity, to hit a lick, to keep the link, to get to the people you fuck with. It is literally so easy to show love...and yet people close to you just won't. Its an interesting concept. I am fortunate in the sense that I am self made, self built, and already a black sheep. If everybody in my life turned their backs, it wouldn't touch my career. So therefore, I don't have this fuckery nature in my behavior. I don't fuck with you, I don't fuck with you. Thats it. Im learning you cannot trust people who fuck with you one foot in....because that means they're prepared to step away at any moment when you're down. They don't got your back. They are around people who drag your name through the mud, and they allow it. AT BEST...since they have one foot in....theyll tap in and say such and such said this....but why didn't you defend me? Why were they okay with these actions with you? Because your friend has their other foot with the opps. Fuck these types of people. Forever. Ive been seeing people put up with this behavior, and I figured id speak on it, because its been on my mind. You don't have to get treated like shit to fit in. Truth is, your friends are probably wack. Your friends probably hate you. Your friends don't want you to do better than them. And no, it doesn't matter how long you've known them. Most relationships stem and grow out of convenience, and lack of change, lack of ambition, lack of dreams and goals. I always thought, its actually very easy to be a good friend when they need you...in moments of tragedy and misery. Because that doesn't shake your foundation, and make you realize you aint shit. It doesn't challenge your framework. Its harder for most people to be a good friend when their friend is celebrating success, because the human nature is to compare, and sometimes that can be a mirror reflection of how you AINT SHIT. Recognize these people and cut this cancer out of your system. Or if you are this person, we all have been at one point, cone to terms with how wack you are and be a good person lmao. I want to see my plumbing friend look me in the eyes and go “im the best plumber in this area and im gunna kill this job and make a living for my family and buy a BMW”, just like I want to see my graphic designer friends believe after their hard work that they're qualified OVER SOMEONE ELSE for their job, to make a great living. Just like I want to see a musician, or rapper, talk his shit and believe in themselves, go platinum, and make a great living and buy a Range. Being around greatness inspires me, never scares me. I love being at the bottom, it amps me up. It gets me going. It gets me off. I love the fight, the grind, the game. Whether its music, or washing windows in the freezing dead of winter for commission to pay for fucking studio time to be where I am right the fuck now boiiiiiii.

Me and Belv have some crazy shit coming. That is all. Okay bye.

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rolandfontana · 5 years

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Courthouse ‘Warrior’ or Diplomat? The Public Defender’s Challenge

Give The New York Times credit. When it comes to exposing our indigent defense crisis, the paper keeps at it.

Last month, reporters Richard Oppell, Jr. and Jugal Patel produced a story that introduced readers to a public defender in Louisiana with a list of pending cases long enough to require five years’ work, and to bewildered indigent clients in Rhode Island who received one to five minutes of defender counseling at their first court appearance.

The Oppell and Patel survey was given prominent placement. The Times digital edition deployed interactive features. Photographs of 113 of one defender’s 194 clients were published to give human faces to the numbers. It was a serious piece.

Still, while I don’t enjoy saying this, I’ve been doing public defender work for 45 years, and I have read variations of this story 200 times. The caseload count is worse now in many places than it was in the mid-1970s when I first got involved.

I’m not sure this story—and the legion of stories like it— will make a difference on their own.

The impact of straightforward case counts is unpredictable. Back in my days as a state public defender in Massachusetts, I was attacked by a legislator outraged that our state’s too-high (but in the middle-of-the-pack nationally) caseloads were luxuriously low, compared with the desperate situations described in Bob Spangenberg’s pioneering data studies, the precursors of the line of inquiry The Times is now pursuing.

And while we certainly need better time-per-case adequacy standards, the problem isn’t convincing an audience that defenders want more time. People know that by now.

The challenge is communicating what it is that defenders would do with the time.

Some decision-makers have a jaundiced view of public defenders. One legislator told a colleague who was complaining that defenders were paid less than sanitation worker that “the trash men take the garbage off the streets; you guys just put the garbage back out there.”

The defender community’s own infatuation with Herbert Packer’s Battle Model of a criminal process seen as a stylized war—a zero sum conflict between the Crime Control Warrior Cop and the Due Process Warrior Defender—contributes to this situation.

Often, this Battle Model vision is wheeled out as a convenient morale-building shortcut. But it does contain a germ of truth.

In every courthouse where criminal cases are heard, there are damaged or apathetic individuals who have been granted power over the lives of impoverished clients, who enjoy their roles, and who abuse their authority at leisure from positions of complete security.

I’ve represented almost 100 murderers over the years, but only one of them makes his way onto my private roster of The Dozen Worst People. The remaining eleven places are held by a variety of judges, prosecutors, cops, and other lawyers: racists, sadists, bullies, and liars among them.

It’s true that if you’re not ready to go to war with these people you shouldn’t take a defender job.

But for defenders, as for actual military war-fighters, charge-the-machine-gun-nest courage is an ultimate requirement, more than an immediate one. Having it is necessary, but not sufficient.

It turns out that living humbly in a good cause, not dying gloriously for one, is the actual challenge.

The indispensable personal quality for a defender is resiliency.

That means the capacity to bounce back, the ability to return tomorrow and the next day and summon empathy, to doggedly prepare for battles that will probably never occur, and-—at the risk of sounding insufficiently warlike—to sustain and draw on a reservoir of patience and kindness toward clients, their families, and their victims.

Thinking about resiliency is important because resiliency is not only a quality in individuals; it is also a crucial property of safe systems.

For better or worse, the criminal courthouse really is a system. It is not a mechanical system like a clock. It is not a chaotic eco-system like a swamp.

But it is a complex socio-technical system, like a hospital or an airport.

To begin with, thinking about criminal justice as a system can remind us that this system has an intake valve. There are simply too many cases. The prosecutors, (according to one quoted by The Times) feel just as overworked as the defenders.

So, stop filing the cases.

As Alexandra Natapoff demonstrates in her brilliant new book Punishment Without Crime, many of them don’t matter, and pursuing them inflicts wide, radiating circles of collateral harm.

Besides, we can learn a lot about the safety of systems under pressure from aviation, medicine, and other fields.

Some systems under pressure break catastrophically: they are “brittle.” (Think of the Chernobyl nuclear reactor.)

But others are resilient. They adapt and adjust. They innovate in the face of surprises and anomalies. The recognition of the importance of resiliency illuminates how the new, data-driven approaches to defending can help convey the indispensable value of defenders’ contributions.

Brady wrongful conviction cases fuel the Villain Prosecutor v. Warrior Defender narrative. But from a system perspective, they raise the question whether an adequately funded defender might have caught the mistake.

Apart from evidence the prosecutors have and knowingly conceal is evidence they didn’t have (and couldn’t easily get) and that the defenders don’t have the time to uncover and provide. There is still other evidence the prosecutors had, but didn’t recognize as exculpatory because the starved defense couldn’t provide the context.

Systems-oriented “sentinel event reviews” of these wrongful convictions could help us understand why particular prosecutors in particular cases zigged when they were supposed to zag. It would also show us why the defenders in those cases were unable to provide the resiliency that would have avoided tragedy: how an overwhelming caseload and the absence of investigative capacity influenced the outcome.

A pair of Rand Corporation studies led by James Anderson and Paul Heaton has compiled and interrogated the data about these issues.

The earlier of the two studies, subsequently published in the Yale Law Journal, shows the influence of adequately funded defense in Philadelphia murder cases.

The salaried staff attorney defenders, who handled murder cases in two lawyer teams with access to in-house investigators and forensic science expertise, produced superior outcomes compared with private attorneys, whose fees were capped and who had to scrounge for investigative and forensic expert resources.

The second study assessed defender performance at the other end of the case-seriousness spectrum by examining a “natural experiment” provided by comparing the “holistic” defense approach of the Bronx Defenders with the traditional approach of the New York Legal Aid Society in the high-volume retail processing of criminal cases.

See also: Tom Reed, “Can Public Defenders Be Reformers?”

I won’t attempt to untangle at this point the complex questions of why the outcomes are different. I just want to point out that the style of defending adopted did clearly produce differences, and that the differences were on metrics—e.g., reductions in incarceration and expense, without rises in the re-offense and failure-to-appear rates—that everyone would accept as system goals.

These studies indicate that, given the time to perform it, the defense function not only protects the clients the defenders “champion.”

It bolsters the overall system’s resiliency.

By mobilizing the defenders’ capacity to “stop the line” and fill the information gaps about the client or the case when the police have followed the wrong trail or our shiny new Risk Assessment algorithm has failed to account for an individual feature, the system saved money, protected the community, and preserved just outcomes.

Of course, “stopping the line” on a Friday afternoon when the judge is trying to clear his docket requires a “warrior” equipped to advocate for some local sacrifice (“No golf!!!??”) in order to reach the larger systems goals of more justice and lower cost.

But those local sacrifices are what a resilient system delivers.

Understanding American criminal justice requires understanding both the searing individual narratives of persons and communities entangled with that system and the statistical vision derived from a careful consideration of the data. The vision and the narrative are not only complementary, they are mutually dependent. One is meaningless-—even misleading—without the other.

The Times coverage and the data-based efforts it describes should help us see that system resiliency—and, ultimately, safety—is “emergent.” It grows out of the individual narratives that only adequately funded defenders can fully develop, and what it grows into is more than the sum of a pile of anecdotes and sob stories.

Resiliency might be required in different ways and at different times by different failures and challenges.

The current realities of our criminal justice world set ostensibly independent silos—cops, courts, defenders, corrections—fighting with each other over scarce resources.

But it would be good to remember that these elements constitute interdependent parts of a larger whole that can, if its parts are adequately funded, provide greater safety for everyone.

James M. Doyle is a Boston defense lawyer and author, and a frequent contributor to The Crime Report. He welcomes readers’ comments.

Courthouse ‘Warrior’ or Diplomat? The Public Defender’s Challenge syndicated from https://immigrationattorneyto.wordpress.com/

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housewifeandaho-blog · 5 years

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My Birth Story

Let me start by telling you the story of something that happened recently.

So background info/ me in a nutshell since you've had no time to see my story arc and character development of where I started and how far I’ve come

I’m white, hubby is black. We aren't officially married but I feel that you can be married to someone in spirit rather than in paper.

I never thought of my family as being prejudiced or anything but as it turns out they definitely are.

Its sad because his family is so accepting of me I’m part of the pack no questions no tension just all love.

Maybe it would be different if he was more of your watered down grin you win kind of black guy but he’s not he’s definitely raw uncut uncensored gangsta gansta for life.

What I mean by that is something where if you know you know. It’s not that he is a literal gangster.

He doesn't sell drugs or anything like that. Its just this aura where you know he's the type where if you push he will push back.

He won’t bow down, he’ll never break, he’s unbending. He came from the hood, and he’s spent time in jail. he has sold drugs and held guns and those experiences become ingrained in a person and you can definitely sense that from a person.

You can tell when meeting a person if they are a worker bee or a warrior and he’s definitely the latter of the two.

A warrior can work as hard as anyone else. A warrior can be a great father, a great role model, a poet or in other words still be a beautiful person with a rich soul but it rarely works in reverse, a worker bee can rarely handle war and poverty and struggle.

He in a moments notice will always be able to tap into that part of him. a part that not every person has. I’ve joked with him that when I walk on road with him I feel like I’m walking with a Knight like I feel safe and protected. I needed that feeling when we used to live in a bad area, walking alone was intimidating but walking with him felt safe. I’m definitely overdramatizing it too. It’s not quite as intense as I make it out to be but I’m trying to let you know the situation. I think he was slightly offended when I said this to him but he’s not your bring home to momma type.

What I meant by that is that he is completely and utterly incapable of being fake. He wears what he’s comfortable wearing he won't dress just to impress he likes durags Jordans and baggy shit.

My family, especially my extended family is not used to that. They are used to people who put up a facade, you’re supposed to act like a pretend version of you that likes what everyone else likes and feels how they are. I’m not like that either which makes me a black sheep. I call it like I see it and I feel how I feel and say what's real. I didn't choose hubby to impress them, I chose him because he impresses me. If he says he likes something I KNOW its something amazing. If he says I look good I KNOW he means it, If he says he likes a friend of mine he’s telling the truth, he ALWAYS tells the truth. I like that kind of transparency I find it trustworthy.

he is the person that makes ME happy. He’s the person that gets me. He’s the person who grew me into a woman because my parents sure didn't.

The reason I’m telling you this is because even though I told him for years “Don’t worry my family isn't like that” “they don't have a hateful bone in their body” deep down I think a part of me always knew. They may not be real racists but they are however prejudiced.

It doesn't even matter though. I’ve already made my decision. Even though I sometimes feel like I’m living a split life, he is my number one. If they made me choose between them or him its him all the way.

So as I said before they are fake. It was my mother and stepdad who got to know him the most, and ruined it for the rest.

They told me “we really like him, honey” “he’s a great guy!” But for some reason, after I got pregnant everything changed.

Now we get into the meat of the story I want to tell you. My birth story.

We moved from London, ON to Toronto. We decided to stay with his grandmother for a SHORT time but it ended up being for the duration of my pregnancy it was THAT hard to find our own place to live.

Everywhere wanted “AAA Credit nonsmokers, no pets!”

We both had shit credit.

Everywhere seemed over our budget and most places had hydro or all utilities at an additional cost.

I remember calling my Mom up and saying “Mom, what do I do? There’s a place nearby but it’s $1800 plus hydro and plus $100 for parking, its not even in a good area and it has no amenities to even justify that price”

She assured me that I could have the baby there for a month or two until we can find our own place. The plan was for me to stay there with the baby and he would visit on weekends. (It was too far for him to commute to work to stay there all the time)

Flash forward its halloween. I took the train to my moms and they picked me up at this station. Hubby did NOT think it was ok for me to be taking trains and buses so far along. “I don’t get it this is your MOM. You are a girl you’re pregnant, she has a car. You're supposed to get treated like a princess right now. never mind the traffic she should be picking you up.

I Definitely got his point but try explaining that to my mom who hates even short distance driving.

Maybe doing all that walking with luggage was the cause because I woke up at 2 am Nov 1st because my water broke. I remember it feeling warm and oddly nice. I sort of sat there in the bed while leaking just mentally preparing myself.

I told myself things like “this is it its happening. you're in for it now but you can do this, you're so strong”

(side note, if you can help it, don’t let your inner voice be your worst enemy let it be your best friend sometimes I hear hubby voice, not mine)

I called him and said

“Yo, my water just broke.”

“are you sure you didn't just piss yourself?”

I laughed.

“Im sure”

I told him to get some more sleep but keep the phone nearby charge with the volume high.

I went out to the living room to my mom who passed out on the couch. I told her

“mom, remember how my due date is in 10 days? Well my water just broke.”

She seemed like she was trying to look like she had it together but she wasn't doing a great job. She was panicking. I was basically try to calm HER down. I’m mellow like that. I asked her if she wanted anything to eat and if she thinks I should eat or if I should wait.

I went into the spare room and started talking to my belly. “I’m ready let’s do this little guy”

We got to the hospital they checked all my vitals and starting monitoring the babies heart rate. We knew it would be a while so I sent my mom home. I called hubby up around 7 and told him I needed him. He was on his way and it was around this time that the doctor came to see me and discussed inducing me. Basically I could have laboured at home for a while because I still wasn't having any contractions, but because my water had broke they couldn't send me home.

I decided that it sounded alright, a friend of mine who had been pregnant around the same time as me had been induced and so the idea was familiar.

At 9 am hubby arrived shortly after they started the oxytocin drip. he brought me a tea and a croissant and looked nervous as balls.

I had a wonderful nurse who I credit as the one who delivered the baby more than the actual doctor on call. She monitored my heart rate and instructed me on proper breathing.

By around noon I was finding the contractions pretty painful and opted for an epidural. I had a weird experience where the lady who was performing the epidural LEFT without administering the medicine through the IV. After about ten minutes I was like “Is she coming back because I’m still in a lot of pain”

When you’re in labour for the first time the epidural is this precious lifeline. I didn't want to ask for it too soon, partially because I didn't want to sound like a baby. I still felt a little like I had given in too early because the nurse let me know that I was still at 2 cm which is nothing.

Btw I always thought them checking how dilated I am would be a completely painless process but no! It feels like they shove their entire arm up you and it really hurts. I was checked 3 times before I had the epidural and to me it hurt more than the damn contractions! I’m curious to know if other women feel the same way or if I have some kind of uniquely narrow shape that doesn't appreciate them fingering around in there to feel how dilated I am.

They finally gave me the longed for medicine and I found that it brought the pain to a comfortable level. the contractions went from unbearable to just uncomfortable which was fine. They give you about half up front and the let you push a button as needed to slowly administer the rest.

She put this sort of wedge thing between my legs and I went from nothing happening to 4 cm very quickly.

Everyones different but my experience was that once I could cope with the pain a relaxed enough to go into what they call active labour. The fear with taking the epidural too soon is that it can delay labour and therefore expire by the time the real pain starts. Luckily for me, this was not the case.

We suggested hubby get something to eat at around 3 pm, thinking I would be in active labour sometime that night.

The nurse put this sort of wedge thing between my legs too “help with opening up my cervix” . Just when I started pushing that button when I found the pain to be getting intense she checked me again. the first thing I noticed was that it was painless, thank you epidural, and then she told me, call whoever you need to call because if they don't get here now they could miss it.

I called hubby and told him come right now. I called my mom too, which I now regret. Hubby was the only support I needed in that room.

Hubby worried that he smelled like weed and onions and was so self conscious. I didn't notice anything so hopefully no-one else did. He wished we never forced him to eat and regretted getting high but hey, we all thought I still had a long way to go.

My mom showed up shortly after I started pushing. Hubby had his forehead pressed against mine and had a hand supporting my thigh and I felt safe comfortable and happy. I actually was smiling between pushes. I had completely by accident timed it so that the medicine was working its best when I most needed it, I couldn't feel a thing.

In a few more pushes I looked down and saw fro the first time the most gorgeous baby boy. My first thoughts were just in awe of how beautiful he looked even while wailing and how he’d come out so clean. they placed him on my bare chest and I whispered to him “You're alright, don't cry you're alright and kissed the top of his head.

My mom losing her facade blurted out “You guys need to find your own place” and shortly after left home. I absorbed that moment but sort of stored it for later. It didn't matter. All that mattered was hubby, baby, and me. That's it.

It was a time of bliss.

The nurse took the most beautiful photos of our us as a brand new family.

This was the best day of my life.

The next day however was a bit different. I knew we would get kicked out soon. Hubby and I talked it over and decided he should take off the first two weeks so we could enjoy every moment together. I dreaded the idea of not seeing him during the weekdays. And so we cherished this feeling.

Hubby left to get us some food and coffee and my mom showed up while he was gone.

She asked

“so what's his plan, is he taking the train home? “

“No were planning for him to come for-”

“No not happening he can't come to our place”

Boom. My world shattered.

The fakeness was over. No more “We love him” no more “don't worry”

The floor beneath me dropped off and I didn't know where I was falling but I just was.

I went from having a plan and just genuinely being so happy to bursting into tears and feeling clueless and helpless. I stood my ground and said

“Then Im not coming.”

I guess she didn't expect that because she was like

“Of course you are, you have too.”

I said something like

“I don't care if we stay in a motel dammit, He will spend the first few nights with his son. If he's not welcome that means I'm not either.”

She started back-pedalling and said he can stay for 2 nights but he's out Sunday.

I knew he would be back any second so I tried to hold it down for a bit.

He knew right away something was up he handed my mom a coffee and handed me mine.

After she left again I told him the situation.

He obviously refused to go there, feeling insulted and disrespected. And he didn't want his son to be around people who hated him, the father.

Do you blame him?

I said baby, whatever you want to do from this point im following you but seriously what the fuck do we do? I kept getting angry at what she had just done and kept bursting into tears.

The best plan we had was to go back to his nana and sleep on a mattress on the floor with our newborn. it wasn't ideal but we all belonged together and it would be ok.

My mom regretted what she had done and was devastated that she now wouldn't have her little baby grandson in the house but the damage was done. Hubby no longer fucks with her.

How can he after what she put us through? We had to get my brother to drop off all the baby stuff to the hospital and take a taxi to Toronto. it was insane.

When we arrived at his nana’s his family was there to greet us with all love.

It took a few months to find our own place but we are now in a lovely condo and doing pretty good. continue later

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