“Believe”

5/12/07

Lucile was her name; Georgia was from wince she came. She grew up in Georgia but moved to North Carolina in her early thirties. Now 61, although she didn’t appear to be that old, Lucile had become something in this world. I stood behind her and her husband late one night at the Cross Creek Mall, the day before Mother’s Day. Two people brought together for the same purpose, to have their gifts wrapped. Clothes still on hangers draped over her arms while I held an elephant statue from Kirkland’s. It was taking forever because the lady in front of Lucile had so many gifts. I stood there looking ahead as the busy mall filled up with people all around me. Lucile turned around and smiled at me, saying how busy the gift-wrapping service was tonight. I agreed, and then looked away again. I could feel her eyes watching me still. Light brown eyes that made you dive right into them. Lucile was a lot short than me, with dark skin and hair, and of an ample size. But she was pleasant too look at, not threatening in any way. Time past, as we grew restless. She turned back around and spoke to me again. Her voice was cool and smooth, not rushed at all like she treasured every word she had to say. She began to casually look through her purse counting her cash. Lucile told her husband she hoped she had enough to pay. I offered to help out if she didn’t. She refused of course saying she was fine. But I insisted saying I didn’t mind at all.

She then looked up into my face from her purse straight into my eyes until it stung. I looked right back and repeated my offer. Her gaze held and she never turned back around again. Lucile’s chubby cheeks rose, flashing tiny white teeth; she knew that I meant every word I said to her. She tells me I’m sweet and then puts her wallet away, telling me her husband will have to pay. I laugh along with her, and tell her that’s basically all they’re good for. Her husband older then she, simply stands holding their place in line, an heir of patience and pride in him as if no words could make him any less of a man. Lucile asked me if I was a mother. I told her no, and the mere thought of it made me realize that a lot of girls my age didn’t have the same lifestyle as me and that it wasn’t a joke at all. I told her that I was only eighteen and she agreed that I was much too young to be a mother yet and that I need to wait, go to college, and get married first. I told her I wasn’t planning on being a mom anytime soon and that if I was to ever get pregnant that I would be ready because I didn’t believe in abortions. She told me all babies are God’s gifts to us and that when we don’t except a gift that God gives us it’s like slapping him in the face. Lucile spoke of when she grew up in a day when girls would to illegal clinics and have their unborn babies pulled out of them with unsanitary clothes hangers. I was shocked; I had never encountered an individual that had actually been subjected to such primitive things. “Later in life they were unable to have babies and now they are old.. and all ALONE. It’s so sad and they regret it so much. They have no one in their life to love and love them.”

Lucile was like someone out of those old southern movies such as “Gone with the Wind.” She told me so much about her already so I began to tell her where I am from. “I was adopted when I was young. I found out my birth mother had been on drugs and that she couldn’t take care of me,” I said. “God’s blessed you with wonderful parents now. Don’t think about the bad,” Lucile spoke. I choked it was the way she said it that choked me. “But it’s hard sometimes…” I said. “I know, I know,” she soothingly cooed. Somehow I knew she really did no about forgetting the past and how hard it really was.

“My Nephew he still lives in Georgia and his parents us to beat him daily. For no reason his Daddy would wail on him. But one day he got too big, and he made them stop. O how I prayed, I prayed for that boy that’s all I could do.. and you know what? Now that he’s big enough he’s retaliating against them but I try to help him out, teach him about the right things to do. But I’m glad he is! I’m glad he’s stopped letting his parents beat him so badly!!” she spoke as her voice raise in triumph.
She asked me what church I went to. “Magnolia Baptist, its southern Baptist.” We were of the same denomination with similar beliefs, ironic. “The church today is competing with kids over, TV, video games, fast-food.. it aint’ like it the old days when the church was all there was for kids to look forward to,” I said thinking of my grandparents.

She began to ask me more and more questions about my self. I opened up to her like a wounded dove after a flood. I said, “Many times people look at me and thinking I’m perfect, but I’m not, they don’t know what’s really going on. They tell me, ‘Candace you’re life is perfect, you’re so beautiful what more could you want?’ But looks aren’t everything, they don’t bring you happiness, people judge others too quickly,” I told Lucile. “But they’re right! You are so beautiful I would have never been able to tell anything had ever been wrong with you just by looking. You hide your problems very well in a mask of perfection,” she said, “You have such a nice flat stomach, I bet you only weigh a hundred pounds don’t you?” she asked. She made me laugh.

I spoke of my love for animals and my many pets, and how I was even a vegetarian. She told me of how she grew up under the stars. At first I thought that sounded wonderful but she continued. “We grew up watching the stars every night me and my brothers and sisters. There was a big hole in our roof and when it rained we knew it. Mama had to take wood out from the walls to build us a fire to stay warm and we never had enough to eat. When I see those starving children on those TV shows today I can’t help but want to feed them all. See, I was one of those starving children, I grew up dirt poor. We didn’t have any food to eat,” she told me with a hint of sadness in her voice and a slight pinch of shame. “I bet you appreciate things so much more because of it though,” I spoke. “I sure do, everyday, I give thanks for all I have,” she said. Maybe that’s why when I offered to help her pay for the gift-wrapping she looked at me that way. The way she studied me, opening me up. Her life growing up no one had helped her she had to make it on her own growing up fast, no time to be a child. Her eyes, that look, led me into her world as she grasped onto mine realizing that we really weren’t that different at all. I wish I could bottle that look, the eyes really are the windows to our souls. That’s why I’m writing all this down but I’m having difficulty expressing what really went on between brown and green eyes. Because you aren’t about to see, of feel what I saw in her. It was as if an Angel had touched me and maybe I had.

Lucile told me, “As good as you are with animals you should grow up to do something with them.” “Umm I don’t know, my grades really aren’t good enough to get into the right school,” I said. “Don’t ever let them tell you, you can’t! You can do whatever you want to do with your life!!” such passion and furiousness in her voice that brought courage to the trembling ground beneath our feet. She knew this was true, I bet they told her she wouldn’t grow up to be anything, and she did, she worked so hard and got so far and here she was today standing in front of me having mastered her destiny and overcoming such overwhelming obstacles and still keeping her faith, her desire to help people, her passion. She had a soul that could never ever die. I had heard those worlds before but my eyes began to water as she struck me. She looked so deep, deep into me and pulled that insecure little girl out of me, out of that phased of perfection. But she didn’t shame me as I had felt before, all my life. Shame of who I am, I was, the things I’ve done, where I came from, the lies, not ever being worthy enough for anyone to love. She lifted me on the winds of angels and told me how to fly, the secret she said was to ‘Believe.’

It was as if we were two strangers, two worlds, two pasts that just a few minutes ago had never spoken. Then with two simple words we related. It was as if hope still existed, good people still existed in this screwed up world! You just have to look for them.”

Lucile, Lucile, you told me to meet my mom, for it might help her to see what a beautiful daughter she has, and help her with her life knowing she did something right. Lucile, Lucile, you told me I could do anything, and that I wasn’t all those terrible things they told me I was, but didn’t write them all done. Lucile, Lucile, as you walked away your turned back and wished to give me a hug around the neck. I asked your name. You stood with your shoulders back, head high, “My name, is Lucile Burkencheck.” So proud, no shame of where you came from, how you had once been forced to live but pride in having been the deciding for to changing your life as no walls could hold you back, you walls had no boards. “Nice to meet you, my name is Candace Holden.” “Aw that is a pretty name, Candace, for a pretty girl.” She walked away but turned back to remind me of her advice and wish me a happy ‘Mothers’ Day.’ “I hope your mother likes the gift you picked for her. She’s lucky to have such a beautiful daughter!” She drifted further away led by her quite, understanding husband. When she was out of sight, I felt alone, reserved and afraid all over again. As I looked around, no friendly face around to comfort me. Hungry wolves stared at my body as they passed by. I clung to the counter and looked away from them. It was as if I had turned around and fount I was on the edge of a cliff and about to slip. I thought of those eyes the way they made me feel. The connection we had made pierced my soul and left me still open to injury. When she had left she spoke of my beauty but for once I believer her because I knew she wasn’t only hinting on the outside but the inside as well. The look told me to your fears and I will tell you mine. We’re the same, Lucile and me, although a different race, age, social status. Maybe this will change my life, stop me from being so provocative, lying, cheating, trying to be someone I’m not, trying to cover up the truth.

Lucile, Lucile, you made me cry. I never knew I was worth a thing, So many have told me before what you had said, and I’ve tried, I tried so hard to listen to them but in the end I only believed what my head told me, I was worthless and in order to make that feeling go away I had to prove to everyone that I was perfect and shouldn’t just be thrown away. Lucile, Lucile, I can’t stop saying your name. It’s easier to write now, the thought s just see to come to me. Lucile, Lucile, do you love me? Did you see the hurting child inside, and heart the desperate cry covered by a cloth, that has now fallen off?” Lucile, Lucile, I’ll never forget your words, for they are right in front of me for all to see. This is a letter to you. I know I’ll never see you again. But maybe it will help someone as you helped me.

Lucile, Lucile, who nurtures the beaten, the broke, the betrayed and you were on the same but it didn’t bring you down. You stand up straight and tell me your name. Lucile, Lucile, who holds her head towards to sky and instead of seeing the hole she looks to the stars and sees that beyond the pain, the suffering the broken pieces that there is beauty even in me.