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   "True Story" 

       Sarah was my “tight girl” back in the day.  No matter what happened I knew she had my back.  When I fought Mary Davis in the sixth grade, she was the first one that patted me on the back for whooping her tail!  She was a friend and a mentor to my best friend, Tina and me so we eagerly sought out her advice on clothes and boys and whatever else was on our teenage minds.  It also came in handy that Sarah was 18 before the legal drinking age was pushed up to 21 and was the first to have a car.  That meant as teenagers we had access to our own little “party central” whenever we felt the urge. 

                Looking back now, Sarah opened our eyes to the real world in a sense.  She was the first one to graduate high school and Tina and I sat and watched her as she marched across the stage to receive her diploma.  We watched the rise and fall of her first love and it gave us a glimpse of what we should and shouldn’t expect in our future.  I remember trying to eavesdrop on her conversations with guys just to see what kinds of things she’d say.  At 13 and 14, Tina and I were hardly into boys seriously; our mothers would have rung our necks.  But we lived out our fantasies based on what we saw Sarah do.  She was the first one to have sex, have a baby and have a job.  On the weekends, we would stay up late and wait for her to come home from working at a local fast food restaurant because we knew she would have treats for us.  Still warm chocolate chip cookies and leftover roast beef sandwiches that she had piled high with meat and cheese just for us.  It was like heaven.  I loved her to death.  Tina called her “Sister”.  She was to me very much the same.

                I had never had a sister.  So it was inevitable that our relationship grew to one of sisterhood over the years.  I remember calling her from Orlando after her first daughter Niya was born.  “Where is she,” I asked?  “Laying right here in the bed beside me,” she had said proudly.  I asked her to describe her to me and she did so in vivid detail.  Thick, jet black, curly hair.   Skin the color of caramel, Chinese eyes and dimples just like Sarah.  She slipped her second daughter in on everyone a few years later.  By then, she had distanced herself and had begun acting differently.  No one even knew she was pregnant until the day Quianna was born.  Years had passed and we were all now separated.  Tina was off in college.  I had a baby of my own and was living away.  I rarely talked to Sarah or Tina.  So imagine my surprise when on a balmy Sunday afternoon Tina called to break the news to me that Sarah had AIDS.

                I was stunned and didn’t know what to do or say.  I knew so very little about the disease at that time.  What about the children?  I didn’t want to believe it and it didn’t become real to me until Tina and I sat side by side in a tiny funeral parlor in front of Sarah’s ashes and a senior portrait.  The picture reminded me of the day many years before that Tina and I had again sat side by side and watched her get diploma.  Some man sung “The Impossible Dream”  that day.  Her life had gone from the impossible dream to the most impossible nightmare.  It was only 2 years from the day I found out until the day she died.  In that 2 years time I couldn’t face her and only went to see her twice.  My heart hurt because of it, but I could not bring myself to acknowledge the situation for what it was.  Instead, I tried to find and answer within myself as to why this had to happen.  I feel now that in Sarah’s quest for love, she lay open prey to the disease and its carrier.  We never did find out who she contracted the disease from.  But in the years since her death the focus shifted from her to the children she left behind.

                Too young to understand at the time, Niya went to live with Tina’s mom and Quianna was adopted by a family chosen by Sarah prior to her death.  Last summer, Niya stayed with me a while and I got to tell her all the funny things her mom used to do.  We laughed and shared stories about memorable moments and we even shed a few tears.  She looks like Sarah to me.  Same smile, same dimples, same sense of humor.  Tina and I have tried to be honest with her about life the way Sarah was honest about it with us.  We warned her about smooth talking brothers and the importance of an education.  We cautioned her about AIDS and used her mother as an example of a life cut too short, too soon. Just last month when she told me of her plans to go into the military, I told her how proud I was of her.  Our worry had been that she would slip and end up pregnant or drop out of school.  That would now be the least of them.

                I got another frightening call from Tina yesterday.  Niya, who we have known was sexually active since last summer, has herpes.  A senior in high school with every thing to live for and now having to live with a disease that has no cure.  One has to wonder what could have been done or said to prevent this from happening.  It would seem that the legacy her mother left behind would be enough to dissuade her from risky sexual behavior.  It was not.  But it does prove one thing to me and that is; we have to be more aggressive in teaching our daughters how to love from the inside out as opposed to the outside in. 

                I haven’t been able to speak to Niya just yet.  I think I am grieving for her mother all over again now.  Grieving because of the difficulties she will have a lifetime to face.  Distraught over the fact her mother died in vain if the lesson wasn’t learned.  Sad about the fact that now every time I see her face I will be reminded of what could have been.  Frustrated and afraid because I look at my daughters and wonder if they are learning their lessons through me or if they will learn them the hard way like Niya has.

                What if my screams and shouts are falling on deaf ears?  My monotonous warnings probably pale in comparison to the catchy songs on the radio that glorify sex and sexuality.  I illustrate pictures to them of how long a struggle I have had based on decisions I’ve made.  But maybe the videos and the movies and the television shows that capture their undivided attention paint a picture more attractive.  The pressure to give in to what most girls believe is going to be a surreal experience is enormous.  Confusing sex with love has our young women out there seeking acceptance on their backs instead of using their minds to thrive.  Many like Niya will be left to suffer consequences greater than they are willing to accept.  Pregnancy, STD’s or even AIDS are out there as pitfalls to your sons and daughters and you need to get more involved before you are the one getting a phone call on a balmy Sunday afternoon giving you news you didn’t want to hear about someone you least expected. Ya Feel me?

                                                                       by Bridgette Hogan
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Bridgette is a contributing writer of Blacksonville.com