Write Right Now

I was a poem once.

I was the memory of Christmases past.

I was the feeling of anticipation of the last day of school.

I was the joy of summertime, hide and seek, red rovers, and tag.

I was his childhood.

I was a poem once.

I was the aroma of bacon on Sunday mornings.

I was the comfort of hugs, kisses, and talk of “when I grow up”.

I was the feeling of being tucked in tight preventing bed bug bites.

I was his security.

I was a poem once.

I was a cross my heart, hope to die, needle in eye girl.

I was a pinky swear, blood brothers, “you my dawg” ace in the hole.

I was “the only one who ever really knew me at all”, all the way down sistah.

I was his confidante.

I was a poem once.

I was a safe harbor in rough waters.

I was shelter from the cold, harsh reality of life’s storms.

I was nourishment, blazing fireplaces, and a shoulder to lean on.

I was his home.

I was a poem once.

I was the vision of breeze bent palm trees.

I was the scent of pineapples and pure cane sugar traveling on the wind.

I was the sound of ocean waves lapping the shore on a brilliant sunny day.

I was his vacation.

I was a poem once.

I was the alpha AND I was the omega of love.

I was the yin to the yang that was he, forever.

I was “the one” without whom the continuation of breathing made no sense.

I was all that and a bag of chips; the good kind, the make you lick your fingers kind.

I was his life.

I was a poem once.

One day I’ll be a poem again.

Soon.

© Sharon J. All Rights Reserved 2008

It was grey;
the one she was born with.
Not quite a ringlet, coiled so tight that when stretched, it recoiled.

Soon joined by others in its ranks, thousands of them, only black…
all of them not quite ringlets, coiled so tight they recoiled
but too slow not to be flattened under the powerful regime
of metal more than a hundred degrees short of molten
lava flowing down her cheeks
that once was Ultra Sheen.

Shoulders hunched per generations of defense mechanisms born of instinct
passed down through her double helixes escorted by
the impulse to clench buttocks and hold ears while
trying to still the synaptic cleft activity that produces the reflex
that scars little brown girls forever.

Not quite ringlets -- heated, stubborn coils re-coil angrily in the sun
setting the stage for the next phase, the new burn --
caused not by heat but by chemical arguments
that convince coils that coils are better = good if they do not recoil
and she accepts her fate and waits
for the tingle to tell her it is time and that they are no longer bad.

The battle to straighten (make right) the naturally crooked (coils) was fought
before acquaintances were made
before friendships could be established
before loyalties could be forged
before love affairs could flourish
between them and her.

Until one day the grey one;
the one she was born with.
Not quite a ringlet coiled so tight that when stretched, it recoiled…DID NOT.

It was only then --
after the one did not recoil,
after having lost almost 40 years of battles,
that she decided to win the war and let her stretched coils recoil and be BAD = good...again!

© Sharon J. All Rights Reserved 2008

***For the entire HerStory

What are 10 things you've done that other people probably haven't? 
Submitted by Janette.   

1. I was a foreign exchange student twice, once to Italy in 1981 and once to Kenya in 1988.
2. I took tap dancing lessons with Baseball Hall of Famer Ozzie Smith.
3. I've now organized two Family Cruise Vacations for my extended family.
4. I've had the opportunity to discuss African-Americans' history in this country with relatives who were actually slaves as children and I actually own a quilt which was sewn by the hands of family ancestors who were slaves in which they used cloth C&H Sugar bags to complete it when they ran out of fabric from old clothes.
5. I've become a friend and confident in addition to being daughter and granddaughter to the women from whom I am descended.
6. I've successfully raised an 18 year old African-American male to make his OWN decisions and to have a passion for exercising his right to vote and be heard.
7. I donated a kidney to my brother who underwent a successful tranplant surgery.
8. I've scuba dived in Maui, Grand Cayman, Ocho Rios, Nassau, and Cozumel.
9. I've met all four of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Coretta Scott King's children as a consequence of having introduced each of them during independent speaking engagements.
10. I've endured the death of the most important man in my life (my father) and the break-ups of 2 critical romantic relationships, and REMAIN OPTIMISTIC about my future happiness with that one special man!

I am new to the Vox groups, but very happy to have found you guys.  The following is a piece I wrote having been inspired by meeting a new friend who brought with him a multitude of thoughts and ideas I have never wondered about nor considered.  Right now, he is the personification of LEARNING for me...

LEARNING by Sharon J.

Illumination arrived.

Unexpectedly and quite by surprise,

With no more intention than the sun has

Each day as it brings light to the dark places of the earth.

The light came.

Without the trouble of formal introductions,

Without fanfare or trumpets to herald its arrival

Nor the pulling back of curtains to announce its presence on stage.

The darkness departed.

And with it, the willingness to know less.

In its place, two things…knowledge and fear;

The fear a manifestation of all the new knowledge required.

The night evaporated.

Allowing the dawning sun to vanquish the fear

Creating space for the new knowledge to take root

Encouraging exploration and internalization of the new knowledge.

The spirit bloomed.

Okay so it has been awhile since I've been here....my apologies!

See it started with that post that I wrote here that should have been written over here!  This place is SUPPOSED to be where I go to write FOR REAL and not where I go to vent, moan, lament.....you get my point.

So anyway, I've got it back together again now and I am ready to start gettin serious about my ART!  So with that objective in mind I am back to turn this blog into what it was originally meant to be....a place where I can get feedback on the stuff I am working on with the intention of a higher purpose than simply blogging.

I would appreciate any assistance anyone who happens by is willing to provide in the way of CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM of the materials I post here.  I am interested in whether or not what I have written catches your interest, makes you want to read more of that particular piece and if so why or why not, and what if anything you would recommend I try doing differently with the piece.  I am also interested in your thoughts on things such as pacing, dialog, characterization, etc.  Please feel free to provide any HONEST and CONSTRUCTIVE feedback as I would find it very helpful and welcome it.

For those of you who like posts like "What Do Women [Strike That] I Really Want?" and want to read more of this type of stuff from me, just stop by here and you will find all manner of things about which I feel compelled to vent, moan, lament, celebrate.....well, you get my point ;)

So with no further adieu, I am attempting to write a short story/novella from the perspective of a black male.  Following is a short excerpt in which the main character is describing his former girlfriend and why he first approached her.  I am interested to know if you feel this reads like a male's perspective or if it comes off like a female trying to give the male perspective.  Honesty is appreciated, but I take mine without the brutality please :)

Chelsea’s companion who I had not met before smiled a secret smile that Chelsea missed and probably was not supposed to see in the first place.  Chelsea had called her Teesha.  To the casual observer, they appeared to be close friends; but having observed that Cheshire cat smile Teesha had hidden from Chelsea, I knew better than that already.

“Chelsea you are a mess.  Gurl if you ain’t careful you gonna run that fine ass brotha off!  Shit, if we didn’t have our “gurlz pact” that prohibits the sampling of each other’s castaways, I’d be all over that myself in a heartbeat!”

Chelsea threw Teesha a look that said that shit wasn’t anywhere near being funny and Teesha promptly got the message and changed the subject.

Gurl, ain’t it time they got this thing on the roll?  Damn!  I’m ready to hear some shit, I need to be inspired.  Where they at?  Always on CP time up in this joint….I’ma stop coming up in here if they don’t get they shit together.  What’s up, why they taking so long to start?”

Teesha was getting antsy and from the looks of things, she was beginning to wear on Chelsea’s nerves.  Outward signs said Teesha was a whiner and I knew Chelsea well and had seen that look in her eye many times over the years.  Chelsea had little patience with anyone other than me, and I could tell she was gearing up to back Teesha’s ass up off of her.

“Damn!  Why you asking me?  Do I look like I’m running any damn thing up in here?  Shit!  Just chill the hell out!”

“Ease up Chels, I just wanna know when they plannin’ to kick off the open mike!  Chill boo, I’ma go ask somebody waz up.  It’s cool; anyway Mike’s the one you pissed at not me.”

As she turned and walked towards the bar, I saw the same smirk on Teesha’s face she had worn before and wondered once again what was up between her and Chelsea and this “Mike”, whoever the fuck he was.  I was also wondering why the hell Chelsea still had not acknowledged me, and with Teesha out of the picture for a minute, I was going to find out.

Walking up to the table, I took notice of all the blessings God had bestowed upon Chelsea before delivering her to her parents.  There was no doubt about it; the girl had it going on.  What had first caught my attention about Chelsea was that wavy brown hair that hit the tops of her shoulders.  Now don’t get me wrong, the brothas ain’t tripping off a sista’s hair as long as that shit is combed and not just standing all over her head like she rolled outta bed and kept going.  However, any straight, red-blooded dude seeing Chelsea’s hair could not help but imagine looking down on it as it brushed the tops of his thighs if he could ever get lucky enough to coax Chelsea’s face into his lap if you get my drift.   She had this soft brown hair on her head with these sexy red streaks in it that made her head look like the proverbial burning bush.  Of course that alone had not been enough to make a brotha as in demand as me cross the room to meet her; but once she slid off the barstool she had been sitting on to head out onto the dance floor with the weak ass brotha who had gotten up the nerve to ask her to dance, there was no longer any question as to whether or not I was going to make the trip across the room.  The long and short of it was that BABY had junk in her trunk, and I was all for getting loose with her caboose!  Chelsea was one of those caramelly brown sistas that made a brotha want to take a lick.  She was tall for a girl at five-eleven, and unlike the average chick, she was right at home with her height.  Chelsea worked that Amazonian height and on top of that, routinely wore the highest heeled shoes she could find.  She believed spike heeled sandals made her legs look longer.  Once she told me that one of her girlfriends had told her she should not wear high heels because since she was already so tall, the added inches would only intimidate any guys she might meet.  Chelsea had told me that she had ignored her friend’s advice and thought to herself, “I don’t see why I should have to be less so some guy I don’t even know can feel like he is more.  Any sucka who is intimidated by my height ain’t man enough to step to me anyway!”   That was Chelsea; at least that was Chelsea when I had first met her.

Yeah, Chelsea had definitely been given some blessings, and the closer I got to her table, the more excited I became just thinking about them.  It was at this moment that my mind cleared and I figured out where it was that I was….The Spit Pit.

-Copyright 2008 SLJ

Exactly what it was that led to the creation of the person that is ME!  Wonder no more fight fans, because right this very moment, right now today, I want to introduce to each and every one of you the individual responsible for the me that I am.  Good, bad, or indifferent, love me or hate me, you can finally meet the responsible party who has started her very own blog which you can find here!!

So please go visit my beautiful Mother's personal space, invite her to join your neighborhoods if you feel so inclined [have no worries about her being my mother....she is a REAL person, with a beautiful spirit, capable of reading, embracing, and allowing even her own daughter to have "radical thoughts" and express them without fear of "Mother Judgement"], or just give her a good old fashioned welcome into the LAND OF BLOG!

Two years ago, I planned and with the help of family and friends executed an extravagant surprise birthday party for one of my favorite people: My Grandma.  Here is the picture of me walking her into the ballroom where her party was being held:

Grandma's Surprise Party Aug 2005

She thought that she and I were going out for dinner alone...GOTCHA!  Her birthday is coming up again, this Saturday actually and though it won't be the elaborate affair including family talent show we threw two years ago, we will still have a great time at the BBQ in my backyard.

In honor of her having another BORN DAY, I thought I would share a "POEM" [I use the term loosely] that I wrote for her that brought tears to her eyes.  You might not get it because it is very specific to my family, but I wanted to share it anyway for those lurkers in my family who stop by here from time to time.  So wanna hear it?  Here it go!

                                     The Family You Created

For me, it starts with my mother and so far ends with my son;

but the family you created, created more than just one!

 

It created the Jenkinses, Patsy's three boys and two girls;

who would join the Army, go to work and school, even travel the world.

It created the Warrens, Pres, Susie, and Flo;

who would educate more children than we'll ever know

 

It created the Browns who I grew up around;

and I'll never forget how Johnnie Mae and Al Green would get down.

It created the Wrights, Odessa, Fred, Hazel, & James who we miss;

and thanks to Anita and Storm, we now have five-generation bliss.

 

It created a second family by the J. Edwards name;

which produced girls like Tracy, Lydia, & Leah, our future claims to fame.

It created the Hunts, Betty and the Texas branch of our tree;

your roots have spread wide and deep, its plain to see.

 

It created those Whitson/Paiges, Angelique, Wayne, & Shan;

and after delivering ten pound Rachel and Rorelle, its a wonder Verna can still stand!

It created the Juanita Edwardses, with Marque, Wee-Wee, and PeeWee;

who as I wrote this was about to add even more fruit to your tree.

 

It created the Samuel Edwards family, which is now smaller than it should be.

But like always, "Uncle Duck" is always there for kids anywhere, as he always was for me!

It created the Mack Edwardses, the military branch of our clan.

And what else can you expect from him but a family that screams, "I AM MAN!"

 

It created the Arthur Edwardses, YES! our super-athlete and his girls.

No snips, no snails, no puppy dog tails, just clothes, perfume, and curls.

It created the Edwards-Fearses, two top cops protecting our streets.

Sean, Kenan, Mikey, & Nicole who plays piano so beautifully sweet.

 

To each you have given your wisdom, your talent, your time, your strength.

You've made us all feel we were worth it, no matter how much energy you spent.

And I for one have noticed the beauty of all that you do;

so we planned this day simply to say, "Grandma we love you TRUE!"

 

The family you created, created all of these and more.

It has healed the ill, rescued the lost, and opened other doors.

So when you glance in the mirror, I hope you see what we see;

the reflection of the beautiful, strong, black woman who created the family that created me!!!

It would be impossible to explain the depth of the love I feel for my Grandma so I won't even try.  Just suffice it to say that the fact that she is having another birthday means more to me than me having another birthday.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GRANDMA.....YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU! 

Two weeks from this Saturday on September First, I had planned to wear this dress

Wedding Dress

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to my official wedding celebration where it was my intention to marry this man

The Groom/ PO

with whom I planned to live happily ever after somewhere on the planet earth.  Unfortunately, none of those plans are in effect any longer.  The wedding plans were called off by me earlier this year back in March though the relationship remained intact.  The public record at the time acknowledged this as a mutual decision.  Now, five months later in August, the relationship has lost its footing as well and has been called off in a unilateral decision made by the one I agreed to spend the rest of my life loving, laughing, and learning while on the job to live with.  Once again, this is publicly considered to be a mutual decison.  "What the hell happened here??"

It is often said that when a relationship happens it is the result of two people's input.  The same is said of the end of relationships.  I guess by the strictest of definitions, both of these statements are true and accurate.  However, having just learned that the relationship I believed would be mine for the remainder of my life is being terminated, I don't feel as if I played any real part in the making of this decision.  I am winded by the whole transaction, and the only role I can actually take any credit for, is agreeing not to fight my intended's decision though every cell in my body is in an uproar wanting to fight for what I want more than anything else I've ever wanted.

This leaves me wondering once again "What changed?".

There has been much speculation about what it is that women truly want from relationships, and I myself have been a vocal participant in many such discussions.  I even wrote about the things I personally want in this post on my other blog Just Write Now! with Sharon where I tend to write about things that are of a more personal nature,

like the topic of this post.  The interesting thing is that my intended had all of the qualities I spoke of in that post and then some and over the course of our relationship, he continued to display the characteristics I crave.  He often voiced that the same held true for him in reverse.  So why then, are we not riding off into the sunset together in two weeks as originally planned?

Just last night, I think I figured it out.  It is not that I am a bad person, unworthy of love or unworthy of him.  It is not that he is a bad person unworthy of love or unworthy of me.  Without question, we have deep love for each other that has sustained itself over many years though we have rarely been in each others company.  The plain and simple truth is that for some reason still unbeknownst to me and maybe to him as well, we could not just DECIDE JOINTLY that together is where we were going to be; come hell or high water.  Sometimes I believed we would, and sometimes he believed we would; but unfortunately, there was too little time during which at the same time we both believed we would [or could for that matter].  I believe that it really is just that simple.  So in the future, (and as unlikely as the possibility seems right now, I still pray that future will be with him), I will add one more item to my list of what women I want; and that is a guy who will understand that in reality a decision is being made and sticking to it is the only way to find our way to being all that we can be together as a married couple.

What do other women people want?

Do you have a pet? What kind of pet do you own, and why did you choose it? 
Submitted by Brendz.  

Yes, I have a pet; a dog named Onyx P. D. J*****s.  He is a Shih Tzu - Mutt passing as a full-blooded Shih Tzu.  His middle initials initially stood for purse dog because as a Shih Tzu he was not supposed to get too big and should have always fit in a purse.  However, the Mutt in him is taking over and he is now up to 17lbs and no longer can be considered a purse dog.  Now the P.D. stands for different things on different days.  Today, it is Psycho Dog, yesterday, Pitiful Dog, and who knows what tomorrow will bring.

He was a housewarming "gift" from my sister two and a half years ago; so no I did not choose him.  I call him a "gift" because he cost me $100 bucks!  However, he has definitely been more than worth the C-note, and without a doubt I would have chosen him given the chance.

DSCF1463

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I found my way to VOX by way of RPM's blog.  I have read her blog for a couple of years up until last Christmas when I was MIA from the blog world.  When I came back earlier this spring, I found that my beloved RPM had moved to VOX and while trying to leave her a comment, I signed up.

Each time I go to her blog now, I get caught up in almost signing up again; so today, I decided to start a new blog over here which I would dedicate to practicing my writing skills.

Much of what one might read if they show up around these parts will be unintelligible as it will be bits and pieces of things I am working on.  However, sometimes you just need for someone else to give you feedback on what you are doing and you need that feedback to be honest.  IMO, if honest is what you want, then asking someone who doesn't love you and thus has no concern about hurting your feelings is the way to go.  Also, if the opinion given is really brutal, you don't have to worry about the awkwardness of facing that person again in the future because facing someone on a blog is not really facing them when you get right down to it!

So that is how I came to be here, and now you know what I am planning to do while I stay.  To that end, take a look at the following if you are of a mind to and leave me a comment with your thoughts about it...whatever your thoughts may be.  Thanks!

Chapter One

Sometimes summers in Mississippi are colder than winters anywhere.   This fact was never more apparent than it was the day it became common knowledge that Mama Nelly was not who she was….

“Standing there like she didn’t make a fool of us all.”

“She must think we all stupid.  I bet she laughed huhself to sleep over how we all was believin’ huh lies.”

“I always knowed there was sumthin’ bout huh that was not right.”

For more than forty years, Mama Nelly had been an institution in Clanahan County, Mississippi.   She was known near and far as one of the most gracious people in the community, always willing to lend a helping hand to neighbors in need.  No one really seemed to know exactly how long she had lived in this community as she was fast approaching eighty years old and had been living in Clanahan County longer than most of her neighbors could remember.  Those who could remember how long she had been there had no idea of from where it was she had come or what her life had been like before she moved to Clanahan County.  That had all been part of the secret she kept.  No matter, the cat was out of the bag, and as it blinked away the bright sunlight on this hot July Sunday Mama Nelly felt a chill that she had feared for as long as she could remember.  Without warning, her secret had been revealed to the harsh light of day and to the even harsher light of her neighbors’ consciousness.  Not only had her secret been revealed, but it had been disclosed by the one person she had never expected to see again, the worst possible person to expose her true self.

As she stood on her porch under the reproachful, even hateful glare of neighbors she had helped through all manner of crises and listened to them vent their anger at her, she wondered again how it was possible that she had allowed the lie to continue for so incredibly long.  In her heart of hearts, she had never intended to deceive anyone, especially those whom she loved; but truth be told, in the beginning she had not known nor cared about any of these people.  She had only cared about Junior “June Bug” Stallings.

Chapter Two
Junior Stallings was the son of cotton growing share croppers from Sedana, Georgia, a small community at the southernmost tip of the state.  He was born the youngest of thirteen children in June of 1880; because of his birth month and his small stature, his sisters had nicknamed him June Bug.  At eight years old, June Bug had discovered quite by accident that he had a gift as some called it for throwing baseballs.  One day while walking home from the one room school house he attended with five of his siblings, Junior was taken by surprise when his brother Thomas J decided to put him into one of his famous headlocks.  Try as he might, Junior’s struggles to be released went in vain.  As three of his sisters and his other brother pleaded with Thomas J to just stop picking at Junior, he became more and more upset as his frustration levels reached their peak.  After what seemed to have been an hour but could only have been a few minutes, Thomas J simply became bored with his game, released Junior, and ran ahead down the dusty, unpaved road.  Still angry beyond measure, Junior tried to catch up to Thomas J and exact his revenge.
“Thomas J I’ma getcha!  You wait ‘til I catcha boy, I’ma make you pay!”
Thomas J simply laughed and continued to weave just outside June Bug’s reach.  Four years older and more than three feet taller than the short for his age but stocky Junior, Thomas J had no trouble eluding Junior.  As his anger reached the boiling point, Junior reached into his knapsack, and before he knew what was happening, his fingers encircled a baseball he had found by the side of the road on the way to school that morning.  Without a moment of hesitation, Junior took aim and threw the baseball at Thomas J’s head. 

As the years rolled by, the story of Thomas J’s encounter with Junior’s first fast ball was retold with endless variations in the actual specifics of what happened depending on who was recounting the tale.  Nevertheless, regardless of the story teller, the ending was always the same; it was the last time Thomas J ever put Junior in a headlock, and it was the first time Junior realized the power a baseball in his hand parlayed.

Chapter Three
Life on the Wilcox’s farm in Sedana was not easy for anyone, not even the Wilcox’s.  Though they were white, the Wilcox’s were not a part of the social register in Sedana County, a fact that caused Patty Wilcox significant anguish.  She had always imagined herself one day being a part of Atlanta society even though geographically speaking, she was so far away that this was a virtual impossibility.  Regardless of this fact, being snubbed and ostracized by her neighbors, people she considered to be barely a step above the share croppers on her farm, was next to intolerable.  Less than a year before, the Wilcox’s had inherited their two thousand acre farm from a distant wealthy uncle they had barely known.  Uncle Wilcox had died in the arms of his Creole mistress in the small, but well-appointed house he had had built for her on the outskirts of his property.  Given their recent acquisition of the first land they had ever owned, the Wilcox’s had no experience at running a farm or at handling the business end of farming cotton.  As a matter of fact, prior to having received the letter informing them of their inheritance, Jack and Patty Wilcox had been living hand to mouth in a shack that was barely more than a lean to.  Though their apparent good fortune changed many things in their lives, they still found themselves with limited funds, and restricted by the terms of Uncle Wilcox’s will from selling off the land to generate additional cash with which to fund the extravagant social life they desired.

Any black person in the south can tell you, that there is nothing meaner than poor white trash supervising Negroes who they perceive as living better than they themselves have lived.  The hatred of so called “uppity niggas” that emanates from these individuals is so intimately palpable, that most southern Negroes would rather die defending themselves against a cavern of Klansmen than live under the supervision of even one of these self-loathing whites.  The death of Uncle Wilcox, as Jack’s uncle had been called by all who knew him before he died, had left the share croppers on his land under the jurisdiction of Jack and Patty Wilcox, two of the meanest members of the poor white trash ranks ever to walk the planet.

Along with Uncle Wilcox’s farm, Jack and Patty also inherited the care and upbringing of their cousin, Uncle Wilcox’s daughter Nelly.  The only offspring of Uncle Wilcox, Nelly had been the child of his beloved wife ‘Trisha who had died during childbirth.  After a year of wallowing in his grief over ‘Trisha’s death, Uncle Wilcox surfaced and noticed his one year old daughter for the first time.  Fragile and willowy like her mother, Nelly had been born with a gentle spirit that seemed to charm and engage all who encountered her.  Once he became aware of her, Nelly had her father completely enraptured and there was nothing that he would not do for her.  It was in this nurturing environment that Nelly had been raised for thirteen years. 

Never a difficult child, Nelly grew into an even more pleasant young woman.  Secure in her father’s love and care, Nelly instinctively reached out a helping hand to anyone she became aware of who needed her.  It was this generous spirit that had first bound her to June Bug.  Nelly and Junior were born one week apart, and thus, Nelly was actually one week older than Junior.  When Nelly’s mother died while delivering her, Junior’s mother felt sorry for the wispy infant who with the death of her mother and her father’s deep depression may as well have been an orphan in the world.  From the very day that Nelly had been born, June Bug’s mother had nursed her and cared for her as her own.  Even as she lay in labor delivering her own son Junior, Mrs. Stallings continued to nurse Nelly.  Thus it was that Nelly and June bug suckled at the same breasts, and were raised together almost as if they were twins born to different mothers. 

The bond that developed between Nelly and June Bug when they were just babies sealed them together for life it seemed.  As they grew older on the farm, the two were inseparable.  Both determined and strong willed children, they always looked out for each other.  Nelly, the more vocally outspoken of the two was constantly coming to June Bug’s defense when he would not speak up and defend himself; a character trait that would drive Nelly mad all of their lives.  Junior on the other hand was noticeably more reserved than Nelly and except for when it was just the two of them, barely ever said a word.  If however Nelly was threatened in any way by anyone, Junior would be there without fail to protect her.  There was rarely a disagreement between them.  As they grew older, Nelly thought of them as twins separated at conception and rejoined at birth.  The general conclusion was that the two were natural born soul mates.

As the years passed and Nelly and Junior matured, so did their relationship until one day, they discovered that the love they felt for each other did not end at friendship or even sister/brotherhood; what they felt went much deeper, and as they were only fourteen years old at the time, it made them both begin to feel awkward around each other.  It was during this period in their relationship that Uncle Wilcox died in the home of his mistress, and passed the farm and Nelly into the venomous hands of Jack and Patty Wilcox.