Letter to My Daughter Read Free

she had given birth to quintuplets.
    She was so proud of her grandson and proud of me. I never had to spend one minute regretting giving birth to a child who had a devoted family led by a fearless, doting, and glorious grandmother. So I became proud of myself.

Accident, Coincident, or Answered Prayer
    His name was Mark. He was tall and well built. If good looks were horses, he could seat the entire Royal Canadian Mounties. Mark was inspired by Joe Louis. He left Texas, where he was born and found work in Detroit. There he intended to make enough money to find a trainer and become a professional boxer.
    A machine in the automotive plant cut three fingers off his right hand and his dream perished. When I met him he told me the story and explained why he was known as Two Finger Mark. He did not show any rancor about his dreams deferred. He spoke softly to me and often paid for a babysitter so that I could visit him in his rented room. He was an ideal suitor. He was a lover with a slow hand. I felt absolutely safe and secure.
    After a few months of his tender attention, he picked me up one night from my job and said he was taking me out to Half Moon Bay.
    He parked on a cliff and through the windows I saw the moonlight silver on the rippling water.
    I got out of the car and when he said, “Come over here,” I went immediately.
    He said, “You’ve got another man, and you’ve been lying to me.” I started to laugh. I was still laughing when he hit me. Before I could breathe he had hit me in the face with both fists. I did see stars before I fell.
    When I came to he had removed most of my clothes and leaned me against an outcropping of rock. He had a large wooden slat in his hand and he was crying.
    “I treated you so well, and you lousy cheat, low-down woman.” I tried to walk to him but my legs would not support me. Then he hit the back of my head with the board. I passed out. Each time I came to, I saw that he continued to cry and to beat me and I continued to pass out.
    I must depend on hearsay for the events of the next few hours.
    Mark put me into the backseat of his car and drove to the African American area in San Francisco. He parked in front of Betty Lou’s Chicken Shack and called some hangers-around and showed me to them.
    “This is what you do with a lying cheating broad.”
    They recognized me and returned to the restaurant. They told Miss Betty Lou that Mark had Vivian’s daughter in the back of his car and she looks dead.
    Miss Betty Lou and my mother were close friends. Betty Lou phoned my mother.
    No one knew where he lived or worked or even his last name.
    Because of the pool halls and gambling clubs my mother owned, and the police contacts Miss Betty Lou had, they expected to find Mark quickly.
    My mother was close with the leading bail bondsman in San Francisco. So she telephoned him. Boyd Pucinelli had no Mark or Two Finger Mark in his files.
    He promised Vivian he would continue to search.
    I awakened to find I was in a bed and I was sore all over. It hurt to breathe, to try to speak. Mark said that was because I had broken ribs. My lips had been speared by my teeth.
    He started to cry, saying he loved me. He brought a double-edged razor blade and put it to his throat.
    “I’m not worth living, I should kill myself.”
    I had no voice to discourage him. He quickly put the razor blade on my throat.
    “I can’t leave you here for some other Negro to have you.” Speaking was impossible and breathing was painful.
    Suddenly he changed his mind.
    “You haven’t eaten for three days. I’ve got to get you some juice. Do you like pineapple juice and orange juice? Just nod your head.”
    I didn’t know what to do. What would send him off?
    “I’m going to the corner store to get you some juice. I’m sorry that I hurt you. When I come back, I’m going to nurse you back to health, full health, I promise.”
    I watched him leave.
    Only then, did I recognize that I was in his room, where I had been