Victims of Change

Prologue--

A week before Christmas in 1990, I awakened to roosters crowing.  That would have been okay if it were morning.  Roosters crowing--at one a.m.--who would think of such a thing?  That wasn't the only thing keeping me awake though.  The fact that I'm in this God-forsaken place in general is enough to keep me awake.  This place reminds me of an old shack alongside the dirt roads in the deep South that I've only heard about and perhaps seen in magazines or on television.  Being a city girl all of my life, I couldn't imagine visiting a place like this, let alone having to live here.  Now this place--with the broken toilet, mold and mildewy floors, ceiling and walls that appeared to be caving in--was the thanks that I got for what I was about to do.  This place, believe it or not, was in Jamaica.  Yes, Jamaica--the place where the hardworking or the well-to-do could afford to go on a yearly basis if they wanted to.  The place where most travel agencies so proudly advertised by plastering posters on their office walls, showing someone in a bikini posing in the sand, alongside the sparkling blue waters of the Caribbean.  Yes, that's what I thought I was going to do when I was invited.  I was hoping that when I woke up that morning that this would all be a bad dream and that I would be home with Melissa.  Wishful thinking slapped me in the face, bringing me back to reality, bringing me back to the real reason why I was here.  Only a few knew the real reason why I was here, but there were those who didn't know like Mama and some of my neighbors.  They were told that I was taking a mini vacation, and I had to stick to that story to keep from being exposed.  I couldn't be exposed of not being the goody-two-shoes that everyone thought that I was.  I couldn't stand for anyone to see the real me, the one who was moments away from being committed to the nearest mental ward.  The real me who was moments away from calling it wonderful by swallowing a bottle of pills or something else dramatic(I was too afraid to shoot myself, where would I find a gun?, or I couldn't cut my wrists--that would be too painful or messy).  So, to keep up with my act, I continued with my plan.