As Real as It Gets | Volume 1 | Chapter 2 | The Good, The Bad and then Ugly

Dear Alvin Lstter 1

Family Roots

The Old Times

Milk Break

The Good

The bad

Stomach

Visiting Grandparents

The Good

The Good

Little People Life

The Ugly

Daddy Dearest

Aches

Sister Sister

Times

The bad

CONTENT WARNING

⚠️ This material contains sensitive subject matter that may be emotionally challenging. BEFORE PROCEEDING: ⚠️

1. Assess your current mental and emotional state.

2. Ensure you're in a stable frame of mind to engage with potentially distressing content.

3. Have support systems available if needed.

NOT SUITABLE FOR:

• Individuals under 18

• Those currently experiencing mental health difficulties

• Anyone sensitive to triggering content

Reader discretion is strongly advised. Your well-being comes first.

CHAPTER TWO

Letter 1

April 2009

Dear Alvin,

How are you my darling, sincere, Alvin? Thank you for the card. It was sweet. The things you say remind me of how a man is supposed to adore his woman. Although, you're not the man you want to be for me right now, man you've got me hooked on your love.

I'm doing ok as usual. Since I've been writing, I have nothing much to say. Speaking of writing, here! The following is the story you've requested.

Before you read, I'll give you warning that there are good times; ones with laughter, and love, bad times; things that were sinful, cruel, heartfelt, or hurtful, and there are the ugly times; the ones only written here and never spoken about. Now, I need you know how I've witnessed such things so please just try not to judge me as much as you can. Please see somehow, survived it.

THE OLD TIMES

The Good

My mom was good to me growing up in the Tower Hill Apartments in Nowhere, Delaware. She was the apple of my eye.

Going to the park, my Grandparent's house, and playing outside with my siblings was all I knew. We'd have bar-b-ques, parties, and outings back-to-back.

Family Roots My mother, Carolyn aka Lyn, or Mommy was a single mother. She had one daughter Paulette in 1972 with a man by the name of Paul. In 1974 she had another baby girl named Nyomie aka Na'na.

How my mother, and father met is still a mystery to me however, I know that it had something to do with Paul because he, and my father, Oscar, are first cousins.

My parents got together sometime before Na'na was conceived. Then, sometime between Na'na's birth, in 1972, and having me in 1974, my dad had another daughter Michelle aka Shelly; my third older sister the very same year as me; 41 days apart.

Not to get ahead of myself, but my life began with a major complication: when I was conceived, my father was already married to another woman, Deloris. On the very day the truth surfaced, my grandmother marched to the house, announced the marriage, and kicked my mother and her children out to make room for my father’s 'proper' family. Suddenly, Carolyn—only twenty-one years old, with two little girls in tow and me on the way—found herself standing on the street with absolutely nowhere to go.

After 2 years had almost passed, my mother had two more children, sons, La'roy, and LeJohn- by a man named La'roy Harold Pores. They were very strong minded, and opinionated little tykes from day one.

My brothers, La'roy and LeJohn, were identical twins in every sense of the word—a trademark that made it nearly impossible for anyone to tell them apart.

Though they were born only six minutes apart, they managed a rare feat: they don’t even share the same birthday. La'roy arrived at 11:56 PM on December 2nd, while LeJohn followed just after midnight at 12:02 AM on the 3rd.

With their arrival, our household reached a final count of six—one resilient woman, my mother, and her five children.

My mom was always there through the bumps, and bruises, and any little scrape any one of her five children would get. She was an excellent mother.

The Bad

Daddy Dearest

Paul Paulette's father, Paul was living a life with his wife somewhere within driving distance however, he never came around. He was more of the baby making, and drug doing type than the daddy type.

Oscar my and Na'na's father, Oscar still lived on Boone St. just a couple of towns over from us. Fewtown, Delaware is where he lived with his wife, 3 stepchildren, and his 2 little girls, Shelly, and Deloris, our blood sisters. He was definitely around. Around all of the fish, chicks, and drugs he wanted.

Oscar came by here, and there. On his visits, he'd put beer in my baby bottle for me to drink time, and time again. The twin's father, La'roy senior, came around as well, here, and there until they were at least 4 years old. Our fathers were not in our lives like they should have been.

The Good

Times

We lived a comfortable life of the outings, parks, school, play, and discipline. We loved our mother, and she loved us. We'd even visit the grandparents on a regular basis, and it was always fun.

In DE, the snow would fall, and as far as the eyes could see was white. The trees were heavy as some of their branches were starting to touch the snowbanks below. A lot of the times there would be at least 1 foot of snow to play in. It was a cold winter's day.

I can remember how easy it was to get a huge ball of snow out of a tiny one rolled around for a while. It would get as tall as me. I was a shorter than average, 3.5 feet tall, 5-year-old at that time.

On this particular day, my mother decided to join us in the building of the snow men, and angels. A picture my granddaddy took, of my mom playing outside one day, still lingers around, in an album somewhere. In that picture, she wore a vomit green jacket with layers of sweaters underneath of it.

She didn't even have the correct clothes to play in the snow with her children, but she did it anyway. All awhile, her children were dressed in appropriate matching snow pants, jackets, and boots.

After our playtime was over, I remember having to dry our socks, and gloves next to the kerosene heater in the living room. Afterwards, we drank co-co, and then headed back home in the green Volkswagen Bug, my mother acquired from one of her parents.

The Bad

Stitches

Although I don't remember most visits to my grandparents' house, I do remember one very vividly. This visit was when my grandmother had just gotten out of the hospital, and she had to sleep in a hospital bed in her own home. Well, since I was a mommy's girl, I was up under her while she visited with her mom.

The other four kids were outside when my grandmother, started smelling something weird. My mom said that she knew it wasn't any of her kids playing in the sewer, as grandma had suggested, but she went to look anyway.

As she left, I noticed that my grandmother's gown was wet around her lower stomach because it had been sticking to her skin.

As my mom returned to tell the verdict on what she had already known, it was brought to her attention about the gown. She investigated, and agreed with my grandmother, and said, “Mom, that's the smell! It's coming from you! You must have busted your stitches and reopened your wound.”

My grandmother had indeed busted her stitches and was leaking all over herself. It smelled horrible, like decaying flesh. When she rolled to her side you could see the imprint of her intestines pressing against her gown. This was horrible.

“Mom please, I insist. Sit back and lie still until help arrives.”

My grandfather, and the ambulance were called. He arrived just in time to assist the two little white women carry his wife off in a stretcher.

I remembered their uniforms were dresses like nurses of that day. Unlike the boring blue pant uniforms worn today by the emergency squads; their uniforms were traditional white shirts, skirts, and a matching, triangle white hat with a red stripe.

The Good

Number One

My first boyfriend's name was Hanson Battle. I remember when we were in preschool together, his mother would condone us being the little couple by letting us hold hands, kiss, and play together at recess. Not remembering why, she got to spend so much time with us at school, it was nice to have one of our mothers around.

Milk Break

In the treasure chest of my childhood memories, two precious snapshots sparkle like jewels. They capture a time when I was just a tiny tot, no more than three years old, with my adorable baby brothers as the co-stars of our family show.

Picture this: two chubby-cheeked little boys, their eyes wide with wonder, confined in their walkers but full of curiosity. Their tiny hands reached out, silently pleading for something to quench their thirst. My heart, though young, swelled with the desire to help. With determination in my step, I toddled to Mommy, my pigtails bouncing with each movement.

"Mommy," I chirped, "can I get milk for my brothers?"

Mommy's eyes twinkled with pride and amusement. She saw a perfect Kodak moment unfolding and quickly grabbed her camera. Click! Click! The flash captured my heroic journey as I carefully carried the milk jug, my little tongue peeking out in concentration. Another flash immortalized the moment as I poured the creamy goodness into one of their bottles, my face a picture of pure focus and love. In that instant, I wasn't just a big sister; I was their milk fairy, granting wishes one pour at a time.

But our adventures didn't stop at home. Every year, we'd pile into the car, excitement bubbling over as we headed to the shore. There, we'd join our grandparents at their annual Old Retiree's Picnic, a magical gathering that felt like stepping into a storybook.

Imagine a scene bursting with joy: the salty sea breeze carrying the sound of laughter, the warm sand between our toes, and a colorful crowd of people who seemed to have discovered the secret to eternal happiness. All day long, we'd be surrounded by twirling dancers, playful games, and tables groaning under the weight of delicious treats.

One particular picnic stands out in my mind like a twinkling star. All of us children, with our gap-toothed grins and boundless energy, scrambled onto the portable stage. But it was my little brothers who truly stole the show.

At just three years old, these pint-sized performers unleashed their break-dancing skills, their tiny bodies spinning and popping in ways that defied gravity. The crowd gasped and cheered, their wrinkled faces lighting up with pure delight at the sight of these miniature dance prodigies.

As I watch these memories play out in my mind, I can't help but smile. From being the milk fairy at home to witnessing my brothers become dance sensations at the shore, these moments are the golden threads that weave together the tapestry of our childhood – full of love, laughter, and a touch of magic.

VISITING THE GRANDPARENTS

Little People Life

The Bad

Stomachaches

Being the baby girl, I never wanted to leave my mommy's side, nor did I want her to leave mine. Since my mother was young, and single there was no stopping her 27-year-old ass from going out at night to do whatever her best friends Ella, and Ree-Ree would do.

I remember crying, and faking sick so many times just so she wouldn't leave. I'd follow her around the house, and cry while she was getting ready to leave. Just as she was leaving, I'd give her one last chance to make her baby feel better and stay. I stood next to the door, she was leaving from, so she could see my crying eyes.

I don't know how often she'd go out but threw all of my tears, she seen her little actress as the faker I was. Time, and time again she'd leave me standing there. Needless to say, I don't know if I ever got my wish for her to stay at home with me.

My mom also spent a lot of time locked in her bedroom supposedly “sleeping”. Being a weed smoker, she could've been getting high, not wanting me to catch a contact for all I knew.

Her weed habit wasn't a secret, for I had seen her getting high before. I'd be outside her room banging on the door, sobbing, and begging for her attention at those times as well.

The Ugly

Sister Sister

One day, while I was playing somewhere in the house, Na'na pulled me into our bedroom closet. She told me to pull down my pants. I listened, like I always did when I was told what to do. Feeling a little reluctant, I asked, “What are you going to do?”

She knelt down on the floor then looked up at me. “I'm going to show you something,” she said, in a low childlike whisper. Then she helped me finish taking my pants, and panties down to my ankles. Now, with my pants down, fully exposing my bare ass, and poom, my sister was more able to show me what she was so hush, hush about.

“Now, open your legs." I obeyed and spread my knees apart while standing on the outsides of my feet, opening my legs wider. She stuck out her tongue, and closed her eyes as she moved in toward my pelvis.

I thought she was going to show me something new on my body that she'd discovered on hers. For the life of me, I couldn't understand why she was trying to lick me. Since I was still standing, this posed a problem for what my sister's intentions were. She pulled away and opened her eyes. “You're not doing it right!” she whispered angrily.

She takes me with both hands at my knees, and spreads my legs apart, further than I had done before. Upon repositioning herself, she aimed her tongue right between my legs, and up to my poom. “Ouch!”

She stopped but barely moved from her access point. "Did it hurt?” She asked in amazement.

“Yeah. Ah. No. Ah, I don't know! What is that?”

'“If it didn't hurt then just stay right there. Again, she placed her tongue on my itty-bitty clit. I felt a tiny, weird tingle. The sensation surprised me. I squeezed her head between my thighs then pulled away.

“Did it feel good?” she asked me anxiously.

“No!” I spoke. “It felt weird! Who showed you that?” I felt more frustrated and scared that someone had actually done that to her. She exited the closet and went back outside to play. I pulled up my clothes, and just sat there with my hands between my legs not knowing what just happened. I really didn't know if it felt good, or not, all I know is that it felt wrong.