2
I was born Abigail Christine Andrews twenty four years ago to James and Patti Andrews of rural Louisiana. I do not go by Abigail. As long as I can remember, people have called me Christine. My boyfriend calls me Chrissy or honey or babe. I've never been called Abigail until the Promised One came to me. That comes later in my story; patience is a virtue.
I didn't grow up in Louisiana though, I was raised in Boston. For reasons I've never been told, my family fled Louisiana in the middle of the night when I just five years old. I don't remember anything about our time down south. My first memory in life is getting picked up by the school bus for my first day of kindergarten. I cannot recall anything before that. My parents and my sisters, Julia and Melissa, never speak of our former home and why we left so abruptly.
My sister Julia is thirty three years old and my sister Melissa is thirty five years old, both of them are old enough to remember our previous life but they don't dare speak a word of it. If I ever question them, or my parents, they simply say, 'The past does not define us,' and they drop the subject. Growing up as a child, and then as a defiant teenager, I just let it go.
I am twenty four years old now and I am that the stage of trying to define myself, trying to figure out who I am and where I should go in life. My parents think I should marry my longtime boyfriend, John. I would gladly marry John, if he would stop sleeping around on me. He's cheated on me not once, not twice, no three times, but four. And I keep taking him back and standing by his side. Why? I don't know.
"Babe, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
"That's what you said the last two times, Johnny…"
"I know and I'm sorry."
"How do I know you're truly sorry?"
He pushes a lock of my dark hair behind my right ear. "Babe, no one is ever going to love you like I can. Take me back." And so I do. Again.
John has drilled into my head for the past nine years that no one is ever going to be able to love me like he does. John is not abusive. He is far from that. He is the nicest guy you will ever meet. He is the guy that everyone loves to hang around with. His bright blue eyes, easy smile and contagious laugh make it easy to love him. Everyone loves him. He is a good man. A safe man. A man who is afraid of nothing except a lifelong commitment to his girlfriend of almost ten years.
We make quite the pair. John is good looking in that all-American quarterback type of guy. I'm average. Average height. Average length dark hair. Average blue eyes. Nothing extraordinary about me. A year from now I will wonder what makes me so extraordinary to be called the chosen one. Be patient. I will get to that part of my story.
We moved in together three years ago when we were twenty one. He had just finished the auto repair program at the local community college and had gotten a job as a mechanic at the garage where one of his brothers worked. I had gone to the community college with him at first but ended up dropping out when I realized that I could make a lot of money serving drinks at a local watering hole. As you can imagine, slinging drinks until well after one in the morning and eight thirty classes don't really mix. My parents were shocked when I told them my plans. John told them not to worry; he would take care of me always. Always. Funny how things change so quickly, isn't it?