There are four women that I have truly loved with an enduring love that seems to always stay with me; it stays with me despite long periods of separation, and despite the realization that I will never see some of them again in this life. Of course, there is my mother, which is unquestionable despite the strains created by her absence, but she is not one of the ones I speak of here. There is also my grandmother who often helped raise me and my siblings, and my love for her is unyielding, but she is not one of the ones I speak of here either. These five women have shaped me, made me cry inside, brought me joy and unspeakable fears. These five women probably shaped me more than my mother ever had the opportunity to. The names of these five women are Amanda Carole Hofeditz, Karlotta Kay Anderson, Cora Elizabeth Vaughan, and Cheyanne Lee Ray.
The first one, Amanda, was my childhood friend. I first met her when she was 12 and I was 13, and she attended my youth group at Kathleen Baptist Church in Kathleen, Florida. I remember the moment she really first hit my radar, though I didn’t realize at the time that she had just hit my radar. We were at Carpenter’s Home Church with our Youth Group from Kathleen, and we were seeing a production of The Gospel According to Scrooge. We hit it off as friends pretty quickly, and I adored her smile. She had very round cheeks with large dimples and curly red hair which she usually pulled back to make it look straighter. Even at that young age she was not the type I was normally attracted to, but she was beautiful, especially when she smiled. Our friendship grew over the years. She became my best friend. She could make me smile when I didn’t want to, and enjoy receiving a hug when I never really did.
Years later, sitting in the movie theater near Lakeland Square Mall, watching Independence Day, starring Will Smith, we would play a little game. She would put her leg on top of mine. I would put mine on top of hers. This would go on and on. It wasn’t sexual, it was almost kind of like playing slaps with your hands, and just goofing off. By then, I loved her. She was the first person in my life I ever remember being afraid of losing. When it came time for her to leave for college I couldn’t bear the thought, and she eventually decided not to. Instead, her and I would have an argument because of a misunderstanding, and I would say something that hurt her more than I realized I had the power to. She would then start dating a man named Sean, and later in little ways, on occasion, say something that made me aware she was still hurting from it, even long after we made up.
I used to walk the railroad tracks from my house to hers, and even wrote a poem once about how I was afraid to lose her and how I hoped that my tracks in life would lead to her. Once the thought of losing her entered my mind I could never stomach it. She used to climb a tree in her yard, one that I could never quite make it up – she would pull me up to sit beside her. The night I was supposed to leave for Basic Training, Amanda was in Sean’s truck with him, while I went to see my grandparents in her car, in Tampa. The truck was struck by a train at the tracks that crossed her driveway. Amanda died. My world was shattered – it remained so for many years to come, sometimes I think it still is.
The next woman I truly love is Karlotta, though it started out probably as a childish love, an immature love even that by adult standards might not have been called love at all. She was the cousin of Jake. It was, at the time, a petty love, perhaps the love everyone has for their first. The thing about Karlotta though, she has a vivid imagination, one that I always admired. As a teenager, I could picture her as a famous author in her future life. There was hurt involved with my relationship with Karlotta too, but it wasn’t a hurt as deep as the divide that which the death of Amanda caused.
Today, Karlotta and I remain friends. In fact, I am friends with Jake as well in a way, though I rarely get to see him – he is someone I consider to be a lifelong friend. Karlotta also became a lifelong friend. I still feel comfortable calling her up, even after a while of not talking, and discussing life as if we spoke the day before. I think she feels the same about this. She is not a famous author today. In fact, she is fighting some health issues. I do not know if she will beat them or not, but I certainly hope so. I cannot picture a world in which she is not. It seems kind of funny. I haven’t seen her in person in over ten years, and yet I still cannot picture a world in which she is not present. The thought is horrifying. She perhaps, is my oldest friend that I still communicate with.
(Karlotta has passed away since the writing of this prose).
Cora was the love of my life. I vividly remember the first moment I ever saw her. I was working at United Skates, in Tampa, and she was skating, and I thought to myself, “Wow, she is beautiful.” A couple of weeks went by, and a girl in the rink that I sort of was acquainted with skates over to me and tells me, “That girl over there likes you.” The first girl was followed by a second, Cora, who came skating over as fast as she could, and exclaimed, “No I don’t!” I inquired how it was that she knew what the first girl had said to me and her response was, “Oh.” I spent a few weeks admiring her as she followed me around the rink, and trying not to fall for her. I failed.
Her parents made an arrangement with me that I could see her, as long as I did so at their house and when they were home, and I agreed. After a couple of months, we are sitting in the living room one day when Cora, without telling me first, Cora stated in front of everyone that I was the one who she wished to be married. I was shocked. Her mom informed her that she needed to wait until she was sure she was with the right person, and she informed her mom that she already knew that she was. Her mom then turns to me and asks, “Do you love my daughter?” I informed, “Yes.” We were all but engaged, and I was buying a ring, when her parents had a change of heart about us seeing each other. They began picking her up from school, ending her skating rink visits, and keeping her completely supervised. Over a month went by, and despite trying I couldn’t get close. Then, Cora died.
Cora was born with a heart murmur, and there were rumors that other things influenced her death as well. I will probably never know the truth about everything that was involved, I tried and tried and tried, but could not seem to get close enough. There were rumors that eventually she started seeing someone else, having been told that I moved out of state. I left a Bible as a birthday gift for her on her porch, with her name engraved in the cover. From what I have heard since, she never received that – her parents having picked it up and put it up. I was absolutely in love with Cora at the time of her death, and thought that one day we would have a family together, and grow old together, and love each other always. Well, I still love her. Though the love changes over time, it is perhaps the mix of a fond and a bitter memory of an unattainable union; a union that was restrained despite all my dreams and wishes.
Cheyanne is one of an ex-girlfriend’s three children. I immediately fell in love with all of her children, but with Cheyanne it was always different, more, a greater love than I could ever put words to. Her first daughter was honestly never very fond of me. Her son and I had some good times, I remember renting Scooby-Doo movies to watch with him when he was in the Children’s Hospital. There were many times when I really looked at him as a son, but he never pursued that type of relationship, and now as an adult has even stated he does not want that type of relationship. I still love him. I still love his older sister. My relationship with Cheyanne is so much more though. Cheyanne is my daughter. Not biologically speaking, though you probably wouldn’t know it if you saw us together, but where it really counts, in the heart, she is my daughter. She is not shy about this.
The first time my ex and I were seeing each other it was humorous and adorable, and I loved how every time we all went out in public someone would tell me, “Your daughter has your eyes.” Her mom would often object and would inform them that Cheyanne was not my daughter. She was wrong. It was a couple of months into our seeing each other this first time when Cheyanne first asked, “Will you be my daddy?” My heart broke, in a good way. I didn’t know how to answer, and I just wanted to pick her up and say, “Absolutely, I love you, Cheyanne!” That wasn’t my actual verbal response though. I didn’t know how best to answer. I informed her that would have to be up to her mommy. I didn’t believe it though; it was never up to her mom. After the ex and I separated, I saw them at the hospital one day. I was standing by William Harris when they pulled in. Cheyanne yelling, “Larry!” with a big smile on her face. William informing, “Somebody loves you!” Me beaming, “I know! I love her too.”
Then I didn’t see them anymore. For the longest I carried a picture in my wallet of Cheyanne and I. I never forgot. At one point I tried leaving a message on an online message board. It was never answered. Tina had remarried and they moved to Tennessee. Then, one day out of nowhere, we reunited via Facebook. Before long we met up one day just South of Atlanta and North of Locus Grove, as she was moving her things back to Tampa – Cheyanne in tow. My head was spinning, the woman I thought loved me and the girl who is my daughter, both long estranged in front of me again. We met up again within a year or so in Tampa, while I was down on a visit. Then in late 2012, we began talking again, and falling in love, or at least I believed so. The ex informed me how she believed God had meant for us to be together all along, but how she didn’t see it before.
After I shattered my foot, the ex was hardly around. In fairness, she was working many hours, but in unfairness she met another guy who though she denies it, her attraction for was very evident. As I lay, unable to walk, on her couch day after day and hearing bitter words, and personal attacks, it was Cheyanne that looked after me. My heart was breaking again. I never wanted Cheyanne to have to look after me. I wanted to be the one to look after her, to take her to Disney, to threaten a prom date, and one day to walk her down the aisle. Yet, there I was unable to do basic things for myself, and she showered me with love and care and made certain that I had food and other basic needs met.
On the day I left my exes house, when it had become too much and there was no longer any chance of us being together, I cried. I was hurt and bitter because of what felt like betrayal, but this is not why I cried. I cried because I couldn’t bear the separation that was about to exist between Cheyanne and myself. Cheyanne cried. It was unbearable. I didn’t know in that moment when or if I would ever get to see her again. There had been some talk by the ex about possibly moving to Africa – I was terrified. I knew in my heart that my ex was not going to let me see Cheyanne, and for a little while I was right. But Cheyanne pressed the issue, and pressed the issue, and over the next year I was having surgeries, doing rehabilitation, and had my grandmother die, but a year and a half later I got to see her again.
Since then, I have had the opportunity to witness Cheyanne’s last years as a child and first years as an adult. With her I have went exploring for a ghost town, visited the Fort and Beach at Fort De Soto, taken her to Daytona Beach for the first time in her life, grabbed coffee, eaten empanadas, visited The Pub at International Plaza. What is more, I got to witness her fall in love with a young man named Jared, who seems to treat her very well. She shares stories about her adventures with friends and tribulations with family. I offer advice. I don’t expect her always to follow the advice I offer. People sometimes need to make their own path. I listen, sometimes approvingly and other times disapprovingly; but always with amazement at what a wonderful, caring, kind-hearted, and beautiful young woman she has become. Of all the women I love, have loved, will love, hold love for, remember, treasure, and adore – Cheyanne is the one person I know I would give up every memory for, make every sacrifice for, and treasure beyond any earthly possession or desire. My ex may never had intended it, but she gave me my daughter, and nothing in the world can ever take that away. I love Cheyanne, and will love her, for as long as I have a capacity to love, be that the end of this life or the eternity of the next one. My daughter. Cheyanne.
Someday, someone may wonder why I wrote all of this down. It is simple, to me, that of all my life experiences that I could talk about, the Army, failing at boot camp, not graduating college as planned, having gotten arrested, all these experiences in which I would probably dispute the official account, they are not as important to me and they do not hold the same importance that these women, especially Cheyanne, have held in my life. If there is anything in my life that should be remembered long after I am gone, it is these: The people that I loved, the people that loved me. This is my heart. Oh, and Tina and me, we are friends again. Would that have happened without Cheyanne’s influence? Probably not to be honest. How often when a relationship ends with severe hurt do the people desire to remain in contact after, and for a while there was no desire to this last time, but I have moved past that. The hurt still exists, but the person is more important to me than the hurt.