DAVINA'S STORY, PART 3. (THE SAD CONCLUSION)

(Part 3.)

Being present for my first intervention was nothing like those I had viewed on the A&E gem of the same name. On the A&E program ‘Intervention’, there was often skepticism involved with the request of rehabilitation, but this experience was far more extreme. The restraint of the cable program was nothing like Davina’s state of mind. Her eyes were still rolling into the back of her head as she erratically swung her arms around loosely. This was not going to be easy. Within a few moments, it became fairly obvious that this was not a sweet, loving intervention. This was quite the antithesis. Quickly Davina encountered a slew of angrily-toned questions: “What the hell is this all about?” “Are you doing drugs?” “Do you need to move back home?” “Why are you embarrassing us like this?” Clearly Davina was on something, looking like the possessed demon child in the exorcist. Everything happening was just short of a monster spewing bile at the whole of us, but yet there was an abrasive and demanding question followed by another on repeat.

Bertha was the firing squad and we were all there to operate as a peanut gallery without words. It was like a courtroom in that dark dreary home and Bertha was addressing the court while Davina rocked back and forth, seated on the carpet, still moving erratically. There were no calm, sweet questions like: "Are you okay?", "What's going on?", or "We're here to offer love and support." It felt much more like an ambush. All the while, I just wanted to grab Davina and pull her out of that house, but she was not in the right frame of mind and I didn't know what was right for her. I knew this wasn't a calming environment. Having recently watched an interview between Oprah and Lindsay Lohan, I couldn’t help but be reminded as I look back at this “intervention”. In the interview, they discuss Lindsay’s troublesome history with the law, drugs, and alcohol. One thing Lindsay said stuck with me: She was never ready for treatment when it felt forced or when it was actually by a judge's orders. Watching this program related me right back to years before with Davina. The entire intervention felt forced and there was a shortage of love in that room. As Bertha moved questioning into directions, it seemed as if an army sergeant was instructing orders. "You will not be leaving the country any time soon, I can tell you that. You're going to move home and we will make this all better." Something told me that moving back home would not be the solution for this manic lesbian. Perhaps she needed rehab or an assisted living, but I felt as if Bertha had no room to declare herself the best teacher.

That's when it became less about how poor the intervention was and how evil Bertha was as a mother. Blinded by her own issues, Bertha began to raise her voice: "...And what's this about you liking girls?! You are not a lesbian, but are you? It's not okay, but are you? Or, you're just confused..." And as quickly as the topic was brought up, it was immediately ignored and cast aside. I sat there dumbfounded, positioned on the floor next to Davina. So easily I could feel her heart breaking from a few feet away. My heart was breaking. Here was a girl crying out for help and love from those around her and instead she was meeting cruelty, judgment, and repression. Clearly this had something to do with Davina's sexuality, in combination with some other issues. To make a blanket statement redirecting Davina away from a life of freedom and into the closet was horrifying to watch. I lost what little respect I had for Bertha in that moment.

The "intervention" continued on for thirty minutes or so, with little said by anyone outside Bertha. I had a chill running through my body; a feeling of being filthy. Everything that came out of Bertha's mouth was vile. She kept repeating the fact that Davina could “tell us what’s really going on” while proclaiming the fate of being a lesbian as impossible. Around that thirty minute mark, Bertha decided the intervention was over. There was no agreement to treatment or real reference to drugs, past a few rough questions. Davina was like a child the whole time, screaming out random mismatched words on occasion. She wasn't in the right state of mind for an intervention. Lucky for her, this wasn't much of one. As everything concluded by Bertha's demand, my family and I left pretty quickly. There wasn't much of a conversation past goodbye pleasantries. It was strange. I felt like I just walked into an episode of 'The Twilight Zone'.

           

I could hear Rod Sterling's voice in my ear:

"There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground betweeen light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone."

The only part Mr. Sterling left out was that in this "zone" lived the Rosenthals...

The following morning, my mother took Bertha and Davina to her favorite Psychiatrist, Dr. Green. I personally think Dr. Green's a kook. He's a very conservative minded man who thinks in an "old school" kind of way. I see it more as his being outdated. He is of the mind that I choose to be gay. I am of the mind that Dr. Green chooses to be outdated. And, as a "psychiatrist", it probably makes more sense to be up to date with common theories with the psychiatric community. Those theories include, but are not limited to the existence of homosexuality and evolution. Call me crazy, but I'd rather someone from that pool of understanding prescribing me with life altering drugs, not the man who chooses to be ignorant of me. Given Davina's issues, which I was aware of first hand, I didn't think Dr. Green was the best choice. That being said, I didn't really have a say. My input was only requested until a certain point. That's the thing with both these mothers, mine and Davina's; they believe that they will and always know what's best. My thoughts are that if your child is rebelling against you and your environment, perhaps you be open to outside assistance. Somehow Courtney Love has become convinced she knows what’s best for her own daughter, but we’ve seen the mess that she is, so perhaps a mother is not always without blame.

Not to say they had to listen to me, but perhaps a GLBT-friendly Psych to start. Where was the harm in this? Given the intervention, I should have known.

After the initial meeting with Dr. Green, Bertha confronted my mother. She informed her that Sharona and myself were the cause of all of this. Davina had gone way out of control with drug use and it was by mine and my sister's hands. At least that is what Bertha told my mother. Then my mother called me. Oh, shit. This was going to be painful. My biggest fear reconnecting with Davina were the involvement of my parents in my personal affairs and now I was finding my initial reservations to be completely founded. I just about shit my pants. My mother has always treated me like a problem child, so it was almost automatic that the questioning be directed my way. My sister was mostly free of this. The interrogation began in a calm manner. When my mother reaches that calm a place from the get go, you fear her. She's like a perched lioness and you can hear the frustration and depletion in her voice. It's almost as if she had cried for hours and you’re the cause of it. How could I have hurt my mother this way? That was really the question at hand. Figuratively, not literally of course as she sat there across the phone asking me details about my life. “Do you do drugs?” “Are you currently using drugs?” She continued to ask, in a calm yet accusatory tone. “Did you get Davina high?” I lied and said no. Speaking truthfully, I never got Davina high, but I had participated in recreational drug use one evening. Davina seemed far more involved than I. My eyes never wrapped into the back of my head and I wasn’t fleeing to the Middle East claiming a family friend raped me to his school aged children. Still, I was overcome with Jewish guilt. I had introduced Davina to my friend Chester and that must have subsequently landed her here. The Jewish guilt grew intoxicating as my mother’s disapproving tone shed through the other end of the phone. I couldn't take full responsibility because Davina was an adult and I had warned her. Never was it my responsibility to do everything for this girl. We were young and stupid, getting high in our early twenties. I only did it once, though. Getting stoned on a daily basis was never the issue, especially because Davina never got involved with that.

At the time, I didn't know the extent of Davina’s drug use. I had distanced myself from her for some time then. Still walking through 'The Twilight Zone', I was unsure of what was real and what was not. After that insane mess of an intervention, I couldn't ground myself. Now, to top it off my mother was accusing me of being the cause for that terrible intervention. I assured her that this was not the case. Still, I felt uncomfortable with the entirety of the scenario. I don't believe she trusted I was telling the truth at the time.

Validating my fear, my mother approached Dr. Green in search of answers. Prior to their meeting, a few days passed and I felt my mother's disappointment with me. She channeled all of her frustrations and embarrassment into the way she spoke to me. I continued to talk to her every day as I always had, but I felt her damning disapproval. My mother didn't tell me she was planning to question Dr. Green. She didn't tell me until afterwards. Basically, as it went, my mother went to see Dr. Green. She assured him that she knew about doctor-patient confidentiality, but she had to know: Had her children been the cause of Davina's demise? Dr. Green explained that he could not break his client confidentiality and trust, however my mother should be rest assured that her children had nothing to do with Davina's issues. Her issues stretched much farther back than my sister and I.

From that moment on, my mother trusted I was telling the truth. I wouldn't have known her reasons for believing me, but of course she had to inform me that she spoke to Dr. Green. Why couldn't she trust her own son? Why couldn’t that be enough? But, again, she was more like Bertha than I had thought. Although I had told a white lie about never having done coke with Davina, I didn't then and I don't now feel responsible for her getting high. I did feel a level of responsibility at the time for introducing Chester to Davina.

This was before I knew the truth about Davina, though. At that moment, I worried that Davina blamed me and I felt terrible for bringing this pain on my mother. I looked back and regretted meeting Davina for drinks that first night at the 'Irish Pub'. Worried that my life would come back to embarrass my parents, I never wanted to meet her in the first place. I didn't want anything going back to my parents and now they feared the worst. This entire scenario presented doubt in my parents' eyes and introduced them to a new shame, that of a drug addict. I knew then and there that I was a casualty of Bertha, just as much as her daughter was. Clearly by Dr. Green's admission, Bertha was looking to post blame and she found that with me and my sister. This translated into me. Sharona could really do no wrong, so she was never a real suspect in my parents' eyes. Now my parents had another reason to treat me like a failure. It was upsetting, but I resolved to move on from it as they trusted I was not to fault in this scenario.

As the weeks passed after that, I kept firm distance from Davina. She tried to contact me once or twice, but her mother had made a clear declaration to mine that I stay away from Davina. I was not going to bring any more drama to my parents' house and clearly I was not able to help Davina; not without becoming a casualty. Having felt horrible for Davina, I didn’t think there was anything I could do at the time. During the time of separation, I began to hear things about Davina. My ears were open, so to speak, and I'm not going to lie: I was inquisitive. When Bertha blamed everything on my sister and I to my mother, she also made sure to let her know that “Raanan was lying about the lesbian stuff! Davina’s not a dyke.” Lovely. Clearly this was an angry mother who would never accept her daughter. I needed to keep my distance, but like I said, I was curious.

Shortly after the Davina incident/intervention/blame-game, I discovered some information from surrounding players within the community. It seems that growing up Davina was getting into trouble and drugs heavily. She would steal from her parents' medicine cabinets and bring pills to school. After synagogue on many Saturdays, she would bring a boatload of kids to her father's dental office/converted garage and inhale the Nitrous Oxide (aka laughing gas). I came to find out she was smoking weed in junior high school and was a notorious pot-head at the time. Here I thought I was the demise by having a bong on my coffee table. It also came to pass that she had been participating in hallucinogenic drugs and cocaine as early as high-school. Shocking to me, she had gone through many issues with drugs over the years and other kids within the community took the blame by account of Bertha. None of this was new to Davina's parents, yet they drug us through the mud as if it was the spontaneous burst of a bomb. This wasn't an unwarranted explosion, but rather a life-long problem and I was given the blame for this? I grew further disinterested with the situation. I wanted to be removed from it all.  

After all of this was exposed, my mother drew a clear distance from Bertha. She fueled her initial disappointment and shame for me into anger and rage towards Bertha. I appreciated the sense of a united front, but I kept wondering how this all had even transpired. There was no logic on the table or foresight on my part. I felt bamboozled by all of this. Confused and unsure of how any of this even began, it was just another time in my life when I looked around for the cameras filming. This couldn't be real. I was for sure living in 'The Twilight Zone'.

For a short time, Davina seemed to have popped back on the grid, like a type of good will measure. It was akin to a publicist's attempt to reform the public image of a troubled star. Davina began involved socially and throughout our synagogue. My parents would hear stories right and left, because Bertha would rave to anyone listening about Davina's success. It reminds me of the Shakespeare saying: "Though doth protest too much" meaning there was no need for all of PR campaign put on for friends and members of the community alike. I had removed Davina from my life, but my life had now crossed over into my family life. As it became very obvious to me that Bertha was lying to the world, I wanted nothing to do with this. She was forcing her daughter into a pretty little picture of how she should look. It must have been the same way Bertha raved about her daughter as I sat in the doctor's chair for years. Clearly this was not a girl who was well off, a few months after having a colossal meltdown. Whether it was a manic episode or drug induced, Davina was borderline suicidal and bouncing off the wall, struggling with her own demons. There is no way in hell that the girl who was tricked into flying home by promise of a dying father was in her right mind directly after a manic episode. No way. That's just horse shit. I don't know who Bertha was trying to please, but it was not her daughter's heart.

During this time, I was invited to a party by way of an attendee. My girlfriend Lisa from high school was invited to a party with kids we had known from school years before. This was the school I attended for the majority of my eight grade year as well as all of ninth. Davina had attended the same school, but I didn't think she would be at this party. It never once occurred to me, to be honest. Lisa wanted me to come and reconnect with kids from years earlier. The party was held at this girl Jamie's house in honor of her two-year old daughter's birthday. It didn't seem like the kind of event Davina would be present at. The last time I saw her, she was convulsing with her eyes rolled back into her skull. It didn't seem like she would be at this party. Having agreed to tag along with Lisa for the afternoon, I went in without an idea of what would come.

We showed up at the house and the festivities were set up in the backyard. Jamie was the kind of girl who started popping out kids the second she graduated high school. We all know those girls. I know many girls of the same percentile. Jamie was sweet, but completely out of touch with the world as she was caring for three little ones at the time. She was more than grateful to have a day to reconnect herself with people who had mastered the ability to walk. I know it can be very isolating with many kids, but that’s not to say Jamie's not happy. She seems very happy, but every now and again, it's nice to have interaction with adults and I think that was Jamie's intention with this party. Jamie greeted us with half open arms. She was toting around an infant in one hand and had a free hand of the other. Lisa and I were directed to the adult beverage area after meeting a few of Jamie's relatives.

Drinks in hand, Lisa and I joined a group of girls who had all attended school with us. I didn't realize at first, but it was brought to my attention rather quickly after sitting down that Davina was there as well. Directed to look over into the distant corner of the backyard, I saw her. She rocked back and forth on a rocking chair with her arm wrapped around a pretty young Indian girl, while slurping what looked like a smoothie. First and foremost, I had no intentions of engaging with Davina. After everything I had discovered, all the allegations, and the bomb-like explosion that was Davina, I had no interest. For my parents' best interest as well as my own, I knew it was best I keep my distance.

All of a sudden, Davina rose and began to approach our group. My palms began to sweat. I was afraid I may say something I shouldn't and I really did not wish to engage. Davina walked right up to me and turned to Lisa: "Hey. How are you?" Lisa and Davina exchanged pleasantries, while I sat there uncomfortably. Davina turned to me and said: "Hey Raanan. Want a taste of my slurpee?" I declined. "But, it's got alcohol in it. You'll really like it. Try it!" She began shoving the straw to her frozen beverage in my face. There was a frozen daiquiri machine at the party and it seemed popular, but I wasn't about to share Davina's drink with her. I just wanted her to leave. She sat down across from me and tried to engage me, although it was strangely combative and abrasive. Davina was very much still the same person I saw that evening she returned from Israel. Talk continued and chatter was swirling around the group seated. Every few moments, Davina would try shoving her slurpee in my direction. I politely shook my head claiming “no” at each offer. Then, completely out of the air, Davina screams to me: "C'mon, taste my smoothie. Don't be a faggot." I did not look amused. "Seriously Raanan, don't be a faggot."

I had refused to interact with her, but I was deeply offended by what she said. There is never a time – in my book – to start calling anyone such names. I stood up and told her that was unacceptable language and corrected her rather affirmatively. There was no room for discussion. She had no right to speak to me that way – plain and simple. Furthermore, as a struggling lesbian, you would think she would be more sensitive. I think she was projecting a lot of self-hatred and feelings she felt from her own family. Everyone seated seemed to take my side, arguing that there was no other side when hatred's involved. Feeling exiled, Davina rose rather quickly to leave, but not before gloating that the beautiful Indian girl seated across the yard was her girlfriend. With that, she walked away. It seemed extremely strange, following her homophobic comment towards me.

We all inevitably began to gossip about what had just occurred. It was strange to everyone seated there that day. Jamie had not heard any of the exchange and I felt it was better that way. In the meantime, Lisa had gone to the buffet station where food was laid out for guests and got to chatting with Davina's date. Lisa, feeling snarky, congratulated the young girl on her relationship to Davina. The girl stopped Lisa in her tracks: "I am not a lesbian. Davina and I are just friends." It was happening again. This felt far too much like the scenario of months prior with Julie. I felt like I had spent enough time focused on Davina that day and was itching to leave. Then Jamie approached our seated group in tears. It seems that while her infant was crying, Davina walked over to Jamie and her tear-stricken child proclaiming: "Jamie, your daughter's a Grade-A bitch. She's really just a little bitch. Shut her the fuck up." Jamie, who was still breastfeeding and not drinking that day was overcome with her hormones and broke into tears herself. The truth is that I couldn't imagine any parent holding their child, soothing them from tears, and having Davina run over, crazy off her rocker and declare their child a bitch. It was mean and tasteless, but it became apparent to me that Davina was no longer in a normal frame of mind across the board. She was a danger to those around her and I couldn't be around it at all.

I said my final goodbye to Davina that day; not directly to her face, but I made peace on my own. No longer could I be part of 'The Twilight Zone’. I knew in that moment that Davina was not going to live a good life. There was no way for her to get better with champions of such reckless behavior leaving her be. I knew she was on a destructive path to death with her parents behind the steering wheel. This was horribly sad to watch, but I had to walk away; there was nothing I could do. Davina only had down to go. I did not wish this for her. In fact, it was quite the opposite: I wished her only the best and hoped that help may come. With that said, I knew it was time for me to say goodbye. I felt strongly that her parents were going to kill her and I felt helpless, so I walked away that day.

Over the years, I heard very little of Davina, other than that she had moved to Miami and was attending Law School. Davina, being a brilliant mind and studious student never seemed to have a problem with school. It seemed as if that was her parents’ best attempt to hide the pain and demons: put Davina back in school. Continuing to stay away, I heard little else. Then, all the while, my mother became friends with Bertha. This level of betrayal wasn't new for my mother, but it hurt nonetheless. She told me that she had resolved from her anger towards Bertha and had now forgiven her and kept her as a friend in a limited capacity. I kept wondering: "What about me? She attacked your son and placed unnecessary blame on him, yet you can be her friend?" It made no sense to me and I was hurt, but not overly surprised. Still I kept my distance from Davina, and hurt internally from the betrayal of my mother.         

About a year or so ago, I received a phone call from a friend I hadn't heard from in years: "Davina Rosenthal passed away last night." It was that finite and irreversible. This was horribly sad; and in that moment, my heart was broken again. I had said goodbye to Davina so many years before, the same way one must say goodbye to an addict when they've lost them to the war. While the true story may never be exposed, the official story is that Davina had a heart attack in the middle of the night. What gets left out of the story was the fact that prescription pills had caused the onset of her heart attack. Either way, she left the world before her thirtieth birthday. I was overcome with sadness for Davina and her struggles.

As the days went on, countless former classmates and members of the synagogue we grew up in reached out to me. On the surface, everyone seemed sad and overwhelmed, clenching to connect with memories of nostalgia feeling the gaping hole left by Davina's absence. I collected further information about Davina's state of mind leading up to her departure. As it went, it seems she had been active on Facebook for the weeks prior to her passing. She was ranting and raving erratically online, threatening suicide and shaming the world. Hearing this, it was quite obvious that Davina was crying out for help and no one around her seemed to do anything. In the end, she was brought home, to the source of all of her pain and struggle. Knowing this, I fear it was worst for her at the end. When I look back at the events surrounding her passing, I can't help but feel anger towards her parents, feeling they should be held responsible for this young girl's demise. I knew there was a struggling heart beneath all of the pain and destruction. Davina was a beautiful person who never had a chance, unfortunately. Her parents seemed to fight her up until the end. They played the roles of grieve-stricken parents excellently, but I knew that they did not care for their little girl like she deserved.

As people continued to contact me, popping up out of nowhere, I began frustrated with my incoming e-mails. People needed a place to deal with their guilt and they found the human need to connect. The problem, I found, was that many of these individuals were bullies to me as a child and were not there for Davina when she needed them. I was not going to be anyone's easy way out of guilt. This was one of multiple stories of children lost within my community, and I blame everyone involved for the somber results. I say this not from a place of anger, but more so a place of awareness, and had Davina been awarded certain freedoms to be herself and a loving, nurturing environment, perhaps things would have gone differently.

Because I did not feel a need to connect in healing my guilt, I was brazen and direct in explaining the strange nature of these received e-mails. I confronted many childhood bullies for their part in my sad youth. As I received apologies, which was never the intention of my responses, I grew more frustrated for Davina and felt less of a connection with the place that we came from. In combination with her parents, I felt the community had killed Davina.

After I had hit my frustration level with e-mails, I received a long e-mail from Davina's best friend Naomi. We hadn't known each other well since we were little, but when Davina and I had reconnected, I remember Naomi was a part of her life. Naomi was a practicing Orthodox Jew and a married lady, no doubt. She was everything Bertha wished Davina to be. Bertha always promoted their friendship. Due to this and Naomi's placement within the community, I lashed out in response to her e-mail. She wrote me a message in an attempt to connect over this dear friend's death. I assumed that Naomi didn't know the true Davina like I had and was therefore under the illusion of Bertha and the demon dentist. Feeling like it was my duty to chastise these members of the community, I wrote a heavy response explaining why I would not step foot at that funeral, detailing the horrendous events that led to Davina's demise brought on by her parents and an uninvolved community. I explained that I had made an amends with Davina's future years before, having already said goodbye.

While I was anticipating an angry e-mail in response, I found the opposite. Naomi wrote me a heart-felt apology for my loss and detailing her own trouble coming to terms with what occurred. She confided that she knew everything that I did and had only wished Davina could live her life. Here this religious woman who lives her life by the cloth understood, on a human level, the need for Davina to be different and supported her. I sat in front of my computer monitor and cried profusely as I read through her e-mail. Davina's legacy and life had not been lost by account of her parents. There was at least one other person who knew the truth; another person who loved her. I found comfort in her honesty and I finally felt that much needed connection sought by our peers. Naomi and I continued to e-mail back and forth, sharing fond memories from Davina's life. It was beautiful and helped me to make peace with this precious soul's passing.

Naomi was preparing a eulogy for the funeral and although I would not be present, I felt like Davina's story was safe in the arms of her dear friend. I knew that whether or not Naomi spoke about the truth, she would speak highly of her friend and give a beautiful tribute. This didn't make it any less shock or any less sad of a situation, but I felt a certain sense of relief. I felt like Davina finally made peace. She could finally rest, rather than living under the critical eye of parents that never deserved her.

This whole story left a foul taste in my mouth. It started with this Twilight Zone of a community that I grew up from. The Rosenthal family played a game of deception within an unruly town. Neither Dr. Rosenthal and Bertha nor our community were free of pain and judgment. This was a place where it was not okay to be gay. People back home still poke their noses up when my name comes up. Sure, the world is far more progressive than it was those years ago when I came out, however it is not something with a place in that world. Here I was subscribing to a doctor for further "parnasa" within our community. We never stopped to examine whether we were being treated rightly or if it was a positive environment. Instead, this word - "parnasa" - dominated my childhood. As religion dominated any and all decisions that came our way, "Parnasa" was often at the epicenter. One's "Parnasa", most easily translated as one's "livelihood", refers to their profession or that which supplies food for one's family. Looking back, I see that Dr. Rosenthal, was not working to supply "livelihood" for his family. Instead, by keeping it within the community, I can't help but think that we enabled Davina's demise...

And so ends another episode of My Twilight Zone, along with Davina’s Story…

Xoxo.

R.

DAVINA'S STORY, PART 2.

(Part 2.)

Following our strange meeting with Davina, the dentist’s daughter, my sister Sharona and I made future plans with this girl. She was a pill popping mess, so clearly we wouldn’t have a problem hanging out with her. Imagine meeting Amy Winehouse for a round of shots when you expected a dinner with Margaret Thatcher. That was the strange dynamic with so many of the formerly religious kids from our suppressive cult-like world of Orthodox Judaism. Most of my peers from childhood had developed into substance abusers and mental cases. I had heard for years from Davina’s mother Bertha that she was pretty much a MENSA member on the path to being our first lady president. This gave me anxiety and kept me abstaining from such a meeting. After an evening of drinks as this girl threw back Vicodin that were prescribed by her father, Sharona and I realized this was not the meeting we had come to expect. Sharona and I made future plans with Davina, feeling comfortable adding her to our lives.

We hung out a few more times with Davina, still testing the waters. Going out for drinks and having girl talk, I began to reconnect with my childhood friend. It was as if we were playing with Barbies and Polly Pockets once again. Still hesitant to talk about my love for marijuana, I kept our encounters strictly alcohol related. Davina always had a slew of prescription pills in tow, but her father the dentist had written the scripts for these, so it didn’t raise concern. In actuality, it made me more comfortable with her as she was clearly not the goody two-shoes her mother had spoken of. Eventually, my sister and I decided to extend Davina an invitation to our home.

At the time, being the TV junkies that Sharona and I still are today, we had certain Television programs in place and often had friends over to share in the viewing. My sister's favorite show of the time, which has since grown to become one of my favorite series ever, was the Showtime program 'The L Word'. The scripted cable program followed the lives of a group of young and attractive Lesbians in Los Angeles. We’re talking insanely beautiful, well-dressed, groomed, and successful lipstick lesbians touring the city. This was the furthest from my experiences with the lesbian community of Philadelphia, but the girls I knew didn’t have a production crew to put them together. I quickly connected with the show after Sharona introduced me to it and began hosting a specified viewing for the program that continued until it left the air. One Sunday, I invited Davina to our apartment to take part in the viewing party. 

At the time, Davina was dating a variety of men, but nothing seemed strange to me about including her in this weekly ritual. Sharona was not gay, yet she loved 'The L Word'. It was my sister's favorite show, so what was to say it couldn’t be every straight girl’s favorite program? ‘The L Word’ was an infectious program that glamorized beauty, lesbians, and Los Angeles. As an escape, I truly marveled in the program. Inviting Davina, I thought there seemed to be no harm in this. Davina arrived at our home with a bottle of wine and we welcomed her warmly. We had grown to become friends and I was letting my guard down. I had a water pipe - a glorious specimen of a bong - laying out on our coffee table with my weed supply close by. I was inviting Davina into our lives and enjoying this new friendship. It was encouraging to know that we still connected as friends.

Still, there was a strange disconnect with Davina, between the girl I grew up with and the woman before me. Davina wasn't as bright eyed and happy as she once was, but came across somewhat jaded and determined. Enter her love of “happy pills” and their recreational use. Something seemed to have changed over the years, but I knew I had changed as well. I have always nurtured friends who seem to be lost souls, feeling an inner need to bring them happiness. While I was getting along so well with Davina, I sensed that she was struggling internally. By mannerisms alone, I saw something hurting inside her and the nurturer in me wanted to help. I allowed myself to open up to her and I liked her for a feeling of nostalgia. This was a friendship deeper rooted than the new ones I had acquired since leaving home. I was somehow changing the dynamic with a child from my town. As it was very deep rooted and unsettling to open myself up to another kid from my community, this marked a new step for me. Because I was cast out so unfairly as a child, I was always somewhat untrusting of the children I grew up with. Additionally, like I mentioned in Part 1 of this post, I feared certain details making way back to my parents. I was still very much a child at heart and was horribly fearful of damning judgment from my parents. And I felt as if Davina trusted and liked me, which made it more necessary for me to bridge this friendship. Because I felt she trusted me, I continued into this friendship feeling it was going to be a two-way street.

Coming over for a night of lesbian TV, we didn’t curb our home for Davina. I had my water bong out in plain-view and the house had a certain fog of marijuana circulating. Walking into our home, Davina made no mention of the pipe, other than to remark on its beautiful hand-crafted glass-blown details. I let out a sigh and corked the bottle of wine she had brought. We enjoyed the evening and Davina was quickly engulfed in the program, along with my sister and I. Following this evening, we began to have Davina over every Sunday for 'The L Word' viewing parties, sometimes with other friends and sometimes just the three of us. Sharona began her own friendship with Davina, going bar-hopping and to Jewish events in hopes of finding each other men, respectively. Davina began tagging along with me as I frequented gay bars in Philly. She became the perfect "fruit fly" to accompany my drunken evenings. Davina had really developed into a gorgeous woman at this point. She was tall, thin, and athletic, with curves in all the right places, and had a gorgeous mug. That was another funny "change" about Davina. Years prior, she had undergone two different surgeries to fix the appearance of her nose. This was pressured by her mother Bertha, of course, wanting her daughter to be prettier than she felt she already was.

Prior to reconnecting, I had heard rumors that the most recent nose was unflattering and uncomfortable to view. I had been anxious to see the results in our first meeting at the 'Irish Pub'. The reason I didn't make much mention of it earlier was that her popping the Vicodin freely within the first ten minutes of meeting was far more memorable than her new nose. Honestly, though, Davina was still a striking girl with a gorgeous face. This does shed more light on Bertha's constant pressure over her daughter to improve upon herself, seeing as she was fine before the two procedures. As we grew closer, I was given a deeper glimpse into Davina's life and Bertha only became more of a monster to me. Something about me and Sharona really accessed a certain place in Davina. With time, she became more and more trusting of us and explained that she felt like she was in a non-pressured environment when at our home. As she began to open up more and more, one thing kind of slipped out.

Davina had more in common with 'The L Word' than my sister or myself. It started slowly, but grew into an admission of love. Finally came her admission: Davina loved women and always had. She wasn't ready to fully submerge herself in the life and the culture, but she wanted to meet a girl and see where it went. When Davina was with me, I implored her to feel comfortable and open. She began obsessing with 'The L Word' alongside Sharona and I. Davina began talking openly about what she wanted in a woman and continued to attend gay bars with me, but no longer as my straight girlfriend tagging along. Sharona even accompanied Davina to 'Sisters Nightclub', a lesbian bar in the Philly Gay-borhood. We accepted Davina fully and our friendship had grown. I felt proud and happy that I was able to help another member of the fold. By member of the fold, I am referring to a fellow gay. This was a combining ingredient that we both shared. I began to understand Davina's struggle even more. Not to be stereotypical, but Davina exhibited a lot of gender placement issues that a lot of gay children do. I know I did. Davina was an athletic tomboy that seemed to make better friends with boys than girls as a child. Her mother, Bertha, was never accepting of this and spent her entire childhood challenging her innate personality and desires. As an adult, Bertha continued to push Davina with different pressures that included an eating disorder and multiple experiences under the knife. Davina's struggles were so easily relatable to me that I only wanted to be her biggest cheerleader.

As our friendship grew, Davina became enthralled with the world of partying. I go through "fits" or "phases" where I can go out a lot, but first and foremost, I'm a homebody type of introvert. Preferring my "me time" at home, I’m not an avid partier. It's one of the reasons I have had such a love of marijuana over the years: it keeps me out of trouble and planted on the couch. During the beginning of our reconnecting friendship, I went out a lot with Davina. Our relationship was new and exciting and I had the opportunity to introduce her to a brand new world. I was glee-filled to be part of her coming-out process. That being said, I've always been an old man at heart and I had already spent years partying. I no longer wanted to go out every night. This was my time to start settling down and reigning it back a bit. Davina was not looking to slow down; not one bit.

I had introduced Davina to my friend Chester one night, while out at 'Bump', a bar in the gay-borhood. The venue - 'Bump' - was a regular spot for me when I went out and very much known throughout the Philly gay scene as a coke bar. There was limited security and easy access to bathroom stalls with maximum capacity of three to four people. I often went there to drink, but if I wanted cocaine, that was the bar to be at.  

All it took was a glance around the room before you spotted at least one drug dealer. From there, it was just a short trip to the back corner of the bar for an ATM machine. With cash in hand, you would go meet your dealer and exchange a few bucks for a baggie filled with white powder. Bag in hand, you would collect your friends and head to the restroom, where you snort some powder together in the stall. A key to the nose with a mound of white powder on top, then a quick snorted inhale brings you to a whole new place. The venue definitely delivered on its promise.

Now, while I knew that an evening with cocaine or "Conny" as she's called on the streets could be an inevitability in a place like 'Bump', it was also a fashionable, posh nightclub in the Philly Gay-borhood. I could easily go there for a night of drinking and that is just what Davina and I planned on for our evening. We wanted a night of drinking, debauchery, and model scouting. It was a harmless evening of fun as I would agree to once a week or so with Davina, at that time. A couple drinks into our evening, Chester showed up at the bar alone. Chester was a gay friend of mine who had grown up in a neighboring town within South Jersey. We hadn't known each other growing up, but had met years since coming out. Chester and I had unresolved sexual tension that had manifested into a snarky flirtation over the years. We would hang out sporadically, but there was often heavy partying involved. Chester had been nicknamed "Scarface" among friends for his insatiable love of cocaine. I have never had a problem with coke, so it never seemed problematic. That being said, I knew that if I committed to an evening with Chester, such things were inevitable. He wasn't nick-named "Scarface" for nothing. Still, we hung out sporadically and I could easily be friendly in public without engaging in drugs.

Davina, up until this point, seemed innocent when it came to drugs. She may have enjoyed her fair share of prescriptions (Vicodin was only one of so many prescriptions she had acquired, admittedly by her father), but she never engaged in smoking pot with me and Sharona and never spoke of other drugs. My assumption was that she was innocent of such things. I did not want to corrupt her. Seeing as I could go out for an evening with coke and be fine another six months without it, I didn’t want to bring Davina into this world. What if she couldn’t handle it? Or worse, what if she loved it too much? Chester and Davina instantly hit it off at the bar and had a good time conversing that evening. At one point, Chester got a call from a friend and left to go blow lines. Davina did not know this was his reason for leaving, but kept raving about him late into the night. I warned her that he may not be the person she wants to hang out with. Explaining that he was more of an acquaintance, I urged Davina to keep him at arm’s length. I knew that Davina was still going through her "coming out" process and was highly vulnerable to drugs. Watching many around me succumb to drug abuse within the gay community during the coming out process, I was fearful Davina may fall into this. I did not want to see her demise, not having known whether or not she could be a recreational user like myself or turn into an addict. Obvious to me, it was clear that she had unresolved issues with her parents and hadn't fully come out yet, so I felt I had to protect her. Davina promised she would keep distance from Chester.

As the weeks went on, I continued to decline Davina’s constant invitations to Happy Hour and evenings at the bars. I wasn't looking to go out every night, but Davina was not of the same mind. She was completely submerged in the partying lifestyle. In response to my lack of availability, Davina began hanging out with Chester. While I had hoped she would not get into drugs, I also knew that she was a grown adult, able to make her own choices. It wasn't my place to tell her how to live her life, but I was hopeful she would make good choice. Within no time at all, Davina began to grow close with Chester and his two best girlfriends. Erin and Julie – two gorgeous straight girls – spent a lot of time with Chester and now they were with Davina as well. I understood the draw to Davina. Many lesbians that I knew at the time, along with today, have a strong predilection for the company of straight girls. Add a hot straight girl to the mix and they have no restraint. It is most equivalent to the ultimate challenge. “Can I change her?” Or better yet, “How long will it take to seduce her?” The four of them would bar-hop frequently and I was constantly turning down invitations to spend time with their group. All four of them were going out very frequently. Close to every night they found themselves at ‘Bump’. I was far more concerned with work and my TV schedule to be bothered with that.     

One specific Saturday night, I agreed to go out with the four of them. I remember it like it was yesterday. Arriving at 'Bump' by myself, I came to meet Davina and her new crew post-dinner. They had been drinking since earlier in the afternoon and were continuing to usher liquor into the evening. I hadn't eaten much that day and by my second cocktail, I was pretty drunk. There were two possibilities for course of action in this scenario. Option one, I would go home and pass out. The second option entailed me finding coke to sober myself up. I was somewhat above the partying nature of life at the time, but I wasn’t completely resolved from it. The thing about cocaine is that while you are drinking, the combination often makes you feel more lucid and aware. Not sober, but the closest thing to it. It ensures a night full of drinking without overly sloppy behavior. As I sat at a booth in the back corner of this bar, Chester turned to me and said: "Want some yay?" "Yay" or "Yayo" is a slang term often associated with cocaine. My gut response at the time: "Yes to Yay." As Chester rose from his seat, I followed closely behind him. I had been pretty drunk, so I didn't really notice the rest of the party. As we filed into the handicapped bathroom stall, Chester pulled out a key and his baggie and shoved that bump right under my nose. As I snorted my instant fix, I became slightly more coherent. Looking around the bathroom stall, I noticed Erin, Julie, and Davina. Was this what she was doing with Chester all those nights they went out? Had I introduced her to this life? I became overwhelmed with guilt, taking personal responsibility for her involvement. I rushed to Davina's side and asked her if she was okay. She told me to "loosen up" as she took a key bump to the nose.

The night continued in the same fashion. The five of us would drink profusely at our corner booth and take frequent trips to the bathroom every twenty to thirty minutes in order to enjoy a little more Cuban export. There came a time where I felt finished with the evening and bid my adieu to the entire party involved. Davina stayed with her group. That was one of the last evenings we spent together as friends.

Later that evening, after I had left, Davina and Julie began flirting intensely. This is by Davina's account as I was not there. As their evening began to come to a close, Davina and Julie stayed at the bar, while Erin and Chester left for the night. Davina and Julie partied well past closing, when the lights come on. They packed into Davina's car and headed to Julie's house. As they approached Julie's apartment building, Davina parked the car. All of a sudden, Julie pounced on Davina. They began kissing profusely with lots of passion. Again, this was by Davina's account, because I imagine it to have been a sloppy, messy kiss at "last call". From that moment on, Davina became obsessed with Julie. She would call me all throughout the day and profess her love, explaining that they were intended for one another. I heard a very different story when I spoke to Chester. From his and Julie’s accounts, it was a playful kiss between two friends, and therefore I questioned Davina. She had never fallen for a straight girl, at least not this openly. I have seen with experience that many times when a straight girl is drunk, they are more than welcome to share a kiss with anything in sight. This is not a blanket statement for all straight women, just many that I've known. What Julie had told Chester was that she had been blackout drunk and shared a sloppy exchange of saliva. That was it; plain and simple.

Davina saw it far differently and began stalking Julie. She would drive to her work during the day and stare at her office from the parking lot. Davina would frequent any place that she knew Julie would go from her grocery store to the Yoga studio she attended. As a friend, it made me worried for Davina. I knew she was heading down a bad road, but she wasn't open to outside opinions. It was rather manic of her, but I didn't realize it at the time. This was her first taste of lesbian love, but it was very one-sided. I just thought it was a little straight girl lust and that she had misinterpreted this girl's actions for feelings. As Davina grew more frantic with her obsession, both Sharona and I pulled away. She was only looking to party and chase this girl and nothing good was coming from our friendship at that time. I assumed I would be there when her heart was broken to help build her back up. Warning Davina about Chester was not enough to keep her from going down a bad path. I know this now, but if someone’s looking for trouble, they generally find it. There didn’t seem to be a way to care for Davina in the way a friend would. She was going down her own chosen path to destruction and I became a bit of a nagging mother type, always trying to help her make better choices. Our distance became somewhat two-sided as Davina grew tired of my opinions.

Then one evening I received a call from Davina, late into the night. It was one or two in the morning and Davina was livid. "Julie and I got into a fight. She hit me." What? How could this have happened? What the fuck happened? Davina went on to explain – in quite the manic rant – that she and Julie had experienced their first lover's quarrel. It escalated quickly and ended with Davina falling down a flight of stairs by Julie’s push. I pleaded with Davina: "Take this as a break up. Things should never resort to violence. You're hurt and sad. This is not a healthy relationship." But, Davina was just angry. She was still in love with Julie and just wanted to vent.

 The following morning I received a phone call from Chester with the real story. It seems that Julie and Erin had thrown a party. The two were roommates and it was more Erin's party than anything else. Chester and Davina were among a group of people invited. No one involved in their group knew of Davina's stalking ways at the time. There were fifteen to twenty people there, including a guy that Julie had a massive crush on. About an hour into the evening, Julie wasn't feeling very well and had work in the morning. She excused herself so that she could retire to bed for the evening. A few moments after she left the room, Davina followed her in. This was something that the entire party had viewed, including the boy Julie was interested in. This was Julie's last straw. While she didn't know of Davina's stalker ways entirely, she was spending far too much time with her and sensing a strange vibe. Almost instantly upon Davina's entry into the bedroom, Julie began to lash out at her, screaming loud enough for everyone to hear: "I am not a lesbian! I like dick. You're psychotic! Get out of my room!" To make matters worse, Davina was heard pleading with Julie: "You love me. We're in love! Don't do this to US." Julie began to wrestle Davina in an attempt to force her immediate exit. As they fought, Davina would not succumb. In the end, Davina was thrown down a flight of stairs from their two-story walk up apartment.

When the morning approached, Davina went to her doctor and found that she had broken her arm. Despite all of this, Davina still stuck to her story that she and Julie were in love and continued to stalk her. I realized that while I couldn't make sense of the whole story, I was not assisting it either. No longer could I stand by and watch my friend go down such a downward spiral. I didn’t know how to get her help. Her own family was very much part of where her pain originated, so a call home to Bertha or Dr. Rosenthal couldn’t amount to anything. It became apparent to me that I would need an indefinite amount of space from Davina. Unable to help her situation, I couldn't be a part of it either. A few months went by and Davina began to fade from my life. I felt horrible guilt and sadness for having to turn my back, but I didn't know what I could do. Feeling like we were both adults, it was Davina's choice whether or not to reach out to her parents. I was not going to make that decision for her, given where she came from. Her father was a man that still instills fear in me up until this day from his abusive nature in the dental office. I can't imagine how hard it was for her.

I wasn't judging Davina or finding fault with her actions. We were just in different places and I wasn't a positive influence for her. Time continued to carry on with a deeper divide. It had been months since myself or Sharona had spoken with Davina. Chester was more of an acquaintance and I wasn’t going out much myself, so it was easy not to hear from him either. Then, one day, Bertha called my mother. Davina had flown to Israel on a whim, amidst a lot of manic behavior. She was staying with a family we had grown up with in Cherry Hill, who had since moved to Israel. It seems she was speaking erratically while stationed with this family, explaining that she was going to travel to Egypt, Jordan, and many other places throughout the Middle East that were unfriendly to Jews. Not only that, but Davina claimed she had met "the one", referring to an Israeli soldier she had known from years prior. The soldier in question was a man. I knew already that this was crazy talk because Davina was a lesbian. I didn't share this with her parents at that time. Davina planned to marry this soldier and travel to these deathly places of war. The family she was staying with forbid Davina from leaving for such forbidden territories.

As a result, Davina formulated a story that the patriarch of this family that was showing her such hospitality had raped her. Not to minimize the story, but Davina was not in a clear state of mind at the moment. The family reported to Bertha that Davina seemed high and uncontrollable, clearly on some form of drug. Davina was scaring this family's young children telling them that their father had raped her. It was highly inappropriate and someone needed to come get Davina.

Bertha confided this all in my mother, asking both me and Sharona for added support. We had already stopped hanging out with Davina and didn't have a lot of input to assist the situation. Bertha, always concerned with the outside appearance and opinion of her peers, sought my mother's assistance as an outsider of the community, afraid to share anything occurring with those closest to her. It was strange that my mother was present for such a serious family emergency. My mother and Bertha were never great friends, so it just appeared very odd to all of us. Bertha had reached out to Davina and she had no interest coming home. A plan was devised in collaboration with my mother and Davina's parents. They would inform Davina that her father, Dr. Rosenthal, had a heart attack and was now lying in a hospital bed on life support. It was a sick and twisted lie, but the only thing they could think of to persuade Davina to return home. Davina's initial reaction proved her inability to process information correctly at the time. "Who cares? He'll be okay." This was shocking to all of us and the only thing Bertha could do was insist Davina come home as it may be her last chance to see her own father.

Davina was on a flight back to the states, arriving at the Newark International Airport. The plan of attack was as follows: My mother and Bertha would drive to the airport together and collect Davina. Sharona and I would come in from Philadelphia for the evening and be present for an intervention along with Dr. Rosenthal and her brother Seth, who had traveled home from college. I did not know how Sharona and I got pulled into this intervention. We were young and unprepared for this. It was the last place on earth that I wanted to be and I know Sharona felt similarly. The truth is that I also felt a certain sense of responsibility in the situation. I couldn't feel any other way. Having cared for this girl when her parents wouldn’t, I saw the pain and demons she was battling with. Overwhelmed with a sense of Jewish guilt, I couldn’t help but feel responsible for not reaching out to help her. I didn't know where to go. Out of a sense of obligation and my mother's declaration for my mandatory presence, I agreed to attend. Somehow Sharona and I had been talked into being present for an intervention. We didn’t know what was to come…

Bertha and my mother arrived at the airport and picked up Davina. My sister and I began receiving text messages from my mother informing us of Davina's state of mind. Davina was talking in crazy rants and didn't seem to be sober. On the drive back to Cherry Hill, the three of them had stopped at a restaurant for a small bite. It was meant in an attempt to calm Davina down and prolong the fearful intervention start time. My mother called my sister and I from the bathroom at the restaurant. "Davina's high out of her mind. Her eyes are rolling in the back of her head and she's not making any sense. I'm sorry you're both going to have to be present for this. I don't know how we got involved." This only bred more anxiety for myself and Sharona. We were eating dinner with my father at my parents' home in Cherry Hill, waiting for our cue to head over to the Rosenthals. After my mother called from the bathroom, we all agreed it was time to head over.

As we walked up to the Rosenthal's home, I realized that I hadn't been inside the house since I was a young child. Sure, I was in their converted garage/dental space, but it had a separate entrance and I hadn't been offered entry to their home in years. I remembered a home filled with lavish decorations and fun. As a child, I was always envious of their wealth as well as their home when I was younger. As I walked in the home on this evening, as a grown adult, I saw something completely different. The rooms seemed dark with an unhealthy feeling of loneliness and desperation. The house seemed unused and no longer updated with that modern feel of so many years ago. There was a stale taste in the air and it made me feel more anxious and uncomfortable for what was yet to pass. Sharona and I sat in silence for a half hour or so with Dr. Rosenthal and Seth. All I wanted was to be home and comfortable in front of the TV, preferably stoned. This was not my definition of a fun night; quite the contrary. After a bit of stale moments in the Rosenthal home, we received a text message from my mother informing us that they were approaching the house. Sharona and I came outside, while Dr. Rosenthal and his son stayed within the confines of their home.

Sharona and I sat on the porch chairs out front of the Rosenthal home and waited for the car to approach. As a van pulled up to the driveway, we could hear screaming from a distance away. The side door swung open and Davina threw herself to the cement pavement, screaming: "You fucking bitch! You lied to me!" Davina was yelling at her mother repeatedly. Minutes before their return home, Bertha informed Davina that her father was no longer in the hospital as it became evident they were not approaching a health care facility. Davina became enraged, feeling manipulated and lied to, possibly triggering childhood issues. My mother seemed to represent a sense of calm to Davina and she aligned herself with her in the car. Once they returned home and Davina threw herself towards the pavement, my mother instantly grabbed Sharona and I, begging for our assistance.

Davina ran over to a patch of grass on their front lawn and became positioned in a rocking style with her legs crossed, seemingly incoherent. Her eyes were rolling towards the back of her head and nothing that she was saying made any clear sense. "I found my man and my parents took him away from me!" To which, I responded: "But, Davina, you're gay. Right?" Davina couldn't address my statement, clearly out of her mind. Instead she continued to harp on the idea that she was robbed of her freedoms and ability to marry by being drug home. She didn't address her allegations of rape or erratic behavior, but focused on her anger towards her parents. While she was not speaking coherently, it still became obvious that her disdain for both parents was well-warranted. There was half a pack of Parliament Lights seated in the grass next to Davina, providing her with the nicotine sticks that she was manically chain-smoking. I was pretty traumatized at the moment as I had never seen someone like this before me. There was no clear direction as to what she may or may not have ingested – drug wise – but Davina was out of her mind. As she rocked back and forth on the grass, smoking cigarettes, her eyes could not focus. She was like a possessed creature, something right out of the Exorcist. I was scared and nervous, waiting for her head to spin and spit out green bile. Everything about this scenario seemed jaw-dropping and strange. I had never known Davina to be like this, let alone smoking cigarettes. Sharona and I both smoked at the time, but not Davina. Had it been that long since we spent time with her last? She seemed like a completely different person. She was incoherent, angry, and most obviously acting crazy. She kept informing Sharona and I of her plans to go back to the Middle East before the close of the week. This was not a lucid person.

            

Ironically enough, as we sat there watching Davina chain-smoke and go crazy as a result of her overbearing parents, I never saw the parallels. True, Davina did not feel comfortable coming clean with her parents, but here my sister and I could not even smoke a cigarette. My parents knew we both smoked for years now, but it was looked down upon and we were shamed into doing it in secret. It was not a secret however, and like so many other things, I had to keep it out of my parents' sight. This was one of many things I had to curb for my parents. I see now the extreme parallels, but not at the time.

After an hour or so, we coerced Davina to enter the house. Leading Davina into the house, she found her father seated in his Lazy-Boy recliner. She instantly became enraged, realizing that her father had never been sick. As she began to protest, Bertha informed her that she was in a place of love and support. The truth is that despite my family's hesitation, we were all under the impression that this was an intervention founded on love and warmth. Davina had flown off the wall and needed to be reined in. Prior to the intervention, I shared certain details with Bertha regarding Davina's life and her story with Julie, believing her mother just wanted what was best for her. Isn't that what all mothers want? Or, at least, isn't that what all mothers should want?

            Boy was I wrong… The intervention to follow was one of the single most uncomfortable experiences of my life. Wait for part 3 of this sordid story, where you will see a mother’s love is not always what’s best. At least not in Davina’s case. Stay tuned…

Xoxo.

R.