This Is Not Your Average Church Lady Read!

I love God. I'm a woman. I'm deeply spiritual. And, I'm human. These were my initial thoughts as I read Jenna Johnson's "Sins of the Flesh".

This short story began with a curious woman named, Lily. She was beautiful, devout, and yet felt a rage of guilt because of her love for God and his Word.

Now, since the story is short, I won't go into further details of whom she meets, and why, without giving any spoilers. But I will say, there's a "Lily" in all of us. We want to do and live right through our religious values, and yet, there comes a time when our journeys steer us in unexpected directions - sometimes for good and sometimes not so good. Yet, through it all, we lived and learned through challenges and temptations.

This book may not be for everyone. And some probably won't get the premise of the story without questioning the author's intentions.

However, as a writer myself, I respect innovative minds that goes against the status quo and understands the complexities of an imperfect life.

I give Johnson's book 4.8 stars, which I'll round it to a solid five because this story deserves some praise.

No, wait. I didn't mean to phrase that way.

I meant: This book deserves A LOT of praise!

No pun intended, of course.

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Dreamwalker

By Priscilla Danita Robinson

Lips were suddenly on my neck; that spot on my neck where my pulse could be felt the strongest. The spot that a mate was drawn to by some invisible force that begged him to mark me as his own. I whimpered as I felt his tongue dash out, licking the spot in preparation for the initial bite all the while our bodies were still connected. Finally, my mate was here, the other half of my soul. He pounded inside me, stroking the flames of my inner inferno. His size stretched me, claimed me, demanded pleasure that I wasn't sure I could provide but was helpless to deny. Higher and higher the flames grew. Harder and faster he went. My legs instantly wrapped around his waist. My heels dug into his buttocks, my arms grabbed on to his. Sweat rolled down my body leaving a trail between my breasts, across my stomach, and past my navel until it disappeared between my legs. I felt my inner muscles clamp down; shrinking as if the tightness was trying to hold him into me forever. My canines elongated. The hands I had used to pull him close shifted into claws. My control was gone. Finally my wolf could truly run free. I smiled realizing that he too had started a half shift lost in the sensations. My climax was so close I could taste its sweetness and just like that I woke up.

This was so completely frustrating. As a wolf shifter, I should completely understand what was going on with me. After all, I had been dreaming of my life’s mate for the past six years. It was normal to first meet in a dream. What wasn't normal was that in the six years I have been dreaming of him, I wasn't one step closer to finding out who he was. I went to the elders, begged for advice but the reply was always the same: when the time was right, our physical selves would catch up with our spiritual. The problem with that was I was in heat and being unmated and in heat spelled disaster in every language I knew. The thought of living through a week of constant arousal alone made me want to cry. However, the mere thought of a substitution other than my mate made me sick. Once mated, the touch of another male would have negative effects on my health. Until I was mated, however, I was free to wolf around with whoever I saw fit. Unfortunately, no one told my wolf that. Ever since she scented her mate, dream world or not, no one else caught her attention. This was becoming one long week and it had just begun. When we met in my dreams tonight, I was going to take matters into my own hands.

I can't believe I did it. For the past six years I was always awoken in my dreams to my mate thrusting inside me. If there had been foreplay prior to that throbbing sensation, my mind must have closed it out, only revealing the exact moment where our bodies became one. Tonight was different though. Tonight, I searched for him and found him asleep not quite yet prepared to journey into my mind. Slowly, I lowered myself next to him, kissing from him neck to earlobe. I nipped lightly but firmly enough to cause a reaction. His body began to awaken even as his mind had yet to awaken for me. Firmly, I grabbed hold of his shaft and began to stroke up and down, amazed at how quickly it went from soft to steel. In my previous dreams, passionate, yet brief, I never had the chance to explore him so I took the time to visually explore every inch of his body. In my fascination, I didn’t even realize that he had awakened and was staring at me both confused and pleased at the same time. Just when I was leaning in to taste him, he whispered a moan that caused me to momentarily stop in my tracks. I recovered quickly, smiling like a child who was just caught trying to sneak a sweet treat before dinner. He rolled on top of me and kissed me. A kiss that turned the power off in my brain while increasing the senses directly connected to my core. I felt the liquid pool between my legs until it had no choice but to flow down. An arousal I felt sure he could smell. After all, I was counting on it. I needed him to understand the urgency of finding me. I needed him. My body craved him to fill the void that only a mate could. Releasing my mouth he latched on to a nipple, sucking it so hard it sent a shock to my clitorus making me squirm. Not one to ignore, he used one hand to tweak my other nipple while using his other hand to pinch and pull my aroused button. I'd cum like this with him before so I wasn't afraid I would miss my chance if I gave in to the orgasm rushing towards me. I cried out as he slipped two fingers inside me, caressing a spot I had yet to find on my own and sent me flying over the edge. When I regained the ability to think, he was already inside me exacting slow, lazy strokes. The time came to confess my need, while he was distracted by our passion but not yet overwhelmed. "I need you mate." I whispered. We had spoken before but it was always with the purpose of heightening the moment. "Need? Hard (he thrust harder), fast (he thrust faster). Tell me mate. Ask and you shall have." Well, since he put it that way. "I need you to find me," and at the moment I pressed my fingers on my sweetness hurrying me to a climax that snatched me from my dream world. I awoke sexually frustrated but satisfied that I had done what I needed to convince him that whatever the reason he stayed away, the time had passed and I needed him.

Two days later and my heat was in full effect. I locked myself away. Even the air made my skin sizzle. I needed to cum so bad I almost said to hell with a mate and walked outside to let my scent send all the available males in a five mile radius to my door. The thing about wolves is when a female goes into heat it’s like a drug you’ve been addicted to all your life being dangled in front of you. Thankfully, we only go into heat once every three years. I was so consumed with the need for release that I didn’t care it wasn't with my mate, during my first heat. Since then, my wolf felt cheated out of the forever bond that mating created. This was the reason I endured being in physical pain; she wouldn't allow me to lose myself unless my mate was there to find me.

I couldn't sleep so I hadn't seen him since the night I asked him to find me. My wolf clawed at me needing to be set free as much as my human side. I didn't remember my last heat being this intense. I felt my skin tightening around my bones, discomfort everywhere not just my core. And then the scent hit me. A male was near. Not just any male but MY male. So close that my thick arousal suddenly went into overdrive as if sending out a signal for him to find me. I rushed to the door removing the barrier that kept my scent from alerting the pack of my condition. As soon as the lock was off and the door was open I was in his arms. His mouth crushed mine and a taste that was familiar and new greeted me. I was fully naked as clothes made no sense when nothing could touch me without making me weak with need. I wrapped my arms around his neck drawing him closer to me. He grabbed my legs lifting me up rubbing me against his groin in the process. Spinning me around and backing me up against the door he released me long enough to shed his clothes. Again our mouths connected, his hands roamed my body. We would have time to explore later but I needed him inside me now. I exposed my neck to him the same time he pushed inside my already drenched center. Finally we were together, and this time when he sank his teeth into my neck and his hardness into my core, I reached the stars and when I came down my mate was there. Joined with me forever and ready to enjoy our first in an eternity of heat spells together.

©2014, Priscilla Danita Robinson 

Priscilla D Robinson is the Author of Love's Moodswings: The Discovery, the Choice, and the Surrender to Love. Her debut book is a collection of three short stories that focus on different forms of love. Recently she began the task of writing down what her mind showed her and thus began her writing journey. When she is not off in a dream world she lives in Connecticut with her daughter. Robinson is currently a student at the University of Bridgeport for a bachelor's degree in Human Service. Her favorite saying is “the sky is always purple somewhere in the world” which means anything is possible if you know where to look for it.

Website:

https://m.facebook.com/PriscillaDanita?__user=1015815274

https://www.goodreads.com/priscilladanita

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BLOG EXCLUSIVE: Daniella's Story

 I’m usually afraid of thunderstorms. The loud crashing of its thunder rocking the sky used to make me tremble enough to go and seek the comforts of my mommy. I would lie next to her while she read one of her favorite books on the corner of the couch and soothed any fear I had toward the bad weather. “Thunderstorms won’t you hurt, Daniella,” she chuckled as she paused from her reading. This was followed by her motherly smile and the soft pats near my single ponytail.

It had just been me and my mommy for years until the day she met my stepfather. He was nice to us at first by taking us to fun places like Chuck E. Cheese, the park, or Disneyworld. He would take mommy to nice, grown-up places like fancy restaurants and overnight vacations to expensive hotels. Everything was going fine with the three of us until my stepfather, who was no taller than mommy, came home one night and began to hit her. The sounds of his hand hitting against her skin still makes me cringe.

Later that night I played alone with my baby dolls on the living room floor. At seven years old, I sat between the couch and a recliner chair combing the kinks from one of my doll’s hair. As I hummed a tune I learned in school mommy shouted from the kitchen, “Daniella, dinner will be done soon.” I smiled back at her since she could see me from the stove. Whatever it was she was cooking smelled awfully good and it made my mouth water with excitement.

 Then my stepfather suddenly returned home and he didn’t look too happy. He slammed doors shut and pouted like a little kid before he sat on his recliner. Plopping his feet up he rubbed his dark colored forehead and let out an unhappy sigh. This was his usual routine night after night.

Looking into his eyes used to bother me because all I saw was someone who didn’t care. My stepfather’s vibes rubbed the nicest people into the saddest, but I grew used to his mean personality. Mommy told me all the time that mean people weren’t born mean they were made. I would quickly answer her with, “Isn’t that tiring for a mean person to stay mean forever?”

 Then my stepfather moved on to the next step of his routine. He went to the kitchen with mommy and pierced his eyes through her as if he wished she wasn’t his wife. I knew mommy felt what he was going to do by how nervous she acted, but she been used to it for three years. Stepfather would come home mean, pick fights with mommy, and hit her for no reason at all! That’s how it has been. I learned to find ways to live with it even if I had to hold in my tears.

Next thing I knew he was yelling at her like she did something wrong. Rushing behind her while she tried to cook he pulled her hair back to force her to look him in his eyes. “Why are you doing this,” she cried. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” She was right. Mommy never caused the fights. She only tried to be a good wife.

“Shut up,” he yelled.

“Please, stop!”

“Did you hear what I said? I said shut up!”

His routine continued as he slapped mommy hard making her fall to the floor. She crawled underneath the kitchen table to get away from his grip and was crying for him to stop. Part of mommy’s routine was trying to trade for the beatings to stop and then she would give him anything he wanted. Sometimes it worked and sometimes she got beat more. That night he ignored the bargain and the beating continued.

I turned away from the madness to play with my dolls and hummed any tune I could think of. That night the slaps were so loud that I focused on the booming sound of the thunder.

“Why can’t you do what I say,” he yelled as he continued to beat her.

With each blow to her face I could hear mommy’s echoed, blood curdling screams. She screamed so loudly I almost couldn’t hear the pounding noise of the thunderstorm anymore. “I’m sorry,” she pleaded. My stepfather didn’t say a word. He only moved to another phase of his routine which was calling her names.

            I still faced away from the beating. Tuning them out was all I could do. If I cried he’d remind me that I could get it too. I did that before and remembered the terror he gave me. I didn’t want to be black and blue like mommy. Maybe I should’ve worn a brave face and shed tears for her, but after the fact when I saw mommy lying on the floor bloody, broken, or bruised I feared he would’ve done me like that too.

While I heard her crying he told her, “You think you’re going to leave me? Think again!” Then the routine suddenly changed. My stepfather went to the hallway closet and began to throw coats, shoes, and boxes out of his way, but there was one box that stood alone behind the other clutter. I saw him grab a small shoebox and load a small gun from the corner of my eye. I knew this was bad. He was usually just waving the pistol at mommy to make her cry, but this was different… much different.

He stomped toward mommy with his hand on the trigger and then pushed the barrel of the gun to her face. “Are you going to leave me now,” he grunted.

“Please don’t,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry!”

“Shut up!”

“I’ll do anything for you to stop. Please, no more!”

“Oh really,” he said as he turned my way giving me a freakish grin. “Anything,” he asked mommy.

 Her eyes widened as she suddenly realized what he meant by anything. She scooted, crawled, and even got dragged by him while he walked towards me.

“I didn’t mean Daniella,” she screamed while trying to rush to me.

He raised the back of his hand to my mommy and slapped her back to the floor. With the pistol still in his hand and his freakish grin he stood above me and my dolls.

“Your mom said anything, Daniella.”

‘Anything,’ I wondered. Saying anything could mean all kinds of things. Does he want me to say anything to keep him from hurting mommy or does anything mean to beat me too? At the time I clearly didn’t understand the word anything, but I knew by his devilish grin that it wasn’t good.

“Come to Daddy,” he softly said.

The way he said ‘Come to daddy’ skipped beats in my heart. The creepy tone behind his soulless eyes made me fearful of his next move like mommy. With my dolls in my hands I used my fists to crawl to another safe area in the room. ‘He’s not going to get me’, I said to myself.

“Daddy is not going hurt you,” he said “Come here, Daniella.”

 Then out of the blue mommy screamed. She ran toward my stepfather as if she had a mission, hopped on his back, and scratched his face with her nails like she had cat claws. “Stay away from her,” she yelled. He tossed her over his shoulder and she landed on her back.

All of this was getting to be way too much. For the first time I stopped playing with my dolls and sprung from the comfortable living room floor yelling, “Why are you doing this to my mommy?” That made things worse because he told me to shut up or I’d get it too as he pointed the gun toward me.

“Now, if you want to look like your mother I’d suggest you stay quiet,” he ordered.

I wanted to call for help but I was frozen. Then I looked out the window through the thick fog from the rain praying that someone could see through our window.

After that mommy grabbed the gun and told me to leave the room, but again I was frozen and scared of what would happen next. All kinds of things rushed in my mind like ‘if the gun goes off and mommy dies, who would take care of me?’ Mommy didn’t have contact with her parents. I guess they didn’t like her life choices so they cut ties from us. ‘What if the gun goes off and kills my stepfather? Should I cry or pray? Should I even mourn if he has a soulless heart? Or should I really care about what happens to him at all?’ This is not the first time I saw mommy fighting the man who tried to beat the life out of her for three years.

“Daniella go to your room,” she demanded once more, while wrestling the gun from his hand.

This time I did what she said, but as soon as I began to leave the room I heard this thunderous boom different than the sound of the storm outside. The deafening silence surprised my mommy and my stepfather, and I didn’t understand why they stopped fighting. Then I felt a weird pinch in my back. I thought it was him trying to hurt me like he does with mommy, but before I could ask mommy was she okay my legs fell asleep and I buckled to the floor.

“You shot my baby,” I heard her cry.

I heard the sound of her footsteps by my side. Then I felt warm kisses on my forehead and remember her begging God not to take me. I guess her begging didn’t make it to him fast enough because everything suddenly turned black and it felt like my body rose like a cloud. Mommy knelt by my body crying loudly while my stepfather held the gun with the smoke still lightly rising from the barrel. He was speechless as if there was nothing left to be said.

“I’m okay mommy,” I tried to tell her, but she didn’t hear me.

 Everything turned black once again and that was the last time I felt my mommy’s hands on me.

Since then I’ve been in Heaven watching the earthly days go by and now realize so much more. You would think from that night a person would learn from their mistakes. Well, unfortunately someone didn’t get the message. After my stepfather served a few years for my murder mommy went back to him. She lives every day being black and blue and the same old cycle goes on like when I was alive. I pray for her to get some common sense. Just because I’m in Heaven doesn’t mean prayer have to stop or that I can’t forgive the people who brought me here.

The only things I miss are the warmth of mommy’s love, her holding me tenderly until I fall sleep, and getting her sweet goodnight tuck in kisses. Too bad I won’t ever experience a senior prom, learn how to drive, go to college, get married, or have a family. I was robbed of all those things because someone hated rejection, but it may end sooner than later because as the cycle goes on history will repeat.

I want my voice to ring through this text to remind everyone that anger is a letter short of danger. Due to one person’s action time stood still for me and I will never experience anything past the age of seven that normal people do. My mommy’s self-esteem is so low she feels she doesn’t deserve to be loved by someone who respects her. Now I have to get ready to greet my loved ones because they haven’t learned from my death. Like me, mommy has to bury my new little brother. He suffered the same ill-timed fate and most likely he’ll repeat this same story with the very same ending.

©2011, Imani Wisdom

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The Mission

The warmness of the water doused me like torrential rain with every droplet relieving my sore muscles. I was in my own world, ignoring the insignificance that surrounded me. There were muffled voices beyond my shower curtain and I didn’t care. The water felt awfully good after a long day of running, jumping, and getting my ass thrashed on the football field.

I glanced at my heavily wrapped ankle and it looked as if it were mummified.

“Shit, it hurts!” I grimaced as I thought back at that hit made by a Pittsburgh defensive lineman.  That bastard’s hit put me out for the rest of season, and now I’m uncertain if I have future with the team I’ve been with for five years.

“Hey, Billings,” said one of my teammates. “Wanna  go out with a few of us to the new strip club downtown?”

“Naw man, I’m good,” I yelled over the tepidness water of the shower.

“You sure?”

“Yeah… I’ll see y’all next practice.”

I wasn’t in any mood to see the same naked women grinding on my dick like they were hoping to fuck me. Being number thirty-four with a two time world championship team wasn’t easy. Wherever I went women clamored for my attention. It was as if I was a walking Powerball ticket and my dick was the jackpot. I saw it all the time with my old college teammates as well as a couple of my professional pro ball teammates. Those women sprung their pussy traps, told them a lie that they were on birth control, and got knocked up. I will say that I had a couple of close calls, but I quickly wised up. Some of the fellas who were trapped still hadn’t learned.

I’m not saying I’m a perfect man; rather I’m an imperfect man with mistakes longer than a football field. I blew my money on dumb shit, screwed groupies, and partied every night. That was my life before I met an incredible woman named Sophia Turner.

She and I hit it off really well. We didn’t meet at a club or party. Out of all places we met at church. I happened to have been visiting with another teammate at one of the largest churches in the city, and after the choir sang their hearts out I noticed a glorious vision of exquisiteness. Her smile was radiant and that was coupled with her soft, curly hair that hung near her shoulders. I was more than fascinated with her. My heart told me that someday she was going to be my wife, and six months later we got engaged.

The locker room was empty as I dried off my damp body near my locker. The television was left on ESPN and one of the know-it-all analysts was dogging my coach out for our team’s loss. I got tired of listening to that, grabbed the remote, and turned to BET. Those assholes didn’t know what we did on or off the field. I could see if he played the game, or hell, if he even played in high school I could tolerate his opinion a little bit. Crazy thing was that motherfucker never played in his life. He just wrote about it. Bullshit!

Then my fiancé called my cell phone. I knew it was her from the Nicky Minaj ringtone that was sounding from the speaker.

“Hey baby,” I answered.

“Don’t forget about my parents’ dinner party tonight.”

“I haven’t, baby. I’ll meet you there by seven.”

“Alright then. I love you.”

“I love you too, Sofie,” I softly responded.

“Bye…”

The sweet sounds of Sophia. Her voice was just as smooth and beautiful as her gorgeous face. I haven’t fallen this hard in love in my life. There were other women since I started my career as a pro-football player, but none of them compared to her. As I said earlier, those women thought my dick was a jackpot hoping they’d get pregnant so they could live off the child support for the next eighteen or twenty something years. Fuck that! On the other hand for Sophia it took a couple of weeks before she even spoke to me. “I don’t date pro athletes,” she would say. I didn’t blame her. We tended to create our own bad reputations and the Media didn’t help with the hype they blew on it either. After convincing her I wasn’t bad a person we went on our first date, and from there we were inseparable.

Suddenly, I received another call but it wasn’t my fiancé. It was from my doctor’s office. Strange, I thought. Maybe he’s letting me know all went well with a series of blood tests, especially the one that’s required by the state before Sophie and I get married.

“Mr. Billings,” said the Nurse. “Could you stop by the office? Dr. McLauren needs to speak with you about your test results.”

“Is it serious,” I asked.

“You and the doctor need to sit down and speak Mr. Billings.”

I ended the call feeling like a sudden mystery was cast on my life. Is it my ankle? Is it an old injury to my hamstring? Or worse, do I have my family curse, diabetes? As I kept trying to figure out the mystery I looked at the mirror and put the last touches on my two-piece gray suit ensemble, brushed my fade, and then slipped on my sunglasses. My six foot six physique would be ready for dinner regardless of what my doctor told me.

Minutes later I was riding in my white Denali listening to the sounds of Drake booming from my surround sound speakers. Tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, I bounced my head along with the lyrics. The phone call still wasn’t fazing me. I was riding on the highest cloud in the sky and looking forward to spending the evening with my future in-laws and Sofie. I felt nothing could topple my joy, and I meant nothing.

 I pulled up to the stoplight and saw my picture on a city bus posing in the end zone after I scored a sixty-five yard touchdown. I usually got depressed seeing myself in my glory days before my ankle injury, but not this time! I was feeling too good to let anyone or anything take me down.

 I arrived at my doctor’s office pretty quickly. I believed any human hated to step foot in a doctor’s office, clinic, or hospital. I even hated when the team’s doctor had to examine my injuries. There was something about the weird antiseptic smell or how the over friendly nurses and their cold hands made you feel. Whatever it was I just wanted them to tell me I have this diabetes thing and give me my insulin so I could get to dinner. Time was wasting.

As for the diabetes, I was sure I had it because it ran deep in my family. My mother had it, my father had it, their parents’ both had it, and a brother had it. Plus, as a kid I was told I had pre-diabetes so I knew it would’ve been inevitable for me to get it in my mid-twenties.

“Mr. Billings,” said the tall, blonde nurse. “Dr. McLauren is ready to see it you.”

I followed the nurse down the long hallway to the doctor’s office while she tried to engage me in some small talk. “Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?” she asked. I responded to her with “uhm hum” while wishing she would shut up. I checked my Rolex for the time. “Here you go you, Mr. Billings,” she politely said as she led me inside his office. It was a spacious office that was big enough to hold a couch, a couple of chairs, and coffee table. He also had a few of his degrees and a plasma television hanging on the wall.

Five minutes and then twenty minutes passed as I continued to sit impatiently for this man. ‘What is he doing,’ I wondered. ‘He was the one that one called me!’ While I waited I gazed out the window daydreaming about how in two Saturdays from now it would be our wedding. I was anticipating my future wife walking down the aisle in a breathtaking dress. I pictured my family sitting on one side of the aisle and her family sitting on the other side brandishing smiles while sharing our young wedded bliss. Imagining Sofie dressed like a princess only made me realize I was doing the right thing by marrying her. Next to my career I’d never been so sure about anything in my life.

“Mr. Billings,” said Dr. McLauren as he came in the door holding what appeared to be my chart. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine…”

“Okay, let’s get down to why I called you in.”

“Well, I know its diabetes because I was diagnosed with having pre-diabetes when I was twelve. So it is Type I or Type II?”

“Excuse me,” he frowned. “Mr. Billings, you don’t diabetes.”

Then I got nervous. If it isn’t sugar then what could it be? Sitting with my hands firmly clasped to my thighs I felt my heart rate increase by the second. “Doctor, what are my injuries,” I asked him.

“Mr. Billings, your blood test came back positive. You have the Human Immunodeficiency Virus.”

“What? Human Immunodeficiency…,” I gasped while being unable to finish. “Are you telling me I have AIDS?”

“No, I’m telling you have HIV.”

“This has to be a mistake,” I demanded.

“I double and triple checked the results, Mr. Billings. I’m sorry.”

“But my career… Sofie… my life… this has to be some mistake,” I still demanded.

Dr. McLauren pulled from his desk a small tablet to write prescriptions. “I’m going to prescribe you this drug for the HIV, and it’s been proven to work very well.” Tearing off the script and pushing it toward me his face had a mildly compassionate expression.

I angrily looked at it and then at him. I refused to accept I was HIV positive. There was no way! For years before I met Sofie I tried to be careful with those gold digging women by wearing condoms and pulling it out before I busted a nut. There was no way in hell I could have HIV, no way! I quickly leaped from my seat without taking his prescription and left without saying a word.

As big as I was I let my warm tears fall and saturate my dark skin. I was scared out of my mind, and it wasn’t a fear of dying or my career. It was a fear of losing my fiancé. My hands were steadfast on the steering wheel and I was zipping in and out of rush hour traffic. I wasn’t sure where I was going because my mind just wasn’t there. My house was the last place I wanted to go. I could’ve caught that bullshit in the comforts of my own bed during my promiscuous days, at one of my teammates’ houses, or shit in the backseat of my SUV. It seemed wherever I went the reminders stayed with me, and if this HIV thing was true it’d be a part of me like hair on my head and the skin on my body.

I walked inside the only destination I could think of during the moment. It was more than appropriate, but a necessity. The only sound I could hear was my wingtip shoes tapping on the linoleum floor and the echoing with each step. With light shining through the stained glass windows I felt as though the man of this house had come during my worst tribulation. I wanted to feel at ease but I couldn’t. It hurt deeper than a son of a you know what! Most of all, I was scared of what the future might bring.

Strangely, I’d never been in this church. I drove past this place on my way to the stadium and always thought the architecture was amazing, but for some reason on my way to sulk I was drawn to come here.

“Hello stranger,” said the Priest.

 I answered somberly, “Hi…”

“You look like you lost a friend,” said the Priest. The red headed man wearing his traditional attire sat beside me on the pew as if he knew my heart was heavy with misery. “Are you okay,” he asked.

With more tears falling down my face I slowly shook my head. “I don’t think you can pray this one away,” I whimpered.

“Really,” he asked. “Prayer goes a long way.”

“I wish it could, but this…”

“Try me,” he said as he interrupted my sentence.

I usually never confided with strangers because of my celebrity, but since I was in the house of God and Priests have to keep tight lips on confessions I decided to pour my heart out. “Father?,” I questioned.

“Father O’Loughin,” he said, as he extended his hand to shake my mine. “What can I do for you my son?”

“I just found out some horrible news.”

“Is it serious?”

“Yes, I was just told thirty minutes ago that I have HIV.”

Father O’Loughin exhaled the same shock as I did back at the doctor’s office. Like it had done to me the news took his breath away leaving him momentarily speechless. He stared at the huge cross on the floor behind the pulpit and softly sighed again. “Wow,” he said.

“Is that all,” I huffed. “Wow?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but after helping people with HIV and AIDS I’ve grown accustom to it.”

“How do you help them? Pray all day,” I sarcastically answered him.

He nervously chuckled as the freckles on his cheeks flared with his smile. “Oh no,” he replied. “If they don’t have a place to live I give them shelter. If they’re hungry I feed them. If they’re in need of a place to worship I offer them a place here. If they’re in need of a friend I become the friend they never had. Most importantly, if their need is that one simple thing like prayer I’ll get on my knees with them and pray hard as I can.”

I said my own wow as he continued to explain his mission. Men and women of the cloth tend to help the less fortunate and only few do it for the cameras. Father O’Loughin’s heart was bigger than just his Priestly robes, the church, or himself in that matter. He was genuine. Listening to him speak about the men, women, and children coming in and out of his shelter at all hours of the day and night was compelling. I was impressed. Telling me different stories of these people made me forget about my own HIV.

After the Father finished explaining his experience he looked at me with his greenish-blue eyes and said, “Now, tell me why I get the feeling there is more about the news you received.”

I was sitting on the pew timidly clenching my hands with sweat forming around my hairline. Anyone could sense I was in an overwhelming state of fear. That was why it wasn’t surprising that this stranger I met twenty minutes earlier could feel my agony. The abundance of my anxiety had to have been felt throughout his church.

To answer his question I glanced at him using my lingering tears to explain my dilemma. Besides losing Sofie it was also about losing my career, the team, the fans, and the media. My life would turn into a circus. Every move I made would be scrutinized by the cameras, and worse my HIV would become the talk of analysts, talk radio, and bloggers. “Another professional athlete screws up once again,” they would say. I would become a part of the fallen pro ballers who society blamed for everything wrong with world. I was more worried about what all of this would do to Sophie. My tears said it all for me to the point where all I had to say was, “So you see Father it’s not just the HIV, but the repercussions thereafter.”

“I see… You are in a dilemma,” said Father O’Loughin. “Let me ask you this. What’s more important to you, your love for Sofie or your career?”

“What kind of question is that man? Both, of course!”

“But what if you have to choose?”

“If I lose Sofie I have nothing. If I lose my career I’m nothing. Father, excuse my language, but I’m screwed if I lose either.”

“Are you sure about that? You never know until you try, Bryan.”

Then Father O’Loughin left my side and shook my hand. “Good luck,” he said. As he walked down the aisle he abruptly turned back to me with a peaceful smile. “You know the shelter sure could use someone like you to maybe help run it.”

“Are you serious?,” I exclaimed with a shake of my head.

“Why not? I think you’re perfect for the job!”

I shrugged my shoulders unsure of what to think of his offer. It would be great to help out the community, but I would be admitting to the public that I had HIV and I didn’t know if I could do that. I would be staring at reality in the faces of men, women, and children affected with the devastating virus. I preferred to crawl under a huge rock and hide from the world before I told anyone I was HIV positive. So to the Father’s offer most likely the answer would be no, yet I conveyed a friendly smile at him since his presence did soothe a hurt soul. “I’ll think on it,” I told him.

“Please do Bryan. I really think you’re the right man for the job because sooner or later I have to move on.”

“Don’t you have anyone other than me?”

“Yes, but I’m not happy with how it’s being run,” he answered. “Just think about it.”

Before I could reply to his statement the Priest quickly left out the side door of the church leaving the sound of the steel door closing with a strong thud. I was left alone wondering if I should go to the dinner with Sofie and her parents. My mood would be transparent and everyone in that room would know something was wrong. At that moment as I stared at the cross I felt at peace as if a voice inside of my heart said, it’s going to be okay.

 I later decided to attend the dinner and drove to the location on the other side of town. It was a quaint restaurant with only a few patrons. Sofie made sure of it. She reserved an outdoor private area that sat on the roof of the building and overlooked the view of the city’s skyline. The food and décor was all of her doing and it looked stunning.

I walked inside to an amazing floral display on the tables, a strand of lights wrapped around inanimate objects on the patio, and appetizers that sat meticulously on a buffet table.  Sofie looked remarkably breathtaking in her sage, wrapped dress and her hair straightened smooth to her collarbone.

“Baby,” she shouted as she waved from a distance.

My fiancé’s thick figure ran to me and laid one of the sweetest kisses on my lips. The warmth sent blood rushing to places that would be deemed inappropriate for the occasion. Her lips felt soft and juicy which made my news even harder to take.

“Mom and Dad,” she said as she called for her parents to join us.

The more her parents queried my future with their daughter the more I felt worthless. I could provide for her and give her a good life, but my what-ifs had begun to swiftly kick in. If the HIV turned into full blown AIDS yes she would be well provided, but I feared she would have to take care of me in an inevitable feeble condition.

I cut the conversation with her parents short by asking Sofie if we could be alone. By the reaction of her mother and father I felt their suspicion. Her father raised his eyebrow while her mother showed concern. Sofie nodded and followed me inside to a private room across the hall.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Before I tell you this I just want you know how much I love you…”

“What? Did you cheat me on me or something?”

“No, it’s nothing like that!”

“Well, what is it then, Bryan,” she asked. “You’re scaring me.”

As I looked into her beautiful brown eyes I realized once I told her about the HIV there was no turning back, but the Priest was right. I had to be honest with the woman I loved even if I were to lose her. At least my conscious would be clear of the lies. I was looking at her remembering the day we met at that mega church six months ago. I’ve never been at a loss for words but there she was taking my breath away. Then[S5]  tears ran down my cheeks as I tried to collect the right words to tell her.

 “Baby, now you’re really scaring me,” she said. “What’s going on?”

“Sofie, I got the test results from my doctor.”

“What results?”

I lowered my head to avoid eye contact while I firmly held her hands. Then I sighed to strum the courage to pour the rest of the truth out of my lips. “Sofie, the test results weren’t good,” I cried.

“You mean the HIV test,” she cautiously asked.

“Yes, baby.”

“Are you saying you’re HIV positive?”

Nodding my head was all I could do. The words ‘yes I’m HIV positive’ wouldn’t come out and I guess my demeanor showed her the truth. The world I wanted to give her was fading into darkness. While holding her hands I could feel her shaking as she lowered her head.

“Oh my God,” she gasped in shock. “You do realize we had sex a few times without condoms?”

I didn’t know what else to say but to apologize. The mess I created was my own doing. I thought I was extra careful when I had casual sex with those women, but there were times I got lazy and didn’t wear a rubber. I thought pulling it out before I nutted was enough to keep them from getting pregnant, and I may have succeeded with it but I caught a Sexually Transmitted Disease that I have to live with for the rest of my life and put the woman I love in jeopardy. Honestly, I understood if she didn’t want me back. I messed everything up with my career, my future, and my life with Sofie.

“Is sorry all you can say to me,” she screamed. “I might be carrying HIV and all you can say is sorry?” She then angrily bolted through the doors to the patio yelling, “Get away from me, Bryan!”

I tried my best to catch up with her and pleaded for her to give us another chance. “Baby, I love you! Please don’t end what we have,” I cried.

“Because of your nasty ways I might be carrying a death sentence,” she screamed.

I kept weeping like a kid and apologizing for my irresponsible actions. I didn’t care if lingering patrons in the restaurants had their eyes on our spat, our guests were feeling uncomfortable, or her father’s body shielded me from getting close to his daughter. All I wanted for her to know was how much I was sorry.

Immediately her parents and family whisked Sofie from the patio screaming for me to get away. “You’ve caused enough damage,” yelled her mother while her cousins pushed me from my fiancé.

I continued crying and yelling as loudly as I could, “Sofie, I love you! Please know that!”

Before I could say another word her family rushed her downstairs and away from my sight. In an instant I was left alone on the rooftop quietly and uncontrollably sobbing. “Oh God, what have I done?” It was then that I realized I’d lost her forever.

Later that night I finally made it my four bedroom condo. It was large in size but not roomy enough for me at the time because the air was thick. I was lying on my bed recounting the day’s events and wishing everything that happened could just be rewound. The HIV was real and becoming a life changing experience. I went from flying on cloud nine to rock bottom in one day.

Looking at my old football jerseys neatly displayed on my wall, I could not help but to think of the hard work I put in to make it to the pros. I thought about my high school and collegiate careers where I broke records year after year and my pro career as a twice awarded MVP. It was hard to let that all go. The fame and fortune was mundane compared to those accolades.

 Just then an epiphany came to me. I remembered the Priest asked me what was more important. ‘Is it better to keep a lie safe from harm or suffer with the truth?’ After sifting through Father O’Loughin’s words I knew suffering was temporary and a lie may be able to keep you safe, but it expanded into a lifetime of pain. I was tired of hurting.

I was clinching my cell phone wondering if I should make a life changing phone call. I even looked through the rolodex of numbers gazing for this particular person. ‘If I do this,’ I wondered, ‘that’s it!’ This call could alter everything I worked for. While sighing loudly I dialed his number. “Hello Mike,” I said to my agent. “Yeah, we need to talk.”

Almost twenty-four hours passed after I spoke to my agent. I told him the news of my HIV status and that he needed to arrange a press conference for the following day. The silence on his end of the phone was grim. Then after trying to convince me there were other ways of going about my idea instead of calling the press, I firmly said to him that was what I wanted. I also called an emergency meeting with the team’s owner, the coaches, and my teammates. It was hard talking to them for an hour and explaining how I found out about the HIV. Surprisingly, they were all supportive and understood what had to be done. Along with my agent, my parents, and the whole team I stood strong during the press conference.

Later I sat on the steps outside of the same church I was at the night before. Dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt I sat with my hands together resting on my legs and looked to the emptiness of the night sky that had only a partial moon staring back at me. ‘God what am I going to do now,’ I wondered. While watching the bumper to bumper traffic I wondered why I returned here. I’m not a Catholic or a religious person. I was just a simple man that made mistakes and tried his best to learn from them. Before I discovered the HIV I prayed when it was convenient for me. Since the last twenty-four hour’s I was scared to pray. It felt as though I was undeserving to speak to God. He may have blessed me with things but I showed a lack of gratitude to what he did to get me to where I am today. I just didn’t know what I was going to do.

“Bryan,” said a woman’s voice from a distance. I turned to see Sofie standing a few feet away from the church’s stairs. She was wearing her favorite black, velour sweat suit with her hair tied back in ponytail. She approached me as she held her purse on her shoulder. “Bryan, I saw you on the news,” she said. “Why?”

“How did you know I’d be here,” I asked her.

“I saw you sitting here on my way back home and I had this feeling that I needed to turn around,” she answered. “But again Bryan, why?”

“I had to, Sofie.”

“But retiring from football?”

“There was no other way.”

She graced me with her presence by sitting next to me on the concrete steps. I wanted so badly to feel her skin on mine but understood it might to be too soon to show affection. “I got my results this afternoon,” she said.

“Well…,” I asked.

“I’m negative,” she said as she smiled.

The relief of her uttering those two words lifted a colossal burden from my conscious. I deserved to walk my living days with HIV, but not Sofie because she was innocent. For six months she had been good to me, even at times I was not worthy of it. That was why I loved her so much. She wasn’t like any woman I’d ever dated. Sofie had a one of a kind soul. Her thoughtfulness, caring nature, and strong mindedness were the biggest reasons why I fell in love with her. Everything else was just an added bonus.

Then she leaned her head on my shoulder and told me she wasn’t out of the woods because she had to go back in a few months and get tested again.

“Look Bryan,” she said. “I can’t marry you right now but that doesn’t mean I can stop loving you.”

“You mean it baby,” I said as my voice began to break.

“Yes, I do love you. And I’ll always be here for you.”

“What about your family?”

“If they love me they’ll come around,” she said.

She took my hand, squeezed it gently, and the smile that I wondered would ever return came back. “What are you doing here anyway,” she continued, “I didn’t know you’re Catholic.”

“I’m not,” I answered. “But this is the place where I’m starting a new career.”

“New career?”

“Come on,” I said as I grabbed her hand and led her inside the church. “I hope he’s here.”

“You hope who’s here?”

“Father O’Loughin.”

The church’s sanctuary was still empty like it was yesterday. I glanced around the surroundings to find the red headed Priest and tell him I wanted to take him up on his offer. My life was beginning to feel complete with wholeness beyond riches or fame. Even though I had this virus I felt it brought out the purpose of what I was meant to do. I wanted to help those who weren’t fortunate enough to have money for healthcare to treat their HIV, didn’t have a place to live, or just needed a friend. For those twenty-four hours I felt what lonely really was and I didn’t want anyone to feel like that. I meant no one.

While I looked around for Father O’Loughin a nun walked past us wearing her traditional attire. “Excuse me Sister, I’m trying to find a Priest I met here last night,” I said. “He’s average height with red hair and freckles.”

 The Nun looked at me like I offended her with my question and frowned. “Is this some kind of joke?” she asked.

“Uh, no,” I cautiously answered. “I’m referring to Father O’Loughin.”

“Father O’Loughin?” she questioned. The Nun asked us if we could follow her around the corner to a hallway where large photos hung of all of the Priests who worked for the church. “You’re not referring to this person are you?” she asked as she pointed at Father O’Loughin’s picture.

“Yes, that’s him,” I happily exclaimed. “Do you know where I can find him?”

Then she suddenly looked at me again as if I lost my mind. “My child, Father was killed several years ago by a homeless person who came to his shelter,” she explained. “The man wasn’t a stranger because he too had AIDS. Father O’Loughin did everything he could for him. Then one day Father caught him stealing from the shelter, and just like that he senselessly stabbed Father to death.”

The nun sighed and continued, “But the shelter hasn’t been the same since. It’s been hard to keep an honest and brave person to run it. I pray for that person to come someday.” After she explained the mystery of Father O’Loughin she excused herself and went back to her business in the church.

Sofie and I gazed at one another in astonishment. “Who was the person I spoke to for an hour in this church,’ I wondered. “It had to have been Father O’Loughin. Was it possible that man’s spirit brought me here and chose me to finish his mission? When he spoke to me it seemed as though he knew I was going to make a life changing decision. All he was doing was waiting for me to take a step forward.’

“Baby, are you okay,” asked Sofie as I held her to my side.

I looked down at her grinning and then looked at the Father’s photograph. “Don’t worry Father O’Loughin, I’ll run the mission for you,” I said.

Regardless of the HIV I feel positively reassured for the future. Sometimes we can’t understand why things happen to us, and maybe it’s meant for us not to understand but to learn from it to help others. Also after learning I have HIV it actually didn’t cast a dark shadow on my once ostentatious life. Instead, it shed a new awakening for my concrete intention on this earth. Sofie isn’t kidding when she tells me all the time ‘God works in mysterious ways’ and you know he certainly does.

 ©2011, Imani Wisdom

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SECOND CHANCES DON'T COME OFTEN!

I’m laying in the bed with a beacon of light shining down causing my morning vision to squint.  My body feels broken as if I've fallen from a three story building.  My eyes scan my surroundings and I’m seeing a beautiful painting I've done four years ago hanging across my bed, and a dozen of plush roses sitting on the dresser.  My heart begins to smile.          

I moved my eyes over some more, and notices a young lady feeling my wrist.  Her cold fingers are feeling through my bulgy veins.  “How are we doing” She says as looks to her watch.  I’m replying with the usual pleasantries, but I guess she can’t hear me.  It’s been that way for months.  She speaks and I answer, and yet she never responds.  Then she asks if I’m ready to start our routine?  I haven’t had the slightest clue as to what she means. But again, I politely answer and still no response.

While the woman goes to a nearby bathroom, a man walks into the room carrying a tray of food.  I think it’s my breakfast.  With skin of light onyx and small patches of graying hair, he sits the tray on a table and approaches my bedside.  He gently grabs my hand and lifts it to his mouth.  He kisses it ever so softly, almost as though as he’s afraid to hurt me.  As my hand remain nestle to his chin, I’m beginning to remember who this man is—my husband of sixteen years.

“Are we ready, Mrs. Davis” the woman suddenly asks.  Unfortunately, I can’t turn to see the woman’s face, just only her flora-scented perfume commands her presence. 

My husband looks to the woman, and then looks to me and gives me one of the serene most smiles. He carefully places my hand back on the bed.  “Is there any way you could continue her physical therapy on Thursday” He questions her, “I don’t think she’s up to it”.

The woman finally comes closer to my sight and stands on the side of the bed. She looks down to me with a nod.  “Of course, Mr. Davis” She smiles and continue, “Mrs. Davis, I’ll see you next time, okay?”

This time I didn't bother to answer since she never responds.  Instead, I blink my eye, and what do you know?  She answers.  “Good job! You remember our exercise” she cheerfully answers as if I’m a five year old reciting my ABC’s.

The woman finally ends her session and leaves.  Now it's just me and my husband alone.  “Baby, are ready to eat” He asks.  To make sure he answers, I blink again. “Good. I cooked your favorite: veggie omelet with veggie sausage, wheat toast, kiwis, and green tea". 

I’m happily wondering to myself, this is definitely my husband.  This man knows me inside and out. Despite everything that has happened in the last eight months, he’s been there through the thickest of the thick of it. 

Now, I remember why I wake helpless within the morning beacon, or why when I speak no one answers, or why that woman comes every Tuesdays and Thursdays, or why I feel I’m detach from my body, it’s because I nearly died from a massive stroke at thirty-eight years old.

And for the months I spent in the hospital, I saw my husband day in and day out.  He never left my side.  I guess owning a major record label, he could do that. 

Though at that time, I wanted to hate every living soul for being able to use their limbs, to eat without assistance, and to do simple tasks like freely go to the bathroom without reverting to infant stages of wearing adult diapers.  Yet my husband, knowing I couldn't express myself, saw into my quiet anger.  I vividly recalled how he caressed the top of my forehead, following by his endearing kiss.  “You can fight it” He said, “But I won’t go anywhere. We’re one.”  Then as he leaned over me, his tear fell from the crescent of his eye onto my cheek.  The warmness of it made my anger melted to an ocean of serenity.

This man has a heart like gold.  Just to think before my stroke, I wanted to divorce him.  The night when my life changed forever, I was in his den. We argued, but he pleaded for me not to leave.  Then I had said something that left a lasting memory before everything turned black.  I told him I didn't love him anymore.  The pain he conveyed glazed into tears, leaving a lasting image in my mind.  Then my light suddenly had turned into darkness. The next thing I knew he was standing over my bed in the Intensive Care Unit.   

I woke to his smile and he whispered close my ear, “I’m sorry baby, I was wrong. But please fight this”.

As my husband sits at my bedside at this moment, continuing to feed me, I realize if anyone whose wrong is me.  I went into our marriage for the intention of furthering my career as this famous singer. It’s not that I didn’t love him; I just didn’t love him the way he deserves. 

What he does for me now, it’s abundantly clear how much he loves me.  He combs my long and curly hair with gentlest of touch, carries me to my wheelchair to take me outside to my favorite place—my garden, and gives me a bath with my favorite scented oils.  Most of all, he does something most men wouldn’t do, he changes my adult diapers.  Even though it’s embarrassing each time he does it, my husband always repeats our marriage vows as a tear streams my face—for better for worse, for sickness and health.

While I’m looking into this man’s deep dark eyes, I understand what unconditional love really means.  He looks beyond the tawdriness of appearance. I haven’t had a manicure in eight months, weaveless, and I know I have a straggly hair or two on my chin.  I’m a hot mess.  Yet still, every morning he tells me how beautiful I am. 

“Okay baby, last bite. You've been eating pretty well this morning” he says. 

He catches my eye gazing to him and he stops.  I’m not feeling ill or anything; I just want to admire how the morning sun dances against his dark skin.  Standing within the light, he looks as if he’s my angel that's given me new life.  My erroneous acts of selfishness and greed may have led me into the confines of indefinite paralysis, but it has wakened me to reality.  I don’t need success to make me happy; it was there all of this time.

“Baby, are you alright” he asks with a concern in his voice.

My mouth opens as I’m forcing my face muscles to go along me.  The words from my heart have begun to flow to the tip of my tongue.  I’m forcing the word, I, and then next the word, love.  I can see the growing astonishment on my husband’s face.  I’m not sure if he understands me, so I’m taken another deep breath, and it pour from my lips—I love you.

I think he understands me because he nearly drops the tray of food, and then quickly puts it down. His average-sized frame climbs next to me in the bed and weeps. Feeling a loving reassurance inside of his arms, my tear joins his.  I’m repeating it over again, “I love you”.

It’s amazing at times how you can quickly get put into your place from unexpected circumstances. My body literally has to stand still to see what’s in front of me all of this time.  Money and power may be significant to some, but it's mundane when your world stops turning.  It’s meaningless. 

No one can explain why the worse of worse people gets brakes.  I consider myself in that category.  Now I have this opportunity to be a better woman.  Second chances don’t come often, and I have mine.   So I better not mess up this one up. 

© Imani Wisdom, 2011

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DANTE'S TOMORROW



They sat huddled among one another,shivering and scared.  Their bedroom was dimmed with only the moonlight peeking through the blinds. The room was modest and had the bare essentials of a dresser and a full-size bed.  To four years old Dante’, dwelling inside the vastness of the room overwhelmed him and his twin sister, Dharma.  He had his arm wrapped around her as she pressed her face against his shoulder. “I wish mommy would come home” she sniveled, “She hasn’t been home since Monday and now it’s Wednesday”.

Dante’ held his sister’s closer to him as his way of replying to her question. Then a tear streamed his face and he thought back the last time they saw their mother. 

It was Monday night, and their mother sat along the side of their bed conveying a peaceful smile.  She just read their favorite bedtime story, The Cat in the Hat. Dante’ remembered her touch as she caressed his forehead. “Now, little D” She said, “I know you’re only a few minutes older than your sister, but I trust you will hold the fort while I’m at work”.

“Yes, mommy” he answered boasting a smile.

After Dante heard the apartment door closed, he suddenly had this strange feeling.  Any other night when she went to work at her new job as a 911 dispatcher, he would lie in the same spot next to his sister without thinking twice and went to sleep. At that moment, he felt something was nagging at his soul as if a weight was pressing against his chest.

For two weeks since their mother had her new job, she had trouble finding a sitter.  Her mother was in a nursing home suffering from a stroke, and her father was killed by gun violence when she eleven years old.  As for child care, she couldn’t find an inexpensive place to take her children during the nightshift, and when she did found one, she was placed on a three week waiting list.  Basically, she had no choice to leave them at home alone.  At the least she had her seventy-five year old neighbor named, Mrs. Sanders, who lived in the apartment below them.  Since her neighbor didn’t have any room for the twins to sleep, the ladies arranged where she would check on them once in the middle of the night and again in the morning.  Every thing worked out well until Monday night.  Dante’ hadn’t seen or heard from their neighbor either.  It was though as the people who mattered were disappearing without a trace.

“Dante’, I’m hungry” whimpered Dharma

After sadly gazing at the extraordinary moonlight, Dante’ then looked to his sister and bravely replied, “Okay, I’ll make another peanut butter and jelly sandwich”.

He took his sister by the hand toward the kitchen that hadn’t been clean since Monday. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink and an overloaded trash can that sat close by. Dante’ wanted to wash the dishes, but being four years old he didn’t quite know where to begin.  So he and his sister did the best they could to care for themselves.  When they were hungry, they fixed peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or ate a bowl of cereal.  They never touch the microwave or stove since their mother warned them that touching those appliances were dangerous.

When the two returned to the bedroom, they sat on the bed nervously eating their sandwiches.  It was approaching one a.m., and the window was cracked opened to humming of cars and late night chatter from neighbors.  Then all of the sudden, a loud crash of tumbling trash cans interrupted their meal.  Dante’ sprang from the bed to investigate the noise.  His eyes wandered below the window at two cats prowling around the toppled cans. “Dante’, what is it” asked Dharma, “Is it mommy?”

“Naw, its two old alley cats looking for food” he answered with a sigh.

His sister eyes began to fog with tears.  She continued to watch her brother peep out the window and quickly thought of something horrible.  “Dante’, what if mommy went back doing what she did before she got clean” She whimpered.

Dante’ swiftly looked back to her and joined her on the bed.  He wiped her tears from cheek and courageously smiled.  “Mommy wouldn’t do that” He reminded her, “She promised us she’ll stay clean forever”.

“But what if…”

       "No, Dharma!” He interrupted, “Mommy doesn’t do that stuff anymore”

Dante’s eyes were glued to the window while consoling a frightened Dharma.  Then he thought back a year ago when their mother fought valiantly against drug abuse. When drug rehab didn’t work, she sought help at the last place she thought of ever going, to church.  The ministry had temporary child care for mothers who attended drug counseling. 

He remembered his mother knelling to his eye level, bravely smiling with her dark circles staining her eyes.  “I love my babies” She said as her voice broke, “When I’m finish with this program, mommy promises to the both you that I’ll stay clean from here on out”.  She caressed Dharma’s long ponytail braid and began to weep.  Then a heavy set woman told her it was time for the meeting.  It was one of the ministers’.  Their mother followed the dark-skinned woman with a short afro through a set of double doors. The piercing sound of those steal doors shattered Dante’s heart, and wondered if his mother would be alright.  She made promises of getting clean time after time.  Yet, he had a feeling at that moment she was going to get through it, despite his lingering fears. 

Contrary to the sound he heard outdoors, the same shattered feeling had returned.  He couldn’t get reassured of knowing if his mother was okay without seeing, or least, hearing her soft-spoken voice. The boy’s emotional heroics were soon diminishing. 

“Dharma, why don’t you go to sleep” He told her, “Maybe mommy will be home by the time you wake up”.

With some reluctance, Dharma abided her brother’s request and lay inside the bedspread.  In her tiny voice she asked him, “What if she doesn’t come, Dante’”.

“Stop thinking like that!  Remember what mommy always tells us?” he asked while fluffing her pillow.

“What’s that?”

“We need to have faith!” he said.

Dharma forced a smile to her twin brother as if those words had calmed her nerves. She pulled the cover close to her chin and went to sleep.

While watching her sleep, he prayed silently for a miracle.  Dante’ looked toward the window again at the moonlight, asking God to bring their mother home safe and sound.  He didn’t care if she started using again; he just wanted to be in her arms.  When drugs were her way of life, she always managed to put food on the table and kept a roof over their heads.  Her faults and mistakes were between her and God. 

Hours have past and Dante had finally drifted to sleep.  Then a strange, soft sound entered the room.  He raised from his pillow and a saw his mother standing inside the same moonlight that had been keeping them company all night.  “Mommy, you’re home!” He groggily smiled.  Dante looked over to his sleeping sister, and then looked back at his mother.   “Mommy, where you been?” He asked her.

           

            Still wearing the same clothes she wore two days ago, she shown a calming grin.  With the radiance of the light shining against her brown skin, his mother approached the side of his bed to sit down.  “Mommy, what happened?” He asked, “Me and Dharma been here for two days scared”.

His mother placed her warm lips on his forehead and then began to tuck the bedspread around him. “Little D” She said as she patted his head, “I’m sorry you and your sister were left alone since
I’ve been gone.  It’s just…”

“Are—are you—back on drugs?” he nervously wondered.

“No baby, I’m clean as a whistle”

“So where you been?”

His mommy reached over to his sleeping sister and caressed her unraveled ponytail.  “Dante, I want you do something for me” she said as she stayed focused on Dharma.

“What is it, mommy?”

“You’ve been so being brave since I’ve been gone” she said and then paused to look back at him, “Your sister is going to need you, okay?”

“Okay, mommy”              

His mother stood up and kissed him on his cheek.  “Mommy, can you cook us French Toast when we wake up?  Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches getting is a bit old” he quietly giggled.

She placed a single finger on his lips and whispered a hush.  “Little D, I want you to remember one thing as long as you have breath in your body” she said.

“What’s that?”

“No matter how bad things get, just remember to keep the faith because there will always be tomorrow”

And then for some reason, Dante’s fears were calmed.  As much as he tried to worry about his mother, he felt somehow it wasn’t a need anymore.  Also, there was something else.  As he peered at his mother, confidence was prevailing than the shining moonlight.  “Now go to sleep” She told him.  He happily closed his eyes and slept through the final darkness of the night.

            Suddenly, he had awakened to loud murmuring outside the bedroom.  He sprang out of the bed, hoping his mother was in the kitchen cooking what he’d asked for.  “Dharma, she’s home! She’s home!” He exclaimed.

The two ran into the hallway to discover strangers in the living room.  It was the police and most of them wore jackets that read, CSU, and they looked just as surprised as the children were of seeing them. 

Wearing a two-piece dark suit, the
woman detective came towards the twins and knelled to their level.  Her blue eyes gazed through their
nervousness.  “I bet you’re probably
wondering why are there strangers in your apartment” She asked in a soothing voice.

The twins didn’t say a word.  They looked over her shoulder at the police curiously
walking from room to room.  Then Dante’
suddenly asked, “Where’s mommy?”

She somberly looked up to her
partner as if she was trying to find the answer through him.  She then glanced back at the children.  “I’ll tell you what” She answered, “Are you
hungry?  I know a place around the corner
that makes great French Toasts. Would you like that?”

The woman stretched her hands
expecting the children to oblige her to offer. “It’s okay, you can come with me. I’m the good guys” She said.

Dante’ glanced over to his sister
as she shyly had her head bowed to the floor. “I think its okay, Dharma” He said, “We can trust her”.  He laid his tiny hand inside the warmth of
the detective’s palm.  When his sister
noticed Dante was beginning to trust the woman, she followed along by taking
her other hand. 

As they were going to the squad
car, Dante’ saw a peculiar sight.  There
was police tape lined around the alley and a police offer taking photos of the
trash cans.  Lying nearby was a black
bag surrounded by loitering debris.  His
worst fears came true.  Tugging on the
woman’s jacket, she lowered back to his eye level.  “If I ask you something, could you be honest
with a four year old?” He asked her.

She looked toward the alley as if
she already knew the question.  He leaned
toward her ear to fretfully whisper, “Has my mommy gone to Heaven?

The woman eyes welted with tears
and nodded her head.  “I’m sorry,
sweetie” She said.  Dante’ held back his
tears because he remembered what his mother had told him a few hours ago, to
stay brave. 

            Out of nowhere, a young officer
came near the other detectives without noticing the children.  “Excuse me, Detective!” He exclaimed, “We
caught the man who killed the victim. The suspect admitted of robbing and killing the victim two days
ago.  And according to her job, she never
reported in to work.  As for Mrs. Sanders
she was admitted to the hospital three days ago and been there since. She also
said she left a message…”

“OFFICER!” interjected the woman.
She caught the man’s attention by using her head to point in the direction of
the children.  “That will be enough” She firmly
added.

The Detective focused back on the
children, and then apologized for the officer’s insensitive actions.  Then Dante’ said something that shocked the
detectives and the nearby officers. 

“That’s okay” He quietly sobbed, “Mommy was good mommy. She never asked for anything from anyone to take care of us. And even when she was on drugs, mommy found somehow to care of me and my sister. People are so quick to look down at other people’s bad luck.  They don’t know what my mommy been through. But my mommy gave me a gift last night that I know I’ll keep forever in my heart.  She told me there will always be tomorrow. I know it is…..I just know it is!”

The woman nodded her head in
approval from his revelation.  She raised
her arm to dry her tears on her sleeve, and then escorted the twins inside the
car.  “Your mommy was a smart woman” she
tearfully agreed, assuming what he meant was dream.

As they drove away, Dante’ held his
weeping his sister.  “Dante’, who going
to take care of us” cried Dharma.

Just when he was about to answer,
he saw a crowd of curious onlookers watching the grim scene.  Among the hoards of people was their mother’s
spirit, smiling at her son.  He quietly
gasped as the squad car stopped at the red light. 

Without anyone else seeing her,
including Dharma, she mouthed the words to Dante’, “There will always be
tomorrow”, and blew a final kiss to him and disappeared.

“Dante’, what you are looking at”
asked Dharma, while drying her tears.

He returned his focus to his scared
sister, but shown a smile.  “Dharma, I
got the feeling everything will be okay. Remember, there will always be tomorrow—just remember that”.

THE END 

© Imani Wisdom, 2011

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