Under the

Cherry

Tree

A NOVEL

by Cedric Mixon

NOW A MOTION PICTURE

www.UnderTheCherryTreeMovie.com

1

Colorful graffiti paints a picture of urban decay on brick walls throughout the neighborhood.  Masterpieces meshed into gang scrawls, meshed into tags scribbled hurriedly in random acts of rebelliousness.

Laughter hangs in the air, mingling with the summer breeze and whispering past the ears of those of us too naïve to understand the reality of our surroundings.

The carefree happiness of children blinds them to the anxieties that systematically ages young adults once they finally notice the garbage littering the very streets that they play in.  They have neither the understanding, nor the awareness to realize the men around them have been imprisoned by their own failures.  They haven’t yet learned to identify the women stuck within the routines of their own meager realities.

Children only hear the laughter.  Children have no vision beyond the man selling lemonade, the old lady selling roses or the dice game on the corner they wish they were old enough to play.

Perhaps it is inevitable for us kids to take happiness and peacefulness for granted because we don’t quite understand the power of time; the only constant that promises to change everything that it touches. And change is exactly what time inflicted on all of us, that summer of 1986.

My name is Kevin Miles. I’ve been told that I was a grown man, trapped inside a nine year old body. My father, Darren Miles, and I, stand in the backyard under the cherry tree, with a fruit-picker extended to its fullest length.

“Why can’t we just buy cherries from the store?” I ask.

“Because, the sweetest cherry is the one you pick yourself,” dad responds.

“And you know how you love your sweets!” dad jokes as he hands me the fruit-picker.

“Yeah, the tree is almost dead, but there’s still a couple more good cherries all the way at the top.”

I stand on my toes and extend it as high as I can.

“Right there. You got it. Now grab that big one right there,” dad encourages.

I gently tug on the cherry until it falls into the cup. A sense of accomplishment arises as I lower the fruit-picker and discover a single cherry with the deepest red color I’ve ever seen.

With a dying tree, we were only able to pick just enough cherries to fill a small bowl. Dad and I sit across from each other in the backyard and eat cherries as if we lived in the country somewhere down south.

“Tell me. How good is your cherry?” says dad.

“It’s really good.”

“You still want store-bought cherries?”

“No way!”

We eat and laugh until the entire bowl of cherries is gone. Dad looks off into the distance as if something’s on his mind. Perhaps he wishes we had more cherries on the tree to pick.

“Okay, let’s clean up,” says dad.

“I have to go talk to your mother, right-fast.”

We clean off the table and I head down the street to meet up with my best friend and partner-in-crime, Reynaldo, but he’d kill me if I called him that. He prefers to go by Redd because he’s so much more light-skinned than the rest of us. His always nappy hair symbolizes the lack of tender care within his household. There isn’t a soul to look after Redd in the way that I’m blessed with and it shows in every possible way. Without knowing how to ever get to the finish line, and no one to guide him, Redd is often eager to take shortcuts and will do almost anything to get what he wants.

I’m three months older than Redd and I’ve been told that Redd’s the mischievous one. My father says that when he looks at me, he sees endless possibilities of what could be. When he looks at Redd, he’s reminded of all his struggles; whatever that means.

Redd never knew who his dad was and deep down, I think Redd secretly wishes that my father, were his own. Dad always finds time to play with me, talk about what it means to be a “man”, the value of hard work, and to never give up on my dreams. He teaches me the intricate ways of the world. Meanwhile, Redd has to learn completely through observation and self-interpretation.

Here we are, two polar opposites but best friends til’ the end, standing in an alley, preparing to engage in a rock throwing competition to see who has the best aim.

“Bet you ten gummy bears, from Mrs. Jenkins, that I can hit the trash can before you can,” Redd wages.

“Yeah…right. Anything you can do, I can do better… I can do anything better than you!” I sing in my most annoying voice.

Redd’s squints his eyes and grinds his teeth in frustration, knowing that I’m right, for the most part. Since the beginning of time, I’ve always gotten better grades in school and was more athletic.

Redd focuses on the trash can as if his life depends on it. As if this one meaningless contest could change the outlook of his entire life. Perhaps in his mind, it might just alter the way he looks at himself.

Redd bends his knees and positions his body like the professional baseball pitchers he has seen on television. Standing approximately twenty feet away from the trash can, Redd winds back and hurls the rock as hard as he can, missing the trash can by a mile, and nearly hitting a cat that runs for its life. A disappointed Redd looks away from me in order to avoid direct eye contact.

“Ha ha! I knew you’d miss. Now let me show you how it’s really done,” I boast with confidence, completely oblivious to the fact that this small victory for Redd would mean so much more.

I’m sure from his point of view; the focused look in my eyes is undeniable, as I emulate the stance that Redd had. I wind back and give it all my might.

Just as I release the rock, Redd yells, “Boo!” making me miss the trash can by an even further margin than Redd did. We both laugh while Redd loudly and mockingly sings, “Anything you can do, I can do better!”

“Yeah, yeah, but you cheated and I want my ten gummy bears,” I interrupt.

Redd smiles to himself for his miniscule victory, despite distracting me as I released the rock.

Walking down the alley and feeling an inkling of guilt, Redd proposes another competition, “Race you to Mrs. Jenkins, double or nothing.”

Redd takes off in a head start, and I follow close behind.

“Wait, I wasn’t ready!” I yell while trying to catch up.

Redd barely reaches Mrs. Jenkins Candy Shop ahead of me as we burst through the door, hearts pounding, and breathing hard.

“Ya’ll slow down, with all that running!” Mrs. Jenkins screams.

She stands there with her hands on her hips, wearing a big shapeless dress covered with a faded sunflower design.  It almost looks as if she’s taken an old tablecloth and wrapped it around herself but I don’t dare say that aloud.  Although she pretends to be a mean old lady, Mrs. Jenkins has a heart of pure gold. At sixty three years old, she’s a surrogate grouchy grandma to many kids in the neighborhood.

“And I mean, ya’ll better slow down right now! Gon’ tear up my front door. Redd, you know you’re still in trouble, from the last time. Ya’ll not gon’ run my pressure up today!” She continues, staring down at us in a successful attempt to make us feel guilty.

“Okay, Mrs. Jenkins,” says Redd while focusing his eyes on the floor, in shame.

We cautiously proceed to the candy counter and I signal for Redd to hurry so that we can pick which candy we’re going to buy from the glass jars on the counter.

“How much money do we have?” asks Redd.

“I don’t know,” I reply while reaching deep into my pocket and placing a handful of pennies on the counter, before slowly counting each one. The few copper coins feel like a million dollars as I take my time counting each and every one of them.

“Ummm, I have twelve cents. How much do you have?”

Reaching into his pocket and pulling out mostly lent, Redd is able to scrounge up a nickel. Redd places it on the counter with my twelve cents, and nervously says, “So, let’s see. We got…”

“We got seventeen cents!” I interrupt.

“We HAVE seventeen cents!” Mrs. Jenkins corrects.

“Yes ma’am… We have seventeen cents,” I repeat.

Redd looks at me in excitement, and ponders all the penny-candy that we can buy with seventeen cents.

“But wait! How were you gonna buy me the ten gummy bears, if I won the bet?” I ask.

“Ahh… We all knew that you were NEVER going to hit that trash can before me,” says Redd.

We both laugh while simultaneously turning to concentrate on more important issues at hand…the candy.

“Mrs. Jenkins, I’m ready,” I say with excitement and a glint in my eyes.

“Okay, what do you want?” Mrs. Jenkins asks.

“I want four Swedish fish, and four gummy bears.”

Mrs. Jenkins shakes her head and puts the candy in a small brown paper bag. The crinkle of the bag was like music to our ears as Redd and I look at each other and smile. Her eyes turn to look to Redd in anticipation but her body language suggests that she was not in the mood for Redd’s usual indecisiveness.

“And what do you want, Reynaldo?”

I snicker knowing how much Redd hates his real name.

Redd gives a slight frown and ponders, “Umm… Let me see… I think. I’ll take… Umm… Give me…”

“Boy, what do you want?” Mrs. Jenkins impatiently asks.

“You know I’m trying to get back to my stories!”

Mrs. Jenkins turns her head, distracted by her favorite soap opera being played on the black and white television, behind the counter.

“Give me two gummy bears, two chocolate covered raisins, two lemon drops, and two Swedish fish,” Redd quickly responds.

Mrs. Jenkins stuffs two of each in the small paper bag as Redd’s face lights up.

“Wait! Do you charge tax?” Redd asks.

“Now, you know I charge tax. You ask that every time. Now, that will be seventeen cents!” We slam the change on the counter and run out the store.

“Thanks Mrs. Jenkins!” we yell in unison, slamming through the swinging door. Mrs. Jenkins shakes her head, barely containing a smile as she sits back down, to watch television.

“Quit slammin’ my door!” she yells after us.

Redd and I begin walking down the street and eating our candy just as innocent kids should, completely oblivious to time and any problems of the world. The Swedish fish nearly rip the fillings out of my teeth with each chew but it’s completely worth it.

“So what do you want to do now?” I ask as the sugar shoots through my veins.

“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s meet up with your father at that building where all the drunk men fall out into the alley. I like your father. He always tells the funniest stories.”

“Let’s go this way. I know a shortcut.”

We both cut through an alley as I whistle a melody to my favorite song, “Anything you can do…”

“Not that song again!”

I shrug my shoulders with a pretend-innocent look on my face as if I weren’t trying to subliminally remind Redd of my athletic superiority.

Redd starts walking slower while looking at the ground.

“What? What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m looking for more pennies, so we can go back to Mrs. Jenkins.”

I follow his lead and start looking for change as we approach the end of the alley.

“Good thinking.”

We come to the end of the alley and Ramone’s Bar, my father’s hangout, is now in sight. Coincidentally, my father staggers out of the bar, and proceeds to walk across the street towards us, but he doesn’t see us. He has a bottle of in one hand and a grocery bag in the other.  He looks as if he’s talking to himself. Mr. Miles mumbles as he stumbles into the street.

“Hey, there he is!” Redd yells with excitement.

I look up in anticipation, with a smile on my face, blind to the fact that my father is drunk and can barely keep his balance.

“Dad!” I yell but he doesn’t hear me.

My father just continues to talk to himself as he trips over an uneven portion of the sidewalk.

“They need to fix the sidewalk!” he yells as he takes a drink from the bottle.

“Almost spilled my drink!”

Redd puts his hands to his mouth, to make a megaphone as he screams, “Mr. Miles!”

Dad looks up and waves at us as he steps out into the street.

A horn begins to honk.  Tires screech.

“Look out!” I yell, as a big maroon Buick speeds through the red light.

Dad’s knees buckle. His body sails through the air and everything seems to slow before my eyes.  The weight of his body dents the hood and then shatters the windshield.  The grocery bag flies into the air as my dad’s body also takes flight before landing twenty feet away.  The sound of his body hitting the pavement turns my stomach.  It reminds me of the way watermelon sounds when it’s tossed to the ground at a family picnic… squishy, juices flowing as the kids scramble to get a piece.  The sound of glass shattering echoes in my ears as cherries from dad’s grocery bag rain down, scattering around his limp body.

Time speeds up.

The driver hurries out of the car.

“Sir, are you okay?”

Dad lays unconscious on the street with his head leaning on the curb. Redd and I immediately run to him in panic. My heart beats loud enough for the entire neighborhood to hear.

“Dad, are you alright? Get up. Get up dad!” I beg.

“Get up dad!” I cry.

“Someone call an ambulance!” the driver yells.

“And someone get these kids out of here!”

Redd stands over my dad with a blank look on his face. He never says a word. He simply focuses on Dad and in turn, my dad focuses on him.  A single tear forms in the corner of Dad’s right eye.  The tear builds enough size, to slowly flow down his face, just missing the corner of his mouth before it splashes onto the ground, blending with the shattered glass. Their eyes are still locked as Dad’s head slowly tilts. He now stares through Redd.

Charles, my father’s best friend, stumbles out of the bar and grabs me with one arm and Redd in the other.

“No. Let me stay! Get up dad!” I scream hysterically.

Unaware of my surroundings, I feel my feet leave the ground as my body levitates before all sounds are muted and my vision fades to black. I lose consciousness in the arms of a drunk man, yet Redd can’t seem to take his eyes off of Mr. Miles, who is just laying there on the street, in his own blood. Redd doesn’t see a drunk or foolish man. Redd merely sees the closest image of a father that he has ever known. Here lies a man whose demons have cost him everything as his hand tightly grips a broken glass bottle and alcohol mixed with blood, cherries, family, dreams and hope flow down the streets of Southwest Philadelphia. This is my father and the only man that Redd has ever looked up to in admiration. It is an image that we will never forget.

It’s June 5th, 1986 and summer vacation has just begun in Southwest Philadelphia.

2

Beautiful June sunrays beam down upon me as a white wooden chair at Holy Cross Cemetery supports my limp body.

“Ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,” Rev. Barr says in an almost cold, monotone voice.

Redd sits next to me and stares at the casket as deeply as he had done when he watched Mr. Miles fade away on the street. The smell of lilies and roses fill the air. I can’t believe how wonderful a cemetery can smell, despite the gloom that surrounds it. My father was loved. I can see it in the sorrow on people’s faces. Their expressions say that the world is worse off with him gone.

The reality of the moment makes it difficult to look at the actual casket. Confused by the minister’s words who insinuate that I will never see dad again on this side of life.

Charles fixes his blood-shot red eyes on me, before quickly looking away as if he knows something that I don’t. Maybe, it’s the fact that I resemble my father. Or perhaps it’s the fact that he knows that I know that his clothes reek of cheap whisky, just as my father did before he died.

Charles takes a dingy off-white handkerchief from his right suit pocket and wipes his eyes. It was the first time that I’ve ever seen a grown man cry. The handkerchief has my father’s name embroidered into it and now dries the evidence of inner-demons let loose on a fellow alcoholic.

Charles wipes his eyes one last time and then his forehead, before putting the handkerchief back into his right pocket.

“It will be alright,” random people say as they pat me on the back.

“Of course it will be alright. Because, in a few days, when Dad gets better, he’ll open our front door wide, and come stumbling in… Rambling on to mom about dinner not being cooked and the dishes not being washed. Just like he does everyday,” I thought.

Scanning the burial site from left to right and then from right to left, finally locking eyes with a young girl that I’d met once before on the playground. She had a distinct birth mark on her left calf that resembled a cherry. We laughed on the swings and shared licorice candy. She now wears a black dress with matching black shoes. Her hair is long, her skin is dark, and her name is Tonya.

The shiny black rectangular box with chrome handles snaps me out of my trance and remind me that I’m at a funeral. Almost in slow motion, a man in a black suit with white gloves turns the crank and the casket becomes less and less visible as it lowers into the ground. My heart skips a beat as the man with white gloves takes his shovel and dumps dirt on the casket.

“Wait!” I yell in my mind.

My mouth opens but no words are audible.

Mom pulls me close with hands that shiver and grip me tighter with each passing moment.

“It’s okay… Everything is going to be okay,” she says as I bury my head in her lap.

I’m not sure if she’s encouraging me or if I’m the one that’s helping her keep it together. My small hands clinch her dress tightly and my lips press firmly against each other as my face naturally frowns. I breathe excessively as mom rubs my back.

“But daddy’s in there. They’re pouring dirt on daddy!” my inner-thoughts scream but all that’s heard is a faint whisper, “Stop…….”

In denial, I tightly close my eyes but it’s the ears that record the horror. The cries of strangers mixed with the sound of dirt crashing on top of the casket. I slowly release the grip on mom’s dress with an attempt to cover my ears to mute the sounds of the inevitable. However, the only thing silenced are the birds that chirped just minutes ago. The digging sound of the shovel is magnified as it forces its way through the dirt. With each crashing sound of dirt hitting the casket, my stomach tightens and another tear drops from my eye.

I can’t take another second of this torture as I remove myself from mom’s lap and make a run for the all black limousine. The tombstones are all a blur as I run faster than I’ve ever ran in my entire life; Wishing that I could continue to run until I reach the end of the earth, and only then will I allow myself to fathom what has just taken place.

I open the door, dive into the huge leather seats and cry uncontrollably. The driver looks at me through the rear-view mirror for a moment before starting the car.

“Where’s Redd?” I wonder.

Looking out the window, I see Redd, though the crowd who sits on one of the white wooden chairs with his chin still buried in his chest. Neither one of us is ready to let go.

Mom walks towards him slowly because she wants to give him time to grieve in his own way. Redd’s mother died of cancer when he was two years old and his father had abandoned his mother, once he found out that she was pregnant with him. Redd was now living with his grandparents but they were much too old to raise such a rebellious young boy. Redd looked up to Mr. Miles as the father that he never had. Whenever dad would give me ten cents to go to the store, he would always give Redd ten cents, as well. Dad would always talk about how we needed to stick together and look out for each other when we go out to play. Every once in a while, if Dad had been drinking, he would tell us about all the funny stories that took place, at the bar. He would let us drink a Coca-Cola, and we’d laugh like there was no tomorrow.

“Redd, are you ready to go?” mom asked. Redd just sat there quiet, as if he had lost his desire to speak. His chin still buried in his chest but his eyes focused on the hole in the ground where Dad now lays.

“Redd. Are you…” Mom asks, but Redd stands up before she is able to finish the question.

He doesn’t say a word or even look at her. He just continues to look at the hole as she grabs his hand and pulls him away. His mind flashes back to when Charles had pulled him away from the site where Dad laid on the concrete, after the accident. That cold stare that Dad gave him and that single tear that dropped from his right eye and splashed on the concrete.

Mom and Redd arrive at the limousine and Charles opens the door for them. Redd gets in the car and immediately looks out his window to avoid eye contact with anyone. I also look out my window and rest my head on the glass, trying to avoid eye contact as well. It seems as if everyone in the car is avoiding eye contact to keep from further crying. Mom takes a deep breathe and the driver slowly pulls off.

3

In the alley adjacent to Ramone’s Bar, Charles leans against the brick wall, drinking a 40-ounce in a paper bag. It’s a cold February evening of 1989, where Charles wears a long winter coat, with a fur hood. A black scarf hangs around his neck with black gloves and winter boots that cover his feet. Ramone had put him out for irate behavior while drinking too much, so Charles decides to hit the liquor store and finish his intoxication outside the establishment.

“Remember the time...” Charles asks himself.

“Darren, do you remember the time when we went fishing, under the bridge? I couldn’t catch a fish all morning? Huh? You remember?” Charles drunkenly paces back and forth in the alley.

“And what did you say to me? You said to change my bait. I’m out there trying to catch catfish with a piece of cheese cause I don’t have any worms,” Charles mumbles as his words get more and more slurred.

He takes another big gulp of his 40-ounce, while spilling some on his winter coat.

“So, we go and get some worms... And just like that. Thirty minutes later, I catch the biggest fish I’ve ever seen in my life!” Charles seems to gather his focus as he begins to get some clarity on the situation.

“And what did you say to me, after that? That’s right. You said that catching fish was just like listening to the radio. And that just because I can’t hear the radio right now, doesn’t mean that station is not on. Then you said something about the invisible radio waves going back and forth all the time. If I go and get a radio, then I can tap into what is already there. Just like fishing... If I have the right bait, I can tap into what is already there,” Charles begins to cry as his back crashes against the wall.

“See... You always knew what to say. You always knew what to say. I wonder what you would tell me now. Seems I’ve let you down. I’m drinking more... I lost my job. I don’t know what to do. Wish you could just come down and... Help me catch fish again!”

Charles starts to slide down the wall, as he reaches in his right pocket, and pulls out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes. It is the same handkerchief from Darren Miles’ funeral. Charles opens the handkerchief and reads the print, “Miles.”

“Yeah... I’m miles away from where I’m supposed to be, in life! I let you and your son down. Look at me... Look at me!”

Charles buries his face in his handkerchief and falls over in the alley. Curled up in a ball, Charles falls asleep.

Redd and I just happen to be walking past the alley where Charles lay, and notice a man in the alley.

“Hey... I think I see a man over there,” Redd says.

“Where?”

“Right over there!” Redd points down the alley to the man lying on the concrete.

“You think he’s dead?” Redd questions.

“I don’t know. What do you think we should do?”

“Let’s go get a closer look,” says Redd.

“I don’t know.”

“Come on. Quit being a little girl!” says Redd.

We cautiously approach the old man.

“Shhh...” says Redd as he puts his index finger to his lips.

Standing about ten feet away from the stranger, we can smell the musk mixed whisky as strong as we smell the garbage in the alley.

Redd picks up a rock and throws it near the guy to see if he responds but the man doesn’t budge.

“Sir, are you Okay?” The man doesn’t say a word.

We cautiously move in closer until we’re about five feet away.

“Sir... Are you... Okay?” I nervously ask.

Redd motions for me to take a closer look. We both tip-toe right up on the stranger and Redd touches his shoulder.

“Ahh!” the man jumps as Redd and I both jump back about five feet.

The man tries to get up, but can’t. Redd and I slowly walk backwards until our backs touch the other opposite wall of the alley.

“Sir, are you Ok?” I ask but don’t recognize that it’s Charles. I haven’t seen him since the funeral and now he’s covered in dirt, even more now than before. Charles doesn’t respond. He just looks me deeply in my eyes as if he knows me from somewhere. I turn to look at the ground and notice the handkerchief with “Miles” embroidered into it.

“Charles?” I ask as my voice reaches a pitch an octave above normal.

“Don’t look at me!” Charles tries to get up, but falls.

“Leave me alone!” Charles yells.

“Get out of here!” Charles grabs his almost empty bottle of liquor and lifts it over his head as if he were going to throw it at Redd and I. We both run from the alley as he releases the bottle, barely missing us as it shatters on the ground.

“What am I doing?” Charles asks himself.

We hurry, turn the corner and run three more blocks before stopping.

“What do you think happened to him?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Didn’t he used to work with your father?”

“Yeah... Yeah, he did. They were best friends.”

Redd and I walk in silence for about a minute as our sneakers rhythmically squeak.

“Wonder what happened?” I ask.

We continue to walk a couple more blocks, before I stop mid-step and place my hand over Redd’s chest.

“Wait!” I say.

“Wait on what?”

“It’s her!”

“Look. In the car, it’s her! I saw her in the window of that car!”

I take off running after the tan Oldsmobile.

“It’s who?” asks Redd while trying to keep up.

“It’s Tonya! The girl from the playground... The girl from my daddy’s funeral!”

I run as fast as I possibly can but can’t keep up as the car turns the corner. Redd finally catches up to me on the corner and we stand still watching the car get smaller and smaller.

“You ready to go home?” I ask.

“Not really. It’s nothing to do there. Maybe I can go over to your house for a while.”

“Well. It’s starting to get dark and you know how mama is on a school night. I’ll walk you home though.”

We finally arrive in front of Redd’s house and I pat him on the back.

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow on the bus.”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

Redd walks in the house and I begin walking back in the other direction to head home. Tonya takes over my thoughts with each step and I recall her long hair that sways ever so gently in the breeze. I go over all the different conversations that we might share, if I ever see her again.

“Hi. Remember me?” rehearsing to myself.

“Nah. That won’t work. Too simple.”

“Hello Tonya. I’m Kevin. You still go to the playground?” I smile and shake my head in embarrassment.

“No. That won’t work either. I’m sure she’s heard that before!”

“A letter! I’ll give it to her if I ever see her again,” I rationalize while talking to myself.

I run home in excitement over what feels like my very first crush. After arriving at the house, I reach for the house key that hangs from my neck along with a dog tag. I anxiously unlock the door and run past mom, to my room.

“Hi mom!” I say before quickly shutting the door. She just shakes her head and smiles. I immediately sit at my desk, pull out a sheet of paper and a pencil, and start writing with the seriousness of a senior thesis.

Dear Tonya,

I saw you at the playground when we were much younger. And I saw you again at my daddy’s funeral. If you like to have fun you can come with me and my best friend, Redd, one day to get some candy at Mrs. Jenkins.

Kevin Miles

P.S.: Don’t forget to write me back. Cause then I won’t know if you want to get some candy.

I fold the letter and put it in one of the pockets of my backpack. Mom suddenly bursts into the room, “What are you doing in here? You’re awfully quiet.”

“Umm... Nothing. Just doing homework,” I say with the innocence of a child but I’m afraid that my face shows the guilt of a convicted felon.

I discreetly tuck the letter in my bag.

“So which is it? You were doing nothing, or homework?”

“Homework. I was doing homework,” as if to convince myself the lie.

“Well, do you need any help? I mean... I don’t see any books out anywhere?”

“Yeah, I just finished everything. It was easy.”

“Well, go wash your hands so you can come and get some dinner. Knowing you, you spent all day at Mrs. Jenkins with Redd. Spending all your money.”

“Well... Not all the money,” I say while putting on a sinless smile.

Mom smiles back and heads to the kitchen.

****

It’s 7:30am. Redd and I sit on torn vinyl seats of an old school bus. I day dream while looking out the window as Redd writes in one of his notebooks.

“I feel no rain.

With closed eyes, I see peace.”

Redd closes his eyes for a moment and shuts his notebook.

“What are you staring at?” asks Redd.

“Nothing.”

Redd stuffs the notebook back into his backpack, pulls out a Thunder Cats figure, and starts playing with it in his lap.

“Thunder Cats, Thunder Cats, Thunder Cats, Ho!” Redd yells with excitement as all the kids turn around and look at him as if he has lost his mind. I continue looking out the window with a slight grin on my face.

Suddenly jumping from my seat, “Redd, look! The tan Oldsmobile!”

“Yeah... So.”

“So???” I question while maintaining eye contact with the car as the bus passes by and making a mental note of its address.

“All this time, we’ve been catching the bus and she lives right around the corner from us!”

“Yeah, I could’ve told you that,” Redd says sarcastically.

“What???” I ask.

“I mean... You met her in the playground by our house, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And she is our age right?”

“Yeah.”

“So that means she’s too young to drive. You said before that no one came to pick her up.”

“So what does that mean?” I ask while looking confused.

“What I’m trying to say is... If she didn’t drive, and no one came to pick her up, then she must have walked, dummy!” Redd yells while shaking his head in disappointment.

I jump from my seat, “You’re right!” I yell in excitement as if Redd had just discovered the cure for Cancer.

Redd looks around in embarrassment, “Man... Sit down. I got an image, you know.”

“Yeah, right. You didn’t have an image a minute ago when you were all, Thunder Cats, Thunder Cats, Ho!” I mock.

“Yeah, whatever. Just sit down and try to blend in, or something.”

Finally, we arrive at school. Redd proceeds with his day as normal, but I’m a bit nervous and anxious all day.

“Hey, a few of us want to play kick-ball at recess. You gonna play?” asks Redd.

“Nah. I want to work on this letter,” I interrupt, “I mean. I have a lot of homework to do.”

“Oookkaaaaaayyyy,” says Redd.

“You do realize that it’s recess, don’t you? It is okay to have some fun, you know.”

“Yeah, but I have to finish this before sixth period,” I explain.

“Okay. Well, I’ll see ya’ later.”

“See ya’.”

****

Seventh period math class finally rolls around and I’m a nervous wreck. My head throbs in pain. My palms are sweaty and I can’t seem to take my eyes off the clock.

“Just fifteen more minutes,” I whisper to myself as the clock reads 2:30pm.

I close my eyes for what feels like two straight minutes and try to use telekinesis to force time to speed up. Upon opening my eyes, I discover that the clock now only reads 2:31pm. Disappointment covers my face as I realize that my limited powers only include slowing down time. Redd looks over and notices the sadness in my face and for some odd reason, this brings a silly smirk to his.

“Hey Kevin,” says Redd.

“What.”

“I just wanted to tell you...”

“Tell me what?”

“That it’s 2:29pm.”

“Leave me alone... I’m trying to focus.”

“Who’s talking?” Mrs. Green, the math teacher, sternly asks.

Redd and I quickly look straight and fold our hands on the desktop just like the good little boys that we pretend to be.

“Okay, don’t make me hold class ‘til three o’clock!” Mrs. Green threatens. Mrs. Green points to the chalk board and asks the class, “Who can answer this for

me? What is six hundred and thirty three, times four hundred and fifty two?”

Suddenly, what feels like a blessing from above, the class is let off the hook as the bell rings. I storm out of the school as if it were on fire. Redd follows close behind.

“Come on. We have to get to the bus!” I say with excitement.

“What’s the rush? All day you’ve been rushing! Bus doesn’t leave until 3 o’clock,” says Redd.

“I want to hurry and get a good seat by the window to see if the Oldsmobile is still out there when we pass the house.”

The long yellow bus pulls up to the curb, only to be greeted by an anxious and impatient little boy. I have a look of irritation as I tap on the door, with my tiny knuckles.

“Let me in!” I plead.

The driver, Mr. Humphrey, opens the door.

“What’s the rush, Kevin? You running from some bullies? And where’s your side kick?”

“I don’t know,” I reply as I look around and Redd is nowhere to be found.

“I just wanted to get a really... Good... Seat by the window,” I explain with a look on my face that almost convinces even me.

“Yeah right. This isn’t an airplane,” Mr. Humphrey says while laughing at the same time.

“I’ve heard it all now! Umm... Excuse me, I’d like a window seat,” Mr. Humphrey says with a distinguished mocking tone.

I sit by the window in the front of the bus in silence. Constantly looking at my watch, “What time does this bus leave again?”

“Same time we leave everyday. When all the kids get on, or when the clock strikes 3 o’clock. Whichever comes first!”

“Oh yeah.”

Finally some kids begin to come onto the bus. It’s 2:59pm, and I see a boy running in the distance with the determination of an Olympic track star. I’m humored at the idea of this young boy trying his hardest to make it onto the bus before the clock strikes 3 o’clock. Mr. Humphrey revs the engine. Suddenly, all the children are watching this kid kick up rocks and dust behind him.

“It’s Redd!” I yell in excitement.

“Mr. Humphrey, wait for Redd! Here he comes.”

“Ahh, I don’t know if he’s gonna make it!” Mr. Humphrey says jokingly, but all the kids believe in their hearts that he’s sincere.

“Wait! Wait!” all the kids beg as Redd runs his heart out.

His face has turned rosy-red, the closer he gets to the bus. Finally, he reaches the door and begins to beat on the window of the door. Mr. Humphrey pretends to not see him for the moment just to make a point, and at the same time, have some fun.

“Let me in! Mr. Humphrey, let me in! It’s 2:59!” Redd begs, from the curb.

Suddenly, the door swings wide open. Redd runs up the steps with enthusiasm, smiling from ear to ear as the kids all cheer in unison.

“I almost left ya’, today!” Mr. Humphrey says, obviously still in a joking mood.

“At least now, I see why they call you Redd. Lovely pinkish hue, you’ve got there. You must not know how to tell time!”

Redd is embarrassed as he mumbles under his breathe, “well at least I know how to use a comb,” Redd replies as he slides into the seat with me.

“I saved you a seat,” I say, excited to be reunited with my friend on yet another sunny afternoon.

“What took you so long?”

“Well...”

“Well what?”

“Well, I waited til’ everyone left class. And then I snuck back into the room before the janitors came in to clean up.”

My ears perk up and eye brows arch with excitement.

“Yeah... What did you get?” I impatiently ask.

Redd interrupts, “Wait, let me tell you.”

Redd looks around to make sure no one is listening before moving closer in order to talk at a whisper.

“Okay. So once class was over, everyone ran out. I doubled back and went into the school. Mrs. Green was cleaning the chalk board, as usual. I hid in my locker for a

while, just waiting and waiting for her to leave. I could see the room through the little vent on the locker door. So she finally leaves to go to the bathroom or something. I don’t know, but all I know is that she didn’t lock the door. I figured I had three maybe four minutes. So, that’s when I made my move.”

“What?” I ask.

“Wait. I’m about to tell you,” an annoyed Redd says.

“Well... Every teacher has a stash. So I’m looking through her desk, then her closet and I happen to look up. All the way on the top shelf, there is a jar of...”

“Candy???” I interrupt with a youthful exuberance.

“Yes. All you can eat. Free candy!”

“Woo hoo hoo! What we get?” I ask.

“We got four lemon drops. That’s two a piece,” Redd says while still trying to maintain the same level of energy.

“Wait. Wait. Wait. You tell me about a stash. And I don’t even know what a stash is. And then you say candy, free, and all-you-can-eat, all in the same sentence, and then you come back with only four lemon drops? No chocolate... No Jujubes... No Swedish Fish???” I respond with obvious disappointment.

“Man, I got what I could get... I heard a noise!” Redd explains.

“A noise?”

“Yeah a noise, but you know what? There’s always tomorrow!” says Redd.

“Yeah, you’re right!” I respond as we give each other a high-five before eating our lemon drops.

“Ummm. They’re good too. You gotta put both in at the same time, to get all the sugar,” Redd explains.

“Oh yeah, good thinking,” I say before stuffing the other lemon drop in my mouth.

“Yeah, for some reason free candy always tastes better than the ones from the store,” I respond as we both laugh.

I begin to refocus my attention out the window, while continuing to suck these lemon drops down to a finite grain of sugar. The pace of my heart quickens as the bus comes within three blocks of the street that I remember Tonya’s house to be on.

“Woodland Street” I recall in my head.

“And then look for the house with the green door.”

The anticipation heightens as the bus makes a slow right turn on Woodland. Suddenly my ears are filled with silence. Redd’s lips move in the reflection of the window, but he never makes a sound, along with the other kids on the bus who are also silenced. “5330... 5332... 5334,” I whisper to myself while reading off the addresses. Feeling the sudden rise in temperature at the top of my head as beads of sweat form at the front of my neck.

“The green door!” my mind screams to itself as a mischievous grin reflects all what my mind panders.

“5336 Woodland Street,” I say out loud.

“But no Oldsmobile!”

Redd leans forward in his seat.

“Are you still talking about that Oldsmobile? I’ve been trying to talk to you for the last five minutes. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. Just trying to figure some stuff out,” I explain to my simple-minded friend.

“So what do you want to do today?” asks Redd.

“Umm... Give me about an hour and I’ll be ready.”

“Well meet me at Funway-Freeway in an hour so we can play some games.”

“Okay.”

The bus comes to a stop at our usual spot. I walk towards my house, unlock the door and toss my backpack on the couch.

“Hey mama. I’m about to go and play with Redd.”

“Okay. Just be back by dinner time,” Mom says.

After leaving the house, I hide in the bushes for a second.

“Come on,” I quietly say to myself while impatiently ensuring that Redd is out of sight.

Heading back to the morning bus route, while repeating to myself, “5336 Woodland... 5336 Woodland.”

I finally reach Woodland Street and begin reading the addresses, “5350... 5348... 5346.”

Suddenly the tan Oldsmobile speeds past and I stop dead in my tracks. Carefully watching the car pull into the driveway. Heart pounding, palms sweaty and mind confused as to what to actually say or do once I get to the house. Still I continue down the street and watch Tonya get out of the back seat, before running into the house. My pace naturally slows as I feel around in my pocket for the letter that I’d written for Tonya. Slowly unfolding the piece of paper as I proofread my poetic words one last time. For some reason, I question this entire adventure. Is this the right time to approach her? What if she has a mean mother who chases me off the porch with a broom? Or even worse, if she has a bigger brother who holds me upside down by my shoes until all of my candy-money falls to the ground? Then offering to take Tonya to Mrs. Jenkins would prove to be quite silly. Yet in still, my feet have a mind of their own as my right foot positions itself in front of my left and propels me forward.

I fold the piece of paper exactly four times, and focus my eyes on the tan Oldsmobile that gets larger with each step.

Finally I arrive at the rear bumper of the car, afraid to turn and look at that green door that has haunted my thoughts all day long. Slowly pivoting on my right foot and spinning towards the front of the house, I await destiny and envision Tonya to be standing there on the front porch as if she had been waiting for me the entire time. Staring blankly at the house, anticipating something. Anything.

“Nothing,” I say to myself in disappointment.

“Not even a ruffle of the curtains. Should I ring the doorbell?”

“Nah... That won’t work. What if her mother answers the door?”

Having given up, I begin to walk back in the other direction heading home. Suddenly, I hear some rustling coming from the side of the house. I walk in that direction and the sound becomes clearer. It is the sound of leather repeatedly hitting the street.

Seconds later I’m able to see a little girl jumping rope by herself from behind.

“Hey!” I yell, but to no response.

“Hey. Do you live here?” I ask, hoping that this little girl could lead me that much closer to my secret crush. I manage to get the girl’s attention as she quickly turns around. This turn however, seems to happen in slow motion as her long hair blows in the breeze as the rope circles her head. Her calf muscles flex as she barely clears the rope and I recognize the dark cherry birth mark and realize that the little girl is indeed Tonya. I try to greet her but nervously lose my breath for a second. “H... H...,” as I make yet another failed attempt.

“Hi,” she says.

I respond with a wave and a smile big enough to see every tooth in my mouth.

“Do you remember me?” Tonya asks.

“Of course,” I respond while slowly gaining composure as my heartbeat calms.

“Yeah, we met on the playground a long time ago. All this time, I didn’t know that you lived so close to me,” I tell her as if I hadn’t been dreaming about her the whole time.

“Yeah, I had to move here when my...” Tonya pauses.

“I saw you at my father’s funeral. How did you know my father?” I ask.

“I didn’t. My mother knew him. Says he used to say wise things. I remembered you from the playground that time, so I asked if I could come along.”

“Oh,” I respond while seeming a bit confused.

“Tonya!” a voice yells from inside the house.

Tonya turns around immediately and waves at Ms. Lane, her mother, who is looking at us from the window.

“If you don’t get your fast-self in this house!” Ms. Lane yells.

“Well... I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe,” Tonya says.

“Okay. See you tomorrow.”

We both turn to go our separate ways but I quickly turn back to her.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. I wanted to give you this.”

I reach into my pocket and hand Tonya the letter that I’d written. She slightly blushes as she takes the letter.

“Well... I really have to go now.”

“Okay. See you later.”

I slowly walk away as time is of no importance. Her beautiful face is tattooed on the inside of my eye lids when I close my eyes. My heart races with every blink.

****

Tonya sits on the couch and her mother sits across from her, tapping her foot.

“So, what was Mr. Miles’ son talking about?”

“Nothing. He just asked questions about how I knew his father,” Tonya responds.

“Ahh okay. Well, you get washed up so we can eat dinner.”

“Okay mom,” Tonya stands and begins to exit the living room before stopping in her tracks.

“Hey mom. Is daddy coming back?”

“I don’t know, baby.”

“What about that other man that came by?”

“Mr. Walker?”

“Yeah, that was his name. What ever happened to him? He was really nice.”

“Child, he was too nice! I’d run over him every day of the week and walk over him on the weekends!” Ms. Lane says jokingly.

“Now get in there and wash your hands and face so we can eat.”

“Okay mama.”

4

4 Years Later

Staring at the flicker of the bright green florescent lights that read, “Funway-Freeway Arcade,” I’m hesitant to go in and actually play the games. It seems puppy love has consumed my every thought and Redd has been known to be quite insensitive to such female-emotions. Redd’s more into his fierce game of “Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out” at the moment to be worrying about girls. I slowly walk towards Redd and stand on the side of the game system, as to not break Redd’s concentration. I let out a long sigh while looking at the ceiling.

“What took you so long?” Redd asks.

“Just had to finish up some things,” I reply while hoping he doesn’t ask about my little excursion.

“Yeah right, you’ve been acting kind of funny all day,” says Redd while still maintaining his focus on the video game.

“Watch Out! Upper Cut, Upper Cut, and… He’s down!” Redd rejoices in his victory over the Iron Mike Tyson.

“I beat the game!” Redd yells in excitement.

“What? You beat it?” I ask while sharing Redd’s exuberance.

“Wow. How did you do that?”

“I saw a magazine on how to beat him. Gotta stay away from those Upper Cuts!!! But I can’t tell you all my secrets. Then you’ll be better than me!” Redd brags while pretending to polish his nails on his shirt with confidence.

“You gonna play some games?” Redd asks.

“Nah… Not today. I wanna save my change for Mrs. Jenkins.”

“Yeah, good thinking. A man’s gotta eat. Well, let’s get out of here. You were late and it’s going to get dark soon. You know your mama is going to have dinner ready any second now. You know what happened to you the last time you missed dinner!” Redd teases.

“Nothing happened and ain’t nothing gonna happen today!”

Redd and I begin to leave the Shopping Mall when we notice an extremely pretty girl, our age, who’s standing there with her father holding a measuring tape and a note pad. Redd gazes at the beauty of her caramel complexion, complimented by her wavy, sandy brown colored hair. Even through the work-goggles that she’s wearing, he is convinced that this is the most beautiful girl that he has seen in his entire life.

I begin to walk towards the father and his daughter and Redd follows close behind in suspense as to what I’m doing exactly.

“Hi. I’m Kevin.”

“Why hello,” the man replies.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“We’re renovating this place.”

“Need any help?”

Redd nudges me in my side and whispers, “what are you doing?”

“Sorry to bother you, sir. We’ll be on our way now,” Redd explains.

“No, that’s all right. You boys hand me that paint roller, over there.”

I hurry to get the paint roller, in excitement.

“If you need any extra help, maybe we can come by everyday and help out, after school.”

The young girl looks at me with a smile on her face. Redd notices this and begins to get jealous, however I don’t even much notice that there’s a girl in the room.

“What’s your name, son?” the man asks.

“Kevin. And this is my best friend, Redd.”

“Nice to meet you two. I don’t reckon I’ve ever come across any boys so ambitious. How old are you two?”

“We’re thirteen.”

“Going on fourteen though,” Redd interrupts while glancing at Kesha.

The man laughs, “Well. You can call me Mr. Norful.”

“Mr. Norful. Is this your very own business?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Yeah… You look like the type of guy who owns his own business. One day I’m gonna own my own business. At least that’s what my father used to always say.”

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”

The young girl, feeling left out of the conversation lets out a big sigh.

“Oh yes. This is my daughter, Kesha.”

“Kesha…” I repeat, while being interrupted by Redd as he steps over me in a rush to greet her.

“Nice to meet you, Kesha. I’m Redd.”

I roll my eyes in disgust as Redd shakes her hand. Kesha is still focusing on me as Redd gives her a slight smile before diverting his attention back to Mr. Norful.

“So, what time are you going to be here, tomorrow?” I ask.

“Oh, I don’t know. Don’t you think you’re a little bit too young to work for me? I’m pretty sure there are laws against these sorts of things.”

“Oh… Well, is it against the law to just come and watch?”

“No… I reckon not. But what will your mother have to say about this?”

“Oh… She’ll be fine,” I say while looking off into the distance in uncertainty.

“Well, maybe you should bring her up here to meet me. We wouldn’t want to take any chances.”

“Great!!! See you tomorrow, same time!”

Redd looks utterly annoyed as we walk out of the storefront.

“See ya’ll later!” I say while waving goodbye.

“Bye,” Mr. Norful and Kesha respond as they wave us off.

“Man… Why didn’t you ask me first before signing me up for something like that?” says Redd.

“What? I think it will be fun. Don’t you want to figure out how to run a business?”

“Ummm… No. All I wanna figure out is… How can I get Kesha’s address so we can write each other letters and how to come up with some change to go to Mrs. Jenkins before she closes. That’s it!”

“Yeah… I think it’s the same thing. If we go watch Mr. Norful work, you can talk to Kesha. And I can figure out how to run a business, so I can have all the change in the world for Mrs. Jenkins!” I reply.

“Yeah… Maybe you’re right,” says Redd.

“I remember dad always talking about his dream to ‘be his own boss’. He never said it, but… I just feel like he’d love to know that I grew up to become a big-time businessman.”

“I don’t know… What type of business would we start anyway?”

“I don’t know… I haven’t figured that part out yet.”

Redd and I begin our walk home.

“It’s getting dark. We need to get home, before we get in trouble,” I remind Redd.

“Nah… YOU will get in trouble. I think that I might go back to the arcade and see if I can beat Mike Tyson again!” Redd says jokingly.

“Oh okay. Well I have to get home. I want to be able to come out tomorrow.”

Redd and I approach my house and I begin to unlock the front door while waving goodbye to Redd.

“See ya’ tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see ya’.”

I walk through the front door and my ears perk up with the sound of grease popping in a frying pan. The aroma of fried chicken, greens, and cornbread leave me intoxicated as my body seemingly floats into the kitchen.

“Mmm… Something smells good.”

Mom stands at the stove reading a letter from the mortgage company.

“Dear Customer,

It has come to our attention that you have now become two months behind on your mortgage. In order to avoid foreclosure, you must…”

Mom presses her hand to her chest as she reads the words “foreclosure,” which seem to be written in bold letters.

“Oh My Lord…” she says to herself as her heart skips a beat and her knees get weak.

“Give me the strength.”

I walk into the kitchen where I see mom preparing dinner, while holding her heart.

“Mama, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, it’s just a little heart burn. How was school?” Mom asks, as if nothing is bothering her at all.

“It was great! I got an ‘A’ on my math test.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m proud of you son. Well, go get your test so that I can post it on the refrigerator, and then wash your hands while I set the table for us to eat.”

I quickly run off to wash my hands, and proudly hurry back into the kitchen with the test in my hands.

“Here it is mama. I only got one answer wrong.”

“Well congratulations. Looks like my son is going to be a fancy professor at a prestigious university one day, or maybe even an engineer. What do you think?”

“Umm… I don’t know. I think I want to own my own business.”

“Now that sounds promising,” Mrs. Miles says with excitement and encouragement in her voice.

“My son, the entrepreneur!”

“How was your day, mama?”

“Not as good as yours, but… I’ll survive.”

Mrs. Miles grabs the letter from the mortgage company and puts it in her pocket.

“What was that?” I ask, sensing something wrong.

“Ah, just some junk mail,” she quickly replies.

“Now sit down and let’s eat this food.”

“Ooh, what did you cook?”

“I fixed some fried chicken, greens, macaroni and cheese, and cornbread. All cooked just the way you like it.”

A smile covers my face and erases the suspicion in the room as I sit down and mom hands me a plate. Immediately, I start eating as if I were starving to death. Meanwhile, mom seems to be distracted as she stares blankly at the picture of dad, hanging in the hallway.

“Is something the matter, ma?”

“No. Now eat your food, Kevin. I made your favorite, didn’t I?” Mrs. Miles pauses as if to catch herself about to transfer some of her negative energy onto me.

“So, what trouble have you and Redd gotten into today?”

“No trouble. Me and Redd went to Funway-Freeway again.”

“Oh yeah?” she questions while in a daze.

“And we met a man at the mall. He owns his own business.”

“Oh yeah? That’s good,” mom repeats herself, while daydreaming about that letter from the mortgage company.

“So, we asked if we could watch him work and see if we can learn a thing or two.”

“Oh yeah?” Mrs. Miles questions without even thinking about what I was saying before she snaps back into reality.

“Wait a minute. Who is this man? And how did you meet this man?” Mrs. Miles’ voice goes up an octave while staring sternly into my eyes.

“He was working, and me and Redd…”

Mrs. Miles quickly interrupts, “You know I told you not to talk to strangers!”

“I know, but…”

“But nothing. Okay. Keep it up and you won’t be going outside anymore with Redd! I know this was his idea.”

“No ma’am. It’s just…” making an attempt to explain myself while my eyes almost start to tear up a bit.

“It’s just that… Daddy used to always talk to me about running his own business. And I want to run my own business one day, but… I don’t actually know anyone who can show me how. I thought…”

“You thought what? Listen… I know your daddy used to talk about running his own business. He used to talk about a lot of things! That still don’t excuse the fact that you were talking to strangers when you KNOW I told you not to.”

I stab the fork into my greens and take a bite, chomping down on the soft greens as if they were a tough steak.

“Look, don’t make me come across this table. I see you over there eating with all that attitude!”

My aggressive chewing changes to me mashing the greens with my tongue and the roof of my mouth.

“Now… When is the next time, you are SUPPOSED to see this man?” Mrs. Miles asks.

“Well… Me and Redd were going to watch him work tomorrow.”

“Okay. Well… I’m coming with you so I can see just what type of man we’re dealing with here.”

“Okay,” I respond while looking down into my plate.

“Talking to MY kids… Oh, well we gon’ see about this,” mom mumbles while chomping on her greens just as hard as I had a minute ago.

I find it difficult to hold in the smile while staring into my plate.

“Did I tell you how good the food was today?” I say in my most kiss-up voice.

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t try to be all nice now!” Mrs. Miles says while trying not to crack a smile.

“Well best believe tomorrow we are going to see what type of man he really is. You have to watch who you allow to teach you things.”

****

It’s 3:15pm and Redd and I burst through the open doors of the school bus.

“So, are you coming to the mall with me and mama to watch Mr. Norful work?” I ask.

“Mama??? Wait, your mama coming too?”

“Yeah, she say she wanna talk to Mr.  Norful, or something.”

“Man, we ain’t gonna get to have NO fun! She probably wanna see if he crazy!” Redd says humorously.

I insert the key into the lock and open the front door. Mom is already waiting for me while sitting on the couch.

“You home early today, huh mama?”

“I sure am. I want to see what kind of trouble you and Redd manage to get yourself into, while I’m gone. Come on, let’s go!”

Redd, mom and myself, all begin our walk up to the mall. After ten minutes, we arrive at the shopping center. Mrs. Miles leads the pack as she seems to walk faster and faster as she approaches the doors.

“Mom, wait up!” I plead while almost half-running, trying to keep up.

Mom’s eye brows are squeezed together as she pushes the double doors open with force as if she were entering a tavern in the Wild-Wild-West.

“Now where is this LITTLE man that’s been talking to MY son,” Mrs. Miles says to herself with as much attitude as she can muster.

The three of us make our way towards the store where Mr. Norful had been working before. Kesha smiles as she greets us with a slight wave, but only making eye contact with me for some odd reason.

“Hi Kevin,” Mr. Norful greets.

“Hello,” I respond.

“Oh, you must be Kevin’s mom. Pleased to meet you, I’m Samuel Norful,” Mr. Norful greets Mrs. Miles with a polite hand shake and heart-melting smile.

Mrs. Miles makes a mental note of the firmness of his big, strong hands, as they wrap themselves around hers.

“His skin is so rough. His hands are so big. His eyes are so brown…” Mrs Miles says to herself.

I’m not sure why mom is looking at Mr. Norful like this. She must have forgotten how to shake a man’s hand.

Mr. Norful’s eyes held contact for one or two seconds too long, as he gazes deeply into my mom’s eyes. He stands about six foot, three inches. His skin is a deep dark chocolate with his hair cut low and even on all sides. His shoulders are broad, his arms are powerful and his voice is deep enough to fill the room like a familiar radio personality from the “Quiet Storm.”

Mr. Norful’s muscles in his jaw bones flex when he grinds his teeth, accentuating his already square-like facial features. He has a subtle confidence that has definitely caught mom’s attention.

Mr. Norful eyes scan my mother up and down.

“What is this, exactly?” I say to myself.

Mr. Norful notices how beautiful mom looks as his eyes scan over her five foot, four inch frame, with hips that curve like interstates that he can envision even through her loose attire. Her skin is an even caramel brown, her hair is jet black and comes to her shoulders. He notices her perfectly arched eye brows and perfectly flawless white teeth.

“Pleased to meet you, as well,” Mrs. Miles responds.

Redd rolls his eyes as he looks off in the direction of the arcade.

“Oh brother,” Redd mumbles.

Kesha notices Redd’s disinterest and greets him out of pure childish pity.

“Hi Redd,” Kesha utters with monotone un-enthusiasm.

“Oh… Hi,” Redd responds.

“So, Kevin tells me that you run your own business,” Mrs. Miles asks.

Mrs. Miles’ body language has completely changed since her initial burst through the double-doors of the mall.

“Yes. Norful Construction Company,” Mr. Norful replies, while looking down and reaching into his pocket to find a business card.

Mrs. Miles attempts to brush the lent off her blouse really quickly without being seen, while Mr. Norful looks away.

“Gotta get myself together,” she says to herself. Mr. Norful locates his business cards.

“Here ya’ go. If you know of anyone who needs some work done…”

“Oh. I’ll spread the word,” Mrs. Miles interrupts while trying to give an innocent smile that comes off more flirtatious than anything.

“Hope he didn’t see that,” she says to herself.

“Yeah, I saw that,” Mr. Norful says to himself.

I stand there in confusion, seeing my mother smile for the first time in years.

“I’ve seen you before,” Mr. Norful says while looking away from Mrs. Miles for a moment to figure where exactly this could have been.

“I don’t know where you could have seen me. All I do is go to work, church, and come back home.”

“That’s it! I’ve seen you at church!” Mr. Norful says with excitement.

“You go to Fresh Anointing, right?”

“Yes, I do.”

“My construction company did the renovation on their new location. I visit there from time to time. I made some really good friends over there.”

“I see,” says Mrs. Miles.

“So you’re a Christian man?”

“Indeed.”

“What church do you frequent?”

“My home church is Enon Tabernacle, down there in Mt. Airy.”

“Yes, I know about Enon. I’ve been there for an Easter service, or two,” Mrs. Miles says with a smile that indicated that she’s definitely attentive to what Mr. Norful has to say.

“So, my face doesn’t look familiar at all?” Mr. Norful asks as if to be fishing for a boost in his ego.

Mrs. Miles stares deeply into his eyes and pauses for a second.

“Nah. Never seen you before. I mean… When I go to church, I’m going to hear from God. Don’t have time to be looking all around trying to see who’s there and what not,” Mrs. Miles says jokingly as they both begin to laugh again.

“Understood.”

“Sooooo…” I interrupt.

“Mr. Norful said that we could stop by sometime and learn how to run a business.”

Redd begins to wander off to the other side of the store, while admiring Mr. Norfuls power tools, completely uninterested in “church-talk” on a Tuesday and just as uninterested in becoming an child-entrepreneur.

“Yes, if the boys want to stop by every now and then, that’s fine with me, if it’s okay with you, Mrs. Miles. Now-days there’s so much trouble these kids can get into, I don’t mind one bit. Your boys are definitely well-mannered. You’ve a fine job raising them, I can tell.”

“Why thank you. But, I only have one…” Mrs. Miles catches herself before finishing her sentence.

No need to risk Redd over-hearing and being reminded that he has no mother or father.

“Say no more,” Mr. Norful interjects.

He looks intensely into Mrs. Miles eyes.

“The thing is… Since I’ve been working on this project at the mall, I’ve seen a lot of kids that come here. I sometimes forget what it’s like around these parts. Most of these kids are good kids. They just need a little guidance and to be able to see and touch someone who is actually doing what it is that they would want to do, in life. It can really give them hope, which makes it possible for them to dream. I am honored to be that mentor for as many kids out there who are interested in being mentored. We do a lot of this type of stuff at the church already.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. See, I live all the way out in Lower Merion and things are a little different out where I stay, but I grew up not too far from here actually, in South Philly. Now I live in my quiet neighborhood, in my quiet house, and it’s awfully easy to mute the voices from the children of the inner city. It’s so easy to forget all together what it’s like to dream because I… I don’t know if I even still have the ability to dream, it’s been so long.”

“Well, I can’t exactly relate to that one,” Mrs. Miles says with slight laughter in her voice.

“Oh well, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that… God has definitely been good to us, I’ll say that much. I guess if I think about it, there’s a lot that I go to God in prayer about, but… I wouldn’t exactly call it a ‘dream’.”

Mrs. Miles listens intently as Mr. Norful explains.

“So how long have you had your own business?” Mrs. Miles asks.

“We’ve been in business for fifteen years. Business was slow the first five years, but like I said, the Lord has really blessed us. Some might argue that it was our sheer dedication and ambition but I truly believe that we were just not smart enough to know when to give up.”

Mrs. Miles chuckles at the thought of his child-like stubbornness, that reminds her so much of me.

“Yeah, I think that God must have blessed us out of pity, like… Let me help him out before he loses his mind AND his house.”

Mr. Norful and Mrs. Miles laugh as I stand there trying to figure out what all this means.

“Okay, I don’t want to hold you up from finishing your work. I just wanted to meet who it is that my son was talking about. I always get a little nervous,” mom explains.

“I understand completely. Feel free to stop by anytime and bring the boys so that they can see what’s going on over here. We’ll be on this site for another three weeks,” Mr. Norful says with a somewhat pleased expression.

“Okay. Will do. Kevin and Redd. Let’s go!”

“But can we go play a game before we leave?” Redd pleads.

“Well… Okay. But for only one game. I have to put my food on!”

“Yes!” Redd and I say at the same time, while looking at each other.

We all leave the store while Mr. Norful watches us leave. Mrs. Miles makes a point not to turn around because she can feel his eyes watching her walk away.

Roughly an hour later, Mr. Norful and Kesha begin to pack up their things to leave the work site.

“See you guys later,” says Mr. Norful to his other contractors.

“How long will you guys be here?” Mr. Norful asks.

“I should have everything wrapped up for the day in about an hour,” says one of the crewmen.

“Okay. See you rise and shine, tomorrow,” Mr. Norful waves goodbye while he and Kesha head out to their Mercedes Benz.

“Buckle your seat belt,” says Mr. Norful as they pull out of the parking lot and head home.

“So what do you think of the Miles family?” asks Mr. Norful.

“They seem okay,” Kesha responds while trying to be secretive about her little crush.

“Yeah, they’re good people.”

It is a long quiet ride home for them, after that. They soon pull into the driveway of their huge six thousand square foot home.

“You go ahead inside,” Mr. Norful says.

“I want to check some things out, out here.”

“Okay.”

Kesha unlocks the front door and walks in as Mr. Norful stands in his front yard, staring at his big house with his foreign cars parked in the driveway.

“Man… We’ve come a long way,” Mr. Norful says to himself as he shakes his head.

“Praise God,” he whispers.

His eyes begin to gaze upwards to the second floor window where he can clearly see Kesha beginning to play with one of her dolls.

Kesha’s room is neatly organized but filled with many little dolls; a couple life-sized ones with a large doll house. Pink paint covers her walls with Barbie covers on her bed.  Her closet is filled with brand named clothes and on the top shelf contains many other toys and games. Kesha has everything that a child could want.

****

Tonya joyfully plays with a raggedy thrift store doll but is interrupted by the sound of squeaking wheels in the other room. She curiously walks towards the front door where she meets a tall dark man, she knows as her father, with his back turned to her. He stops himself from exiting the house and slowly turns back to Tonya. Her eyes look on in disbelief and her heart simultaneously breaks into a thousand pieces, at the sight. Tonya’s father big hands firmly grip her shiny bicycle as he pauses to look in her tear-filled eyes. His dingy clothes reek with the smell of trash-juice and somehow, his feet managed to squeeze into different sized mismatch shoes. He does not say a word.

Tonya’s mother enters the room and her father uses this as an opportunity to break eye contact. With no display of normal human emotion, he unlocks the door.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Tonya’s mother screams.

Her father opens the door and exits with the bike.

“Come back here!” she yells at the top of her lungs while grabbing a glass from the dining room table. She throws it and it crashes against a closed door and shatters.

Tonya’s mother opens the front door and yells down the hallway.

“How could you steal from your own daughter?”

“Don’t you ever come back!”

Her mother slowly turns to Tonya to find her standing in the same spot as tears now fall from her eyes uncontrollably. Tonya’s body temporarily paralyzed as she internalizes the scene. Her mother runs to her and pulls Tonya’s head to her chest.

“Don’t worry, baby. Mama’s gon’ get you a new bike. An even better bike,” she promises as she stares at the ceiling and ponders ways to come up with the money.

5

Sitting at the dinner table that’s covered with a pristine white table cloth, Kesha and Mr. Norful wait as their personal chef, Geoffrey, serves their food. He begins to pour Kesha’s favorite Mango juice and Mr. Norful’s Chardonnay in a wine glass.

Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata plays softly in the background. Perfect white walls surround the dining room, with recessed lighting and historic black & white artwork hang as a reminder of the struggle as well as cultural accomplishment.

Geoffrey returns from the kitchen once more with a steaming hot Filet Mignon sizzling on a plate with fresh green beans, and rice.

“Pardon me, Geoffrey. This is my favorite part.”

Geoffrey pauses a moment as Mr. Norful closes his eyes to take in the melodic tunes being played from his stereo.

“Listen to the emotion in this composition,” Mr. Norful says while moving his hands as a maestro to the rhythm of Beethoven.

“It’s as if calm has come over the room and the worries of the world are paused for a moment,” says Geoffrey.

“Kesha, did you know that Beethoven was going deaf when he composed this song?” Mr. Norful asks.

“No dad,” an uninterested Kesha responds.

“A lot of people believe this to be a romantic song, when in fact Beethoven was inspired to write this after his friend was killed.”

“Your food’s going to get cold,” Kesha’s eyes trace the ceiling as she lets out an annoyed exhale.

Mr. Norful snaps out of his classical-trance and takes notice of the delightful meal that Geoffrey has prepared.

“Thank you Geoffrey. This looks delicious.”

“You’re quite welcome, sir.” Geoffrey gives a nod of appreciation before he retires back to the kitchen area.

“Dad, I didn’t want Filet Mignon today,” a spoiled Kesha complains.

“I wanted regular chicken wings, with French fries.”

“Kesha. Kesha. Kesha… You really need to show more appreciation. The Lord has been good to us. You should learn to appreciate this fine meal that Geoffrey has prepared for us and understand that this is a blessing.”

“I don’t want a blessing today. I just want French fries,” says Kesha.

Mr. Norful tries not to smile so that he can continue the lecture. Kesha interrupts him as she matches her voice to his, in order to complete his sentence simultaneously, “It can all be taken from us as quickly as it came.”

“I know, dad. You remind me everyday.”

“Yes, but you seem to forget everyday. So a constant and always friendly reminder is in order. Now… Let us enjoy this Filet Mignon, while it is still fresh.”

The sounds of forks and knives, with a backdrop of Beethoven are the only things that can be heard as this small family eats in tranquility; pondering everything that has transpired that day.

“Did you make any new friends today, Kesha?” Mr. Norful asks.

“No. Not today. I just kept to myself. Why did we have to move here? Why do I have to go to school here? Kids are dumb.”

“Don’t say that. Just give it some time.”

****

Tonya sits alone at a small empty dinner table, twirling her fork into the Ramen Noodles that she has just warmed up in the microwave. She has positioned her stuffed doll to sit up on the table across from her, in front of an empty plate.

Tonya bows her head in prayer, and whispers, “Lord, I thank you and ask that you bless this food, which I am about to receive. Oh yeah… If it is possible, bring my dad back to us. And after that, maybe bring me a sister. If that’s too much, I’ll settle for a brother. Amen.”

Tonya picks up her fork again and begins to eat her noodles that she has mixed with tuna. The table wobbles back and forth due to one uneven leg, but that doesn’t seem to bother Tonya. Not even the squeaking sound that her chair makes with every move. She just continues to hum the words to a song that she improvises on the fly.

“One of these days, I’ll be singing in front of thousands of people. Right Veronica?” Tonya asks her stuffed doll.

“Bright lights in the city,

Music on our tongues.

Sweet victory at our fingertips,

New York, here we come!”

Tonya stands to lift her hands and blows kisses to her make-believe audience while almost tipping over the table and spilling her noodles. She then bursts into laughter at herself.

“You didn’t see that,” she embarrassedly explains to Veronica before sitting down, and finishing her dinner.

****

Walking alone down Island Avenue, I take the long way home in order to daydream about my father and what it means to be the man of the house. One would think that this is something to brag about, but… Not for me. Blind to the idea of the strength that comes through adversity, I continue to walk with my head down. Kicking the same rock along the sidewalk for over four blocks now, that eventually bounces around and leads me into an alley where I notice Old Man Charles talking to himself. He drinks alcohol from a bottle inside a paper bag as usual.

I’ve always been intrigued by Charles because he is one of the few living connections that I have with my father, being that they were best friends.

Even still, I approach Charles with caution, as not to frighten either one of his personalities.

“Hello,” I gently say.

“Uggghhh,” Charles mumbles and turns his head the other way without even noticing who is speaking to him.

“Sir… Do you remember me?”

“Huh? What?” Charles drunkenly responds.

“I’m Kevin. Kevin Miles. Darren Miles’ son.”

“Oh. I didn’t see you,” Charles responds while trying to hide his bottle of alcohol behind his back and get himself together.

It amazes me how drunks somehow figure that no one knows they’ve been drinking.

“How are you doing?” I ask.

“Ummm… So-So. You know… It’s neither here nor there.”

“I want to ask you about my father.”

“Yeah?”

“He used to tell me so many things. Things that never really made any sense. He used to talk about starting a business. He used to talk about the difference between success and failure. About never giving up. Just a lot of things that don’t make much sense. I was wondering if you knew what he meant by any of this stuff.”

“Well… Who am I to tell you anything? I mean… Look at me. I’m not exactly an overnight success story. More like an afternoon special that the teachers make you kids watch,” Charles says jokingly about himself.

“Listen… I mean, your father always had a way of talking in riddles and parables or what-have-you. Half the time, I never understood him either. But when you’re drunk, everything sounds good anyway. He used to say that most failures in life are a failure due to lack of prayer. So as I’m sitting in this alley, day after day… Trying to figure out what happened. How did I end up here? What happened to my wonderful life? MY Mercedes? What happened to my house? My beautiful wife? How could I go from sleeping on six-hundred dollar mattresses to sleeping on the cold concrete in February? Apparently, the more I started to drink, the less and less I would talk to the Lord. I slowly drifted further and further away from God, until the next thing you know… I lose my job. And it’s been downhill from there, ever since. But how do I get it all back? That’s the question. If only I had understood what your father was trying to tell me, back then. If only HE had known the value of his own words, then maybe he’d still be here, today. I don’t know… Sorry kid. I don’t have all the answers. I’m just as confused as you are,” Charles says before taking the beer bottle from behind his back and taking another swig. He drinks and goes into a daze.

I move in closer to him, look into his half-opened eyes and give Charles a light slap on the cheek.

“Charles! Charles! Are you Okay?” I frantically ask.

“Yeah, yeah I’m here kid,” Charles mumbles.

“Just one more question before you go to sleep. Who will teach me all of these things? What if I’m not good enough?”

“Listen. Look around. Now look at me. I should be the spokesman for failure cause I know more than a thing or two about that. And one thing I know is… You don’t need to allow fear to become your excuse for not trying. I’ve been doing that for so long and I’m telling you… I’ve been a slave to my own fear of failure for quite some time now. And do you know what failure’s biggest fear is?”

“No.”

“Failure’s biggest fear is, not having someone to control.”

“I see,” I respond.

“Now… You’re making my head hurt. Let me rest, kid. I just need two minutes of sleep, just two more minutes.”

“Okay” I reply before slowly backing away from Charles while walking backwards down the street, without taking my eyes off of him.

Charles whispers to himself, until he falls asleep as his voice gets softer with each word, “Just two more minutes… Just two more minutes… Just two more minutes…”

It is a long walk home as I make an attempt to put the pieces together of what Charles has just told me and what my father never got a chance to.

I’m almost home when I notice Redd in the distance wearing a blue and gold athletic jersey that reads, “Royal Knights” on the front, along with the number three on the front and back. Redd is holding a bucket of candy, while standing in the middle of the intersection.

As the cars approach him at the red light, he begins his sales pitch, “Would you like to buy some M&M’s for our summer track team?”

“How much?” one gentlemen asks from his black Chevrolet Blazer.

“Just one dollar, sir” Redd says with his most innocent voice.

“I’ll take two,” the man says with a smile, feeling sympathetic for Redd, who stands outside on a hot summer day, with nappy hair, ashy knees, a dirty jersey, wrinkled shorts, off-white socks that used to be bright-white, and busted up tennis shoes with his big-toe exposed.

“Thank you,” Redd responds with a smile.

I quickly approach Redd, “What are you doing?”

“Hustling,” Redd responds.

“Hustling? What’s that?”

“I don’t know. Just something the older guys say.”

“Oh,” I reply with a confused look on my face.

“Yeah, I like the way it sounds,” Redd answers while shrugging his shoulders.

“Wow! Where did you get all these M&M’s?” I interrupt.

“I got a big bag from Woolworth’s at the mall.”

“How much did all this cost?” I ask with excitement.

“Nothing. I just stuffed one of the family bags in my shirt.”

“The alarm didn’t go off?”

“Nope, because I opened the bag and poured each pack down my shirt. Then I left the bag in the store,” Redd responds with a look of accomplishment.

“So… How much did you make? And why didn’t you tell me about your master plan?”

“I’ve been looking for you for an hour now. I couldn’t wait any longer. You know sometimes when I have a good plan, I gotta make a move!”

“I see. Give me a pack. I’m starving” I say while taking a bag and tearing it open as quickly as possible.

“And I made twelve dollars, so far in about fifteen minutes?”

“Twelve dollars!!!???” I blurt while almost choking on a single M&M.

“Yeah, so don’t eat up all the money!” Redd says while looking a bit irritated, yet proud at the same time.

“So, show me what to do. I figure… If you stand on this side of the street, and I stand on the other, we can make twenty four dollars in the next fifteen minutes,” I rationalize.

Redd is hesitant.

“But, what if we get caught by having two people working? And when the cops asks about the candy, they find out that it’s stolen?” a concerned Redd, asks.

“I just spoke to old-man-Charles and he said that failure’s biggest fear is not having someone to control. I’m not sure who failure is, but you’re sounding a lot like him, right now! Always scared!” I tease.

Redd pauses for a moment and takes it all in.

“Maybe, you’re right.”

“I’m pretty sure this is what Charles meant.”

“Makes sense to me. Anyway, I’m sure we’ll probably make more money than failure ever did!” Redd says with confidence as we high-five.

“And if anyone asks us a question, we take off running and meet up behind Mrs. Jenkin’s!”

“Now, you’re thinking!” I respond.

“Just don’t eat up all the merchandise!” Redd says jokingly.

****

Redd takes a stroll through the Gallery Mall with a pocket full of single dollar bills. He sits on a bench, pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket along with a pencil. He writes childlike poetic words that will hopefully gain the attention of a young girl of interest.

“Your hair is soft. Your smile is sweet. I want you to be with me,” he writes on the paper and stuffs it into his pocket.

Redd walks towards the arcade. He notices Mr. Norful as he approaches. Everything seems to be happening in slow motion. Kesha comes out of nowhere and cuts Redd off in the hallway.

“Hey Redd!” she says with excitement.

The element of surprise causes Redd’s heart to race and his words are now trapped inside his brain, never to be heard. Redd reaches into his pocket, pulls out the piece of paper and hands it to Kesha.

“For me?” she asks with a smile on her face.

Redd nods “yes”.

“It’s a present,” he explains.

“Okay. I should go,” she says as she takes the letter, stuffs it in her pocket and walks back to the arcade.

Redd turns in the other direction and walks away.

Kesha makes her way to the arcade and stands behind one of the pinball machines, where her father can not see her. She opens the letter and begins to read. Redd’s simply poem quickly puts a smile on her face as she stuffs the letter back into her pocket.

6

It’s 1995 and I sit on a flower-patterned couch, with piles of bills in my lap. I flip through each statement, making mental notes of the amounts that are due: $342.16, $517.97, and $95.43. Finally, I reach the last statement from Bank of America, which has an account balance of $73.10. I gently place the bills just as they were on the coffee table under the Bible that lies on top, as a paper-weight.

My mind drifts as I stare at a blissful picture on the piano of mom and dad together on their wedding day. I gaze until my eyes become unfocused as if my sight pierces through the picture and into another world. My heartbeat decelerates as these thoughts take me to a place of surreal-reality where I channel all anxieties that my mother seems to effortlessly deal with on a daily basis.

A recognizable manly voice projects from the picture, “Kevin, you’re the man of the house now.”

“Dad?” I mumble while still in a trance.

“Take time to stop and listen. Now what do you hear, son?”

“Nothing” I reply.

“When it’s quiet is when the demons are the loudest in your mind. But you have to listen more closely, because in that same silence is also where you’ll find God’s voice.”

“I’m confused.”

“What I’m telling you is that only you can change this situation for you and your mom. You’re a talented young man at a fork in the road. One road is the easy way, and the other road if the hard way. And contrary to what most people believe, they both don’t lead to the same place.”

Dad’s voice fades down as his last words seem to echo throughout my mind.

“Wait! Wait!” I yell, snapping myself out of this trance.

I stand to my feet and wipe the tears from my eyes with the prideful determination that my father has just placed in my heart. I head out the front door, making my way towards the bus stop.

****

Nervously sitting back stage of the “Meet Me In St. Louis” theatrical play, Tonya focuses on breathing.

“In and out… In and out… In and out,” she whispers to herself as to calm her own nerves.

This would be her first solo in front of her fellow classmates. Tonya had sung many times before at church, but in her mind, that didn’t count. The church-crowd can be a little more forgiving than sixteen year olds, as we all gather to make a joyful noise, but not necessarily a skillful one. Sitting in a folding chair, in full costume, Tonya begins to feel small sweat droplets gather on the top of her head, waiting for others to gather around so that they can expose her nervousness.

“Get it together, girl… And don’t sweat out your make-up.”

The stage director peeks from behind the curtain, “You’re up in five seconds.”

She counts down with her hands as Tonya stands to her feet while rubbing her hands together in an attempt to lessen the perspiration. She takes a deep breath and runs out on the stage.

“Meet me in St. Louis, Louis

Meet me at the fair…”

Tonya sings as if her entire social life depended on it. A perfect ending to a big night for Tonya as she exits the stage to a standing ovation. Moments later, Tonya and the rest of the cast come back onto the stage and all take their bows together.

The entire cast lines up next to the stage so that all the parents can come and congratulate their child. Many fathers greet their daughters with roses as proud tears fall from the eyes of mothers. The scene seems to play in slow-motion for Tonya as she watches everyone get greeted by their loved ones. Everyone seems so happy.

“I’m proud of you, honey” says a voice from some loving father.

“You did so well, baby” says a beaming mother.

Tonya stands there all alone in a gymnasium full of people, trying to put on a fake smile and pretend that sadness does not consume her inner being. Every ten seconds that pass seem like ten minutes and every small gesture of praise between a father and his daughter shares the same magnitude as a wife receiving a love letter in the mail from her husband who is thousands of miles away, at war.

A voice from the top of the bleachers starts screaming what sounds like a bunch of gibberish. The lights are low so no one can really make out what’s all the cause for the commotion. The voice begins to yell again, but this time, the individual begins to make his way down the bleachers, onto the gym floor. The entire room pauses for the next ten seconds as a young man makes his way through the crowd.

“Way to go, Tonya!” the voice yells a third time.

Tonya immediately looks up when she hears her name. She can’t make out the face of the gentleman and neither could she recognize his voice. All that could be seen was a dozen roses seemingly floating above everyone’s head as they make their way closer and closer to the edge of the stage. Tonya covers her face with both hands, attempting to fight back the tears that have begun to fill in her eyes.

Suddenly a young man of dark complexion makes his way through the crowd. He is wearing a black suit with a white shirt and ruby red tie. He slowly approaches her and she finally makes out his face.

“Way to go, Tonya” he whispers in her ear while time has stopped and no heart beats during this moment.

All eyes focus on this young couple as he hands her the roses, leans in and places a soft kiss on her lips. The entire gymnasium erupts in applause and whistles as Tonya pulls away and looks her admirer in the eyes.

“I love you, Kevin.”

****

Redd quietly enters his home, lays his book-bag down on the floor next to the front door while his mind is fixed on the weekend ahead of him.

“Reynaldo, is that you?” a voice yells from another room.

“Yeah, it’s me!” Redd yells back, before heading straight to the basement.

The smell of moth balls fills his nostrils with each step. The house is covered in old wall paper that has turned a yellowish tint because it is the same wallpaper that came with the house when it was originally built. Walking down the basement steps is more of a routine that painfully reminds Redd that this is a place that he doesn’t want to be. Redd hits his head on one of the cross-beams in the ceiling and is even more irritated about being there.

“I gotta get out of here,” Redd whispers to himself, while rubbing his head in pain.

Redd ducks down and begins to walk towards the couch, in order to keep from hitting his head again. He plops down on the couch and just as he is about to turn the knobs on his black and white television, he notices a yellow sticky-note on the screen that says, “The electric bill is $82.51 this month. The gas is $312.37 and the cutoff date is this coming up next week. How much do you have?”

Redd lets out a huge sigh, while sinking into the pillows as the small thirteen inch television begins to spin around the room. It seems as though every other kid has just finished basketball season, and is now starting track season, however, Redd is forced to help pay the bills. Not because it will build character inside him, but because Ms. Patterson is on fixed income and doesn’t have enough money to feed a growing boy and still make all of her financial obligations.

“Did you get the note?” Ms. Patterson yells from upstairs.

“Yeah, I got it!” Redd responds.

Redd’s mind remembers the sixty dollars that he has in his top drawer and figures that he could possibly give that, for now. Other than that, he’ll have to come up with a way to make a couple hundred dollars quickly, before Philadelphia Gas Works comes and shuts off the gas.

“Okay, this one time… Then maybe I’ll get a job at the mall,” Redd whispers to himself while sitting on the couch with his eyes steadily focused on the sticky note, which becomes more and more blurry with each passing second. Redd collapses on the couch, overwhelmed by his responsibility on a dreadful Friday night.

****

I burst through the double doors of the Gallery Mall, at the Burlington’s store entrance on a warm April Saturday. My eyes glance over the items in the men’s department when I notice a beautiful young caramel skinned woman waving at me in the corner of my eye. The woman begins to motion for me to come to her in the shoe department. I approach the woman and her beauty is intensified the closer she gets.

“Hello,” she greets me with her hand extended to shake my hand.

“What’s going on?” I reply with a somewhat confused and excited look on my face.

“Kevin, do you remember me?” the girl asks.

“Kesha?”

“Yes. How have you been?”

“I’m doing great.” I say while smiling.

“Whatever happened to you? What school are you going to?” Kesha asks.

“I’m going to South Philadelphia High School, right now. What about you?”

“Oh. I’m going to Lower Merion High,” Kesha replies.

“Wow. Lower Merion? Business must really be going good for you guys!”

“Well, I guess so. Are you and Redd still close?” Kesha replies trying to divert the attention from her father’s financial situation.

“As close as ever. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you guys. Here it is, our Senior year in school and we’re all about to go off to college in a little less than a year,” she continues.

I look at the ground in an attempt to avoid eye contact.

“You are going to college, aren’t you?” Kesha asks.

“Yes. I’m going to Tennessee State University.”

“That’s great! Why did you look to the ground?”

“I was just thinking about Redd. He’ll find his own way but it probably won’t be at a traditional four year college,” I explain.

“Oh… Okay,” Kesha awkwardly responds.

“Plus, he has to take care of his grandmother. She’s getting pretty sick.”

“Really? I hope she feels better.”

“Well, she’s on fixed income so… It’s tough for them, right now.”

“I see,” Kesha agrees but still has a look of confusion on her face.

“Do you think you could set up a meeting with your father?”

“Ummm… We’ll see,” Kesha reluctantly replies.

I sense Kesha’s level of discomfort increase.

“So… Where have you been all these years?” I ask with an attempt to change the subject.

“I’ve been around. In the summers, my father would send me abroad for a different summer program in Europe,” Kesha replies.

“Wow. Just… Wow,” I respond in disbelief.

“I knew that there had to be a good reason, but I didn’t think that it would be THAT good!” I reply in laughter as we both share a chuckle.

“So, yeah… I DEFINITELY need to talk with your father,” I revisit but this time in a more jokingly fashion.

“Well, what did you want to speak to him about?” Kesha asks.

“I’m not sure, but your father seems like the type of man that has plenty of connections. I wonder if he remembers me.”

“I’m pretty sure he does, but we’ll see. I’ll talk to him tonight. What did you come to the mall to shop for?” Kesha asks as if to smoothly transition the conversation to a different topic.

“Not much. I really just came up here, to think.”

“Oh. Well, walk with me to my car,” says Kesha.

We begin to walk towards the same double doors that I’d just entered moments ago. Immediately after we walk through the doors, a seemingly homeless guy stands near the mall exit, as if he is waiting to catch shoppers on their way out and ask them for spare change.

“Excuse me. Do you all have any change you could spare, so that I could get something to eat?” asks the homeless man.

Kesha looks at the man with a cold, blank expression, as if she is looking through him. Her face makes a slight smirk, as she shakes her head “no”.

“Find someone else to hustle!” Kesha rudely responds.

I laugh while being somewhat sympathetic while reaching into my pocket and pulling out three dollars and forty five cents.

“Here ya’ go,” I say as I drop forty five cents into the homeless man’s cup and puts the other three dollars back into my pocket.

“Why did you do that?” Kesha asks with slight irritation in her voice as her eye brows begin to squint together.

“You know he’s not going to get anything to eat.”

“I don’t know why I gave him some change, really. Guess Redd’s starting to rub off on me!”

“Hopefully he does the right thing with it. I don’t know…”

It is a quiet walk back to Kesha’s car as she chirps the alarm to her 3-Series BMW.

“Wow… That’s a nice car,” I say while trying to contain my excitement.

“One day I’ll get my act together, so I can afford something like that.”

Kesha shakes her head and gives a slight smile, “Well. Daddy wouldn’t get me the Mercedes, so… I had to settle for the BMW. He can be so impossible, at times.”

“Ooookkkkkaaaaayyyyyy….” I respond in disbelief.

“You know, I still have that letter Redd wrote me, years ago,” Kesha says with a nostalgic smile on her face.

“That was the sweetest thing anyone has ever given me,” she continues.

“A letter?”

“Hey, don’t laugh. It wasn’t just the letter. It was the intent.”

“I see. What’s your phone number? I’m sure Redd would love to hear from you again.”

We exchange information and Kesha gets in her car and drives off. I stand there in the empty parking space where Kesha’s BMW was parked, inhaling the sweet exhaust from some fine German engineering. Falling into a trance where I question everything that I’ve done and accomplished up until this point.

“What am I doing that could possibly put me in a car like that one day?” I whisper to myself.

“I know one thing; that’s going to be me, in a couple years. I’m going to see how that feels to sit on butter-soft leather seats and have enough money to buy peace of mind.”

I stand there and watch Kesha’s car get smaller and smaller in the distance. Turning my back to the mall, I notice a red and white sign in the window of Dillards. Curious, I begin to walk closer and the words become more in focus.

“Now Hiring,” the sign reads.

“Hmmm…. I wonder if Redd would be interested in working here.”

****

Redd slowly ascends up the escalator of Dillard’s to their customer service department.

“May I have a job application?” Redd asks.

“Sure,” The kind receptionist replies.

“Do you have a pen?” Redd asks.

The woman gives him a look as if she is wondering how he can be so unprepared.

“Here.”

Redd takes the pen and then heads towards the small booth in the corner to begin filling out the form. Moments later, Redd heads back to the counter.

“I’m finished. Do I just leave it with you?”

“Yes, that will be fine.”

“Okay. Thank you, ma’am.”

“Thank you. And we will call you when we have an opening.”

Redd’s eyes squint a little bit in confusion, because the sign at the front says, “Now Hiring.”

“Oh… Okay,” Redd responds while slowly backing away from the counter.

****

Sitting on a park bench in Rittenhouse Square at 11:33am, looking at all the high-rise condos and fancy European cars that drive by, a sense of resentment begins to grow in Redd’s heart. In his hands, lies a report card from school which contains a “D” in History, an “F” in Trigonometry, and “C’s” in the rest of the classes except for English, which is his only “A”.

Tiny sprinkles of rain fall from the sky and begin to dampen Redd’s hair while the letters begin to run together on the paper. The sky is completely gray and the sun dares to show its face on this day.

Resentment towards the rich begins to engulf Redd like a grease-fire that consumes a kitchen; the rain only makes it worse. A vein begins to protrude from Redd’s forehead as his temperature rises with the thought of the rich continuing to get richer while Redd is stuck trying to figure out a plan for his life. All while coming up with a way to keep the utilities turned on at home. There are no footprints that lead to paradise for Redd to follow. His heart also shares the disappointment that, with his grades, he is ineligible to run track.

He sits on the park bench, bitter about the idea of creating his own footprints from scratch with no road map too even let him know if he is headed in the right direction.

The sky suddenly becomes dark as lightening strikes across the sky while simultaneously letting off a thunderous sound that roars through the park. A tree standing fifty feet from Redd, lights up from within like a Christmas tree. Sparks begin to shower the area, blending in with the raindrops. Redd begins to stare at the tree that is split down the middle where half of the tree is leaning over into the street, blocking the sidewalk, and the other remains to stand straight up in the air, as if it were unaffected by the lighting.

“This is the last day that I will be poor,” Redd says to himself with his elbows resting on his knees and his chin resting in the palm of his two hands.

“This is the last day that I will do without,” Redd sternly says while standing to his feet and rain pours down his cheek and soaks his clothes. Redd rips up the report card into small pieces of confetti and tosses them over his shoulder.

Redd stands as tall and strong as the one-half of the tree that remains after being struck by lightening as he begins to aggressively walk down Walnut Street, to Broad Street, to eventually catch the bus back to Southwest Philadelphia. This side of Redd has the look of focus and determination, combined with anger, and resentment. The other side resembles the tree that has fallen over into the street and completely covers the sidewalk while also covering up what he was really feeling inside… Hopeless.

****

Meanwhile, it is 11:33am, and light illuminates through the stain-glass windows of Fresh Anointing Christian Center. Lighting strikes outside and thunder nearly disrupts the flow of the church service.

The collection plate passes through my hands and I reach into my pocket and pull out three dollars and a handful of lint. I drop the entire three dollars into the plate, while focusing my attention on the pulpit and passing the plate to mom.

“Yes church. The Lord is pleased. Outside, it may be raining… But the sun surely shines bright inside the Lord’s House, at ALL times!” Rev. Barr loudly proclaims.

“Tonya, come and lead in song.”

I sit uncomfortably on a rock-hard church pew as Tonya stands up in the choir and begins to walk towards the single microphone. I’ve never heard Tonya sing in church before, so I was all ears.

She grabs the microphone and just begins to sing acapella.

“I will praise Your name…

I will praise Your name.”

The congregation begins to get excited. I’ve never seen anything like this before. She has so much confidence. The piano begins to play along.

“I will seek Your face.”

Tonya beautifully sings the song as if she’s making it up as she goes along and means every word, deeply within her soul. I stare in amazement as she sings with the voice of an angel. Mom wipes the tears that begin to form in her eyes, with a handkerchief that she’s been holding with her left hand. Her right hand continuously waves back and forth in the air with her eyes closed and her chin buried in her chest.

“Thank You Jesus,” she whispers to herself.

Rev. Barr stands at the pulpit and begins to repeat “Yes Lord… Yes Lord…. Yes Lord!”

The church explodes in excitement, as they begin to clap and shout sounds of praise. Rev. Barr’s voice resonates over the joyful noise, from the congregation, “I feel there is someone out there today that needs an urgent word. They may be headed down a path that is ultimately going to distance them from God.”

Rev. Barr clears his throat, “I want to begin with a story. A little boy was playing in his backyard one day when he noticed a huge rock that was in the middle of the yard. He decided to move the rock so he would have more room to play. He pushed the rock as hard as he could, but it would not budge. He tried pushing it from another angle, but still the rock would not move. Becoming frustrated, the boy sat down and tried to shove the stubborn rock with his feet. The rock would not move,” says Rev. Barr.

I listen while wondering if the young man was my age, or even younger.

“His father glanced out the window and saw him struggling with the gigantic rock. He went outside and watched his son as he toiled intensively, trying to move the rock. Finally, he said, ‘Son. Are you using all of your strength?’ The boy said that he was. His father stood there, watching his son as he strained and struggled with the enormous rock. He asked his son again, ‘Are you using all of your strength?’ Again, the boy said that he was,” says Rev. Barr.

I stare intensely at the minister, as to not break eye contact.

“His father stood there, watching his son grunting, groaning and sweating as he desperately tried to move the enormous rock. He said, ‘Son. Are you sure you are using all of your strength?’ The boy was almost in tears when he said, ‘Yes Dad. I am using all of my strength.’ His father put his hand on his son’s shoulder and said, ‘Son. You are not using all of your strength. I know, because you haven’t asked me to help you.’ ”

“In Psalm 28:7, David said, ‘The Lord is my strength.’ When things get rough and we find ourselves struggling, trying to move the gigantic rocks that life throws in our path, instead of calling on God and asking for His help, we are determined to move them ourselves. I don’t know what your situation is or what you are going through right now. But God is watching you. He is asking, ‘Are you using all of your strength?’ ” says Rev. Barr.

My mother stands and begins to start clapping. I remain seated and enter another daze where the word “strength” echoes over and over again in my mind. I’m snapped back into reality as a flash of lightning illuminates the stain-glass windows and highlight an image of Jesus carrying the cross. The loud thunderous sound immediately roars throughout the church and echoes within the corridors.

7

Standing in the doorway to Redd’s bedroom, Ms. Patterson, a sixty-something year old white woman, balances a cigarette between her middle and index finger; completely oblivious to the ashes that fall to the cold basement floor. Her eyes are glazed over, as she speaks with a calm monotone voice. “The doctor said I have cancer,” she pauses, waiting for a response from Redd that never comes.

Redd lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as if she had not said a word. A peaceful inhale of the nicotine is the only thing that breaks the silence before Ms. Patterson exhales, blowing smoke up towards the ceiling.

“They’re saying its lung cancer,” Ms. Patterson utters while slowly backing out of Redd’s room.

He silently lays there with a straight face, eyes still focused on the ceiling, in order to not show any emotion at all. Ms. Patterson turns. Her footsteps fade in volume with each step as she begins to walk back up the stairs.

Redd repeatedly blinks his eyes, trying not to allow a single tear fall from his eyes. The blank expression on his face becomes a look of anger as his eyebrows tense up, and his lips tighten.

“When will it ever stop?” Redd questions in a quiet whisper.

****

It is a Monday, and what will be Tonya and my first track meet of the season. We hold hands as we walk towards the yellow school bus that will transport us all to Academy Park High School, where we will compete. We make our way to the middle of the bus before taking a seat.

Coach Peters begins to do a head count to make sure that everyone has made it on the bus. After which, the bus driver exits the parking lot. I sit by the window, glancing out with an attempt to focus. Tonya leans her head on my shoulder to briefly rest her eyes before the big meet. My eyes zero-in on a young man with a Raiders jacket, who seem to be walking with his head down. This individual appears to be slowly walking while kicking the rocks and other debris on the sidewalk.

“Hey, is that Redd?” I ask with excitement while sitting up in my seat.

“I don’t know. Kind of looks like his jacket,” Tonya responds.

“I recognize that jacket anywhere. Redd!!!” I yell out the window.

The young man doesn’t appear to hear me as he continues to walk down the street in one direction and the bus continues heading in the other. I keep my eye on him until he’s completely out of sight. Leaning my head on the window, a sudden sense of sadness takes over. The idea of Redd missing my first track meet of the season bothers me. I’m actually sad that Redd is not eligible to run alongside me in our last year of school. I’m disappointed that there are only three months left of school before I go off to Tennessee State University and will have to leave Redd behind unless a miracle happens, and Redd gets accepted into the school as well.

Watching this young man slowly drift away forces me to come face to face with the realization that I will soon be leaving my good friend behind. It seems as if our friendship is already slowly drifting. Tonya rests her head on my shoulder again and grabs my hand as if she knows what I’m thinking.

The bus arrives at the high school and everyone charges off and into the track area. However, something doesn’t allow me to run onto the field. Instead, I walk while daydreaming about what my best friend is up to and how he’s doing.

“I forgot to be there for Redd. With all my activities… I forgot to be there for him,” I mumble under my voice.

“Are you going to warm up or not?” Tonya yells from about thirty yards away as sunset causes the track lights to turn on, awakening me from my trance.

“Here I come!” I respond, while snapping back into competitive mode.

****

Walking slowly into an alley, Redd pulls the hood of his black Raiders jacket over his head, where he meets a man in his upper twenties.

“What you need?” the man asks.

“I need something light and small enough to fit in my pocket,” Redd responds.

“I got just what you need. A .380 should do the job.”

“Yeah, this’ll work,” Redd responds while suspiciously looking around, ensuring that no authorities are near.

“How much I owe ya?” Redd asks.

“Just give me fifty-five.”

“All I have is fifty.”

“That’ll work.”

Redd hands the man the money in exchange for the pistol. Their eyes finally meet and time pauses for a second as Redd reflects on whether this is the right route for him to take. The man pauses for a second and recognizes the youthful innocence in Redd’s eyes and briefly considers calling the whole deal off. Both of them are reminded of their extreme circumstances that brought them together in an alley on a cold evening. Their situation now dictates their actions as the man stuffs the fifty dollars in his pocket and looks at the ground. Redd stuffs the cold steel pistol in his pocket and looks down as well as he walks away.

“Be safe,” the man whispers to himself while shaking his head in disgust with his own actions that he would sell a firearm to an obvious minor.

****

From the red-rubber high school track, I look up in the stands for Redd, who more than likely would be sitting next to Tonya. Redd is nowhere to be found. There is only Tonya who smiles and blows a kiss to me for good luck.

Meanwhile, Redd points his gun at the liquor store clerk. A tear forms in his eyes, drips and is soaked up by the ski mask that he wears. The gun in the liquor store roars simultaneously with the gun at the track meet. Redd aims over the clerk’s head and shoots, shattering the glass liquor bottles on the shelf. Fearing for his life, the clerk crouches in fear behind the counter with his arms over his head. Seeing his opening, Redd quickly grabs the cash from the open register and runs towards the front door. Remembering at the last minute, he doubles back to grab the shell casing that fell to the floor.

I run as fast as I possibly can, taking in large amounts of air and pushing with all my might, with each stride.

Redd stuffs the money in his backpack and runs for blocks and blocks until his heart nearly jumps out of his chest.

With two other runners, running neck and neck with me, I lean in for the photo-finish at the meet. I can clearly hear Tonya’s voice screaming from the bleachers.

“I think I won,” I say to myself with a huge smile on my face.

Redd comes to an alley and stuffs the money in his pocket. He finds a dumpster where he throws in the backpack, ski mask and hoodie. He tosses the shell casing on top of the roof of someone’s row-home and calmly exits the alley as if nothing happened.

The sun has set, the track meet is over and I’ve finished first place in all of my events. Tonya and I kiss as the other kids get on the bus to go home.

Redd walks the streets of South Philadelphia and talks to himself. His mind replays everything that just happened. His lips make his thoughts audible.

A police car slowly drives behind Redd for half a block, without Redd noticing. The officer turns on his lights and sounds the siren. Redd puts his hands in the air as the officer puts the high beams on him.

Two officers exit the car and approach Redd.

“Turn around, spread’em and put your hands on the wall,” one officer sternly says.

Redd does as he’s told.

“Who you talking to there, son?”

“What?”

“Saw you having a conversation with yourself. You on some type of drugs? Why are you sweating? Nervous?”

“N-No,” Redd replies with a stutter.

“Why the stutter? Got something to hide?”

“No.”

The officer frisks Redd and makes his way to the front of Redd’s waistline, where he finds the gun. The officer removes the gun.

“What’s this, then?”

Redd’s chin sinks into his chest as the other officer pulls out his gun and points it at Redd’s head.

The officer runs his hands into Redd’s pockets, finds the cash and removes it.

“Guess you won’t be needing this!”

The officer takes the cash, cuffs Redd and forces him into the squad car.

“You know what you just did? You just threw your youth away, son. You’ll get five years for a gun, easy!” the officer lectures.

Redd’s mind races as he thinks about his struggling grandmother and how much worse he’s just made the situation.

“I’m trying to figure this life out. I know that I can’t lose if I don’t play, but if I play the game, I can’t win. All I can do is quit. They force you to quit. I want to quit… On life and everything else,” Redd thinks to himself as tears fall down his face and the South Philly buildings race past his window from the back seat of a police car.

8

5 Years Later

The weather is hotter than usual for the end of May, as I sit in the Gentry Center of Tennessee State University, anxiously waiting for my name to be called while sitting on the hard folding chairs. Moments away from graduating with a Marketing degree, I can hardly wait another minute to get out of this place and move on with my life.

“Man, President Gardner is long winded!” I quietly say to myself.

Sitting. Waiting. I cautiously wipe the sweat off my forehead without knocking off my graduation cap.

My reminiscent thoughts overtake me as I wonder how Tonya is feeling and if she’s happy. She went off to University of Pennsylvania and from what I understand, was dating a guy named Lance, or something like that. I sense that she and Lance are having relationship problems. Either way, I think about her everyday and look forward to putting my college years behind me, and hopefully, reuniting with her.

“Wish me luck,” Tonya says to me as she looks back, even if just in my imagination.

Her brown skin and jet black hair flows from under the cap and instantly bring joy. I miss her. Secretly, I wish that Tonya would share my last name. When we leave this place, if everything goes as planned, I will propose to her and if God is still in the blessing business, she will be my wife.

Looking down, I notice the shine of my shoes. Suddenly my row stands, leaving me sitting there admiring my Stacey Adams.

“You’re messing us up. I’m gon’ need you to get it together!” says Jennifer Mason, as she rolls her eyes.

“Why do we have to sit in alphabetical order. I’d prefer my last moments at TSU to not be associated with Jennifer,” I think to myself.

Quickly standing up, the blood rushes to my brain. Feeling the rush of energy in the room, my heart starts beating a million times a minute. The time is almost here. My legs get stiff as I walk towards the stage.

“Kevin Miles”, President Gardner sternly speaks.

“It’s me! They’re actually calling my name!” I think.

Slowly standing and walking towards the end of the aisle.

“Don’t slip… Don’t trip,” is all that’s on my mind at the moment.

“One foot in front of the other… Left, right, left”.

Gardner hands me the diploma as he shakes my hand. I slowly walk to take it all in and fully enjoy the moment. The energy in the room seems to be intensified with each step. I’m overwhelmed with emotion as I make my best attempt not to cry.

“Thank You,” I say as if maybe God were listening.

I take my seat and wait for Gardner to make his final remarks. Shortly after, we toss our caps into the air as The Gentry Center erupts with emotion and the rest is history.

****

6 Months Later

“Thank you for your purchase,” says the car salesman as he hands me the keys.

“Hope you enjoy your BMW.”

It’s too hard not to smile as I get into my silver BMW 745 and sink into the plush leather seats.

“Guess marketing ain’t half bad,” I say to myself while adjusting the mirrors.

****

The gate of the Philadelphia Industrial Correctional Center opens and Redd walks through. He carries a box and sits on the curb, waiting for me to pick him up.

As I pull up in my Silver 745 BMW, Redd becomes more alert. The windows are tinted so he’s not sure it’s me. I pull up next to him, open the door and get out.

“Come on man, let’s get out of here!” I say as I walk around the car to him and give him a high-five with two hundred dollars in my hand, that I give him.

Redd exudes a huge smile as we hug before I head back to the other side of the car.

“I thought you forgot what day it is!” Redd responds.

“Ahh man, I’ve probably been counting down the days more than you!”

Redd gets in the car and we drive off.

“What’s up man, you hungry?” I ask.

“Yeah, a little bit.”

“You know what I miss? Nick’s Pizza!”

“Done!”

We head over to Nicks, sit, eat and talk.

“What’s this on your neck?” I ask while pointing at the Chinese jailhouse tattoo on his neck.

“Ahh this? Ain’t nothin’. Just a little ‘tatt’ that all the fellas were getting on the inside,” says Redd.

“It means God’s Son in Chinese,” he explains.

“I like it.”

“That’s a nice car you got over there. Where do you work that you can afford a car like that?” Redd asks.

“Right now, I work for this small company, Mishon Software Development, where I quickly became head of the Marketing department. I’m able to put my creative business ideas to work, but this is a small company so I can’t really get a feel for how financially stable they are.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, so I have a contract on this apartment building, just in case. Hope everything goes as planned.”

“Is Mishon hiring? I need a job ASAP!”

“I don’t know. But, if I get this apartment building in two weeks, you can work for me!”

“True,” Redd says while high-fiving me once more.

Redd and I walk down Woodland Street while drinking our sodas. We come across an alley, where we find Old Man Charles sitting and reading.

“Is that Charles?” asks an excited Redd.

He heads down the alley.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“I can’t believe he’s still out here, after all these years!” says Redd.

We make our way over to Charles and he looks up and immediately recognizes us. Usually, he’s rather drunk and doesn’t know his right hand from his left.

“Charles, what’s going on?” Redd says enthusiastically.

“Oh, not much. Just catching up on my American literature,” Charles jokes.

“Haven’t seen you two together in some years!” Charles continues.

“I just got out today,” says Redd.

“I’m just glad to be back with my brother,” I reply.

“Oh, so all this time you knew,” says Charles.

“Knew what?” asks Redd.

“That you two are brothers!” says  Charles.

Redd and I look at each other.

“Wait, what are you saying? I’ve known Redd my entire life,” I say.

“Exactly,” says Charles.

“I don’t understand,” says Redd.

Charles hesitates.

“Exactly what, Charles?” I ask but now with a little more tension in my voice.

“Well… Your father was my best friend. He had many demons, just like me.”

“Yeah? What does that have to do with us being brothers?” I ask.

“It means that your father had another child outside of his marriage. He never told your mother and made me promise that I would never say anything,” says Charles.

Redd stares at Charles in silence and Charles stares back at him.

“Many times he wanted to tell you… Both of you!” says Charles as he looks down.

“It’s the reason he died staring at you, Redd. I think he realized that he’d die without you ever knowing the truth,” Charles continues.

Redd slowly backs away from the alley and shakes his head “no”.

“Redd, where are you going?” I ask.

Redd quickly and angrily walks off. I run to catch up with him.

“Redd, let’s get out of here. You can stay at my house!”

“I just need time to think. I’ll talk to you tomorrow!” says Redd as he waves me off.

I stop in my tracks and watch my friend… My brother, get smaller and smaller in the distance as he heads further into the city.

Walking back to my car, my mind races at a hundred miles per hour. What’s Redd thinking? What’s he doing? How could my father not have told us? All this time, we’ve wasted.

Redd makes his way to a liquor store and enters. He finds a bottle of Jack Daniels, purchases it and exits. He enters a local corner store, buys a pad and pen and proceeds to the bridge near the basketball courts where we’d play as children.

Redd sits under the bridge and writes.

“One thousand feet above the street,

My body freefalls through thick air.

Laughing as wind brushes against skin and tickles.

Tranquility fills my heart that beats to the same tempo that the wind whistles.

Who can I call?

Come to find out, there’s freedom within the fall.”

Redd takes a sip of his drink. A single tear forms in Redd’s right eye and drips onto the page, smearing his newly written words. He leans back and stares at the bridge and listens to the cars drive over him, until he falls asleep with his notepad on his chest.

****

The size of the building is almost overwhelming as I stare in amazement. My eyes find the front sign which reads, “The Lee”. They used to call my mother “Lee” back in the day, so I named my very first apartment building after her. It feels good to receive the fruits of my labor. To get out what I put in. God is good.

I feel as though Tonya and Lance’s relationship did not last because she can’t get me out of her system. I know that I cannot get her out of mine. I don’t want to. If she feels how I feel, we will grow old together. If she feels how I feel, we will hold hands for a thousand sunrises and our lips will touch for a thousand sunsets. If her heart burns the way mine does, she will close her eyes and hear my voice. Separated by a thousand miles, she could still feel my hands caress her shoulders.

I’ve purchased an engagement ring for Tonya and I will ask for her hand in marriage. If she says yes, this will be the best and most eventful day of my life. If she says yes, I will know that there is some favor reserved for me in Heaven.

****

My every move is jittery as anxiousness fills the pit of my stomach. Tonya and I have hiked to the peak of the largest hill in Fairmount Park. We look over the city skyline from the highest point in Philadelphia. She looks so beautiful in her hiking boots. The wind from this altitude blows her hair, revealing her strong cheek bones. She gazes upon and appreciates the skyline, while I appreciate her beauty. I feel around my pocket, pull out a ring and get down on one knee.

“When I first laid eyes on you as a kid, I couldn’t look at another girl. As I look at you now, I see no other woman,” Tonya turns to me.

I pull out the engagement ring and grab her left hand.

“You’re the only one for me and I know that my love for you is real.”

She begins to cry as I slip the ring onto her finger.

“Tonya, will you marry me?”

“Yes!” she says while trying to control her tears.

I stand to my feet and kiss her on the lips. The wind catches her hair and my nostrils are filled with her perfume.

“I love you,” she says.

My hands rub her back and make time irrelevant.

“What we have, is forever,” I whisper in her ear.

9

10 Years Later

My mind wants to ignore Tonya but my eyes keep sneaking glances through my peripheral vision. I’m stressed, perplexed to the point of annoyance as I browse profiles on my laptop.

My main focus remains on my computer, but I can barely concentrate as her hips sway back and forth seductively in that scandalous red dress.  I close my eyes, trying not to be drawn in as she hums the melody of her favorite salsa tune.

“Come on, baby. Dance with me,” her outstretched hands motioned rhythmically.

“Give me a minute,” I respond while continuing to type on the keyboard.

Her posture slumps slightly and I see obvious disappointment in her demeanor. Not wanting to keep making the same mistakes with my wife, I hit save on the computer and stand to my feet, grabbing her hand just as she’s about to walk away, a vision that I never want to become a reality.

“How’s this?” I ask huskily.

Tonya closes her eyes as I press my hips against hers and pull her in closely.

“Perfect,” she responds in a soft tone.

“You should come to class with me, this afternoon,” says Tonya.

“Today??? Yeah, today’s no good. I’m so far behind on everything with The Lee.”

Just like that, all thoughts of showering her with attention are gone. I let go of her, not wanting to break physical contact with her, but not wanting to allow my tasks to suffer because of it.

I sit back down at the computer, sufficiently self-guilted back into work mode. Tonya walks behind me and begins to rub my shoulders. Her hands seem stronger than usual as her fingers temporarily bring me back down to a calm state.

“My CEO husband,” she says as she softly kisses me on the cheek before quietly exiting the office.

My mind takes me back to a park in Southwest Philadelphia. I was maybe nine years old. My father helped me set up a lemonade stand. The sign read, “FRESH LEMONADE $0.25 CENTS”

Everything was set up and we sat behind the table, waiting for customers. Our first customer was a woman, then shortly after that, we got our second, third and fourth customer. Business was booming!

Dad stuffed all the money in a pencil box. When I finally opened the box to see how much we’d made, I was amazed at how many quarters were in there.

Dad looked over at me and his eyes told me that he was proud.

“So, this is what you want to do when you grow up?”

“I think so. This is fun!”

“Well, you should always do what you like.”

“I really like candy. Maybe, I’ll expand and own a candy store like Mrs. Jenkins!”

My father burst into laughter.

“Anything for some free candy!”

“Umm hmm…” I say with a huge smile on my face.

“My son, the entrepreneur.”

“Being an ENTREPRENEUR is when you own a business and work for yourself.”

“Yeah, I like that. That’s what I wanna be!”

“Well, if you’re going to own your own business, it can’t just be any type of business. It has to be something that serves the people. That’s how you create something that will last.”

I pondered that concept for a second.

“Serve others and not just yourself and you’ll always be okay,” dad said as he looked at me in a concerned way. The type of way a father looks at his child when he knows that he will not always be there to take care of him.

“Just remember that.”

“I will,” I responded while completely oblivious to any of his concerns.

In the distance, Redd does pull-ups on the Monkey-Bars. It looked so fun.

“Hey Kevin, check it out!” he yelled as he shows off. He brought his legs through his arms and performed a back-flip dismount like an Olympic gymnast.

Excited, I jumped up from the table. Making money and running a business can wait for another day.

“Oh, cool! Can I go?” I beg.

Dad just shook his head with an attempt to hide the slight grin on his face.

“Sure.”

Dad leaned back in his chair as he watched Redd and I. He looked around and slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a stainless steel flask. He slowly brought it to his mouth and took a drink, savoring the flavor and appreciating the moment of silence.

Footsteps in the hallway snap me out of my daze and I begin typing on the keyboard again.

“Serve the people,” I say to myself.

Tonya enters the office again.

“Oh, don’t forget. Your brother is performing at open mic Friday night. He invited us,” she says.

Tonya hands me a flyer with Redd’s picture featured prominently.

“He’s the feature!”

I’m happy for Redd. It seems as if his writing career is finally starting to get some movement.

Tonya exits the office and makes her way to the bathroom, where she continues to get ready for dance class. She grabs her purse and walks down the hallway. Her footsteps slow.  I can tell she’s giving me a chance to change my mind and accompany her to class.

“Serve the people,” I say to myself, once more and continue typing.

****

“Girl, you are killing that dress!” says Kesha.

“This old thing,” Tonya modestly responds.

The patient instructor stands in the front of the class, waiting to begin. Lance stands on the other side of room and stretches his lower back. He stands out. Not because he’s tall, dark and what most women would consider handsome; it’s because he is the only man in the room.

Lance looks up and stares at Tonya until he gets eye contact. Tonya senses eyes on her and slowly turns towards him. She has to do a double-take to make certain that it is in fact Lance.

“Is everyone ready?” the instructor asks.

Tonya is more confused as to why Lance is there and moreover, how he knew that she was in the class. Her hips sway back and forth to a song that only plays in her head.

“Tonya, are you ready?” the instructor politely asks.

An embarrassed, Tonya, straightens up her posture.

“And one-two-three...”

Everyone begins to dance as the Latin music plays. Tonya forgets about her surprise visitor and enters her own world.

Lance, an extremely clumsy dancer, tries to keep up but fails miserably as his every step is about two steps behind everyone else in the class. One by one, the women look at him and smile to themselves as if they know why he came.  Salsa dancing is obviously not his thing so there must be a woman involved.  Kesha glances over at Lance and immediately feels embarrassed for him.  Tonya ignores him as her hips work magic to the beat.

“One-two-three. One-two-three…” the instructor says.

Tonya closes her eyes and dances with perfection and grace.  Her style finely walks the line of the sexiness salsa offers while exuding the attitude of hip-hop at the same time.

One-by-one, the students stop dancing, losing themselves in the sensuality she exudes.  Lance comes to a clumsy halt and stares at Tonya with admiration as she seemingly moves in slow-motion, as if only for him.

Tonya finishes her dance and is awakened from her private dance by applause.  Embarrassed, she runs from the dance floor and quickly gathers her things.  Kesha follows close behind. Tonya grabs a towel and wipes the sweat from her forehead as the instructor approaches.

“You two did great this week. I love the emotion in your movements. Keep it up!”

“Thanks!” Tonya and Kesha respond in unison.

“Alright girl. I’m about to get outta here,” says Kesha.

“Already?”

Lance makes his way through the crowd and stands behind Kesha.

“Ummm… You need my mace?” Kesha says jokingly.

“No. I’m good,” Tonya responds with a smile on her face. Lance does not share her humor as his facial expression indicates that he heard Kesha and was indeed offended.

“Yeah, I’m supposed to meet my man at House of Triumph later. If I leave now, I can still make it,” says Kesha.

“What? Redd’s going to church?” Tonya smirks.

”Oh, you got jokes? And it’s Bible Study.”

“I’ll see you next week!” Kesha says as she walks away.

Lance stands before Tonya and stares at her.

“Wow. Just like I remember,” says Lance.

“Hey Lance. Thank you. It feels SO good to be dancing again!”

Lance smiles but doesn’t say a word. The moment quickly becomes awkward.  The towel hangs limply in her hands, a weak barrier between the two.  Tonya takes a small step backwards and straightens her purse on her shoulder, a sign that she wants to leave.  Lance doesn’t take the hint.

“I never knew you to be a dancer, Lance. What brings you to the class?” She makes small talk as she makes a move to leave.

Lance looks Tonya in the eyes.

“You.”

Tonya is taken back. The sweaty towel is now a weapon in her hands and she grasps it tighter, quickly pushing past Lance.

Lance meets her in the hallway and blocks her path. She holds her hands up, prepared to push him in his chest if he tried to come any closer.

His eyes focus on her wedding ring.

“So, who’s the lucky man?”

“My HUSBAND’s name is Kevin.”

“You ever think about you and I?”

Tonya laughs out loud. “What!?” Tonya replies.

“You know. How we had it back in the day. You ever think about where we’d be right now?”

“Ummm... No.”

Lance’s smile abruptly turns to a blank expression.

“That’s not what I spend my days thinking about.”

Lance looks Tonya in the eyes, once again.

“Tonya, I can’t pretend like those five years didn’t mean the world to me.”

Tonya is silent.

“Did they mean anything to you?”

“Oh, they meant everything to me.”

Lance is relieved for the moment.

“Back then... In college!” says Tonya with a smirk on her face.

Disappointment shows on Lance’s.

“Now, Kevin means everything to me.”

Lance regroups.

“So, this guy really makes you happy, huh?”

“Yes. He does,” Tonya says while trying not to seem overly happy.

“All I know is that I’m here with you, talking after a nice day of dancing,” says Lance as his voice lowers a half-octave.

“Oh, is that what you call those convulsions?” Tonya jokes.

“Ahh okay, you got me, but listen... I’m not working. I’m not texting. I’m not checking my voicemail. All I’m doing is standing here... talking to you.”

Tonya is silent.

“You love music?”

Tonya nods “yes”.

“And dancing makes you happy, right?”

Tonya nods “yes” again.

“So, why is it that something that makes you so happy, you have to experience alone?”

Tonya still does not say a word.

“Bye Tonya.”

Lance backs away into the darkness, leaving Tonya alone with her thoughts as she fidgets with her wedding ring.

****

“Redd, I’m at the church.  Bible study is about to start so I’m going to go inside.  I’ll be in my usual seat.”

Kesha hangs up on Redd’s voicemail and stands outside for a few more minutes, giving him a chance not to disappoint her…again.

Suddenly she feels a small tug on her skirt.

“Hi, Miss Kesha!  Mommy’s parking the car. Can I walk in with you?”

Kesha looks down and sees six-year old Essence Alexander holding her skirt in one hand and a tiny knockoff Coach purse in the other.  She shakes her head slightly and smiles down at the top of Essence’s big afro puff ponytail.

“Sure, just give Miss Kesha a few more minutes,”  she mumbles.

“I can’t wait, Miss Kesha.  We’re practicing for the Kid’s Church play!  I get to play a sheep!  If I don’t hurry up I might have to play a tree!  Trees don’t even get to talk! They just stand there!  Sister Jacobs said we can’t be late!”

Kesha looks around for Redd with a disappointed look on her face, but looking down at the apprehension on Essence’s face causes her to suck it up and paste a smile over her teeth.  Redd may have ruined her evening, but she wasn’t about to ruin the church play career of a six year old.

“Let’s go, sweetie,” Kesha grabs the little girl’s hand and walks into the church.

****

Redd’s phone vibrates in his pocket but he makes no move to answer as he stares at Dr. Stricklan.  He was supposed to be meeting Kesha at church but here he was, sitting in Dr. Stricklan’s office after hours, hearing the most devastating news of his life.

“I know this may be difficult to digest, but... this doesn’t mean that you can never have your own children.  There are other ways.”

Redd leans back in his chair dejectedly.  He shakes his head and throws his hands up in the air.

“You’re telling me that I can never have my own children naturally.  That I’ll never make love to my woman and wake up nine months later with a baby in my arms.”

“Yes, the possibilities of you ever having children on your own are low.”

Redd is silent.

“Reynaldo, there are other ways.”

Redd stands up and takes a deep breath as he extends his hand to Dr. Stricklan.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Dr. Stricklan grasps Redd’s hand and pulls his closer.

“There are other options for you…” He says earnestly.

“Yeah, and none of them are natural...or cheap.  What? Do you want me to spill my seed in a cup and then put Kesha through the pain of having a doctor extract her eggs so that you can create our babies in a petri dish?”

Redd, shakes his head vehemently.

“Only a broken man has to go through those extremes.  She deserves a whole man…one who can give her everything she deserves.  I can’t ask her to marry me when I can’t even give her children.”

Redd snatches his hand back and walks towards the door angrily.

“I understand what you’re trying to do for me, Doctor,” he says as he reaches the door.

“But the possibilities you speak of weren’t designed for men like me.”

With those final words, he leaves Dr. Stricklan alone in his office.

****

Kesha left church early. Her anger over Redd’s absence was so extreme that not even the strong words of her minister could keep her from standing up and leaving in the middle of his sermon.

“I can’t keep letting him do this to me!” she says aloud, over and over again as she drives home.

“Every time I feel like we’re progressing he proves me wrong!”

As she pulls up to the apartment, she sees Redd sitting on the curb, writing in his notepad and drinking from a bottle in a wrinkled, brown paper bag.

Kesha gets out of her car, dreading that she has to walk past Redd to get to the apartment.

“If my pen could fix me, save us and grant your heart’s desires...” Redd recites drunkenly.

Kesha silently passes him, refusing to look at his pitiful form.

“Kesha! How you gon’ just walk right past me?” Redd calls after her.

Kesha doesn’t say a word as she enters the apartment. Redd sets the bottle down on the curb and follows her.

“Did you not see me out there?” Redd asks.

Kesha doesn’t say a word but instead rolls her eyes and slams cabinets as she searches for something to cook for dinner.  She finds a package of spaghetti noodles and tosses a pot into the sink, running water until it almost overflows.  Water sloshes onto the floor as she carries the pot to the stove and stands there, watching it as if the water will boil faster under her intense gaze.

“Look Kesha, I didn’t mean to miss...”

Kesha holds up her hand.

“I was writing and I just lost track of time.”

Kesha turns to him angrily.

“Oh, is that what you were doing? Writing?” Kesha asks.

Kesha looks on the counter and notices a six-pack of beer with a few bottles missing.

Redd holds his head down in shame.

“That’s alright. I now see what’s more important.”

“Nothing’s more important than you. But I…”

“Here you go with all these ‘buts’. I would walk with you in the park, but it’s too hot. I would take you out some time, but I don’t have any money. And oh, my favorite... I would go to church with you, but I lost track of time!”

Redd takes offense to Kesha’s assertions.

“Now wait a minute Kesha! Don’t sit here and act like I don’t bring anything to the table, otherwise you wouldn’t even be here!”

“Oh, you bring a lot to the table!” says Kesha as she points to the beer bottles on the counter.

There’s a moment of silence between them as Redd regroups and Kesha stares at the pot of water that is now beginning to bubble.

“Kesha, if I can do no right, why are you still with me?”

Redd rips a page out his notepad and lays it on the counter. Kesha doesn’t look at it until she hears Redd’s footsteps retreating to the front door.  As the door clicks shut, she snatches the paper off the counter and turns off the stove.  There will be no dinner…not tonight.  For once, tonight was going to be all about Kesha, even if she had to make it happen herself.

Kesha takes the paper up with her into the bathroom where she runs her hot bubble bath and turns the radio to her favorite jazz station.  As she sits on the edge of the tub in her robe, Redd’s paper enters her mind.

She quietly reads out loud to herself.

“If my pen could fix me, save us and grant your heart’s desires, I’d write my wrongs and set the pages on fire.”

Nostalgic emotion builds up inside of Kesha as she reads.

“If my words could end the fight, they’d reach your lips with a kiss and put you to sleep at night.”

Tears form in Kesha’s eyes.

“If love is blind, I want to love you like eyes that look past flaws. I want to love you like God loves me. My love is blind and I’ll love you for an eternity.”

Kesha pulls the poem to her chest.

Meanwhile, Redd sits on a park bench, drinks and holds his pen to his notepad. He wonders if his words still have any affect on Kesha, whatsoever. He takes a sip of the beer, writes out all his pain, and then lies down on the bench with his notepad on his chest and sleeps.

****

Dr. Stricklan, stares at a framed picture of his wife as he slides on his Rolex.  Ironically, the picture sits atop his bible, a book he hasn’t opened in ages…not since she left…taking what little religion he had with her.

“I don’t even know why I keep this thing,” he mumbles, not sure of whether he is referring to the picture or the bible.

The picture, he picks up tenderly and sighs softly before placing it on the dresser. The Bible he stares at disdainfully before slamming his hand on the leather cover and leaning closer into the mirror…studying himself…wondering how such a successful man can have it all and yet, have nothing.

Later, as he eats a solitary dinner at his favorite downtown restaurant, Dr. Stricklan can’t help but notice all of the couples who intimately converse and laugh at private jokes. It feels as if he is the only single man in the restaurant.  He eats slowly, concentrating on his loneliness, and the wine glass he has refilled several times already.

A waitress nervously approaches, unsure of the mood of her customer.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” she asks.

Dr. Stricklan drunkenly waves her off.

“No. Just the check,” he mumbles.

Her sigh of relief is lost on Dr. Stricklan as he hands her his credit card and leaves a more than ample tip on the table.

“Where’s my car?” he asks himself as he stumbles from the restaurant drunkenly.

He wanders the streets in search of his car and finds himself at the end of an alley. Stumbling and making his way through the alley, Dr. Strickland finds himself unrealistically hoping to find his car. Instead, he finds a sleeping homeless man.

Curious, Dr. Stricklan approaches, stands over the homeless man and stares at his closed eyelids, wondering how any man could sleep on pavement surrounded by garbage.  The man suddenly opens his eyes and they stare at each other for a few seconds. The homeless man holds out his hand.

“Spare some change?”

Dr. Stricklan stares at the outstretched hand but makes no attempt to either shake it, or place any spare change into the upturned palm. Dr. Stricklan sits down next to the man and leans against the brick wall for support.  He has effectively entered the homeless man’s world and opts to sit in silence and look straight forward.

“Fancy suit you’re wearing,” the homeless man says, “Armani?”

Dr. Stricklan looks at the man but doesn’t say a word. The man suddenly notices his environment, grabs some of the trash and stuffs it into a McDonald’s bag.

“If I would have known I was having house guests, I would have straightened up a bit.”

Dr. Stricklan smirks.

“That’s quite alright.”

“I’m Charles, by the way.”

Dr. Stricklan doesn’t say a word as he’s distracted by a beat-up picture of a woman that halfway hangs out of Charles’ pocket.

“Is that your wife?”

Charles takes the picture from his pocket and looks at it.

“Yeah. That’s my Joyce. Sweetest woman God ever created.”

Dr. Stricklan smiles.

“I don’t know about that one.”

Dr. Stricklan pulls out his wallet, and shows a picture of his wife, as well.

“Wow. She’s a knockout,” says Charles.

Dr. Stricklan puts his wallet back into his pocket.

“She around?” asks Charles.

Dr. Stricklan is uncomfortable and remains silent.

“What about you? Where is she?” Dr. Stricklan asks.

Charles looks up at the sky.

“In Heaven,” Charles replies.

“How do you know?”

Charles looks confused.

“I mean, how do you say that with such certainty?”

“Because she was an angel down here on earth. Don’t suppose dying would change much,” Charles rationalizes.

Dr. Stricklan is silent.

“I never had any family. None that cared, at least. Joyce was my everything. She never cared for alcohol much, but… After the accident.”

Charles pauses for a moment to gather himself.

“After the accident, I craved the taste a lot more.”

Dr. Stricklan attentively looks at Charles.

“What’s your vice?” asks Charles.

“None... None that I know of.”

“Come on... Everyone has at least one.”

“Ummm... Maybe, holding onto the past. Does that count?”

“Yeah... That definitely counts. The past isn’t all bad. In fact, I bet you had a lot of good times back then.”

Dr. Stricklan nods “yes” and smiles.

“We’ve both been blessed with some good times, then,” Charles says with an optimistic smile on his face.

“It’s the only reason I know He can bless me where I am today.”

Charles looks at the picture of his wife one more time and then gently stuffs it back into his pocket.

“In two days, I’m going to meet with an important doctor. I want to landscape outside the building that he works.”

Charles leans back on his hands as he speaks, “I’ve been told that I can make an ugly place seem beautiful.”

Dr. Stricklan looks around and is convinced.

“I can believe that,” says Dr. Stricklan.

“I just hope he doesn’t think I’m too old.”

Dr. Stricklan looks at Charles, and then concentrates on the stars in the sky before dozing off.

When Dr. Stricklan wakes up, he is alone.

****

Dr. Stricklan sits in his living room and reflects on the words of Charles.

“It’s the only reason I know He can bless me where I am today,” he remembers Charles’ words vividly.

Dr. Stricklan heads to the bedroom as Charles’ voice echoes in his head. He lies in bed and stares at the ceiling fan.

“I’ve been told that I can make an ugly place seem beautiful,” the voice of Charles says.

Dr. Stricklan jumps up, grabs his wallet and keys and quickly exits the house.

Dr. Stricklan drives downtown as anxiousness further develops within. He looks out the window and down each cross-street and alley, in search of Charles.

“Where is he?” Dr. Stricklan says to himself.

In an alley, Dr. Stricklan finds an old homeless man going through a dumpster with one hand, with a trash bag in the other.

“Is that him?”

Dr. Stricklan parks the car and hops out.

“Hey Charles! Over here!”

Charles looks up and walks away as if he doesn’t know him. Dr. Stricklan increases his fast walk to a slow jog and catches up to him.

“Charles, remember me?”

A confused Charles stares at him for a few seconds

“Oh hey. Armani!”

Dr. Stricklan offers a slight grin and begins to walk alongside Charles.

“Yeah, sure,” says Dr. Stricklan in the spirit of being a good sport.

Dr. Stricklan hesitates and second-guesses himself for a couple seconds.

“You need anything? A bite to eat? A warm shower?” asks Dr. Stricklan.

Charles stops in his tracks and is happily surprised by the gesture.

“Yes. That’d be nice actually.”

Inside the restaurant, Charles devours the plate of food that sits in front of him. No one says a word. Dr. Stricklan slowly eats his food and is more pleased with the feeling of helping this stranger in his time of need. Charles finishes his meal and then Dr. Stricklan takes him to a nearby hotel for a three night’s stay.

“This should help. For a couple days, at least,” Dr. Stricklan says as he lets Charles into the hotel room and then hands him the key.

“Great. I’m just going to take a quick shower.

Charles enters the bathroom and shuts the door. Dr. Stricklan is confused as to whether Charles wants him to stick around or just let himself out.

“Charles,” says Dr. Stricklan.

No response.

“Charles!” Dr. Stricklan says louder.

The shower runs and Dr. Stricklan realizes Charles can’t hear him over the sound of the water.

Dr. Stricklan sits in the chair and flips through the channels while Charles showers. He faintly hears what sounds like crying.

“Thank You. Praise God,” Charles says to himself as the hot water hits his face. Steam fogs the mirror and dirt runs down the drain.

“Praise Your holy name,” Charles says to himself.

A curious Dr. Stricklan puts his ear to the bathroom door.

“Thank you... You’ve been so good. Thank you...” says Charles.

Emotion builds up in Dr. Stricklan as he listens to the sound of Charles’ voice. Tears form in his eyes and he quickly blinks to keep from crying.

Dr. Stricklan leans against the bathroom door and just listens to Charles praise the Lord the only way he knows how.

He suddenly remembers the words from an old sermon that his minister, Rev. Barr, once preached.  Now the words actually mean something to Dr. Stricklan.

“I used to walk past the poor. The hungry. The have-nots... And ask God, ‘How could You let this happen? Why don’t You do something to help?’ Now I realize He did.”

“He created me,” Dr. Stricklan says out loud to himself.

****

At the fitness gym, I work out with my two workout buddies, Janté and Tim. Twenty pound dumbbells lie on the floor next to my feet.

I lean back on the bench press and lift 135-pounds a couple times to get the blood flowing. I begin to stretch as Tim lies down on the bench and lifts the weight as well.

Janté stands near us and simply looks on.

“Hey Janté, you want some of this?” Tim jokingly asks.

“Nah, I’m good. I sing. I’m not trying to be all swole-in-the-chest,” Janté responds.

“I forgot. We got Trey Songz, over here!” I reply.

“Yeah, you know. Recording some new songs later tonight. Don’t wanna mess up my vocal chords with all that straining and what-not. It’s a cardio-day for me anyway,” Janté rationalizes.

“Ahh okay. But, when that album drops, you’re gonna need some muscles to sell the thing!” says Tim.

“Ahh whatever, my voice will carry me just enough.”

“His famous last words!” I say, bringing everyone to laughter.

I lean back under the weight and prepare myself for another set.

An embarrassed Janté discreetly reaches for the 20-pound dumbbells from the floor.

“I’ll just lift these, a couple times,” says Janté.

Tim nudges me to get his attention.

“Ugh huh, thought your voice was all you needed!” I tease.

“This is just in case!”

We all laugh before getting back to work.

“Hey Tim, put a quarter on that,” I instruct as the machismo seeps through my pores for everyone to see.

Tim and Janté add a 25-pound weight on each side and I lift it somewhat easily.

“Oh yeah, today’s going to be a good day,” I think to myself.

“So, what’s going on with the apartment building?” Tim asks.

I stand to my feet.

“The Lee? Ahh, it’s going fine I guess. Not bringing in new tenants fast enough, though,” I respond.

Tim sits down at the bench and strains to push up the weight.

“That might be it for me. That felt heavier than it did last week. Thought this was supposed to be getting easier!”

“Hey, take that twenty-five off and add a forty-five,” I say.

“You must be feeling it today,” Tim replies.

Tim and Janté swap out the weight.

“I feel good. But, I’ve never been able to lift this so I just want to give it a try.”

I lie down on the bench and attempt to lift the weight, but I can only manage to get it up half-way before it falls back onto my chest.

“Get it!” I say with lungs that have been deflated along with a chest that has been flattened, just like my ego.

Tim lifts the weight off of me.

“Ahh man, you almost had it!” says Tim with an attempt to encourage me.

“Just couldn’t do it.”

I sit up and lean forward, using my knees to support my elbows. Eye contact is avoided at all costs.

“I just have too much on my mind. Mentally drained. Hard to get motivated, lately,” I tell them.

“The Lee?” asks Tim.

“Yeah, I’m trying to keep from hiring more staff to keep my costs low. But, that places the bulk of the burden on me.”

“Does Tonya help?” Janté asks.

“Of course, but... I don’t want her working too hard. Just little things here and there. This is more ‘my baby’. If I hire more people, we won’t be making any money. If I don’t hire anyone, I’m afraid that the weight will crush me.”

“Lean back and try it again,” says Tim.

“What?”

“I think you can do it. Your breathing was all wrong the first time.”

“Yeah?”

“Inhale one time really big on the way down. Exhale once while you push it up,” Tim instructs.

I lean back and get my mind together.

“Plus, I’m right here to spot you.”

I slowly bring my hands to the bar and get a tight grip.

“Give it all that you have. Don’t worry about failing. I’m here to keep you from being crushed,” says Tim.

I lift the weight off the bar as Tim and Janté encourage me.

“Come on. You got it!” says Tim.

Inhaling as I slowly lower the bar to my chest. Once I feel the bar touch my chest, I close my eyes and push like never before.

“Light weight, light weight, light weight! Push!” says Janté.

I push the weight as hard as I can while slowly exhaling. I can feel the weight moving. I can feel the momentum as my elbows straighten.

“Blow it out!” says Tim.

“Push! You got this!” Janté encourages.

A vein throbs in my neck as I strain to push with everything that I’ve got. My arms shake from the tension as the weight slowly rises. I can faintly hear Janté and Tim as they encourage me. Finally, my elbows lock in a straight position and my eyes open. Blissfulness covers my face as Tim and Janté hoot-and-holler in the background.

“I knew you could do it!” says Tim as I sit up with a face covered in accomplishment.

“Easy work,” Janté says as he high-five’s me.

“Most of this stuff is mental. From this day forward, your mind will never allow you to get stuck under this weight. And neither will your heart,” says Tim.

“This is the most that you’ve ever lifted!” says Janté.

“That resistance is what’s going to give you what you need, the next time you’re under something this heavy,” says Tim.

I ponder what just happened all the way on my drive to the office. Sitting at my desk and typing onto my computer, I am alone, but their words resonate within.

“Easy work. You got this!” Janté says in my mind.

“That resistance is what’s going to give you what you need, the next time you’re under something this heavy,” says the voice of Tim.

I type away at the computer with a new focus and perspective that I didn’t have earlier today.

****

Redd exits a Southwest Philly liquor store and walks down the street with a brown paper bag. Inside the bag are a couple bottles of beer. Redd makes his way under a bridge, sits and watches the kids play basketball.

A homeless man picks up aluminum cans and bottles and stuffs them into a trash bag. As the man gets closer, Redd recognizes him to be Old Man Charles. Redd continues to write into his notepad.

“I heard, God speaks through the breeze and, if I mirror autumn leaves, I can float in the wind, when He speaks...” Redd says to himself as he writes the poem.

Redd takes a final sip from the beer bottle and sets it on the ground, by his feet. Charles picks up Redd’s bottle, reads the label and glances at Redd. They lock eyes until it becomes awkward and Charles takes a seat next to Redd.

“What are you writing?” asks Charles.

Redd looks over at him.

“Not much. I’m performing at an open mic later today, but I feel like I need to write something new, something fresh for the people… I’m drawing a blank, though.”

“I see you out here all the time... Just writing away in that notepad.”

“Yeah, I usually come out here when I’m having problems at home with my girl.”

“That many problems? I see you out here, like everyday!”

Charles and Redd share a laugh.

“I know, right!” Redd agrees.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to tell the people tonight,” Redd continues.

“You know, your father always knew what to say.”

Redd turns his attention to Charles.

“He’d say something relevant to what was going on in his life. And he’d make it relate to the people he was talking to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well... Back in my day, I had this big house. And inside, I had the finest of material things. But along with everything that was good, I had the alcohol. And I would drink and drink and drink until eventually, my house came crumbling down on top of me. Now, I’m laying here under all these bricks and my only prayer is... Please don’t let me die like Samson, in the Bible. Don’t let my secret demons kill me.”

Redd intensely looks at Charles.

“I believe that God recognizes my voice. And that I’m not alone… You know what that is? That’s faith,” says Charles as his eyes focus on the beer bottle that he spins with his fingers.

“Tell them that. Tell them about how our houses have crumbled and we lie under all these bricks, hoping God hears our cry.”

Redd’s taken back by the wisdom told through a real-life parable and from a homeless man who happens to have known his father.

On the 36-Trolley, Redd sits and writes into his notepad. His brown bag sits next to him. The title of his poem reads, “The Bricks”. Redd opens the bottle of alcohol that’s in his bag and takes a sip. His pen moves as if it was possessed and the words flow as easily as the alcohol, from the bottle to his lips.

Redd exits the Trolley with his notepad in one hand and paper bag in the other. He makes his way to the alley of Wired Beans Café and recites the poem.

“My world collapses on top of me. Stone after stone crushes any hope I had of freedom…” Redd recites to himself while taking a drink in between each line.

10

Redd stands between two run-down buildings, in a back alley behind the Wired Beans Café. With sweaty palms, he recites poetry in between drinks of a beer bottle that is now turned upside down. He nervously paces back and forth while repeating, “Self-imprisonment that I can’t escape… Self-imprisonment that I can’t escape!” says Redd with more intensity each time.

The beer bottle pressed to Redd’s lips puts a smile on his face, however, short-lived as anxiety quickly overcomes his joy, “stone after stone crushes any hope I had of freedom.”

I enter the alley to find Redd standing in a trash-filled alley, staring at a bottle. Redd smoothly hides the bottle behind his back and continues as if I didn’t see what just happened.

“You ready?” I ask while pretending to be oblivious to everything.

“Yeah, just give me a sec.”

“Alright, do your thing. We’ll be waiting for you inside,” I respond while heading back into the building.

Redd waits until I’m completely out of sight before drifting into a daydream of when he and I were nine years old. We walked down an alley in Southwest Philadelphia and threw rocks. Redd picked up a brick and stared at a beer bottle that stood upright.

“Bet you can’t hit it,” I dared.

Redd looked at me, then threw the brick as hard as he could and smashed the bottle.

The sound of shattered glass awakens Redd from his daydream as he looks to the ground and notices that he has dropped his beer bottle and is standing in a puddle of alcohol. Confused, Redd exits the alley and enters the café.

Tonya, Kesha and I all sit on the front row where I write in a notepad and crunch numbers on a calculator.

“And now, let’s give a warm welcome for Redd!” says Ainoku, the host as the crowd erupts in applause.

An annoyed Tonya taps me on my arm and signals for me to pay attention. The excitement in the room is electrifying. The anticipation reaches a climax as Redd slowly climbs onto the stage and grabs the microphone. He pulls a pair of dark sunglasses from his pocket and places them over his eyes.

“How’s everyone doing? This piece is entitled, The Bricks,” Redd calmly says as I grow more nervous for him.

Redd looks down to gather himself, the crowd waits for his first words. Redd slowly raises his head in an overly dramatic fashion.

“Self-imprisonment that I can’t escape.

Paranoid...

Envisioning surroundings

That move in closer,

Occupying my air-space,

And... I can’t breathe...” says Redd as he aggressively inhales and exhales.

“Pushing walls as Samson,

My world collapses on me.

Stone after stone crushes any hope

I had of freedom!

One would have been enough, but...

I’ve got a million bricks weighing on me.

Through the rubble,

I hear the laughter.

The mockery...

And I lay stuck between the rocks

Of failure and fortune.

Each stone whispers... You’ll never make it.

And I’m afraid.

Not of the speaking rocks, and their talk of hope that I no longer can see,

But it was the fact that when they spoke, I believed!

Nowhere to turn. Either die a slow death or put my fate in the hands of the King.

Wonder what He thinks of His imperfect Son...

I heard, God speaks through the breeze, and...

If I mirror autumn leaves,

I can float in the wind, when He speaks.

But while He’s speaking to the breeze, it’s dark, and my pockets… Filled with boulders.

Knowing this weight inevitably gives birth to a soldier, with strong bones.

But still.

My mind roamin’, but not thinking of Italy.

Instead about these bricks that be, placed on me.

Who can I turn to? No choice but to trust You.

Alone I lift stones.

Hoping You restore my strength...

When I see light again.”

Redd pauses as he completes the poem. Looking around the room, he utters, “Thank you,” as he humbly exits the stage.

The crowd erupts in thunderous applause. My heart pounds as nervousness exits my body. A rock star is born.

****

With a bag of groceries in one hand and flowers in the other, I stand across the street from The Lee Apartments, a 50-unit apartment building that I own. The smell of roses creates a blissful aura around me as my face wears a smile of accomplishment while I cross the street and enter the building.

Sitting at the desk inside my office, I pull out an apple from the grocery bag and scan over rental applications. I went to the store for cherries but somehow ended up with apples. The loud crunching annoys me and appropriately reflects my disappointment. Tonya, enters and gently shuts the door.

“Hey babe,”she greets.

“Hey,” I mumble while continuing to work with my head down.

“Thought you were getting cherries,” she humorously says.

“Ahh whatever,” I respond while being even further irritated.

I continue focusing on my work as Tonya firmly presses a red dress up against her body and looks at herself in the mirror that hangs behind the door. She turns to her side, puts her hands over her stomach and attempts to sucks it in. My face still buried in my work, oblivious to Tonya’s obsession with her weight.

“Kevin?”

“Huh?” I reply while still focused on the rental applications.

“Do you think I’m getting f…”

“No, of course not!” I interrupt.

Tonya continues to look in the mirror and is obviously impressed with the reflection as I roll my eyes in relief to have not fallen for that trap.

“I just wanna’ look good for you, Beemer” she says.

Tonya turns to me as I continue reviewing rental applications.

“So...When are we going to take a vacation?”

“I don’t know. Things are so hectic around here. And who’s gonna’ look after the building?”

“Redd can do it.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

Tonya sits down across from me, compelling me to finally look up and give her my complete attention; forcing me into an unnecessary conversation and a complete abandonment of what keeps my mind at ease, work.

“What good is having Redd around if he can’t take over for you every once in a while?  You’re working your life away!  We need to get away and have some fun. You remember what it feels like to have fun, don’t you?” asks Tonya as she gently grabs my hand.

Her soft hands slowly break me down but my face indicates that I’ve heard it all before.

“Plus, you’re gonna kill yourself, trying to do everything by yourself.  That’s what employees are for!”

“I know, I know” I respond.

I grab the roses from behind the desk and lean in close while bringing the flowers from behind my back.

“Now, how are you doing?” I ask in my most romantic tone that she’s been known to not be capable of resisting.

Blushing, Tonya responds, “a little better.”

“We’re gonna’ go on a vacation, real soon. I promise.”

“Umm hmm.”

Tonya drifts away with her eyes closed as my voice takes her to another world. I gently fondle Tonya’s earlobes as she brings the flowers to her nose, inhales and takes in the smell. The work-atmosphere softens as Tonya’s beautiful face reminds me why I fell in love with her when we were kids.

Redd enters the office and a startled Tonya jumps as if someone had scraped their nails against a chalkboard, making me instinctively respond as if I had been caught, romancing a woman on the job.

“Umm... Am I interrupting anything?” Redd suspiciously asks.

Tonya and I release each other in embarrassment as she once again grabs the flowers.

“Ahh, whatever!” I respond.

“Hey Redd, we were just talking about you,” says Tonya as I shoot her a warning look.

“WHAT?” Tonya mouths towards me in reply.

Redd grabs an apple and takes a bite.

“Sure Redd, help yourself!” I say.

“For sure,” Redd replies while giving a mischievous smile.

His teeth crunch loudly on the apple because he knows just how annoyed I’d be by the sound. Tonya tries not to laugh as I shuffle through a bunch of papers on his desk.

“Hey, I fixed that toilet in unit 403 and the ceiling in 303,” says Redd, proud of his own productivity.

“Perfect!” I excitedly respond.

“You need to let me handle some more stuff around here. You’re working too hard, lately.”

A satisfied look takes over Tonya’s face, “I was just saying the same thing!”

“I’m still trying to figure out why everyone thinks I can’t handle this place myself,” I reply.

“Awwww, Beemer, we’re not saying that. But, why stress yourself if you have people around you who are willing to help?  I just want you to be able to relax.”

“I hear ya.”

I turn to Redd, “You ready? I still have to go through all of this mail.”

I briefly notice an envelope that says ALLEN INSURANCE, before carelessly stuffing the envelope in the pile with the others.

“Give me five minutes,” Redd says as he exits.

Redd enters the bathroom to change from his maintenance clothes to basketball attire. He pulls a nearly empty beer bottle from his gym bag and is surprised to find it there.

“How did this get in here?” Redd says to himself.

He holds the bottle up to the light and notices a swallow still left in the bottle.

“I might as well, take this to the head.”

Redd gulps the last little bit of back-wash as if it were top-shelf alcohol.

“Ya’ know,” a satisfied Redd says as he tosses the bottle into the trash can.

****

Me, Redd and our good friends, Tim and Janté aggressively play basketball on the outdoor courts at Wilson Park. High-rise housing projects make up the skyline as scantily clad women look on. Elbows fly as easily as the trash talk from our lips. With me guarding Redd tightly, he holds the ball in a triple-threat position. Janté waits for the pass but this is everything except a team effort. This is sibling rivalry at its finest!

“You may be older, but you’ll always be little brother out here,” says Redd.

“Play ball!” I reply.

Redd pump-fakes and I go for it, leaving me off balance. Redd drives to the hoop for the dunk. Upon landing, he makes eye contact and winks at the girls who look on.

“My ball!” I yell as an embarrassed and over-competitive older brother should.

Redd keeps the ball and walks to the top of the key.

“Make em’, take em’” Redd replies with a confident smirk on his face.

Redd and I exit the basketball court but the trash talk continues as Janté and Tim drive off.

“Well, you know running was always my thing,” I say.

“Nah, I didn’t even know that,” Redd responds sarcastically with a satisfied smile.

“Look, I’m just sorry I had to do it to you, us being brothers and all,” Redd laughs.

“Whatever.”

We laugh as Redd bounces the ball with a proud look on his face.

“So, I keep seeing Tonya looking at all these vacation brochures. Where are you guys going?”

“I don’t know. Don’t really have time for a vacation, right now.”

“I hear ya’. All work and no play.”

There’s an awkward silence as we walk. Redd drifts into another daydream as I internalize his last comment and get somewhat defensive.

“I have a lot I want to do in life. And they all cost money,” I reply with apparent stress in my voice.

I quickly snatch the ball from Redd to change the subject and snap him out of his daze.

“Ever think about getting another building?” Redd asks.

“Not right now, one is more than enough. Maybe in five-to-ten years, I’ll start thinking about it.”

An old, homeless, white man sits on a bench and drinks beer from a brown paper bag. As we get closer, I recognize him to be Old-Man Charles. Charles shakes a filthy Styrofoam cup that contains just a few coins. I slow down and stare at the beer can in Charles opposite hand, shaking my head as I step over his legs. All the while, judging his behavior. Judging his vices. Redd turns to Charles for a moment.

“Hey man… Hey,” says Charles.

We stop to halfway listen to him.

“I just have two questions for you. Can a tree grow without water or sunlight? And what good is it if it bears no fruit?”

I look at Charles in confusion and continue to walk because this old man is clearly talking out of his head today. Unbeknownst to me, a rough looking man, Cortez, dressed in a white wife-beater looks inside the windows of my silver BMW 745 that is parked nearby. Distracted by Charles’ pointless rhetoric, I don’t notice Cortez checking out the car.

“The same goes for those who forget God. They cling to their homes and many other things, for security, that won’t last!” Charles continues.

Cortez notices Redd and I approaching and walks away from the car and past us as I chirp the alarm to the car.

“Old man Charles is crazy!” I respond.

Redd and I walk past Cortez but do not notice him sizing us up. I enter the car as Redd looks back at Charles while entering the vehicle on the passenger side. Standing across the street, Cortez surreptitiously watches us drive away.

****

Tonya sits on the couch of our 3500 square-foot suburban home and thumbs through a Modern Design magazine. She sinks into the soft cushions with her feet up.

“Now this is what I’m talking about!”

I enter the house completely exhausted from the basketball game. An excited Tonya, jumps up from the couch and greets me with the magazine in hand.

“You’re here!” says Tonya.

Her exuberance stops me in my tracks to the point that I wonder if someone else is in the room. Surely, she’s not this excited to see me!

“We need to remodel the kitchen! Look at this! I want our kitchen to look like THIS!” Tonya says as she points to a picture of a contemporary designed kitchen in the magazine.

“And what’s wrong with our current kitchen, again?”

“Well...it’s old and outdated. Besides, you’re always saying that you’d like for me to cook more.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, this would help,” she rationalizes.

“You know. It’s all about the ambiance, babe.  I mean, look.  Who wouldn’t want to cook in a kitchen like this?  I could live in this kitchen.  It’s practically a tribute to the culinary arts!” Tonya explains.

“I see you’ve been watching Top Chef again!” I say with a laugh and exit the living room.

Tonya follows closely behind me into the kitchen with the magazine still in hand.

“Matter-fact, I might cook something right now.”

I turn to her in disbelief.

“Hey, if that’s what you want to do, I’m not trying to stop you!” I supportively state.

Tonya’s eyes pan from left to right.

“Do we have a skillet?” an embarrassed Tonya asks.

I simply smile and exit the kitchen.

****

A white table cloth and a candle separates us. Dark walls and romance surround us while our feet rest on hardwood flooring. Tonya and I sit across from each other in a fancy restaurant. She wears a tight-fitting dress that shows off her curves while I wear a dark gray suit with a button-up shirt and no tie.

“Niiiiice. I would have cooked, baby, but it feels good to dress up and get out of the house,” says Tonya.

Tonya looks around and takes in the atmosphere.

“And do you see what I mean about ambiance?” she says.

My facial expression says “I told you so” although I try to maintain a blank expression.

“Umm hmm… Anything you say.”

“So can we go to the hardware store tomorrow morning? I want to get some tile samples for the new kitchen floor. Oh, and I was thinking that we could put a bay window in the breakfast nook.”

I ponder the notion for a second.

“Umm... No.” I bluntly state while taking a sip of my drink.

“No, to the hardware store idea or no, you don’t like the bay window idea?”

My eyebrows naturally rise as I wish that she’d just change the subject already.

“No, I can’t redo the kitchen??? Kevin just because I can’t cook, doesn’t mean that we can’t have a kitchen that makes it look like I can!”

I nearly choke on my drink as I make my best attempt not to laugh out loud.

“I don’t know if that’s in the budget, right now. Is this like the time you wanted a waffle-maker? And when I finally got it for you, you never used it. It’s still in the box!” I remind her.

“No, it’s nothing like that and why are you bringing up old stuff?”

“Ahh, nothing like ‘old stuff’ to further emphasize my point,” I say to myself while wearing a smile.

“And anyway, you misheard me. I didn’t want a waffle-maker from the store. I wanted a waffle...MAKER, as in an elderly woman who can cook... Preferably from the south!” she cutely replies as she bats her eyes with a smile.

Shortly after, we exit the restaurant where I arrive at the passenger side of the car first. Smudges on the window catch my attention. I reach into my back pocket, pull out a napkin and begin wiping the window. The more I polish the window, the more I can see Tonya’s reflection with her arms crossed and her lips poking out. I wipe once more and clearly see at least one of her eyes roll.

“That’s okay, Kevin, I’ll get the door... This dress makes me feel like an independent woman anyway,” she sarcastically says.

Tonya reaches for the handle to open the door but I quickly grab it.

“Oh, let me get that for you.”

“Umm hmmm… And you wonder why I call you, Beemer? It’s all you talked about before you got one, and now that you have one you’re still obsessed!”

I embarrassedly walk around to the driver’s side of the car.

“Whatever,” I quietly say under my breath before opening the car door.

****

Tonya, dressed in that hot red dress, closely salsa dances with me at a night club in Old City. Our bodies press firmly against each other while maintaining perfect eye contact. My focus wanders as my eyes trace the outline of Tonya’s coke-bottle figure. My fingers find the small of her back and I aggressively pull her in close. One quick back-step and Tonya twirls around me in seemingly slow motion. Her long hair flows and her smile freezes time, creating a memory that I will never forget.

The room full of people continues to dances as my feet stop moving and Tonya’s stop as well, soon after. I slowly pull her in closely and passionately kiss her on the lips while the music plays. I grab Tonya’s hand and lead her through the crowd as we exit the club.

Love is in the air as we slowly walk while holding hands. We stumble upon a quaint little ice cream shop on the corner.

We sit on a bench and eat Italian Ices. Tonya digs her spoon into the Italian Ice and savors the taste.

“Umm. So good,” says Tonya.

I take a bite of my red Italian Ice. The only noise heard is Tonya’s cute slurping noise as she devours hers.

“Want to taste mine?” says Tonya as she breaks the silence.

Jumping at the opportunity to get my share and then some, I grab her Italian Ice and quickly take a large bite out of it. She snatches it back before all is gone, in disbelief.

“Dang, I said a TASTE, not a CHUNK! Scavenger!” she says jokingly.

Tonya rolls her eyes and I confidently smirk.

“Almost ‘tasted’ the whole thing!”

Tonya digs her spoon into her Italian Ice as my cell phone rings. I attempt to answer it, but Tonya stops me.

I ease the phone back into my pocket.

“Today was a good day,” says Tonya.

I turn to her, then back at my Italian Ice.

“It was a great day,” I reply while secretly wondering about the missed call.

Serenity covers Tonya’s face and we continue enjoying the ending to a beautiful day in the city.

11

Redd stands at the entrance of The Lee as if he were a cowboy about to enter the saloon. He holds a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and a tool box in the other. Taking a sip from the bottle, he staggers towards the building, unlocks the door and enters my office. He sets the tool box down and circles my desk. In his drunken state, he inadvertently bumps a stack of envelopes from the desk and into the trash can.

Redd sits in my chair, takes another drink from the bottle, pulls out a lighter and lights a cigarette. He takes a hard inhale and slowly exhales the smoke into the air.

Redd pulls out a pen and tablet from his back pocket and begins to write. His pen glides across the pages as if it were floating, like the smoke that fills the room. He takes one last drink and reclines back in the chair. Redd slowly brings the cigarette to his lips and watches the smoke cloud form over his head. The cloud slowly circles him, along with the rest of the room. His hand falls to his side and hangs off the arm rest. The smoke thins as Redd’s vision becomes narrower. His eyelids begin to shut as his head rests on his shoulder.

Ashes from the cigarette fall into the trash can that it hangs over. Redd’s finger weakens as the cigarette breaks free and descends onto a pile of papers and envelopes in the trash can. Soft crackling noises increase as smoke rises. Redd’s nose twitches from the smell, out of reflex. Jumping to his feet in a state of panic, Redd realizes what’s happening. Heartbeat pounding as he takes off his shirt and aggressively fans the small flame, but to no luck. The flame expands and now extends higher than the rim of the trash can.

“Oh sh…”

Redd scans the room for water but finds none. He notices a fire extinguisher hanging on the wall, yanks it off the wall and immediately sprays everything in sight. When the fog clears, the fire is gone yet Redd still sprays from left to right until the can is empty. Redd hangs the extinguisher back on the wall as if it were new, wipes the sweat from his forehead with his shirt, then wipes down my desk. He cracks the window, grabs his belongings along with the toolbox and heads for the door. Taking one last look in the office, “Man… that was close,” says Redd as he shuts the door and nervously exits. He can barely insert the key into the lock as his hands still shake from fear mixed with pure adrenaline.

****

The moonlight kisses Redd’s face as he stands in the driveway of my Overbrook home. The grass bends beneath his feet as he slowly makes his way to the living room window, where he can clearly see Tonya and I, through the open blinds. Our heads are bowed in prayer. Our fingers intertwine. My voice projects to Heaven and Tonya concurs.

Redd deeply inhales as the sticky night air touches his tongue. He just stands there, staring at us through that small living room window. Almost in admiration of a life that he believes he doesn’t qualify for.

Tonya’s eyes open and she notices Redd in the window.

“Hey, is that Redd?” Tonya asks.

I look out the window and Redd quickly turns his head and walks towards the door.

“Yep. That’s him!”

I signal for Redd to go to the front door, where I meet him.

“Hey, come on in!”

I step to the side to invite Redd in.

“Nah, I’m just dropping off the tool box.”

Redd hands me the tool box.

“You didn’t have any problems, did you?” I ask.

Redd’s eyes get big. His face has paranoia written all over it.

“No. What did you hear?” Redd asks.

“Nothing. Calm down. Sure you don’t want to come in?”

“I’m good. Got a few things to handle tonight.”

“Yeah right. You know you better get home to Kesha, before she changes the locks!”

Redd laughs.

“You already know.”

“Alright, I’m outta here,” says Redd.

Tonya walks to the door and stands next to me.

“Thanks Redd. Take care of The Lee!”

Redd walks down the driveway.

“Don’t worry. I got this!”

Tonya and I wave goodbye as Redd walks away and smells his shirt to see if the scent of smoke is still evident. We watch until he completely disappears into the darkness of the night.

****

With a Tylenol pack squeezed between Redd’s front teeth, he aggressively tears it open with one motion as if he were starving, and this was the last bit of food on earth. Redd stuffs the two pills into his mouth as he exits the corner store. Unbeknownst to him, Rev. Barr exits his parked car.

“Hey Redd!” says Rev. Barr.

Redd guiltily looks up, like a mischievous child who’s just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He quickly tosses the Tylenol packaging on the ground behind him.

“I thought that was you, over there. How you holding up?” says Rev. Barr.

Redd attempts to mask his hangover with a warm smile.

“Oh hey, what’s going on Rev--?” says Redd.

“Not much, just trying to grab a few things for Sunday dinner.

“Charlotte making a huge feast again?” Redd asks.

“You know it. Every Sunday.”

Redd looks away as if he knows what’s next.

“Hey, if you’re not doing anything, you’re more than welcome to stop by and eat with us.”

“We’ll see. I have to check and see what’s going on, on my end. I’ll let you know.”

“I understand.”

Rev. Barr hesitates to ask, “Will I see you at church tomorrow?”

“Umm... I don’t know Rev-- What’s the sermon about anyway?”

“You’ll just have to come and find out,” says Rev. Barr with a smile.

“Yeah, just catch a ride with your brother, Kevin. Haven’t seen you two come to church together in years!”

“Ummm... I may have to work,” says Redd with a look that indicates that he was surprised this excuse had sufficed.

“Well, if you have to work, you have to work. But, if you have a chance, make some time for the Lord, son. He makes a difference, you know?”

Now uncomfortable, Redd looks to the ground.

“I believe in God, I really do... I just don’t think church is for a guy like me. I might have to praise from afar.”

Rev. Barr looks confused.

“Why do you say that?”

Still looking down, Redd notices the ruggedness of the concrete, with all of its cracks.

“Because... I’m a man of many flaws.”

Rev. Barr smiles.

“Oh, we all have flaws. Under this suit, there’s a lot of flaws.”

“I hear ya’,” Redd agrees with much skepticism.

Redd finds humor in Rev. Barr’s words. His eyes find their way up to meet the minister just as he begins to walk away.

“See you tomorrow!”

The throbbing pain in Redd’s head becomes more apparent that he doesn’t have to pretend to be sober and well.

****

The water crashes up against the Hampton’s shore and tickles our toes. Tonya’s hand squeezes mine as we walk. Seagulls fill our ears with the music that they make. The wind presses her summer dress to the contours of her body. Click-clack goes her sandals, with each step.

The thought of my business crumbling stops me in my tracks, almost forcing me to reach into my pocket and pull out my cell phone. An exasperated Tonya rolls her eyes as I dial the numbers. I want to stop but my possessed thumbs press the buttons anyway.

Meanwhile, Redd sits at my desk in the office at The Lee and answers the phone. A pad and pen are in front of him along with the usual alcoholic beverage.

“So, how’s everything? Did you check the plumbing? Anyone call?” I nervously ask.

Redd senses my troubled tone.

“Wait, slow down. Everything is fine. You’ve called three times already. Just relax and enjoy your vacation,” Redd reassures.

“Yeah, I need to relax I guess.”

Tonya nods “yes” in affirmation.

“Yeah, just have a good time. You’ve only been gone a day. I’ll call you if I need something, but other than that, it’s easy-work!” says a confident Redd.

“Alright. Don’t hesitate to call,” I reiterate.

Redd hangs up the phone and continues to write in his notepad.

Realizing how irritated Tonya must be, I reach for her hand as we continue to walk.

“No more calls,” begs Tonya.

We reach the pier that overlooks the water. The sounds of the ocean puts us in a relaxed state.

“I could stand here for days. Baby, this is the best vacation ever!” says Tonya.

“Yeah, this is nice.”

I look Tonya in her eyes.

“For now on, this is the life for you and I,” I promise.

“Being here makes me realize how far we’ve come,” says Tonya.

“I don’t think I could go back to living the way we did growing up. All that struggling,” she continues.

“You don’t think so?”

“I watched my mother work two, sometimes three jobs at a time. If my daddy bothered to come around it was just to break her heart. He’d stay long enough just to get some money out of her. And, other times he would steal what little we did have and pawn it.”

Anger begins to show in Tonya’s eyes at the mere thought.

“I’ll never go back to that!”

Feeling around the inside of my pocket my fingers search for the cell phone while my mind battles with the idea of making another business call. The emotion in Tonya’s eyes indicates that this is in fact, a terrible idea and could probably wait for later. Instead, I pull Tonya in close to me.

“Well, I promise it only gets better from here... Plus, I’m in it for the long haul.”

I grab her hand.

“What we have is forever,” I reassure with the same passion that I had for her when we first got married.

The tension slowly releases itself from the air with the calmness of the ocean and Tonya is now at ease with the thought of how different her marriage is compared to her mother’s.

However, the serenity is broken abruptly by the sound of my cell phone ringing at maximum volume. Tonya can’t believe it! She is beyond annoyed. She is troubled by my obsession with work. Her demeanor changes entirely as I answer the phone.

“What?” I ask as if I don’t know what the big deal is.

“It’s Redd!” I explain.

With sweaty palms and a shaky voice, Redd nervously speaks on the other end.

“The Lee. It’s The Lee! You have to come home.”

“Wait, slow down. What’s going on?”

“There was a fire.”

My mind goes blank as if it were possible, I imagine my face would have turned white as a ghost. The seagulls are muted along with the crashing waves of the ocean. All I hear is disappointment. All I hear is fears manifested. All I hear is Redd.

“We had to evacuate the tenants.”

“Wait, how bad was the fire?” I ask while being afraid of what he might say.

“Pretty bad.”

My body language is consumed by anger.

“Fire? What fire?” Tonya asks in a panic but I ignore her.

“Just come home,” says Redd.

I remove the phone from my ear and grab Tonya by the hand.

“Come on!” I say while practically dragging her down the pier.

“What’s wrong?” asks Tonya.

“Baby, what’s wrong? You said fire! What fire?”

Angrily exiting the pier with Tonya close behind, we load everything into the car and speed off.

****

Faint smoke dissipates into thin air from the window of what used to be my office. Tonya and I stand across the street from The Lee in disbelief as anger takes over my outer being while fear consumes inward. Tonya firmly squeezes my arm and my pulse intensifies as if I were testing my blood pressure.

Later, Tonya and I walk past a park, in our Overbrook neighborhood. The joy in the hearts of the children temporarily drowns out the pain in mine. Tonya turns to me to see if any happiness can be found on my face. She will gain strength from the hope in my eyes, but finds none.

“It’s gonna’ work out. It has too... Doesn’t it?” Tonya asks, looking for even the slightest bit of reassurance.

I pretend to show strength but can’t find words to match my persona. We continue to walk in silence as the wind whistles by my ear.

Approaching our house, I signal for Tonya to walk ahead.

“Go’on into the house. I’ll grab the mail,” I tell her.

Tonya walks up the driveway as I head to the mailbox. Inside, I find a single envelope from Allen Insurance.

My heartbeat intensifies as I slowly open the letter. It reads, “Due to lack of payment, we regret to inform you that we will not be able to cover your recent fire damage, on the property located at 2500 N. 50th Street, Philadelphia, PA”.

My legs weaken as I fall to my knees and the trees circle around me. I crumble the paper in frustration, toss it aside and look to a sky that seems to be falling.

****

The pews are wooden of the West Philadelphia storefront church, Fresh Anointing Christian Center. Rev. Barr sits in the pastor’s chair as the choir sings “Hallelujah”. Tonya and I sit on the fifth row from the front. She stands and waves her hands in praise as I stare emotionless.

Meanwhile, a tipsy Redd wanders through West Philly with a tall can of beer on the inside of a McDonald’s bag. He is a block from the church.

Rev. Barr stands at the podium and looks from left to right, in search for Redd. He pauses, then speaks into the microphone.

Redd approaches the front door of the church, brushes his shirt with his hand with an attempt to clean himself up. He glances at the beer can in hand and steps away from the door, leans against the wall, slides down and listens to the church service from outside.

“I want to close with a story,” says Rev. Barr.

“A fly was trapped inside of a house. Everyday, he looked out of the window and saw all the other flies just flying around and enjoying themselves in the nice warm sun. He decided that he was going to get out of that house and enjoy the fresh air too,” says Rev. Barr.

I sit with my arms crossed, but attentive.

“He flew towards the daylight only to bump his head on the windowpane. Again and again he tried to break through, but again and again be bumped his head on that cold, hard glass,” says Rev. Barr.

The congregation hangs on his every word.

“He looked in the window seal and saw all of the flies that died trying to escape through the same window. He was determined that he was not going to end up like them. He was going to make it to freedom. But after days of trying, he eventually joined all of the other flies that lay dead in the window seal. The sad thing is, he did not have to die there,” Rev. Barr compassionately says.

I look around in discomfort as Rev. Barr’s words pierce my soul. Redd closes his eyes and tries to focus on the words from Rev. Barr’s as the cars drive past.

“Just a few feet from the window, was a door that was standing wide open. If he would have chosen the door, he could have flown safely through. But he lay dead in the window seal because he was determined to do it his way. We are often unsuccessful when we try to break free from situations in our lives on our own, and are determined to do it our way. What we don’t realize, is there’s always a door nearby that is standing wide open. Jesus is that door! He is standing there with his arms wide open. He is saying, ‘I am the way, the truth and the life. No man cometh unto the Father, but by me!’” says Rev. Barr.

The congregation shouts in agreement as I lean forward with my chin in my hands. Tonya stares intensely into Rev. Barr’s eyes. Redd’s hand slides to his side that carries the beer can and he listens with new ears.

“Let’s stop trying to do things our way, and trust God to work things out His way!” says Rev. Barr.

The congregation stands, applauds and praises God. They shout at the top of their lungs but my mouth won’t allow me to speak. My pride won’t allow me to be vulnerable. Quietly I sit there as my heart cries out to the Lord for protection. Protect me from dangers unseen down this unfamiliar road.

Redd stands and walks away with his beer can in hand.

Inside the church, a tall, dark-skinned African-American man, Lance, stands and applauds. Tonya looks over at Lance and they lock eyes for a moment before Tonya looks away and continues to clap. Lance looks ahead with a smirk on his face as if he knows that his advances have had some affect on Tonya.

****

With folded hands, I calmly sit at the desk of Allen Insurance and speak to the agent, Ashley. Anxiety takes over as I uncontrollably tap my feet under the desk.

“I just don’t understand why this wouldn’t be covered under our policy,” I vehemently explain while attempting to stay calm.

“Well, you never sent the payment for insurance coverage,” Ashley replies.

Frustration now takes over as I ponder who to blame for this.

“Kevin, we sent you plenty of letters.”

I look up and try to recall any letters from Allen Insurance. All I remember is stuffing a bunch of envelopes under a stack of papers. Could it have been one of those envelopes?

“Well, we have the money now. How much do we owe?”

“Kevin, it’s too late. You have to be paid up before an incident like this happens.”

Hopelessness now consumes me.

“I’m sorry. I wish there were something more we could do.”

I stand and walk away from Ashley’s desk and into a frightening fate that forms a lump in my throat that grows with each step.

****

With our backs to the headboard of the bed, Tonya and I sit in silence. We look straight forward, staring at the blank wall as if it bears something interesting. I feel as if I should say something. I’m the man. She’s waiting for me to say something. Anything.

“Contractor said the fire damage is going to cost over four hundred-thousand dollars to fix,” I say in an emotionless, monotone voice.

Tonya remains in silent.

“I think I’m gonna have to get a job,” I continue.

Tonya leans over and rests her warm head on my cold shoulder.

“Me too,” she replies.

12

Dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and blue power-tie, I sit across the table from the manager, Vickie, of AXD Art Gallery. She’s a tall “no-nonsense” Caucasian woman with blonde hair. There’s an awkward silence in the room as Vickie meticulously reviews my resume. I feel as though I should be explaining something. I should be talking. I should be clever but not overly comfortable. I should be selling. Something! Her eyes scan the page from left to right and her facial expressions tell me absolutely nothing.

“Your resume is very impressive,” says Vickie, to my surprise.

“Says here that you’ve earned a Bachelors in Marketing from Tennessee State University.”

A proud smile exudes from me as I straighten out my tie. Finally, she has spoken!

“And have run and managed a one hundred unit apartment building for the last three years,” she says as she continues to read.

“Had a handful of employees on staff.”

A seemingly impressed Vickie looks up, which gives me just the confidence I need to go into my pitch.

“So what makes you want to get into sales?” she asks.

“Well, I would like the opportunity to expand upon my skill-set and hopefully find an environment where I…”

“Says here, you have two years of marketing experience at an advertising firm,” she interrupts.

“Yes. I helped refine the marketing strategy behind our advertising campaigns.”

“Yeah, this is all great experience but to be honest with you, we are looking for someone with more sales experience.”

“Well, I’m a fast learner once I…” I eagerly respond before being interrupted again.

“I don’t doubt that, but... We have a special need at the moment. Look around.”

I turn my head and pretend to be interested in the immaculately clean white walls with artwork displayed. Vickie looks around as well and is obviously more impressed by the showcased artwork than me but I put on a show for the sake of getting the job.

“Yeah, we’re looking for someone who is experienced in selling high-end art, here.”

The stickiness of my shirt clings to my back as I lean forward and panic takes over. I need to do something. Say something! Anything!

“I understand,” is my only reply.

Vickie stands to her feet and extends a hand for me to shake, that appears to have no pulse.

“We’ll keep your resume on file in case another position becomes available that may be a better fit.”

Deep down where my pride lies, I manage to find my most fake professional smile that I wear as if it were normal.

“Please do. And thanks for the opportunity to interview.”

****

Discouraged, I sit in my BMW that’s parked in the driveway of my suburban home. Still dressed in my interview attire, I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. I notice my hairline. I notice my dark brown skin. I even notice the wrinkles that gather at my forehead.  I notice everything except the sight of my own eyes. My lungs slowly inhale and exhale as I exit the car.

Fear runs through my body as I approach the mailbox and dread its contents. The rusted hinges screech as I slowly pull on the latch, open it and pull out several envelopes. Shuffling through them, I excitedly open a white envelope from a potential employer. My eyes quickly scan down to the words, “The purpose of this letter is to let you know that you have not been selected for the position and that we have offered the position to another candidate.”

The second white envelope reads, “We’re sorry to inform you that we’ve decided to go with another candidate.”

My heart literally skips a beat as I reluctantly walk towards the front door of my house. On the other side of that door, lives a woman who has put her faith in a man to protect and provide for her. On the other side of that door lies a reality that must be spoken; that I did not get a single job out of the ten I interviewed for.

****

4 Months Later

Leaning against my car that now has a light layer of dust completely covering it; I gaze at the abandoned apartment building that used to be the fruit of my dreams and hard work. Focusing on a piece of paper taped to the entrance door, my heart pounds louder and louder with each step that I take towards the building. My eyes stare at words that slowly come into focus. From ten feet away, I can just make out the words at the top of the letter, which reads, “FORECLOSURE NOTICE”.

Angrily, I snatch the paper off the door and storm off towards the car. Is it possible for God to have abandoned me all together? This seems to be contradictory to everything I’ve ever been taught. I feel so alone.

****

Working methodically, I stack box after box of supplies onto the shelves of the cold damp warehouse owned by a local publisher. I grab a clipboard and begin to write on the inventory sheet.

My manager, Holly, approaches. She hands me an envelope with a check enclosed and smiles.

“I just wanted to let you know that you’re doing a great job. Here’s your first check.”

I return the smile, stuff the check in my pocket without looking at it and continue to work.

Later, I sit in the car and open the envelope. I know that I don’t make much, but for some reason, I hope that God would bless me with a little “extra” on the check. To my disappointment, the check is in the amount of $543.64. I stare at it for a moment before driving off, knowing that this will not even cover the utilities on our house.

****

A candle separates Tonya and I at the dinner table as we sit and eat the spaghetti that Tonya has prepared. We barely touch our food as silence fills the room. Her annoying fork clangs against the plate as she spins noodles with it.

“So… What are we going to do about The Lee?” she asks.

Tension builds up in my demeanor.

“I mean, we can’t just ignore…”

“I know, I know!” I interrupt.

“It’s just that the bank has been calling.”

I immediately look up in rage.

“What do you want me to do? I’m working as many hours as they’ll give me. I have the house note, the car note... Gas in the car!”

I roll my eyes and look away from Tonya. When I finally turn to her, even more anger fills me.

“What am I gonna do about The Lee? What can I do? The mortgage is seven thousand a month on that thing! And without tenants...”

I look back down at the plate and try to respond more calmly.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do. I mean, the job pays fourteen an hour, but taxes...”

Frustration builds up again.

“Not nearly enough to cover this mortgage and the utilities!” I respond as I stand to my feet and exit the table with my plate nearly untouched.

Tonya sits there by herself and then slams her fork down on the plate as the candle burns only for itself.

****

A half-filled bottle of purified spring water sits on the table next to Redd as he sits at the dining room table and attempts to write. He rubs his hands together in preparation to write something phenomenal. He presses pen to the paper and pauses, then takes a drink of water, “Okay. Here we go.”

Redd presses the pen to the paper once more.

“Worldy mind draws blank pictures far from art. I, the paper designed to speak words written on heart.

Fine line between just that... And just trash!”

Redd crumbles the paper and throws it across the room and into the trash can. On the floor, lie many pieces of crumbled paper.

“I need a drink,” Redd says to himself out of frustration.

“I need a drink, right now!”

****

I lie in bed on my side, facing the night stand and listen to the sound of my lungs inhale and exhale. Dressed in pajamas, Tonya enters and I pretend to be asleep. She slides under the covers and faces my back with an attempt to “spoon”.

“Kevin... Kevin... You sleep?” she whispers.

Her voice irks me but I remain silent. Tonya rolls over, turns out the light and I’m relieved to not have to talk about the day.

****

Redd buries his head in his hands and stares at the blank pages of his notepad. He glances up at the bottled water before throwing it across the room along with all the crumpled paper.

****

The sun beats down on me as sweltering heat surrounds and attacks my skin. On a used car lot, I stand before a twenty year old beaten up Honda Civic. Half of the rear bumper is missing and the gloss on the paint is no more. I make my best attempt to not appear sad as my BMW sits off to the side, all alone. An older salesman stands near me and stares at the car as well.

“So it’s a deal?” he asks.

“Yeah… It’s a... deal,” I reply while still looking at the BMW.

Turning to the salesman, I shake his hand and give him my old keys.

“Yeah, I don’t know if we’ve ever had a car this nice on our lot,” says the salesman.

I try to muster up a smile but just can’t do it. Conversation, at this point is too much like hard work.

“Well, they’re going to clean your new car up and bring it around for you in a few minutes. Just wait in the lobby,” the salesman says.

“Don’t bother.”

I grab the keys from him and drive off without saying a word. My eyes focus solely on my dream car that appears to get smaller and smaller in the rear view mirror with each passing second. I’m not upset at the fact that I have to drive a beat-up Honda Civic. It’s more about the fact that I couldn’t figure out a way to keep the BMW. I’m uncomfortable with the idea of going backwards, in life. Just how far backwards will I have to go before things start looking better for me?

****

The brakes squeak loudly as I pull into the driveway of my house.

“I hope this thing doesn’t leak oil,” I mumble while exiting the car.

Tonya sits on the porch, pretending to read a book. She observes the new car and can immediately tell that I hate it. She stands to greet me as I quickly walk towards the front door.

“Hey beemer…” Tonya accidentally says out of habit.

I storm past her and into the house.

“Baby!  Wait, I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean...”

The look on Tonya’s face indicates that she is acutely aware that it’s going to be a long night.

****

The cold breeze from the refrigerator tells me that the city hasn’t cut off the electricity yet. The state of our electricity doesn’t even matter at this point considering there is no food actually inside the refrigerator. Walking over to the pantry, I find a solitary can of canned SPAM remaining. We don’t even have any crackers to go along with it. I shake my head and sigh in complete disappointment. Tonya walks up behind and hugs me. Her arms tell me that it’s going to be okay. I want her to still believe in me. Her chin rests on my back and mine sinks into my chest as my eyes close. What is she thinking? Am I weak to her? These are all questions that I’m afraid to know the answer to.

****

Back at the warehouse, I stack box after box until it feels like my spinal cord is going to snap in half. Sweat drips continuously from my body as I stand erect to stretch my back.  Looking around the room, I am discouraged by a pile of at least fifty more boxes that won’t lift themselves onto the shelves.

“This job sucks,” I think.

****

Tonya lies in bed and reads a book. Once again, I face the opposite direction and stair at the intricacies of a plain white-painted wall. I’m hoping she doesn’t try to talk to me tonight. Sometimes, a man just needs time to think. I need a plan and most importantly, I don’t need for her to know that I don’t have one. She closes her book and turns out the light.

“Good night,” she says.

“Uh hmm,” I respond without emotion.

****

Dressed in my black not-so-lucky power-suit, I head to the front door where Tonya hurries to catch me.

“Wait!” says Tonya.

She leans in close with a bottle of my favorite cologne in hand.

“You can’t look that good and not smell good too!” She says as she sprays my neck with the cologne and kisses me on the lips.

“I love you. You’ve got this.”

I hear her words but I simply do not believe. My lips make an attempt to produce a sincere smile.

“Sure you don’t want me to come?” she asks.

“Nah, don’t want you to see me beg,” I reply while walking out the door.

“See you in a few hours!”

Tonya looks nervous as she watches me depart through the glass door.

****

It’s 7:00pm and Tonya and I slowly stroll down our neighborhood street, but neither of us says a word.

“So… How did it go?” says Tonya, to finally break the silence.

“Well, it’s over.”

“What does that mean?” Tonya asks, obviously still in denial.

“It means, we’ve lost the building,” I reply bluntly.

“I don’t understand!  Just like that?  It’s gone?  They can’t do this can they?  There has to be something we can do!”

“It’s over. The Lee belongs to someone else!” I respond with a bit of anger in my voice.

I look down in shame and Tonya grabs my hand as we continue in silence. Once again, I notice the cracks in the concrete with each step and the click-clack sound of her shoes. It’s so unusually quiet that I imagine she can hear my thoughts. Slowly, I raise my head as the sun sets on any future that I considered bright.

****

Thoughts of extreme success contrast with failing miserably, consume my brain as I shoot jump shots on an outdoor basketball court. Redd looks through the fence before cautiously entering the court.

“Up for a game?” Redd asks.

In my peripheral, I see him but remain silent and continue to shoot free-throws. Redd stands under the basket, retrieves the ball and passes it to me, however, I remain distant.

“Look man, I’m sorry!” Redd explains

Doesn’t he see that I don’t want to talk? Can anyone see that I don’t want to talk?

“Aren’t you gonna say something?”

“Don’t have much to say,” I stubbornly respond.

“Just need to think,” I continue.

I shoot the ball once more, misses and Redd takes this as his opportunity to grab the ball and force a game.

“One-on-one?” Redd desperately asks.

“Nah. Not in the mood.”

“Ahh okay,” a rejected Redd replies as he drops the ball and sadly walks away.

“I’ll just holla at you later.”

I take one last shot before glancing over at Redd for a quick second and then continuing the catharsis methodology of shooting free-throws on a warm summer evening in the park.

****

It’s an unusual cool summer night as Tonya drives around the city looking for me. She pulls up to the basketball court where I usually come to think, but does not find me there. Instead, she notices what appears to be a young a man lying on a park bench next to a beer can in a brown paper bag. A spark of recognition hits Tonya and she exits the car. She walks closer to see if she recognizes the young man on the bench.

“Redd?” a surprised Tonya asks.

“Huh? What’s going on?” a startled Redd responds as he jumps up.

Redd pushes the beer can behind him in an attempt to hide it from Tonya.

“Oh, hey. What’s going on?” Redd asks.

“Redd, what are you doing out here?”

“Ahh, not much,” Redd responds guiltily, looking around as if lying drunk on a park bench could possibly pass for late night sightseeing. Guilt shows all over his face and Tonya can tell.

“Redd, you have a home. Why are you sleeping outside?”

Redd looks down in shame.

“Kesha put me out.”

“She put you out? Again??? When? Why didn’t you call us?”

“Come on, Redd. You can sleep at our house!”

“But…”

“But, nothing. Come on, let’s go!”

Tonya half-turns towards the car but turns back to Redd to make sure he’s following her and catches Redd reaching for his beer can.

“Nah uh. You can leave that, right there.”

Redd follows behind Tonya like a lost puppy as he mumbles to himself.

“I don’t know about this one.”

****

Drunkenly, Redd stares intrigued as the ceiling fan rotates over his head. He searches for anything to distract from the awkwardness as he sits uncomfortably on what is normally a comfortable couch. Tonya sits on the recliner, across the room with her arms crossed. Redd inadvertently glances over at Tonya, catches eye contact and smiles knowing that I will not be happy to find him in my home. She awkwardly smiles back and looks around for me.

“I’ll go get him,” she says.

Tonya stands just as I enter the room.

“Hey, babe,” I say as I kiss her.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of someone else in the room. I slowly turn my head to see my brother Redd sitting on my couch wearing a mindless and goofy grin on his face. Confused, I turn to Tonya who also wears an uncomfortable expression on her face.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Redd needs a place to sleep for the night,” Tonya sternly replies as if to not take ‘no’ for an answer.

I turn to Redd.

“What happened?” I ask.

“Man… Kesha put me out,” Redd says while avoiding eye contact.

“Again? What did she put you out for this time?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’m telling you, she’s crazy. Every time…”

“Just forget about it, it’s late,” I interrupt.

“Let’s just get some sleep.”

I become distracted by the ceiling light fixture that has a faulty light bulb that occasionally flickers. I grab a light bulb from the closet and attempt to stand on my toes to screw it in but have trouble lining up the threads. Redd looks on and quickly approaches to help.

“Let me get that. You don’t know nothin-bout maintenance!” says Redd in an attempt to be humorous at the wrong time, as usual.

My palm to Redd’s chest stops him in his tracks.

“I got it!”

In frustration, I grab a chair from the dining room, set it in place, stand on it and screw the light bulb in. I believe I’m smiling to myself with accomplishment, but something tells me they can see my inner joy exuding on the outside over something so trivial. Tonya shakes her head at the sight of pride plus my huge ego at work as Redd humbly returns to the couch.

Tonya and I exit the living room as Redd sits alone.

“Good night!” Redd says to himself before lying back on the couch to sleep.

He sits in the dark, overwhelmed by his circumstance. That makes two of us.

****

Balancing the dirty hood of my new car on my shoulder, I wipe the dip-stick oil with a rag from the driveway. Redd approaches just as I put the dip-stick back into the engine.

“Need some help?” Redd asks.

“Nah, I got it.”

Struggling to balance the hood and read the dip-stick at the same time, Redd grabs the hood and hooks the latch so that the hood stands on its own.

“Always so prideful,” Redd sarcastically says.

Annoyed is how I feel on the inside as I balance two dip-sticks; one in my hand and the other, who offers his unwanted assistance.

“I said, I got it,” I mumble under my breath.

Pulling out the dip-stick again to check the oil level, there are no words to be said. Redd grabs the quart of oil, opens it and hands it to me. Redd then grabs the funnel and places it inside the engine. I slowly pour the oil into the funnel before removing the funnel and setting it onto the ground. Redd shuts the hood of the car.

We both wipe our hands with a towel and uncommunicatively sit on the hood of the car. Redd looks in the opposite direction from me, so that he won’t provoke a real conversation about what’s going on in our lives.

Tonya peeks out the window from inside the house, and smiles when she finds us attempting to be cordial.

“You know, we have to get you some help,” I say while breaking the silence.

Redd uncomfortably squirms on top of the hood of the car.

“Rev. Barr told me about a group that meets tomorrow,” I continue.

Redd is silent, continues to look straight and just listens. I slowly turn to Redd.

“You wanna’ go?”

Redd slightly turns in my direction.

“Yeah,” Redd calmly says.

“Yeah, I’ll go.”

We both stare straight ahead as our thoughts compete with the sound of the chirping birds in this uncomfortable moment.

13

Mr. Sanders, a 45 year old, distinguished African-American man, flips through his planner and takes notes at the desk of his contemporary real estate office, known as Omni Real Estate. He pours a glass of Vodka into a fluke, takes a sip and continues to work.

A single business card sits in front of me as I sit at the desk in my home office and stare at the phone. I take a deep breath, pick up the business card, then grab the phone and begin dialing.

“Hello, may I speak to Mr. Sanders?” I nervously ask before clearing my throat.

“This is he,” Mr. Sanders replies in the most intimidating tone.

“Oh… This is you,” I nervously reply.

After taking a hard swallow, I’m able to continue.

“Hi, my name is Kevin Miles and I submitted my resume to you about a month ago. I’m just following up with you to see if there’s anything that I can explain in more detail.”

Mr. Sanders ponders for a second.

“Yes. I remember your resume. It was impressive,” Mr. Sanders replies.

“In order to get an actual evaluation of your particular skill-set, we’ll need to meet in person. Do you have a pen?”

I immediately pull a pen from the desk drawer.

“Yes. I’m ready.”

With shaky hands, I write Mr. Sanders’ every instruction.

“Okay, tomorrow at my office at three o’clock.”

“Perfect. Thank you for this opportunity!”

I hang up the phone, jump out of the chair and nearly lose my head as the ceiling fan blades turn. A curious, Tonya, walks into the office.

“You okay?” she asks.

I run to her, pick her up and plant a serious kiss on her lips.

“What has gotten into you?”

I gather my composure.

“I talked to him!”

“Talked to who?”

“Todd Sanders, with Omni Real Estate Development!”

“Omni with all the billboards?” Tonya replies as the infectious excitement builds up in her as well.

“Yes.”

“Well? What did he say?”

“He said that he liked my ambition and courage for calling directly. And to meet him tomorrow, at three.”

Now, Tonya is the one who hugs me as if for the first time.

“You’ll do great, baby.”

I find it hard to contain my emotion.

“This is a real job. Might be just the break we need.”

“You think?”

“Well, if I get it... Basically, I’d be bringing home twice as much as I did, with the apartment.”

“Oh my God!  That would be amazing!  How did you hook up with Omni?”

“Rev. Barr hooked it up. Says he knows him from a conference, or some type of important meeting.”

“Wait. Is he a minister too?” Tonya asks.

“I’m not sure.”

My hands still shake from excitement as I stare at Mr. Sander’s business card with stars in my eyes. The mere possibility has completely consumed me. Just the fact that I have hope let’s me know that God has not completely abandoned me.

****

It’s 11:00 pm as I walk the streets of my neighborhood rehearsing important points for tomorrow’s interview.

“Hello. I’m Kevin. I’ve heard so many things,” I say to myself before pausing.

“No, that’s no good… Hello Mr. Sanders, I’ve read so many things about your company. Pleasure it is to finally meet you,” I continue as I am humored by my own words.

Meanwhile on a Southwest Philadelphia street corner, Redd exits a  bar, wearing a white wife-beater t-shirt. He walks while writing in his notepad.

“If I could mix with your soul

I’d carry your burdens.

You’d forget all afflictions

And your God so Heavenly.

You’d need me alone

Like rhythm to melodies.

Your solitude becomes my strength.

As my voice echoes from an empty glass.

Drink me.”

Redd continues to write in his notepad as he drunkenly stumbles down the street.

****

My watch now reads 2:45pm as I lean against the Honda Civic, dressed in my notorious black power-suit. I’m a man with a plan and I’ve got things to do. Impatiently, I wait. Repeatedly checking the time on my watch while panning from left to right, in search of Redd.

“Where is he?” I ask myself in frustration while pacing back and forth.

“I gotta get outta here!” I mumble while reaching for my keys.

Sure enough, Redd calmly walks from his apartment building, shaking sunflower seeds in his hand like dice and popping them into his mouth.

“Come on, let’s go! Everybody’s not on your time!” I yell.

Redd only slightly makes an effort to speed up and enters the passenger side of the car.

“He wants to see you, calm down!” Redd replies.

“It’s 2:45!”

“You know that’s like 15 minutes, right?” Redd says calmly.

We hop in and I press the gas pedal to the floor. The tires scream for mercy as I drive like a maniac through downtown Philadelphia. I’m a complete nervous wreck, looking at the clock at each stop sign and stop light.

Finally, we reach the building where Redd’s meeting is held and I slam on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt.

“Okay, get out of here. Good luck!” I urgently say before quickly driving off before Redd can even close the door. My forward momentum shuts it for him. Redd turns and watches the car disappear in the distance.

I impatiently sit at yet another red light.

“Come on. Let’s go!”

Anxiously, I bang the steering wheel and look at my watch once more, which now reads 2:59pm.

I pull over and park illegally, grab my brief case, exit the car and run like never before. Holding onto the brief case like a football and slaloming through the slow-walkers, I burst through the doors of the Omni Real Estate office. Breathing hard, I approach the receptionist at the front desk, an overweight and unmotivated woman named Jane.

“May I help you?” she says while never even looking up from her computer screen.

I attempt to straighten out my tie and wipe the sweat from my forehead.

“Yes, I have a three o’clock meeting with Mr. Sanders,” I reply while trying to get my wind back.

Jane looks over her shoulder at the clock which reads 3:07pm and then back to me.

“You know what? You just missed him. He’s left the office for the day,” says the unsympathetic receptionist.

“For the day?”

With closed eyes, I drift into my own world as her words become quiet and muffled.

“Mr. Sanders is rarely in the office. You’re lucky to get an appointment with him.”

I stressfully place my hand on top of my head with my eyes still closed. My hand slowly slides towards my forehead as I slowly begin to regain consciousness and become more aware of Jane’s words.

“If you’d like, I can try and schedule you another appointment.”

This completely snaps me out of my daze.

“Yes, that would be great!” I respond with a hopeful tone.

“I must warn you. It will be very difficult. He doesn’t usually hold a lot of one-on-one meetings.”

“I understand.”

“Look, I’ll call you once I talk to him.”

“Thank you.”

I exit the office and head back to the car. It’s a long walk where every businessman in a suit is noticed and their conversations are amplified for what seems to be my ears only. Appearing to walk in slow motion, these men pass me with eyes that glance over as if to say, “Get it together.” I hear them as they pass, continuing their wonderful conversations about stock portfolios and returns on their investments, as I think of my missed opportunity.

****

Pulling in front of the Alcoholic’s Anonymous meeting building, I park the car as my hand still slightly shakes from the failed interview with Mr. Sanders, pondering what could have been. Will he truly call me to interview again or have I missed my one big opportunity? I take a deep breath, slowly open the door and exit the car. Leaning on the hood as my eyes scan the street, there’s no trace of Redd in sight.

In the distance, Redd walks from around the back of the building and eats a bag of Skittles. He once again shakes a handful of Skittles in his hand, like he’s rolling dice, and shoves them in his mouth.

“Is that him?” I ask myself as I signal for Redd to come over to the car.

“Redd, over here!”

Redd nonchalantly approaches the car.

“What’s going on? They let out early?”

The look in Redd’s eyes show nervousness. Something doesn’t seem right. I wonder what they could have possibly talked about in that meeting.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. We got out really fast,” Redd replies.

We both enter the car and drive off in silence. How long am I supposed to sit in silence before I begin the interrogation?

“So. What did you guys talk about?”

Redd squirms in his seat in discomfort.

“Ugh, we didn’t talk about much. You know, the usual. Everyone gets to know each other, yada yada yada.”

Redd puts on his sunglasses.

“Oh okay, so do you think you’ll go back?”

“Yeah. I think it’s a good thing, ya’ know?”

Should I push the issue or should I just leave it as it is and just be happy that he finally went to the meeting? Perhaps I should save some of my questions for another time.

****

Redd sinks into the soft cushions of my couch and watches television as Tonya and I sit at the kitchen table and talk. Like a child, Redd looks so happy and at peace as he laughs along with the television.

“So, what are you going to do?” Tonya asks.

“I don’t know. The receptionist says that she’ll see if he’ll meet with me again.”

Trying to camouflage the worry in my voice with false optimism, I turn to her.

“How late were you?”

“About six or seven minutes.”

“That’s all? Seems like he could have still let you interview.”

My voice would not allow me to respond as only my head slowly shakes, “no”.

“She said that he was very busy and rarely took time to meet with people on an individual basis.”

I look down in hopes that she doesn’t see something in my eyes that would indicate that I’ve messed up.

“I don’t know.”

Suddenly, my cell phone rings which allows the perfect diversion.

“Oh, hey Rev. What’s going on?”

“I was calling to see what happened to Redd. I thought he was going to attend the A.A. meeting this week,” says Rev. Barr.

Anger begins to consume me. My temperature rises as sweat droplets form in my arm pits.

“Is everything alright? I was really hoping to see him there,” a concerned Rev. Barr asks.

“I don’t know what happened.”

“Well, he has to be ready all on his own. We can’t force him to do something he doesn’t want to do.”

“I hear you,” I reply knowing that I do not.

“Ugh, I have to go.”

I stand to my feet and look at Redd, who seemingly doesn’t have a care in the world with his now obnoxious laughter. Slamming the phone on the counter, I aggressively walk towards Redd. I have no clue what I’ll do when I get to him, but all I know is, he has to pay for making me miss this meeting.

I grab Redd by his arm and the remote flies across the room as he stands to his feet.

“Get up!”

I want to fight. I want him to get so upset that he stands in my face and dares me to punch him.

Redd stands about three feet from me. I take a step closer, to ensure that I’m in striking range just in case he says something not to my liking.

“What’s going on?” Redd asks.

Tonya hurries into the living room to make sure things don’t get out of control.

“You’ve got to go!” I shout lowering my voice.

“Why you actin like this? I was just watching TV!”

“You know why I’m acting like this, don’t play games! I talked to Rev. Barr just now.”

Redd looks at Tonya with guilt in his eyes.

“Yeah, he told me you never even went to the meeting today.”

Redd looks down when I want him to look me in the eyes.

“Oh, you don’t have nothin’ to say? Figures. See, your problem is, you think it’s all about you! You don’t know what I lost because of you and this drinking!”

“What you mean? I’m the one who got kicked out my house!”

“I talked to the insurance agent, and she told me that the fire started from a cigarette in my office. And don’t try to deny it because they found your drink in there. Your ‘favorite’ drink!”

Redd is silent.

“You know that was our only source of income! And then here I am trying to rush and take you to the meeting, and you sittin’ round here lollygagging!”

My body uncontrollably rocks back and forth. The room is so hot that I can see the fumes behind Redd’s head.

“I drop you off just in time for you to make your meeting, and just in time for me to miss mine!”

“But, let me explain…”

The pulse in my neck beats so hard, I wonder if Tonya can see it from across the room.

“Ain’t nothing to explain. I’m tired of this. You’ve been doing this your whole life. Making excuses for this, and making excuses for that. If this would have happened, then I would be here. Or if that happened, I would’ve been there.”

My lungs beg for more oxygen, forcing me to breathe heavily. I close my eyes to gain composure.

“I am just tired,” I try to say as calmly as I possibly can.

“Oh, you need to lie down?” Redd asks in an attempt to change the subject.

I was almost calm but his devilish words aggravate me beyond control as I look him square in the eyes.

“Until you can get sober, we don’t have anything to talk about.”

“Wait. So what you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying. You’re on your own now. I’m not gonna’ drown, trying to save someone who CAN swim, but won’t even flap his arms or kick his feet!”

The stare-off begins. I step another foot closer and my toe stands slightly on his and our noses almost touch. I swear, if he touches his nose against mine… Matter-fact, I wish he would let his nose touch my nose.

A concerned Tonya looks on as the stare-off continues. Redd finally looks away.

“Alright then.”

Tonya walks back into the kitchen. Redd exits the house and slams the door behind him. With no more energy to even think, I plop down on the couch and bury my face in my hands. Tonya cautiously enters the living room and sits next to me.

“Show me what you want me to do,” I say in prayer.

Tonya bows her head but keeps one eye open, not knowing if this was an official prayer or if this was just me venting for a bit. Tilting my head back and looking at the ceiling from left to right, I notice that there is perfect and complete silence.

“You did the right thing,” a reassuring Tonya says as she rubs my back.

I’m so lucky to have her on my team. Sometimes, I wonder if Redd even knows what it means to be “family”. This may be the perfect time to give Tonya the news.

“You know the bank sent us a letter for the house too.”

Tonya suddenly stops rubbing my back. Maybe this wasn’t the perfect time to tell her after all. She turns towards me with concern in her eyes.

“What did it say?”

“It says that we’re three months behind on our mortgage.”

“Three months behind?”

“If we don’t come up with nine thousand in two weeks, they’re going to take the house.”

“Well, how much do we have saved up?”

The look of hopelessness takes over my demeanor as I figure out how exactly I’m going to tell the full story about our finances.

“That’s the thing... We only have a little over three thousand left in our savings.”

“Three thousand! That’s all?”

“I tried to save the apartment, but... When I saw that I couldn’t, I tried to get a job. I just don’t make enough.”

Tonya closes her eyes in disbelief.

“I just thought that we’d get over this hump by now, and I could save the house. But the mortgage is just too much.”

Tonya is silent. Completely silent. This is worse than her usual yelling that I’ve grown so accustomed to. She just rocks back and forth in complete silence and I’m afraid. A protruding vein in her forehead begins to visibly throb letting me know that her heart rate and her blood pressure are quickly elevating. Tonya suddenly turns, yelling!

“Kevin, why would you wait until now to tell me how bad it is?  I could have found a job!  I could have helped!”

Beginning to pace, she continues her tirade, “Three months behind, Kevin? Are you kidding me? I’m your wife! Why would you let me walk around thinking everything is being taken care of when it isn’t?”

“I don’t know. I thought I had it under control. And a part of me didn’t want you to work,” I answered

“Didn’t want me to work? Well, what part of you wanted me to be homeless? Kevin, we’re about to lose our house!”

“What if we took one thousand of the three, and bought some books wholesale from A&B?”

Tonya surprisingly waits for me to continue.

“And then I sell them on the streets like we used to do when Redd and I were little.”

“You think we can make six thousand from books?”

“I don’t know. I know we can make SOME of the money that we owe.”

Does she still have faith in me as a leader? As a provider? This is what I wonder while avoiding direct eye contact. I’m afraid that I’ll find the answer to these questions within her eyes.

“Will you still love me?”

Tonya ponders for what seems like an eternity, but actually was only a couple seconds.

“Yes”.

All the lights suddenly turn off in the house. We sit in total darkness.

“Don’t tell me we blew a fuse!” I quickly say, so that she won’t think the worst and question me about whether I paid the electric bill.

“Umm hmm... A fuse,” Tonya sarcastically whispers under her breath.

****

Footsteps from high-heeled dress shoes get louder as I sit on the couch and tie my running shoes. Intensely pulling on the laces as Tonya approaches, dressed in church clothes. Why is she just standing there in front of me? Silent. Staring. Exasperating. What could she possibly expect from me at a time like this? It’s pretty clear that I’m headed out for a jog!

“What are you doing? It’s time for church.”

Maybe if I keep looking down, she’ll get the point. Nope. She just stands there with her hands on her hips and those black shoes that annoyingly tap with every passing moment that I’m silent.

“Go without me.”

“But, we always go together.”

“Not this Sunday.”

Can a man have one Sunday to himself, just to think?

“Just not feeling it. Need to get some fresh air,” I reply.

Standing, I put the earphones in my ears and head out of the front door leaving Tonya standing alone as her foot continues to tap away in annoyance.

The air is crisp. With each inhale, I gather more and more clarity. Keeping a moderate pace, I can hear my lungs contract with every other stride. How will I fix this mess that I’ve created? Will this situation get worse before it gets any better? How much will I have to lose before I am restored? Will things ever go back to the way they used to be?

My pace has now quickened, along with my heartbeat. Anxiety grows within, coupled with anger as I break out into a full sprint, daring my heart to quit. What’s happening to me? When did I lose control of my life?

The rhythmic sound of my feet taps against the concrete as I envision Tonya’s beautiful face as she says, “You’ll do great, baby!” Only to be interrupted by the conversation with Mr. Sanders that I never shared with her.

Mr. Sanders’ deep and assertive voice echoes in my head, “I just don’t know that you’re serious enough about your future.”

My pace quickens along with my heart rate.

“When I was your age, there’s no way I would have been this late for an appointment. There’s no way I would have risked missing my one big chance.”

How could he assume that because I was late, that I don’t want success as much as he did? He doesn’t know my situation!

Now, miles away from the house, my feet can take no more pounding. I come to a stop, rest my hands on my knees as I catch my breath before slowly walking back to the house. Mr. Sanders’ words bounce around in my head and destroy my confidence and self-worth all in the same sentence.

“There’s no way I would have risked missing my one big chance…” says the voice of Mr. Sanders.

It just repeats itself over and over until the anger builds enough steam to form a droplet of water in the corner of my right eye.

****

Tonya sits in the pews as the church choir sings “Amazing Grace”. Her head is filled with confusion wondering what is happening. The uncertainty is overwhelming as she bows her head and waves her hands in praise.

Feeling the eyes of someone staring at her, Tonya looks up and catches eye contact with Lance. He wears a fancy black suit with a red tie. His eyes scan her up and down with a purpose. She gives an uninviting smile and turns back towards the choir. Lance confidently smirks, believing that he has won the first battle of getting Tonya to smile, albeit a forced one.

After church, Tonya quickly exits with the intent of getting home to her loving husband.

“Tonya!” a manly voice yells, from behind.

Tonya turns around to find Lance practically chasing her down.

“Tonya, wait a minute!” Lance asks in desperation.

“Oh, hey Lance.”

Lance hurries alongside her but Tonya continues to look straight. Lance walks in silence for a couple moments until he builds up the nerve.

“I miss you,” Lance says as sincere as he possibly can.

Tonya laughs out loud at the idea of her ex-boyfriend having the nerve to open up about his feelings, after she has clearly moved on and is now married.

“What?” Tonya asks.

“I want you back.”

“I’m married. And you and I haven’t been together in twelve years. Let it go,” an annoyed Tonya responds.

“I know. I messed up. But, I’m a different man now. I’ve got my life together. The firm is doing well.”

Tonya pretends to not listen but hears every word.

“My life would be so much better with you in it.”

Staring straight ahead, Tonya’s face is cold as Lance continues to plead his case.

“I’m tired of wondering what if... I want to know what is,” says Lance.

Tonya reaches her car and unlocks the door. Lance quickly grabs the door handle and opens it for her. Tonya gets in the car and mumbles, “Thank you.”

“Look… I just couldn’t let another day go by without telling you how I feel.”

“Well, good for you. Now if you don’t mind, I need to go home... to my husband,” says Tonya.

Lance shuts her car door, walks off and accepts defeat. Tonya drives off only to turn the corner and pull over. She rests her head on the steering wheel, takes a deep breath and tries to interpret everything that has just happened in the last two days and what just happened two minutes ago. Could true love have this many doubts?

****

The corner of 52nd street and Market is the spot where all of the street-hustlers gather. This is where Redd and I made what felt like so much money as a kid. We would sell books, bootleg tapes, fake purses, candy… Whatever we could get our hands on. Here I am, fifteen years later, still in the same spot. With my folding table covered with a white tablecloth and boxes of books underneath. I have all the latest bestsellers and my talk-game ready to go. All I need is my first customer to get warmed up and it’ll be just like old times.

My head naturally pans from left to right, making sure not to seem too anxious. Customers hate a pushy salesman. My hands are folded by my waist to seem inviting and non-threatening. A tall, light-skinned, and beautiful woman approaches. This should be easy work. As she gets closer, I force eye contact and give her a slight smile. A simple head nod brings her over to my table. She slowly examines the books. I lean in close so that she can smell my cologne. Just a hint. Don’t want to be intrusive.

“Let me know if you have any questions,” I politely ask while giving her what used to be a million dollar smile. Right now, I’m hoping that this smile is worth about fifteen dollars so I can get my very first purchase of the day.

“How much are the books?” she asks.

“Fifteen dollars. But for you, I can do two for twenty five.”

She smiles and slowly opens her purse.

“Let’s see… I don’t think I have much cash,” she says.

Please have some cash. Please have some cash.

“Oh, here’s some. I was hoping some of these vendors would accept Visa,” she says with a smile.

“Maybe, one day when we blow up, we’ll be accepting everything. I’m sorry, right now it’s just cash.”

“That’s alright.”

She pulls out a wad of twenties and peels off two of them. She grabs three books.

“Three for thirty?” she asks with a hint of natural hustle.

“For you? Anything,” I smile and put her three books in a bag.

“Keep the change.”

She grabs her books and walks off.

“Oh, this is going to be easy,” I whisper to myself.

She talked me down for three books and still paid extra! The excitement of making money again sends butterflies to my stomach as I stuff the two twenties in my pocket.

Looking left and then right, I notice an older gentleman, approaching the booth.

“How much are the journals?” he asks.

“Journals are ten dollars. Books are fifteen.”

“Ahh okay. No thanks,” he says as he continues down the street.

“Wait, we can do two for twenty five!”

“I’m good,” he says as he waves me off.

I turn back towards the booth to find a woman checking out the books.

“Oh, hey. Let me know if you have any questions.”

“How much?” she says as she points to the books.

“Books are fifteen, two for twenty five, or three for thirty.”

“You take credit?”

“No, it’s cash only.”

“Okay. Well, I’ll have to come back some other time,” she says as she walks off.

“Ma’am, there’s an ATM a couple blocks north.”

“Okay, I’ll check it out and I may be back later!” she says as she continues to walk further away from the booth.

“What is it with these no-cash-having-people?”

I scan the area from left to right but find no patrons. Hours upon hours in the heat, no one stops by the booth. They only glance at the books and keep walking. I’m starting to think that books aren’t as hot as they were, the last time I was out here. I know it’s been fifteen years but books are supposed to be timeless. Maybe not in West Philadelphia. All I know is, I need new product. The guy selling Mixed-Cd’s is making a killing, over there! Wonder if A&B will give me a refund on this wholesale order so that I can buy something that will actually move out here.

As the sun starts to set and the vendors begin to close, I realize that I’ve only made a lousy fifty-five dollars for a whole day of work. I slam the box on the table and begin to stuff the books back into the boxes as I close down my shop.

“Where are all the people?”

Finally realizing what failure feels like. It is a feeling that I can not afford to get used to. Literally.

****

Spoken-word artist, Ainoku Saadiq, stands on the stage wearing a Bob Marley t-shirt and recites a poem. Her dreadlocks flow down the side of her face as she speaks with a strong confidence.

“I’m searching the outside, to find something within,” Ainoku recites.

Kesha looks on intensely.

“I’m caught between freedom and living my life in sin. I reflect on what it means to truly be righteous. I’m feeling God’s presence.”

Kesha nervously sits in the audience and waits for Redd, who stands in the alley holding a full bottle of alcohol. He cracks open the bottle, smells the aroma and closes his eyes to take it all in. A car horn sounds and snaps Redd out of his daze. Instead of taking a drink, Redd sets the bottle down behind a rock and walks into Wired Beans Café.

“And so I might just spend all my energy cleansing my soul. Giving God permission to take total control of my life because my life should reflect God’s plan so I promise to commit,” Ainoku speaks with power and conviction.

Redd sits with Kesha, rocking back and forth in his seat, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans.

“Even if I don’t understand. It was me who strayed, and it was He who stayed. It was me who ran, but it’s He who stands. So today I take a stand and walk towards the King. Full of anticipation of the joy He brings. The journey has been difficult but the reward is worth the pain. There’s nothing more significant than hearing God call my name!” Ainoku closes as the crowd erupts. A tear falls from Redd’s eye.

“And now I’d like to welcome Redd to the stage!” says Ainoku with excitement that reflects the energy of the crowd.

Kesha pushes Redd to the stage and smiles in anticipation. Redd grabs the microphone and blankly stares into the crowd. He attempts to speak, but no words come from his mouth. Redd looks down to get himself together and now the energy of the crowd is quickly replaced with confusion.

“Come on, Redd,” Kesha says to herself.

Redd takes a deep breath and tries to speak.

“If I…” Redd attempts to say before silence interrupts.

Things have officially become awkward as the hardwood floor squeaks beneath Redd’s feet.  He nervously begins to rock from side to side. The longer he stands on the stage, the more he wants to die. The sensitive microphone picks up Redd’s nervously swallowed gulp of spit as he attempts to clear his throat. The amplifier magnifies the sounds of defeat for all to be heard.

Some individuals in the audience begin chatting amongst themselves as Redd angrily storms off with Kesha chases after him. Ainoku is taken back and not completely ready to introduce the next artist. Suddenly, a dark-skinned vocalist by the name of Bethlehem takes the stage without permission. Her angelic voice puts the crowd at ease. If only Redd were still in attendance to be blessed by the sounds of her voice.

“I am in desperate need of a release from you. I’ve tried and failed. Knew I’ve rebelled. So long since I’ve felt true happiness,” Bethlehem sings.

Redd storms down the street with Kesha attempting to run in heels to catch him.

“Redd! Redd, wait up!”

Redd continues to the alley and grabs his unfinished drink before Kesha is able to catch up to him.

“Redd, what’s going on?” a concerned Kesha asks.

What once would be done in private, out of respect and love, is now done for all to see, especially Kesha. Redd blatantly takes a drink of alcohol right in front of her.

“What?” Redd asks, daring a response.

Kesha, taken back by his complete disrespect, doesn’t know how to respond.

“You know what...” says Kesha as she storms off.

Redd takes another drink.

“Thought so!”

Filled with mixed emotions, Redd walks down the street and drinks from the bottle without a care in the world for who might see him. He reaches the cemetery where his father is buried. Placing his sunglasses on top of his head, Redd leans against the tombstone, takes another drink and begins to write as tears flow uninhibited down his face.

“If there’s no peace in the truth, I choose to live in the lie. Stuck in this quiet place where prayers go unanswered. And the sound of heartbeats bang like bass drums, in my head as anxiety grows. The wandering sheep doesn't realize that he’s lost. Not until he looks up and finds himself alone. So lost I roam, under the night air. Wondering if there can be dreams without nightmares. One day, I know I'll have no one to blame. Tear-soaked vision blurs the moment. Sunglasses camouflage the pain.”

Redd pulls the sunglasses over his eyes, shuts his notepad and exits the cemetery.

14

An old decrepit motel in West Philadelphia sits in the darkness, lit by the moonlight. With fear in our hearts and safety on our minds, Tonya and I slowly pull into the parking lot and stare at the motel. Homeless people roam the area and trash covers every inch of the surrounding area. Needless to say the hotel looks nothing like the online advertisement. This seems like the type of place that is paid for by the hour. Nevertheless, they have a room available for five hundred dollars a month, so it will have to do for the time being.

Silently, we sit in the car, gazing at the motel entrance as if those doors are a gateway to a never-ending life of struggle and disappointment. Goodbye to the life we dreamed of and hello to an existence where God is too hard to find. A life where His voice is overpowered by the nearby gunshots and His Words are drowned out by tears that freely fall down our faces.

I wonder what Tonya is thinking, since she’s made it quite clear that she can’t stand to be in dirty and unsafe environments anymore. Her expression is blank and her eyes never turn my direction.

“So, do you think we’ll ever have a house like that again?” Tonya asks while keeping her gaze focused on the motel.

She wants me to have something reassuring to tell her. Tell her something that will put her mind at ease or that would give her hope. I turn to her, slightly tugging her chin so that she faces me and look her in the eyes.

“Of course. This is only temporary.”

The words leave my lips but as her chin slowly lowers until it touches her chest, I know she no longer believes.

Exiting the car, we grab our luggage and slowly walk towards the gateway to misery. I wonder if I even believe my words anymore. This time last year, I was on top of the world, on my way to becoming a real-estate mogul, or so I thought. Now, I’m about to check into a roach-motel and hope that I come up with a plan to make money before they kick us out of here too.

We enter the motel, check in and walk towards the front door. My throat feels as if I’ve swallowed a hard-boiled egg, whole. The pain intensifies more and more the closer we get to the building.

Holding the room key with two hands to camouflage my shaky hands from Tonya, I unlock the door. The hinges squeak as I slowly open the door, afraid to look at our new living arrangements. I peek my head in first to make sure there’s nothing crazy like a huge rat on the bed just waiting to greet us. Oh, how Tonya hates rodents.

“Like I said, this is only temporary. Just until I find a better-paying job.”

The discouragement that takes over Tonya’s face as she slowly enters the room and looks from left to right.

“I doubt we’ll even be here for the entire month that we paid for.”

Tonya doesn’t say a word. Instead, she walks towards the bed and examines it for bed bugs, then lays down on top of the covers, facing away from me. I enter the bathroom and shut the door. Running the water so that she can not hear my thoughts that seem to scream louder than any sound my voice could ever project.

“What have I done?”

Tonya envisions tranquil times on the beach in the Hampton’s where I promise her that, “This is the life for us and that it only gets better from here.”

The sounds of the ocean crashing against the shore relaxes her but are quickly replaced by the water running in the sink. Her eyes open as I turn off the faucet. The water runs down the drain, along with my dreams and the hope that I used cling to.

Exiting the bathroom, I walk to the table and pull out my Bible with no particular chapter in mind. I just open it and start reading. The words are blurry and make no sense at all as my focus escapes me. In the corner of my eye, I see Tonya staring out the window. I can see her eyes, but not her emotions.

I walk over to her and prop her up as I sit behind her and rub her shoulders. Can my touch still alleviate all worry? With my eyes closed, I rub her shoulders as my right hand makes its way from the back of her lower neck to her scalp. My fingertips find their way through her hair. Her head tilts to the side as my left hand applies pressure to the back of her neck. Small circles. Small circles. Large circles with more pressure. Her eyes close and I lay her down. We fall asleep fully clothed on top of the covers.

It’s 2:00 am and I can’t sleep. I’m wakened by the thought of bed bugs or maybe it’s the fact that this bed is ridiculously hard. All I know for certain is that my arms itch and my back aches. Somehow, Tonya sleeps like a baby so I attempt to go to the bathroom without waking her. I need to think. To breathe. To pray.

Sitting on top of a closed toilet seat, I stare at the wall.

“Lord, I feel like I’m on the edge... About to fall to my death. Things didn’t exactly work out how I had planned. Maybe I’m not that smart… or talented... or special.”

Bowing my head as anxiety builds up inside me.

“Something’s gotta give. Either me... Or my situation.”

Exiting the bathroom, my mind takes me to the interview at the art gallery, then the argument with Tonya, then the one with Redd, the books that did not sell and The Lee on fire. My surroundings circle me as nauseousness stirs within my stomach. My body weighs a ton as my legs weaken. Hitting the corner of the bed, before I fall to the ground, I awaken Tonya. She rushes to my aid as I lie on the ground and unconsciously gaze at the ceiling.

“Kevin, what’s wrong?” Tonya screams as she shakes me vigorously.

I faintly hear her voice but my body refuses to respond.

“Wake up, baby!” Tonya reaches for the phone and knocks it off the night-stand.

“Someone help us! Someone please help us!”

****

Fancy certificates and awards hang on the wall of Dr. Stricklan’s otherwise cold office. Tonya and I sit across from the doctor who reads from his clipboard. With crossed arms, sweat forms on my palms and on the top of my head as well. What is he writing on that clipboard, already? If it were something bad, he’d know right away, right? The suspense is killing me!

“Doctor, what is it?”

“Well. We’ll have to run some more tests, but it looks like it’s stress-related.”

Stress. No kidding.

“Stress?” Tonya questions.

Dr. Stricklan looks me in the eyes.

“Reach for the ceiling with your left hand,” he demands and I reach with no problem.

“Now with the other.”

I attempt to extend my right arm but a pain shoots across my chest before halting my arm halfway.

“Doc, what’s wrong with my arm?”

“Yes. Stress can really affect the mind, body, and behavior in many ways. The symptoms can be psychological as well as physical.”

Dr. Stricklan turns to Tonya.

“Has there been any sudden occurrences that would cause an increased stress level?”

His questions make me uncomfortable. If I knew that I’d have to confess my financial situation to some fancy and successful doctor, I might have taken my chances dealing with the stress on my own. If I stare at the wall long enough, maybe this will all be over.

“Well, we’re really going through a tough time right now,” Tonya says, looking at me as if she wants me to contribute to the confession.

I’m not saying a word. Don’t want this stranger judging me.

“We lost our only source of income and are having a hard time trying to figure out how to make ends meet.”

I can feel the eyes of judgment fixed upon me. Probably wondering how I managed to snag a wife as pretty as Tonya, with no money. Yeah, I think I’ll study this blank wall for a bit longer while Tonya puts all of our business out in the streets.

“I see. Well, it will be extremely important that Kevin gets plenty of rest, in the upcoming months,” says Dr. Stricklan.

Who knew that egg-shell paint could brighten a room and really make it pop? I know I didn’t. Look at him. Sitting over there, writing his little notes on his cute little notepad. With his clipboard that matches his tie. That’s a really nice tie, by the way. Don’t think I didn’t notice the look he gave me when I raised my arm. As if I don’t know that “look”. It’s the one that says, “being broke can be so stressful!”

“Unfortunately, that means no work for at least eight weeks,” Dr. Stricklan instructs with a smile.

Now they both look at me while I wait to exhale. For some odd reason, I can’t take my eyes off the blank wall. I just can’t.

Tonya grips my hand and I squeeze back. This gesture is enough to make me turn to her and look her in the eyes, if only for a second.

15

Guilt consumes me as I lie on that rigid bed, flipping through the channels on the television and pretending not to notice Tonya staring at me in the corner of my eyes. Her resentment is apparent as she squeezes her legs into black work-slacks and a black shirt. Although, her professionalism exudes naturally, I do not dare to look at her, not even to grant a compliment. Considering I had always assured her that she’d never have to work another nine-to-five job ever again, her first day of work in more than five years is not exactly what either of us would call a move in the right direction. The way we had planned things out was that I would own a couple of apartment buildings by now. If needed, Tonya would help me run them, but mostly she would take care of our future children.

The cell phone rings and I quickly jump at the opportunity to be doing something other than watching television. A man needs to feel useful, after all.

“Hello?” I say with as much excitement as a man with a purpose.

“Is Marvin there?” a voice says.

“No. There’s no Marvin here,” I explain with disappointment before hanging up.

I stand to kiss Tonya’s dead lips that do not kiss me back. Instead, she gives me a half-smile, grabs her lunch bag and slowly exits the room without saying goodbye.

“Bye,” I say just as the door closes shut.

I guess she’s not as thrilled as I would have hoped with the warehouse job that I was able to connect her with at the publishing company where I work.

Continuing to flip through the channels, I find nothing interesting. Who knew daytime television was so uneventful?

It’s now 8:01am as I stare out the window. I notice all types of people, standing on the bus stop heading to work, I presume.

Spinning the basketball on my finger, while I sit on the edge of the bed with my right hand, before my arm suddenly reminds me of its limited range of motion.

Pacing back and forth between commercial breaks, I realize that I didn’t even know that the Jerry Springer Show was still on the air. A quick glance at the clock revealed that the time was only 8:03 am.

“It’s gonna’ be a long day,” I sigh.

Meanwhile, Tonya stands behind a table filled with inspirational books and rings up customers. Two other women, Holly and Eve, help her get acclimated with the new job.

“Thank you for your purchase,” Tonya says with a forced smile as she stuffs a flier in their bag.

“And don’t forget to visit kobaltbooks.com!” Holly states with enthusiasm as she glances over at Tonya as if to say, “This is how it’s done”.

A hard day of standing on her feet is nearly complete as Tonya loads boxes of books into a cargo van. She pauses for a second and holds her back in pain as Holly and Eve work like well-oiled machines and load box after box. An annoyed Holly glances over at Tonya once more as she and Eve continue to work.

Exhausted, Tonya drives in complete silence back to the motel. The only sounds that can be heard are the sounds of engine and the wind pushing into the open windows.

Arriving at the motel in pain, she limps down the hallway, wiping her face with a towel as she pulls out her key.

The sound of the key entering the lock hits my eardrums, instantly energizing me enough to rush to the door and greet my wife.

“You’re back!” I say with excitement.

Instead, I’m greeted with a stiff arm to the chest as she pushes past me.

“Hold on. Can I get my other foot in the door?”

Tonya forcefully walks right past me and puts her things down on the table. She then opens her laptop and raises the screen to block my view.

This is strange behavior but maybe it was a rough first day on the job. Patiently, I sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for her to tell me everything.

“And the car needs tires!” she complains.

I head to the bathroom to freshen up. Tonya opens her email account with a smirk on her face. I wash my face with the intent of giving this another try.

Exiting the bathroom, I return to the edge of the bed.

“So, are you ready to tell me about your day?”

Tonya looks somewhat guilty as her head rises.

“Huh?”

I walk towards her and hear nothing but fast-clicking from the computer. Not sure what that was about, but I proceed anyway.

“Your day. How was your first day of work?”

“Oh. It was okay,” she says as she shuts her laptop altogether.

I’m taken back by her actions for a moment but brush it off as I stand behind her, rub her shoulders as her eyes instantly shut to truly appreciate my strong hands.

“That’s the spot, right there. Stay right there,” she says.

“How’s the pressure?”

“The pressure’s fine,” she replies in a relaxed tone.

Now, that I have her attention, it’s time to go in for the kill. My gently placed kiss on her cheek and neck puts a smile on her face as I walk to the other side of the room as punishment for being so distant when she first came in.

“You talk to Redd today?” she asks.

And just like that she has officially transferred the negative energy back onto me. I grab my running shoes and lace them up.

“No. Have you?”

“Well… He’s your brother!”

Storming out of the room and into the night, I exit with a mind ready to run and become one with the wind. The nerve of her asking me a question like that when she still hadn’t even told me about her day!

With my iPod volume turned up loud and earphones pushed tightly into my ears, I run with everything I have. I inhale and exhale rhythmically in time to my feet hitting the pavement. The warm air tickles my face as I accelerate.

Upon reaching Elmwood Park in Southwest Philadelphia, I decide to stretch. Hamstrings first as the music blares through the earphones. Under the street light, an American flag sways back and forth as a homeless man sleeps on the bench. The stars shine bright as a scantily dressed woman paces back and forth. Hamstrings stretched to the left. Hamstrings stretched to the right. A shadow covers and temporarily blinds me. As I stand, a fist meets my face. When I gain my balance, a man chokes me with a baseball bat from behind.

“Go in his pockets!” the voice from behind speaks.

The strange man with the familiar fist, punches me repeatedly and reaches into my pocket as the bat squeezes all the fight I have left, out of me. He pulls out a single dollar.

“A dollar? All you got is a dollar!”

Hey, I’m just as surprised as he is. I was looking all over for that dollar!

I fall to the ground where I am immediately kicked and stomped on by two different pairs of feet. Rolling onto my back, only to find a man standing over me wearing a white tank top. This is the same guy who walked past Redd and I, at the basketball court. Our eyes lock as he cocks back the bat and swings. In an attempt to block the blow, he strikes my left knee. Then my left shin. He stares at me and walks off in seemingly slow-motion.

“Now that’s how you play baseball!”

Holding my knee and attempting to crawl through the park, I find not a single soul to come to my aid. What happened to the homeless man? And what about the woman in the short skirt?

“Somebody help me!”

Crawling with my elbows as my feet drag behind.

“Somebody, please!”

“HELP!”

My voice echoes off the concrete, down empty allies and on deaf ears. I am alone.

16

3 Weeks Later

Separated by a bowl of cherries and a cloud of tension, Tonya and I uncomfortably sit across from each other at the table in our motel room. Avoiding eye contact, we embrace a silence that has become more the norm than awkward. With crutches that lean against the wall, I realize that I can no longer run away from my problems.

“Redd called today,” Tonya says in her most monotone voice ever.

Why she would bring up Redd’s name just as I’m about to enjoy these not-quite-fresh cherries, I’ll never know.

“Yeah?” I say with as much disinterest that I can possibly muster.

Her fingers grip a cherry as her lips purse in anticipation.

“Yeah, he said for you to call him,” Tonya continues with a half-eaten cherry between her teeth.

I’m starting to think that she just wants to torture me.

“Call him about what?”

“I don’t know,” she says as she grabs and eats another cherry.

“Said he met with the Reverend and that he’s ready for a change.”

“And how many times have we heard this from him? I’m not calling him. Every time, it’s the same song,” I reply while angrily grabbing a cherry and stuffing it in my mouth.

I tried to put a little extra attitude into my voice while eating the cherry but for some reason, I don’t think cramming a cherry into my mouth had the same affect with Tonya, as it did in my mind.

My face immediately tightens up with the taste of a half-rotten cherry. Spitting the remains out into my hand as Tonya fights to hold off a laugh. The juice lingers on my tongue as she delights in my displeasure.

“You’re just so particular,” she sarcastically says while enjoying my suffering as much as she enjoys the cherry that she’s just eaten.

My crutches lean against the wall and force me to sit and eat, when all I want to do is run.

****

Sitting next to the bed with the phone glued to my ear as I call everyone in the address book. Hanging up before the voicemail message finishes and on to the next friend to call. Finally someone answers.

“Hey Tim, I was wondering if you felt like stopping by for a second when you guys finish up over there.”

“Maybe tomorrow. We’re gonna’ finish watching this movie.”

“That’s cool. Just hit me up when you’re finished.”

We hold the phone in silence. I’m waiting for him to respond and maybe he’s expecting me to continue.

“There’s so much going on with you these days, I don’t know,” Tim cautiously says.

“Have you done someone wrong?” he asks.

“Not that I know of. And where’s this coming from?”

“I just believe in karma and there’s so much negativity surrounding you... Kevin, there HAS to be something that you’ve done that is coming back full circle.”

I don’t respond as to not let Tonya hear disappointment in my voice.

“Otherwise, it just doesn’t make sense,” Tim continues.

“I don’t know.”

Removing the phone from my ear, I can still faintly hear him.

“Just seems mighty odd, if you know what I mean.”

My thumb hits the hang-up button on the cell phone despite my need for male bonding.

Browsing through the address book once more, I dial Janté’s number. He immediately answers.

“Hey, what’s going on over there? Stop by and chill for a minute!” I enthusiastically ask.

“Can’t... Headed out,” Janté replies as my excitement  fades.

“Work again? Hey… This money isn’t gonna’ make itself !” I say as a last attempt to brighten the mood.

“Nah, I don’t have time. I’m about to head over to Tim’s and play a little ball.”

“Tim’s?”

Didn’t Tim just say that he was busy watching a movie?

“Ahh ok... Just, hit me up when you finish.”

“I’ll probably just talk to you another time,” Janté replies.

Once again, my thumb does its job and ends the call. Lying in bed, reading scriptures as Tonya flips through the different television stations. Black ink pressed on white pages equal words with no meaning. I’ve lost my ability to connect with God through His Word.

Tonya lies next to me. Her eyes coldly reflect a distance that has replaced the warm closeness that used to be there.

“Are you all right?” she asks.

“Just need to go for a jog,” I say while looking at my leg, then the crutches and back at the Bible.

Tonya gets up from the bed and walks over to the table.  She sits and begins typing on her laptop. To pass the time, I practice walking with crutches across the living room. The phone rings as my crutch catches the end of the bed, sending me crashing into the floor. Crawling towards the phone as Tonya steps over me to get to it first.

“I got it!” I yell with foolish pride.

Rolling her eyes, Tonya turns back to the table.

“Hello,” I ask after finally reaching the phone.

Silence. No one speaks on the other end.

“Hello?” I ask again.

“Hey, what’s going on?” a voice finally asks.

Caught off guard, I pause for a moment as I recognize the voice as Redd’s.

“Ugh, just about to head out and take care of a few things.”

Redd sits at Rev. Barr’s desk and nervously rubs his hands together.

“So… What’s going on?” Redd asks again.

“I was gonna stop by for a second,” he continues.

“Nah, I was just headed out, so...”

We hold the phone in silence.

“It’s cool. Just hit me back later.”

“Yep,” I coldly reply while hanging up.

A confused Redd holds the phone to his ear and listens to the dial tone. Rev. Barr sadly watches him as he hangs up the phone with an obvious aching heart.

They say hurt people, hurt people. I just blew Redd off the same manner that my friends had blown me off. Making someone acknowledge their wrongdoing is supposed to feel good but instead is spiritually draining.

****

Sitting in silence, staring at a blank space on the counter where a television once sat. Light illuminates underneath the bathroom door, as Tonya takes a shower. The sound of water seeping down the drain puts me in a reflective and introspective state. I remember fancy dinners with my wife and a night of salsa dancing as I twirl her around and try not to step on her toes. Cute little sweat-droplets form on her forehead. Pulling her in closely, we move rhythmically to the Latin instrumental. She turns off the valve in the shower and stares at the floor of the tub until there’s no more water to drain.

Standing to my feet and struggling to put on my dark jeans and a button-up shirt as Tonya exits the bathroom in her pajamas with hair-rollers in her head.

“Umm. Where are you going?” she says while crazily looking at me.

“Hold up. I wasn’t in the mood when you were undressed so getting all dressed up isn’t going to change that, Kevin. I’m tired!” she says defensively to shut down any ideas of intimacy that I may have conjured up in that little brain of mine.

“What? Ahh whatever, come on. Let’s go out!”

“Go out?  Where? Do you know what time it is?”

“Who cares about time? We haven’t gone out dancing in so long.”

“That’s because we’re broke! And so is your leg! Or did you forget about that when you were pulling those slacks over your cast?”

I aggressively grab her like a man-in-love and look deeply into her eyes like I used to when things were less chaotic. Hoping to find a place in her heart where romance lies, I search for a soul that remembers what it feels like to be loved.

“Come on, let’s just go. Get dressed.”

Passion fills my eyes and Tonya recognizes it.

“You know I like to watch you dance,” I charmingly remind her.

She ponders for a second.

“This could be just what we need,” I continue.

“Maybe, you’re right,” she replies as I’ve officially worn her down with good old fashioned charm.

“Okay, let’s go!

Suddenly, Tonya gets excited and starts getting dressed.

“We’re going dancing!” she says with the most beautiful smile that I’ve seen in a long time.

****

With roses in one hand and a small bottle of liquor in the other, Redd staggers up the walkway to his apartment. The bottle is nearly turned completely upside down as Redd drinks one final gulp before stashing the half-filled bottle behind the hallway trashcan. He proceeds to the apartment, knocks on the door, gets himself together, smells his breath and brings the flowers from behind his back.

Kesha opens the door but the chain-lock will not allow her to open more than a couple inches.

“What?” an unforgiving Kesha asks.

“Kesha, I’m ready for a change. I wanna’ come back home.”

“Redd, how many times are we going to go through this?”

“The last time, was the last time. I promise.”

“Yeah, well I thought the LAST time was the last time! And the time before that, and the time before that! What’s so different about this time?”

“Baby, I’ve changed!”

Smelling into the air, Kesha picks up on a trace of alcohol.

“I love you, but... I can’t do this anymore,” she continues while shutting the door with complete disappointment.

“I just can’t,” she quietly says while secretly wishing that she could.

“Give me one more chance. Kesha, just give me one more chance!”

Redd bangs on the door.

“Just one more chance!”

The flowers release themselves from Redd’s limp fingertips and fall to the floor. With hands that now cover his face, Redd leans against the door. He can almost feel Kesha’s warmth, who leans against the other side of the door and slides down, onto the floor, where she fights back tears. Stepping over a dozen roses that now lie on the ground, Redd walks away from the only true love that he’s ever known.

He grabs his bottle of alcohol from behind the trashcan and exits the building. With blurry eyes, he fights off tears with every step that he takes. The wind howls through the glass of a half-empty bottle that spins as his world circles the axis. His desires pass his reach, his needs fly by. His wants are yesterday. Tomorrow waits with only hopes of dreams not yet attained and a love that returns unrequited.

Redd brings the bottle to his lips but instead of drinking it, he closes his eyes and inhales to take in the taste, through the smell. He throws the bottle across the street and watches the glass shatter. A tear falls from his eyes as the alcohol drains in the gutter.

****

Tires screech as police sirens sound in the distance. Dressed in slacks and a dress shirt while Tonya wears a beautiful, flowing summer dress, we sit in the car. On a deserted road, we gaze at the stars as if we were on an old country dirt road.

“Kevin, I just realized that I didn’t see the television, when I got out of the shower. Did you move it?”

“I pawned it. Figured we could use the cash.”

Tonya doesn’t say a word.

“Plus, you’re on your computer more than anything, these days.”

I rest my right hand on top of her left and rub her wedding ring.

“It’s nice out tonight, isn’t it?” I ask.

Tonya does not reply.

“I forget how beautiful it is on clear nights like tonight.”

Looking out the front window, the stars in the sky bring a smile to my face despite us being stranded on the side of the road with a broken down car, in dress clothes. I gently rub her hands to keep her mind off the fact that I canceled the AAA coverage to save a few extra bucks. Her face is emotionless as I caress her smooth skin.

“I love to look at the stars and wonder how old they are.”

Tonya is silent.

“Did you know that when we look at the stars, what we really see is an image from million years ago?” I ask to focus her mind on the stars in the sky, which are supposed to be the silver lining, in all this.

“I want a divorce,” she calmly says.

So much for a silver lining.

“So, to know how old a star is, you have to figure out how many light-years it is away,” I continue as if Tonya hadn’t said a word.

Tonya moves her hand from mine, crosses her arms and looks out the window. She breathes more intensely as her chest expands and contracts more noticeably.

“And on the perfect night…”

Tonya unlocks the car door, quickly exits and storms off, down the road. I jump out of the car as best as I can and hop after her.

“Where are you going?”

Tonya continues to walk. My quick hobbles somehow catch up to her.

“Wait Tonya! Where are you going?”

“I can’t do this anymore. Look at us!”

“I am. What’s wrong with us?”

“What’s wrong with us? What’s wrong with us!?  Kevin, we’re living out of a motel room, eating off of paper plates and you’re slowly selling off our stuff just to cover the basics!”

Tonya shakes her head in frustration.

“I just didn’t sign up for this!”

“These things take time! I’ve been looking for a job, you know this! Everyday, I’m out there trying to find something that pays better,” I explain.

“My arm is getting better. The doctor said a couple more weeks…”

Tonya walks away from me but I grab her before she gets too far.

“Wait!”

She turns around with anger in her heart.

“I’m tired of waiting, Kevin! I’m tired of struggling!  I had enough of that as a kid! We’re homeless!  Do you understand that?  And trying to get dressed up for a night out in a car we can’t even drive! You want to know what’s wrong with us? Everything is wrong with us!”

It’s as if she’s possessed by a spirit that has killed everything beautiful that I fell in love with. I don’t know what to say that would help this situation because I don’t fully understand how we got here. One minute, we were about to go dancing and our marriage had been given that spark that once shined as bright as these million year old stars. The next, I’m hopping down a deserted road, begging her to stay.

“I know. I need to fix the car. We’ll get a new car.”

“With what, Beemer? Our imaginary money? That’s my whole point. We have no money! We have no home!  We have no car! We have NOTHING!” she says with the intent of crushing my ant-sized esteem with a sledgehammer.

“The stupid book-thing didn’t work, and... Look at me!”

“I’m looking at you!”

“No. REALLY look at me. Everything I have on is worn out and used! My hair is a mess! My nails are raggedy! I’m scraping the last of my lipstick out of the tube with a q-tip!”

She looks away for a second to gather herself.

“But it’s not even about that! It’s about us being right back where we were when we were little broke kids with big dreams. We’re not kids anymore, Kevin! We’ve come too far to be here!” she says as tears flow.

“I don’t want to be here…” she reminds me as she drifts off into a daze.

Tonya’s chest expands and contracts once more as she breathes harder. She snaps out her daze with even more fury in her demeanor.

“And if you think I’m gonna’ work three jobs while you sell off everything we have like my mama did, you’re an…”

“You’re not your mother! And I’m not your father!” I interrupt.

“The difference between us and them is, your mother ran from what was real. And what was fake, she’d try to MAKE it real! Don’t be like her,” I explain as I take a step towards her.

“Don’t run.”

Tonya is silent as if she’s hearing me out.

“Our love is real.”

Once again, resentment takes over Tonya’s face.

“And so are our problems,” she reiterates as she wipes the tears from her face.

“How did we get here?” I ask.

Tonya grabs her purse and storms off into the night.

“Because I trusted you!”

With no more words in my mind, nor fight in my heart, I stand there as she walks away from me and into the night. Before, I felt alone. Now, I know that I am.

17

Time pauses as I stare through clouded glass at a once perfect office, now riddled with smoke damage. Standing outside The Lee, I never realized just how much the fire would consume; unable to fathom all that I’ve lost in this tragedy. My old office used to be a place where I felt important. In there, I found passion while purpose found me, or so I thought. Now, my office is just a room that reflects everything that has gone wrong in my life. Dejectedly staring at its blackened walls and sunken ceiling, as I peruse the damage.

I hear the sound of footsteps behind me becoming louder as they approach but my anxieties won’t allow me to turn around. In a strange way, these anxieties seem to help to put me at ease in accepting the inevitable.

“Hey,” Redd says as he walks up to the window.

Anxiety turns to irritation quickly as I view his pitiful face through the reflection in the glass.

“Sorry about everything with The Lee. I should have listened all these…”

“Redd, what else do you want from me?”

I can see that Redd is taken back by my bitter tone.

“I have nothing. I have nothing to give!”

“I was just…”

“It’s cause of you. The alcohol! All these years, you’ve asked me for more responsibility at the property. I go on vacation for two days. Two days! I’ve lost everything!”

Redd remains silent.

“It’s as if you wanted something to go wrong. How could you do this to family?”

Redd finds it hard to look me in the eyes.

“Well, you haven’t lost everything. At least you have a wife!”

“What wife?”

Redd looks confused.

“Tonya wants a divorce!”

Redd is silent as he looks down to gather himself for a few seconds.

“I went to the doctor a while back. He said that I can never have kids of my own,” says Redd as he looks at the ground.

I turn to him.

“All I’m saying is... You’re not the only one with nothing. You think I don’t want a chance at the same life that you want? You think I want to be a maintenance man forever?”

For a second, I felt sorry for Redd, but that sorrow is quickly replaced with anger.

“That was you who gave up on your dreams! Don’t put that off on me!”

“Well, at least you have hope!” Redd replies with emotion.

“Yeah, and what’s stopping you? You can still be a writer. I mean... All you need is a pen and a piece of paper!” I say with plenty of sarcasm to over-simplify the situation.

Redd hesitates.

“There’s a big spoken-word contest in New York, in a week,” he calmly states.

“Yeah, and what’s stopping you from going?”

Redd breaks eye contact again and looks at The Lee.

“I need it,” Redd humbly says.

“The gig in New York?”

“The alcohol. I freeze up, if I don’t have a drink,” he rationalizes.

“So, you’re just gonna’ be a drunk like old-man Charles? You’re gonna’ have to quit blaming yourself for what happened back then. We were kids!”

Redd looks down.

“So, you mean to tell me you’re gonna’ let something that happened twenty years ago, imprison you for the rest of your life!”

For the first time, Redd’s silence is more frustrating than his voice.

“I’m out of here.”

I grab my crutches and leave him standing there, looking at the evidence of his mistakes and the fruit of his brokenness.

****

A dark room welcomes me, back at the motel; not a loving wife. I try to ease into the bed without waking Tonya, but to my surprise, she is not asleep. She just lies in the fetal position and cries in the dark.

On top of the covers, I stare at the ceiling. Her scratchy voice breaks the silence.

“I thought you said that life only gets better, with you,” she says with a shaky voice.

Oh, how I much prefer the silence.

****

Awakened by the morning sun, I reach for her but feel nothing but cold sheets. Searching the room, I find that her clothes are still here. I make my way to the window,  look out and see Tonya pacing back and forth under a tree. It appears that she’s crying, although I’m not sure from the distance. It’s obvious that she needs her space and doesn’t want me around. Hopefully, she’s just angry and has decided against leaving me all together. None the less, I get dressed to look for a job, pack a few of my things into a backpack and head to the bathroom.

It’s hard to brush my teeth and fight off tears at the same time. I shut the door and lock it, even though I’m all alone. Sliding down the door and onto the floor, I bow my head and let the tears fall as they may.

“I don’t understand what’s going on. I don’t understand what You’re doing. When will this be over? What have I done to deserve this? Many times, I’ve cried to You, but You don’t answer me. You are silent to me now. What did I do wrong? I need Your help.”

With eyes closed and head bowed, I wait for some miraculous sign from above to happen in a motel bathroom. The motel has never been so quiet! Normally, there’s people yelling and kids running down the hallway. Today? Nothing.

Suddenly my cell phone rings.

“Hello.”

“Hello Kevin, this is Rev. Barr.”

“Oh... hey.”

Not exactly the first person I want to speak to, seeing as how I haven’t been to church in a while.

“I was calling to check on you. You’ve missed quite a few Sundays.”

I don’t say a word.

“But, God has a word for you this week. Will you join me?”

“I don’t know. It just seems like God has abandoned me all together. I’m not sure how much church can help me at this point.”

“Kevin, He can speak to you right where you are. But, let’s not forget the power in gathering together in His name.”

“But, the ‘Kevin’ the church knows is one who is extremely blessed.”

“You are blessed!”

“I know, but I’m talking about blessed in a way that…” Kevin hesitates.

“I always wanted to be like a billboard for God. You know?”

“And you are.”

I almost laugh at the idea of my current predicament, somehow leading to increased church membership.

“If someone looks at me right now, I can guarantee they won’t be running to sign up for any church!”

“You’d be surprised. You don’t know HOW God is going to use you and this situation. But what you have to do is keep the faith through all of this.”

Inhaling, I take in as much air as possible as Rev. Barr speaks.

“Because when the battle is over, and God wins through you, people will know what it means to let go and let God. Do you remember the story of Job?”

“Yes.”

“Remember all that Job went through?”

“I remember.”

“Have faith in God, Kevin. He gives His hardest fights to his strongest soldiers, and He’s doing a new thing through you.”

Rev. Barr pauses for a moment.

“I need for you to get up.”

I slowly make my way to my feet.

“And then I need for you to read the book of Job again. And watch God show you a new thing in His Word.”

“Okay.”

I wipe my tears, hang up the phone and exit the motel. I will find a job if it’s the last thing I do. I will pray, I will fast, I will do whatever it takes to get my wife back and get our lives back on track.

****

Tonya enters the room and searches for me, but soon realizes that I am long gone. She notices a spot of lipstick on the mirror and grabs a bottle of Windex and a napkin. She sprays the entire mirror, just to clean a small spot and begins vigorously wiping. She thinks about everything good in her life and how it’s quickly being snatched away from her. She cries as her wipe increases to a scrub that has the intensity of removing dried paint from the walls, with just a napkin. She would joke with me about her inability to cook but instead of judging her, we would share a laugh together. The spot on the mirror is long gone, but the scrubbing continues. Tonya wipes until her shoulders burn and her arms feel as though they are about to fall off.

She makes her way to the hamper, grabs my dress-shirt that I wore when we attempted to go out dancing. It’s still drenched in cologne and sweat. She puts it on and gets into the bed. With each sniff, she’s taken to a different point in our marriage when we thought that we were invincible.

The phone rings and Tonya quickly answers.

“Kevin?”

There’s silence on the other end.

“Hello,” she says once more.

Tonya can hear breathing but no one says a word. She hangs up in frustration.

The phone rings again.

“Look. Stop playing on my phone!”

There’s silence again for a couple more moments.

“Hello?”

“Oh. Hello,” a strange voice replies.

Disappointment takes over Tonya’s face as she recognizes that the voice is not mine. Instead, Lance sits in a parked car and builds the courage to speak.

“Yes. Is this Tonya?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s me. Lance.”

“What do you want?”

“I was just calling to see if you had thought about what I asked you.”

“I already told…”

“Just think about it,” Lance interrupts.

Tonya pulls the phone from her ear and rests it against her chest. Lance’s voice is faint and fades to nothing.

“I look forward to seeing you at church on Sunday and walking you to your car.”

Tonya hangs up and goes to sleep. The scent of my cologne fills her nostrils and remind her of everything that used to be so beautiful.

****

I’ve heard Job’s story all of my life. But, it’s not until I sit in the back seat of an old beat-up Honda Civic, with no money, no job, no wife and no brother, that the story means anything to me. It’s something about the 42nd chapter that compels me to read it over and over again.

Holding my Bible in my lap, I look up and admire the stars and appreciate the silence for a moment. During times like these, I bow my head in prayer, almost out of habit.

“I still don’t know what you’re doing in my life. I mean, I’m searching for light. But all around me, all I see is darkness. My family and friends are confused also. Even though they don’t understand, I ask that you bless them so that they never have to be where I am.”

I pause to close my Bible.

“And to my little brother. Help him want to get sober, for himself… And bless him in ways that he never has to depend on anything other than You, ever again.”

Being somewhat uncomfortable about this prayer that I’ve never had to pray before, I nervously spin the wedding ring on my finger.

“Allow my wife to forgive me for failing to provide. Long before I complicated our lives, we had peace. Allow us to get back to that simplicity. Restore the love in our hearts, Lord. In Jesus name, Amen.”

Leaning back into the seat, I fall asleep under the moonlight with the Bible on my chest and God’s Words in my heart.

****

Redd stands on the basketball court where he and I would play growing up. Instead of a basketball, he holds a liquor bottle inside of a brown paper bag in his hand. He brings the bottle to his nose, smells the alcohol and is tempted. He pours the alcohol out onto the court and watches it slowly flow through the grooves of the concrete. Eventually, his fingers become limp, releasing the bottle that crashes to the ground as the glass shatters inside the brown bag.

Reaching into his back pocket, Redd grabs a pen and pad and begins to write.

“Let my words have power. Let my words have conviction. Instead of trapped inside my mental prison. Seeking true freedom to express what God says. Release me. Loosen the grip that holds me to my past, imprisoned by yesterday. To serve eternal sentences with no periods, for meditative worship. So what’s my purpose? Speaking life into existence that bounces off walls and on deaf ears, that no longer believe. Fear of failure. And failure’s biggest fear is not having someone to control. Heal a heart turned cold. Let Your words move within. I want out of the box... That I put myself in,” Redd writes in his notepad while smiling at the thought of being able to complete his first piece while being sober, in years.

18

Pressure builds inside Redd’s head as he nervously walks down a long narrow hallway. There’s a sign that reads, “AA Meeting straight ahead” in big bold letters. From the hallway, he’s able to catch a glimpse of strangers, sitting in a circle as family.

Redd slowly walks into the room, where he finds Rev. Barr sitting on the side. There are about fifteen individuals in the room. It’s peaceful. Friendly. Dark. Quiet. It’s surreal.

The seat squeaks, breaking the silence as Redd sits down. He quietly listens to everyone tell their story of how they ultimately ended up in this dark room, sitting in a circle, telling their inner most secrets to a bunch of unfamiliar faces.

Rev. Barr turns to Redd and can sense the nervousness in his demeanor, before standing in the middle of the circle and addressing all of the members.

“For those of you who don’t know, before I accepted my call to preach, I was an alcoholic, a drug addict, a con-man… You name it.”

A surprised, Redd, looks up.

“When I was in prison, I used to lift weights with some of the inmates that were in the yard. One of the first things that I learned was to always have a spotter if I was going to bench press a lot of weight. The spotter’s job is to stand over you and help you lift the barbell if the load is too heavy. Sometimes the spotter will just help you guide the barbell back on the stand. But sometimes he would take the weight completely off of you and put the barbell on the stand himself.”

Everyone is attentive in the room.

“One afternoon I wanted to go to the yard and lift weights. It was very hot that day, so no one else wanted to go outside. I went alone. There was some weight that I had wanted to lift for quite some time, but was afraid to try because I didn’t want anyone to see me if I failed. I decided to try it while no one was around. That way, if I couldn’t do it, no one would know. I put the weights on the bar, laid back on the bench and lifted the bar off of the stand. I lowered the bar onto my chest but I was only able to lift it halfway up. I lowered the bar onto my chest again but was unable to lift it. I realized that I was in trouble and needed a spotter. Somehow, I managed to roll the bar down my stomach, past my thighs and onto the ground. I never tried to bench press any weights without a spotter again.”

Redd listens to Rev. Barr and gains a clarity that he’s never gotten from any church.

“I’m here to tell you that, God is our spotter. He watches over us everyday. Sometimes He just helps us with our burdens. But sometimes He takes them completely off of us. Is your load too heavy? Is the idea of getting clean weighing you down? Don’t try to do it alone. Trust the spotter.”

Rev. Barr takes his seat and everyone stares at Redd. He’s the only one who has not told his story. Redd wipes his sweaty palms on his pants and stands. He slowly makes his way to the middle of the circle.

“Hi,” Redd says as he rocks back and forth out of discomfort.

“My name is Reynaldo Miles. And I... I’m an alcoholic,” says Redd as he takes a hard-swallow after admitting this to himself for the first time.

“Hi Reynaldo,” the audience greets him in return.

Redd pauses for a second and looks down to build up the nerve.

“I’ve been drinking all of my life. Started off on Jack Daniels because that’s what my father would drink. Said it helped him relax.”

Redd nervously wipes his sweaty palms again onto his pants leg.

“Oddly enough, my father was hit by a drunk driver and died with a bottle in his hand. He gripped the neck of the bottle so tight, until he just faded away.”

Redd looks to Rev. Barr, and then back to the crowd.

“I spent most of my childhood, wishing that I had the courage to just grab his hand... And he could hold my hand as tight as he was holding the bottle. But I froze.”

Redd takes a deep breath.

“Anyway, here I am... Something good happens, I drink. Something bad happens, I drink. Can’t sleep?”

Redd gives a slight smirk as he answers himself simultaneously with the crowd, “I drink.” He becomes more comfortable as he looks into the crowd and finally feels that he is understood. Here in this group of addicts, Redd is finally free to be himself without judgment and recrimination.

“Rev. Barr has us studying the book of Job. It wasn’t until recently that I started to think I even had a problem. Not until I lost everything.

Redd looks down.

“Seems like everything I touch…”

Redd looks into the crowd and gathers himself.

“Umm… That’s all,” Redd abruptly exits the podium and takes his seat as everyone encourages him.

As the meeting ends, Reverend Barr and Mr. Sanders exit the building at the same time.

“Nice meeting today,” says Mr. Sanders.

“It was,” Rev. Barr replies.

“See you this Sunday?”

“Definitely. See you there.”

They both walk off in opposite directions.

****

My voice echoes in Tonya’s head as she stands in front of the motel bathroom mirror and stares at herself. Her wedding ring sits on the sink. My words sit on her heart.

“Don’t be like her. Don’t run!” my voice says in her mind.

She cries and imagines my strong hands around her small waist as we dance the night away.

Tonya picks up her ring and notices the diamonds that no longer sparkle. She grabs a towel and cries hysterically as she rubs the diamonds until they shine again. Slowly placing the ring on her finger as she stares at herself in the mirror and the tears flow uncontrollably.

I stand at the door of a motel room that I once entered so freely, wearing a black suit and a power tie as if I were going to an interview. I’m afraid to knock. I’m afraid of the rejection, the potential argument and the thought of seeing my perfect wife, but not being able to reach her, touch her or hold her. With a dozen roses in hand that won’t have a scent until I see her smile. I stand at the door, afraid to knock.

Squeezing my fingers together tightly to make a fist, I bring myself to knock three times. Silence. The pace of my heart quickens. I knock three more times and hear nothing but the echo from my knuckles to wood. It’s hot in this suit. Loosening my tie a bit, I knock once more, this time even louder.

“Wait a minute,” Tonya says faintly.

Oh, she’s here! I make an attempt to straighten myself up before she opens the door. Looking down, to make sure my shoes are fine, my fly is closed, my belt is in the right loop.

The door swings open and the nostalgic smell of her perfume takes me back to a place where love could easily be found. My head slowly rises as our eyes meet. She wears a beautiful blue dress that touches her black high-heeled shoes. I balance on one crutch with flowers in the other hand, presenting them to her and she places her nose to the roses and inhale. Her smile brings joy to my heart and I too can now smell the roses. Tonya grabs me by my tie and pulls me into the room. My crutches fall to the floor as I hop on one foot inside.

The door slams shut and I kiss her as if it were the first time. I kiss her as if it were the last time. I kiss her as if time were irrelevant. She places my hands onto her waist and I pull her close to me. Squeezing her as hard as I can. Squeezing her as if I were trying to merge our souls through our clothes. Our hearts beat to the same tempo as our chests touch. My hands find their way up her back and run through her long hair. I’ve chased the taste of the sweetest cherry my entire life, but her lips are sweeter than anything I’ve ever tasted and her love makes all the pain, the struggle, the disappointment, worth it all. To be with her for another moment as the scent of the roses fills the air with everything that is alive. My eyes are closed and I never want to open them again if that means going back to a reality that doesn’t include Tonya. I need her. I love her. I forgive her; and she forgives me.

****

Tonya and I sit on the pew of the church. World renowned singer and friend of Rev. Barr, Maya Azucena, sings “Hallelujah” as church service ends. Her strong voice lets me know that everything is going to be okay. Somehow it will work.

Everyone stands to greet each other as Maya continues to sing. Once Rev. Barr leaves the pulpit, we stand to meet him. Lance walks past us and for some odd reason, he looks sad. Wonder what’s bothering him? Good thing he’s in church, I suppose.

A man in his 50’s taps me on my shoulder. Tonya continues to walk towards Rev. Barr.

“Todd Sanders,” Mr. Sanders says.

Oh wow, this is him! This is Mr. Sanders from Omni! How’s my tie? It’s a good thing I wore the interview-suit to the Lord’s house.

“I spoke with Rev. Barr and he informed me of everything that’s going on with you and your brother.”

I don’t know what to say. If he knows anything about my brother, there’s no way any good can come from this conversation.

“Listen, stop by the office, eight o’clock on the dot.”

What’s this? Is he offering me a job?

He extends his hand for me to shake it and I nearly shake his arm off.

“And come ready to work,” Mr. Sanders says with a smile.

I try to contain my joy and be extra professional but the inner joy breaks through and I smile from ear-to-ear.

“Thank you. I’ll be there!”

I want to give him a hug but I’m thinking that would be completely unprofessional. It’s bad enough my hand is still glued to his and I can’t stop shaking it. Mr. Sanders politely takes his hand back and smiles.

“See you tomorrow.”

Did I seem too eager? Are job offers in church supposed to be less formal? I’ll walk away now before he changes his mind all together.

Making my way over to Rev. Barr and Tonya, they smile in anticipation as I approach.

“Well, what did he say?” Tonya asks.

“He said to meet him tomorrow. For work!”

Tonya hugs me and Rev. Barr pats me on the back.

“This must be a relief,” says Rev. Barr.

“Hey, are you a cherry-man, by chance?” Rev. Barr asks.

I wonder what made him ask me that question out of the blue.

“I planned on going cherry picking later. I’d like for you guys to come.”

“That would be great!”

“Excellent! Meet me at Weaver’s Orchard, at three.”

“This might be just what I needed... A chance to get out the house. You think they’re good, this year?”

“I guess we’ll find out. A wise man once told me, the sweetest cherry is the one you pick yourself.”

That’s funny because that’s exactly what my father used to say all of the time.

Rev. Barr winks at me and walks off.

“See you at three!”

The positive energy shows in both mine and Tonya’s faces.

“We’re going cherry picking?” she asks in disbelief.

“Yep.”

“Yay! I can’t wait!”

We embrace once more as Maya Azucena continues to sing. My heart rejoices “Hallelujah”.

“Give me a second, I’m just going to head to the men’s room real quick.”

“Okay,” Tonya responds.

Inside the bathroom, I lock the door and fall to my knees. Trying to hold back tears that have a mind of their own as they flow down my face. My lips quiver. My temperature rises. My hand squeezes into a fist. Attempting to speak but my mouth refuses to open, making it impossible to catch my breath long enough to project any sound. I kneel on the bathroom floor, hands extended to Heaven, overwhelmed with emotion and filled with God’s Love.

19

I pull into the orchard, unsure if I’m ready for our ride to be over.  I’ve enjoyed the comfortable silence of our drive, loved feeling the wind gently tapping at my face through the slightly opened window, but most of all, I’ve loved being with Tonya. Every glance reminds me how blessed I am to have her in my life. Tonya’s green sun dress flows beautifully with the contours of her body and the smile on her face makes me feel as if she is truly happy to be with me.

“You know, it just dawned on me that I’ve never asked you... Why do you love cherries so much?” she asks.

I pause for a second, trying to think of the answer to a question that I never thought to ask myself.

“Well… My father and I would always eat cherries together. It was his favorite fruit. We had a cherry tree in our backyard. And every year we’d pick the cherries. They were so good. But one year, the only cherries that came in were the ones hanging over in our neighbor’s yard.”

I look straight out the window as I speak.

“That’s kind of how I feel right now.”

The look on Tonya’s face lets me know that she’s confused by my words.

“Like I plant the seed and then watch everyone around me get to eat the fruit. Like everyone else’s dreams are coming true... but not my own.”

She stares at me and hangs on my every word as my mind drifts to a time when my father and I picked cherries in our backyard. We both stand underneath the cherry tree as he holds the fruit picker in his hand and stretches to the top of the tree. When he pulls the fruit picker down and shows me the basket, it contains at least fifteen cherries. I’m so excited to grab the cherries out the basket and put them into my bowl.

“I can see the tree… I can feel the tree… Seems like I can even smell the cherries, but… I’m the only one who can’t taste them,” I tell Tonya.

My mind drifts to my father and I, sitting in the backyard at the table on the patio, eating the cherries that we just picked. I anxiously grab cherry after cherry and stuff them into my mouth. I’m so happy.

“Mmmm. This one is so good!” I would tell my father. And he would just reply, “Nah, mine’s much sweeter.”

“We would go back and forth the entire time. Occasionally, his mind would drift to another world and I felt as if I were talking to myself. I wonder what he was holding within. What made him so close and yet so distant, at times?”

Tonya intensely stares at me as I speak.

“Wow. I never knew that,” she says.

“Yeah,” I reply as my smile fades from conjuring up all these childhood memories that I’ve buried for twenty years.

“What?” she asks.

“You know, the day my father died, he and my mom had a huge argument. She sent him to the store for cherries. I guess he wasn’t in a rush to get home because, on his way back from the store, he decided to stop by his favorite bar.”

A lump forms in my throat and makes it hard to swallow, yet I manage.

“Redd and I were walking home from the candy store when we saw dad leaving. Redd was so excited that he yelled for him as he crossed the street. My father looked up and was hit by a car.”

Tonya is speechless. My mind forces me to recall images of my father drunkenly stumbling out of a bar as we excitedly call his name from across the street. He holds a grocery bag in one hand and a bottle of alcohol in the other. My father looks up as he crosses the street and is struck by a car. The sky is filled with cherries of all colors and glass. It was horrible and beautiful at the same time.

“All I remember is my father lying on the ground with shattered glass all around him. And cherries... They were everywhere.”

A nine year old Redd and I, stand over our father, who lies in his own blood with shattered glass mixed with cherries all around him. Dad tightly holds the neck of a broken bottle.

Trying not to cry, I pick up all the cherries and store them in my pockets. I make a pouch out of my shirt and stuff some there.

I turn to Tonya, who listens in disbelief as I recall words never spoken.

“I started picking up all the cherries. It’s all I could think to do. Just start stuffing as many of them as I could, in my pockets. I had made a little pouch with the bottom of my shirt. Figured this would make things go back to normal. But, Redd just stared at the broken alcohol bottle.”

I hesitate for a second.

“Redd changed that day. We both did.”

“So, is this why you and Redd are so different?” Tonya asks.

“I think so. Redd blamed himself for killing dad. Redd and I have different mothers... But we’re pretty much the same age. Dad spent most of his time with me and mom. I think Redd resented me for that. It was like he never felt good enough, you know?”

While we are talking Rev. Barr pulls into the parking lot.

“So, even if something good would happen in Redd’s life, he would self-sabotage it, because he didn’t believe that he deserved it.”

“That was deep,” says Tonya as she’s at a loss for words.

I turn to Tonya and hold her hand. The sound of a car coming to a stop in the parking lot prompts us to exit the car. I grab my crutches and backpack out of the back seat and walk around the back of the car.

Rev. Barr walks up to us and Redd walks behind him.

“Oh, you guys made it,” says Rev. Barr.

When Redd comes to the side, I see him.

“Oh, and I brought Redd,” Rev. Barr continues.

Tonya smiles at Redd but for some reason, I can not make myself be cordial. All of a sudden, negative emotions take over once again and I just walk past Redd and head towards the tall trees with fruit hanging from them. Tonya catches up to me as Rev. Barr and Redd trails us.

We make our way to a tractor with a trailer on the back of it for us to ride up to the point where the cherries are the most ripe. Tonya and I sit together, but for some reason, Redd sits next to me on the other side, with Rev. Barr on the end. It’s awkward as we all sit straight on the tractor, not saying a word. The bumps on the dirt road have us bouncing up and down for what seems like an eternity. Surely there’s a quicker way to get to the top of the hill and get this little adventure over with. Redd keeps accidentally bumping my shoulder as we bounce up and down at a brisk five miles per hour. The dust flies into my eyes and mouth and the bugs, into my ears. I’m mostly annoyed by Redd’s attempt to write poetry in his notepad on the smooth parts of the road. I laugh inside when we hit a bump and he scribbles all over his work. Guess there’s a silver lining to this, after all.

Finally, we reach the top of the hill and find a single cherry tree. It bears the reddest cherries that I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s weird. I can almost smell the sweet taste of them, in the air.

We exit the tractor and gather at the base of the tree which bears plenty of fruit. I’m truly amazed and by the look on Tonya’s face, I’m not alone. I turn and notice Redd, who stands off a bit and continues to write in his notepad.

“How did you guys hook up anyway?” I ask while looking at Rev. Barr. Redd looks up for a second and then buries his face back into his notepad.

“Easy. He came to the meeting,” Rev. Barr replies.

I turn my attention back to the tree, grab the cherries within arm’s reach and eat. The sweet taste shoots through my taste buds and tickle the area between my jaw bone and ear.

Joy takes over my face, which gives the indication that it meets my taste approval. Tonya quickly grabs a cherry and everyone else follows. For the next minute, all that can be heard is the sound of cherries being chewed and seeds spit onto the ground.

“So, what are you writing over there?” I ask Redd.

“Just something I’ve been working on.”

“For New York?”

Rev. Barr and Tonya look at Redd. He gives a slight smile, embarrassed that the attention has now shifted to him.

“Maybe.”

“That’s cool. You should,” I encourage him.

“You gon’ read it to us?” Tonya asks.

“It’s not ready yet. Plus, I didn’t know it was open-mic night at the orchard!” Redd says with a grin.

A fruit picker leans against the base of the tree. I drop my crutches and make my way towards it. I grab it, stand slightly on one foot, and position myself directly below a branch at the top of the tree. I extend the fruit picker to its full length.

“That’s right. Get right under there so you can catch it,” Rev. Barr encourages.

I stretch as far as I can with my right hand, while putting most of the weight on my left foot.

“Get the one at the top! Reach... With everything you’ve got,” says Rev. Barr.

I struggle to extend my right arm fully, so I switch to my left hand.

“Stretch a little higher!” says Tonya.

Redd continues to watch me and then write a little bit in his notepad. Watch me some more and then write again.

“Just a little higher, Kevin!” says Rev. Barr.

The teeth of the cherry picker reach the deep red cherry at the top of the tree, but I can not firmly grip it. Losing my footing, I fall face first onto the ground while leaves and branches hit me in the back of the head.

Tonya looks away in pain and Redd runs to help.

“I got it!” I angrily dismiss him.

Redd backs off and I somewhat feel bad for lashing out at him in such a way. I remove my backpack, place it onto the ground and use the fruit picker as a crutch to stand to my feet. I reach for another cherry at the top of the tree. The teeth grip it but I’m out of position, so the fruit misses the basket and falls and burst onto the ground. This was so much easier when my father did all the picking and I just grabbed the cherries and put them into the basket.

“You have to get in position to catch the cherry, first!” Rev. Barr explains.

In the corner of my eye, I see Redd writing. I see Tonya confused as to whether she should help me, or let me have this small victory for myself. She stands behind me looking up with her bucket in hand, ready to gather whatever cherries I’m able to pick. I’m determined to pick the cherries that no one else is able to reach.

I extend the fruit picker again and lean on one of the lower-hanging branches to use for balance. It snaps, I fall to the ground once again and a piece of the branch cracks me in the back of the head again.

“That’s all right Kevin. Don’t let the leaves discourage you,” says Rev. Barr.

Without as much energy or enthusiasm as before, I plant the fruit picker into the ground and use it as a crutch to stand. Redd grabs my other arm pit and pulls me to my feet. He looks me in the eyes and grabs the fruit picker. He turns towards the tree and looks up. I follow his lead and extend the fruit picker while leaning my right side on him. I extend the fruit picker as high as I can, pushing through the leaves and branches until I reach that first cherry that I failed to grab. It is at the highest point of the tree and sits alone. I reach until I feel the stretch in my arm pits. I reach with everything that I’ve got while Redd holds me and keeps me from falling.

The teeth of the fruit picker grab the cherry and I give it a slight tug. My heart beats more quickly as the cherry falls into the basket and I carefully lower the fruit picker. Inside the basket, I find a single cherry whose skin shines with a blood-like deep red color. You would have thought that I were removing a flawless ruby from the basket as I cautiously grab the cherry with my fingertips, ever so mindful not to squeeze it too much as I pick it up.

I bring it to my lips and bite half of it. Juice squirts out and runs down my wrist. I didn’t even know cherries had this much juice! The taste is nostalgic, yet indescribable. It is sweet but not like the sweetness from sugar. It’s sweet like when I first held Tonya’s hand at a carnival and she squeezed back. Sweet like sunshine peeking through dark clouds in the rain. Sweet like tears of joy, after the storm. Sweet like falling and having the strength to get back up. Sweet like someone praying for me when I give up on everything. I savor the taste and recall everything that is good. Everything that matters.

My mind flashes back to me and my father, sitting and eating cherries in the backyard.

“What makes these so much better than the others?” I ask my father.

He looks off into the yard, gathers his thoughts and then looks into my eyes.

“Well, you know the sweetest cherry is the one you pick yourself,” he says.

I stand there in the moment, with my eyes closed. Redd, Tonya and Rev. Barr all stare and wonder what’s going through my head.

The emotions are overwhelming. I open my eyes and quickly look down to gather myself. When I raise my head, I turn to Redd, who’s now writing in his notepad like a mad-man. His pen quickly glides from left-to-right, onto the pages.

“What do you have to lose if you go?” I interrupt Redd with a question, but he remains silent.

“What will you lose if you stay?”

Redd looks up as I’ve successfully gotten his attention.

“See, I don’t think you’re afraid of your own failure, because all our lives, we’ve been surrounded by that. I think you’re afraid of your own success... Afraid of the sound of your own voice. The alcohol gave you the courage you needed and an excuse to not live up to who you’re supposed to be.”

Redd looks me in the eyes.

“Redd, I think you should go to New York. You have to go. Otherwise, you won’t remember today for cherry-picking. But, the day you gave up on yourself. You’ll never forget... And you’ll always regret.”

Rev. Barr smiles as he believes that I finally “get it”.

“I know dad spent more time with me. And he never got to tell you everything that you needed to hear. But Redd, we can’t change the past, nor can we afford to live in it. I tell you what I do remember… I remember standing under that old cherry tree and noticing all the burst fruit that lie on the ground. To me, it was symbolic of what unfulfilled purpose looks like.”

Redd begins to write in his notepad as I talk.

“Because, not only is a cherry tree expected to bear cherries, they are expected to be sweet. The same goes for the fruits of my labor. But, what I need for you to understand is that you can’t look at my life and the cards that I’ve been given, and compare them to yours. It was under that cherry tree that I learned that no cherry looks or tastes the same. Each one has something unique to offer the world, but it is our search for the sweetest cherry that continually brings us back to the tree. And even though the leaves are there to discourage us by blocking our vision, if we reach like our lives depend on it, we all can find the our own sweetest cherry,” I say while maintaining strong eye contact with Redd.

I move in close and give him a hug as a tear falls from Tonya’s eyes and she hugs me, as well. Not to miss out on all the action, Rev. Barr moves in and wraps his arms around all of us and pats me and Redd on the back.

We gather our belongings. I put my backpack on, grab my crutches and head down the hill. Everyone’s basket is filled with cherries, but I carry the taste of the sweetest one, inside.

Tonya looks to me.

“Kevin?” she says as I turn my head towards her.

“What we have is forever,” she says as if this entire experience has opened her eyes as well as her heart and allowed her to grow.

I smile to her and we continue down the hill. My wife walks by my side as the gravel crunches beneath our feet.

20

We took a train to New York City.  I hold Tonya’s hand as we sit there; watching Redd and Kesha’s intimate yet tense interaction.  Kesha’s body language tells me that she wants to relax.  She wants to lay her head on Redd’s shoulder and stroke the back of his neck the way she used to.  But her mind won’t allow her to fully trust him.  She’s known him too long, been through too much, lost too many dreams because of his alcoholism.  She has chosen to try again but her psyche is constantly on guard, waiting for a small sign that he’ll disappoint her, anticipating the moment she’ll have to leave him again.  Kesha has given Redd another chance.  Looking into her eyes, I can tell it’s his last one.  Tonya squeezes my hand and I smile at her.  It’s obvious her thoughts are mirroring mine.

Redd sits in front of us and writes in his notepad. He’s scribbling so fast that I wait for smoke to rise from the paper.  The scratching of his mechanical pencil reminds me of the mouse I used to hear in the wall when I’d spend the night at Redd’s house when we were small. A tiny creature fighting to get out of the darkness, Redd’s scratching brings to mind another scared creature attempting to use words to escape the unfortunate circumstances within his life.  Kesha glances at the side of his bent head, occasionally looking at the words he’s writing, her fingers inching closer and closer to the nape of his neck as her body slowly begins to relax.  I slightly stand, pretending to stretch, trying to get a better look at the notepad.  The only things I can make out are the words, “THE SWEETEST CHERRY”, written across the top of the page. Redd pauses for a moment and then looks out of the window.  He’s blocking all of us out.  No one is offended.

****

We arrive in New York City and make our way to a small theatre in Harlem. The door squeaks as Redd opens it. Our feet make contact with old hardwood flooring and echo throughout the theatre. A sign reads, “National Spoken-Word Audition” this way. We follow the sign and Redd seemingly gets himself in the mindset to perform. Our footsteps are synchronized with his as we trail him. We are his support system.

We turn down a hallway and find ourselves backstage. As we approach the side of the stage, a poet exits and nervously walks past us.

“Good luck,” the poet says.

“Thanks,” Redd responds.

“Next!” a voice from the distance speaks sternly.

Redd looks at Kesha, then at me.

“You got this,” I tell him.

Redd smiles and takes the stage. We peek around the edge of the stage to find only one judge sitting in the audience. He looks down and writes into his notepad as Redd takes the podium.

“Hi. My name is Reynaldo Miles, and the name of this piece is, The Sweetest Cherry.”

The judge’s head slowly rises along with his curiosity for what a poem with this title could possibly be about.

“If I could reach the peaks of trees, I’d pick my own fruit. I’d stand on my toes, I’d stretch, I’d pull every muscle fiber… For that single cherry at the top of the...” Redd stops himself and steps away from the podium.

Now nervousness builds within the pit of my stomach, so I can only imagine what’s going through Redd’s mind. I turn to Kesha but she just looks down and closes her eyes. I don’t think she can take the sight of Redd choking again.

Redd slowly walks towards the microphone.

“Let me try that again,” Redd says as he closes his eyes.

When his eyes open, his mouth follows and powerful speech pours out.

“If I could reach the peaks of trees, I’d pick my own fruit. I’d stand on my toes, I’d stretch, I’d pull every muscle fiber… For that single cherry at the top of the tree,” Redd says as his arms extend towards the sky.

“The lower fruit? So touched upon… So dull… So undeveloped. What I’m looking for is at the top. But, my arms are only thirty inches long and the tree touches the sky. I need… Help. Extend me to places that I can’t reach on my own.”

The power in Redd’s voice gives me goose bumps.

“All I hear is a voice that whispers, ‘there’s no fruit for those out of position.’ And I stand here. I stretch. I listen. Hands open, ready to receive, but I feel nothing! The voice says, ‘Focus. Inhale love. Exhale negativity.’

For some reason, tears form in my eyes. Out of reflex, I quickly blink but a tear manages to fall from my eyes.

“Lose what’s holding you back. Reach… Reach with all that’s in you, but be careful. Slipping through my fingers and smashing to the ground, all I have are empty hands and burst fruit that otherwise would have been... so sweet. What destroys me is that what I want… What I need is so out of reach but just close enough to still see. The branches extend like long arms of discouragement with strong hands that crush any chance of simplicity.”

The judge writes in his notepad.

“Maneuvering around them only to find more leaves that block my vision. Defeated like Job lying in sackcloth and ashes... After he lost everything. But He wasn’t restored based on sheer will and determination alone. No, he prayed for the very ones who threw stones. How can I pray if I can’t forgive?”

Redd turns to me.

“And how can you pick the sweetest cherry without your brother?”

His words pierce my heart and find my soul.

“The resentment weighs on us, so we can never reach higher. And, Job’s story isn’t simply one of withstanding the fire. No, the sweetest cherry has nothing to do with the taste of fruit. It’s about...” Redd hesitates and turns to me.

“Forgiveness,” I say to myself.

Redd turns to the judge with a smile on his face.

“Forgiveness,” Redd says as joy fills his heart and their tears form in his eyes. One by one, the tears run down his face.

Redd grabs his notepad and exits the stage as the hardwood floor squeaks with each step. The judge sits there in silence and reflects on the words that he’s just heard.

Job 42: 10 - And the Lord restored the fortunes of Job, when he had prayed for his friends. And the LORD gave Job twice as much as he had before.

UnderTheCherryTreeMovie.com | KobaltBooks.com

POETRY

From Film & Novel

Falling

1000 feet above the street,

My body freefalls through thick air.

Laughing as wind brushes against skin and tickles.

Tranquility fills my heart,

Which beats at the same tempo that the wind whistles.

Who can I call?

Come to find out, there's freedom within the fall.

But what does tomorrow hold?

The sky fades as life's possibilities to hopelessness.

It's now the intricate details of the street

That my eye focuses.

A voice says,

“a righteous man falls seven times, and rises again.”

My only thought is, “How did my fall begin?”

Can't remember if I stepped out on faith,

Lost my balance or if I jumped.

Did my hands lose grip or did I let go?

I scream to Heaven but only hear my own echo.

500 feet from the street, I feel sorrow,

As my feet flail like no tomorrow.

My arms resist gravity... Wishing this didn't have to be.

Speeding towards the inevitable, and... I want to live!

From 200 feet, I notice the cracks in the concrete.

Businessmen carrying briefcases

Who never notice my descend.

A woman pushes a double-stroller

And smiles at her children.

Another jogs to music with peace in her eyes.

All the while, I'm 100 feet from my demise!

Heart pounding. Goose bumps form.

Butterflies circle beautifully,

And gather where a stomach used to be.

At 50 feet, my arms extend along with feet

That have lost their kick.

25 feet.

A tear forms as the wind pushes it past my ear

And into the atmosphere.

There's freedom within the fall, but at 10 feet,

All I see is concrete!

Surrendering to gravity with no desire to fight.

Eyes closed and everything goes black...

Before everything goes white.

Innocence

As Soft whispers,

My speech breezes past your ears if you listen.

Do you hear what your heart already knows?

Read more than through the lines, read my mind.

Initiated with feelings associated with innocence.

Another Love Poem

Staring at your picture.

Only missing you when I blink.

Your life an open book,

And you speak

Foreign words

That need translation,

But I read the expression

On your face with ease.

I remember you happy.

Smiling with cheeks that leave

Stretch marks on my heart.

That's what you were meant for...

Frustrated cause,

You're running fast through my mind,

So, I try to think slow.

God's the artists,

That paints a smile on my face.

And you're the paint brush

That He uses.

These words make art.

You’re relocated far above clouds,

But leave love behind

To keep me company.

And I remember what it sounds like,

When I stop to listen.

Concrete Poetry

From the underground.

The dirt.

Reaching the hard surface

That seemingly keeps my words from...

Entering the world.

The Concrete.

Divine.

And I'm the cracks of imperfection.

My flaws give opportunity

To be used...

To speak letters of poetry

From the concrete,

And... It’s hot.

Exposing me even more.

But look at how much light can get in...

Providing a trench

For the rain-water

To cleanse.

I'm complaining all the while,

You're getting stepped on...

Spit on...

And everything else.

The Concrete.

The foundation where anything

Great stands,

And... Be admired.

The Concrete.

I speak from the concrete.

Even heard a rose

Could grow from the cracks...

And that's...me.

Until then,

I'll use my voice

To blossom blessings.

Concrete Poetry’s never flashy,

Jotting words on napkin.

Gifts, but no paper...

No way I can wrap that.

My physical may represent the concrete,

But to heaven, my mind moves.

You have to walk on cloud nine,

To scratch the surface

Of the bottom of my shoes.

Concrete...Poetry.

Drink Me

If I could mix with your soul

I’d carry your burdens.

You’d forget all afflictions

And your God so heavenly.

You’d need me alone

Like rhythm to melodies.

Your solitude becomes my strength.

As my voice echoes from an empty glass.

Drink me.

Grand Closing

Speaking loud enough for my

Voice to penetrate clouds of discouragement,

And reach Heaven,

Hoping God showers down His blessings.

People ask, what's this I speak of?

I need you to be relevant.

Giving my all on this paper,

Suicidal, I'm dying to write this,

So I stay under-ground.

And rain forms from my brainstorms.

It’s a thin line between love and hate,

I want to stand between, and bridge that.

When you look back over the past,

Only a few things have been worth your tears.

And that's the blood...Plus the sweat

Of determination for years.

Some say, "I've been a soldier",

Except the real battle is for my soul,

What you fightin’ for?

My Wife

My little bottle of perfection.

You touch my neck...

My chest...

Inhaling you.

Consumed by your aura.

Staining my brain,

Overwhelming my heart

With contentment when we depart.

Humbling

The world in Your hands and I...

A creation far less great.

Never question you, but...

Who am I to desire sitting in Your palm?

You reply,

I don't needs hands to touch you.

Just these words

That rush through,

Your heart

As blood that pumps through

Arteries, and...You need my

Warm-movement on your inner

To survive cold winters.

Sitting still, I...

Try

To appear

Humble in Your eyes.

In Spite of Me

Purposely pushing You away

So that You do the same.

And when plan successful,

I sit alone

Waiting for Your return.

Singing songs that beg

For You.

You loved me,

In spite of me.

Saw my past... It’s so dark,

But I attract Your light while lying in the shade.

To know You is to love You,

Those two are the same.

I don't want to lie to you...

Just lie with me

On a forever-time frame.

Speaking feelings,

Of words that touch You.

And You loved me,

In spite of me.

The Lost One

If there's no peace in the truth,

I choose to live in the lie.

Stuck in this quiet place where prayers go unanswered.

And the sound of heartbeats bang like bass drums, in my head as anxiety grows.

The wandering sheep doesn't realize that he's lost.

Not until he looks up, and finds himself alone.

So lost I roam, under the night air.

Wondering if there can be dreams without nightmares.

One day, I know I'll have no one to blame.

Tear-soaked vision blurs the moment.

Sunglasses camouflage the pain.

My Love Is Blind

If my pen could fix me,

Save us and grant your heart's desires,

I'd write my wrongs and set the pages on fire.

If my words could end the fight,

They'd reach your lips with a kiss

And put you to sleep at night.

If love is blind,

I want to love you like eyes that look past flaws.

I want to love you like God loves me.

My love is blind and I'll love you for an eternity.

Now I See You

Here with my eyes closed,

Afraid to see what is.

Afraid to that it might not be.

Afraid I'll have to live the way I must die...Alone.

But what I feel is,

You healing on the inside.

Need to find you before my demise,

But if I did die,

I hope You know me.

Strings

Pushing and pulling

My position

Out of confusion.

Resistance...

Poetry's motion

Consumes the mind that

Connects us with thoughts

And conversation...

Not strings.

Suicidal Thoughts of Ink

Suicidal thoughts at random,

That I can't gather...

All I seek is to be released...

Released onto a subject

That will appreciate...

Bare my message to all.

Write not about jewels and watches...

Cause I'm doing jail-time

The way they've imprisoned my mind.

With no one to reach

If ink is never released.

Knowing that once I'm free,

The world will try and put me in a box...

I just need one drop,

From the point of that pen...

And I'll do what I was designed to...

But until then,

I dream of a poet’s reflecting words.

Sacrificing life as I know it,

No longer hopeless.

Meet and greet with "The Maker",

Lying dried on a piece of paper.

Use me.

I'll immortalize Your thoughts,

While You keep the credit.

I was born to die,

So that I can live forever.

The Science

If I could make the connection between today and yesterday.

If I could open eyes to our systematic demise,

I'd degrade him for so long, he does it to himself without thinking.

Put a liquor store on every corner, and watch him drink it.

Flood the streets with guns and drugs, and watch them kill him.

These the cards we are dealt, but can we deal them?

On the news, they portray kings as savages,

Until the whole world believes it.

But these words smash lenses on cameras.

Honestly, I’m not be perfect,

But I know I was designed with purpose...

A purpose of praise.

And Praise being like a perfect song

That reaches it’s fullest potential when embraced

If not, you heard it wrong.

We’re pieces of a beautiful puzzle... Together we create.

Without moving in unison and connecting with each other

We are nothing but pieces of cardboard, with really strange shapes.

My soul speaks. No sound from mouth.

But the voice that I hear with my thoughts.

Can't mix water and oil.

Water and water...

Oil and oil.

Only thing they have in common is that they both need a receptacle.

And that receptacle is the God.

Where the rich live,

They recognize the beauty of life in tranquility.

But visit where the killers be,

And recognize dark music within gun shots.

Where they’re hungry for the bread,

With burners on waists that make toast.

Imagine a place where they close down schools, open more prisons

And argue that the attendance is better.

The mature prayer is...

I don't want it,

If God isn't blessing it.

I'm going to find peace,

Even if I have to rest in it.

RED

They judge in black and white.

Separated by three thousand miles and a million colors.

Passion followed by tears

Mixed with sweat and blood, remind me of love.

Remind me of You.

My eyes only see gray; all the while I prefer red.

To Dream

The wind howls through the glass of an empty bottle that spins,

As my world circles the axis, which is me.

My desires pass as I reach.

My needs fly by,

My wants are yesterday.

Tomorrow waits

With only hopes of dreams not yet attained.

If I could force the hands of time to change,

I would rewind to moments when I felt no pain.

Young and innocent,

I felt no shame.

In the storm, the sun slightly revealed,

I felt no rain.

With closed eyes, I envision success and tranquility.

Since You paid the cost,

I dream about what it means to be free.

But my mind state is trapped in a burning jail cell,

To create further urgency.

My pen writes life sentences,

That go on for eternity.

Only so long you can stare at yourself in the mirror,

Eyes say “fearless.”

Voice says, “believe me.”

At some point I have to.

Knowing if I have faith, You won’t leave me.

Outside, I’m a strong man, walking with my chest out.

Inside, I’m stressed out,

Taking for granted that I live inside a blessed house.

Now excuses stand firm between me and the dream,

And all I want is sleep.

To find hope from a habit,

All I need is faith... The size of a mustard seed.

Someone to catch me when I fall,

And if not, give me the strength to crawl.

When my vision is lost, and I need the Divine to intervene.

Lord, don’t take away my ability to dream.

True Freedom

Let my words have power.

Let my words have conviction,

Instead of trapped in my mental prison.

Seeking true freedom to express what God says.

Release me.

Loosen the grip that holds me to my past

Imprisoned by yesterday

To serve eternal sentences with no periods

For meditative worship.

So what’s my purpose?

Speaking life into existence that bounces off walls

And onto deaf ears that no longer believe.

Fear of failure. And failure’s biggest fear is not having someone to control.

Heal a heart turned cold.

Let Your words move within...

I want out of the box... That I put myself in.

I The Paper...Unfold Me

Worldly mind draws blank pictures

Far from art.

I, the paper

Designed to speak

Words written on heart.

Fine line between just that...

And just trash.

Indescribable pain of

Paper balled up,

And cast in corner.

Mourning with no recognizable value.

Dying cause

No work put in, and...

Nothing received.

The crumple-pain was

Indication of a fate soon-be...Death.

World's frustrations nearly ruined me.

Lying in the far crevasses,

Giving up on me so easily.

Pain's gravity

Weighs on every inch of me.

Pen speaks to I The Paper

Without world's permission...

But still they listen.

Gem after gem, He speaks

And my reply is,

Oh that someone would Unfold Me...

Make me new.

Put the iron to me,

Press hard through negativity.

Write on my heart

With ink that covers my existence

In Blackness

As midnight.

Hold the pen tight.

Let Your Words

Lead as headlights.

Write words in languages

That save nations.

Tossed away,

But...Not dead.

Could have been

Ripped to shreds.

Discouraged, but not scared.

Unfold me.

Write on me.

And let Your words live forever.

By My Side

By my side...

Walking with me...

Sitting with me...

Just your company is enough.

No matter what they say,

I know how I feel.

I know what you've done.

I remember.

Being average

Blends with nothing.

Your miraculous ways

So great

Evidence viewed

By universe,

For those who desire sight.

Humbling

The world in Your hands,

And I...

A creation far less great.

Never question you, but...

Who am I to desire

Sitting in Your palm?

You reply,

I don't needs hands to touch you.

Just these words

That rush through,

Your heart

As blood that pumps through

Arteries, and...You need my

Warm-movement on your inner

To survive cold winters.

Sitting still, I’m...

Humbled looking into Your eyes.

Night

It was night

When self came to light.

When I discovered You,

It was night.

I believed...I loved.

I don't run from the moon.

Another Love Poem

Staring at your picture.

Only missing you, When I blink.

Your life an open book,

And you speak

Foreign words

That need translation,

But I read the expression

On your face with ease.

I remember you happy.

Smiling with cheeks that leave

Stretch marks on my heart.

That's what you were meant for...

Frustrated cause,

You're running fast

Through my mind,

So...I try to think slow.

You call me all types

Of synonyms for..."great".

But God's the artists,

That paints

A smile on my face.

And you're the paint brush

That he uses.

These words make art.

You relocated far

Above clouds,

But leave love behind

To keep me company.

And...I remember

What it sounds like,

When I stop to listen.

Creativity

Art filled heart,

Which embarks

Spiritual freedom.

Melodies flow to mind,

As thoughts of times,

Of blind,

Love.

A dispersion,

Of words and,

Work that,

Reflects Your Goodness.

I Am Free…

The Son...The Sun…

Peaking behind clouds...

Render warmth...

I grow...

I know,

Who You are.

I need you.

Now I see You.

I feel who,

Supplies the line,

For me to reel through.

Storms... This place...

Your presence demonstrates,

The making of another day.

Another chance to change,

My life's direction.

Evidence of my affection,

Towards Your Omnipotence.

Your heat exhibits,

A picture,

Of everlasting Love.

Your art,

Warms hearts,

Before the shivering starts.

Everywhere...I feel Your presence,

Viewing light reflected,

From the crescent.

Your radiance provides courage.

White when eyes see black,

With a hint of Purple.

My joy is the source of Your smile…

Your light.

Your smile is the source of my joy.

The Son...You nurse the hurt,

With inspired purpose.

The center of my joy,

As You are to the universe.

The Calm notice the,

Hope from the,

Sound of water to sand,

Which flows as poetry.

Life is a work of art,

Designed by The One who created it,

And interpreted,

By the one who's living it.

I hear the echo,

Of Your voice,

Yet envision very little,

In the physical.

Listening to the spiritual,

Words from above,

Given through,

Your Son,

In the form of the,

Calm breeze.

Placing my mind at ease,

As I plead,

For this moment,

To never cease.

Through it all

At times I doubt the

Voice heard from

One who calls me.

Fear rises up.

Sense of security dies, but

It doesn’t end there,

As my eyes shut.

Anger increases,

And forms pieces,

To groups of people,

And leaves them speechless.

However, Through it all,

I know Who to Call,

As Your Love proceeds,

To fulfill my needs,

Placing my heart and mind at ease,

Finally...Peace.

My God…My Gun???

At times,

My mind

Consumes heart feelings.

Other times,

Heart consumes mind.

But reality consumes all…

I walk,

Chest expanded and,

Heart brave,

As Your Word articulates.

My God causes prayer,

Brings foes to knees,

And even more…

Makes them believe.

My God pressed close to pelvis.

Blinding peace from above,

As cloud to dove.

Naked without My God…

And the same for Your Love.

If in the presence,

Of the enemy,

I need,

My God with me.

Undeniable affection,

So wear the vest.

Words from My God,

Still hit your chest.

So, God Bless my enemies too.

But who really saves me?

My God!

Is my cry

But the only one who

Answers in the physical,

Transforms life to spiritual…

But creates nothing,

Of significance.

Sleep we lay,

But who wakes…Me?

Dispersion causes early sleep,

But lacks power,

To wake thee.

Confusion causes,

Mind clutter.

Finally My God,

Creates life other

Than my own demise.

And I know,

I'm God's Son…

Jesus my brother.

The Blink

Eyes open…

Eyelids uplift as,

Shared laughter.

After the close of vision,

I experience feeling

Your Spirit,

When the wind blows.

My soul window opens

Once more…

I absorb,

And disperse,

Love you left on earth.

Birth

Vision forms,

A servant, torn

From the norm

As sun from storm.

Molded,

With Nile deep trials.

Experiences piled,

In “Faith Files”.

Born equipped,

With the prerequisites to exist

And serve

The Omnipotent.

Transition

Darkness to light.

Hate to love.

Two globes collide,

Form one,

My life…

My soul…

My hope…

Unworthy I am.

Pain roars as lion.

Trying to reach,

Your undeniable,

Love.

The ease of the breeze.

Finally peace.

Pillar of strength

Fortify dominion…

Tender sentiment.

Another Step

Praise now,

Understand after

As life lived forward,

And understood backwards.

Hindsight twenty-twenty.

You simply love infinitely.

The parity of claiming prosperity.

Your love grants clarity.

At last one foot

Advances the other.

Thank You for Another

Step closer to You.

Night Screams

Tribulations, until nightfall,

When the night calls,

I crawl,

From where the shadow falls.

In a dark passage, feeling alone.

Mercy shown

But taken for granted,

And no attention paid to the grace tone.

Father, deliver me from this dark place,

Or at least make my heart brave,

While I part waves,

Of the same sea, where Noah's Ark lay.

Screaming for freedom within my soul,

And play the role,

Of a warrior against the inferno

In a war that seems eternal.

Hear my voice Lord.

No longer fighting

Or swimming up stream.

I have heard the Night Screams

That life brings.

Hold me all night please,

So that only Of You, I might dream.

The Bricks

Self-imprisonment that I can’t escape.

Paranoid...

Envisioning surroundings

That move in closer,

Occupying my air-space,

And... I can’t breathe...

Pushing walls as Samson,

My world collapses on me.

Stone after stone crushes any hope

I had of freedom!

One would have been enough, but...

I’ve got a million bricks weighing on me.

Through the rubble,

I hear the laughter.

The mockery...

And I lay stuck between the rocks

Of failure and fortune.

Each stone whispers... You’ll never make it.

And I’m afraid.

Not of the speaking rocks, and their talk of hope that I no longer can see,

But it was the fact that when they spoke, I believed!

Nowhere to turn. Either die a slow death or put my fate in the hands of the King.

Wonder what He thinks of His imperfect Son...

I heard, God speaks through the breeze, and...

If I mirror autumn leaves, I can float in the wind, when He speaks.

But while He’s speaking to the breeze, its dark, and my pockets… Filled with boulders.

Knowing this weight inevitably gives birth to a soldier, with strong bones.

But still.

My mind roamin’, but not thinking of Italy.

Instead about these bricks that be, placed on me.

Who can I turn to? No choice but to trust You.

Alone I lift stones.

Hoping You restore my strength...

When I see light again.

The Sweetest Cherry

If I could reach the peaks of trees,

I’d pick my own fruit.

I’d stand on my toes, I’d stretch, I’d pull every muscle fiber…

For that single cherry at the top of the tree.

The lower fruit?

So touched upon… So dull… So undeveloped.

What I’m looking for is at the top.

But, my arms are only thirty inches long and the tree touches the sky. I need… Help.

Extend me to places that I can’t reach on my own.

All I hear is a voice that whispers, ‘there’s no fruit for those out of position.’ And I stand here. I stretch. I listen. Hands open, ready to receive, but I feel nothing! The voice says, ‘Focus. Inhale love. Exhale negativity.’

Lose what’s holding you back. Reach… Reach with all that’s in you, but be careful.

Slipping through my fingers and smashing to the ground, all I have are empty hands and burst fruit that otherwise would have been... so sweet.

What destroys me is that what I want…

What I need is so out of reach but just close enough to still see. The branches extend like long arms of discouragement with strong hands that crush any chance of simplicity.

Maneuvering around them only to find more leaves that block my vision.

Defeated like Job lying in sackcloth and ashes...

After he lost everything. But He wasn’t restored based on sheer will and determination alone. No, he prayed for the very ones who threw stones. How can I pray if I can’t forgive?

And how can you pick the sweetest cherry without your brother?

The resentment weighs on us, so we can never reach higher. And, Job’s story isn’t simply one of withstanding the fire. Nah, the sweetest cherry has nothing to do with the taste of fruit. It’s about... Forgiveness.

Visit us online at our website:

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www.KobaltBooks.com

UNDER THE CHERRY TREE

Copyright © 2013 by Cedric Mixon

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is truly coincidental.

Cover Design by Maverick Entertainment Group

Book Edited by Ebony Farashuu & Kesha Burns

Cover Photography by Cedric Mixon

Cover Models – Kelsey Saunders and Carléne Pochette

Scripture quotations are from:

The Holy Bible, New King James Version

© 1984 Thomas Nelson, Inc.

Sermon quotations are from:

© 2008 “Amazing Grace” by Burton Barr Jr.

© 2010 “He’s Only A Prayer Away” by Burton Barr Jr.

Inspired by poetry from “Lost Letters” © 2004 by Cedric Mixon

Inspired by poetry from “Soul Mates” © 2004 by Cedric Mixon

For information:

Kobalt Books / P.O. Box 1062 / Bala Cynwyd, PA 19004

Printed in the U.S.A

www.kobaltbooks.com

Published by Kobalt Books L.L.C.

An original publication of Kobalt Books L.L.C.

Table of Contents

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2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

POETRY From Film & Novel

Falling

Innocence

Another Love Poem

Concrete Poetry

Drink Me

Grand Closing

My Wife

Humbling

In Spite of Me

The Lost One

My Love Is Blind

Now I See You

Strings

Suicidal Thoughts of Ink

The Science

RED

To Dream

True Freedom

I The Paper...Unfold Me

By My Side

Humbling

Night

Another Love Poem

Creativity

The Son...The Sun…

My God…My Gun???

The Blink

Birth

Transition

Another Step

Night Screams

The Bricks

The Sweetest Cherry

Copyright