Even Sinners Have Souls TOO

by Joy, E. n.

  Down in ER, lying on the stretcher, drifting in and out of consciousness while the doctor assessed his situation, Little Ro started to hyperventilate, realizing how serious his gunshot wounds were.

  "Oh God! Oh God!" The numbness to reality caused by all the liquor he'd drank was fast wearing off and replaced by excruciating pain, almost unbearable to the teenager. "Somebody get my Momma! Get my Momma! Call her!" He squirmed from side to side as the nurses tried restraining him to put an I.V. in his arm.

  "She's already here, son, so try to relax and let us help you," the doctor bargained with Little Ro, who was just about his own child's age. "Just close your eyes and calm down while we do our job."

  How did things turn out like this? God, please help me make it. Little Ro prayed, feeling the pinch of a needle in his arm. I don't wanna die like my father. Please Lord.

  For some strange reason, his thoughts turned to Lamont and the day he found out he'd died and the nonchalant manner his family behaved liked his life hadn't counted for anything but that of the materialistic things he'd owned. He didn't want to end up like that.

  Powerless, turning back to his roots of being raised in the church, Little Ro reflected on the words of his Pastor preaching that it was never too late to ask the Lord for salvation and to have pity on his wretched soul. He also remembered the words of Mr. Martin about making his father proud. Little Ro knew that for the past month or so he'd been living foul, and if death was indeed God's will, then so be it.

  Yea, thou I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me, he said over and over in his mind, hearing the doctor announce that if he survived, it would be nothing short of a miracle.

  Three grueling hours of surgery passed when the doctor emerged out of the double doors and into the hospital's chapel where his young patient's mother and Great Aunt were still in there praising the name of the Lord. As he held a chart in his hands, Arnita bravely stood up, preparing herself for whatever she'd have to face. She knew that God was on her side and wouldn't give her more than she could possibly bare.

  "Hello, Mrs. Mills." The doctor took a deep breath. Arnita braced herself, holding on to her elderly Aunt's arm. "It was touch and go for a good while, but fortunately we removed both bullets with a minimal amount of damage. It must've been divine intervention to say the least, because the bullets missed every one of his vital organs. It might take a week or two of hospitalization for him to fully recover, but he's young and strong willed. He'll make it."

  Arnita dropped back down to her knees and cried out, "Thank you, God for giving me a second chance with my son and to make things right." Arnita raised her arms to the ceiling. "I don't know what I was thinking about, helping the devil play with my son's life."

  "Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord!" Auntie Bell waved her Bible jubilantly in celebration of the strength of prayer. "I told you with God all things are possible!"

  "I know you did, Auntie Bell. I know. And thank you for once again forcing me to see that God's Word is sovereign."

  "That it is, indeed, Arnita. So just remember as you embrace this second chance at life with your son and mothering your children. Be careful, because you reap what you sow."

  THE END

  Big Homie

  By

  Darrell King

  Chapter One

  My older brother came back home during the spring of 1999. He'd just done a ten year bid for first degree murder at California's infamous Pelican Bay Penitentiary. It was something like maybe mid April, around a week or so after my fourteenth birthday, when I saw him hop off a city bus with an army green duffle bag slung across his shoulder.

  As the light of the late evening sun slowly faded into dusk across the palm tree lined southern California skyline, I noticed right away that he'd definitely picked up a great deal of weight since he'd been away. Several guys from around the way stopped to greet him with embraces and small talk before he continued on toward our house. Neighborhood hoochies turned, eyeing him with a curiosity and lust, while more than one slowly moving vehicle came to a complete stop while the bandana wearing occupants within yelled out a hearty greeting to one of their own who had returned to the hood.

  As he neared the front of the house, I noticed the various prison hewed tattoos that adorned his bare arms. Skull and cross bones, hour glasses and an intricately designed illustration of the Grim Reaper; a testament to his affiliation with the Reapers, South Central's most lethal gang rivaled in ferocity only by the Crips and Bloods.

  He rocked a simple white cotton wife beater and baggy khaki pants with a pair of black and white Chuck Taylor sneakers on his feet. He had a bald shaved head and a silver hoop earring dangling from his left ear lobe. A healthy trimmed goatee made him look older and more distinguished than his mere 28 years suggested.

  At around six feet tall, my brother had always been rather lean and wiry; lanky even, but doing a dime in the Bay had forced him to pack on more than forty-five pounds of solid muscle, making him appear menacing and formidable with his assortment of homemade tats covering his upper body.

  "W'sup, li'l homie? Ain't you gonna give ya big brother some love?" he said to me as he entered the front yard to our house, placing his duffle bag down on the walkway.

  I jumped up off the stoop and went over to him, hugging him as tight as I could for a few seconds before my preteen machismo got the better of me, causing me to back away just in case some of the my neighborhood homies were out and about and caught a glimpse of my soft side.

  It didn't take Mama long to race out of the house, yelling and screaming with tears of joy streaming from her eyes as she ran into her oldest child's open arms. Racing from the interior of the house right behind her was Mama's best friend, Shante Towson, a.k.a. Miss Shante. She was a 33 year old single mother who worked in Inglewood at Randy's Donuts. Miss Shante was a pretty lady with a bright, ready smile, beautiful hazel eyes with long thick lashes and a soft brown cocoa complexion. She was full figured, but in a sexy sort of way, which made her look even more appealing in her form fitting outfits she often wore to and from work. Miss Shante always referred to herself as a born again Christian and often read the Bible, highlighting various passages and scriptures from the Holy tome. Unfortunately though, she struggled mightily with a weakness for men and shopping.

  "Shante," Mama said, wiping the tears away from her smiling face, "this is my oldest son, Montel. Ain't he handsome?"

  "Oh, yes he is," Miss Shante agreed with a flirtatious tone as she approached Montel and extended her hand to him. "How are you, Montel? I'm Shante, your mom's neighbor. It's a pleasure to meet you."

  "Nice meeting you too," Montel said, taking Miss Shante's well manicured hand into his own and then planting a soft kiss on the back side.

  Both Mama and Miss Shante looked at each other in surprise in regard to Montel's suave display of cultured manner. Smiling broadly, Miss Shante, playfully fanned herself with her free hand while her other hand still rested in Montel's.

  "Boy, don't be doing that," Miss Shante said before Montel released her hand. She then turned toward Mama. "Angela, girl, get ya child. Got me all hot and bothered out here."

  Both Mama and Miss Shante laughed it off as we all started off toward the front door. I noticed how Miss Shante turned around to stare at Montel, not once, but twice. She was sprung, and I knew it wouldn't take long before she'd make a move on my brother.

  Later on that night, Mama prepared a hearty meal of fried fish, baked potatoes and collard greens, after which both Montel and I gladly helped ourselves to sizeable seconds. Before we could fully digest our supper, Mama placed two large slices of hot apple pie before us, topped with a heavy scoop of French vanilla ice cream, which we both managed to somehow add to our already stuffed bellies.

  After downing all that food, it didn't take long for me to start dozing off on the couch. My sleep was induced by the soft melody of smooth jazz flowing from the l
iving room speakers intermingling with the monotonous electrical hum of the old refrigerator on the back wall of the kitchen. Yet, even in the sound of a song, snore filled snooze, I heard Miss Shante come through the front door. I could overhear her and Mama chattering nonstop with my brother about his time spent in Pelican Bay with a sense of piqued interest.

  From what I was able to gather, Miss Shante was asking most of the questions, some of which were kind of embarrassing as I overheard Mama playfully chastising her friend once or twice afterwards. Obviously no question was too personal for Montel to answer, because whenever I awakened briefly to change sleeping positions, there he was holding the two women enthralled by his hardcore tales of prison life.

  He left no stone unturned. His tales were filled with memories of brutal violence behind bars, which was both carried out against him as well as being initiated against so called rivals, at his request. However, he also seemed to reflect that during those long, lonely times spent locked away in solitary confinement for behavioral issues, he'd often mediate and pray each day, seeking a closer walk with the Divine as a supplement to his daily exercise routine.

  Then there were the books. He said that his first read ever was the Bible. He studied it, highlighting the pages, and even committed many scriptures to memory. Much to the delight of the prison chaplain who had him lead the prison ministry for a brief period before Montel gave it up to apply himself in prison ran trade courses in which he opted to study heating and refrigeration. Montel must have talked well past one in the morning before Miss Shante said she needed to leave.

  Mama saw her girlfriend to the front door after prying her away from giggling and last minute small talk with Montel. Mama shook her head, chuckling softly as she shut the door behind her.

  "Child, that Shante is something else. You hear me?" she said to Montel as they made their way into the living room and took a seat. "It sure don't take that girl long to set her eyes on a man she thinks is cute and try and charm him for all it's worth. God bless her soul." Mama chuckled. "She's a nice, God-fearing girl and all, but men are definitely her sin of choice."

  "Is that so?" Montel replied.

  I stretched and cracked my eyes only to see Montel staring off toward the door as if he could see Miss Shante through it.

  "Now don't get me wrong," Mama continued. "She ain't no tramp or nothing. She just falls in love far too deep and far too fast for her own good. You know what I mean, Montel?"

  "Okay, Ma, if you say so. But why are you telling me all this?" Montel asked. "I just met the woman today. I can clearly see that she was feeling me and everything, but hey, I'm not trippin' off females like I used to. Now don't get me wrong," Montel turned the tables. "I didn't turn funny while locked up, but I'm just about handling my business in a much more mature manner. Feel me, Ma?"

  "Well, excuse me, Mr. Man. I'm just letting you know how Shante rolls, that's all; not that you haven't seen it for yourself already. Heck, even a blind man can see Shante coming a mile away. I can't tell you what to do or who to do it with, 'cause you're a grown man. But I can tell you to be careful, 'cause you're still my son and I love you and care about you. On top of that, Shante is my best friend, so I don't think I need to go any further with this discussion, 'cause you know where I'm going with this, don't you?"

  "Yeah, Ma, I know, but what for? Because like I said, I just met this woman. I don't know her and she sure as heck don't know me. I'm not the same li'l skirt chasin', gang bangin', Montel I was when I got locked up. I'm totally different now, Ma. You'll see. And believe me, it'll take a whole lot more than a big butt and a smile to get me interested in a sistah out here. She's gonna have to be mentally, spiritually and socially conscious for me to be interested in her. I've been a player, a mack, a lady killer. I've moved past that foolishness, 'cause I ain't got time for games from folks; male or female. My woman is gonna have to reflect those very same qualities in order to ride with me, 'cause I'm not looking for cheap thrills. I'm looking for a soul mate, and for that you gotta have patience. So quit your worrying, Mama. It's all gravy with me, aiight?" Montel got up and gave Mama a goodnight kiss.

  "Okay, son, okay. I believe you. Anyway, I'd appreciate it if you could help me tidy up just a tad, because if Leon comes over after he gets off work, I want him to come to a clean house," Mama said, referring to her boyfriend. "I sure as heck don't want no static from him when he gets here."

  On that note, I decided to get out of Mama's and Montel's way. I yawned, stretched, and slowly made my way upstairs to the bathroom to shower and brush my teeth before hitting the sack to get a little rest for school the next day. It was well past the time I usually turned in for the night, however, my brother's return from prison after ten years had given me just the reprieve I needed to steal a few extra waking hours.

  After I'd showered and dressed for bed, I bumped into my mama changing the sheets on my bed. Earlier she'd changed the sheets on the bed in the guest room for Montel as well.

  "Ain't it nice to have Montel back home?" Mama asked me, smiling brightly. "He's put on so much weight. It looks really good on him, though, don't you think?"

  "Yeah, he's pretty much cock diesel right now, but he still ain't got guns like these though," I said, rolling up my sleeves and making a muscle for Mama.

  "All right , Mr. Olympus, keep ya' shirt on." Mama chuckled lightly as she hoisted a medium sized plastic laundry basket from off the top of my bed.

  "I do know that Montel sure don't act the same. I mean, it ain't nothing wrong with that, but he just seems like a whole different person, that's all."

  "Yes, he is different, and I for one thank the good Lord for that, because at the rate he was going before he got arrested, I just knew that I was gonna have to hurt that boy before his time. But the Lord knew better than I did and spared my baby's life. Yeah, he had to do some time in prison, but he's still alive and well. And it seems like whatever changes he underwent in there, it was definitely for the better."

  "Yeah, I guess you're right, but I kinda miss having the old Montel around. He was a "G" and he had big respect from the homies out here in the hood. I dunno how cats are gonna take to him now since he's all righteous and what not."

  "Cedrick, do you hear yourself?" my mother said to me in a scolding manner. "Don't nobody care nothin' 'bout what them l'il trouble makin' punks think, c'ept you. All they care about is crime. All your l'il buddies are constantly up to is no good. I really wish that you'd find some new friends, 'cause, baby, Fatz and Redrum all got issues; the kind of issues that are gonna land them in prison or the cemetery. So I'm overjoyed with your brother's maturity, and I'm sure that he doesn't give a darn what anyone around here thinks about him."

  With those final comments, Mama took the load of clothes, kissed my forehead and proceeded out my room and downstairs. It quickly dawned on me that though my mother might be right in her assessments about my brother, I still kind of wished that he was the same old thug he'd once been before his arrest and conviction. But then again, perhaps all this righteous stuff was just a show for Mama. But time soon would tell.

  Chapter Two

  The next day, I made it home around six forty-five p.m. I'd made a beeline directly after school for Redrum's crib out in Crenshaw where I kicked it with the homies for a while. We played video games, smoked weed and clowned one another, as was routine for most of our adolescent get-togethers.

  As I stepped off the city bus, up the street from our Inglewood digs, I saw Montel tinkering under the hood of Miss Shante's beat up Toyota Camry. She stood nearby chatting with both Montel and Mama while Montel moved effortlessly from his toolbox to the auto engine, tightening this and unscrewing that before getting the engine to rev up with relative ease.

  "She's purring like a kitten now, don't ya think?" he said to Miss Shante, wiping his sweaty brow with a beefy forearm. "But ya gotta make sure you get regular oil changes and a tune up every few months or so, aiight? That way you'll avoid a whole lotta problems." Montel ran
his hand on the hood of the car. "Caring for a whip is like caring for a kid. It requires a lotta TLC and attention. Some folks think that all a vehicle needs is gas and that's it, but no-you gotta put some work into your car if you want it to run well and last a while. You feel me?"

  "Did you say something, Montel?" Miss Shante asked, not hearing a word Montel had spoken as she was too busy focusing on his biceps, glistening with sweat. "I'm so sorry. I just enjoy watchin' you. You look so-whew. Lord, help me." Miss Shante exclaimed, barely able to conceal her inner thoughts.

  Mama glanced over at Montel with an, 'I-told-you-so' look on her face, to which he simply shrugged his wide shoulders and returned several items to his toolbox before noticing and then greeting me.

  "S'up, Cee-lovah? How was school today?" he asked, catching me up in a sweaty, axle grease embrace.

  I wriggled free of his musty hug, and we squared off, throwing a few playful punches at one another before making it onto the front porch and settling down onto the wicker chairs.

  "Class was aiight," I replied. "Just the same ole stuff, ya know."

  Montel leaned forward, slightly cracking the knuckles on his massive fists as he hung his head down briefly before raising his eyes to meet mine. I didn't know what to make of my brother's sudden serious demeanor, I, however, didn't budge, but stared right back at him, awaiting words that surprisingly never came. Instead, he just smiled weakly, reached over and brushed through my long, silky braids and stood. He then leaned across the wooden banister.

  "Whatcha been puffin' on, Cee? Ganja or that homegrown smoke?" he straight out asked.

  It surprised me that Montel was asking me this, but it made me feel good, because it brought back memories of the original gangsta he'd been before. Smiling, I zipped open my backpack, slowly removing a small, clear sandwich bag filled to the top with a potent strain of Cali weed.