by David Weaver
***
“I’m so sorry I let you down Jawan! I’m so sorry baby! I need you and I’ll always need you baby! I love you and I’ll never love anyone else the way I love you baby! Damn, I’m so sorry!” Meesie screamed as she tried to make sure that he was still getting proper air circulation.
“If I could get you to wake up, I promise you we would run until they catch us baby. I would never even think of giving up if I could have you by my side one more time. I guess this is how prison will feel… Because you’ll be right there in my life just like you are now and I’ll still be unable to communicate with you. Prison or death will feel like a perpetual seizure.” Meesie cried.
“Hey, y’all need help?”
Meesie looked up and saw the partner of the robber that she had killed getting out of his truck.
“Get the fuck away from us! Get the fuck away you thieving black bastard!” Meesie screamed.
“No, no, no. You’ve pegged me all wrong. We really didn’t mean any harm by it. We were just being young and dumb, and we damn sure didn’t know you were going to be there at the house. We got scared. And you killed my best friend.” He said solemnly. As soon as Meesie and Jawan had ran off, he had jumped in his truck and drove off the block as quickly as he could before the police could make it through the crowd.
Being that he was on parole with a car full of stolen merchandise there was no way he was sticking around to answer any questions. As he had been driving away, he felt the need to go back and help Meesie and Jawan. After all, if he hadn’t broke into their home, they wouldn’t be in this mess.
“How do I know you’re not trying to get revenge? I don’t trust you! Get away from us!” Meesie screamed.
The man walked over and pried Meesie’s hand off of Jawan’s body. “What’s wrong with him?” He asked.
“Get the fuck away from us you black thief! Get the fuck away!” Meesie screamed as she punched him as hard as she could. “Get away!”
“Stop it damnit! Stop it! I have a full tank of gas! Get your ass in the truck and get ready to drive it. I’m about to put him on the passenger side while the crowd still has that blockade up. You better go as far as you can and don’t look back for shit. I think-”
“I would, but I can’t. His seizures are just going to get worse. I dropped his medi-”
“I picked up everything you dropped and placed it into the bag sitting on the floor.” The man said as he picked Jawan up and placed him into the truck. “I’m sorry ma’am. For real, I’m honestly sorry that all of this had to happen. Take care.”
He stood back and watched as Meesie jumped into his truck and peeled off. He dropped his head in the memory of his best friend. It hurt him, but it was real; and he had to endure it. It had actually been his idea to rob the house, but only because he thought it would be vacant. He never thought he would end up getting in the middle of a serial killer’s rampage. His best friend had given up his most valuable possession; life, so it was only right that he give up what he valued the most at the time, his truck.
***
Meesie drove 80 miles an hour as she put separation between their problems and their future. Their entire life had changed in the course of one evening, and it was difficult to ignore the way they ended up in worse shape over the verdict than Zimmerman did. Not only had a verdict altered the course of their family’s future, but it had also potentially ended their lives.
Meesie was angry at the justice system and wanted to lash out, but didn’t know who to last out on. She didn’t even know where they were headed, she was just driving. She exited the freeway and decided that she was going to go sit in the park for a while until she figured out what the best move would be.
On the way to the park, she noticed that a huge cloud was quickly wrapping over the city. “That’s what you all get! You motherfuckers are so prejudice and arrogant and evil, that every now and then God has to wash the oxygen off from the filth in which you speak!”
It was pouring down rain by the time she parked the truck. The rain was coming down so hard that she just knew that the city of Sanford would be flooded. Right after she parked, she started the truck back up. She realized that she would never have another God-given way to escape from Sanford unless she left right then and there in the midst of one of the biggest storms she had seen in years.
“Mmm toommm.”
Meesie was startled when she heard Jawan make such a strange sound. “Baby are you ok?” Her heart was about to beat out of her chest and sweat beads started forming on the surface of her forehead. She remembered that she had the pills in the bag, and reached inside and grabbed them with the quickness. She opened the bottle and poured 3 pills into her hand. “Here Jawan, take these pills baby.”
“Hmmm? O.K. Meesie.” Jawan said in a strange tone.
Meesie stretched her hand across the truck so that Jawan could get the pills, but he hadn’t budged. “Jawan, take the pills baby.” Meesie whispered. “Take the pills so that we can figure out what to do next baby. Please just take your seizure medication.”
“I’m trying Meesie!” Jawan screamed. But he hadn’t moved at all, he was just laying there.
Meesie got nervous when she didn’t see any movement from him. Seeing him laying there limp and saying he was trying to move nearly made her piss on herself. “Jawan… can you just please take these bills baby? I love you and I wanna be with you forever, and all I need you to do is take these pills. I’m not asking you to make any decisions or anything; just take these pills baby.”
Tears ran down Jawan’s face as he lay there limp. “I’m going to die Meesie. I’m going to die!”
“Don’t fucking say that Jawan! Take the motherfucking pills!” Meesie screamed in the small truck. The rain was coming down even harder now, and it rattled her nerves knowing that her future husband was unable to move. As long as she had known him, that was always his number one fear, being paralyzed from a seizure. He always said that he’d rather die than to be forced to live without being able to help himself. He was adamant about choosing death over choosing to live like that, and had even made Meesie sign a form along with a witness giving him that right.
At the time, Meesie couldn’t have ever imagined Jawan being unable to move. She signed it because she was going to be sure that he took his medication every single day that he was supposed to. She wasn’t going to let him get into a situation like that. That was what the plan was, at least. She shook as she stared into the pouring rain. There was nothing else she could do to save her family and she hated herself for that.
She hated herself, the people who tried to rob their place, hated Jawan’s uncle, hated Nay-Nay, and most of all she hated Zimmerman.
She hated the fact that a grown ass man could get away with killing a young black and unarmed teenager. She hated the justice system for allowing Jawan’s father to be killed in the same manner. She hated it for Oscar Grant, Jordan Davis, Sean Bell, and the thousands of others. All of the passion that Jawan carried over from the death of his late father had brewed over many years. That brewery created a person comprised of the finest fire that a modern day black man could possibly elicit.
And that was why she loved Jawan.
He was powerful and strong. He was not the typical man, and there were no typical men who could compare to him. His passion led him to standing his ground, and showed her how to stand hers as well. He was a man who, if he would have been given the opportunity; he could have been a great leader to the world one day. If he were interested in politics, then he could have been a president one day.
“Meesie. Please take me to the hospital. I’m going to be better off than you because of my medical condition and my current situation. So just do as I say. If they catch us both, we both run the risk of being murdered by the police; and we can’t go down like that.”
Meesie shook her head as tears flowed and dripped down her face. “Nooo Jawan! I don’t wanna live without you baby! I don’t want to leave you! I love you!”
“Meesie, I love you too baby. But we have to do what we have to do for our future. If we don’t do this, then our bloodline will end right now; and we’ll have disrespected the bloodlines that have been passed down to us. We’ll have disrespected our grandmothers and great grandfathers. We’ll have let our heritage down. We have to keep pushing Meesie. I want my son or daughter to be alive in 21 years so that she can possibly make the difference in the world that I could have made. Drop me off Meesie.”
Meesie took in everything he said and realized that she had no choice. She drove the truck slowly at first, because she wanted to spend as much time as she possibly could with her fiancé. She drove slow because those were the last memories she was going to have of him.
“Meesie. Please hurry to get me there. I’m dying baby!” And Jawan passed out.
***
Meesie watched as the nurses pulled Jawan out of the small truck. She watched as they rushed to get him into the hospital so they could see if they could help him. She stood there in the rain and allowed her hair to become drenched in nature’s wrath.
She looked down and saw that the puddle she was standing in had completely hidden her shoes. She thought about the baby she was carrying and knew that she hadn’t eaten in quite a while, so she needed to do that immediately. In a weary stroke of exhaustion, she decided that she would do the right thing and kill two birds with one stone.
She was going to drive to the police station.
***
When she got there, her plan was to turn herself in. She was going to admit that she played a role in the murders, no matter how jacked up the United States justice system was. She was going to show them that every black woman and every black man wasn’t the same. She was going to go against the grain, and do the unexpected. She picked up the pistol and wrapped it in a shirt. She was going to turn in the murder weapon also, so that they would know that she was serious when she came in there.
She stepped out of the truck, closed the door and started walking. She’d walked about 15 feet when somebody ran into her out of nowhere. She fell to the ground and sat up with a frown on her face. It was a black female police officer walking to the car with her white partner. “Little slut, you watch where you’re going. I’m tired of arresting you prostitutes for the same damn charge.”
A sharp pain overtook Meesie’s stomach, and she bent over with her arms folded over it. “I’m pregnant you fuckin pigs!” Meesie screamed as loud as she could. The scream was faint because the force in which they hit her had literally knocked her breath away.
“Well hopefully you lose it! That way you can save yourself the embarrassment later. You prostitutes never know who the baby’s father is anyway.”
“Ughhhh!” Meesie screamed as she stood up slowly. She looked down at her stonewash jeans, and it looked like somebody had thrown red Kool-Aid on her. She was soaked in her own blood. Blood of her flesh, of her soul… blood of her child. She stared at the red and couldn’t develop any understanding.
She had come to the jail in order to do the right thing, and the very moment she tried to sit down; they ran her over, possibly killing her unborn child. She looked at the officers as they stood at their patrol cars laughing away at Meesie’s mishaps. “I’m not a prostitute!” Meesie screamed, which caused them to laugh even harder. They pointed their fingers at Meesie and clutched their stomachs the same way that she did.
Meesie’s was clutched in pain, and the female officer’s stomachs were clutched from painful humor. Meesie couldn’t believe her eyes. She couldn’t believe that people who were supposed to be protecting the community from danger, seemed to be the main ones projecting the community with danger.
Meesie looked down again at all of the blood she had lost. She took a strong, deep breath; and uncovered her pistol. Nobody was going to take life from her without her standing her ground.
***
The End.
*************
David Weaver~ This book was written in the span of 5 days, and it was done as a reaction to the Zimmerman verdict. Instead of directing my anger into the community, and hurting innocent people; I decided to team up with someone who was equally as angry about the verdict as I was. I write so many street fiction books, and kill so many people for so many different reasons, but I simply felt like the reasons contained in this book were the most justified; if someone has to die. I am not a fan of violence, and I respect the police officers because they’re simply doing their jobs. However, I have no respect whatsoever to the police officers and other various members of the justice system who abuse their power and play games with their interpretations of the law. Furthermore, you can’t just kill a 17 year old kid; get charged with murder, go to trial with six female jurors, and just walk around like it’s all good. And what the fuck? Zimmerman isn’t strong enough to fight a 17 year old kid, but he’s strong enough to save a family of 4 from an overturned vehicle? Man stop it. The people around you are amateurs, and the shit they’re reporting is bullshit. Oh well…. You gon get this werk! My name is David Weaver and I am a bestselling street fiction author and publisher. I myself suffer from a seizure disorder, and it’s controlled by the medicine phenobarbital. My busy lifestyle does make me miss days sometime, but it would take more like me missing 2 weeks for something drastic to happen. As soon as I get a chance, I take my meds, because just like the fear I gave to Jawan… being paralyzed is my worst fear. My company is called SBR Publications, and the family (writers and readers) calls themselves #TeamBankrollSquad. We are pretty deep, so feel free to check us out on any social network. Deuces.
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