“Fuck you, Peaches. You don’t know shit, bitch!” I shouted out at her, feeling at a loss for better words at the moment.
“No, Dre. It’s fuck you, bitch, for thinking I was going to sit back and let you fuck over my daughter like her father did me. Don’t drop the soap.”
As her last words rang in my ears to the part of my brain that turns sounds into words, my doorbell rang, followed by three knocks on the door. I hung up the phone because there was nothing left to listen to but hysterical laughter from Peaches. As I walked over to the door, I checked my text message, and it read: 1 new message from Ryan. I didn’t bother looking out the window or checking the surveillance cameras. I knew by Peaches’s last words who it was. I clicked on Ryan’s text message and unlocked the door at the same time. I was able to read: You violated, somebody gave you up to your PO before I was tackled down to the floor.
Once they saw the gun at my side, which was really my cell phone holder, I was beaten until I blacked out. The last thing I remembered seeing was Savannah’s bare feet running my way. Can’t believe I’m going back to jail over a bitch again....
Chapter Three
A Piece of History
“Lord, I’m trying hard to be the changed man that I promised you, my mama, and myself that I would be. I’ve given up the fast lane to riches to cherish the riches you’ve already given me and continue to give me. I’ve repented for the sins of my past, and I try hard not to recommit them. I’m saved, but as of late, I haven’t been acting like a saved man. I’ve sinned. I’ve knowingly sinned to cause pain to others so that I could find my own happiness. Going back to jail to sit down for a minute is man’s way of punishing me. Although it kills me to be back in jail, I know my punishment for the sins I’ve committed is greater than whatever time man has planned for me. So, I come to you today to say, thank you, Lord. Thank you for hitting the emergency brakes on my life to give me time to reflect on the broken promises I’ve made to you and the hurt I’ve caused others. I won’t ask for forgiveness right now because you know my heart, and the request would be in vain. But I will ask you not to give up on me. Watch over me and help me grow stronger in your Word. Father God, please continue to cover my kids, their mamas, and my own mother in your blood. I’m a work in progress, Lord. Sorry to have let you down again. In your powerful name, I pray, Jesus. Amen.”
“That was a powerful prayer, Andre,” the priest said softly, slowing raising his head. “But was it to impress me?”
“Why would I give a fuck about impressing you?” I snapped, causing the priest to look uneasy as he spoke.
“Well, your choice of words makes it sound like you wanted me to know that you have a relationship with the Father or like you felt the need to bring me up to speed. It’s a personal relationship.”
“I know that, but don’t you Catholics like a confession?” He chuckled without responding, which made me feel the need to speak up. “Listen, I’ve only been locked up for a week, so I’m not running to God like most inmates do, and I didn’t find religion in my jail cell either. I already had it. No matter where life has taken me or what I was going through, both good and bad, I made sure to keep my faith first. There isn’t a Sunday or Wednesday that went by that I was not in church. Even if I had to fall in the closest church to where I was at, then that’s where I’d be giving praise. I believe that everybody should believe in something, or they’ll fall for everything and stand for nothing. Since I can’t believe in the words of another man, including yours, I keep my faith strong in the Lord.”
“Okay, so why did you request a visit from me? You seem to have it all together.”
“Are you sure you’re a priest? What kinda question is that? Do you not see where I’m standing?”
The priest took a seat at the foot of my bunk and stared at me. I was sure he played middle man to a lot of nonbelievers’ calls to Christ, and I hadn’t decided if I wanted to waste the energy convincing him that my prayer request wasn’t that. A part of me wanted to tell him to get the fuck out of my cell, but there was something in his eyes that said more than his doubtful facial expression. I noticed it when he entered my cell. I wasn’t comfortable with the prison sending a Catholic priest, but I tried to find comfort in him being black, and then I felt a connection. It was almost like a secret brotherhood headquarters were located in the depths of his eyes, and at that moment, I felt at home.
“Yes, I’m sure I’m a priest, but I’ve done a bid in your shoes.”
“You’ve been locked up, huh? I could tell because you wear the pain in your eyes.”
He shook his head. “No, I wasn’t locked up. I was a cop just like you before I realized my calling. After dozens of arrests, some righteous, others, not, I went home feeling like the criminal every night. I came to a fork in the road, Andre. I had to decide if I’d take the bumpy road of doing good or that slippery slope of evil. It took awhile to decide, but I knew whichever route I chose, I’d have to give my all to, and now, I’m here, chatting with you.” He stood to his feet. “You did say one thing I enjoyed hearing, and that was, thank you. Being here is a great reason to be thankful.”
“I aim to be thankful for everything, even if it’s waking up behind bars with a slab of metal for a bed.”
“Waking up behind bars might have lengthened your days on this.” He walked out of the cell and didn’t look back as the guard locked it.
It was true, there are a million other places I’d rather be than jail, but I have to be thankful for regaining time which I never realized I was missing. It’s fucked up that incarceration seems to be the only thing that can slow me down. It’s a blessing in the pit of a curse that I had to have my freedom taken away from me to be able to clear my mind. It’s sad, but that seems to be the only way God can get me to listen.
“Listen up, down the hall. It’s mealtime. You are going to step out of your rooms on my two count, retrieve your meal trays, and step back in. It’s that simple. If you don’t want your breakfast, don’t step out. If you have any questions, save them for med-call,” the correctional officer’s voice blared through the speakers.
Regaining time meant that I finally had the peace I needed to think about all the shit I put on the back burner for everyday living. I was temporarily relieved from all my daily duties for the streets. I could put my scales down, stop counting numbers, and put the safety back on my pistol. I didn’t have to burn the extra gas driving around town to get all the bites nobody else wanted. I didn’t have to ride through the hood, passing out fake smiles to niggas who were probably plotting on robbing me if they ever caught me slipping. I didn’t have to be at all the local clubs on big event nights, making sure to step out clean with my dreads freshly twisted and styled to keep the bitches feeling me. Nah, there wasn’t a need to show these hoes that I was still around and still on my shit. They already knew it. I could take a break from all that. I had made a name for myself and not just in Nashville. I was known from Clarksville to Bordeaux, from Goodlettsville to Inglewood, and you can add Hermitage, Antioch, Murfreesboro, and back. Hell, I even have welcome signs in other niggas’ trap spots. Yeah, niggas know me. If they didn’t know me by Dre, they knew me by one of the yellow whips I drove around the city in. And if they still wanted to act like they didn’t know me, I’d make sure they did before I was done. They’d just have to wait, though, because my life was on a much-needed time-out right now, but I’ll be back.
One...
Seriously,