by Ana Gibson
GUIDE ME HOME
BY
ANA GIBSON
Copyright © 2018 BY ANA GIBSON
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Ana Gibson/ Createspace Independent publishing
P.O. Box 2052
Waldorf, MD 20602
www.officialanagibson.com
Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, Places, and Incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to a business, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout © 2018 BookDesignTemplates.com
Book Cover Design © Fiverr.com/germancreative
GUIDE ME HOME/ ANA GIBSON—1st ed.
ISBN- 978-0-692-13889-2
Printed in the United States of America
DEDICATION
To those who have struggled through life due to emotional, physical and psychological abuse of some sort, when obstacles stood against you, when opposition forced you to your knees, this story was written for you, to help you find strength and hope and love while gaining back your identity through the love of our father, God.
Be encouraged. Your abundance of true living is awaiting you.
-Ana Gibson
Acknowledgements
First, to the Father above who blessed me with such an amazing story as this. It would not be what it is without you. What started off in one direction ended up traveling a whole different path and it turned into a magnificent and beautifully written love story. I owe it all to you.
Thank you to my family and my friends who assisted me and supported me over this last year in getting this story together. I appreciate your ideas, suggestions, and most importantly the fact that you willingly listened to me talk about it for days on end. I appreciate you, Maria and Mary for being THE go to persons for everything, for always offering up your ideas and your eyes, reading it in every stage it was in, from the first rough draft right down the final. Thank you Babe, Elisha, Tyler, Casey, Barry, Theresa, and Shekinah for being my beta readers. I celebrate this journey with you.
To Doug and Mylee for offering yourselves as being the models on the front cover. I could not have picked a better duo than you two. The whole thing was flawless.
To my Mom and Kiyana for being my constant support and advisors on certain parts of this book, you guys are appreciated.
And if there are any other people I have forgotten to mention, please don’t hold it against me. Do know that I appreciate and love you for any part you played in this.
Together, let’s begin this journey.
Quote:
GUIDE
ME
HOME
CHAPTER 1
DEVIN
November
Saturday morning
Oh God. Here he comes. I mean damn. I can’t even get off work good enough before Khalid or whatever his name is come cursing me in Arabic about late payment. That hairy fist of his violently waves in the air like he wants to give me a piece of his mind about it. All these other guests he’s got coming and going, and he's checking for my little two hundred dollars. For what? My money ain't gonna make a difference in this place no way. One would think that he'd put it to good use in all these rooms in this motel, but nah. All our money probably goes to some family member of his back home, living it up on my expense.
It's not like I don't know I'm late already. He reminds me every day. He's always got something smart to say too when I pass his office. I'm not cheating the man on purpose. It's just that I've got a daughter and a girlfriend to take care of. That's where most of my money goes. But that don't mean nothing to him. I think this dude has it out for me. I don't care how many times I've tried to barter with him, he still finds some way to get me caught up, talking about how he gives no one special treatment, me included. But just the other day I overheard him giving some woman a pass cause’ she didn't have her money to pay for the night she stayed here. Oh, but I guess because I'm not a woman, I don't have those same privileges. Hmph. Whatever.
He reaches the top step, stomping and still yelling at me like I've stolen a herd of his cattle or some shit. Just as I slide the key into the lock, he stops me.
“Ant ‘imbysyl Al-Aswad. I want my money. Where is my money?”
First things first, I need him to stop yelling cause’ all of that ain't necessary. And I know he just insulted me. He's lucky I don't know what the hell he just said.
“Good morning to you too, Habib,” I say and slide the key in to unlock my room door.
“You are late again. This is the third time this month. Over and over, you are always late. If you keep it up, I will have to put you out.”
“I got you this evening, Muhammad. Can I at least get off of work and get myself settled in before you start flying off the rafters about me paying you? I know I owe you money.”
“I mean it. I am not playing. I want my money.”
“I got it. Damn.”
“And who are all these people you keep having come in and out of my motel? What are you guys doing in here?” He asks. My busy-ness stops and I look at him to figure out what he's talking about.
“Uh huh. You think I don't know you got all kinds of people walking up in here. My motel is not a gang hideout. I don't want crime here. So you sir,” he points at me, “you better keep your kind away from here or I'll be forced to call the police.”
“My kind?”
“Yes. Your kind.” He leans in, middle finger pressing on my shoulder and lips tight. That thick mustache he got almost covers over them thin lips and his eyes wide like he's trying to read into my thoughts. I don't even know what he's talking about because I stay to myself. I don't have anyone running all through here like this some kind of seven-eleven.
“Okay, Apu, whatever you say. I'll get to the bottom of it.” I push the door open, glance at him one last time. He pounds the palm of his hand and says, “My money. I want it tonight. No exceptions.”
This short little stubby man better go ahead somewhere.
“Tonight,” I say.
He walks off mumbling with those little dark grey pants and striped khaki shirt squeezing tight around his unmentionables. He's got more breast than a five-dollar box at Popeye's. All this money he's getting from us and he can't find a better shirt that fits? Blimp looking ass.
“Yeah, go back to whatever rock you crawled out of,” I say just barely loud enough so that he won't come back with a new argument.
Now that he's out of my way, I can get back to what I've been planning to do—breakfast with my baby girl.
“Lo, I'm back.”
I set my things down on my bed. She ain't even here, but what is here is the acrid smell of burning plastic dipped in urine, vinegar, and shit. A grey haze lingers from the nightstand, draws me near to see why. My lungs reject the choking odor every time I inhale it. Shit so strong, I could get high.
I pull my shirt over my nose to keep the vapors from attacking me. A needle lay next to a spoon—the bowl of it slightly dried with streaks of crack cocaine.
What is this, the umpteenth time this week? We had the talk. She made promises. And she's back at it again, doing it like it doesn't affect us. I mean how long is she gonna keep shootin' up anyway? It's this mess that got us here in the first place. It's the reason why I'm always coming up short to pay that man. And she got the nerve to leave it on the nightstand like it's some kind of heirloom on display.
I go over to it and pick it up. I would throw it right at her if she was here but instead it goes flying across the
room, hits the wall and thud to the floor just like my heart—heavy and lifeless. I know I shouldn't be surprised about it. I shouldn't even be upset, but I am cause’ she keeps doing this to herself. What makes matters worse is that she does this in front of our child. Don't she get how fucked up that is? Ain't nothing cool about it.
I take a step back and a small, dime size bag pops beneath my foot. Her getaway candy lay on the floor taunting me all the more of our reality. I pick it up, palm it in my hand and sigh. Just as the thought of throwing it away comes to me, someone on the other side of the room door jiggles at the knob. Hope it's not that human stump that runs this place.
I close my hand with the baggie still in it, waiting for whoever it is to open the door.
“Daddy!” Logan walks in first and into my arms.
“Hey baby girl.” My smile is falsely brave.
“Mommy took me to breakfast.”
“I see. Did you have a good time?”
“Yeah,” she says and walks away from me to turn on the TV. The timing couldn't be more perfect as Mia tiptoes in and closes the door.
Without looking at her, I ask, “Did you eat?”
“Yeah.”
“Do anything exciting this morning before you left?”
The bag still in my hand, I rub it around without letting her know it’s in my possession. She comes over my way and reaches for the syringe, but I pluck it out of her reach. She stands still while her eyes shift from side to side before she finally looks at me.
“You need to tell me something?”
“No. Why you ask that?” She brings her fingers to her mouth, nibbling on those stained nails. She's so damn high, it don't make no sense. Her whole body is trembling.
“You cold or something? Why you shaking?”
“What? I'm not shaking.” She looks down at her trembling knees, bends over to feel them and giggles. Shit got her acting stupid as hell.
“Mia?”
“Huh?” She rolls up from her waist, arms long and dangling from the slight slump in her shoulders.
“Mia?” We connect eyes.
“What?”
“What's this?”
Her eyes follow my hand as I show her the small bag of rocks. She gives me a goofy ass smile and says, “I don't know.” And it irritates the hell out of me because she knows what the hell this is. Guilt is telling on her because all she can do is push her wild, loose coils to the back of her head like she's thought too long and hard. Her hip gets to bouncing and her eyes shift out of rhythm.
“I thought we made a promise?” I try to keep my tone low so that Logan won't hear us or even care about wanting to listen in.
“We did.” Her bottom lip curls into her mouth.
“What happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Mia, come on. Why the hell do you keep making promises that you gonna stop using?” I don't even know why I'm wasting my breath on her though. Like I said, we've had these talks before and still, I'm getting the same thing. I'm starting to believe that maybe I just like to hear myself.
“That's not even mine. I'm just holding it for somebody.”
Okay, so we just gonna play stupid today? Got it.
“For who Mia? We don't know anybody around here.”
“It's for,” she starts and then flips her hair to the back of her head again and sucks her teeth.
“Whatever, I need to use the bathroom.”
“Good. Then you'll be throwing this away too. Flush it down the toilet.”
“I told you I'm holding it for somebody.” She walks off into the bathroom and I get up and follow.
“I'll flush it myself then.”
“What are you doing?”
I move past her and stand over the toilet, opening the bag, but she swipes at my hand nearly dropping them by her. I shove her out of the way and hurry to pick them back up again before she gets a hold of them. She leaps towards me, causing us both to stumble. Quickly, I regain balance and press her into the wall behind the door.
“Who are you holding it for?” I ask while she makes it her business to get this bag from me.
“Somebody. You don't know them.”
“Tell me the truth. Is this yours?”
“No. I swear. Just give it to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I already told you, Devin.”
“You don't know anybody around here, Mia. We haven't been here that long.”
“So what!”
“When are you going to stop doing this to yourself?”
She scoots closer to the bathroom door, but being pent up against the wall makes it harder for her to get out of my grip effectively.
“I'm not doing anything. Just give it back. Please give it back.” She fumbles around, struggling to reach behind me still. Both of us in here looking like bully and victim. I hate to be the one that has to be the bully though.
“Are you going to stop doing this to yourself?”
She stops reaching and releases the tension in her body while looking me straight in the eyes. She calms herself and tries to gather her composure like she's got some kind of truth to tell. Her eyes misty and blotched with redness, she parts her lips to say something. I keep my hand pressed against her while the other stays near the toilet.
“Answer me, Mia.”
“I don't—“ she hesitates and shrugs.
“You don't what?”
She whimpers softly. “Please, can I just have it back?”
The ache in her voice chokes me too. I will never understand why she wants to do this. I want her to get help because she's hurting everybody in here. It ain't just her or just me. Our child sees this too, so I ask her to do it for Logan, like many times before, but it doesn't mean much as she looks away from me. Blinding mist burns my eyes. I close them to hide the hurt. A knock on the bathroom door interrupts us and I release Mia as Logan makes her way in. I want to offer my girl a smile but I can't. So instead I look away, rub my eyes, pretending I'm good.
“What do you need?”
“What are you guys doing in here?”
“Nothing. Just having a talk.” The expression of concern wears her face, and she asks, “Why are you crying?”
I hadn't even realized I let a tear slip from my eye. I wipe my face again and release a deep sigh.
“Just go back and watch TV for me. I’ll be out in a minute.”
She then looks at Mia and goes over to give her a hug, but Mia stiffens, arms straight—mannequin style. Logan releases her arms just as fast and backs away, leaving us in the bathroom now quiet and heavy. I'm not gonna let her kill herself like this. Down the toilet the bag goes.
“Devin!” Mia climbs over top of me to try and retrieve whatever remains but the water quickly swirls into the dark abyss, whisking all of its contents away with it. She drops to her knees, screams that I'm foolish for doing that.
“You need help,” I tell her. I try bringing her to her feet again, but she snatches away, falls back to the floor and scoots backward against the door.
“No, you need help, you idiot. Why'd you do that? Why would you do that to me?”
Anybody could see why I did it. Why can't she?
“Mia?” I reach down to her. She recoils, cuffs herself into her knees and hides her face between them. We're on two opposite sides of the spectrum when it comes to pain and anger, that's for sure. I take a seat on the floor across from her and bring my knees in towards me. My arms rest atop them, and I helplessly stare at her.
“Dammit!” She slams her fist into the wall as her chest bear ragged breaths from the tormenting tears that follow.
“I just want you to get help.”
“I don't want help. Why don't you just go die somewhere and leave me alone?”
“You don't mean that.” I reach for her arm to show her face and she kicks me before flipping the bird.
“Get out of here. I hate you. I hate both of you.”
“But I love you.” And I mean tha
t. Her middle finger flashes again. I don't know what else to do. At wits ends, I oblige to her request and head out. Saying I love you again would be no use cause’ she don't believe me no way. Just as I cross the threshold, the bathroom door comes slamming shut behind me. Cool bumps rise on my skin.
I'm sick of her ass, man.
I close my eyes but for a moment until Logan calls out to me.
“Yeah, Lo?”
“I love you,” she says. This I know. She invites me over to the bed with her. I take my seat and let her rest herself across my lap as she watches TV again. We sit quietly while I stroke the messy strands of her hair. Hopelessness sets in, sinking me into myself. My love for Mia is deeper than she knows, but I know my love for her isn't enough. It's a constant war with our demons locking tight to our troubles and paralyzing us there. If I could save her, I would. The little bit of strength I have is depleting every day. There's no escape from it no matter the lengths I go through to get away. Every day I'm reminded that this is not going to change and that I'm stuck here. Whatever sins I've committed has left thorns deeply rooted in my flesh, and it seems like I'll never be able to repay by trying to do good by her or by anyone.
I lift Logan's head from off my lap to get up to go outside. I just need a minute before I completely lose it. I press myself against the thin rails on the walkway and rest against them, left alone with myself. A scary place to be. My hope and faith are fading fast, and the only constant I can rely on is the dependency of my child. I'm just praying that it counts for something because at this point, she's the only thing I have strength enough to hold on to.
