Even Sinners Still Have Souls

by Joy, E. n.

  About three hours later, the doctor finally told Jasmine that she was fully dilated and that they were ready for her to push the baby out. One of Jasmine’s sisters woke Kemo up to let him know that the baby was coming. Kemo instantly opened up his eyes, then stood up, fully alert. He wiped a little saliva off his mouth, rubbed his blood shot eyes, then walked to a sink and splashed his face with cold water to refresh him. After doing so, he felt that he was now ready to meet his potential child.

  The hospital staff had cleared some of Jasmine’s family out of the room. Now only Kemo and her parents remained. Kemo stood next to the doctor, who had spread open Jasmines legs and placed them on some metal foot rest. As soon as Jasmine began pushing, Kemo noticed what looked to him like a flesh colored hairy bubble, slowly slide out. Then when Jasmine stopped pushing, the hairy bubble would slowly slide back in. But with every new push, the hairy bubble slid out even further.

  Soon Kemo was able to make out a face, when he did, he felt a knot in his throat and his eyes began to water from watching his seed being born. His doubtful mind then interfered with his heart as it spoke to him. It told him not to get so emotional, for the life that he was witnessing being born might not belong to him. The actual father might be somewhere else laughing at the fool who had to deal with the task of nurturing his seed. Kemo clenched his teeth in anger at that thought.

  When the doctor felt that Jasmine had pushed the baby’s head far out enough, the doctor slid her fingers inside of Jasmine and pulled the baby out.

  “It’s a girl!” exclaimed the doctor. “Would you like to cut the cord?” the doctor asked Kemo.

  “Yeah,” said Kemo in a weak voice, a little dazed by the amazing thing he’d just witnessed.

  “What’s her name?” asked the doctor.

  Kemo and Jasmine didn’t want to know the sex of the baby until it had been born, so they hadn’t put much thought into naming the baby. But Jasmine did tell him that when the baby was born, he could name it. After hearing the doctor’s question, Kemo thought about it for a few short seconds, then turned and looked through the window at the continuing wet storm outside.

  “Rain, that’s her name, Rain,” answered Kemo as he cut the cord.

  He was then handed his daughter. He looked at her face, and for the first time in his life, he felt what could only be called a true sense of joy. It was as if he was living twice at the same time. Kemo, in his mind, thought that maybe his grandma had asked God to give her grandson His own version of a DNA test by making his daughter look exactly like him. She was a female version of him indeed. That took care of his heart, but just so his mind could be at ease, he still took the DNA test and the results were that Rain was his child.

  For several months, Jasmine turned out to be the ideal first time mother. She learned from her own mother on how to take proper care of a baby. Kemo was convinced that Jasmine was a changed woman, so he decided to have them both move in with him, so they could raise their child together.

  Once Kemo’s friends found out about him and Jasmine, they began seeing her in a different light and began treating her with much regards out of respect for Kemo.

  Everything was fine until both Jasmine and Kemo began drinking and smoking weed together. Kemo was only able to give the hard drugs up, but not the drinking and weed. Jasmine, on the other hand, continued drinking, smoking and doing other drugs.

  In Kemo’s heart, Jasmine was given a clean slate by him after giving birth to his daughter, but what ended up happening was what Kemo looked at as domino effect.

  They would drink and smoke, and she would disrespect him in a manner that reminded him of the way she used to be. So he, in turn, would disrespect her back and an argument would break out. Several different incidents took place in the course of Rain’s first two years of life.

  Jasmine, at times, while Rain was still a newborn, would drink and smoke heavily with Kemo, then when Rain would wake up crying, she would breast feed her to sleep. When Kemo would try to pull Rain away from her arms as she fed her, Jasmine would violently try to push Kemo away, almost dropping Rain on the floor.

  One night, after returning home from a friend’s party, a drunk and high Jasmine insisted on breast feeding Rain while still in the car. They began arguing loudly outside of their apartment. Kemo knew that it was pointless to argue with a drunk, so he walked away from her and went inside to cool off. When he returned to the car, he saw that Jasmine had passed out with her exposed breast sticking out. Kemo carefully slid a sleeping Rain from under Jasmine’s arms, placed her in his arms, quietly closed the door on the car, and walked inside his apartment. He left Jasmine in the car to wake up sober and feeling humiliated. After that night, Kemo knew that it was time to bottle feed Rain.

  Kemo would leave Jasmine many times over several reasons, then return to her when she would come begging him to return home. He wanted desperately to keep his family intact. And despite all the drama, he really had grown to love her. Maybe, he thought to himself at times, that if they were to move to a better location, find new friends, and start from scratch, things might improve for his family.

  Jasmine would show signs of improvement for long periods of time, and then screw it all up later by drinking and acting crazy. Down the road, she would come to receive both her G.E.D and a nursing certificate. Kemo, unable to find his passion in life so he could turn it into a career, stuck to blue collar jobs.

  Kemo’s thoughts of his past were wiped out, and his mind brought back to the present by a honking motorist who was waiting for him to move after the street light had turned green. Kemo looked at his rearview mirror and spotted the angry driver behind him. Then Kemo looked up at the street light. When he saw the color it was displaying, he pressed down on the gas pedal and continued driving to work. Thoughts of his family only made him realize even more that he had to protect them at all cost.

  Chapter Four

  Kemo arrived at Roble airport, where he’d been working the past few years. He walked to his terminal, bypassing the usual security inspection that all flyers experienced, by sliding his green badge on a scanner next to a door that led to the airport runway. Once outside, he spotted a tug mobile. Those tugs were used to haul luggage from the beltway to the airplane. He hopped on it and drove it to the main office to clock in. Afterwards, he drove to the station he was assigned to. Feeling the windy breeze, the sun’s bright shine on his face, the sound of the tugs high tork engine, and looking, of course, at those huge mechanical birds being prepped for flight, made him glad to be a part of the airport staff.

  When he arrived at his post, Maria, his coworker, was lugging bags and suitcases into a cart. “It’s about time you got here. I got a good one over there,” Maria told Kemo as she pointed to a half filled cart.

  “Fo’ real?” asked Kemo with a smile.

  “Just watch out for me, okay?” said Maria.

  “Okay,” replied Kemo.

  Maria grabbed her backpack, which was nearby, then walked up to the half filled cart and zipped open a large gym bag. She dug inside it and pulled out a watch, a walkman, and a few video games. She stuffed the items in her backpack and threw the gym bag in another cart, which had a different destination. She ripped the airport info tag off the bag and walked back to Kemo to continue working.

  Maria was not the only worker who stole from checked baggage. Almost all the workers did, some more then others. Some workers only preferred to take valuable things like video game systems, laptops, jewelry, and fine clothing. Kemo loved his job so much that he refused to jeopardize it by stealing. That way of thinking was far behind him now that he had a family to look after.

  Later, when Kemo made it home from work, he showered, ate some leftover food from the previous night’s dinner, and waited for Jasmine to return home from work. An hour later, Jasmine stepped inside with little Rain in tow. She had picked her up from day care on her way home. Kemo was deep asleep on the living room couch when young Rain ran up to him with a smile. He instantly aw
oke when he felt his daughter’s small hands press on his body.

  A short while later, Kemo and his family drove to a gun shop that was located next to their city, in a mainly white inhabited part of town. Kemo had to bring Jasmine along, because due to his criminal record, she had to purchase the gun in her name.

  When they arrived, they pushed through a glass door, which had a cow bell on its corner. Several other customers were busy talking to employees as Kemo and his family stood by, waiting to be attended to. Several minutes passed by and Kemo was growing tired of waiting. He walked up to the counter and tried to get the attention of an elderly white employee. “Excuse me-”

  The man cut Kemo off, lifted his index finger up, and without looking at him said, “I’ll be with you in a second.” The old man walked away towards the back of the store. Kemo could only stare at his back with anger as he walked away.

  More time went by, and then reluctantly, an employee went over to assist Kemo. The workers of the gun shop could always recognize who wasn’t part of their community. Many guns used to murder in Kemo’s city would at times be traced back to that gun shop. The gun store owner hated all the heat he got from law enforcement agencies that constantly told him to screen his customers more thoroughly.

  Without a hint of pleasure to his tone of voice, the worker said to Kemo, “How may I help you?”

  “We would like to buy a hand gun,” said Kemo sarcastically.

  “Which?” asked the worker as he looked down at the glass counter that contained row after row of hand guns.

  “That one,” said Kemo as he pointed at a 357 chrome dessert eagle. Kemo had plenty of time to choose his weapon of choice while he waited to be helped. Kemo also requested several rounds, one extra clip, and a waist holster. Jasmine showed the worker her gun license, which she had gotten when they bought the shotgun. Kemo paid for everything and then was told to return ten days later for his purchase when the criminal background check on Jasmine would be done.

  The day of the pick up, and after dropping Rain off at Jasmine’s mom’s house, Kemo and Jasmine decided to take the gun to a shooting range to get better familiar with their new weapon. When they arrived, they were greeted friendly by a group of guys in the front desk.

  “It’s our first time doing this. We’re not exactly sure how this works,” Kemo informed the employees at the shooting range. After some brief instructions, the employees handed Kemo some large clear plastic protection glasses, target paper, and some huge ear muffs. Kemo handed back the glasses and ear muffs and said, “We won’t need these.”

  Kemo had shot several guns before for fun and never did he need those items. Sure, the ringing in the ears was annoying, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Plus, he wanted Jasmine to experience it the way it would be if she ever had to use it.

  The employees only smiled as Kemo and Jasmine stepped outside to the shooting area. They hung up the target paper, loaded the gun, and waited for the okay to open fire. When the okay to begin shooting was given, Kemo pointed and released a shot. His head shook slightly and his ears began ringing louder than ever before. “Aw man!” hollered Kemo as he looked around and saw the cause of the unbarring sound. He stood under an enclosed arc, which trapped the sound of the gun fire. He staggered back to the office and the guys there already had the glasses and muffs ready to be handed back to Kemo. They smiled at each other without saying a word as Kemo resumed target shooting.

  Once a week or so, they would go to the range to practice for the unwanted day when they would have to use the gun to save their lives. Kemo hadn’t yet begun to carry it with him at all times. He wanted to feel one hundred percent sure that if he ever did pull it out, he would use it with confidence and without hesitation. To fulfill that gap of readiness, he decided to take the gun with him somewhere else besides the shooting range. He drove and parked next to a large white building and then thought about what he was about to do. Is it right or wrong to basically prepare to perhaps kill somebody? thought Kemo.

  Seconds later, Kemo was distracted by a familiar looking place. It was like he’d seen it in a past dream or something. He slowly got out of his car and walked over to the building. He recognized it as the church his mother and father used to take him to before they died. He grabbed the large handle of the wide solid oak door and stepped inside. He walked in slowly, trying hard not to make much noise. His sneakers caused a few streaks, but nothing loud enough to alert anyone. Luckily for him though, there was no one in the sanctuary at the time.

  He stopped when he made it to the back center of the church. He scanned the entire church’s interior and observed all the different religious objects that adorned the massive place. He then noticed the most noticeable figure of them all. There was a large wood carved figure of a crucified Jesus Christ in the front top center of the church.

  He turned his attention towards a stain glass window that depicted a warrior angel slaying a demon angel down to a dark pit. Below the window it read, “For even angels in heaven carry savage weapons.”

  Then it can’t be wrong, thought Kemo. His having a weapon of his own to protect him and his family from the evil that walks the earth couldn’t be wrong.

  Kemo lifted his shirt up and pulled out his gun from his waist holster. He walked to a bowl that contained holy water and dipped his fingers in it. He then softly began applying the holy water around his weapon while thinking a short prayer. Please God, bless this instrument of death, so that it may only be used in a righteous manner. I don’t wish to hurt or kill anyone, but I feel I must protect my family from the evil of this world. I ask for your guidance. Thank you, Father, Amen.

  Kemo couldn’t believe he was actually standing there in church. Even more so, he couldn’t understand the force that had brought him there. God hadn’t protected his mother and father, so why did he think God would protect him and his family?

  “What have I got to lose?” Kemo surmised out loud. He then turned to leave with his gun still in hand. When he completely turned around, a priest stood there to greet him.

  The priest spotted the gun then said softly, “Son, what are you doing?”

  Kemo was stunned. The priest had a confused look to his face, mixed with one of concern. Kemo quickly ran pass the priest and yelled back, “Sorry, father.” Kemo got in his car and drove off in a hurry.

  Many months passed by and Kemo carried his gun with him every single day of those months. Whether at the supermarket, at the laundry, the movies or the park, he was always ready to draw down. It was the most sane choice in a crazy world Kemo felt.

  One year later, Kemo’s choice to be judge, jury, and executioner was finally put to the test. It was on a late Friday night. Kemo and Jasmine were returning home from a friend’s birthday party. They both had been drinking and smoking a little, but they’d convinced themselves and their friends that it wasn’t enough for them not to be able to drive back home. Only a few blocks from their house, they were forced to stop at a railroad crossing. Several cars were lined up; all waiting for the slow train to completely pass through. Kemo noticed a caprice classic packed with many passengers right in front of him. He could feel the vibration of the sound the car’s loud audio system was making.

  A short time later, a car behind Kemo grew tired of waiting and abruptly turned his wheels to the left, then punched the gas pedal hard. In his attempt to quickly make a u-turn, the driver hit Kemo’s left side bumper, causing Kemo to then, in turn, hit the car in front of him.

  The driver behind Kemo panicked and continued driving off. Kemo, the Caprice’s driver, and its passengers all stepped out at the same time. Kemo took a few steps toward the driver as he began explaining what had happen.

  “The guy behind me hit me and-” Kemo was cut off, not by words, but by a punch to the face that was delivered by the driver of the Caprice. Kemo dropped to the ground from the unexpected punch. The passengers then ran next to Kemo and began kicking him hard while he was on the ground.

  Jasmine le
aped out and began shouting, “Stop hitting him. He didn’t do anything. It’s not his fault.”

  “Shut up,” said one of the passengers, then struck Jasmine in the face with a gun that he had pulled out from behind his back.

  After watching the mother of his daughter, the woman he had come to love throughout the years, collapse to the dirty street, Kemo was able to slightly focus better due to a blend of fury and sadness. He couldn’t believe that what had happened to his parents was somewhat replaying itself again with him and his woman.

  Several people, who had witnessed the deaths of his parents, had told police of the gunman pointing his weapon at them. The police informed Kemo’s grandma, who in turn told him about it. That story was just replaying itself over and over in Kemo’s mind. Kemo wasn’t going to let what happened to his parents, happen to him and Jasmine. But the question was; would God let history repeat itself?

  Chapter Five

  Kemo crawled back a few feet from his attackers and then lifted up his t-shirt and yanked out his gun. He flipped the safety off, pointed, and pulled back on the trigger with more force than was needed. Two bullets struck the driver. The first entered his thigh because Kemo was shooting from the ground. When Kemo raised the gun higher, the second bullet pierced his upper right shoulder.

  All the self training Kemo had given himself at the shooting range was of no use at that moment. Kemo was unwillingly aiming blindly at his targets. Everything was happening too fast for him to take the time to slow down, focus, and aim properly. The driver of the Caprice limped quickly back to his car while holding his bleeding shoulder as Kemo continued to shoot at his buddies. The guy who had struck Jasmine ducked and ran for cover. Every bullet after the first two missed their targets.

  Once back inside his car, the driver franticly turned the car on and moved the gear to drive. The first passenger to reach the back door yanked it open and threw himself inside, as did the others. They all piled up on top of one another in the back seat of the Caprice. Kemo’s tiny torpedoes blew out the back window of the Caprice. Kemo’s gun soon ran out of rounds.