by Dijorn Moss
He saw all the endless footprints in the sand and thought about the poem “Footprints.” He loved the last line of the poem, where the author sees a single set of footprints, and how that was when God carried him.
“Lord, I’m looking for you to carry me today.” Chauncey lifted his hands up in praise.
While his eyes were closed, Chauncey imagined his brother lying in his hospital bed. In the midst of crashing waves and the smell of seaweed, Chauncey contemplated how sin was completing its work with Henry. The scary thing was that Chauncey did not feel anything for his brother. He was not even concerned with his brother’s soul burning in eternal fire. In Chauncey’s mind, he had done all and sacrificed all for his brother. The turning point came a year ago when Henry barged into Chauncey’s home uninvited.
“Get out of here, Henry.” Chauncey pointed at the door.
Henry continued to ravage through the living room of Chauncey’s home, breaking anything that was not of value.
“I need the money.” Henry smashed a porcelain vase. “They going to kill me unless I have it.”
Chauncey was petrified with anger and fear. His baby brother was possessed. He seemed demonic and hell-bent on destroying himself and anyone who stood in his way. “You need Jesus. The devil’s got a hold on you.”
“I need the money! I promise I’ll get help afterward.”
“That’s what you always say, but it’s all lies.”
Henry began to rub his head as if voices in his head were getting louder and louder.
“You know it would break Momma’s heart to see you like this. Let me help you,” Chauncey pleaded.
Henry stopped his pacing and then locked eyes with the gold necklace around Chauncey’s neck. The chain was a gift from Chauncey’s mother. It did not carry much value in Henry’s case, but, nevertheless, it was priceless to Chauncey. A chill crept along Chauncey’s spine. He recognized the look on Henry’s face. It was the same look his father used to get whenever he craved something to support his heroin addiction. That same looked caused Chauncey’s father to beat his mother’s head into a kitchen counter until she gave him all of her valuable jewelry. All except the cross that she gave to a twelve-year-old Chauncey, who was too badly beaten to protect his mother.
Twenty years ago, their father ran up a debt with a drug dealer that he couldn’t pay, so he took his own life and his wife’s life as well. A fit of rage left the children without any parents. It had been twenty years since Chauncey’s melancholic ascension to patriarch of his family; he now confronted his brother, who had the same demonic look.
“Don’t you even think about it,” Chauncey said as he tucked his chain into his shirt.
Henry rushed over to Chauncey as he retreated into a corner. Henry reached for Chauncey’s chain and Chauncey tried as best he could to keep Henry from getting it. But he felt the chain break apart, and despite how hard he fought, Henry was the stronger of the two.
“Let go, Henry,” Chauncey pleaded.
Henry responded to Chauncey’s pleas with his fist. Chauncey felt his nose fracture and his air disrupt. Before he could recover, Chauncey received a punch in the stomach and he fell to the floor. Henry took the chain, along with a couple of other valuables.
Chauncey made a vow that he would not ever allow his brother to get within arm’s reach again. He no longer trusted him and would not stick his neck out for him. The thought of the vow filled Chauncey with so much rage that he closed his Bible and bent it until it resembled a scroll.
He placed the Bible to his lips and tears streamed down his face. He had been kicking his brother out for his entire life and always opening the door for Henry to come back in.
Now he found himself in a position where he did not want to open the door for his own brother. In his heart, he kind of enjoyed his brother’s suffering, because he’d lost so much behind Henry and it was time for his brother to feel the consequences for his actions. Chauncey knew that this was not a way for a Christian to feel. Only God could change both his mind and his heart.
Jamal was too active to sit still and pray. He arose Saturday morning to find that Chauncey had already gotten up and left. Jamal threw on his gray sweats and white cut-off shirt as he headed out the door. He started jogging along the shore. The icy air gave him the confidence that his body temperature would balance out with the strong wind. He passed by Chauncey, who sat along the rocks with his Bible rolled up in his hands. His lungs started to burn as he remembered to breathe in and out. He could not shake the advice that Quincy had given him in the car; it bothered him like a hangnail. He thought about how he got mixed up in the situation. He only put together partial images of what had happened that night.
“It’s cracking at this club tonight,” Clay said while he danced to the music.
“Yeah, it’s full of dime pieces.” Jamal surveyed the landscape of the club.
Everyone on the dance floor was coated in candy apple red neon lights as they danced to Dr. Dre’s “The Next Episode.” Jamal and Clay made their way to the bar. They squeezed their way through tight, curvaceous women, and once they arrived at the bar, they nudged each other to notice that the bartender was cute.
She had a face too young to be a bartender and hair that was wild and curly. “What can I get you gentlemen?”
“Coke and Hen,” Clay said.
“A screwdriver,” Jamal said.
“Drinks are on me, Jamal,” Clay said.
“Good looking!” Jamal replied.
Moments later, the bartender returned with the drinks. She took Clay’s one hundred dollar bill and examined it in the light. After Clay got back his change, he and Jamal held up the glasses.
“Live like a man,” Clay said.
“Or die like a coward,” Jamal replied.
Jamal made Clay think that they were at the club to celebrate life. True, he and his best friend were living the life that people would not expect two kids from Long Beach to live. Jamal had just landed a good-paying job, and Clay was preparing to become a dad to the child of his longtime girlfriend, Chantel.
Truth be told, Jamal was not sure if the club would be the best place to confess to Clay that he’d slept with Chantel. It had only been one time and he had vowed not to tell Clay. In fact, it was possible that Jamal may have been the father of Chantel’s baby.
His conscience convicted him day and night until he had to confess to his friend.
“You ever think about getting married?” Jamal asked his best friend.
“Never! Pimps don’t get married, they just change up.”
A sable-complexioned woman, wearing a purple dress that hugged her frame, passed by. Jamal’s and Clay’s eyes followed her.
“You better handle that,” Clay said.
Jamal had just started to reconnect with his faith. As a kid, he used to go to church with his grandmother. He stopped going to church after high school. He never stopped believing in God, he just believed that he did not have to go to church to experience God. After having attended a three-on-three basketball tournament at Greater Anointing, he reconsidered growing closer to God.
“Let me ask you something,” Jamal said to Clay.
“Man, not now, I’m trying to rub on something.” Clay started dancing.
“That’s what I wanted to ask you. What’s up with you and Chantel?”
Clay stopped dancing. “What you mean?”
“Are y’all together or what?”
“Why, you trying to take her from me? I’m letting you know right now, you ain’t got the heart to pull her from me. You never had it in you.”
Jamal’s pride was under attack. His best friend since the fourth grade was questioning his manhood. He was supposed to be a Christian, but right now he did not feel like turning the other cheek.
“Oh, I’m man enough!” Jamal snapped back.
“Please! You wouldn’t know what to do with her. You can’t handle a woman like her,” Clay said.
“Apparently I can, since I’
ve been hitting that while you’re at work. And from what she tells me, you often come up Mugsey Booges.”
The Mugsey Booges was an indication that Clay came up short in the sexual department. It took a moment for Clay to register Jamal’s words. He pushed Jamal and Jamal pushed Clay into a short guy with braids.
When Jamal and Clay turned around they saw that the guy was wobbly.
“Say ‘excuse me,’ fam,” the guy ordered.
“What you mean excuse me?” Clay snapped back.
Clay was notorious for his anger, so Jamal grabbed him by the arm. For a brief moment, Jamal knew he had control of his friend. But Clay fought his arm away from Jamal and the little guy pushed Clay.
“What up now?” the guy asked.
Clay wasted no time and threw a haymaker that connected with the guy’s jaw. The guy fell back like bowling pins. Jamal lurched forward and punched the guy, who tried to take a swing at Clay.
The entire crowd constricted; guys and girls tried to make their way outside. Jamal’s sole focus was on leaving the club in one piece. They at least accomplished that, and made their way to the parking lot where Clay’s Camry sat.
“Give me the keys,” Jamal demanded.
“Don’t say nothing to me, just get in,” Clay replied.
“We ain’t got time for this. Give me the keys!”
Clay did not usually let anyone drive his car. Jamal knew it was not smart to drive in the car with someone who had drunk as much as Clay. For whatever reason, Clay handed over his keys to him. Maybe it was Clay’s anger or the alcohol that made him realize that he was in no condition to drive. Whatever the reason, Jamal was grateful. He just continued to pray that everyone in the car would make it home in one piece. They were posted at the light for a minute. Awkward silence dominated the moment.
“How long?” Clay asked.
How long? That was all he asked, and from Clay’s body language, Jamal was sure that the light could go from red to green several times before Clay would utter another word.
“It’s been a minute. It just happened.”
“Just happened!” Clay punched the window twice. “You’re supposed to be my boy. Bros before hoes. Remember?”
“I love her,” Jamal said somberly.
“You love her? That’s my girl! That’s the mother of my child. I trusted you. I loved you, man.”
Jamal knew his best friend was hurt. He and Clay were both secure in their masculinity, so it did not bother them to verbally express their love for one another. But they chose to reserve the expression for pivotal moments. This occasion reminded Jamal that in being with the woman he loved, he had hurt the friend he loved as well.
Just then, a car came up alongside the passenger side of the Camry. The windows rolled down and guns emerged from the vehicle. The assailants shot up the Camry. Blood splattered on Jamal’s face like someone had just shaken a can of soda and opened it. Clay absorbed all of the shots as the car sped away. This was not happening. Jamal’s best friend was breathing one moment, and now he lay lifeless, covered in blood.
Jamal sped away with his vision clouded by red: the red of his best friend’s blood and the red for the rage he felt.
The nearest hospital was less than a block away, but it seemed like a thousand miles. Jamal hit the accelerator until it reached the floor. He had to make it, even though he knew that his friend probably would not make it. An hour later, the blood on Jamal’s shirt had dried. His best friend was gone and had left his bullet-riddled shell behind.
Jamal’s mind never gave him a reprieve from that moment. He knew his friend’s death was the result of retaliation, the code of the streets. But Jamal questioned whether he could respect a code that would leave an unborn child without his father. Jamal’s decision to become a dedicated Christian was birthed out of his desire to live at a higher code.
Chapter Twenty
By the time Will woke up, his room was empty. He’d had trouble sleeping last night, so he was not surprised that he was up earlier than normal. At 8:45 A.M., Will assumed the push-up position and formed his hands like triangles, and began a set of thirty push-ups. By the time he finished his third set, the muscles in his shoulders and chest had tightened and were burning.
Will took a shower with hot pressure to relax his muscles. While in the shower, he tried to figure out what was going on in his life. For the first time he was not burdened with a sense of having to look over his shoulder. He had no other life than a life of crime. Stealing cars was his one and only skill. He had been baptized in it and it was the only thing his father had taught him.
Will could count on one hand how many times he’d cried. One of them had been when his father was sentenced to ten years. The toothpaste fell from Will’s lips and he snapped out of his daydream. In the last ten years he’d looked up to his father and loved him deeply. His father taught Will how to think ahead, see the angles of a situation, and how to stack his money. In regard to money, his father taught him that it rained more than it was sunny for a black man. So he’d taught him to put money away for a rainy day. His father proved to be a better teacher. Will had yet to see the inside of a prison cell.
However, the feelings that Will had been in touch with lately were dangerous, because they made him feel vulnerable. In fact, this whole trip was dangerous, because it was opening him up to a new world. Still, Will figured that it was better to quit while he was ahead.
Will spotted the belongings of the gullible Chauncey, who had left his wallet and car keys in plain sight. He did not want to steal from a man who would rather take him to a church event than jail; but it was innate in Will’s nature to exploit any kind of generosity. Will grabbed the keys from the nightstand and removed $300 from his wallet.
He threw on a puffy coat and exited the cabin. Will was greeted by a powerful sun that pushed through the clouds.
The warmth of the sun levitated his soul as he inhaled the seaweed from the beach and listened to birds. Even the tall green grass acknowledged the sun’s presence and waved to it. Will closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“Young man?”
Will opened his eyes and saw it was Pastor Dawkins. He was with two guys, who he assumed were his bodyguards.
“What up, Pastor?” Will said.
“Nothing much.” Pastor Dawkins held out his fist and Will bumped it. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind joining us for breakfast; I hear the pancakes are off the hook.”
Will and Pastor both shared a laugh at such a lame effort on Pastor’s part to sound cool, but Will needed to get out of town before Chauncey came back.
“I’m not really a morning person, Pastor,” Will replied.
Pastor Dawkins’s countenance changed. He wasn’t angry; he was more disappointed than anything else. It was like he looked forward to spending time with Will.
“Not even waffles?” Pastor Dawkins asked.
Will could not hold back the laughter. Maybe he could get one more meal in before he left. It wasn’t like his family missed him. He knew Joshua did, but it was important that Joshua learn how to stand on his own when he was not around. His mother couldn’t care less, and his sister was too young to understand anything. Will also knew that he would have to answer to D-Loc after flaking on him the other night. Despite everything that told him not to stay too long in this place, Will could not leave.
“That’s what’s up! Let me just drop something off in the room right quick.” Will did not even wait for Pastor Dawkins’s response. He entered his room and made a beeline toward Chauncey’s nightstand.
He could not believe that he was actually about to return something that he stole. He removed the money from his pocket and placed it back into Chauncey’s wallet. After Will set the keys down next to the wallet, he headed out the door and locked it.
“Sorry about that, Pastor Dawkins.” Will began to walk alongside Pastor Dawkins.
“Now, tell me, Will, where are you from?” Pastor Dawkins asked.
“Lo
ng Beach, by Jordan High School.”
“Oh yes, I’m very familiar with that area. It can, at times, be very difficult for a young man such as yourself to grow up.”
Will found Pastor Dawkins’s voice very soothing. He treaded through a sandy sidewalk, but was not in a rush to go anywhere.
“Where I’m from cats do what they have to do. It’s hard out there, Pastor.”
“Indeed it is. That’s why we must rely on the scripture that says we are more than conquerors. That means that we do not have to be dictated by our circumstances, but with God we can overcome any circumstances.”
Will had never heard anyone talk with such conviction. Pastor Dawkins seemed like a man empowered by his faith and not weakened.
“Is there anything that you desire to do with your life?” Pastor Dawkins stopped and asked.
No one had asked Will a question like that since his high school guidance counselor. There was a period of time when Will gave school a chance, and he would have graduated from high school with a 3.0, but his father went away to prison again and Will could not stand to see his family struggle. He thought about going to Long Beach City College, but the needs of his family were too great for him to waste time with school.
“I mean, I love to cut hair, and I thought about maybe one day owning my own barber shop. I don’t know,” Will stated.
“Are you any good?” Pastor Dawkins asked while rubbing his head.
“Oh, for sure!” Will agreed. “I cut my brother’s and homies’ hair all the time.”
“Then maybe later tonight before the main service we can put those skills to use,” Pastor Dawkins said.
“All right, bet,” Will said with exuberance.
Will was honored that this pastor was willing to give him that one thing he rarely had: a chance. More than a conquer. He liked that! Maybe there was something to being a Christian after all.
