“God had other plans” by A.Dakala

Everyone in the city of Atlanta was so excited about the Super bowl on Sunday. The entire city wore black and red on that Friday before the game. We even had pre-super bowl pot luck at the job, lots of food; you would have thought it was thanksgiving day.

The night before I had took a laxative and as I was leaving the conference room I made a dash for the men’s bathroom. I totally forgot I took those pills, but my stomach quickly reminded me after the second plate of spicy chicken wings and bake beans.  I was sitting in the bathroom all comfortable and like at home, I pulled out my cellphone to surf the internet enjoying the silence, except for the blower that was turned on.

My mom’s name appeared as an incoming call, it was unlike her to call during the day like that, because normally she would call or text me early in the morning. Once I answered and before she could even open her mouth to say anything, my heart fluttered as if something was wrong. “Anthony, Shawn is in the Trauma unit, they just coded her” she said. “What you mean coded her?”, I replied. “They coded her, they don’t have a pulse and they putting her on a breathing machine”.  Not only did I instantly go into shock mode, but my emotions started to get the best of me. I could barely stop my legs from shaking on the toilet. I saw losing my sister Shawn flash before me in seconds, I could not imagine life without her, my mother, father or brother.  She’s the baby of the family.

I went to sit at my desk to catch my breath; one of the ladies in the office saw the pain through my eyes and asked if I was okay.  I did my best in a crackling voice to explain to her, but the trying to talk and gasp for air at the same time was like being scared unexpectedly.  She ran quickly to my manager and he came over to my office and said pack your things I will take you home. I told him I will be okay, I have to go get my sons and drive to South Carolina. He was worried that I couldn’t drive in a emotional state, but i got myself together enough to make it out of the office into my car. I wanted to release all the anger I had inside, so my steering wheel got a beat down like a five second Mike Tyson fight.

I called everyone in my house an explained what was going on and they all was ready to pack and leave.

So i got the family in the car and we are on the road and this is where things got fuzzy for me. It was a three hour drive to South Carolina and until this day, i don’t remember nothing about the drive there. I couldn’t tell you nothing about the conversations in the car, how fast I was going; i do know i wasn’t speeding. I prayed and talked to God the entire road trip and re-assured me that my sister would be just fine. I was behind the wheel of the car, but God was driving the vehicle.

Once we arrived at the hospital around 7 o’clock, my sister was on a breathing tube, it was very hard for me to see her in that state, but God told me he taking care of her. My mom told me before I arrived she was in a medical induced coma for now. I kid you not I wanted to break down. I refuse to leave the hospital until I seen my sister eyes and heard her voice. By 6 o’clock that Saturday morning, I walked over to her bed and grabbed her hand, “Shawn i’m here now, you can wake up, and i’m not leaving until you do”, I said. A hour later, my sister open her eyes, still heavily medicated, she looked over at me. Her eyes were glassy as if she wanted to cry. I still held onto her hand, “this your brother  Anthony” I said. “If you can hear me squeeze my hand”. She squeezed my hand as tight as she could!

Over the next few hours, I saw my sister go from a breathing tube, to opening her eyes, to squeezing my hand, to writing messages on a note pad, to sitting up straight in the bed, to the breathing tube being removed, to talking to everyone that walked in the room to visit her. Man thinking about it now I cried but I knew God had kept his word, and like a receipt to baking a cake, he had a receipt that required steps to his plan. Though my sister got diagnosis with congested heart failure, years later she is still with us and living life, even better than she was before that day. God I thank you and give you all the praise.

This is not just a story, it’s a spiritual uplifting message that my heart witness and produced.

A.Dakala

 

 

 

Fingers crossed under oath by A. Dakala

I truly didn’t give a damn about telling the truth under oath; I raised my right hand with pride put left hand on the Bible and told God to forgive me silently as I close my eyes. I wanted to be picked as a juror as badly as I wanted to hit the lottery. I had some inside connections at the courthouse that made sure my application was put upfront. So when they sent me the letter in the mail; I said yes the day has come for my family to get Justice for my cousin Jelly. See my nickname was peanut butter and anytime you seen me, you seen jelly; peanut butter and jelly, we we’re different but one in the same. The man who murdered my cousin street name was Breadman; Street Hustler, con man, pathological liar but he also was jealous of everything Peanut Butter and Jelly did in the streets. So we set him up and planted evidence that would only make him the prime suspect.

I meant I was nervous the first day the all of the jurors had to check in at the courthouse. I prayed that if they ran a background check on me that I didn’t have any type of open warrants that resurfaced from the years of dirt that me and jelly did growing up. I didn’t care what anybody else in the room decided or did if they was chosen to be a juror, my mind was already made up that his ass would get convicted. I knew this wasn’t going to be a case of a hung jury. I was going to make sure that his ass did his time and if anybody felt like he wasn’t guilty they was going to have to deal with me. I had a back-up plan for a back-up plan that backed up my backup plan. I’ve already spotted out the weakest link in the room some dusty old ass lady hair whiter than snow looking at me from the corner of her eyes. Then there’s this white guy who wouldn’t make eye contact with me probably voted for Donald Trump acting like he was scared as hell, he had bit all of his finger nails down to the fingers.

As they passed around the questionnaire application for everyone to fill out. I raised my head and scanned around the room just to see who was really into filling out the paperwork who I need to keep my eye on. These questions would determine if you would be a good fit or not; I lied on every question that was asked even down to my ethnic group. Hell know I wasn’t just African-American today; no not today. Today I was African-American mixed with whatever the hell they wanted me to be mixed with; I was going to become a juror.

As we all got separated in groups I made sure I did not communicate with a soul in the room. I had my shirt button to the neck like a nerd, I wore reading glasses that I could barely see out of and make sure I didn’t make any eye contact with the deputy that kept peeping his peasy ass head in and out of the door checking on everyone. “Where’s Cabana Sienna?” He asked. I raise my eyebrows and look over the top of my glasses staring at the deputy and slightly raised my finger the signal that I was him. “Come with me” he said. The little dusty ass lady made some sound gesture as I walked by; I looked back at her and rolled my eyes. I wanted to pat my ass at her but she turned looked in the opposite direction.

“Cabana Sienna is everything on your application truthful to the best of your knowledge” the judge said. I had my fingers crossed as my left hand was stuffed in my front pocket; and my right hand raised. The judge gave me a stamped document and a name tag that had my name on it and I was officially Juror number 1 1 1 7.

I had made it to the final stage and considered an official juror in the murder case of De’Angelo “Jelly” Sienna.

On the first day of the murder case this will be the first time that I had seen Jelly’s murderer face to face in court. As I stared at him without blinking an eye; he notice me and in his own words silently uttered the words Butter you up next.

Lawyers for both sides presented their evidence; they either was going to spare his life or take his life and my job was to take his life by all means necessary.

Day two and day three passes with more evidence; more finger pointing and a lot more work that I needed to do. He had no alibi; there was no witnesses.

On the fourth day unexpectedly we were dismissed; there was no evidence presented this day but they did announce that they had a witness that came forward my heart dropped.

On the 5th day as all the jurors who was selected gathered together to talk about the evidence on the murder case; there were a few cops who I didn’t quite remember or recognize that was on the scene 5 years ago. Also the old Dusty lady, the silent racist white guy who couldn’t make eye contact with me and some Asian chick who didn’t have on a name tag, but had a note pad and pen in her hand were the chess pieces of the game. Maybe the Asian chick was there just taking notes or she could have been one of the jurors who knows, who cares I had a job to do; I needed to get somebody’s ass convicted of Jelly’s murder. I was nervous, I started to sweating wondering who was this witness. As I replayed that night back in my head there couldn’t have been a witness it was only me, Breadman and Jelly.

On the 6th day I was pissed because the whole room was undecided; pretty much a split down the middle of a conviction. I stood my ground and tried to convince others who didn’t want to convict, the reason why a conviction was necessary. After nearly six hours, It seemed to have worked as I had planned. Everybody talked as if a conviction was the best solution in the murder case. We were just waiting to give the judge our vote.

We could hear the Deputies walking down the hallway towards the room that we were waiting in. Then the door open an a Deputy stuck his head in the room and said “Butter, Judge Gotcha’ass needs to have a word with you immediately.”

Red Eyes from the Pure White Hennessy by A.Dakala

Its two o’clock in the morning and I’m still up, sitting in my recliner flipping through channels; like a nervous criminal needing a cigarette. Wondering

Yesterday I lost my job; and came home to tell my fiancee but she wasn’t home. As I was walking to the kitchen to grab a beer out of refrigerator; I could hear the vibration of a cellphone buzzing repeatedly. As I get closer to the laundry room I realized as I slide open the door, Melody had left her pocket book sitting on top of the dryer. I reach in and grabbed it, and all of your text messages displayed. The one that should out the most was from someone name Mitch.

Babe I think the card you gave me fell between the headboard and mattress when you had my toes curling; I’ve never came so hard”!

I believe my eyeballs and my brain both was trying to figure out who was running out of my body first as my temper temperature went zero to sixty in one second flat. I pulled the mattress off of the bed, there the card laid. As I open it, I could tell she sprayed her favorite Chanel number 5 perfume that I bought her ass all on the card. Inside was a two dollar visa gift card and a photo of her in a bikini. I took every picture I could of the card and place it back in the same position minus the gift card. I’m spending that shit on me, hell probably my money anyway. As I was walking out the room I had a change of heart, fuck that, I’m taking this shit with me; so I folded the card and put it in my pocket.

I forwarded the texts to my cell phone immediately. I felt like calling up O.J to get his advice on handling the matter but I didn’t know him. W.W.T.D.D I kept saying to myself; what would the devil do. I put the cellphone back in her purse, ran to the front door and got in my car. I was praying I didn’t pass her as I was leaving out of the neighborhood. Once I made it a few blocks over, I called her cellphone as if it was just another random day. I even left a text message asking where was she at. I didn’t want to be spotted riding in circles so i drove over to Bankhead to see if my homeboy Nutty was sitting out on his porch. I figured he would be; as usual playing biz wiz with his seventy year old use to hustle crew. Not sure why their asses were playing for butter scrotch candy none of them had teeth. Hell I didn’t get one step up on the porch until Nutty said; “oh shit, she done broke the niggas heart, talk to me young buck what’s happening”. Yes I was embarrassed as the rest of his teethless grandpa’s about pissed in their clothes laughing. Nutty got up from the dirty record crate and motion me to come inside with him.

I explained to him the situation and all he could do was offer advice. Be a man about the situation, talk it over without being so angry but don’t be nobody’s whimp. Then he went into his top chest drawer and got out his pistol and handed me 8 bullets. I looked up at him and he nodded and walked back outside.

As I was standing there killing time, Melody called an hour pass the to she normally calls. It took so much out of me not to strangle the broad through the fiber optic phone lines; only if I could reach her ass. I told her I would be home shortly that needed to tell her about my day. “Yes I need to tell you about my work day too” she said.

On my way home I couldn’t help but think about her cheating on me, as good as I have been to her. Reading the card over and over I memorize every word, replaying what I thought took place in my head. Imagining the woman I’m about to marry performing oral sex on some random dude. Mentally we have already gotten a divorced. I open my glove compartment and took the pint size bottle of pure white Hennessy and gluzzled it all in twenty seconds. Looked in the rear view mirror and brushed my hair. Put two drops of Bausch and Lomb eye drops in my red eyes to cover up my evil look.

I pulled the card from my pocket and put the address in my GPS. I wasn’t going to just show up on his door steps but I wanted to observe who was capable of fucking up my household and relationship. I wasn’t going to shake his hand or tell him the best man win. I was taught as a youngster that you must first study your prey before you kill it!

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