And after I missed with the first shot and probably pumped enough in me that I should’ve went to the hospital, I looked around the parking lot and scanned to see if anyone was watching me spazz out. I fucking beat the shit out of my steering wheel. Ripped my hat off my head. Pulled at my hair like a maniac. And I cried. I completely lost it.
There’s no worse feeling than when you need something in order to be ok and to not have it.
It’s scary. It’s fucking frightening. The only thing I can think of to make me feel better is gone. I can get more, but that takes time. That takes blood. That takes me risking my freedom. Hurting people. Lying. Stealing. That takes effort. I just want to be better.
So I managed to pull myself together and looked around the parking lot. There were people doing everyday things. The old black lady who was dressed like she was going to church was putting her groceries into her car. The people on the street were trying to get a hack. The dudes selling sticks of deodorant and 3 packs of tube socks were lurking, breathing in that cold air and exhaling that hot breath that I could see from 40 yards away. Everybody seemed to have a task to complete.
And now so did I. I’m bout to go get this money. Somehow. Some way. I double checked to see that I didn’t leave any in the bag. Took a cotton shot. And turned the key.
And of course my car didn’t start.
The other day I was walking in the grocery store with my two sons. We were laughing and my oldest son was trying to get me to buy everything that caught his eye.
“Daddy, these are good. Don’t you think this looks good?”
My youngest son followed suit.
“Daddy, look!!! It’s Lightning McQueen cup! I want that, Daddy”
I say maybe another time and keep on down the aisle. My intent was to get a few things, but like every time I go to the store I end up filling my cart. We got to the registers and started unloading everything. I forgot my youngest son’s favorite cereal so I sent my oldest to go get it. After one failed attempt and a quick pep talk, he came back with the Cinnamon Jacks much to my youngest son’s approval.
“Daddy look, Canaan got those Cinnamon Jacks!”
“Yes, he’s a good big brother, isn’t he, Baby Cakes?”
“Yes, Canaan, you’re a good bruva”
We checked out and got to my car. I put Keegan down and the neighboring car door opened up and two people got out.
This must’ve spooked Keegan because he looked at them and his whole face changed. He was shook and I could tell.
I moved in closer and he spun around to me so quick and rammed himself into my legs and squeezed them tight. He needed my protection.
Now, we know as adults there was nothing to protect him from. We know that everything was fine and he was in no danger.
But he didn’t know that. He only knew that shit just got real and the only thing that could fix the situation was his daddy.
Now….
What if I wasn’t there?
What if I was still shooting dope?
What if I was passed out drunk in a vacant?
What if I was locked up again?
What if I was in yet another rehab?
What if I was just living so selfishly that I was runnin the streets of Baltimore like I used to?
How would he feel?
There’s no worse feeling than when you need something in order to be ok and to not have it.
How frightened would he be then?
I picked him up and kissed him and assured him that everything was fine and strapped him into his seat.
This was not unlike when I was at my worst and G-d assured me that everything was fine and He protected me.
…and He continues to do so…
Even when I don’t see it.