3. Asaiah
Beep. Beep.
"Hold on, Dominic. I have another call coming in," I say when fast chirps sound in my ear.
Since my day didn't contain much of anything, I took advantage of the opportunity to work from my home office instead of going into the office. Prior to the line beeping, Dominic and I had been discussing a few things I had to do over the next week.
"Asaiah Harrison speaking, how may I help you?" I answer the incoming call without checking the caller ID.
"I know who you are. You ain't gotta be all formal with me, son." Dad's booming voice echoes in my ear like he's speaking through a megaphone, instantly tanking my mood.
"My bad. I was in the middle of something and didn't look at my phone before answering. How are you, Dad?"
Attempting to pacify my father is more for his benefit than mine because Andre Harrison has no problem reminding me who he is to me. For a man who has caused their child a childhood full of issues, you would think his aggression would be nonexistent. However, Dad can have a throat full of crack vapor and still find a reason to be offended by me not respecting him. It's absurd since I have gone above and beyond the call of duty to respect my parents. Yet, I digress.
"That's actually why I'm calling. Your mom and I are over here with our stomachs touching our backs. I need you to bring us some food when you finish slaving for the man."
A frown instantly forms, and my forehead wrinkles with my temple pulsing because I put food in their fridge, freezer, and cabinets about a week ago.
"Hold on." Pulling the phone from my ear, I return to my other line without another word. "Let me call you back, Dominic."
"Sure thing, boss," Dominic says.
My nostrils flare, and my blood boils epically when Dominic disconnects, leaving me to return to the call with my father.
"What the fuck are you doing all that panting and shit for?" Dad asks.
I didn't realize the phone automatically resumed our call, so his aggressive tone forced me to probe for answers. My plan was to take a couple of seconds to try to control my reaction to his information before resuming the conversation.
"Where did the food go that I bought y'all not even a week ago?" I ask, ignoring his attitude.
"A lady in the building bought that stuff from Val when we put an ad on the bulletin board in the lobby. Our money was funny, and we had to get our fix."
Disconnecting the call without another word, the volcano within my stomach erupts, and before I know what's happening, my fists slams into the wall next to my desk several times. The instant dent matches the zing of pain shooting from my hands up my forearms, yet the fog within my brain makes it difficult for me to reel myself in.
"Of… all… the selfish… fucking—" My words and fists accompany the punches to the wall before my fingers begin to become numb, forcing me to stop.
The instant throbbing in my hands and forearm has my gaze assessing the damage I self-consciously caused myself. Water slips from the corners of my eyes because my parents never consider their actions, and I'm always responsible for cleaning up the mess they make.
"Now, God, I know what your word says, but this burden is starting to become heavy," I say over the lump in my throat.
With the precision of someone new to typing, I slowly peck out Dominic's number because I'm going to need medical care and am unable to drive from the swelling quickly taking over my hands. Blood runs down my hand, and my gaze gets lost in the crimson when the ringing sounds around the room.
"Hello."
"Can you come to my house, please? I need you to drive me to the emergency room because I’ve injured my dominant hand which will prevent me from driving myself," I say when Dominic answers the call a minute later.
* * *
"Hello, my name is Onesti, and I'll be taking you to?—"
The soft, sensuous voice enters my subconscious, forcing me out of the haze the pain meds had put me in.
Seconds became minutes while my mind caught up to my brain because my eyes were assessing the woman wearing mint green scrubs. Her short blonde bob, perfectly shaped brows, slender nose, high cheekbones, and thin lips with a light brown sheen have me in a trance. The light in Ms. Onesti's eyes instantly comforts my weary soul and speaks to the places within me that few are privileged to see. My breaths become slow while my pulse races, and my chest feels like it's expanding with every second my eyes peer into this woman's face.
"Are you okay, Mr. Harr?—"
"Asaiah. Please call me Asaiah," I insist, cutting her off while desperately trying to give us some common ground since she provided her first name upon entering.
Onesti's slender neck contradicts how her clothes fight to contain the curves of her hips, which has me imagining what she looks like without the confinement of her garments.
This is no way for a man of God to be thinking, Asaiah.
The chastisement of my conscience does little to thwart the thoughts plaguing my mind about the beauty pushing a wheelchair toward me.
"Let me help you. I don't want you to hurt yourself anymore. It looks excruciating," Onesti says, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Yeah. The wall in my home office won the battle between us," I say, shaking my head.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Let's get your images so they can get you patched up."
Waiting with her hands resting on the arms of the chair, Onesti gives me time to sit before leading me out of the room.
"Did they give you something for the pain? With your swelling, I imagine it's painful," Onesti says.
The cold and sterile hall we're walking through causes a shiver from the unwelcoming atmosphere. This is my first time in this situation, which is often surprising after dealing with the people responsible for my existence. Yet Mom would frequently tell me that hospital visits were a luxury we didn't have, so I needed to do everything necessary to prevent the inconvenience. If I could get reimbursement for this visit, I would send it to them, but since their expenses are being taken care of by me, it would be pointless.
"The nurse gave me a little something to take the edge off but said the doctor would hold off giving me more until they know what they're dealing with." My face contorts when I look at my hand, and the reminder of what led me to this moment returns to me.
The haze of the Onesti's presence becomes fleeting the longer I stare at the destruction my parents' actions have caused. Throughout my life, I have been able to handle each obstacle I've had by concealing my anger and praying without ceasing. Yet, the knowledge of the selfish actions sent me spiraling in a way I couldn't prevent. I have been holding onto the many ways my mom and dad have let me down but today took the cake. For them to trade their groceries for a fix let me know that they didn't care about what it meant once the smoke cleared. Then again, why should they when I have been coming to their rescue since long before I was capable of making the decision to do so?
Biting on my inner cheek, I fight the urge to release the emotions within the hidden parts of me I've buried inside. I have never been able to live a normal life nor been given any form of appreciation for my efforts. Imagine becoming your parents' caretaker when they aren't elderly or dealing with sickness.
Drugs are a form of sickness, though.
A growl simmers at the back of my throat from the statement in my mind because while Andre and Valerie have been addicts for the bulk of my life, I feel like they're anything but sick. In my opinion, having children should have been the remedy to whatever demon they were fighting. I might have been able to understand their plight had Mom not taken nine months off to deliver Annalise healthily. Whatever willpower Mom had to do that should have been adopted to stay clean post-delivery. Yet, here I am again, bearing the weight of their selfish decisions. Neither of them had considered me once in my entire life but considering them has been my life's work.
When will somebody care about or consider me God? When will ? —
"We're here. If you can?—"
"Don't touch me," I instantly snap, frowning at the unexpected hand touching my shoulder.
"I'm sorry. C-can you move to the chair in front of the machine so I can get your films?" Onesti's voice is shaky, and her eyes are looking at everything but me, which has me mentally chastising myself.
Dang, did you have to go all crazy guy on her? Now she won't look at you. Way to go, Asaiah.
* * *
"How are you, brother Harrison?"
"Man, this is a house call. Please call me Asaiah," I say to Pastor Reece.
A wide smirk slides into place before Pastor Reece pulls me into a one-arm embrace while patting me on the back.
"You know, I had to find a reason to mess with you. For real, though, how are you? Your call yesterday caught me off guard a little. Is that the reason for your call?" Nodding toward the bandage on my right hand, Pastor Reece's eyes peer intently into me.
On my way home from the hospital, I called Pastor Reece to see if his schedule was open today. After snapping at Onesti and not being able to hear her voice or receive the presence of her brown eyes, my guilt led me to seek counsel from my pastor. When I dang near bit Dominic's head off for slightly bumping my hand, I knew talking to Pastor Reece was necessary. Over the years, Pastor Reece has not only been the person shepherding my spiritual life but he's also become a friend and mentor.
"Honestly, I'm not doing great. I also must have put the strength of my power into this hand because my left is just bruised," I say, looking at my hands and the aftermath of yesterday's events.
"So, what's going on? Talk to me," Pastor Reece says, taking a seat in the recliner across from my sectional.
"Yesterday had been going so well, and in the blink of an eye, along with a single call from my dad, everything went to hell. I thought I could handle everything because they've been giving me crap most of my life, yet Dad's selfish request had me spiraling and treating my wall like Evander Holyfield preparing for a match." The thickness in my throat and the heat colliding with the tingling in my face prevent me from uttering another word.
Unable to see whatever look Pastor Reece might be wearing, I stare at the muted TV while working to ignore my urge to look at my pastor.
"Psalm 50:15 says: And call upon me in the day of trouble: I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me. I understand that the weight you're carrying feels impossible to bear, yet in the day or, in your case, days of trouble, you've neglected to call on the one capable of delivering you. Out of your mouth, you said you let the situation place you in a state of continuous pain simply because you chose the wrong escape route. Punching the wall wasn't the answer, Asaiah. Seeking the Father was, and while the damage is done, the remedy is still available to you. You have access to the Father… seek him first, the Kingdom of God, and all these things will be added unto you. Don't let your anger become the response to this battle. Let God be your guide."
The water I've been trying to contain slips from my eyes, and I hang my head, biting my lip to prevent myself from wailing like a hungry newborn. Pastor Reece will always get my respect because he's a straight shooter. In the wake of yesterday, the last thing I need or want is to be coddled.