5. Asaiah
Rumbling from my stomach forces me out of the deep sleep I've been in for countless hours. Sitting up in bed, I look from left to right, and the darkness surrounding me lets me know it's nighttime. After getting home from school and tending to Mom, whose glassy eyes met me at the front door, I laid down for a quick reprieve. Fatigue must have taken over because I didn't plan on falling asleep.
?
Don't look so sad
I know it's over
?
Hearing Al Green's voice crooning underneath my bedroom door, I clench my teeth tight because he's the artist my mom and dad play while engaging in their smoke sessions. The loud grumbles from my stomach have me throwing the blankets off my body while trying to mask the sound of my steps. Moving through the apartment silently is necessary because I don't feel like dealing with Mom or Dad while they smoke their pipe. Turning the knob, I peek out, looking left then right, and exhale upon seeing the coast being clear. As softly as possible, I tiptoe toward the kitchen, my chest beating wildly and Al Green's voice getting louder.
?
Lay your head
On my pillow, sweet baby
?
Lord, if you're listening pl ? —
"There's my baby. Come and dance with me, Asaiah." Mom's voice stops me in my tracks and instantly spikes my blood pressure.
My eyes bulged, my pulse raced, and my forehead beaded with perspiration. I turned to see Mom swaying offbeat to the song playing loudly around the living room. Dad wasn't paying me attention because he was focusing on inhaling the vapor from the pipe resting between his ashy lips.
"Dance with Mama, baby," Mom says, pulling me into her body, and I stiffen like a mummy from our close proximity.
Biting my lip, I allow Mom to rock my body from side to side while she caresses my head, slowly moving downward, inciting my urge to flee.
"Here, Val," Dad's voice sounds behind me, and my eyes shift to Mom, who's now receiving the pipe in her mouth.
Neither cares about the child between them, while Mom inhales the smoke after Dad lights the end of the glass barrel.
God, please make me rich so I can buy a plane and fly far, far, away. God, please make me rich so I can buy a plane and fly far, far, away.
"That was 'For The Good Times' by Al Green. We'll be right back after this commercial break," the radio host says, snapping me out of the memory I had unconsciously fallen into when the song started playing.
Running my hand down my face, I remove the water I didn't realize was present before turning my vehicle off and exiting. My breathing is choppy, and my mind is reeling, trying to return to normal after a weighty memory. With my head down and focusing on the cracking pavement, I move toward the front entrance robotically. Not wanting to be seen, I have on a baseball cap, stonewashed jeans, a black shirt, and all-black tennis shoes. Yanking on the front door, I enter the building with a frown and swiftly move to the bank of elevators. My stomach is flipping, and my disposition is sour from the aftermath of the resurfacing of something I wish I could forget. Like it's been waiting for my arrival, the elevator door opens, and I step inside.
"Hold the door, please," a vaguely familiar but soft feminine voice calls out, forcing me to push the button to prevent the door from closing.
Really, God? You play all day.
"Oh, hi. Do you remember me? My name is?—"
"Onesti," I say, cutting her off while the elevator door closes, and she steps to the left of the car.
The elevator begins to ascend, and nearly a second into its uphill movement, it jerks instantly, furrowing my brows.
"Please do—" Onesti's words halt when the elevator makes a weird noise, answering whatever statement she is about to make.
Anntt. Anntt.
The elevator whines before halting, and my eyes balloon before I glance over at Onesti to see her shaking her head.
"Did this thing just get stuck?" I ask the rhetorical question.
"Mhm. You might as well get comfortable because this happens several times a week, and it's gonna take them a while to get us out of here," Onesti says before sitting on the floor and pulling her large bag in front of her.
"Several times a week?"
"Oh yeah. This isn't my first rodeo with this elevator. Do you want some?"
My mouth opens and closes like a fish when Onesti pulls a sandwich from her bag while extending it toward me. Her gaze is on the bag, from which her free hand removes a small baggie full of chips.
"Are you serious right now?" I ask, frowning.
"Yeah, why don't you take a load off? I'm serious. We'll be here a while, so we might as well get familiar with one another. Do you want half of my sandwich? It's turkey and chicken breast with a slice of provolone and a dab of mustard to keep it from being dry. It's delicious, and the meat is fresh from the deli," Onesti says.
Joining Onesti on the floor, I scoot back until my back rests against the wall while my eyes rake over the woman sitting across from me. Her eyes intently watch me, with one hand holding the sandwich and the other holding the chips.
"I also have a Tahitian Treat in my bag that I'm willing to share. You can have a waterfall because I don't know where you like to put your mouth. It's a nice… oh shoot?—"
Onesti hangs her head from the near slip of her tongue, causing a smirk to upturn my lips.
This woman probably has no clue how much her spirit causes mine to leap. Why is my chest pounding like I'm at an HBCU band competition? Sheesh. Turn my body loose, Ms. Onesti.
"Um, why are you staring at me like that, Asaiah?" Onesti asks, and my eyes flutter like I've been in a trance.
Flutter? Nigga, what? Use flutter in a sentence. When have you ever used this girlie word? Maybe you need to seek medical attention when you get out of here because the anxiety over being in this space for five minutes is clouding your brain.
"Asaiah?"
Lord, please tell this temptress to stop calling my name so heavenly. I'm already hanging on by a thread.
"Wh-what are you here for?"
Nigga, from fluttering to stuttering… wow, this is wild.
Swallowing, I work to quiet the thoughts from my conscience while breaking the stare-down between Onesti and me. My dick is twitching, causing me to shift slightly to remove the pressure mounting. The temperature within this shaft is heating epically, and so is my body from close proximity, which is anything but foreign for me to have with a woman.
"I'm here for a survivors' group. Hopefully, I'll still have time to go when they get us out of here. What brings you here? This is a remote building, and most people aren't aware of its existence."
Onesti is right about her claim because the outside of the building almost looks abandoned, yet it's the perfect place for the meeting I'm here for.
"NA meeting," I say vaguely, and the frown on Onesti's lips causes me to provide additional information. "Not for me."
"Hm. I'm attending a survivors' group to provide support to people like me who struggle with the loss of someone they love. I'm not here to judg?—"
"Your frown said you were totally judging me, which isn't very Christian-like of you."
"Who said I was a Christian?"
Cute and spicy. Interesting combination, Ms. Onesti.
The tone in which Onesti asks her question has me smirking because the angelic tone she usually has when speaking goes and stands in the corner. The unconscious furrow within her brows and the pout of displeasure showing on her mouth have me throwing my hands up in surrender.
"I don't want no smoke with you, but last I read in the Good Book, if you deny Him before men, He will also deny you before His Father. I would rather deny that I know you than Him. Yet, I digress," I say, shrugging.
"Well, you better put me in my place then, man of God. Where do you worship?" A bright smile forms and her smooth brown skin glows, causing my heart to skip a beat.
"Proud member of Pursuing His Glory Ministries."
"Oh yeah… Pastor Lorenzo Reece. He's a bomb preacher and teacher."
"That he is, amongst other things," I comment at her familiarity with my pastor and church. "How about you? Where do you attend? I'm not believing a woman with scripture knowledge doesn't attend church."
"Hm. Never assume because even Satan knows the Word."
"Touché, Ms. Onesti."
"All kidding aside, I belong to All Things New Pentecostal Church. My pastor is Josh Lincoln."
"Say less. There's nothing like a woman of faith who also has knowledge of scripture. You're alright with me."
* * *
"Thanks for entertaining conversation with me, Asaiah. See you around." Onesti smiles with a quick finger wave before going in the opposite direction.
"Thanks for being the person stuck with me, Onesti. If our paths should cross again, I look forward to the opportunity," I lowly reply to her, retreating back, knowing she's unable to hear me.
The overwhelming heat that's been coursing through my body the entire time I've been in Onesti's presence begins to become bearable, not to mention the thoughts of sticking my dick in a frozen bucket of ice water to keep my erection from making its presence known. I have never been around a woman whose conversation made me at peace, like exchanging talk with Onesti. This was after she practically fed me the other half of her sandwich when my stomach started growling loudly.
"Now, why are you acting prideful when your stomach sounds like a hibernating bear? My goodness. Here, take a bite." Scooting closer to me until our knees touched, Onesti leaned in, holding the untouched sandwich in front of my mouth.
"I'm n ? —"
"Yes, you are. Take a bite, Asaiah."
Opening my mouth, my heart rate increases when Onesti feeds me the sandwich while nodding with a pleasant smile upturning her lips.
"Good, ain't it?" she asks when I chew the bite I've taken.
"We missed you at the meeting today, Asaiah," one of the attendees of the NA meeting says, returning me to the present.
"Blame the janky elevator. I'll be there next week, though," I respond, heading toward my SUV.
I have been attending NA meetings for the last several months as a way to understand my mom and dad's addiction better. Or at least glean some information from the attendees on ways to help Mom and Dad kick their drug habit. At this point, I'm desperate to do whatever I can to change the trajectory of their lives despite knowing the ball isn't in my court. I honestly should wash my hands of them after my tumultuous life at their hands. Yet, in the deep recesses of my mind is the little boy crying out for the love of his parents.
It doesn't matter that my innocence was taken away from me because Mom or Dad didn't shield me from adult situations. I simply want to see them clean and thriving in this world. It's the one prayer I continue to pray even though God has yet to answer. I feel like, though my mom and dad have forsaken me, it's still my responsibility to hang in here until I no longer have the option. The journey is difficult, painstaking, and exhausting because everyone but me has given up on them. However, I believe that if I don't give up, God will honor my request for their sobriety in His timing.
If God didn't give up on me when I cursed Him for allowing my mom and dad to give birth to me, then surely I shouldn't give up despite the struggle in awaiting their deliverance. Many people call me crazy, including Annalise, yet I'm doing my best to keep the faith and do what neither of my parents have done for me. Honor me. Love me. Shield and shelter me. Believe in me.
Maybe God will allow me to find someone who can hold up my hands while I journey through this unpleasant journey.
He already has.
"Wait, what?"