7. Rakai
Rakai
S everal Weeks Later …
“Good evening, Mr. Crawford. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me.” The reporter from Ribax Chronicles taps my arm with stars in her eyes, causing me to take a step back to prevent direct contact with my body.
The charity gala for Bending Minds, Reshaping Hearts is in its sophomore year, and it’s something that Mr. Bryan suggested Grant put on so the city of Ribax can get involved with the organization’s vision in a subtle way.
Neither Grant nor I wanted to spearhead the event, so Grant assembled a team to handle all the logistics.
At the insistence of Mr. Bryan, I’m the spokesperson for this year’s gala.
Mr. Bryan said it would be great to highlight someone with firsthand knowledge of being in the trenches and living to tell the story, which could showcase the organization’s name at its best. I’m not ashamed of my background, and I agreed to do my part if it meant helping someone else avoid my former lifestyle.
“My pleasure,” I reply.
“Can you tell me and our viewing audience more about the organization?”
“Sure thing. We’re a nonprofit organization focusing on prison reform and reaching those in the community who feel like their only option lies within the cold streets of Baxter County.
We have mentoring programs, counseling, job readiness that include mock interviews, and other programs that speak to the total man who feels like his back is against the wall. ”
“So, your primary focus is on men? You don’t help women newly released from prison?”
The curling of the reporter’s top lip causes a low, humorless chuckle to escape my mouth from the judgment now shining in her eyes.
“Not that we would turn down anyone if they should need our services, but yes, our primary focus is on men.”
“Hm. Interesting. Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Crawford.”
“No problem.” Smirking, I walk away from the reporter and head for the woman I hope will complete the personal story I imagine regarding us.
Latia is a vision of elegance, sophistication, and beauty in the gold ball gown adorning her body.
My dick twitches with every step I take toward her, and I self-consciously lick my lips to moisten them from fear of sudden dryness.
If Latia’s back were facing me, I wouldn’t know it was her from the long blonde hair I didn’t realize was hidden under her bonnet.
Even at our impromptu dinner date, Latia’s hair was pulled into a tight bun that I’m now mesmerized was capable of pulling off such a style.
The V-shaped neckline showcases Latia’s ample breasts, which cause my mouth to water.
The urge to hold Latia in my arms increases my steps, shortening our distance in minutes.
“Say, baby, do you got a man?” A grin slides into place, and my heart skips a beat when Latia’s full-body laugh hits my ears. “You are a breath of fresh air, mama.”
“Thank you, Rakai. It’s good to see you,” Latia replies, smiling before stepping into my space and wrapping her arms around my body, causing me to reciprocate her action.
The minute I feel Latia’s connection, I momentarily forget to breathe, and my eyes close as I savor the moment.
This woman is mine, and the urge to elope hits me like a boulder, causing me to tighten my hold on her body.
Everyone else fades into the background as a vision of Latia and me on a beach settles within my mind.
A puff of air from Latia’s mouth hits the side of my face, confirming that I’m not in this thing by myself.
Reluctantly, I disconnect our bodies while staring intently into Latia’s twinkling eyes.
“Will you be mine, mama?”
A gasp escapes Latia’s mouth as she assesses me for several minutes before she speaks, causing me to hang onto her words in expectation of her response.
“H—How? We just me?—”
“Time doesn’t define what either of us feels. I want you and refuse to let anything dictate my desire to build something magical with you.”
“I’m open to it if we can take it slow.”
A low chuckle falls from my lips, and I shake my head before bursting Latia’s bubble as gently as possible.
“We’re way past that, so you might as well prepare yourself for where we’re headed, mama.”
Tap. Tap.
Echoes from someone tapping on a microphone in the distance caused me to pull my gaze from Latia. A sly grin slides in place upon seeing Grant standing on the stage because I already know what’s about to happen.
“Thank you all for coming. Before we kick this night up, I’m going to have one of the staff members come to the stage to share a story with you.
His experiences are one of the primary reasons this organization exists and is needed in this community.
So, without further ado, let me introduce you to some and present to others, Mr. Rakai Crawford,” Grant announces.
“Oh my, I didn’t know you would be speaking,” Latia whispers.
“This is the information you asked for not long ago. Please don’t hurt my feelings by trying to run. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” The deadpan declaration within Latia’s words sends an electric-like charge to my heart.
Winking, I head toward the stage to inform this crowd of donors why the organization’s mission and motto not only work but also begin internally.
I have never been a man subconscious about my past, nor have I ever been embarrassed.
I firmly believe that what doesn’t kill us can either mature or break us.
In my case, I lived to mature, grow, and glow up.
“Good evening, everyone. I stand before you as a man whose troubled past led me to spend five years in the penial system. I come from a two-parent household, was raised in the suburbs, and attended the best schools. My mother teaches at one of the local high schools, and my father works for the justice system. I had no reason to choose the streets, yet I spent my twenties hugging the street corners while pushing drugs. I lived for the trills and money that came with being a street pharmacist.”
I take a minute to look into the crowd in search of Latia, who has moved closer to the stage with her rapt attention on me. My gaze penetrates her until I see a subtle nod from Latia that encourages me to keep talking.
“Do you know how hard it was for my law-abiding parents to sit behind me while a judge handed down a sentence of five years? While I don’t have any children, I can understand because my mother’s tears are etched in my brain.
I went into Ribax Correctional, a stubborn yet immature man at twenty-five, who thought I knew the hard knocks of life.
Only by God’s grace did I meet Bryan Benton, who showed me another way.
Through my friendship with him, I met Grant Benton, who advised me I had other options.
” My throat tries to close at the gravity of how different my life would be had I not met Mr. Bryan.
I will forever be grateful to him for seeing something in me greater than my circumstances.
“It’s okay, baby. Take your time,” Ma’s voice rings out from somewhere nearby, causing me and the audience to laugh lightly. Yet, it’s the push I need to keep going and wrap up my spiel.
“My reform began in prison at the age of twenty-six, and by the time I was released shortly after my thirtieth birthday, I had a desire to see others like me change their lives, too. Bending Minds, Reshaping Hearts became a testament to the life I wanted to live because the life I’d been living would only lead me back to prison or a pine box.
Your donations today will help our organization and change the lives of those we are attempting to reach on a global scale. Thank you.”
Now that I’ve laid my cards on the table for Latia, it’s time to move forward with securing my forever plan.