8. Sunnie
My mother and father stood over a mound of dirt. A cold, gloomy mist hung in the air. Dry tear stains on their solemn faces. Leaning down first, my mother opened her black glove covered hand and fisted a handful of dirt with my father following. Robotically, they turned and made their way over to a grave. Their fists opened and released the earth over the casket. Cold droplets of heaven”s tears started to pour from the sky. Together, alone, they stood over my grave as men in tan uniforms used rusted shovels to cover my final resting place.
The pain of having to bury their child caused their tears to rival the hailstorm determined to whip my memory away.
No one else stood there with my parents. Just them. Freezing cold watching the mud blanket my new bed.
Where were my friends?
Where was my sister?
Where was my lover?
Like clockwork, my body awakened, and I lay there in the dead of night, struggling to breathe from the nightmare of dying unloved.
My parents were there out of obligation, so what happened to everyone else?
What happened to me and Aleyah?
What happened to me and Ezekiel?
“Help me.” Speaking of Ezekiel, his mumbled, incoherent slumber words made me flip the nightstand light on. For a second, I eyed him with narrowed eyes, waiting to see if I heard my inner soul crying or if was it him.
“What the…” Gasping, I jumped back when his body started to convulse. His jaw locked and teeth started grinding. Tears rushed from his closed eyelids, making my own teary.
Snatching the covers off him, my eyes scanned his entire frame, trying to find the source of his agony. His mouth opened and his breathing became ragged, as if he was running. Chest heaving. He began thrashing so hard and words that I didn’t quite understand outside of help me spewed from his lips.
“Zeek, baby, wake up.” I shook him with force, wanting to shake him out of whatever evil had him bound. “God, wake up him please.” Smacking his face and shaking proved to be useless. “Jesus, please help me.” A gasp of air and him rising up from the tomb of his demons, he started coughing and dry heaving.
What in the entire hell?
I know he said he was having weird nightmares, but I didn’t think they were on this level.
Running to the kitchen, I grabbed two bottles of water and olive oil from his pantry. He was still trying to catch his breath, with tears running down his face.
“Sit here and take a deep breath.” Both of our shaky hands locked, and he moved on unsteady legs. Once he sat down in the corner chair, I moved back to his bed and snatched it bare. Pillows, sheets, covers. Everything came off.
Running back into the kitchen, I grabbed three large black garbage bags and stuffed everything in there. I didn’t care how much it cost. All of it was going to the trash, and that’s what I did. Once I had it all bagged up, I hauled them bags down the hall to the trash shoot and tossed them. When I got back to the bedroom, Zeek’s breathing had leveled back to normal, but his eyes were still spaced out. I looked at the olive oil and the bed. Like the bed set, it had to go, so did the mattress. Whatever spirits attached themselves to this bed had to go. Zeek must’ve felt the same way too, because he got up and helped me move it. Both the large Alaskan bed and box spring were going to the trash.
In our pajamas, him in boxer briefs and me in my two-piece short set, barefoot, bonnet and all, I grabbed the bellhop cart, and we put the mattress on it and took it down to the trash. The guard at the front desk eyed us weirdly, which was to be expected at this hour of the night. Three in the morning, to be exact. Two trips down and his bed was gone. I thought we were going to stop at that.
Nope.
Zeek got his drill and dismantled his entire bed frame. We piled as many pieces as we could on the cart and made several trips down to the trash. By the time we finished, the only furniture in his bedroom was his dresser, two nightstands, and the accent chairs he had in the corner.
As sweaty and dirty as I felt from my hard labor, I wasn’t through.
Connecting my phone to his Bluetooth system that had connecting speakers in the walls throughout his entire place, I went to the gospel playlist Aleyah sent me when I called her about my nightmares, songs that ushered in the spirit of God and hit shuffle.
“Whew, Jesus.” My eyes watered instantly hearing the organ playing and Tasha Cobbs yelling out for us to use our key. The live version of Break Every Chain played, and my body started to react. Tingles and chills. I called it Holy Spirit anxiety. The same feelings I get when my anxiety is through the roof, but there is peace and awareness. A presence. The spirit of God.
I couldn’t be still.
My arms were moving as the overwhelming feeling coursed through my entire body, so intense that I was crying, singing, and praising. With the oil, I prayed and asked God to break every chain, break every known and unknown demonic covenant that Ezekiel and I made. I anointed his entire room from the door to each dresser housing his clothes. I anointed his shoes and hats. Anointed the spot where his bed once was, where a heaviness crept up the back of my neck, and I knew that’s where his battles were fought.
In his sleep.
Putting the song on repeat, I went into his bathroom and anointed everything. From his toothbrush to his bottle of soap. Went into the kitchen and anointed. The balcony, his living room, his office. No place left untouched. When I got back to his room, he was on his knees crying and I anointed him. Prayed over him and rebuked every assignment of the enemy trying to attack him. Once I was done, I took him in the bathroom and had him stand under the shower. Next song that came on was I Told The Storm by Gerg O’Quin and Joyful Noyze. The perfect song for me to cleanse him, wash him afresh, and pray over him.
I washed him and song the song over him.
Dried him off and continued to pray over him.
Oiled him down in his body oil and prayed over him.
Led him out to the living room, had him lie down, and prayed over him until he fell into a deep slumber.
Beyond exhausted, I turned off the Bluetooth and took a shower. The hot water hit my face and my heart began to ache as I cried from the pit of my soul. Down the drain, my tears of our shared turmoil washed.
If I didn’t know how to do anything else, I knew how to pray. Aleyah taught me that. I am the praying woman I am because of her. It always amazed me to hear her praise so boldly and openly to God. Worship with tears pouring down her beautiful face. Speaking in tongues with a reverence warrior spirit. Often, I questioned when my time would come for me to be used as a conduit for someone else. I wish it was Hillary. I really wish it was. But I got to be that for Ezekiel and I wasn’t going to take my job lightly.
His snores greeted me walking back into the main area. We’ve had a busy early morning. The sun had begun to rise. A new day approaching. Taking my blanket, I went out to my favorite spot on his balcony and placed a Target delivery order for two king-high raised air mattresses, new sheets, and comforter sets. I’m sure he’d want to get a new bed set but, in the meantime, at least we had somewhere to lay our heads.
* * *
“Areyou sure you aren’t mad?” Zeek and I were sitting at his island eating cheesesteaks that he made. That’s how I woke up; to the smell of the savory meal he prepared as a thank you for what I had done.
All the credit was God’s.
Doing what I’d want anyone to do for me had I been in that same position.
“I’m far from mad.” Knowing that I needed a little bit more reassurance, he kissed me until I pulled away with blushing cheeks. “Are you done?” He motioned toward my plate.
“For right now. That was really good.” My belly was stuffed. I knew he could cook. He cooked for me before, but that was good as hell.
“I wanna do something. Come on.” We were back in his room where our temporary bed lay made up. I don’t think I’ve ever slept on an air mattress, and I’m sure the old me, prior to this moment, wouldn’t dare sleep on it.
But that’s the thing about keeping my heart open to love.
Creating new experiences.
Living in a world of humbleness.
Taking two permanent markers out of the pocket of his hoodie, he handed me one. “When we’re sleeping, we’re wrestling with a lot of spiritual principalities. I know you already anointed the bed, but I think we should also write scriptures on it. Adding another protective blanket. What do you think?”
I think I’m the luckiest girl in the world.
“I love that. Do you know what scriptures you want to write?” My phone was in my hand looking for my scripture notes. I had an endless list of them that I saved for moments when I needed a reminder of God’s love, promises, and apparently now this.
“I do. How about you write the scriptures you want me to have on my side and I’ll do the same for you?” He was already moving, and I was stuck trying not to turn into a sobbing mess, because where did this man come from?
It’s one thing to desire a man who loves God, but it’s another to receive that man and see that he’s far better than you could’ve hoped for.
God’s best is truly better than my wants.
“That’s perfect.”
What I thought was going to be a quick twenty-minute project turned into an hour. We weren’t complaining. We were being very intentional about the scriptures we chose and where exactly to put them. He placed scriptures that related to the mind at the top. The heart and love below that. But we were on the same accord. Some of our scriptures were the same, further confirming how in alignment we were with each other.
“I’ve never done anything like this. I really thank God for allowing us to have this moment together.” I laid my head on his chest as we lay on our bed, looking up at the ceiling.
“Me too.” His lips kissed my temple. “What you did for me. You’re my greatest blessing, Sunnie Mae.” And he was mine. “What was your dream about?”
My eyes squeezed shut. I hated thinking about that damn nightmare. “The same as always. My funeral with no one there but my parents. What about you?”
His exhale was so choppy. “A demon trying to kill me.”
Lost in our thoughts, we lay there in silence. I won’t lie. Having the same repeated dream of him and my sister not being at my funeral made me so sad because what transpired in my life for them not to be there?
“Right now, I’m in my head asking God why are we having these dreams.” He rubbed a hand over his head sighing. “We haven’t been kind to certain people in our lives, Sunnie. You need to talk with your sister, and I need to handle a situation of my own.”
I knew what he said to be true, I felt that deeply when he spoke it out loud. Laying in my bed to accept my consequences wasn’t a task I wanted to voluntarily do, but the warning was loud and clear.
“Do you think that’s how God is going to punish us if we don’t?” I became so scared.
Sensing my shift in mood, he pulled me closer and held me tight. “I don’t know, but God does say that vengeance is His. He’s loving, but He doesn’t like when His children intentionally cause harm to each other. All we can do right now is ask for forgiveness from Him first and then ask Him how to fix our mess. If this is His wrath, our nightmares, and unsettled mind and spirit, I’ll take that over, pushing His buttons for Him to really react. I read the bible. In the Old Testament, God was a straight G.” We needed that laugh, though everything he said was nothing but the truth.
We needed to change.
I needed to change.
God, please help us.