Jourdell
God blessed me with another chance at life.
I was supposed to be dead and gone in that fire.
I knew it, and so did everyone else. I suffered from third-degree burns and was still in the process of healing.
Most days, I could go without experiencing any pain, and then some days, the pain would be excruciating and last all day.
I had already taken me being released from prison as a second chance with Spot, but that fire really had me pressing the issue. I loved my daughter, but she didn’t love me.
The way I fucked up her childhood was wrong on so many levels. She didn’t deserve the abuse I gave her. I treated her worse than a dog would shit, so her givin’ me the cold shoulder was expected.
Pastor Gills and Spot was somethin’ I would’ve never guessed. He had time to speak up about his dealing with my daughter, and he chose not to. I could’ve been upset, but I wasn’t.
He wanted my head that day I asked him for a brief moment of his time. My words had crossed him wrong, but his words put me in my place. If I wanted anything with Journei, I had to go through him.
For the past week, I had been tryin’ to get another sit-down arranged between me and the pastor. When he said not to call his phone anymore, I thought that was the end, but then he answered my call a few weeks ago, givin’ me hope.
I grabbed my phone and dialed Pastor Gills for the fifth time that morning. He rarely answered, so I was prayin’ that was one of those times. I went to hang up after several seconds of no connection when I heard his voice through the speaker.
“Hey, Pastor.”
“Wassup, Jourdell?”
“I know you said there’s no Spot without you, so I’m askin’… can you arrange me some time with my daughter? I really need this.” I was damn near begging.
“After her appointment, we should be free. I’ll have a dinner fixed for us to sit down and talk. If you mess this up, that’s it. I won’t give you another chance.”
Joy entered my body. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
“I’ll send you the address in a few. Don’t make a fool out of me, Jourdell,” he said and hung up.
He was handling me like a child, but I understood his overprotectiveness. Spot was his woman, and I had to respect that. Who he allowed in her space was who she would converse with.
I went to the room to find myself something nice to wear. The location hadn’t been sent yet, and I was already gettin’ prepared. I didn’t want to fuck nothin’ up.
Truthfully, I missed my daughter. She reminded me so much of her mother that back then, I couldn’t stand the sight of her. That’s where the abuse came in at.
Yonei was beautiful inside and out. Plus, she loved her family to death. The problem I had with my hands fucked us up. I never meant to kill her though. I was able to see and admit my wrongs now as a sober man.
Spot caught the back end of my pain. Killing her mother took me over the edge. For years, I caused Yonei misery, and then I bestowed that same misery on our baby girl. I wasn’t good for shit and prolly still wasn’t.
Opening the closet door, I scanned over what lil’ shit I did have. I settled on a navy-blue polo and a pair of slacks. I wasn’t accustomed to what the world had called fashion yet.
I checked the clock, and it read 11:45 a.m. I had time to pull myself together and be presentable. If I wanted to play the part, I damn sure needed to look it.
In prison, I learned how to cut my own hair, so I gave myself a low cut and shaped up my beard and trimmed it down some. She didn’t need to see the rough life I was living. I gave her enough of that growing up.
As I walked over to the shower, pain shot through my body. My muscle tissue was damaged from the fire, and the healing brought pain. I was bent over tryin’ to bear what coursed through me.
My prescription was gone, and Tylenol didn’t seem to do the trick. I looked over at the gift basket that was sent as a welcome home gift and spotted a bottle of tequila.
The steps I took to get there were even painful. I snatched up the bottle and unscrewed the top as fast as I could. I spent thirteen years in prison. One drink wouldn’t hurt. Turning the bottle up, I took a gulp or three.
That alcohol touched my lips, and I felt at home. It was funny how the warmth from the alcohol overpowered the pain. I instantly felt relief. Alcohol was my medicine.
I stood in front of the dresser mirror looking over my attire. Prison did my body good. The polo and slacks fit me comfortably without having to adjust anything.
Pastor Gills sent over the address like he said he would. When I googled it, I fucked around and dropped the damn phone. I had no idea they were living like that.
Money didn’t cross my mind regarding Spot until then. If I got in her good graces, then maybe she could look out for me and move me into somethin’ better. It wasn’t goin’ to hurt their pockets.
I grabbed my car keys, took another swig from the bottle, and headed out the door. I had a twenty-five-minute drive to get to them. It was half past five already, so by the time I arrived, dinner should’ve been ready.
Unlike Pastor Gills, I pushed a ’09 Honda. The money I had back in the day was completely gone. Thanks to one of my side pieces, I was able to have that duplex when I came home.
I drove to my destination, feeling relaxed physically but nervous mentally. Sweat was starting to surface, and I couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or the heat outdoors. My car didn’t have AC.
My eyes couldn’t blink fast enough when they saw Pastor Gills’ shit. He had my daughter living nice. If I found somethin’ laying around, it was good as gone.
I pulled into the driveway, popped a piece of gum in my mouth, and then sprayed on some cologne. I needed the scent of alcohol off my breath. If either one of them smelled the liquor, I was out the game.
The car was put in park behind a black-on-black G-Wagon. The money was front and fuckin’ center. Gettin’ out, I said a prayer and made my way to the door. Here goes nothin’.