Fear has never been apart of my make-up but today standing in front of my murderer’s house the feeling has taken control of my body. It is crawling through my skin, my hands are shaking, and my teeth are chattering. My skin feels clammy, my heart thumping through my chest and with each step I take I feel as if I am losing my breath. I want to turn around and run but I have to face her and let her see me.
I observe the scenery, a white picket fence, a small garden, a two-story brick house with a porch. She is living the American dream, in the driveway are two vehicles, a mini van and a BMW. The total opposite of the lifestyle of rundown projects, streets filled with trash and gardens filled with crack vials and dirty needles I grew up around it is what she decided I deserved the less of what she offers her other children.
I am only three steps away from my murderer’s house and my stomach is churning, my face drenched with sweat from the California heat. Each step my feet feel like they are weighed down by lead boots, breathing heavy,and my fingers are swollen. I push the doorbell button and wait to meet my murderer. The bells chimes three times before she peeks through the window glaring at me, her nose scrunched and her hand scratching her hair. She cracks open the door and raises her eyebrow, the sound of two children laughing and screaming.The woman in front of me was well aware I was alive but in her mind I was dead to her. She expected her baby boy to be born dead on arrival December 4th, twenty-five years ago. She expected my cries to be silenced by the saline solution injected into her womb. I am the only person I know with a death and birth certificate. I am the only person I know who cheated death so many times that I have the devil scratching his head saying, “this boy is invincible”. Or maybe just maybe God has covered me for a bigger purpose.
She stared at me for a long moment before opening the door I stood as tall as a basketball player, my espresso complexion resemble hers and my steel gray eyes filled with unexpected tears stared her down. She pulled the door open and she walked out and hands me a tissue. She is the woman I friend requested on Facebook and she deny me by blocking me from her page just the way she removed me from her life by paying a doctor to kill me. I coughed to spit up the lump caught in my throat it was anger strangling me. Fear was cutting off my circulation. Several emotions picked at my broken heart. Love was beating at a fast rate, but hate was creeping in and causing a war with two of the most powerful emotions known by God.
“Can I help you, sir?” She finally had the courage to ask.
I pulled off my beat headphones and ran my tongue across my teeth.
“Don't act like you don't know me ?” I snap.
I handed her the death certificate and she read each word. She became fixated by the name John Doe 3524. The cause of death was a simple code p96.4 (Termination of pregnancy. Gestational age 26 weeks.) Her name in bold times roman Gloria Simpson Picoult. Large size raindrops of tears fell from her eyes, her hand trembles, and she steps out and closes the door behind her. She takes a seat because the secret she’s hidden was standing in her face at 6 feet five, alive and breathing. She had a lot of explaining to do to her husband, two children, and most of all me.
“You are not suppose to be...” I took her hand and place it on my heart let her feel the beat of it.
“Here in front of your house or alive?You owe me but one thing in life and that is the reason why you didn’t want me. I don’t want shit from you like your love, your hugs, respect, or your embrace. I lived without it for twenty-five years. It is evident you don’t want me and real shit I've stopped desiring you in my life. The nurse Grace told you I was still alive and you told them to let me die. You looked at me lying on the table after eight hours in a cold, dark room fighting for my life and you didn't care. I need to let you go and move on with my life. So I traveled from Syracuse, N.Y. to California to get resolution because you have messed up my life. You have appeared in too many of my dreams and you have never gotten out of my mind.So, I am not leaving off your property until you give me an answer. It is all you owe me in this world and after that I can walk out of your life for good. I can erase you from my world and move on."
I sat in the seat, dropped my duffel bag on the ground, and folded my hands. She sat next to me and touched my hand. I jerked it away and turned my head because I could hear her sobbing. I wouldn’t look her in the eyes because then I would find understanding and forgiveness. I refuse to see it my anger blinded me. I glance at her and could see guilt eating at her inner core. It hurt me to stare at the woman who didn’t want me. It ate me up because the center of my core was hungry for her love but the anger inside of me deny the need to ever connect with her love. The war inside of me was a hell of a one because hate wanted to win but inside my heart love was overruling hate. I had to move on and let the woman who is my mother and murderer go.
I could start this story from this moment but to understand me you’d have to look at my yesterday. How I became the man I am today? My life was not pretty, I've lived when I was suppose to die, did the unthinkable to rid myself of pain. I lost more than I won, slept on the steps of the library, raped, lived in these most inhabitable conditions. I've been an unwelcome guest in many homes and called just, “the foster kid”.
My murderer became my quest in researching my purpose. I am here today to because some young man is on the same path to understanding why he is still living when death was calling. I hope my story will help some young man grow, live, and fight for his pursuit of happiness and freedom. To fulfill the purpose the way I was given n the opportunity. In society's eyes I was just dead man walking, but in God's eyes I was on a mission assigned by him. If you're born you're meant to be here and understand that what is meant to kill you might just make you stronger and sharper. My life began the day I left my life in Syracuse and not the day I was left for dead. I found my murderer but in this journey most importantly I found me.