A few days later, I dialed Soni. Her voice was a song—bright enough to light up pitch-dark nights while soothing enough to ease any pain, especially mine. She was as soft and gentle as her voice but still—her words could move worlds.
“Hey, stranger! Where have you been?” she said. “I missed you.”
“Hey, Soni. I wasn’t being a stranger, I was almost shot the other day. Had nothing to do with me, though, well, not really, so don’t worry.”
“Not really? That sounds stupid! I can’t tell you that you don’t belong out there if you can’t see it yourself, Dee. Get off of my phone, and finish throwing your life away!”
Click!
I dialed her back like eight times. I was sent straight to her voice mail eight times.
Soni was an important part of my life. She’s the one. I had to figure out a way to fix it. I didn’t know who I could talk to for advice, so I called my mom.
“Long time, son, how are you? Back in school yet?”
“Naw, mom, I need to ask you a question.”
She said she had to click over and cancel her other call because she knew it was serious. I never really call or visit. I think about her, but I know that no mom wants a drug-dealing son so I try to keep my distance.
“Okay, son, what’s wrong?”
“I like a girl and I think I broke her heart.”
“Well, Dee, you need to just pray on it. Ask God to lead you in the right direction. I’ma come see you on Sunday, it’s been too long!”
“Come through the park on Sunday morning, I’ll be out!”
We said I love you and hung up. Always pray and always ask God. I don’t really know how to talk to my mom. She used to be a seven-day-a-week partying club queen but now she’s a religious zealot and answers every question with a praise or a Bible quote. I understand church guides her, but I wished we could just rap without her busting into a mini-sermon.