Lorenzo Eaton

Lorenzo M. Eaton enjoys cooking, writing, bowling, operating heavy equipment and motivational oral speaking. He is from Chicago, IL.

MY LOWEST POINT

Nonfiction

People say things that can hurt. They even do things that can hurt. I have experienced things while in prison, such as family or friends not having my best interest in mind. There have been times when I didn’t have anything in my locker to eat, no money on my books and no money to call anyone. Times had gotten so bad after the passing of my father who, no matter what, made sure that I had the things I needed while in prison. I was at my lowest point, and had to find a way to tackle all my problems. It seems as if I was in total darkness, experiencing terrible things while in prison. I was at the bottom, the bottom in which some people would feel that suicide would be the best way to go. An adversary had taken over my life and caused all sorts of disbelief.

Previously, I had a home and, in my mind, I had some of the finer things in life. I thought the designer clothing and jewelry became something that I had to have during my criminal life. At the time of my incarceration, my father had taken control of those prize possessions. They were things I wanted in life, but God wanted something different. After the passing of my father, as in any dysfunctional family, those prized possessions became like products that people from local department stores give away for free.

The first few years of my sentence, things were rough. I was at the lowest point and everything had happened fast. I always felt that there has to be another life besides this life, but what, I didn’t know. I also didn’t know what was required to get me there. That’s when God stepped in and allowed a brother to minister to me and help me along this journey. I found Someone that’s more powerful than any man on earth: I found the living Word of God through Christ.

After battle after battle of dealing with being without, Christ had made his move to the point that my family started to help me on a journey that seemed to have a

negative end. With the help of my brother ministering to me, the Bible itself and the emotional “Prison Break Daily Bread,” prayer has landed me a new beginning in life.

I will always remember that whatever stones are thrown at me in life, there’s always a protective shield that awaits me to comfort me in time of need.

ON MY BLOCK

Poetry

Chicago streets: the gun violence, the rapes, and neglect of children. These senseless acts will never stop. How can this stuff continue to keep happening? I notice a lot of it happens on my block. Loud music, gang banging, crime rates where it is easy to rise to the top. A sad moment for a person to be found murdered - shot dead on my block. Hopscotch, playing hide and seek, drinking icy cups, lighting firecrackers. listening to the sounds of the pops, “how many you need” coming from the person standing at one end of the corner Selling drugs on my block. Night falls, time for bed, as we lived in a building way at the top, sirens sound. Lights flash. A baby fell three stories down, something else has happened wrongfully on my block. Hold on officer I am getting my license out my pocket look-see it is nothing, just my watch. “Dancing Dancing,” that song by Michael Jackson played in my mind so much and would never stop, Break dancing, pop locking seems to bring smiles to faces of people that lived on my block. Tootsie rolls, now and later was the best candy to melt down on the stovetop, Double Dutch as they sang while taking turns having a block party on my block. Years come and years go sadly but I wish not, sometimes I wish the bad things should have never happened but the good times would appear back from the beginning on my block.

NO WAY OUT

Nonfiction

1985, the sounds of the “Dukes of Hazzard” television show played as the kids hung around the tune to observe what seemed to be a new episode of the 1980s hit TV show. While hitting the TV on one side, getting the picture to show and eating government cheese, what seems to taste like a steak with the side of mashed potato? Mother in the next room sleeping. Waiting on what the kids hope for next was a chance of being happy and not being without. To the kids’ surprise they waited on something that never came. The next morning off to school hearing the gunshots as they ran toward a nearby tree for safety. Making it to school, eating breakfast seems to be one of the best meals of the day besides lunch. School had taught them a lot but not being at school like normal kids they were soon to be held back for poor attendance. Father was what you would say was a crafty and well-dressed person, but handled the streets like he handled money, kept it right beside him. His ways of thinking were just to benefit bringing home the easy way of getting cash. Mother and Father had their differences like any other couple I guess. The only difference was that beating mother was something that was pretty normal and it made it OK to do. Father always had a bad temper and when he got mad he would take it out on Mother. With a slap and then a punch as she screamed for him to stop, the kids watched in fright. Soon after to make things worse Father went to prison and Mother had to take care of the kids on her own. The kids missed Father and wanted to see him, but Mother would find a way to escape the terrible fright that she had built up inside of her. Mother had found a new boyfriend and she would marry him and live happily ever after with him. What surprised the kids was not only that he wasn’t their dad, but that he was white. This one day the kid’s found Mother asleep and they peeped through the keyhole and saw that same white man; he was laying on a

broken piece of glass that had a razor blade next to him. The kids knew something wasn’t right about that because every time they saw that white man Mother was sleeping.

There were times where they needed to eat but mother was sleeping like always and they had to cook on their own, not knowing how to prepare any food. The kids found that this is not how life is supposed to be, even though they weren’t old enough to know anything about life yet. Every morning they watched their favorite television shows the Brady Bunch and the Dukes of Hazzard. They watched on the wooden television that had static on almost every channel that continued working by the inside of the brown extension cord threads. There was the comfortable stained mattress and box spring that lay on the floor of the kids’ room, and they enjoyed the salty scrambled eggs that were cooked in a crockpot. Mother found it was best that she would head out for a time out on the city. She left what every kid would love to have, a book of food stamps. The kids loved food stamps, because with any purchase no taxes were charged.

The kids always thought that Mother would work it out while smacking on packs of Now and Later candy. They knew Mother was the best mother that any kid could ask for, but before long she came stumbling in the door with the help of a total stranger. Mother looked as though she was the walking dead. The door closed behind her and soon she would be hidden in the room for the rest of the night. There was sharing clothes with brothers and preparing for school the next morning. To add a crease in the jeans they lay them under the stain-filled mattress, so by morning a crease would have formed. While off to school and during recess playing a game called “Off The Wall” with a tennis ball, they showed off the skills of height in front of the girls that were off in the distance playing “Double Dutch.” The bell had rung and the kids went off in separate ways to class, knowing that school was their way out from the torment they endured at home. They remembered being talked about by the other children in class, the smell of

not showering or having clean clothes. The kids started to hate school, because no matter how hard life was for them, it seemed like things had gotten worse. The walk home from school struck like lightning, like being introduced to the worst nightmare on Elm Street. Saying goodbye to Mother as one of the kids cried for dear life, not wanting to leave Mother, they were forced in the car as it pulled off. They waved goodbye while looking out the back window at Mother in the grey Tempo, with tears rolling down their cheeks. On the way, they passed by the places they had known since they could remember. The nearby corner store and not before long their school, and soon out of their old neighborhood.

Kids never heard from their Father and Mother until they got a lot older to reunite with them, to hear all of the lies of why they were taken. Father had years behind him far as being in prison and Mother married that white man and they lived happily ever after. The kids, whatever happened to them, grew up and lived in a society that was full of scary things and the nightmare on Elm Street continued throughout their lives.

DAVIS PARK

Nonfiction

Davis Park is nothing more than a regular park, most people would think anyway. It’s a park that’s not a common park-at least to me it isn’t. The park is in the middle of one of Chicago’s busiest streets, Division Street. Division Street is one of the streets in Chicago where a lot of things happen. Now mind you, I lived on this street, but several blocks away from Davis Park. This street is where gangs have their all-out wars. It’s where the dope man makes his moves and where kids hang around the nearby candy lady’s house, Aunt Lea’s. Momma gone work it out, Momma gone work it out being funny while smiling and sharing a bag of penny candy that we had just bought.

Sometimes after school my younger brother and I would hang out at Davis Park. We used to hang out with my best friends Mikey, Carlos, Snoop, P-air, and a few more guys. Mikey, Snoop, Carlos, and I were tighter than the rest. Carlos loved Tupac. You couldn’t say anything wrong about Tupac or it would have been an all-out war. Mikey, he was a spoiled kid, had the best of everything. He was slim and skinny with cornrows, but had a good heart and loved to show off his dunking skills, and would always compete with me on how many females we could ask out. One of my favorite moments with Mikey was how we went skinnydipping with a few girls one summer. He had on Scooby Doo boxers, and we laughed till we could laugh no more. Even the females that were with us laughed. Now Snoop was a bit of a character. The dude looked just like Snoop Dogg for real and was goofy and could sing his butt off. Mikey stayed a half block away from Davis Park, Snoop more like five to ten minutes walking distance, and Carlos more like twenty minutes driving.

As I said before, we would all meet up sometimes after homework was done and soon be at Davis Park. The park wasn’t big at all. It has one way in and one way out. Anyone

entering the park from Division Street would be standing in what they would call a swing set filled with what looks like mulch. Continuing through the park, one is welcomed by the fenced-in basketball court and soon after, the alleyway. On both sides of the park are two buildings, one a YMCA for the youth, and the other just a regular old building that was vacant. My brother loves that neighborhood. They called him Studda Man because he stutters really badly, but he loved basketball and played really well.

That summer was like any other summer. I was out of town on this particular day, and was about to call it a night; there was nothing out of the ordinary. I got a call from Mikey, screaming and yelling, “Bro!” he said, “Studda has been shot!”

I said, “Grow up Mikey, stop playing.”

“Bro, I wouldn’t even play like that,” he said. I called my mom and she immediately found out what hospital he was in. I called Mikey back to ask him what happened while rushing through Chicago traffic.

He explained, “Well bro, this is what happens. Studda and I were chilling at Davis Park and some of the other guys we knew pulled up on us in a limo, your brother was hollering at the guys and they asked us if we wanted to join them. I told them I’m good, I have to go in the crib y’all know how my mom be getting. So I went home and Studda went with them. I told him I’ll get up with him later and they soon drove off. Later that night I got word back that they got drunk and picked up some females, so I guess they didn’t want your brother to roll with them anymore. So they wanted to drop your bro off where they picked him up at.

Now mind you it’s about 3:30 a.m. and your brother got mad and said he ain’t going. They get in a bad argument while dropping your brother off. They pulled up in back of Davis Park; the limo with the females was parked at the end of the alleyway as the four guys got out with your brother. Walking through the alley with the one pole light that shined on a nearby garage one of the guys said what’s up now and then another one. They both rushed Studda!”

As he told me this, I’m speeding on over ninety in an eighty trying to hurry and get there. The phone dropped between the seats, I was swerving, missing cars in front of me, while reaching for the phone. The call had hung up. I then hit redial.

My mom was calling in and said, “You won’t believe this, this boy done check himself out of the hospital! Where you at?”

“I’m on my way,” I said.

“Well you might as well turn around and go back at least we know his ass ain’t dead.”

I said, “Mom, are you sure?”

She replied back with, “Yes.”

I said OK and told her I will call her back, she said OK. I called Mikey back and he finished telling me what happened.

“Where did I leave off?” and I said, “When they rushed bro.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “So then your brother just went nuts. He whipped them both so bad to where one of them needed surgery. So after all that the other one pulled out a gun and shot Studda, hit him three times. I think he got hit in the butt, the arm and the chest.”

I was so much in shock right then, so I then asked if he had seen him.

He said, “Ain’t he in the hospital?”

I said, “No he did a Tupac and checked himself out.”

“What, are you kidding me?”

“No I wish I was. So if you hear from him tell him to get at me ASAP.”

“OK,” he said. “Be careful, love you, bro. Talk to you later.” The caller hung up.

It was about seven in the morning and I got an unexpected call from my cousin’s house phone. I answered.

“Hello?” and my brother said, “Hello.”

“Straight up?” I said, “Did you call mom?”

“Yeah,” he said, stuttering badly.

“So what’s good? Is you OK?”

“Yeah, I’m good, slide down on me.”

“You have to give me a minute, I’m out of town.”

“OK, I’m going to be right here.”

“OK bet.”

I got myself together and headed that way back in the middle of Chicago traffic. The phone rang and it was my other brother; they both were at our cousin’s house.

He says, “Bro, you won’t believe this!”

“What’s good?”

“We sitting on Aunt Cathy’s porch and the police pulled up and asked us our names so we weren’t tripping. We did just that, gave them our information. Bro all bandaged up barely standing, but walked up to the police car and gave him his information, to find out bro had some warrants. So instantly I got tripping and telling the police bro been shot and they said they could see that and said he has a warrant, so we have to take him in.”

I was blown away. I got a hold of my mom and told her, and all she could do was curse and say, “I rather for him to be there; at least I know he’s safe.”

My brother had to sit for about six or seven months; his wounds had healed and he was soon to be released from prison. It was something about Chicago; I ended up moving like an hour and a half to two hours away from Chicago. I grabbed my brother from time to time and told him to chill with me. He came and he chilled, but something didn’t seem right, something was missing, something that he would never tell me, and we were very close.

I asked him when he was coming back to the crib and he said he didn’t know.

So I said, “Aw, OK bet. Well hit me up, bro, love you.”

I knew the Chicago street had him tight and wasn’t letting him go without a fight. In April of 2009, I was shocked by the death of the famous Michael Jackson, my favorite artist. I had everything he had made from the jacket to the 1985 doll, the magazines, newspapers, you name it; I even had records.

One month later while sitting watching television I got a

call and it was my dear friend, Mickey, saying, “Brother, are you sitting down?”

I said, “Boy, what do you want?”

He said, “Studda got killed.”

I said, “What did you just say to me?” He said it again. I then knew he wasn’t playing.

I instantly called my mom to tell her. She jumped up out of bed saying she was going to call me back. At this time my phone was blowing up, and I was in so much discomfort, not wanting to believe what was just told to me.

I walked outside, started my car and barely could move when my sister called saying, “Don’t go anywhere, just stay put.” She lives in Atlanta, GA.

Soon after, while sitting in the car the mail was signed and sealed, I got a call from the doctor and that’s when I lost it. I screamed like it was my last time on earth.

Come to find out the guy that my brother fought with a year earlier had seen my brother at Davis Park one hot afternoon. While my brother was playing basketball he was approached, and the guy demanded revenge. There were kids out playing and others hanging around. They then noticed the commotion at the basketball court with my brother and the guy and then it happened, he pulled out a gun. With really nowhere to run but toward Division Street. Shots went off and my brother was instantly hit seven times. Some say those bullets were for the seven surgeries that the guy went through a year earlier. My brother was found a few feet away from the main entrance of Davis Park.

That year wasn’t the same for me; I mean we lost a great icon, Michael Jackson, and soon after my brother. I viewed my brother’s body because my mom was afraid to, and I hate that I did that till this day, because that was the last way I remember seeing him. It was so emotional it still bothers me till this day. Long after laying bro to rest, my younger brother was out chilling with Mikey on his block, and like any other night shots were fired like usual, but they were not thinking about them. They ran toward Division Street, my younger brother not knowing he was hit. Now mind

you, at this time the guy who murdered my brother was still on the loose.

My younger brother was shot in the arm, almost killing him, and when I got that call, that’s when I made way to retaliate.

Mickey said, “No, bro, for some reason they are really trying to hurt you and your brothers. I hate to see something happen to you next.”

I went to visit my brother while he was in the hospital; I knew my mom was going through something after this. I wanted to do what I thought needed to be done, but before I could the gunman was caught, booked, and was now being charged. I knew there had to be someone greater in this world that really loved me that day, I didn’t care about any of the gunman’s kids, grandmothers, aunties or cousins they-were going to get it. By this time I couldn’t imagine who wanted to hurt me or my brothers and I couldn’t wait until I saw this guy in court.

By now I have been in many courtrooms, but hadn’t been at the time, when I was twenty-six. The main entrance is madness. I mean you have metal detectors everywhere and police officers double on almost every floor. Inside the courtrooms are sitting areas just for the public and they are seated away from any of the lawyers, prosecutors, or judges. In this case, we were separated from others by a glass door entrance.

I finally got a chance to see this guy. His family sat on one side, me, my sisters, brother, and mom and dad were on the other side. His family was pretty large, but something was strange about one of the guys that sat on the other side. He would constantly go in and out the courtroom.

As the trial went on they showed footage of the shooting; it was caught on camera and it was really disturbing to watch as my mom cried. I was so stuck on this guy that did the shooting, looking to see if I’d ever seen him around Davis Park before. Sad to say, I couldn’t say I did.

Once again this same guy got up in the middle of the trial, but this time it has gotten really weird the way he

paced back and forth out of the courtroom like that, so we decided to go check things out with the guy and into the bathroom he went and so did we. Well, he wasn’t on anything going back into the courtroom after several hours and days of testimony the trial had come to an end.

We were then pulled outside into the hallway with the prosecuting attorney and he said, “How are you guys feeling? We have him and he will be going away for a long time; we are pushing for seventy years or better but it’s up to the judge. With that being said, I am so sorry for your loss, Miss.” He was talking to my mother, as she couldn’t stop crying. “Do any of you have anything you want to tell the young man or his attorneys?”

My mom said she had nothing to say, at least not at this moment, but I spoke up and said, “I want you to let him know, tell him I said I forgive him and to keep God with him.”

At that time we were led back into the courtroom and the verdict was read. They found him guilty and sentenced him to sixty-five years; he was only nineteen and my brother was thirty.

I never knew who the guy was but that day was a really sad day. Not only had I lost my brother, but the other family had lost their son as well. Years have passed and I have branded my brother on myself. I put on the back of my arms the dates of when my brother was born and when he died.

I also learned that life is so precious, and to take life as seriously as possible because it’s not promised to any of us. The bible says the devil knows his days are shortened and he is trying to recruit as many souls as possible. Please don’t let one of them be yours.

EIGHTY NINETY-FOUR

Nonfiction

There’s nothing more terrifying in life than when I experienced almost losing my life. When something happened to me some years back, I knew something more powerful in this world saved me and four others that night because it wasn’t our time. This story affects me right now; today, I just don’t let it bother me. I still live my life as normally as possible.

The party hadn’t started yet because the New Year hadn’t come in yet, although in a few hours my life would change and so would the New Year. It was the year of 2007 I will never forget my daughter, who is fourteen now, was only six months old at the time. She was a daddy’s girl when she was born; she looks just like me. No one knew how much she was my pride and joy and how I couldn’t ask for anything more precious in this world. Hearing her cry out for a bottle or a diaper change-those times I experienced as a parent are gone and will be missed. She was bowlegged just like I was as a child; I mean it looked like it hurt her as she played and ran. Her skin was so bright like I was as a child, you would have never thought she was mine or her mother’s due to our skin color being dark. All I knew was she was my baby and I wouldn’t have changed that for the world.

This time of the year was really cold and all I knew was that I was going to have fun bringing in the New Year. During that year, Coogi, a clothing brand, was popular and I had everything you could think of when it came to the outfits. While getting dressed my sister-in-law and another friend came over and wanted to know where we were going for New Year’s. We all came up with the idea to bring the New Year in at a Chicago nightclub. Downtown Chicago nightclubs were a little too expensive, and time wasn’t on our side. We had three hours to get ready and be out the door, plus my newborn needed a babysitter. We asked my child mother’s mom if it was OK for her to keep the baby

that night, while we went out for the evening. That plan didn’t work because she had to work the following morning, and she already had my sister-in-law’s kids. So we were forced to bring my six-month-old along for the ride. It took at least an hour and a half to make it to Chicago, depending on the traffic; time was not on our side so we had to leave soon. We were pressing for time but right before leaving, my brother decided he wanted to tag along. He told me that he wasn’t going to be drinking any alcohol. All he wanted to do was blow purple haze out the sunroof. It was cool with me so he became the designated driver. We had so many bottles of liquor and we were throwing shots back like Michael Jordan was taking in the NBA playoff games during the 90s.

We were finally on our way to Chicago, singing some old songs that we had remembered. I was fresh and clean and you couldn’t tell me anything, everybody was looking really nice that night. Halfway to Chicago I was really feeling the liquor as it creeped up on me. At that time I was pretty tipsy and everyone with me besides my brother were also. We were driving in a ‘96 Pontiac Bonneville, the SSE version. Oh, the love I had for them cars back then. I was riding shotgun, my brother was driving, my kid’s mother was in the middle, with my daughter on her lap, and my sister-in-law and friend were on each side of her in the back seat. We were packed down but we made it happen. My mother lived on the West Side of Chicago and we decided to head toward her house for her to meet her grandbaby for the first time. We had finally made it to my mother’s, but with little time to spare I spoke quickly, asking her to keep an eye on her grandbaby until the club let out and without hesitation she agreed.

At this moment I was about wasted. There were open liquor bottles on the backseat floor as we headed to the club. We decided not to go downtown; we wanted to keep it local, and went somewhere that had room to let us in. We made it on time before the ball dropped; we drank more and danced and took pictures. We had a ball. I was drunk and still my brother hadn’t picked up one drink, but he

smoked the whole time. It was almost three in the morning and the club was getting ready to let out, so we started to head toward my mother’s to pick up my daughter. When we made it to my mother’s, I was so happy to see my daughter and was ready to get home and lie down. With a kiss and a good night/good morning to my mother, we headed toward Eisenhower and then the Dan Ryan. Soon we were on interstate 80/94, heading east toward Indiana. My daughter was sleeping on the knees of her mother in the back seat as we headed home. She was not in a car seat because there wasn’t any room for it. And now that I write this, I see that that wasn’t very smart. Thirty minutes had passed and the ride took us into a comfortable moment of relaxation and soon to sleep. I was very drunk and all I could remember was looking back at my daughter as she lay on the knees of her mother and asking my brother was he OK to drive as I slurred my words. I was soon awakened with the sound of terror and screaming that came from the back seat. I saw frost on the grass blades that were pressed against the glass of the passenger side window. We were in a ditch with the car tilted sideways, making it hard to get out of the passenger side of the car. I looked back for my daughter and was relived to see that she was still sleeping. At that time I was well awake. The alcohol that I had drunk must have left my body from being so scared. We had to act quickly before the cops came. We had to get the car seat out of the trunk and ditch the open liquor bottles. I was upset but happy at the same time, because we were all safe and we were able to go home that morning. It was about 4:15 a.m.; it had felt like I was asleep for seven or eight hours but I awakened to what seemed to be my last. Not before long, the cops pulled up asking if we were OK. The cop was pretty cool; he didn’t ask for any license or whether we had been drinking. He called for a tow truck and then escorted my daughter’s mother and my daughter and my sister-in-law to his car to stay warm. Not before long the tow truck had pulled up, and the driver had to winch the car out the ditch. I thought the car was OK to drive, but after the car was pulled out we noticed that it

had three flat tires. The car had to be towed and I wondered what else could go wrong. It was too early in the morning to call for someone to come pick us up, and at that moment we had to figure out how we were getting home, which was an hour or so away if we were to drive.

The officer told us he was able to take us to a nearby McDonald’s and we could figure things out from there. We piled into the tow truck, with the girls in the police car and headed towards a McDonalds’ that was about to open that morning. At the McDonald’s, the golden arch had just lit up and the workers were just clocking in, as we started to unload from the police car and tow truck.

The cop made sure we were okay and soon was on his way back to work. The manager was nice and asked if we needed anything to eat or drink. We ordered and they prepared the food and then we began asking my brother questions. I asked him what happened and he told me he really didn’t know what had happened. He said while we were asleep the car had some issue with the steering wheel pulling left, and that’s when he lost control. He then went on and said that the traffic was five minutes behind him. That’s when the car did two three sixties and spun out of control and into the ditch. I found it all too hard to believe, because I knew my car and it was not pulling to the left. I felt he was lying, well I knew he was lying. The food came and we ate and now we had to figure out how we were getting home. The manager suggested we take the train to where we were going, but we still didn’t know how we were getting to the train station. After hearing what happened to us on the highway, one of the McDonald’s workers decided he would give us a ride to the metro train station. We piled into his little Nissan and headed toward the metro train station which was about fifteen minutes away. It was now 5:30 a.m. and we were at the station that had no one else there but us. We were hoping that the train would be there soon. We waited in a room that was closed off with glass, just trying to figure out when the train would arrive. The room had had coffee, soda, and change machines, and a long bench

that would soon become our resting area.

I couldn’t sleep so I stayed awake because I was worried about our safety and when the train would arrive. As I watched everyone sleep I was paying attention to the traffic of people that started to come in. It was a very cold Saturday morning. I then asked some people who had come in when the train would arrive, and they told me at 8:00 a.m. It was now about seven in the morning and we had been there for almost three hours waiting on the train. I knew my brother wasn’t being himself; it seemed he wanted to tell me something but didn’t know how.

The train had finally arrived and we loaded onto it. My sister-in-law’s kids were with her mother; her mother had to work that morning and she was really upset, mainly because we hadn’t made it back home. Someone needed to pick up the kids. Still having the thought of almost losing my life a few hours earlier, in the back of my mind lurked a pain of knowing my brother wasn’t telling me the truth of what really happened.

While on the train I got a little rest; I dozed off and was soon awakened by the conductor calling out the next stop. The two-hour ride home, due to having to make other stops, seemed to be taking longer than what I thought. I was tired but more frustrated than anything. My daughter was the strongest out of all of us. I mean she really didn’t cry and wasn’t a problem like most babies can be in a situation like what we went through. My mother-in-law had missed work because of what had happened and was really upset, in fact she didn’t care what had happened to us. The ride home in the car didn’t seem like we were even family; it felt so awkward it was like we were strangers toward each other. The conversation about the accident never came back up during the ride home.

We had finally made it home and at that moment I was without a car. I had to get the money together to pay the impound fees. The car was basically in Chicago and I had to make my way back to get the car out of the impound. Once we made it home my mother-in-law blew up, not wanting to

hear what happened. My brother went his way, but not long after was arrested for trespassing. He had not been back home for more than an hour and a half after that happened to him, and all I could think of was God didn’t like ugly. I was notified by some of the neighborhood guys that he was locked up and then I was trying to figure out how to get bond money to get him out. I think that the New Year wasn’t my new year because everything was going wrong for almost twenty-four hours. I was really shocked at how much I had to handle on my own. I thought that God had something out for me, because there was so much that was and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I was lost on what to deal with first and how to deal with it, especially with my newborn, the car being in the impound and how to get to the impound. I was out of answers at that time. My brother got out the next day, a Sunday. The impound lot was still adding money for storage and for the towing fees on New Year’s and I was already at $250. They charged by the day and that Sunday I was at $270 and still was short on all the money. I also had to get three tires because of the flats. What more could go wrong?

That Sunday morning we attended church and my brother came along for the ride, but something didn’t seem right with him. I saw the look all over his face like something was wrong. The church service was amazing as usual but something made it even more special. The pastor of the church asked some of the congregation to speak about their New Year’s Eve and how they spent their New Year. This was strange because this was something I hadn’t ever seen before; they had to stand up in front of a full congregation. The craziest thing happened; then a few people got up and spoke about their New Year’s and what they did. This one guy stood up and was telling how his New Years went and out of the blue he said he was in a terrible car accident with his family and how they almost didn’t make it.

I was almost in tears when he spoke, but not until my brother stood up out of nowhere and said what shocked me.

He stood up and told what had happened during the ride coming back from Chicago. He admitted that while he was driving he dozed off behind the wheel. I think the guy who spoke up first made him feel some type of guilt. Besides, we were in church. God must have laid his hand on his heart to tell the truth and that’s all I was looking for. I felt so much relief even though I had already felt like that something like that had happened anyway. After he spoke he looked at me in tears, and as we hugged the crowd of people clapped as we sat down.

I learned something that day; I learned that life can be a handful and it can also be a blessing. It was amazing how after my brother lied, God stepped in and put his hands on my brother’s heart to come clean and used other people to let him know who’s in control. I think that year I paid attention more to what was the right thing to do and how to understand what matters at hand first before bottling up emotions that were out of my control. I also found out later on who was really in control the whole time. It was something or someone with a greater power that’s not seen but is always with us.