Home Again: Stories of Restored Relationships

Home Again: Stories of Restored Relationships

An Anthology

Wanda B. Campbell & Friends

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2010 Micah 6:8 Books, LLC

Published by

Micah 6:8 Books, LLC

www.micah68books.com

Home Again: Stories of Restored Relationships Copyright © 2010 by Micah 6:8 Books, LLC. All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages to be included in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places and occurrences are either created in the authors’ imagination or are used in a fictitious manner and are not to be construed as real. While the authors may have been inspired in part by actual events, none of the characters in the book are based on an actual person and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Micah 6:8 Books, LLC is an Independent Christian Book Publisher dedicated to producing work that motivates, encourages and builds the Kingdom of God.

ISBN-10: 0-9790458-2-7

ISBN-13: 978-0-9790458-2-0

FOREWORD written by Alvin C. Romer

I have one word to describe this book: poignant! Publisher and author, Wanda B. Campbell has assembled an interesting collection of stories that demonstrate the power of love in restoring broken relationships. For this project, relationship is not limited to male-female romance, and home is not limited to a physical building. Home is an institution where we are loved and cared for...a place of genuine affection and security. Ironically, it can also be the source of our greatest heartaches and biggest disappointments.

I believe in the publisher, the authors and their stories therein. Tyora Moody’s Birthing Pains is a story with excellent ebb and flow. She allowed the premise of her story to mesh with intrigue and contrast to embellish her characters. A graphic designer and book promoter, her story is not only graphic, but designed to be a page-turning delight. Likewise, Shenette Jones’s Uncovered is not one to be hidden without discovering why committing adultery can have devastating consequences with reciprocal repercussions. This beautiful story resonates with an If-you-can-do-it-I-can-too theme. Ms. Jones, a multi-talented singer, dancer and writer bared it all in her portrayal of what it means to be faithful with a purpose. Bernard Boulton gives us the story of Jake and Eric. He delves into reasons why we’re still our brother’s keeper. In it, there’s the immovable object against the irresistible force—carnality vs. spirituality. Dr. Linda Beed, the gifted voice of reason comes to us with Flavorful. She previously published Business Unusual and follows it up with a warm and intrusive narrative about forgiveness through the eyes of a young clairvoyant girl and the essence of replanting seeds for better growth. Her story, told in first person, leaves readers craving more. Maurice M. Gray Jr. gives new meaning and an interesting take on dealing with familial (dis)order. Read Family Matters and see why this author has gotten rave reviews for earlier published projects. Dijorn Moss’ Journey to the Throne gives good analogies to the fight game and real-life references to beating back the demons attributing to alcoholism. Trinea Moss (yes, she’s the wife of Dijorn) brings us the story of James and Ebony and the tribulations they encounter in Couple on Trial. Tavares S. Carney, a book reviewer, educator and social media promoter delves into foster parentage and a revealing mother-daughter relationship that comes full circle after much soul-searching. Alas, we come to Blood’s Redemption by Ms. Wanda B. Campbell, where sensitivity and familial fortitude give new meaning to forgiveness.

No matter your taste, there’s bound to be that story or two you won’t soon forget. At the very least, coming home again will be worth your while.

The Game Room

Journey to the Throne

Dijorn Moss

Dijorn Moss holds a degree in English from San Jose State. He is the author of My Father’s House, which is available in stores now and The Retreat, which will be released in December 2010.

He currently resides in Long Beach, California with his wife, Trinea.

Contact Dijorn at dijornmoss@hotmail.com

Anyone who compares life to a boxing match has never stepped foot into the ring. Life is much harder and the results are unpredictable. At least in a boxing match I face two possible outcomes: Either I win or I lose. A draw is not a viable option. A draw exists for the judges who really can’t keep score.

No matter how hard I swing, life always seems to counter me with a flurry of punches from money to alcohol to women. I can’t seem to recover from life’s assaults. I try to move and life cuts off the ring; limiting me to ghetto landscapes on the corner of has-beens and never-were. I understand that life does not boil down to a simple win-or-lose situation. The victories I achieve today can set me up for colossal failures tomorrow and vice versa. In life there are no corner breaks and since I don’t got religion; then there isn’t a corner man whispering in my ear telling me that I can do it and to Keep on fighting. And in life, my opponents are boundless.

Take for instance this opponent I’m about to face. He’s waiting for me inside of Dale’s Liquor store. Now I ain’t going to lie, this guy intimidates me. He has taken down close friends of mine, myself included. I know I’m in for a battle of the ages. Of course, if I truly want to win, I would not even step foot into the ring known as Dale’s liquor store, but there is a written law somewhere that says that I don’t back down from a fight. So here I go. I ball up my fists and I make my way toward the ring.

Here comes the champ, Tony, a part-time preacher, full-time bum shouts. Tony is a regular customer and he is always in attendance at my fights.

I give Tony a one-two combination to thrill him. I enter the ring and I stop to face my opponent. He’s in his corner, prime and ready to go. In my head, I hear the announcer on one of those surround sound speakers.

In this corner wearing black denim jeans and weighing in at one hundred and forty-three pounds. With a record of fifty-three wins; thirty-one by knockout. Four defeats and two ties. He is the former Welterweight Champion of the world—Reggie Merciless Mercer.

I make it a point to never take my eyes off my opponent once I enter the ring. Even as I hear the roar of the crowd without a fan in sight, I still refuse to be distracted. I’m not here for them. I’m here to send my enemy to the canvas.

And in this corner wearing red trunks, weighing in at sixteen ounces. He is the undisputed champion of the world. Johnny Walker Red.

He has the nerve to give me a smirk. The last time we tussled, he sent me to my knees. I made the decision to skip the preamble and I went right for his neck. Taking him out of the refrigerator, I dance all the way to the counter. Kelil, who took over the joint after God sent for his old man, is nothing more than a bum with a license to sanction such bouts.

You got money, Reggie? Kelil asks.

Of course I got money. Don’t talk to me like I’m some kind of bum. Do you know who I am?

Yeah, yeah, pay up. Kelil extends his hand.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a twenty. At the end of the day this whole establishment comes down to money. Kelil gives me my change and I do not get two steps outside of the ring before I twist the cap open.

The golden solution arrests my senses and I absorb Johnny’s sweet, but destructive assault. He jabs my esophagus and finishes with a combination punch to my stomach. It takes a man to go toe to toe with a beast like Johnny. Any more assaults like this and I won’t be able to stand.

I look across the street at the infamous Legend’s Gym where my son is holding his training camp. Nestled in the heart of Los Angeles and about a rock’s throw from the Staples Center, this gym has trained some of the best. My son, Romeo, is a third-generation fighter. He has a big fight coming up at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. That’s a little over two months from now and with his impending victory comes a chance to become a champion. The only problem is that his trainer, Danny Freeman, is a bum. I knocked him out back in 1986. I’ll go over there and give my boy a few pointers. But first, Johnny and I have to go through round two.

***

I arrive at the gym during my son’s sparring session. My son inherited what should’ve been patented, The Mercer jab. I taught him how to throw the jab with efficiency. But I did not stop with the jab. I also developed a left hook that could move the Rock of Gibraltar. That’s what made me a champion. I held the welterweight championship title for three years until finally losing the title in 1990.

My son has a jab, but his left hook couldn’t break a wet paper bag. He doesn’t have it in him to be a champion.

Part of the problem is that he is surrounded by bums; loser and second-rate boxers whose biggest accomplishment was being defeated on a grand stage. Danny’s career was never the same after his lost to me.

Come on, Romeo, you letting him crowd you, I shout.

Romeo is proving to be more of a lover than a fighter at this point. His sparring partner has him in the corner and is working him over. Of course Romeo’s sparring partner’s onslaught is causing more damage to Romeo’s ego than to his body. This is no way to prepare my son for an important bout and his trainer is offering no insight on how to maneuver out of the corner.

"What are you doing, Freeman? How hard did you hit your head on the canvas when I knocked you out?’

Danny shoots me a dirty look from the top of the ring where he rests on the ropes. I can still take him in a fight. His jaw is still made of glass and he has the courage equal to the lion in The Wizard of Oz.

My son starts to work his partner over. He must’ve seen The Wizard of Oz because now he’s throwing combinations like a roaring lion. A lion with the heart to be the king of the jungle.

Come on, double up on that jab, I shout out to Romeo.

Thank you, Reggie, I got this! Danny fires back.

One more smart comment from Danny and I swear I’m going to clip his jaw. No mere man has a right to talk to a lion that way.

My son is now in complete control of the match. He’s scoring punches with ease.

Great! Keep going! Danny shouts.

"What are you doing, Romeo? You ain’t doing nothing but tiring yourself out, I yell.

Danny hops off the ring and makes his way toward me. This ought to be good. I start to stagger toward Danny. When I get within arm’s length, Danny fans himself as if I smell like a liquor store, how self-righteous of him.

Reggie, I know you want to be supportive, but right now you’re being a distraction. You’re not even supposed to be here right now.

The nerve of this guy. I’m barred from seeing my son. Me? The one who helped bring him into this world. The one who taught him how to fight, not just for sport, but for survival. I’m barred from seeing my son?

Nobody tells me where I can and can’t go.

You’re drunk and you need to go home.

Overcome by rage, I push him. Don’t talk to me like I’m some common punk. I’ve chopped giants down to size! You should bow before me because I’ve done more for boxing in my latter years than you’ve done in your prime.

Dad! Dad! You’re embarrassing me, my son shouts from the ropes, with his headgear still on.

You’re embarrassing me. Referring to Danny, I say, This guy right here is an amateur. Playing around with him, you’re never going to be a champ.

My son waves me off as if I am an annoying, nagging girlfriend.

You’ve got to go, Reggie. Danny points to the exit.

I ain’t going nowhere, and ain’t nobody going to put their hands on me either.

Two strong hands grab me and lift me up on my tippy toes. They drag me out toward the door and there is not enough strength in me to overcome them.

***

After the mishap at my son’s sparring match I retreat to my corner. I do not come out of my home for two days until it is time to enter Dale’s Liquor store again. Underneath the faded neon yellow sign, I entertain swarms of fans. There must be thousands of them standing outside of Dale’s Liquor store, watching me shadow box before I begin to take down the elite team of Captain Morgan and Jack Daniels in my own little corner. I take them on round after round until the crowd starts to fade. Then I am alone, a common reality for a fighter.

I’m about to begin another round when my sister, Eulina, pulls up in her brown minivan. She gets out of the car and walks up toward me. Eulina is the one person on this planet I don’t want to face, because while God always seems to curse me, He blesses her. It probably has something to do with the fact that she is a minister, which is a whole other issue. I don’t care for women preachers.

Reginald Mercer, get your butt in this car.

I’m not interested in some Sermon on the Mount. I give her a dismissive wave as if she is a bug or a fly.

I look at her and she is pointing at the car. My sister doesn’t have a habit of repeating herself. I pour out the rest of Jack with the promise that I would return to face him again. I follow her to the car and get in on the passenger side.

I’m not going to even begin to tell you what you smell like, Eulina says as she buckles her seatbelt.

Another thing I don’t like about my sister, and believe me the list is long, is the fact that she always picks the places where we fight. Her ring is Higher Ground Temple, the only place where I can’t curse out of respect for the corner man in the sky.

My son arrives at the church with his entourage of friends from high school; they’re parasites who feed off of my son’s success.

This is a private meeting between family, Eulina says.

Romeo gives his friends the head nod and they walk out of the sanctuary in a single-file line. My son and I have a seat in the front pew, but we make sure that there is a distance between each other. Despite the respect we have for the house of God, there is still disdain amongst us. My sister has a seat in front of the pulpit.

I am at a disadvantage with these two. My sister used to always take my son to church as a child while I recovered from the physical toll a fight took on me the night before. My son still attends church every Sunday, regardless if he just fought the night before. There is nothing that he would not do for his Aunt Eulina.

I don’t like what’s been going on between you two. You’re fighters, but you’re not supposed to be fighting each other, my sister says as she pounds her sable fist into her half-open hand.

Being the first to respond, I offer, "I can’t figure out where I went wrong. Yes, I was reckless and yes, I can count the number of birthdays I attended on one hand. But for things to get so bad to the point where my own son doesn’t even want to look at me is indescribable.

He’s jealous of me and he wants to ruin everything. Romeo bites his bottom lip to hold back his emotions.

Jealous? Jealous! I jump up, ready to fight, but Romeo remains seated. I do not back down. Instead, I point at him. You wouldn’t know that being a champion is in your pedigree if it wasn’t for me. I’ve been to the mountaintop. How can I be jealous of someone who is still on the ground floor?

He finally looks at me and his eyes transform into heat-seeking missiles.

And how many lives did you lead to ruin on your ascent to the mountaintop.

Low-blow. That shot is so below the belt that it’s pathetic he would even go there. Yes, I’ve lost friends and I have family members who won’t even speak to me as a result of my abrasive lifestyle. I have an ex-wife who only talks to me when her lawyer is present, but that does not mean that I’m a bad person. I’m human.

How long are you going to hold me not being around over my head? Huh? You know why I wasn’t there—I was making a better life for you and your greedy, lying, cheating mother!

Romeo jumps up with his fist ready to swing. I do not know why he is so sensitive about his mother. She didn’t do anything for him that would put her shopping spree at risk. We were two self-absorbed people who had no business bringing a child into this world. My sister was a saint in hindsight, but that does not stop my son from standing in front of me, ready to tear my head off.

That’s it! That’s what it takes to be champion. You remember that—the anger flowing through your veins—the hatred that pumps your heart. I know it all too well. You want to prove that you’re better than me, but you’re not. Face it; you will always live in my shadow no matter what you accomplish in this sport. You will always be known as Reggie Mercer’s kid, I reaffirm.

He better not try me. I may have half the liquor store swirling around in my system, but I can still take him out. His mother left me fifteen years ago and took the bulk of my spoils. I can’t even think about her without cursing. A woman can knock you down to your knees harder than any opponent. After the divorce I went into a series of destructive behaviors. With all the drinking, drugs, gambling and womanizing, I could’ve taken all of my money and set fire to it and that would’ve been a better investment.

Y’all not going to fight in the house of God! Eulina yells. She is still in front of the pulpit.

Her words stop my son dead in his tracks—that’s definitely a good thing, because I didn’t feel like knocking anybody out today. I decide to stand up and face my son. I stand at about five-foot-eight and my son is five-foot-nine. I can’t believe that we both weigh the same, but Romeo has a longer reach, which can be dangerous in a long-distance fight.

Last time I checked, you didn’t go hungry. You didn’t wear hand-me-downs. You had the best of everything. You know why? Because of these… I hold up my fists as an exclamation point.

You also used your fists on me whenever you got too liquored up and couldn’t control your temper, Romeo spews right back.

Another low-blow, one more and my son will be disqualified. I’m not proud of some of the things I’ve done. I used to live hard and fight hard. Sometimes I couldn’t separate the two. But I’m no monster. I know that much. Whatever sins I’ve committed, I’ve paid for three times over.

"My God, there is just too much anger in this room. The