FEARLESS Untitled chapter excerpt

Strange

            that the lap top computer was still on. The monitor was showing numerous surveillance screens of different parts of the town. Tic told me, “That Satan got many eyes, boy. He sees everything. Now you get to experience that sortah’ power.” This couldn’t be possible.

            For the next few minutes I studied the folders and the make up of the computer. Deduced that there was some kind of soft ware that connected to satellites in space that some how gave real time surveillance of the area where the computer is located. Surely, this had to be something illegal.

            I also discovered a folder containing various patterns mixed with sound bites that seemed to be of hypnotic suggestion.

            Should I continue?

            During the next few days I found myself compulsively studying the surveillance, praying to the Loh’Rd to give me an answer, and working out on the weights. Man, I was weaker than I had been in years. I was struggling with ninety-five pounds on bench, couldn’t do a single pull up, and I puked at the half mile when I jogged. Didn’t take long for me to be overwhelmed by self-doubt.

            Needed a theme song. Therefore, I started with what was imbedded in my mind. That is to be the under dog. Rocky movie sound tracks, and in other driving guitar riffs that expressed ageless messages of never quitting. Played these songs loud through my sound system as I hit the weights. During the rest breaks I continued studying the surveillance.

            After two weeks of this training, I added changes to my diet. These changes included mostly eating raw fruits, vegetables, sardines and tuna. My waist line got smaller. Yet, I still had a section of my belly hanging over my pants.

            Crime was getting worse on the streets. There is the same kid in the back ground. He doesn’t seem to be doing anything but watching. See a gang of kids brutally attack a security guard. Start to wonder to myself if I can take the hits. Naw, there’s something I have to add to my training.

N A meeting:

            They were shocked to see my head shaved. Some had thought that I had moved. Some had thought I had relapsed. All of em’ were welcoming-

            The topic is on acceptance. I think it would be wrong for me to share because I had been gone for so long. The new ones speak somberly of being forced into acceptance through the courts. Others speak of how they hurt their friends and family in the past, and are very grateful to be back on good terms. Then there are those who speak of accepting their wives, husbands, lovers. Which, compels me to speak of her.

                                                                                                          “It would be so much easier for me to blame others for the things that I did, and do. That’s sick behavior I used to engage in a lot when I was using. Read long ago that I am a product of how I reacted. Still working on that acceptance thing. So, ‘Can A Woman Make A Man Lose His Mind?’ well, considering the fact that when I’m disturbed about something it is me. Every situation that happens to me good or bad, most of these situations I placed myself there. And I can’t say ‘Well, just cuzz’ I accept this doesn’t mean I have to like it.’ When I am accepting I am at peace.”

 So what do I do? Whatcha’ gonna’ do now? Wanna’ lay down and die. But, instead I’mma’ enjoy life today and go to a batting cage. Thought about it all the way to a town on the out skirts of Memphis. It’s long time overdue that I face my fears. Where did this idea come from to go to a bating cage? Was I subconsciously thinking of bat man? Naw, it ain’t that deep brother. It would feel good to swing at something. Let out aggressions.

As I got closer and closer to the bating cage I started remembering my failures of living up to my father’s expectations of being a baseball star. I started remembering being fearful. Not knowing why. I’d just spaced out until the ball hit me in the face. Then I became very afraid of flying objects. Time to face that fear.

Time To FACE That FEAR. I stepped in the cage. Maybe I should start off slow. Naw, I don’t do slow. I set the machine to the fastest mode.

“Hit the ball with the bat, son!” I swung the bat once and missed. Next ball hit my hip. Then I started wildly swinging the bat. I was hitting about five out of ten balls. I started to cry, as I relived the childhood memories. Memories like getting slapped when I did something wrong, crying when my peers would make fun of me, and the feelings of utter defeat and frustration when I failed. I failed and it didn’t matter how hard I tried. I took to the ground in the fetal position.

There is always something there in facing the fear. I stand to feel the pain from the impact of the baseballs to my chest and then my stomach. KEEP MOVING FORWARD! This is crazy. “Shut up, or I’ll give you a reason to cry!” Those memories, I still cry from. I started flinching, and closing my eyes. Pow! A baseball hits me in my nose. I fall to the ground. I open my eyes to see my blood dripping to the concrete. My mind  goes to a flash back: Me getting thrown down to the ground by Williams, the regular school bully, after doing a pretty punch kick combination. “Get Up! Get Up!” Baseballs hit the back of the cage. Then I remembered m­­­­y drunken father picking me off the ground and slamming me down. I’d hit the ground so hard that the rug burns bled.    “I JUST WANT TO TURN YOU INTO A REAL MAN!” I brought that rage of wanting to beat my dad to free sparing. Free sparing, when ya’ got protective pads over your feet, hands, and head. All it is is kicks and punches to the head and torso. No grappling at all. I earned my black belt at the age of thirteen. I’d free spar the adult green through red belts. I’d dominate them. Most of them didn’t have but mere months of experience.

“GET UP! GET UP!” Balls were hitting the fence and ricocheting, striking my ear. It is reminding me of slap boxing my father; stung my face so bad that I’d see red. I was so frightened outside the rules of free sparing. Most of the time, I was too inadequate to defend myself. Every opponent became my invincible father. But, every now and then when I did land a good kick and punch it worked beautifully. “GRRRRRRAGGGHHHH!” I stand up and run fearlessly toward the baseball throwing machine. It was shooting out puffs of air and I looked around. I saw crowd around the cage just staring at me in shock.

“Haven’t had two black eyes since my drinking days. I never imagined being out of shape so bad to the point that it could be so detrimental to my health.” I follow with a chuckle.

            “Brother John, you gotta’ be more careful.”