Coming from a life of drugs, money, and women, Michael "Meechie" Jackson had the world in the palm of his hands. He had power and his business, which he built from the ground up, morphed him into one of the most well-known drug lords in the city.
I...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was only a dream.
Michael woke from a deep slumber drenched in diaphoresis, heavily breathing. He sat up against the headboard with his hands going to cover his face and took a moment to process what he witnessed behind the darkness of his closed eyelids. It felt so real how it all played out.
It's true how extremely exhausted he was being at the hospital for the past week with Irish, making sure she was doing okay with the ventilator. And it was like the minute he was away from her—just only three days—he had dreams of her dying. It was only one, but he always heard how people dreamt of tragic events most come true. This was one of them he feared becoming a reality.
The funeral felt all too real. Seeing her lying in a casket broke his heart, the fight with Irvin wasn't anything new, and he took notice of how quite a few people they knew well weren't present including family members and friends. Dreams tend to play out that way sometimes. But this dream he hoped to have been just that, a dream.
Tapping the screen of his phone to check the time, 04:33 is what it displayed. He scrolled up to see that he had a few text messages and missed calls from Chauncey and Naima. Just as he was about to return Chauncey's call, Naima's name flashed across the screen. He stared at it, contemplating answering but knew he had to. Trepidation resurfaced once again. He allowed the phone to ring one last time before unattaching the charger and sliding his thumb across the screen, bringing the phone to his ear.
"Hello?" he answered hoarsely, then cleared his throat.
"Michael, you gotta come to the hospital."
It was all he needed to hear to have him hastily removing the duvet from his body as he now held the phone between his shoulder and left ear. He replied in a tone as if he already knew what to expect. "I'm on my way." It was the last thing he said before ending their call.
_____
Minutes into the drive, he pulled into the parking lot that was somewhat empty but still had a few cars parked. Finding an opened space, he parked between two GMC Denali trucks, killed the engine to his car and stepped out the driver's side, locking the doors as he sprinted to the automated doors of the ER. He found himself in the elevator being carried to the third floor and checked in at the front desk. Making his way to room 328 where Irish resided for the past two weeks, his walking slowed to a complete halt in front of the door and took in a much needed breath.
Whatever he would see when walking in, he wanted to be prepared for the outcome. Something in his heart told him she was gone, but he pushed those negative thoughts to the back of his mind; he was in denial. Like he promised her, she was going to make it. She needed to. He needed her to.
