December 20, 2004
Monday night
8:35pm...Driving along the road of the Nola, I sat in the backseat of my father's unmarked car as the sound of This Is A Man's World by James Brown sounded subtle throughout the speakers. Picking me up from my aunt Mae's home, we were on our way home. Tuning out the sound of the old school music as well as the stench of cigarettes, I gazed out of the window at the variety of lights that lit up the city. The lights reflected off of the car. I always loved riding around with my father once the sunset, I absolutely adored the lights that brought the city to life.
With a styrofoam plate wrapped in tin foil resting upon my lap, I let off a sigh. I wanted to hurry home because my aunt Mae baked a pound cake with lemon glaze and I was looking forward into eating it. It was fresh, the tin foil was keeping the cake warm. As time progressed, a song that my parents would often listen to came on the radio. In the air tonight by Phil Collins sounded. One of the songs that made me extremely uncomfortable. Every time this song shown face, my soul became disturbed and I'd never speak upon it but I would get attacked in my sleep. I didn't understand why this happened to me because I wasn't into anything at all, I was always a good child.
With my entire being washing over with paranoia and great fear, I sighed as I took my attention from out the window and gazed down at the plate I had in my lap. Trying my best to tune out the music, I closed my eyes tight as I began a silent prayer that my mother would recite with me before bed. Opening my eyes, I furrowed my eyebrows as I became vaguely familiar with the area of the secluded French Quarter...
Feeling as if I've been here before, my father parked along the curb, right in front of a building that caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand erect. Cutting the car off, I gazed out of the window at the building with fear written all over my face. I couldn't fathom why I was feeling this way. Turning in his seat, my father gazed back at me. "Baby girl, we're going to keep this to ourselves. When we get home, we're going to tell your mama that I had to stop at the station", he said to me and with that, I nodded in response. "Now if you keep this to yourself, I'll get you that doll you asked for tomorrow for your birthday", he carried on.
Not being able to be excited about what he had said to me, I nodded once again. Placing the plate aside, I unfastened my seatbelt and with that, he opened the car door and got out and I slowly but surely opened the door and stepped out. My father already made his way around the car.
Grabbing my hand, I gazed around at our surroundings, noticing that we were the only ones out here. Silence hovered the thick area, the only thing that sounded were our own footsteps and the sound of the gentle wind. Squinting my eyes at the sign above the old beatened door, the paint chipped from it as well as the sign above. With the words chipping away from the old wooden sign, I gave up trying to figure out what it once said.
Opening the door, we walked in and at an instant, I felt my eyes well up with tears. The front room was dim lit and it wreaked of burnt out incense with a variety West African head sculptures and or statues. Bronze Heads from Ife to be more precise. As my father pulled me deeper into the small building, I couldn't help but notice a glass case full of beaten dolls. They were poorly stitched, dirty and hard to look at. Dried blood stains covered a few of them as their buttoned eyes were hanging by threads.
Gazing at the paper beneath the case, it read voodoo dolls, with a article stapled against the poster board the case was hanging from. Putting a halt to our walking, my father gazed down at me and spoke. "You sit right here and stay put.", he said followed by a sigh as I took a seat on the unoccupied chair. Kneeling down, he continued. "I need this promotion and this is the only way", he said in an odd tone which caused me to furrow my eyebrows.
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Run
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