A Harlem Metanoia Story ©

AHMS| THE START OF METANOIA

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Weakness.

Was the feeling Jaiyaah had felt the moment the words rolled off of Jacobi's tongue. She took in a sharp breath as she watched the man before her, ransacking both his eyes, and demeanor for any form of genuine sincerity she could find.

Her heart thumped unusually fast behind her chest, as if she had been previously sprinting for an entire marathon. For a while Jaiyaah had hesitated; afraid to discover what would happen to her the moment she stepped a single Van covered foot inside of her rapist's car. What would have happened if she agitated him, or said the wrong words to make his impetuous anger flare.

Would he kill her, rape her, or both?

Then; she locked eyes with Jacobi once more. His wonted stone-cold face, had painted over with an expression that without words having to be verbalized; displayed to Jaiyaah just how sorry he must have been towards the girl. His coffee brown pupils had dilated, glazing over with an almost invisible, transparent glossy sheen.

If she were a naïve little teenager, Jaiyaah would have confused his award-winning façade for a desperate man on the verge of tears yearning only to admit to his wrong doings, but two weeks of quarantine; had made her much smarter than that.

With a slight tug, Jaiyaah's hand dropped from the grip Jacobi had placed on it. She turned her head away from his stare, taking her own wrist in her left hand; twisting it around gently.

"I don't think so, sorry." She had begun to take strides away from Jacobi's frozen position, when he finally stopped her; confusion drawn across the entire canvas of his face. For the second time in the course of less than a month; one girl had managed to do the single thing that had never before happened to The King of East Harlem.

Reject him.

He placed two fingers on the bridge of his nose, as he took a small breather; desperately attempting to suppress the anger that had begun slowly but surely; making its way to the forefront.

"You telling me you don't wanna ride with me, instead of walking to wherever you gotta go?"

His voice showed just how bewildered and frustrated he had become; just listening to the girl before him.

Jaiyaah quirked a brow up at the man in front of her, switching her eyes to the scenery around the two; before returning her gaze. When she did, her heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

"Yes." For the third time that night, Jaiyaah turned her back to Jacobi beginning her journey home. He refrained from stopping her that time, and instead she initiated her walk away from the convenience store. The air was frigid, blowing cold fog against her reddened skin with each urging step she took.

Her tattered black Vans stepped briskly atop the snow, leaving the defined indentations of her size 6 feet which she had stuffed into the shoes that had long ago been outgrown. Jaiyaah dropped her head down as she continued her voyage; occasionally surveilling her surroundings.

Few people lined the streets that night; which only occurred on two occasions; a drug raid or an infamous Harlem shootout. Her eyes landed on the yellow crime scene tape that draped across the neighborhood's wash house, before shaking her head. Wide and narrow trails of blood decorated the once white walls of the establishment, while the people occupying it all held a certain distant look behind their eyes; blinking harder and harder each time they felt a threatening tear. Though not a face showed any look of surprise, since where they came from; everyone learned to expect the things like that to happen the most.