Yellow Brick Road (an Eazy-E Story)

SIX

[TW:// Gang Violence, Talks of death and trauma.]

July 23rd, 1988 | Brooklyn, New York

Voices around me echoed in a chaotic blur. Hues of red and blue faded in and out of view. My hearing had become muffled. I was reaching out for him. All I wanted was to make sure that he was okay. Fuck how I was feeling.

I tried to unfasten my seatbelt but it wouldn't budge. I called his name as loud as I could. Even my own voice came through muffled. Flashlights blurred my already hazy vision.

I saw pale fingers in front of my face. Everything was upside down. Was I upside down? Fuck! I tried to move out of the passenger seat and couldn't. I couldn't feel right right leg.

I tried pulling it from under the dashboard, but it wouldn't budge. Why can't I feel my fucking leg? My ears began to ring as I called out for him a few more times.

Unfamiliar voices responded back to me but it wasn't the voice I wanted to hear. Suddenly, my hearing came back crystal clear.

"Ma'am, we're going to get you out of here." Said the paramedic who was putting fingers in my face. "Can you tell me how many fingers I'm holding up?"

"Why does that fucking matter? Where is Lawrence?" I yelled at the paramedic. "Where the fuck is Lawrence?" Hot tears streamed my cheeks. I turned my neck to the driver's seat to see it empty.

Soaked in blood. I looked at the driver's door and counted six bullet holes. Loose change was still in the seat and the radio played Prince. I hung upside down from the seatbelt that was stuck.

"Ma'am, we're going to get you out of there. Fellas, get the bolt cutters. Prepare the stretcher." The paramedic ignored me. I wanted to know if Lawrence was okay.

The paramedics used the bolt cutters to slice through the passenger door. They cut the seatbelt off of me and grabbed me before my head could hit the top of the car.

They moved as much of the glove compartment upward as they could before pulling my legs from underneath. My left ankle was bruised and my right leg was completely shattered.

I screamed at the sight. I broke down instantly and looked over to the paramedic van, where Nicole was standing. She used the car phone to call my mom. I heard her screaming.

"Mrs. Smith, it's Lauren and Lawrence. They've been hit!" Nicole's eyes met mine as they put me on the stretcher and strapped me in securely. Wheeling me to the back of the van, Nicole hung up the phone and rushed to my side.

"Where are you taking her? Where's Lawrence?" Nicole screamed.

"The nearest emergency room. Feel free to follow behind us. We'll contact emergency contacts upon arrival."

The EMTs put me in the back of the van. My head was spinning. They shut the door and took off. The sirens blared loudly. I tried to focus on Nicole's headlights as she kept up with us.

Upon arrival, they rushed me to critical care and prepped me for surgery. They had to remove debris from my right leg and clean the open gash.

I heard them mention a metal plate before knocking out from the anesthesia. I woke up hours later in a hospital bed with my mom and dad holding each hand.

"Lauren, baby." My mother broke down crying. She kissed my forehead multiple times. "Honey, Lawrence—"

"Lawrence is gone, baby." My dad said as plain as he could. It was his nature to be blunt. If he were to shed a tear, only he would be present to see it.

"You were caught in the crossfire. It had nothing to do with you." My dad added. As if that made anything better.

"I told him to leave those bloods alone! I told him! Now look! I have to bury my baby. My first born." My mother cried. She gripped onto my hand so tight, I thought a vein would rip through my skin.