Let the Church say Amen- Urban Fiction

Part 16

Marcus/ The Pastor POV

I sat and I waited, the whole night had me on edge. Every creak this old house made had me running to the front door waiting to confront Keisha's irresponsible ass.

Thumbing my way through my deep robe pocket I pulled out my 7th cigarette, slowly embracing it in-between my index and middle finger I lifted the cigarette to my face along with my orange lighter. Flicking the lighter quickly with my thumb the bright flame came alive, bringing the flame to the end of my cigarette I placed it in between my lips and deeply inhaled, relishing the poison in my lungs.

"Where's my momma?"

Forgetting that I wasn't alone, Kiesha's son, Junior, was the only one here because his Father was dead so he had no where to go on the weekends, like a zombie, I lifted my hand motioning Junior towards me.

Prying his fingers from the wall that divided the kitchen and living room, Juniors bare feet slapped quietly against the cold wooden floor. Watching dimly as his eye's adjusted to the low light of the lamp next to me, I planted my feet firmly onto the cold floor that quickly sent shivers up my spine.

"She left, don't know when she'll be back Junior."

Shrugging my shoulders, my head pounded from no sleep and a slight hangover. I slowly ran a large hand over my face, lifting my head I stared into his dark tired eye's, you could tell he had never had a real childhood. Crossing his arms, his light skin made it easy to see when he was upset the more upset he was, the darker red his face turned.

Hanging his head low, I could tell he wasn't trying to show his disappointment in front of me. With his jaw clentched and chest slightly puffed out, he quietly scanned the living room. His lanky body toward over me as a frown embraced his lips, he was 17, being the 2nd oldest he always fended for himself, and when Keisha left he knew exactly what she out there doing. Rolling his eye's, he shook his head and ran his nimble fingers through his curly hair, moving away from me slowly he found an empty spot on the wall and took the opportunity to lean against it.

"What I'm a do?"

His fist clenched tightly at his sides and his voice cracked, he seemed to be frustrated. Frowning tears streamed down his face, I knew exactly how he felt, abandoned, alone, having the person you love misuse your kindness for a weakness. Yea, that shit hurt. Taking a long look at the half empty Vodka bottle in my right hand and cigarette in my left, I seemed to come back to reality as I realized that instead of drowning my sorrows with prayer, I had turned to alcohol and damn cigarettes.

Being the man that I am, I got to my knee's, looking up at him, I replaced my reading glasses with a hand then quickly swiped away my tears.

"Pray with me son."

Leaning against the cream colored satin couch for support, I reached out an indigent hand to him. Uncleanching his fist, his hands ran slowly down the oversized white tee that hung onto his wide chest.

"Pray you say? What the fuck is god going to do for me?"

His eye's bore into mine, it was obvious he was waiting for an answer I couldn't give.

"You see, where the fuck was god when my momma sold me for a jar and 15 motha fuckin' dollars? Ole' dude beat me to a pulp every night, where was god when that same nigga tried to make me his bitch?"

Biting his bottom lip, tears heavily poured down his face, his face puckered as he looked up at the ceiling.

"And...where was he, where was your god, when I sat and watched a nigga rape my sister!"