Page 11 of Impacted by Love

Lay your head

On my pillow, sweet baby

?

Lord, if you're listening pl?—

"There's my baby. Come and dance with me, Asaiah." Mom's voice stops me in my tracks and instantly spikes my blood pressure.

My eyes bulged, my pulse raced, and my forehead beaded with perspiration. I turned to see Mom swaying offbeat to the song playing loudly around the living room. Dad wasn't paying me attention because he was focusing on inhaling the vapor from the pipe resting between his ashy lips.

"Dance with Mama, baby," Mom says, pulling me into her body, and I stiffen like a mummy from our close proximity.

Biting my lip, I allow Mom to rock my body from side to side while she caresses my head, slowly moving downward, inciting my urge to flee.

"Here, Val," Dad's voice sounds behind me, and my eyes shift to Mom, who's now receiving the pipe in her mouth.

Neither cares about the child between them, while Mom inhales the smoke after Dad lights the end of the glass barrel.

God, please make me rich so I can buy a plane and fly far, far, away. God, please make me rich so I can buy a plane and fly far, far, away.

"That was 'For The Good Times' by Al Green. We'll be right back after this commercial break," the radio host says, snapping me out of the memory I had unconsciously fallen into when the song started playing.

Running my hand down my face, I remove the water I didn't realize was present before turning my vehicle off and exiting. My breathing is choppy, and my mind is reeling, trying to return to normal after a weighty memory. With my head down and focusing on the cracking pavement, I move toward the front entrance robotically. Not wanting to be seen, I have on a baseball cap, stonewashed jeans, a black shirt, and all-black tennis shoes. Yanking on the front door, I enter the building with a frown and swiftly move to the bank of elevators. My stomach is flipping, and my disposition is sour from the aftermath of the resurfacing of something I wish I could forget. Like it's been waiting for my arrival, the elevator door opens, and I step inside.

"Hold the door, please," a vaguely familiar but soft feminine voice calls out, forcing me to push the button to prevent the door from closing.

Really, God? You play all day.

"Oh, hi. Do you remember me? My name is?—"

"Onesti," I say, cutting her off while the elevator door closes, and she steps to the left of the car.

The elevator begins to ascend, and nearly a second into its uphill movement, it jerks instantly, furrowing my brows.

"Please do—" Onesti's words halt when the elevator makes a weird noise, answering whatever statement she is about to make.

Anntt. Anntt.

The elevator whines before halting, and my eyes balloon before I glance over at Onesti to see her shaking her head.

"Did this thing just get stuck?" I ask the rhetorical question.

"Mhm. You might as well get comfortable because this happens several times a week, and it's gonna take them a while to get us out of here," Onesti says before sitting on the floor and pulling her large bag in front of her.

"Several times a week?"

"Oh yeah. This isn't my first rodeo with this elevator. Do you want some?"

My mouth opens and closes like a fish when Onesti pulls a sandwich from her bag while extending it toward me. Her gaze is on the bag, from which her free hand removes a small baggie full of chips.

"Are you serious right now?" I ask, frowning.

"Yeah, why don't you take a load off? I'm serious. We'll be here a while, so we might as well get familiar with one another. Do you want half of my sandwich? It's turkey and chicken breast with a slice of provolone and a dab of mustard to keep it from being dry. It's delicious, and the meat is fresh from the deli," Onesti says.

Joining Onesti on the floor, I scoot back until my back rests against the wall while my eyes rake over the woman sitting across from me. Her eyes intently watch me, with one hand holding the sandwich and the other holding the chips.

"I also have a Tahitian Treat in my bag that I'm willing to share. You can have a waterfall because I don't know where you like to put your mouth. It's a nice… oh shoot?—"

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