Promise Kept. Stephanie Perry Moore
could see over crowds, but people were standing on folks’ necks trying to see this fight—you would have thought it was a World Championship bout or something. However, when the police raided the joint, bodies blocking our way moved quickly toward all exits. In the mass of confusion I saw a bloody silver knife in the hands of the gang leader. Savoy dropped to her knees and my heart stopped. I couldn’t even recognize her brother’s face, and knew from the bloodstain on the left side of his belly that the thug’s knife had pierced Saxon’s stomach. I was so torn I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to let thug dude get away with it. I wanted to go after him, fight a fair fight and kill his behind. He had waited until his boys tore Saxon up and then he took him out—it just wasn’t right.
But as soon as I turned, Savoy called out, “Perry, help me! Help me, please. You’ve got to help me stop the bleeding. My brother, I don’t know if he’s going to be okay. Please, I’m scared, help me!”
“I’m going to go get the police,” Deuce said.
Part of me was wishing I hadn’t been such a knucklehead in the beginning—in terms of Savoy—and all of this could have been prevented. But it was facing me now. When I touched Saxon’s body he wouldn’t even move, scream out in pain, or cry for help. My body started shaking as if I was in an ice cold freezer. It was déjà vu. I remember the paramedics trying to save Collin Cox, our other suitemate. Though his prospects had been bleak, he pulled through. Seeing Saxon’s frail body in front of me, I just didn’t think that he would be so lucky.
“We’re going to lose him,” Savoy said, reading my mind.
Instinctively, I said, “No, no. He’s going to get through this! He’s going to get through this,” as I rocked her in my arms.
I was so sick of hospital waiting rooms that if I had stock for every time I had been in one over the past couple of years I’d be rich. It was a good thing we were here for the bowl game, because Savoy’s parents were still in Miami and met us at the hospital. I didn’t know how to console her. She stayed in the arms of her mom, as her dad and I paced in opposite directions so we would stay clear of one another. I knew deep down it was useless to hold out much hope. Saxon was in real bad shape and if this was the end for him I didn’t even know if he was saved, and that killed me. I cried out, Lord, give me another chance! Help me make sure that my friends know You. You want me to be a fisherman of men, alright. I’ll put down my shoulder pads. I’m here. I’m available. Save my friend. Dang, I know we can’t do it without You. This is a lot—dealing with trouble.
3
Clinging to Hope
I was in such a daze, hoping everything would be okay with Saxon, that when my cell phone rang it startled me so that I almost took a leak in my pants.
“There you are, son,” my dad said. I hoped he hadn’t called the hotel and checked up on me. I had told him and my mom that I was going to go sleep off my depression over the horrible game. Before I could explain the night, he took my breath away by saying, “Son, this isn’t good news.”
What in the world did he have to tell me? What wasn’t good news, what was so bad? With Bilboa’s aunt and uncle’s accident early in the year, I couldn’t take it for granted that just a mere car ride across town would always prove to be a safe one.
“Are you and mom okay?”
He took a deep breath. “It’s Grandma.”
“What’s wrong with your mom?” I said, feeling very angry at the Lord. He told me that he would never put more on me than I could bear. I couldn’t bear losing Saxon, and now my dad calls me at 3 AM to talk about my grandma. For real, this is too much.
“Are you at the hotel or not, son? We talked to your coach—he said you could ride back with us. Grandma’s at the hospital. We drive back tonight, we’ll be back there by midmorning.”
“Going back with the team won’t be quicker for me?”
“No, Coach said y’all weren’t pulling out until about ten.”
“Dad, I’m not trying to stress you but I’m not at the hotel.”
“Boy, you hooked up with some girl?”
“No sir, I’m at the hospital.”
“WHAT!” he exclaimed with such an irate voice the phone dropped out of my hand.
“Alright, we’ll find our way to the hospital. Stay there!” he said after I explained everything. “And we’ll just make sure Deuce gets all of your stuff on the plane.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. Grandma going to be okay?”
Dad got all choked up, he couldn’t even answer me. My mom got on the phone and said, “Son, we’ll see you in a little while. We don’t know much about your grandmother’s situation, other than she had a severe stroke and they’ve called all the family in.”
I sat down in the chair, put my hands over my eyes and wept. What in the world was going on? It wasn’t good, it didn’t feel right, and I needed comfort. I didn’t feel right seeking it from God because I had issues with Him. I had actually forgotten where I was until Savoy came over to me. I teared up when she said to me in a sweet voice, “It’s going to be okay. It’s not your fault and it’s not my fault. We just got mixed up with some horrible people and Saxon is going to be okay. He’s going to be alright.”
“I hope he will, babe, but it’s my grandma—my parents are on their way to get me. She is in a hospital too, in Atlanta.”
“Oh, no,” she said. “We just got to believe that both of them are going to be okay, Perry. Pray and trust God.”
“Whatever,” I said to her, really feeling completely frustrated.
I wasn’t perfect and I wasn’t doing things right. But daggone, a whole lot of crazy negroes are living a life of sin, fattening their pockets, escaping the police and partying with their friends nightly, and never have any kind of drama like I seemed to always find myself in. I saw my parents come in. Not having any news about Saxon or my grandma’s condition was unsettling. I couldn’t stay; I had to jet. Before leaving, I headed over to Deuce and told him to explain to Coach Red that all of it was my fault.
“It’ll be alright, man. Just go with your family. It’ll be alright,” Deuce told me. But after the day from Hell, how could I believe that I would possibly survive? The anger that I had tried so hard to get rid of was now back. In the car with my parents, I put on my iPod because I didn’t want to hear the gospel music my father was playing to try to encourage himself. I just wasn’t feeling it. I felt that God was abandoning his promise. Many people I cared about were hurting and it was just taking a lot out of me. When we made it back to the Georgia line, my dad woke me up. I hadn’t been with him daily since going off to college, but he still knew me pretty well.
“So, you angry now. Mad at the world, huh? Everybody ain’t gon’ live, son, if it’s Saxon’s time to go, if it’s my momma’s time to go. Though we may not agree with God’s plan, He knows better than we do. He knows the way. You’ve got to let go of the need to know why. When you believe in Him you’ve got to understand that He owes you no explanation.”
“So He just gets to make all of the rules? Though we play the way He tells us to play, He still pulls the rug from under our feet.”
“First of all, son, none of us will be perfect until we are with Him. God didn’t make you go to either one of those clubs—the one the coach benched your behind for or the one where your friend got stabbed.”
I did a double take. I couldn’t believe my father was talking so squarely to me. If I didn’t respect him I would have taken my fist and punched him so hard his head would have gone through the driver’s side of the window.
“Don’t be looking at me like I’ve done lost my mind. I’m telling you what’s real. Did He make you go to those clubs?…Answer me!” he said