The story that he tells at 1:45 where an angel and a devil is sitting on your shoulder.
He said that it scared him so bad that he had that kind of evil in him that he ran out of the house it did say anything to anyone.
I had a similar moment.
My father was like Mister. M.I.S.T.E.R. Period, from the Color Purple. One of the reasons I can't watch that movie today.
I tell people my father was like a combination of Ike Turner and Hitler. Oppressing the mind and spirit. He beat my mother, he beat my brother and I. He used my sister as his personal snitch.
I once saw him throw my mother down the stairs, run behind her as she tumbled, and punch her in the mouth bottom of the stairs knocking out her front tooth
Seeing that a child has an effect on you. You know it's wrong, but unbeknownst to you a part of it becomes normal. Acceptable in a way.
It lies dormant in some, and is more visible in others.
Just at the high school in 1995 I was dating a girl named Ryan O'Bryant. She was light skin and gorgeous. Red bone.
Normally I am Team Dark Skin but with this girl she was just, wow.
We were standing on the second floor at the two family house Ryan thought that she could say something to me and she thought... well I don't know what the fuck she thought.
What I do know is she would never think that shit again.
There were about seven of us on that porch.
Ryan leaned against the railing and told me, "That's why I'm pregnant. AND IT AIN'T YOURS."
I don't know what damn fool thought goes into a woman's head to say something like that to a man. I don't know what she was thinking.
I don't know what I was thinking.
The next thing I know I am having an out-of-body moment where I am looking at myself from the outside.
Like a panther I crossed a 6-foot spans of ground in a flash that would make that big cat proud.
I grabbed Ryan by the neck and lifted her bodily in the air. Her feet dangled a good foot off the floor. Her feet kicked like joyous child as they enjoyed an ice cream.
"What the fuck did you just say to me?" I heard myself growl.
Her arms flailed, and her hands feebly tried to grab me, but I was unaffected.
Her friends were frozen in place. I heard gasps behind me but I heard no words. The look of unadulterated Terror in her eyes was palpable.
I looked her in the eye...and threw her off the balcony
I heard the screams behind me. Someone said, "Oh my God," as Ryan fell in slow motion.
The way she fell it was like when the Ancient One pushed Bruce Banner from the body of the Hulk.
She fell backward into the day not knowing if there would be more days for her. Realizing far too late I wasn't the man to say such a thing to.
For minutes it seemed I watched her fall as a ln evil mask covered my face.
I heard the screams and I just stood there watching her fall into Oblivion.
Her calves hit the balcony sending them flying into the air and at the last possible moment I grabbed them.
I reached out and grabbed Ryan by her ankles with one arm.
I was 18 and nowhere near as strong as I am now. Where I summoned the strength to do this I have no idea.
I held Ryan by the ankles with one arm and pointed at her with the other. I screamed and barked at her and I couldn't tell you if you paid me $1000000 what I said to her.
She wore the same horrified look as Hans Gruber.
Like in the movie The Dark Knight, her friends yelled, "Let her go," the same way Batman did when The Joker held Rachel.
Poor choice of words, indeed.
I pointed at her with my left hand, pointed in their face and barked words I do not remember.
Her friends grabbed and clawed at the clothes on my back and my neck but I was completely unbothered by the movements of those sheep. I was a wolf and I had the Sheep I wanted in my grasp.
Then I came to my senses.
I pulled her up. I pulled her up and I ran from the house, down the stairs the same way Michael K. Williams said he did with his situation.
I ran down the street toward E. 116th street.
A #50 bus was coming going Southbound toward my home and I ran for it, chasing it down.
I paid my fare, went to the back of the bus and stood on the back stairs.
Most city buses have a mirror by The Back Stairs.
I told you before that I witnessed my father beat my mother on numerous occasions. When I was a child there is no greater horror then for me to be compared to my father in any way.
I hated that man.
I've looked into the mirror above the back stairs... and I saw my father's face instead of my own. I don't know how it was possible, what witchcraft, but I saw my father's face instead of my own standing there on the back of the bus.
All the air I thought I owned escaped my lungs and I collapsed on the floor of the RTA bus and I bawled in such a manner and fashion that one would assume someone died.
But someone did die.
I died.
I was replaced by one of the most vile human beings I'd ever met.
M.I.S.T.E.R period.
I wasn't sobbing, and I wasn't quiet. I cried so loudly as if I was being attacked, and I was. I was being attacked by the realization that I had become my father.
That I had become what I'd hated.
I felt crushed like an aluminum can being stepped on. I couldn't find my breath, and I cried reaching out for that breath. Every time I will get a hold of it it would leave me again, drained.
I reached out for that breath Again and again and again and again and again the entire 20-minute ride home and every time the breath of slipped from between my grass leaving me shriveled reaching for it again and again and again.
I didn't even realize the bus had reached it's Final Destination. The end of the line
I wailed hard for well over 20 minutes reminiscent of John Coffey in the Green Mile when he found those blonde headed girls.
I felt an arm up on my shoulder and felt someone sit next to me. They put their arm around me and gently squeezed and I fell into their shoulder, still crying.
Tears streamed down my face, they continued to fall, and they drenched the shoulder of this person. I didn't know who it was, I didn't care.
"I'm turning into my dad. I'm turning into my dad," I said.
She wrapped her arms around me and rocked me, cooing softly that it was going to be alright, but I wasn't hearing any of it and my wailing continued.
She clutched me tighter, as if I was hers rather some stranger on a city bus crying for reasons she didn't know.
I had never been held so tightly.
After minutes, it could have been 3, or 10. We sat there with our arms around each other until I began to feel comforted enough and I let go.
She used her hands and her sleeves to wipe away my tears as if I was her child.
We stood, she walked me to the front of the bus. She asked where I lived, I told her just around the corner and she offered to drive me.
We stopped at my house, the fifth house from the corner, and she parked the bus, stood and hugged me again. A good 30 second hug.
She told me everything would be alright and that I should pray on it.
I got off the bus , waved at her and headed inside.
I never saw that woman again. A part of me I wondered whether she was even real or a figment of my imagination. Whether she was an angel that God placed on this Earth to help me in my deepest moment of need.
I have never hit a woman sets. I've never raised my hand to a woman at all in any way since then.
I also refuse to date volatile women who are destructive, you know the type. Any woman with that nasty attitude that make you want to hit them to correct their shity attitude and actions.
Seen my father's face in the mirror that day saved my life. I could have been like him, probably would have been like him had it not been for that one incident and that terrified me.
I understand exactly where Michael K. Williams was talking about with a situation.
May he rest in peace
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