'Jules' mind went back under the moonlight and night air of Baldwin's Fine Arts Center Garden, where intense anger shifted into an intimate moment of curiosity with a blow of the wind.
Maybe two flames weren't supposed to be that close when raging...
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"The purpose of life is a life with a purpose. So, I'd rather die for a cause, than live a life that is worthless."
– Immortal Technique
RAHEEM watched his father as they rode in the black escalade, then returned to his gaze out of the window. Neither had said a thing to the other after the phone call.
They were traveling back to their house, three models of black trucks were scattered behind each other -- each making sure to be a certain length apart in order to not draw attention to themselves.
The moon's glow seeped into the passenger side's window and illuminated the fibers on the knee of Raheem's tuxedo. There was no music playing; only the sound of the wind gliding against the car's speed.
He shifted in his seat as the neighborhood had become familiar and the journey through the plethora of similar houses led them to their own. After Blade parked the car, Rah clicked his seatbelt and jumped swiftly out of the opened car door.
You could hear the sound of Raheem's dress shoes and the shifting of Blade's coat, along with the barking of dogs in the neighborhood and the nightly orchestra of insects. The click of Blade's keys participating with the lock of the door then filled the night before they both walked through the doorframe of the home.
All the lights were on inside; Rah could hear the oven vent from the kitchen sounding off loudly. The television in the living room played the news and as he glanced over, there was a lonely remote sitting on the arm of the long couch Rah used to lay on mid-day in high-school.
The broadcaster's voice was interrupted by Sheila's feet running down the stairs. She was in a satin Pajama set, her long hair was left to roam free and bounced as she made her way down the stairs and toward Raheem.
As she tried to hold him in her arms, but like a dance, he moved to the side. Sheila was then met with air, she looked over at Rah with a cocked neck to the side and confused eyes.
He'd shaken his head no before heading to his father's study. Rah had decided after he'd outlived that moment with a pistol in his face, that he'd be pissed off with his father for bringing the havoc upon him, and his mother for birthing him into it. He thought of the seven ways Sheila could have left Blade years ago for refuge from his selfish and deadly decisions.
She didn't, and in that moment Raheem decided to punish her for it.
"Raheem, baby please don't be mad at me." She called out as he traveled up the stairs, "I just needed the peace of knowing that you're okay."
Raheem scoffed, and then stopped in his tracks on the steps. He turned to her from the railing.
"I don't owe you peace -- either one of you. Especially when I don't have peace to give. You want to know if I'm okay," Raheem chuckled between his sentences, "I just had a gun in my face by a man I don't even know for something I didn't even do. That's not normal -- none of this is."
