May there be a blessing for others 

with each effort we make to enrich our own life. 

Season Greetings

May the love, joy, and peace of Christmas Day leave a sense of gratefulness with you and your families that transcends into hope for a healthy, prosperous, and Happy New Year. 

 Feliz Navidad: Joyeux Noël : Joyeux Noël : Joyeux Noël : 聖誕快樂 :Joyeux Noël : 메리 크리스마스 : Linksmų Kalėdų : Sarbatori fericite : Весели Коледни празници : God Jul : Счастливого Рождества : स य़९समस : รื่นเริงวันคริสต์มาส : Riang Gembira Krismas : Joyeux Noël : Frohe Weihnachten : Na Vianoce : Buon Natale : Joyeux Noël : Giáng sinh vui vẻ : Καλά Χριστούγεννα : Nafay Ciida Kristmaska : メリークリスマス : Veselé vánoce : З Різдвом Христовим : i may have missed some of you in language, but I wish all of you, my brothers & sisters around the world, a  Merry  Chirstmas ! :)

This was the trailer that didn't go over well, but if at first you don't succeed, try and try again I will.

Author Response To Editing Suggestion For 'Born To Return The Gift'

A second person has suggested that I edit 'Born To Return The Gift' by putting more of the information contained in the last fifty pages into the beginning of the book to give readers a clearer idea of the main character - Nyima Chante Robbins. It would make her more likable and easier for the reader to understand why she is the way she is I'm told.

Although he stated the story was a powerful one, he felt it needed an overhaul.

My response?  If it had been written thus, it would not have satisfied my intent. I understand that writers who want to sell books write according to public demand, but everyone's first book was a story waiting to be told.

I established a character and then show her melt down. During her two week stay in a hotel, she recounts her seven year hiatus in California and is haunted by a recurring nightmare. Her actions and reactions are indicative of one on the verge of spiraling completely out of control . . . but although the situation is pathetic (alone, homeless, unstable employment, self-medicating) she is not meant to collapse into total mental despair and resort to the addictive behavior of her past because she gathers her strength from God and stands on faith.

Depressed people often have racing thoughts that reconstruct bad memories. In 'Born To Return The Gift' this is reflected through flashbacks of people, jobs, and situations that have left indelible marks on her well being. The memories demonstrate the correlation of how difficult it is for one to move beyond a troubled past when the same kind of experiences are experienced in their present.

(Spoiler Alert ) The subconscious compulsion to repeat experiences through dreams or waking/walking nightmares is evident as the protagonist attempts to retroactively master and gain control over how she reacts to her circumstances and the choices she's made, while her spiritual side is reconciling past traumas with a healthy 'anticipatory fear', the absence of which was the cause of her (repressed memory) childhood molestation. 

The descriptive narrative at the beginning is an objective, albeit morally ambiguous POV and is offset by a prescriptive narrative during the last fifty pages as the nightmare unfolds, which tells the protagonist's story from an almost authorial divinity POV through a confessional while in the devil's tomb.

Onyz Production's mission is to intrigue the mind, prick the heart, and incite the spirit. 'Born To Return The Gift' is a story that can provoke a reader to cast judgment against a protagonist they don't quite know or understand. But by the end, in judging her the reader cannot escape their own self-check of reality.

Do you think this book should be unpublished or redone? I'd like to hear your comments.

Condolences to the family of Nelson Mandela - Anti-Apartheid icon, Nobel Peace Prize Laureate, and South Africa's first Black President.

Rest in Peace
Nelson Mandela

You will always be remembered.

He was unsuccessfully tried for 

treason in a trial that lasted from 

1956 to 1961. 

It led to a successful conviction of 

conspiracy

 to

overthrow the gov't and he was sentenced to life ~ 

but after serving 27 years 

an International campaign 

successfully lobbied for his release in 1990.

You can't tell me that God 

wasn't 

behind this scene

1918 - 2013

Forever a symbol of Civil Justice

I may not be good at it, but I'm still here trying...

Everyone was a beginner 
before 
they became an expert!

Happy Thanksgiving to ALL

愉快的感恩 ; Gelukkige Thanksgiving ; Thanksgiving Shona ; Frohe Feiertage ;幸せな感謝祭 ; Ευτυχής ευχαριστήρια ;חג ההודיה שמח ; Ala bon sa bon Jou Aksyon de Gras ; 행복한 추수감사절 ; С Днем благодарения ; Radosne Święto Dziękczynienia ; Feliz Agradecimento ; Furaha Shukrani ; แฮปปี้วันขอบคุณพระเจ้า ; Glad Thanksgiving ; Õnnelik Thanksgiving

Wishing all of my FB family/friends a Happy Thanksgiving  

In memory of the first Thanksgiving in America.

Those who can, be the answer - send resources!

To All Veterans - Past and Present

Thank you for your service!

This man is Richard Overton, he is 107 years old and our oldest living veteran. Find out more about him here... http://buff.ly/HQVfEG 

Onyz Productions Blog Update - Facebook and 'Sienna'

Through trial and error I have been establishing a business page on facebook to build an audience for Onyz Productions; as well as working on my third novel, which is due to be released in 2014 .  Below is the draft synopsis and preview for 'SIENNA'.

The friendship between two young men, two of them blood brothers, is irreparably destroyed; and the brother of another mother is driven out of the country.

Twenty years later, a death bed promise sets the scene for events that will affect the lives of four generations. As the complex drama of human nature unfolds, what's been hidden in the dark threatens to break its way into the light.

Trent has grown up believing everything is as it seems - he comes from a 'perfect' loving family. He is nineteen and both parents are deceased when he leaves the village of Tobago to attend college in America. Against his better judgment, his uncle sends him to live with a man Trent knows nothing about to uphold his promise and honor his brother's deathbed wish.

Darius Kadeem, whose business involves drugs, gambling, and prostitution, becomes Trent's New York City benefactor. When Dwight is eventually incarcerated, Trent survives their association unscathed; until a highly decorated New York City police lieutenant preys on him with a demand disguised as an offer he cannot refuse.

As the world turns, his much younger sister, Mikhala, arrives in America with their only cousin, Fahayra, and her husband, Fareed, after the suspicious death of her parents. They all occupy a top floor of the Tilden Project in Brownsville, an area acclaimed as Murder, Inc.; but despite it, their lives continue in the midst of many others existing in the day to day struggle to survive.

Mikhala, who becomes a reputed gossip monger, inevitably proves to have valuable investigative skills after a four year old so-called 'crack baby' comes to lives with Trent and his wife, Louise.

After experiencing drugs, gambling, prostitution, and murder, is redemption possible for Trent's personal survival in the American ghetto?

Ultimately, this drama unfolds an Orisha ritual and ensuing suicide, rape, multiple heart attacks, and murder that have deceptively affected a family holding it together; and they must recognize the blessing that insures forgiveness and enough love to rectify some wrongs to change the game.

~ ' ~

I hope that those who have used valuable time to read this will offer their comments as feedback on Sienna and take a moment to check out and hopefully "like" my facebookpage - 

https://www.facebook.com/OnyzProductions . 

In the meantime, I hope that you will continue to check the side bar articles and scan through blog posts that you may have missed and comment on them as well.

Why 'Born To Return The Gift' Is Relevant

Born To Return The Gift is about a middle aged woman who finds herself at a crossroad in life. As an African American female with mixed heritage, she has difficulty understanding her place in the world. When she's diagnosed with depression and post traumatic stress disorder, she wonders how could this be? Life has had its difficulties, but doesn't the term PTSD usually refer to veterans of combat? The only battle Nyima has ever fought was for  survival, and at this stage she refuses to be labeled  emotionally and mentally damaged.

A recurring dream she's been having would offer her a sense of peace, but it's a nightmare she won't allow herself to be captivated by. Within the comfort zone of her son's family she is lulled into complacency and the nightmare finally unfolds. She discovers the root source of her depression traces back to a childhood incident of molestation and then the marital domestic violence that followed - never feeling worthy of anything better than what she got. In facing her own demons Nyima comes to understand the power to change her disposition and direction has been with her all along.

The relevancy of this book is that often times things do occur in life that can be disabling. Even when we can muster the strength to go through the motions of daily life, something in our spirit is inevitably touched for good or bad. When we fail to forgive those who have betrayed us, or worse - ourselves  for the choices we've made,  we all suffer. A paradigm is created  that is projected in everything we do and could reflect negatively towards others. Faith is a powerful antidote for overcoming destructive behaviors.

The Way We Are

Distinquishes us a a human race created in 

God's Image.

There hath no temptation taken you 

but such as is common to man;

but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.

 I Corinthians 10:13

Numbers count with marketing -

and with billions of Facebook Members . . .

 won't you be the one to take two seconds 

to click on an inspirational page as a gesture of support?http://www.facebook.com/onyzproductions

To like the page

  Then like or comment on any status that appeals to you.

Thank you!

Another 5 Star Review for 'End All To Be All'

Sometimes You Have to Just Believe

By im1Rarebird 

Format: Paperback

This is a story written with style, wit and insight. It is so much more than a book about addiction and it is not about religion, although both have their parts to play. Catherine shows us how God is not someone you meet in a church but a living entity that is with you everywhere you are. the way she used scriptures to show you how He works in a life is amazing.

Once again, she takes you and drops you smack,dab, in the middle of the action. You are not a voyeur, you are a participant in her character's journey of self revelation and enlightenment. If you want to read a book that celebrates the resilience of the human spirit and overcoming the odds then you will not want to miss this one.

Latest Review of Born To Return The Gift

 Turning The Tide?, September 30, 2013

By 

John R. Dizon

This review is from: Born To Return The Gift (Paperback)

Born To Return The Gift by Catherine Johnson is a compelling, incisive novel focusing on a series of episodes in the life of a middle-aged mulatto woman facing the crossroads of her journey. The strains of Irish blood in her veins prove as difficult to redeem as her college education as she seems trapped in the ghetto existence she struggles desperately to transcend. The temptation of substance abuse lurks on every corner, threatening to engulf her at any given time, but the power of her spirit resonates with the message of Scripture as the author takes us along this rocky road of redemption.

Nyima Robbins finds herself trying to free herself from the mire represented by the Oasis Hotel in California, her place of refuge from the chaos of the Oakland suburbs. She is enrolled at City College where she finds difficulty in relating to students half her age, fighting battles over which she long prevailed. Her spirit is exhausted by watching the next generation wading through issues of race and class, though it seems that she is being forced to walk that road over and again. She ends up taking a job at Platinum Financial, a check-cashing company that caters to the type of clientele that she needs desperately to avoid. Johnson provides us with a vivid account of how someone with the maturity, education and best intentions can still be trapped beneath the glass ceiling in a clinging, suppressive environment.

The author's work is reminiscent of Toni Morrison in bringing us into the black experience of ghetto life with an authentic narrative. Nyima's relations with Steffon, a philandering manipulator, demonstrate a need for companionship and to establish a social network. Yet she realizes that it is her dark side that is attracting the kind of people who dragged her into this very quagmire. The storyline eventually brings us into a segue towards the ontological discussion as Nyima experiences an epiphany during a nightmare sequence. A demonic figure appears to her, using the very `hunh hunh' idiosyncracy of speech that we find throughout Steffon's dialogues with Nyima. The demon tells her there is no way out, that the negative energy of her life serves to enhance the ontology of the ghetto experience. She is suddenly able to see the `lines formulating between the dots of her life', and how the events of her life have led her to this time of reckoning with the dark forces absorbing her very spirit.

Johnson's work is an essential piece of black literature that may well act as a guidepost for the next generation of African-Americans struggling with racial and economic issues in finding their own place in today's society. This glimpse into a visceral environment and the story of one woman's battle to transcend it is both uplifting and inspirational. Born To Return The Gift by Catherine Johnson is a modern-day parable you won't soon forget.

My Review of 'Destroyer' (Abadden) by John R. Dizon

Onyz Productions' mission is to intrigue the mind, prick the heart, and incite the spirit.  Because caring is sharing, I am compelled to share my review of this novel by John R. Dizon, which I was blessed to receive by electronic copy after it's release September 24th. ¡
Dios trabaja de modos misteriosos!

5 out of 5 Stars - ALLEGIANCE vs. REDEMPTION

DESTROYER  futuristically takes place after the crippling effect of a second attack by extremist suicide bombers. The Organized Religion Act and The Hate Crime Act are enacted to make all religious organizations illegal. It is the dawning of repeating the ancient history of persecution and violence. A micro chip inserted under the skin is the Federal ID system, and high tech surveillance systems with metallic voices secure blocks of New York City. A Great Depression has resulted in a housing crisis and hundreds of thousands of homeless people are driven underground to live in subway tunnels and sewer systems; while rich yuppies, wealthy politicians, and gold plated drug dealers rule life above ground - Because iniquity shall abound, the love of many shall wax cold.

Richard McCain has served twenty years in the military's Special Forces unit where he earned a Silver Star and Purple Heart. Upon his release, he finds solace in alcohol for the atrocities he's witnessed, and finds renewed purpose as a soldier in God's army. Like Job, this act costs him everything that makes life meaningful, and he has a deep scar between the muscle of his thumb and his wrist from popping his chip out. After a bombing in the subway system destroys thousands of innocent lives, he is thrust into spiritual turmoil.

His estranged wife, Agnes, contacts him after the border is opened to immigrants following a Mexico City bombing. Her young sister, who fled Columbia after the cartel made her a widow, is believed to be in the area. Even though it could possibly be a set-up because his wife's current lover is entrenched in Capital Hill, he agrees to take a hiatus from his ministry. Unbeknownst to them, Sandra Flores, who is a rising star over Homeland Securities' ICE department, secretly discovers her mother has made contact with the man she despises - her stepfather. She uses Machiavellian skills she has learned from her mother, to meet department objectives to destroy the resistance, and him with it. During a recruitment interview with Richard's nephew, she alludes that his employment is contingent on his willingness to expunge him.

Damien (Day) Blakely, who has been raised to believe religion only serves people lacking direction and is an opiate that renders its believers worthless to society, is thrilled by her cunning. The millionaire's personal agenda for a position within H.S. is to introduce DNA sampling for use with satellite tracking systems in specific areas to eradicate religion once and for all. Hatred for the man disowned by his grandparents sunk to treacherous depths following numerous crack houses being taken out of commission. Richard's execution would serve two purposes because his criminal conspirators suspect him of being the people's vigilante for Divine Justice - aka Abadden (Hebrew), the Destroyer.

John R. Dizon has created an explosive page turning Christian novel with plenty of action and history which will provoke thoughts about the illusion of freedom in contrast to parallel realities of free will that according to prophecy: as the end time draws near...many shall be offended, and shall betray one another, and shall hate one another.  This book is Highly Recommended for everyone - adventure seekers, truth slayers, and believers.

Born To Return The Gift & End All To Be All

Amazon Review For 'End All To Be All'

5 out of 5 stars - Path to Salvation? by John R. Dizon (The Standard)

Format: Paperback 

End All To Be All by Catherine E. Johnson is an insightful work of Christian fiction providing a revealing look into the world of substance abuse and the rehabilitation process. Unlike most of works within the genre, Johnson takes a realistic approach in ripping away the insulation that often compromises the validity of such novels. We are left with an unblinking look at the lives of patients in the Antoine Reed Alcohol and Drug Foundation, and their personal conflicts in navigating along that crossroad in their lives. 

Michael, the major protagonist, is a college-educated upwardly mobile black man whose life is turned upside down after a car accident that results in a car wreck that costs the life of his girlfriend. He is sent to the facility at the behest of Turk, a close associate realizing that Michael is in need of help. It is discovered that Michael has developed an addiction to Demerol over the years after an old neck injury grew aggravated over time. Michael, like a significant percentage of the population, is in denial but soon realizes there is a problem that must be resolved.

The author's insertion of Scripture at the beginning of chapters is a clever reminder that the answers to our problem is often in plain sight. It would be very interesting to conduct an exit poll to see how many readers in her audience are skipping over the passages, just like the characters in the novel. Most Scripture is based on common sense and Divine logic, and we often circumvent the argument to rationalize our actions and justify our mistakes. Michael meets Antoine and Jerry, two fellow shooters who personify the internal conflict facing him. Antoine is reassessing the value of the connections being brought in off the street, while Jerry remains dedicated to slamming the front door on them. Michael eventually turns to Jerry in rejecting his past, and Jerry becomes a beacon of hope in helping Michael find a way out of the abyss.

Johnson's story winds along a rocky road of hard knocks as Michael eventually begins a relationship with Nyima, a borderline alcoholic. She realizes that the success of their friendship will depend largely on their ability to slay the dragons in their life. When she learns of the circumstances surrounding the death of Michael's fiancee in the fatal car crash, it helps forge a bond of trust that helps them find resolution over a three-year struggle. 

The themes of perseverance and redemption resonate throughout the novel, and End All To Be All reminds us that God is always there to pick up those who are willing to get back on their feet.

Limited Time - 90% Discount of Ebooks at Smashwords

 Born To Return The Gift and End All To Be All  for $0.99 each.

Available in the following formats

Epub (Apple iPad/iBooks, Nook, Sony Reader, Kobo, and most e-reading apps including Stanza, Aldiko, Adobe Digital Editions, others);  Kindle (.mobi for Kindle devices and Kindle apps);   PDF (good for reading on PC, or for home printing)RTF (readable on most word processors); LRF (Use only for older model Sony Readers that don't support .epub); Palm Doc (PDB) (for Palm reading devices); Plain Text (download) (flexible, but lacks much formatting)

The following coupon  codes must be entered 

prior to completing checkout.

Born To Return The Gift - Coupon Code: AA62X

End All To Be All - Coupon Code: QW93A

Offer available until October 13, 2013

Remembering The Attack of 9/11/2001 - God Shed His Grace

  “Mourning is not forgetting... It is an undoing. Every minute tie has to be untied and something permanent and valuable recovered and assimilated from the dust.” 

― Margery Allingham

America (My Country, 'Tis of Thee)

Commonly referred to as America

by Rev. Samuel F. Smith - 1832

My country, 'tis of Thee,

Sweet Land of Liberty

Of thee I sing;

Land where my fathers died,

Land of the pilgrims' pride,

From every mountain side

Let Freedom ring.

My native country, thee,

Land of the noble free,

Thy name I love;

I love thy rocks and rills,

Thy woods and templed hills,

My heart with rapture thrills

Like that above.

Let music swell the breeze,

And ring from all the trees

Sweet Freedom's song;

Let mortal tongues awake;

Let all that breathe partake;

Let rocks their silence break,

The sound prolong.

Our fathers' God to Thee,

Author of Liberty,

To thee we sing,

Long may our land be bright

With Freedom's holy light,

Protect us by thy might

Great God, our King.

Our glorious Land to-day,

'Neath Education's sway,

Soars upward still.

Its hills of learning fair,

Whose bounties all may share,

Behold them everywhere

On vale and hill!

Thy safeguard, Liberty,

The school shall ever be,

Our Nation's pride!

No tyrant hand shall smite,

While with encircling might

All here are taught the Right

With Truth allied.

Beneath Heaven's gracious will

The stars of progress still

Our course do sway;

In unity sublime

To broader heights we climb,

Triumphant over Time,

God speeds our way!

Grand birthright of our sires,

Our altars and our fires

Keep we still pure!

Our starry flag unfurled,

The hope of all the world,

In peace and light impearled,

God hold secure!

Smashwords Bio - Catherine E. Johnson

As a young child I loved to read, but never dreamed of being a writer. . .but here I am.

As an adult I read mostly nonfiction, but one day it dawned on me how elements of nonfiction could merge with fiction in a way to shed light on the darkness of reality.

A story that shares familiar pains, but from an unfamiliar point of view could possibly empower and inspire; or at least provoke readers to think about how they themselves are living. Young adults who think they know everything there is to know about life already, could benefit from a different perspective without personal blemish, and be inspired to focus on making the right choices to make the world a better place for themselves and everyone around them.

Being an author is a brand new experience for me. I did not make the decision to become one in search of fame or fortune. Of course it would be nice to have a best seller; earn an achievement award, or even just supplement my income; but that is not the reason I write. I write because I wish to inspire and empower others . God is real and regardless of a person's name, upbringing, or personal mistakes, everyone is entitled to His blessings.

I realize not everyone believes in God and those that do may not share the same beliefs; but we ARE all united by faith. I only hope that 'Born To Return The Gift' and its sequel, 'End All To Be All' provokes the reader who does not feel worthy of God's promise, or doesn't believe in a God, to open their heart and consider an alternative reality and the possibilities involved. Most importantly l hope readers cease judging people like books by their cover alone.

Smashwords Interview

Where did you grow up, and how did this influence your writing?

I grew up in Connecticut during the fifties and sixties. The first time I was called the 'N' word was a memory I haven't forgotten to this day. I I was only about eight or nine years old. Although I didn't understand the implication, I felt it was something bad because it hurt my feelings and made me feel less than the person who spit that derogatory name out at me. As I grew older I consciously learned about what was happening across the country, particularly in the South; and always felt that people should just let people be people without categorizing them on the basis of the color of their skin and what side of the tracks they lived on. My characters lived in my mind for a long time before I started writing about them, but eventually I felt compelled to tell a story with the hope that something good, empowering, and provoking could be gleaned from it. The book became cumbersome so I split it into two separate books. That's how 'Born To Return The Gift' and 'End All To Be All' evolved.

What do your fans mean to you?

LOL - The few I think I may have are mostly silent, outside of a few posted reviews; but they mean everything to my growth and improvement as a writer.

Who are your favorite authors?

I've never considered that question because the spectrum is numerous - (i.e., From Toni Morrison to John Grisham.)

What inspires you to get out of bed each day?

The fact that when God's Will opens my eyes I have the mobility of my limbs to get out of bed.. I'm very grateful to be a two year cancer survivor.

Do you remember the first story you ever wrote?

Yes, It was for a college creative writing class. It was a twelve page long paper about a young man who was gunned down by a rival gang member. The professor chose my paper to be read in class and encouraged me to expand on it for a novel. I haven't gotten to that yet.

How do you approach cover design?

I envision it according to the content and subject matter of the book.

What are your five favorite books, and why?

HOLY BIBLE ; SEAT OF THE SOUL - GARY ZUKAV; THE WARMTH OF OTHER SUNS - ISABEL WILKERSON; WOMEN WHO RUN WITH THE WOLVES - CLARISSA PINKOLA ESTES ;  and HOPE ON A TIGHT ROPE - CORNEL WEST
These books are chosen because of the inspiration, affirmation, hope and empowerment they all inspire within me.

Describe your desk

Contemporary metal and glass 'L' design. Although it is well organized it gets pretty cluttered at times because I'm always writing notes on my thoughts about different things I see, read, or hear about and the paper sometimes piles up in a mess.

When did you first start writing?

I use to write song lyrics now and then back in the seventies. During that time I also had to write a paper for a final grade for a humanities class, Later when I recognized my work with my teacher's name attached to it, seeing it in print was a temporary affirmation that I might have talent; but I never felt the desire or inclination to really write anything other than to take care of business. Although here and there some people have suggested that I write a book somehow I always thought the underlying message was that maybe I talked too much. LOL - Anyway, in 2007 I had a lot of time on my hands due to health reasons, and I felt compelled to write. My effort resulted in 'Born To Return The Gift' and 'End All To Be All'.

Labor Day Recipe from Welcome Home: Oven Baked Memphis Ribs.

 4 pounds pork ribs or two big slabs
 1 cup Sweet Baby Ray's Hickory and Brown Sugar Barbecue sauce

 Dry Rub

 1 cup brown sugar, firmly packed
 1/2 cup paprika
 1 tablespoon sugar
 1/4 cup garlic powder
 2 tablespoons mild chili powder
 2 tablespoons course salt
 2 tablespoons black pepper
 2 tablespoons onion powder
 2 tablespoons celery seeds
 1 tablespoon dried oregano
 1 tablespoon dried thyme
 3 teaspoons cumin
 2 teaspoons dry mustard
 2 teaspoons ground coriander
 2 teaspoons ground allspice

 Mix all ingredients together until blended. Lay ribs out flat and rub both sides generously with rub. Wrap in plastic wrap and store in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours.

 Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Put a rack inside a large shallow roasting pan to keep the ribs off the bottom of the pan. Lay ribs across rack and fill pan with water under the ribs making sure the ribs are not touching the water. Cover tightly with aluminum foil and bake for 30 minutes in a hot oven. Turn the temperature down to 300 degrees and allow ribs to cook slowly for at least 4-6 hours until the meat begins to fall off the bone.

 Remove from oven and carefully remove foil so that steam escapes. Brush ribs generously with Sweet Baby Ray's Hickory and Brown Sugar Barbecue sauce. Return to the oven to bake for 15 minutes. Carefully use tongs to lift ribs in one piece and place on platter.

 Photograph property of ©Welcome Home - https://www.facebook.com/WelcomeHomeRecipeBook/likes

The Extended Descriptions Of 'Born To Return The Gift' and 'End All To Be All' as posted on Smashwords.com

 ‘Born To Return The Gift’ is a faith based novel that deals with many harsh realities of life. Experiencing a life wrought with many battles, Nyima's character is one that many, if not all readers can relate to because we all have made mistakes that we sometimes have trouble rising above. She is a high school drop out whose bad choices lead her down a tumultuous path of other wrong choices such as teenage pregnancy, domestic violence, and a life ravaged by alcohol and drugs. After years of abuse and wrong choices, it takes its toll on her when she can't seem to break the cycle, even more than two thousand miles away from home. When a chain of events spiral out of her control her physical and spiritual struggle compels a journey of self-exploration. During this conflict, she finds inner strength through her belief in God as the highest source of power. Then when the recurring nightmare that she's managed to keep at bay for five years is finally revealed to her, a life changing transformation begins. Nyima comes to terms that even at a half century old, anything is possible for those who know the power within them and know who they are, regardless of what others may tell them. With her faith intact, and trusting what she has learned fills her with hope for a brighter tomorrow. 

This novel is uplifting and particularly gives hope to those dealing with similar issues. There are some harsh scenes, and language which is censored with (~), but they are necessary to show the extremes of Nyima's survival and the inspiration behind the reality of Nyima's turnaround.

$4.99 USD -  https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/7915#longdescr

'End All To Be All' is also a faith based novel which deals with the harsh reality of life. Michael was in love and when he lost it he went through the motions of living until his money was gone and his gold digging wife kicked him to the curb for another man. His fight to recover from alcohol and pain pill addiction leads him to the Director over End All To Be All, an ADP geared to assist others suffering from alcohol/drug related addictions. It is here he learns first hand that addiction is an imprisoned state of mind, and how easily...the love of money becomes the root of all evil.

This is an inspiring and uplifting story of Michael's pursuit for a better program.

$4.99 USD https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/99857

Available ebook reading formats: 

Epub (Apple Pad/Books, Nook, Sony Reader, Kobo, and most e-reading apps including Stanza, Aldiko

Adobe Digital Editions ; Kindle (mobi for Kindle devices and Kindle apps); PDF; RTF; LRF; and Plain Text.

* Although both books stand alone on merit, reading one clarifies the other.

On The 50th Anniversary Of The March On Washington - The Dream Lives On . . .

Every man is now perceived as a man

regardless of the color of his skin.

I continue to pray for people like Trayvon Martin
 and George Zimmerman.

Hopefully, one day we will achieve The Dream
that everyone, regardless of age or the character that defines them, will be judged accordingly.

Martin Luther King, Jr.'s memory
will always stand for what can be done when we band together
AS one nation, UNDER GOD, indivisible, with liberty and justice for ALL.

'Born To Return The Gift' Rated 5 out of 5 Stars by Fran Lewis

Well written, vividly describing Nyima's thoughts, dreams and feelings. The reader feels part of her life as if you are experiencing it first hand.

Let's hope only good things are in store for this amazingly intelligent and smart woman.

Born To Return The Gift is a precious one.

Reviewed by Fran Lewis: Reading and writing staff developer/dean - NYC Board of Education
Author: Bertha Series: Handbook for Caregivers and Volunteers dealing with Alzheimers; Faces Behind The Stones

The Chapter of 'Born To Return The Gift' Which Was The Basis Of Its Worst Review

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OASIS

 DAY ~3~

Wednesday Morning

N

yima rolled back and forth desperately reaching for something to soothe her parched throat until she fell off the bed, awakened by the drop.  Gasping for breath, she sat up trembling and clutching her knees to her chest until her surroundings reminded her she was at the Oasis.  She stumbled to the bathroom for a glass of water.  As she drank it down, she stared at the image in the mirror, searching for a glimpse of familiar recognition because she left the battered looking woman staring back at her behind a long time ago. Her body ached all over as she reached to turn the tap to run a tub of water.  Dragging herself back into the room, she lit a cigarette before pulling on her robe to trudge downstairs for some coffee.  Thankful that no one was in sight, she rushed back upstairs and spiked it with brandy.  When she took off her clothes and immersed her body in the welcomed warmth, anxiety besieged her as she waited for the clock to push up to the eighth hour.

Still trying to relax, she flipped through one rental directory after another until it was time to dial the agency’s number.  Her anxiety magnified when Donna told her Cassie had received her message, but could not take her call; and there were no new assignments available. 

By nine o’clock, she was dressed and ready to face the day.  With an hour to spare before hitting campus, she sat in front of the TV contemplating what complexes she would check out after class.  Not particularly hopeful, she made a mental note to check on an old application she had submitted for low-income housing.  At the time, she was discouraged when told the waiting list was two to three years long, but was fortunate to find an apartment elsewhere.  Although the prospect of being in the line of baby momma drama that sometimes runs rampant in public housing, she knew it was a decent alternative to remaining homeless.

Grabbing her books, she headed out the door.  The freeway was congested as usual, forcing her to join its motorized stop and go tango.  Finally approaching the tollbooth, she reminded herself again to invest in a coin organizer from the dollar store.  Once she maneuvered the grid, traffic flowed bumper to bumper at seventy miles per hour, and she made it to campus with plenty time to spare. Approaching the quad, she heard her name yelled by someone in the distance.

“Nyima, Nyima, Nyima!  Over here!”

Sitting in Nyima’s favorite spot, on the wall surrounding a juniper tree, Rosie smiled broadly and waved frantically for her to come and join her.  Overweight and humped over, Rosie was a Caucasian female who had bright red hair sprinkled with gray, wore thick bifocals, and walked with a slight limp.  If she appeared to be having an epileptic fit, very few people would cast stray indifferent glances her way; but whenever she actually talked, people reacted as if personally assaulted, as they did then.

Rosie was schizophrenic, and it appeared that Nyima was her only friend on campus.  Sometimes, besides her convulsive shakes, she had episodes when her eyes would glaze over as she chain-smoked and stared out in space.  Even when she seemed normal, she was still abrasively loud. Cognizant of her own quagmire, Nyima hoped she would never find herself locked in a paradox such as Rosie’s.

“Where have you been?  I missed you,” Rosie exclaimed.

“I’ve been working,” Nyima answered, as she sat down and lit a cigarette.  “How was the last quiz?”

“It was hard.  I don’t think I got a good grade on that one.”

“You always say that, and you always get a better grade than everybody else.” Nyima laughed, knowing Rosie worried until proof was in her hand.

“What did you do the weekend,” Rosie asked.

“Nothing special.  What about you?”

“My father and his new wife took me to a new Polish restaurant.”

“I bet it was nice to get away from the group home.”

“Yeah, and Robert came with us.  The girl I told you about who was trying to steal him away from me is going with this other guy now, so he’s all mine again.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, but I’m going to break up with him soon because my father says he’s just using me.  I told you my father is a millionaire.”

“Well millionaire or not, you’re over forty so don’t let him stop your groove.”

Nyima chuckled, and Rosie laughed good-heartedly.

Mischa approached, smiling from ear to ear.  Only twenty-two, she was a pretty girl with blond hair, bright blue eyes, and typical magazine friendly features.  She was an exchange student from Germany and lived off campus in San Leandro with her boyfriend. She was in Nyima’s business analysis class, which met twice a week; and she took to regularly meeting Nyima in the quad before class.  In the beginning, when Nyima suggested she make friends on campus her own age, Misha’s introspective response commenced their friendship.

“They all just talk about boys and I’m so-o beyond that,” she sighed.  “Besides, you’re cool and easy to talk to.”

“Aren’t you the serious one,” Nyima had teased her.

Now they knew personal things about each other, interacting as if they had been friends for years.

“Hi Rosie. Where have you been Nyima?”

“Coping with life style changes.  What you doing on campus today?”

“I had to get immunized and it was cheaper to get it done through Student Health Services.  I came up this way hoping to catch you.”

“What’s up?”

“We’ve got an exam tomorrow.  You never gave me your number so I couldn’t call you.  Is everything alright?”

“Not really, but things will work out like they’re meant to.  Thanks for the heads up on the exam.”

“You’re going to be here, right?”

“Yeah I guess.”

“I’ll meet you so we can study before class, okay?”

“You forget.  You already know I don’t do that.  Last minute studying mounts to memorization that gets in the way of my reasoning.”

“Yeah, I guess I thought maybe you’d change your mind.”

“It’s time for me and Rosie to make it to class,” Nyima said, rising from the wall.

“Okay. I gotta catch the shuttle anyway.  See you tomorrow.”

Nyima completed her tax quiz quickly, confident that it would result in a passing grade, even if just barely.  She left while Rosie hung around to receive her previous quiz.  When she joined Nyima in the quad, she was excited about having gotten a B on it. Nyima congratulated her and encouraged her to keep her momentum going. When she finished her cigarette, Rosie prepared to catch her ride.

“Nyima promise you’ll be here tomorrow.”

“I can’t promise, but I intend to be here.”

“Don’t forget,” Rosie yelled. Hunched over by the weight of her book bag, she limped away.

Nyima felt good as sat there passing time before her next class. She was relaxed about having the weekly tax quiz behind her, and was optimistic about getting back on track with her studies.  Surprised by an exam in marketing, she was confident that she passed it with excellence, because it was a test of simple logic.

By the time her last class ended, she was in high spirits.  She really enjoyed how her professor aligned the philosophies of Socrates, Gandhi, and Thoreau, with Martin Luther King, Jr.’s Dream.  She liked his style because although he tried to adhere to the secular, he would address the spiritual aspects he attributed her for bringing up during class.  As she almost danced her way back to the parking garage, she laughed to herself, recalling the time he coaxed her into a spiritual versus secular verbal battle outside of the classroom one day.

The music on the radio continued to buoy her optimism as she headed for the bridge.  Even the delay in traffic could not deter her spirits.  When she stopped at the Oakland Public Library to write a paper for her English class the words flowed effortlessly; and she easily completed her essay on lies, deception, and its acceptance in today’s society.

Before heading back to the Oasis she stopped at Mexacali Rose and ordered some crab enchiladas to go.  Taking a seat at the bar in front of the TV, she waited for her order.  A silver haired man came and sat on the bar stool beside her. 

“Can I buy you a drink pretty lady?”

“No thanks,” she said without even glancing his way.

When he abruptly rose from his seat, he captured her attention.

“Excuse me Miss, my name is Walter.  I just got off work and it would give me so much pleasure to have a beautiful woman like you join me for a drink,” he said, while extending his hand.

She chuckled and met his handshake.

“The name’s Nyima.”

“It’s a blessing to meet you Nyima,” he responded, as he sat back down.  “What can I order for you?”

“I’ll have a brandy.”

He called the bartender over and ordered a double brandy for her, and a dirty grey goose martini with three olives, for himself. 

She laughed.  “I thought I was the only one up for three olives in a martini –”

“Is that so,” he interrupted.  I like three because when the drink is done the olives have sucked up enough vodka to make them a pleasurable eating experience.”

He had taken her remaining comment right off her tongue.  She noticed he was a handsome man, not much older than she was.

“That’s my opinion too.”

As the bartender set their drinks on the bar, he said, “I’ve never seen you around here before.  I work right across the street in the Federal Building and I come in here quite frequently.”

“Do you have a drinking problem,” she asked, chuckling.

“Not at all.  I’m strictly social, but the burritos in this place are to die for.”

Raising his glass, he toasted, “To beginnings.”

Nyima clicked it and took a sip.  “What do you do across the street?”

“I’m an attorney, mostly probate. And you?”

“I temp.”

“Married?”

“No, happily divorced.”

He started laughing.  “As gorgeous as you are, tell me how you manage to stay single,” he asked, flirtatiously.

“I just don’t socialize.”

“Well is there any chance I could change that?”

“Don’t try to manipulate me, and maybe it’ll be subject to change,” she flirted back.

“Change is good.  I’m single, never been married, and considered a decent guy by my friends.”

“That’s what friends are for.”  She laughed.  “You’re in your mid fifties and you’ve never been married?”

“Fifty-seven, and no I haven’t.  Just never found the right woman.”

“Aw, what’s wrong with everybody?” She pouted, clowning.

“He laughed.

“I’m a little too particular, so I’m told.”

“How about kids, do you have any,” Nyima asked, before sipping her drink again.

“I can’t say that I do.  How about you?”

“They’re all grown.”

She took in his look of surprise.

“How old are they?”

“That’s slick,” she laughed.

“What makes you say that?”

“Okay lawyer.  You know you might as well have asked me my age,” she laughed.

He joined her laughter.  “I guess you’ve got a solid point there.”

Her food order was placed in front of her just as she finished her drink, and he asked, “Can I get you another?”

“No thanks. I want to go eat while my food’s hot.”   

“Why don’t you just eat it here?”

“Because I don’t want to.  Thanks for the drink.”

She smiled brazenly as she rose out of her seat.

“Wait a minute, please,” he asked, as he scribbled his number on the back of a business card.  He took her hand and put the card inside her palm, then closed her fingers around it, gently kissing the backside of her hand.  Nyima figured she must have flashed one of those looks when he suddenly dropped it as if it was hot.

“Will you call,” he asked, smiling and swiveling his stool around as she walked away.

“Don’t hold your breath,” she said, glancing coolly over her shoulder.

When she got in her car, she tossed the card in the console and drove off thinking – If I hadn’t dressed today a man like him probably wouldn’t have given me a second glance – and wondered why men always flattered women about their looks as an opening line.  Maybe if it were not such a common refrain she would be more receptive to possibilities.  It all seemed so superficial because she heard it all the time, but evidently successful too; and she laughed at herself aloud for feeling good about a compliment for the first time in a long time.

Back at the Oasis, she thanked God for the success of her day; turned on the TV, and watched the evening news while she ate. Restlessness urged her to drive down the street and check out her friend Mena.  Changing into a pair of baggy jeans, a sweatshirt, and her favorite cap, she bounced.  On the way, she reminisced about her five-year friendship with Naima and Derrick.

They went by Mena and DJ, and referred to themselves as her Cali family.  They met during her first summer semester at City College.  A married couple with two teenagers and a four-year old, they ran a catering service while maintaining their status as career students.  It was funny how they actually met because Mena just approached her and started talking as if they were already personally familiar. Her conversation immediately revealed she was Nyima’s ex-husband’s match in conjugating a ‘motherf~ker’ as a noun, verb or adjective.

Eight years Nyima’s junior, Mena was streetwise with a hint of lameness, but her appearance portrayed the look of a player.  Her glued horsetail hair, flashy jewelry, designer jeans with matching jackets, and stiletto boots with matching bags, camouflaged the fact that she was really a family woman through and through.  In time, despite the fact that she was also a get-high queen who required a doobie like a two to four hour prescription, it became apparent that she was a good mother to her children.  Her husband, DJ, was strictly family oriented, and closer in age to Nyima, trailing maybe a year.  He was conservative, always coordinated with sweaters or dress shirts, pressed slacks, and dress shoes.  Despite their clash in fashion, she discovered Mena and DJ were as compatible as dark chocolate wrapped around caramel filling.

They were friendly and always spoke in passing, but Nyima shunned their late lunch invitations, using her hectic schedule as an excuse.  At the time she worked the graveyard shift for Super K from eleven to seven six days a week, and then went straight to campus each morning for classes from eight to two six days a week.  By three o’clock each afternoon, she was good for nothing but her battle with the sheets.

When the fall semester began they shared a class, and Mena insisted their sisterhood was destined based on their shared name. Nyima was intrigued by why a younger woman who possessed her name insisted on becoming a part of her life.  She acknowledged that Naima was a mirror of some things long forgotten.  Pronounced the same, but spelled differently, Naima, who already went by the nickname Mena, insisted her nickname be Nima.  Their teacher was pleased with further distinction when addressing one or the other when both were present, and everyone else ran with it as well.

Mena and DJ were popular on campus, and once it became apparent that Nyima was approachable, she even made friends outside of their circle.  Monday through Thursday, they began socializing between classes and eventually, Nyima started joining them for lunch on Fridays.

One morning when she came into class feeling worn out and down in the dumps she found a tiny gift bag with her name set atop the desk she always sat at.  It contained a bottle of lotion with sparkles in it.  They were absent that day, but the Happy Birthday card was signed your friends, Mena and DJ, followed by the teacher’s and other classroom signatures beneath.  By the end of the semester, they were tight; so when a schedule change allowed her Saturdays off, she sometimes accepted their invitations to camp out with the family in their living room for movie marathons, mixed drinks, and plenty of good food.

As she parked and got out of the car, she acknowledged that Mena and DJ had come a long way since they’d first met.  They now lived in a modest home in Hayward’s quiet suburbia, away from their old Oakland neighborhood where gunshots resonated throughout the night.  She rang their bell and Mena greeted her at the door.

“What’s up my nigga?  Long time no see.  You’re just in time to have a drink with me,” she said, holding up the bottle she clutched in her hand as she swung the screen door open.

“Okay, but I can’t hang too tough.  I just decided to talk to you in person today since I was so close.  Is DJ here?”

“No, everyone went with him when he took Devon to football practice.”

“Good.”

As she walked into the living room to take a seat, Mena disappeared in the opposite direction.

“What do you mean close?  Where you at?” she hollered from the kitchen.

“I’m staying at the Oasis.”

She came out with an extra glass.

“What you doing there?”

“Damage control.  Steffon kicked me out.”

“What!  Why that mothaf~ka do that?”

Mena sat down and poured brandy into two glasses, one with, and one without ice.

“He got upset about a man leaving me a phone message.”

“So, you live there.”

“Not anymore.”

“You know I want details so drink up,” she urged, passing her a glass.  “What happened?”

Nyima took a sip of reinforcement before setting the glass back down on the table.

“His daughter was released last week and he left Friday to go visit. He said he would be back Wednesday or Thursday, but he came back Monday.”

“Released? I thought you said she was on a f~kin’ vacation,” Mena responded, removing her lips from her glass.

“Mena sometimes you’re so lame,” Nyima laughed.

Laughing too, Mena said, “Wha- t?  I would’na guessed that boogie nigga had a jailbird in the family.  Was she in for drugs or for prostitution?”

“Why are you always so eager to hear dirt?”

Laughing so hard she could hardly get it out, Mena said, “So, inquiring minds need to know.  Aw shit that reminds me.  Girl, remember I told you my sister’s husband took out a restraining order on her last week?  Well yesterday that ho broke into their house and robbed that mothaf~ka and now the cops are after her.”

“Is she safe?”

“She was still in Fresno when I last talked with her, but she could be anywhere by now.  Anyway, finish telling me why that mothaf~ka put you out.”

“He said I disrespected him by giving a man his phone number.”

“So-o-o-o, you live there too.  What else did you do?”

“Nothing, but he’s been brooding since we got back from the wedding.”

“He’s just pissed ‘cause you didn’t stay at the motel with him.”

“Please.”

“Really, because you know that nigga was jealous your ex-husband and ex-boyfriend were both there,” she said, laughing.

“At first I didn’t see the harm of inviting him since he was going to Boston anyway, but when I had second thoughts he insisted I couldn’t revoke the invitation.  He even held onto my ticket until we boarded the plane.”

“F~k that nigga.  Tell me ‘bout the phone call.”

“Saturday night I went out and gave someone the digits, and he called and left me a message.”

“Girl, come on now.  Don’t drop kick my need for drama that way.  Sip some of that brandy and relax your tongue.”

Nyima did not need any more encouragement.  Although the thought of sharing misery was distressing, she was anxious to get her blues off her chest since she had already opened her can of beans. She picked the glass up, took a big gulp, and cleared her throat of the burn.  

“Okay.  You already know I don’t go anywhere but to work and school.”

“Hell yeah.  Me and Deege were just talking ‘bout how we never see you since you moved in with that mothaf~ka.”

“Well I went out Saturday night.”

“You did?  With the guy that left the message?”

“No, I didn’t know him then.  But –”

“Who’d you go with?” Mena interrupted.

“Myself.”

“Get outta here, where’d you go?”

“Independence Alley.”

“How was it?”  Mena couldn’t contain her excitement.

“It was fun. They had a jazz band and a nice crowd, and I got to dance.”

“Did that mothaf~ka know you were going out?”

“Yeah, ‘cause he called while I was getting dressed and wanted to know what I was up to.”

“I bet he didn’t like that shit.  That nigga got some tight ass reins on you bitch,” she said, laughing.

“Mena I told you about calling me a bitch,” Nyima reminded her, momentarily remembering the first time Mena called her a bitch some five years ago when they first met.

As if reading her mind, Mena said, “Yeah I remember too.  You threatened to kick my ass but we’re sisters now so handle it.” Mena laughed.

“Any-way, dead silence let me know he didn’t approve.”

“That mothaf~ka didn’t want to sound like a hypocrite.”

“He asked me where I was going and when I told him he hung up on me.”

“You go girl.  It’s about damn time you got out.”

“Yeah, I felt like dancing and mingling.  You know girls just wanna have fun.”

Realizing E& J had taken effect, Nyima laughed at herself for singing Cyndi Lauper’s pledge.

“Was he nice?”

Nyima was sipping some more ease and comfort.

“Uh-huh.  He’s my age and fine.  And he didn’t even flinch when I told him I was only interested in being a platonic friend.  He said we could hook up and hang out sometime.”

“Yeah, right.  Like he’s really gonna settle for friendship with someone like you.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

“Girlfriend, you know you’re fine.  That dude probably thought he hit gold.”

“Now you really sound like you’ve been drinking all day,” Nyima said, laughing.

“Why you say some shit like that?”

“You’ve never complimented me before.  What’s up now?  Are you trying to lift my spirits?”

“You know that I know that shit don’t fly with you, you’re just trying to change the mothaf~kin’ subject.”

“Anyway, I felt like dipping into life.  Besides, Steffon needs to be provoked into dumping his funk so I’ll have a clue about what’s going on with him.  I think he’s trying to change our program midstream.”

“Yeah, that’s a sure way to find out where a mothaf~ka’s coming from.  Get him pissed off.   Mena laughed.  “You said he told you that you could go about your mothaf~kin’ business with no strings attached so what’s the problem?”

“I think he’s trying to flip a script on me.  He sounded so sincere when he said he just wanted the chance to show he could be supportive, but now he acts like he’s the boss over me.”

“You never should have given that mothaf~ka the pussy,” Mena laughed.

“For sure, you’re right about that,” Nyima responded, joining Mena’s laughter.  “Anyway, he said the only rule was for us to be human toward each other.”

“Like what the f~k does that mean?  That mothaf~ka just said what he had to say to get you where he wanted you.”

“To be human is to love, let love, and be loved.  I thought an older motherf~ker would be better at standing by his own word.”

“Aw sukie now, he got you cussing,” Mena teased.  “Girl, you say mothaf~ka so proper.  Remember the first time we heard you say mothaf~ka?  You had us rolling ...”

Nyima was relieved when Mena read the look on her face and regrouped.

“Seriously though, don’t let that mothaf~ka get you down, it’ll be alright.”

“No doubt,” Nyima replied, between sips of her drink.  “But I really wanted to believe what he told me about grown-up arrangements.  Hell, he was in one when we were seeing each other romantically.  If it had not been for one of his other female friends wanting him to pose as an onsite manager he would probably still be living with the other woman.  This is the first apartment he’s had by himself in more than ten years, or so he says.  And it’s rent-free.”

“That might be why he took the woman up on it, so he could help her out and offer you a place to stay.  Bottom line is, he jumped at the chance to get your f~kin’ company.”

“I figured that too, but obviously I got it twisted.  Now I’m wondering if he was just trying to furnish the apartment.  When I questioned him for particulars on being human, he said it was self-explanatory.  Left to my own understanding, I figured I might have to give him a taste now and then.” Nyima laughed at herself.

“Yeah but girl you know a mothaf~ka ain’t ‘bout shit ‘cept his own,” Mena laughed.  “He woulda told you anything to put you in his spot.”

“He goes about his life and his female friends call him all the time, but the minute I bust a move on mine he’s all up in my cool-aide like I have no right making friends outside of him.  And to think I gave him money for my own private line as soon as I moved in, but when the technician showed up he sent him away.  Later, he told me the apartment would need rewiring and it was an unnecessary expense because his phone was my phone.”

“I’m tellin’ you, that boogie mothaf~ka did that shit on purpose. But I bet he really didn’t mean for you to leave.”

“Anyway, by the time I got in that night Jamal, that’s his name, had already called, and left a message on the phone saying, “I made the first move now it’s up to you to connect.”

“He called before you got home?”

“Yeah girl, and by the time I finished listening to his message Steffon called again and I didn’t think to delete it.”

“That mothaf~ka was checking to see how late you’d come in.”

“You think?  Anyway I told him I had a good time and made a friend who I’d given the number to, and . . .” laughing, “I told him that he had already called and left me a message.”

“No you didn’t,” Mena said, unable to control her laughter.

“Yeah I did, and I told him what the message said.”

“Aw shit, what did he say then?”

“He hung up on me.”

“What?”

“When I came in from school Monday he was sitting on the couch drinking and looking crazy.”

“So, he came back early?”

“Yes he did, and I greeted him when I got in from school, but he ignored me so I went about my business and he started bugging.  He called me a deceitful bitch and a delusional idiot for a warm-up.”

“No, that mothaf~ka didn’t!”

“G-i-r-l, you should have seen him.  His eyes were all popped out, and his arms and fingers looked like they had minds of their own.” Nyima laughed boisterously as she imitated his animations.

Mena could hardly stop from cracking up, throwing herself into the couch, and holding her stomach as she laughed at Nyima’s antics.

Nyima composed herself and sipped the rest of her drink, waiting for Mena to find her own composure.

“That mothaf~ka is too crazy.  What’d you say after that?”

She poured herself another drink and moved to top Nyima’s off.

“Whoa, that’s enough for me,” Nyima cautioned, grabbing her glass before Mena could fill it.  “I told him as soon as I find an apartment I’ll be moving out.”

“I bet he didn’t like that shit.”

“Well, he figured that’s the reason I started working again.  Anyway he told me, ‘You can get the hell out now,’ so I did.”

Nyima paused to sip some more of her drink.

“Just like that?”

“Yep.”

“I warned you not to give that mothaf~ka that f~kin’ check.  You should put a stop payment on that mothaf~ka.  You could use that thousand dollars about now.”

“Girl, I gave it to him as soon as my student loan came through. I’m pretty certain he already cashed it to finance his trip to the desert. Anyway, I owed him, and I always pay my debts.  Besides paying for my airfare and loaning me money for some stuff I sent home for my daughter’s shower, he’s given me money from the laundromat for cigarettes and gas when I needed it, and provided transportation back and forth to school for the whole month my car was in the shop.”

“Laundromat?”

“He pulls coins from the washers and driers in the building.”

“That ain’t worth no f~kin’ thousand dollars!”

“Anyway, I packed my bags and left the key before going out the door.”

“He didn’t f~kin’ say anything to stop you?”

“He told me good riddance.  I think it may be a blessing in disguise, because I was beginning to feel so trapped.”

“I bet that mothaf~ka really didn’t want you to go.  His f~kin’ pride was hurt that’s all.”

“Maybe, but what can I say.  He should not have set rules he knew he did not intend to abide by.  Mena why are you cussing so hard,” Nyima asked, a little agitated.

“Habit.  So where you staying?”

“At the Oasis.”

“Where’s that?”

“Up the street a ways.”

“He’s probably out looking for you.  I hope he doesn’t come here ‘cause we’ll f~k him up for pulling some shit like that on you.”

“I doubt it.  I’ve been gone since Monday.  Besides, he doesn’t even know you guys live in Hayward now.”

“I don’t know girl, you better be careful.  And watch yourself when you’re at school.  As much as you say that motherf~ka hangs in San Francisco, he might stalk you.”

“Mena you watch too much TV.”

“Maybe, but shit happens.”  She poured herself another drink and reached to top Nyima’s off again.  “So what are you going to do now?”

“Same as I’ve been doing.”  Nyima brought her glass to her lips. After a reinforcing sip, she explained, “I started applying for apartments a few weeks ago, but I’m denied once they look up my credit report.  That money is non-refundable so I might as well have wiped my ass with the hundred-fifty dollars I’ve invested so far.”

“Damn!  Why don’t you just ask your mother to co-sign?”

“I did.  She said she didn’t want me getting her in trouble.”

“What?”

“Don’t ask.”  Nyima took another sip of brandy.

“Don’t worry, something will turn up.”

“I hope so.  I’m so-o-o tired of all this struggling and getting nowhere.  The agency I’m working for now isn’t for me, and school . . . well, I haven’t had any focus on that since my father passed.  Now everyday just gets harder to hang in there.”

“Too bad you let your apartment go.  I’m almost positive that White motherf~ker would’ve worked something out with you until you found another job.”

“Now, you should know me well enough to know I thought about that before making the decision to move out.  Hell I did not have a clue this was going to happen.  Besides, the landlord was already working with me when I first started having problems paying my rent on time.  Then he started getting on my nerves by pressing me harder and harder about us hooking up.  I could not even bring myself to consider that shit.  All his pressure just pushed me to take Steffon up on his offer and move out.”

Nyima finished her drink.

“I guess I can’t blame you.  I remember that time he showed up when we were there.  Deege said that mothaf~ka was sniffing round you like a big dog looking for a place to bury his bone,” Mena said, laughing.

“That’s right; I forgot you guys met him, so you already know. And that bone’s probably just gristle, ‘cause there’s no kind of pedigree in that crack smoking mutt.”

Mena burst out laughing.  “Girl, sometimes you talk so crazy.  But seriously, I’ve seen you go through some mothaf~kin’ shit, and you always make it through.  I couldn’t even find that kind of strength. I’m so glad I got Deege to take care of me.”

“Some of us are fortunate like that.  I can kick myself in the ass when I think about how hard I’ve been working, just to end up in the dirt again.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself Nima. Something will turn up. Just hang in there okay?”  Mena finished her drink and started pouring another.  “Hand me your glass.”

“No more for me.  This is a change.”

“What?”

“You giving me encouragement,” Nyima said, with a half hearted laugh.

“Hell, never needed to before, so take notice.  I have no doubt that you’ll pull it together again.”

“Yeah, no one’s gonna do it for me.”

They experienced an awkward moment of silence.

“Well thanks for the ear.  It’s time for me to go.”

“Come on, stick around a while longer, we’ve still got a few shots left,” Mena whined.

“Another day, another time, okay?  Right now, I have so much homework to do; and I am determined to get some sleep before I lose what’s left of my mind.  I told you this job is tweaking my last nerve.”

“You handled that mothaf~kin’ bullshit at Platinum so I know you can handle anything.”

“Baby, I didn’t need that reminder.  That damn job almost did me in before it dissed me out. I just managed my survival,” Nyima said, rising from the couch to head for the door. 

“I saw you do it.  Make sure you stay in touch.”

“I will.  I’m going to need some help moving my stuff.”

“We’re here for you when you’re ready.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you later.”

Mena pulled on her housecoat, and caught up with Nyima before she reached her car.  They hugged before she got in and as she drove away, Nyima was thankful for having the kind of friend who could make her laugh and kick off her blues.  Nothing was solved from talking about it; but like a fart, she experienced some relief from letting it out.

As Nyima drove back to the Oasis she questioned herself again for not confiding in Mena about her diagnosis, and Platinum’s real effect on her well-being.  That employment experience dazed her so much she became gun shy about jumping back into the workforce; and depression forced her to return to the therapist, plagued by thoughts of suicide submission.  She was overwhelmed with negative thoughts - No matter what she did, no one found her acceptable; and she pondered the point of continuing the struggle just to sleep and work to have shelter and eat, as if it was the only purpose of life.  She felt worthless and entertained thoughts that, other than her kids, no one truly cared whether she was in the world or not.  Sometimes, she even doubted that fact as well.

Mena always shared information of her medication intake, but she had no idea that Nyima was now taking medication too.  As the medication prescribed lulled her into a false sense of serenity, Nyima had continued to attend school; and struggled to maintain her household on unemployment benefits and student loans.

Back in her room, Nyima pulled Paul out for company.  Eyeing the shot suspiciously, she sat gazing out the window, trying hard not to be mindful of her racing thoughts.  She lit a cigarette and gulped the dark intoxicant.  The burning in her throat assured her of Paul’s presence, but Paul let her down, once again. The relaxation she craved never came as her mind echoed –You’re the worst kind of deceitful bitches, over and over again.

That night, Nyima did not do any homework, as planned.  There was an incessant prayer going on in her mind and heart, as she sat in a daze, staring out the window.