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earlier. I shifted my position on the lumpy hospital bed and glanced out the window. Nightfall had arrived. I rotated my head in the other direction and looked at the digital clock on the wall, which read 6:00 p.m. My father was asleep in the other patient bed. A black bible rested on his chest, which I knew belonged to my grandmother. She’d probably told him to pray for me. I laughed a little on the inside at the silliness of it, but then again, a sense of love and care blanketed me, knowing my father was the type of man who would get on his knees and pray. I was about to see how much mobility I had, but thought twice about making any sudden or dumb moves that would cause me pain or do further damage.
    â€œDamn. Now I’ll have to learn how to do everything with my left hand—brush my teeth, comb my hair, eat myfood and even wipe my behind.” I released a depressing sigh. I was in no way looking forward to the experience of teaching my left hand how to do all of the things my right hand did. I decided to lightly touch my shoulder where I’d been wounded. My shoulder felt numb. I attributed the lifelessness to the medication I was on.
    A moment later, my thoughts drifted to my girlfriend, Keysha. Guilt plagued me and I knew she would be upset that I was in the hospital. She would be especially angry over the circumstances that landed me here. I didn’t want to communicate that fact to her yet, and my grandmother Lorraine told me she would speak to Keysha. I vowed to call her once I was feeling stronger.
    â€œWow,” I whispered softly. “How did my life get so far out of hand?” I closed my eyes for a moment and the name Lori popped into my mind.
    â€œWhy did I even get involved with her?” I asked myself as the memory of what had taken place began to come back to me.
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    Grandmother Lorraine’s neighbor and good friend Miss Winston lived with her adult daughter and teenaged granddaughter, Lori. Lori was a junior just like me and attended the local high school I’d be going to until my house back in Illinois was renovated. Apparently, Grandmother Lorraine and Miss Winston thought it would be a good idea for Lori and I to meet. Then without any warning, Grandmother Lorraine invited the two of them over one afternoon. When they arrived, I was in my bedroom in the basement, chatting it up on the phone withKeysha. My grandmother summoned me from the top of the staircase.
    â€œWesley, come up here,” she called.
    â€œI’m on the phone,” I answered, irritated by the interruption of my conversation with Keysha.
    â€œBoy, get off the phone and get your tail up here! When I call, you need to come running.” Grandmother Lorraine was a little too old-school for me. She had this hang-up about respecting everything she said and honoring all of her requests, no matter how trivial they were. I reluctantly ended my phone call with Keysha and walked up the stairs to see why she was acting as if her hair was on fire.
    â€œWhat do you want?” I asked, utterly frustrated. I figured Grandmother Lorraine was going to have me do some insignificant task like twist the lid off a jar or walk out to her car to retrieve an item she’d inadvertently left on the car seat. Ever since my dad and I arrived, I got the sense Grandmother Lorraine planned to use me as free labor. I couldn’t wait for the contractors to finish rebuilding our home, which had been damaged from an electrical fire. It would be great to be back home, not worrying about stupid rules.
    â€œCome on and follow me in here to the family room. I’ve invited some company over,” she informed me. As I trailed behind her I marveled at how tall she was. Grandmother Lorraine stood no fewer than five feet ten inches. From what I understand of my family history, her father, a man named Bud, stood six feet six inches tall. He was a massive man who made a living as a bootlegger during the era of