For the Love of Peter Jones

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Hello everyone, I'm a seventeen year old signed/published author. Besides modeling I also model and act. Currently I am working on other books. I'm happy I finally have the opportunity to share my work with everyone. Feel free to message me anytime, I'd love to chat. I hope you guys enjoy.

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Synopsis: The passing of Peter’s mom has started a domino effect, making things go from bad to worse in a matter of months. Peter and his father have a strained relationship. In the midst of all this chaos he meets Trinity King, a girl he wants to trust, but doesn’t know if he should. A turn of events cause Peter to be on the streets. No shelter, no money, and no food. Every move Peter makes can either have a positive or negative impact on his life, he doesn’t know who he should or shouldn’t trust. Peter Jones is losing his once stable life. Can he survive all these tragedies that are coming at him fast, or will Peter give up the fight and let this cruel game of life consume him?

                Chapter One   

 “Peter, you need to be strong. Strong for your father, and strong for yourself.” I looked into my mother’s eyes that were red and watery, her once bright green eyes had lost their earthly glow. Mom’s eyes are watery from the endless test the doctors asked her to take, but in the end didn’t get her any steps closer to finding a way to make her better. Watery because she’s trapped in a Cedars Sinai hospital, and can’t enjoy the beautiful outside that Los Angeles holds. Mom’s lovely unique eyes were watery because she knew today would be the last time she would see her son.

   Stage four breast cancer that spread to her bones, this is the monster that’s been wrapping its deadly arms around my mom for three agonizing years. This heartbreaking disease will be the one to take my mom’s life on this bright sunny day.

     I stared at my mom, her long and wavy hair surrounded her face. The light freckles on mom’s porcelain skin seemed to be even more visible than usual. Her cheekbones were more prominent than the females you see on the runways.

    She used to be a healthy 135lbs, but as weeks turned to months, and months turned into a few years her weight dropped to eighty-nine pounds. All of mom’s bones showed, her rib area seemed to stick out the most. I watched as she took a breath, she shook. As of a month ago mom would shake when she took a breath. Despite her hair not being as thick and her weight being low…she still is the same gorgeous woman that loves me unconditionally.

   Quickly I pulled myself out of my thoughts, “Okay mommy,” it was all I could bring myself to say. I knew my voice came out choked, but I was trying to smother my tears. “Peter,” I listened as my mom’s voice softened. “You’re a young man, full of love and a passion for learning, you have hundreds of memories of us, that if you were asked to share them,you’d recite them like a story you’ve been telling for years. Use your love,passion for learning,and memories we’ve created to carry you through these difficult times. This world can take me away from you, but one thing I know it can’t take away from you is the amount of love I have for you.” She struggled trying to get those words out, each word she said had to be followed by a lengthy pause. If she spoke too fast she would be sent into a coughing fit, one painful enough to make her eyes swell up with tears.

   Physically my mom’s body had already given up, but mentally she’s still a fighter. Mom never lost hope, even when the doctors told her the chemo wasn’t working. Even when dad stopped visiting her because he couldn’t bear to see what she had become. Even as she lay here in the hospital bed dying, mom never lost hope. She knows by her not giving up , she was giving me hope in believing she would be okay.

    She winced as she shifted herself slowly over. Any sort of movement exhausted her. The doctors now have her in adult diapers, walking to the bathroom was no longer an option for mom once doctors saw that she was left winded when trying to make a trip to the restroom. Once they put the diapers on my mom, a part of me died. The part of me that died was hope, all the hope I had mustered up was gone, I started believing less and less that she would get magically better. A part in the back of my mind knew she wasn’t going to become healthy again after she had to wear adult diapers. Mom was no longer considered an able body.

    My mother moved her frail body over to one side of the bed. When mom shifted to one side of the bed that usually was a sign she wanted me on the bed with her. Without hesitation, I got on to the small hospital bed with my mom. I looked at the fragile woman who had given me life. She was more than my mom, she was the person I could tell anything and everything to she’s my best friend.

     I put my body down carefully making sure I wouldn’t hurt my fragile mother. When I was completely on the bed she put her head on my chest and held my hand. I tried covering up my eyes with my free hand so she wouldn’t be able to notice me crying. She moved my hand from my face and wiped away my tears. Mom kept her head on my chest and with the little strength she had in her body she started to sing a song. “Hush little baby don’t say a word, mama’s going to buy you a shiny new racing car.”  Mom always changed the words to that song because she could never remember the words. Even though she would forget the words that didn’t stop her from singing the song as if those were the correct lyrics.

    That was the last song I would get to hear from my mom before I went to sleep. Little did I know when I awake my mom would be gone from me forever, and that last beautiful-sweet melody would no longer be my reality, but in fact become part of a fading memory.

    Repetitive beeping noises woke me up. It’s the heart monitor my mom is hooked up to. Her heart rate is dropping fast. Doctors come rushing in, I’m still laying on the bed with my mom. My body became almost paralyzed. A nurse came to where I was at and tried to move me but I screamed, “No, don’t touch me.” I felt a clammy hand grab my wrist, it was mom. She was trying to say something to me, but the words weren’t coming out. Mom started gasping for air and her eye filled with tears. “I don’t know what to do!”  A nurse came near, “No, don’t touch us,” I screamed.

    “Mommy please come back, don’t leave me like this.” I looked around frantically, a nurse tried to move me. “Stop, what part of stop don’t you bastards understand! My mom, she’s trying to tell me something.” And then I heard it, the flatline. I looked at my mom’s monitor, there was no longer the line signaling a beating heart. All the monitor showed was a straight line. I layed on the bed crying and shaking. I kissed my mom’s cheek a dozen times,hoping that each next kiss would be the one that would bring her back. Mentally my mind knew what just happened, but physically my body was in shock and I couldn’t move. Death is something no one is honestly prepared for. Let alone we are never prepared to see our loved ones die in front of us.

   I grabbed my mom’s hand and screamed, “Come back, you can’t leave me here like this!”
Boom-boom-thump that was my heartbeat.  My heart was beating so fast I couldn’t catch my breath. The room started spinning and my vision started to become a blur. I tried running out the room, but a male nurse caught me, and then my body went limp and I blacked out.

     I opened my eyes expecting to see  mom by my side, but I had forgotten just that quick that mom had passed away. A nurse walked in and asked me, “how are you feeling?” I just stayed still in the bed and stared at the woman. What kind of question was that? A trick question like the ones history and math teachers love to put on students test? I really wanted to have a mean response to answer her insulting question. Swallowing my anger and sadness I said, “I’m fine, thanks for asking,” that’s all I could manage to say. The nurse gave me a sad smile and nodded her head and walked out the room.

    Sixteen years old and already robbed of having a normal life. My mom would never get to see me graduate, see my date and I go to prom, and eventually see the women I choose to marry say, “I do.” Her death only took place a few hours ago, but instantly this loss filled my heart with a permanent absence,a void never to be filled.

   I looked at the hospital ceiling. My eyes immediately bounced to the cracks in the upper corner. I knew my mom was going to die soon,but when she passed I always imagined myself overwhelmed with emotions. A wreck. I thought I’d be an sad emotional wreck,but I wasn’t. The sadness was there,but I was more numb than anything.

    An hour had passed before the same nurse came back in and said, “You’re free to go,your dad is down the hall at the front desk waiting.” I nodded my head at the nurse to acknowledge I heard what she had said. “You sure you’re alright sugar? Anything I can get you before you go?” I looked at the nurse,she’s a petite African American with wavy hair swept up in a bun. The woman messed with her fingers a bit, while waiting for my response. Nail bitter, I clued into her fingers. I then realized she didn’t mean to ask an offensive question earlier, she’s just nervous, she doesn’t know what to ask or say in this type of situation. “I’m fine, thank you for checking,” I told her. She gave me a half smile and turned. I picked up my backpack from the side of the hospital bed and began walking out the room.

     Taking a deep breathe I started walking to the front desk to meet my dad. I took a deep breathe as if this would save me from my father’s harsh words. Mom told me when she met my father he was an alcoholic, who experimented with drugs. He was the meanest man with the worst temper, said mom. But when it came down to her…drugged or not he’d become gentle like. The temper he supposedly had would instantly disappear just by the sound of her voice or her soft touch. My mom was the woman who pushed and pushed for him to go to rehab. Within a few years of him doing therapy, rehab, and being shown my mother’s love; eight years of alcoholism had been reversed. Mom was dads angel.

    When I was younger it was very few times I saw his temper become out of control, thanks to mom always being there to calm him and getting him in rehab. Although there’s one time that always stuck with me was when my mom went to the store to pick up groceries for our older neighbor, I was left alone with dad. I had to be about five. I was hungry and climbed onto the countertop in order to reach the shelf that my sugary Honeys Cheerios were at. CLASH! My cereal bowl I had on the counter along with my cereal fell onto the floor. Glass pieces and Cheerios were everywhere.

Dads heavy sounding feet came marching out of the bedroom. His face was a deep red. He grabbed my wrist, “Damn it boy! How stupid can you be. Look at this fucking mess you’ve made. Are you proud of yourself? Huh boy? I’m talking to you damn it!” I cried, “I’m sorry daddy, I… I sorry.” My dad smirked at me. “You’re damn right you’re sorry!” He picked some plates from the cabinet and threw them at the wall. “Is this what you want boy?” Dad grabbed another plate and smashed it. He then grabbed my wrist again even tighter than the last. The front door unlocked. It was mom. “Damon Jones, let go of our child or so help me God.” Mom voice was stern and unafraid. “What has gotten into you,” she asked him.  And just like that,my father let go of me, “I’m so sorry Linda, I… I don’t know what came over me.” My mom  looked at him and said , “We’ll talk later Damon.” Mom then turned to my direction, kissed my head and wiped my tears. “I’m sorry baby, let’s go get you cleaned up. Mommy won’t leave you again,” she picked me up and kissed my forehead again, then sang a lullaby.

     When mom first was diagnosed with cancer dad’s drinking problem started up again. All those years he had been sober was gone. He became mean, mean like the man mom said he use to be. Now that his angel who could calm him in seconds was gone, I didn’t know what he would do. Father didn’t want me in the hospital visiting her anymore. He never explained why, he just yelled at me when I came home after visiting hours. I remember him taking a drink of his whisky and he said, “What the hell were you doing visiting my wife? You stay away from that hospital, if I find out you go again,” he took another swig, “You might as well not come home again,because it ain’t going to be well for you.” And here I am, even after that warning,in the hospital.  I never stopped going to visit mom, the thought of not seeing her disgusted me. It disgusted me that my father who was married to mom for eighteen years could just one day decide not to see her anymore.  

    I reached the front desk where my father was standing. Dad stood at 6’1, an inch taller than me. He had an average build with muscles that he built up over the years of him working in construction. Looking up into his face I noticed his  dull brown eyes were red and puffy, lifeless like. Obviously he had been crying pretty hard. He let his facial hair go, his beard was patchy and in some spots the hair was overgrown. “I’m so sorry dad.” I tried to think of what I should do or say next, the only thing I could think of was to put my hand on his back. He pushed my hand away, refusing me to try and comfort him. “Get in the car Peter,” when he said those words it made my body shudder. His words were stern. The way he said my name frightened me. He said my name with so much hate and venom. I stood there with a blank expression on my face. This is ridiculous; he’s acting as if he’s the only one who lost someone. She was my mother. “Are you deaf boy? I said go get in the damn car!” Without saying a word I started heading out to the car.

      I’m sitting in the car waiting for my dad and all that’s going through my head is that I just lost my mom , provider, best friend, and only person on this earth who loved me. My dad wasn’t ever overly nice to me, he did what was expected of a parent. Dad fed me and made sure I had a safe home to live in. Other then that we never had father and son talks, he never came to my school events and not once has he told me he’s proud of me. My father never showed any true signs of affection towards me. I observed my dad walking out the hospital building. Instantly my mind started worrying about what I was going to
say when he got into the car.

    When he got into the car he started up the engine and opened the glove department. This is where dad stored his liquor. I watched him take one long swig of his drink before he started driving and talking to me, “Peter, how many times have I told you to stay away from my wife, I told you to stop visiting her.” I looked at him in disgust. How dare he say “my wife,” he wasn’t much of a husband to her, not since she had fallen ill. “Ha, my wife…that’s rich coming from you! You never visited her in the hospital. Not once did you call and check on her. You don’t deserve to call her your wife. You are far from being a husband.” I said all of this while looking at him refusing to break my heart stopping stare.

    Father stops the car right in the middle of the road and gives me a hard look. We were at a stop light. He takes another long swig of his drink. Say something else I dare you, that’s what his stare looked like it was saying. Then he did something I never expected him to do, something that hurts me more than his words. For the first time in my life he hits me. “You shut your fucking mouth boy!” I looked at the man that’s suppose to be my father. I was speechless. When I was younger he yelled at me a lot and grabbed me a few times, but hit me? Never, not once had he gotten livid enough to do so. “I’m sure mom would be proud to see you like this,” I said.  I got out the car slamming the door. I left my father sitting at the traffic light in his car. I started running, I didn’t know where I was going but my legs pumped with so much energy, it seemed like they were a GPS and knew what route to go. The faster I ran the more the side of my face throbbed where my dad hit me.

       By time I decided to stop running, I reached my house. I looked at my small greyish blue house. Mom painted the home this color because she didn’t like the generic beige and white color homes. I looked at our front porch that has flowers surrounding it. I could picture my mom standing over the plants watering them in her gold color sundress. I felt a little smile creep on my face, but as instant as the smile formed on my face it left. I’d never get to see mom in her mini garden. I unlocked the front door and walked  to my bedroom.

   As soon as I laid down on my bed I realized how tired I was. Before I fell asleep I grabbed the picture of my mom and I. She looked so happy and healthy and of course I looked a mess. My hair was greasy and I looked dirty from making a ramp out of leaves and dirt so I could have my Hot Wheels car race. I smiled a lot whenever I looked at this picture it’s one of my favorites. At the moment the picture didn’t make me smile but did make me forget about how bad things were for a bit. I placed the picture over my heart and put my hand down on top. Right before I closed my eyes and fell asleep I whispered, “You’re free mom, you’re no longer struggling or hurting, you’re now one of the angels in heaven.”

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Adaeze Okoli