“Take my purse! It’s on the table. I don’t have much money but take it…just take it!”
She felt cold metal pressed against her right temple. Her legs grew weak the moment she heard a clicking noise. Within seconds, her body slumped to the floor. There was silence; a quiet that was more frightening than the explosive sound of the bullet as it traveled through the gun’s chamber and made its final impact against her skull.
Be Careful What You Pray For The muscles in my body grew tense when the phone rang. My heart was pounding as though I had awakened from a bad dream. The streetlight outside my window cast shadows of tree limbs against my bedroom wall.
“What time is it?”
I lifted my head from my pillow. The numbers on the clock were a blur; squinting made them become clearer.
“11:30! Who could be calling at this hour?”
The phone continued to ring.
“Why won’t they answer? I hate the sound of a phone ringing late at night. That’s why I don’t have a phone next to my bed.”
Finally, someone picked up.
“Hello…”
I heard Omar’s low, not fully awake voice respond to apparent questioning.
“Si, Si. Dominicano, Taxi Driver, Si.”
There was a brief pause, then I heard,
“Ay Dios mio! Officer, what hospital? Where are the Niños? Ay Dios mio! Okay! Okay! We’ll be right there.”
I rolled off the mattress, which was on my bedroom floor and struggled to stand up. I staggered toward the door. The hallway was dark. I looked in the direction of the master bedroom where Maggie and Omar slept. Only a sliver of light shone under their door. I placed my hand along the wall to help guide me. Mid way the hall, the door to the master bedroom flew open. My body was shoved against the hallway wall as Maggie rushed by me. I tried to stop her but I couldn’t. She was headed for the bathroom. Not bothering to close the door, I could see Maggie as she splashed water on her face. She began to speak but not to me. Maggie held her conversation with the image in the bathroom mirror.
“He did it! He did it! He hurt my baby!”
While trying to make some sense of what she was saying, my thoughts went back to the phone call. “…Dominicano, Taxi driver, Niños.” The word Niños puzzled me until I remembered it was the Spanish word for children. Suddenly all the words began to come together inside my head. Something awful must have happened to Maggie’s daughter Valerie. I knew I would have to calm Maggie down if I wanted to get a complete story of what had happened. I was in a daze leaning against the hallway wall when Maggie came rushing by me a second time headed back toward her room.
“Maggie, what’s wrong?”
“He shot her! He shot her! He beat her before; he didn’t have to shoot her.”
Maggie burst into tears as she pleaded, “God why? Just take my eyes; I don’t need to see anymore. I’ve lived a long life. She’s too young.”
I was puzzled. Why was Maggie begging God to take away her sight? ...And the part about Valerie having been beaten before, that can only mean one thing. Valerie’s common-law husband must have returned to the apartment after having been asked to leave just days before by the police. I looked to Omar for answers but he wasn’t much help. He appeared to be in a state of shock. He was leaning against the dresser in his room, staring out into space. I recall seeing Omar pull Maggie towards him then he looked in the direction of the hallway where I was standing. Still there was no response. “Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?”
Omar finally spoke but in brief short sentences.
“Valerie was shot. Shot in the head. She’s blind. She’s critical.”
My body collapsed against the wall. I heard Maggie’s muffled cry as she was pressing her face against Omar’s chest.
Recalling the accusations Maggie made earlier, there was little doubt in my mind that Valerie’s husband had been the one to shoot her. But why? Why try to kill her? It was obvious he meant to kill her or he would not have aimed for her head. Something was very wrong; something was missing from this story. In my mind, things did not add up. I walked back to my room, sat on the edge of my mattress, and prayed the prayer that changed my entire life. “Oh God! Just let her live, I’ll be her eyes.”
Looking back over the events that took place, I’m not at all certain whether I have been blessed or cursed for plea-bargaining with God. I don’t ever recall making such a bargain with anyone, let alone God, that proved to be this much of a challenge. My quiet hermit type lifestyle was turned upside down, inside out, all in the name of friendship.
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