Prelude
Atlanta, Georgia
24 years ago
On a typical hot and humid night in an alley in Atlanta, an impressively tall man stood beside a woman of average height. Both wore dark raincoats with raised hoods that left their faces and clothing a mystery. Had it not been for the man’s towering stature and the woman’s feminine curves, their genders would be just as mysterious.
The man placed a large hand on the woman’s shoulder. A thick gold band adorned his ring finger, which contrasted brightly against his vibrant chocolate skin. The man whispered something so low she barely heard him, but once his low tremble reached her ears, she quickly turned her face away from him as if his words pained her. Once the woman moved her face, her profile became visible in the street light.
She was beautiful with café au lait skin and high cheekbones that hinted at an African ancestry. Her large brown eyes were downcast with heavy bags underneath, and if you looked hard enough, you could see tear tracks across her cheeks. She clutched a small bundle closer to her chest, and her body rocked with silent sobs.
A man stepped out of the shadows at the woman’s sobs. Nearly the same height as the other man, this man wore no raincoat to hide from onlookers. He wore black from head to toe, a gun holster across his shoulders with twin guns at his sides. His eyes dark as the night around him, his mouth set in a grim countenance, but at the woman’s sobs, his face shifted from hard to one of alarm.
The woman’s head turned towards the man as he stepped closer to her, a pleading look in his eyes. She held his gaze for a second too long and looked away. The larger man shifted his hand from the woman’s shoulder and placed his arm around her waist while casting the man in the shadows a dark look. His message was clear. The man stepped back into the shadows as if he’d never left.
A car approached the alley, and the man’s hold on the woman tightened. Sounds of a running engine followed by two doors closing filled the alley.
“It’s them,” the woman said in a raspy voice. She turned towards the car and clutched the bundle tighter. “I can’t do this.” She took a step closer to the shadows, but the man held her firmly.
The man kissed her forehead. “Then don’t, we can find another way. She isn’t always right-”
She took another retreating step backward, “that’s the problem; she’s barely ever wrong. We can’t afford to ignore her warning if she’s right.” She spoke with a light cadence, her words accented in a long-forgotten language with African roots.
The woman retreated another step and raised the bundle to her heart as if clutching at an invisible pain. The sound of glass shattering followed by instant darkness filled the alley. The woman looked up at the street light that once held a dim yellow bulb. The light fixture was destroyed, appearing to have exploded from the inside out. The woman winced guiltily and tightened her grip around the bundle.
The man seeing the bulb and her guilt-ridden expression gave her a sympathetic smile and wiped away tears she hadn’t known had fallen. “Whatever you decide, I’ll be by your side,” he looked down at the bundle in her arms, and his expression saddened. “Let me be your rock. I know this is-”
A man’s voice spoke out in the darkness, “Fina,”
The woman’s head turned towards the sound. Her eyes softened when she met eyes the exact shade as hers. She removed herself from the man’s embrace and walked towards the newcomers. When they reached each other, the woman allowed the newcomer to wrap his arms around her. This time her companion did nothing to prevent another man from touching what he claimed.
The newcomer was a man in his early twenties, his face round showing hints of a boy’s softness, but his eyes held a maturity his face hadn’t entirely caught up with. Alongside him was a woman who was his exact opposite in almost every way. His face was round, and hers was angular, he was nearly six feet, and she was closer to five. His hair closely shaven, hers in long cornrows brushing the middle of her back. His body was open and inviting, and she stood with the dedication of a soldier ready to spring into action.
A baby’s low cry filled the alley, and every pair of eyes zoomed in to the bundled in the woman’s arms. The newcomer released her, and she clutched the bundle tighter and spoke softly, “it is okay, my princess, mama’s here.”
The man who watched from the shadows fought against his instincts to run to the woman. His blood burned, and his heart ached. Everything in him wanted to be beside the woman, lending her his strength, holding her in his arms until she and the babe in her arms felt safe. But he knew he couldn’t. He stepped deeper into the shadows and became so entranced in their darkness; he nearly became one with them.
The woman with the braids tilted her head as if listening to something in the distance. She turned her dark brown eyes on the woman and spoke, “we need to move fast if we’re doing this.”
The other woman’s hands trembled as she took a deep breath and held the baby out to the man. Carefully, as if he’d never held anything more delicate, the man held the baby and regarded the woman sadly.
“I’ll protect her with my life.”
“You’ll do more than that,” the woman said on a sob. Before she could speak again, the large man walked over to the baby. He leaned in carefully examining the baby and kissed her small forehead.
“Salim, you have our future in your hands,” he looked down at the baby again, “and so much more.”
Regaining her resolve, the woman stepped away from the man holding the baby. With each step, she seemed to lose more strength. Her feet felt as heavy as iron, her knees buckled. “Help me,” she whispered into the night, “I don’t have the strength to leave her.”
Her whispered plead answered as shadows from the cervices of the walls traveled around her until they landed on her raincoat, each of the shades lending her invisible support. With renewed strength, she made it into a waiting non-descript sedan on the opposite side of the alley. She watched through the window as her husband handed the diaper bag filled to the brim with cash to her brother.
The levee she held on her emotions threatened to break as she saw her brother and his wife maneuver the baby into the car seat. She dug her nails into her palms to feel something different. Something that wasn’t nearly as painful as waiting her brother leave with her child.
Her brother got into the driver’s seat and started to pull off, the levee broke, and her pain roared through the night. Windows burst from the nearby buildings. She heard screams from people standing too close but paid them no attention. Down the street, traffic lights malfunctioned, and the screeching of tires could be heard for miles. The chaos surrounding her didn’t alarm her. Instead, she watched the car drive off with her baby and whispered, “ninakupenda Malaika wangu.”
Heather Lauren Moffitt 