ESCAPING THE BROKEN PIECES

By Jessie Thompson

Have you ever wondered what happens when you make a promise to God? Young Timothy Campbell found out that a promise may be a silent vow or a heartfelt gesture it doesn't matter; a promise is a promise. 

Escaping the broken pieces is an emotional spin-off to WAITING FOR A MIRACLE. Jessie Thompson once again takes you on a rol

• Language: English
• Publisher: Agar Publishing
• Release date: Nov 12, 2021
• ISBN: 9781956096293

Book preview

Copyright © 2021 by Jessie Thompson

ISBN:    Paperback:      978-1-956096-28-6

              eBook:            978-1-956096-29-3

              LCCN:          2021918487

All Characters herein are fictional. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Contents

Preface

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

XVIII

XIX

XX

XXI

XXII

About the Author

This book is dedicated to all my readers. You waited and waited patiently for this edition. I thank you so much for waiting and believing in me. It was you that inspired me to write another novel. I hope you enjoy this one just as much as the previous two. I’d like to take this moment to thank God for giving me the gift of writing and I’d also like to thank two special friends that helped me extensively until the end. Crystal Johnson and James Jones. Thank you for your in-put and guidance. Love you to life.

Other titles by Jessie Thompson:

Behind the doors of reality; tears of a military wife

And

Waiting for a Miracle

Preface

Have you ever wondered what happens when you make a promise to God? May it be a witnessed promise or a silent vow; it doesn’t matter. A promise is a promise. Young Timothy Campbell found out the power of a promise during a time in his life when he wasn’t sure God even existed.

Just as God changed Saul’s name to Paul so did he change Timothy Campbell to Norman Shaw. Of course Timothy didn’t understand why he had to become someone else. He was all of seven years old when his life flipped upside down.

Living in an era that knew nothing about God; people did their own thing and life was hard. Instead of rolling Matchbox cars along the floor Timothy had bigger dreams to fulfill. He was reaching for things that he didn’t even know really existed and held on to hope for things he never would have imagined he could obtain. God heard his inner cry and left him with a testimony.

I

By the time Timothy’s grandmother was born history was already embedded deep into the pavement of Heywood Street. Heywood Street runs between Bakers Avenue and Highway 56 on the southern side of town; a settling that no one except for those that migrated to that community cared of its existence. When the Ray family settled there it was nothing more than un-kept raw land. A crew of men got together and began clearing out the trees and leveling the fields to elevate the homes that exists there today.

When this development became evident to the county commissioners governmental laws and State statutes were established to regulate creativity and economical growth in that and other communities of its kind; but no legal entity could stop the midwives who seemed to be the busiest of them all.

Family history was taught from the porch swing by women whose hands were deeply wrinkled from years of working in the fields, cooking hot meals in the kitchen, scrubbing laundry on wash-boards, Digging in the hard dirt to create vegetable gardens, waxing floors on their knees and raising other people’s hard-headed children. They understood that the power of life and death is in the tongue so when life became tough they put a spiritual song in their heart and began to hum. They didn’t have much, yet they never spoke of poverty. The only thing they knew about life was how to survive from day to day.

Every Saturday evening on Heywood Street the women gathered together all the neighborhood children and lined them up on the stairs to sit still and quiet as they listened vigorously to tales of yesteryear. This was the only time children were allowed to be amidst adult conversation. Sounds of the wooden screen door slapped against the door frame making a loud clacking sound as the teenagers passed out cool drinks to the thirsty storytellers and when everyone settled down the oldest woman in the group began to speak. She told tales about the sacrifices that it took to allow them to live as they do today. They heard about the unpaved roads that cracked from the sun’s heat after a summer’s rain and the polished shoes that led the way to a semi-circle every Sunday to sing songs of freedom and injustice. They were told of the ice man that steered his horse through the town ringing the bell as he traveled along. Big Mama snickered as she told how the children were so amused to watch the ice man clamped that large claw into a brick of ice that was sold for the purpose of keeping the food cool in the ice box. She told stories about her mother and her mother’s mother and the family gatherings, sharing and caring for each other. This was a time in history when people found relaxation in going down to the pond and watching the ducks play in the water.

Even though Big Mama’s voice was no louder than a whisper and she spoke slowly taking in long gulps of air each time she inhaled, no one dared to move until she was done.

The children understood that the strength of a family is of the upmost importance. Big Mama made sure the new generation understood the value of hard work. Everyone contributed in some way or another to make life possible for all. Big Mama said in this small community we are all related. Look around at your brothers and sisters she said pointing at each child and looking them in the eyes; these are the people that make life worth living. Yes, you are your brother’s keeper and it is important to keep up with each other.

Unity was the only way that they knew how to stand up against the laws and regulations that were being implemented not only for their destination, but for their destruction. It wasn’t because of the bloodline, but the laughter, tears and celebrations that they shared amongst each other that made them all a close-knit family.

By mid-afternoon on Sunday the smell of fresh baked bread, apple pie, fried chicken and steamed cabbage filled the air. Laughter rumbled from the back yard where the men gathered for a game of horseshoes or checkers drinking moonshine from jelly jars. There was joy and there was pain, but most of all there was love. These same stories were re-iterated over and over again as a reminder to never forget where you come from.

When big mama went home to be with the Lord, the next oldest female inherited the position and was given the same respect.

II

The Ray family still lives in this community, but if the trees could speak today they would tell an entirely different tale. They would bend their heads in shame as they chatter about how a place so beautiful has fallen to such a level as it is today. The streets that are now paved with tar comes alive every evening as soon as the sun sets. The stories of Big Mama has faded and the children are no longer reminded of their past history.

Zenobia Ray is the fourth child and the third daughter born to Eartha McLaughlin. She grew up in this community and has watched the domino effect of wretchedness, loneliness, misery and despair that now consumes her family members and friends. She learned at a very early age that you can get anything you want if you show assurance in your asking.

Zenobia’s a big woman with a big attitude. Standing almost six feet tall she has confronted the most vindictive of men and has proven on many instances that she can hold her own.

Zenobia gives nothing for free and often says don’t take nothing that you didn’t work for. Funny she would be the one who would give such advice. When she speaks she looks deep into your eyes as if she’s trying to connect directly with your soul. The sternness in her face lets you know that she has had some challenges in life and experience has molded her into the person she is today. Most people who knows her history trusts her wisdom so when she warns that danger is lurking everyone is on alert. There isn’t much work available for someone as poorly educated as herself; but life goes on. Every day is a hustle for survival. That’s just a part of the lifestyle in this area.

She has several occupations. She loves the part-time position as manager of the produce department at Frank’s Food mart, but her most memorable title is Bartender at the After Dark; a local club that operates out of a shot-gun house on the corner of Cornell Street. The Club is open only three nights of the week; Wednesday, Friday and Saturday. If anyone ever wanted to wipe out an entire generation or the entire neighborhood all they would have to do is raid the After Dark on any of these given nights.

Zenobia has an excellent memory and she’s a very fast thinker. She’s also quick with the cash register. When Zenobia meets someone for the first time she makes it a point to memorize their name and their favorite drinks, so most of the time when someone approaches the bar area their drink is already in hand and ready to serve. She remains focused on the patrons at all times regardless if they are sitting on a bar stool or bouncing on the dance floor. By the end of the evening she’s made more money for the club than most people even realized they’ve spent and a large portion of it is in her bra.

The highlight of the week around the neighborhood is always the happenings surrounding the After Dark like the one night when Zenobia refused to serve a gentleman that was seated at the bar area simply because he’d already had more than he could handle. The man became so angry that he waited until she was passing in his direction obviously paying him no mind then he reached across the bar top and grabbed the strap of her apron pulling her closer to him causing her to drop the tray that she was carrying. Without giving it a second thought she had the man upside down coming across the bar landing at her feet. It took several patrons to stop her from stomping him to death. By the time the bouncer reached that area the man was being shoved out the side door.

Meanwhile, seven year old Timothy was alone at home laying on the floor in front of the television. He’s small for his age. Most people assume him to be no more than five. Zenobia wonders if he would ever grow to be as tall as her or short and scrawny like his dad. Timothy spends many nights alone while his mother’s working. To avoid being afraid he learned to entertain himself by creating imaginary friends to hang out with. In the school where Timothy attends there are two brothers, Douglas and Michael that’s always playing pranks on people. Their silliness makes everyone laugh. I guess you could call them the class clowns. Timothy wishes to be friends with these guys, but he know that his personality won’t let him do the things that they do, so on the nights when Timothy is home alone waiting for his mother to get off work he makes up imaginary games that he plays with Douglas. Of course when Douglas showed up he brought his brother Michael along. Sometimes Douglas and Michael fight so there’s always drama between them. One night when they wouldn’t stop fighting Fred showed up. Timothy’s not sure who Fred is or how he found them, but he was glad Fred showed up. Fred became the mediator that kept the two brothers from killing each other. He has a very nurturing personality and knows just how to make good of the most stressful situations. Fred made them realize that as family they needed each other and the importance of having each other’s back.

Timothy understands that these friends are illusionary, but sometimes they seem so real that he has to remind himself of this. He never mentions these friends in the presence of other people this is a secret that he keeps to himself. They watch television, create games to play and has commonsensical conversations. One night as the thunder shook the rooftop and the lights flickered Douglas thought it would be a good idea to light the candle and almost set the whole house on fire. Fred quickly jumped into place knocking over the mop bucket that mom had left sitting in the corner. It left a huge hole and a wet spot on the rug. Of course mom blamed Timothy for the mess, but they all know who the real culprit was.

III

Timothy is the youngest grandchild to Eartha McLaughlin. Zenobia doesn’t entertain a whole lot of family company so the only reason that Timothy knows his grandmother is because she comes to his house almost every morning and bangs on the door as if she’s the police with a search warrant. Zenobia looks out the glass window at the top of the door. A tiny woman presses her face to the door. Open up she yells pounding at the door one more time. Timothy always finds a place to hide when she comes. He hates when she tries to kiss him. Her breath is always hot and she smells like stale liquor and old cigarettes. All her front teeth are gone and she talks with a slur. She never has anything good to say about anybody, but she carries gossip on