How Little Changed My Life

By LeeShana Wedlow

Officer of the law Sebastian Adam Greyson is challenged to question everything he thought he ever knew about himself. After being assaulted and left for dead, Sebastian must make one of the hardest decisions he’s ever faced. As life thrusts him into a series of unforeseen events, he prepares to fight a battle he never saw coming.

How Little Changed My Life is the tale of one man’s journey to rediscovering himself as he learns how to live again through an unexpected

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781640964020

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How Little Changed My Life

LeeShana Wedlow

Copyright © 2018 LeeShana Wedlow

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2018

All events mentioned in this literary work are fictitious. Any similarities to any persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-1-64096-401-3 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64096-402-0 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 1

Summer was almost over when I received a dispatch over the radio to assist with a 415 in Progress over on Thirtieth Street—domestic violence between a husband and his wife. I was close so it didn’t take long for me to arrive. As I pulled up to the scene, I could hear profanity being used by both parties. As I observed the scene from the driver seat of my patrol vehicle, I also noticed the gentlemen in question was a colored man. The attending officers placed the husband in handcuffs, which was the standard procedure for this type of altercation, while the wife gave her statement to his partner. I approached the scene, walking quickly

Officer Wright, what do we have here? I questioned the first officer.

Well, he stated, she’s saying that he came in from work drunk and belligerent. She tried getting him to calm down, but nothing was working, and that’s when he supposedly began assaulting her. He pulled a knife on her and proceeded toward her, threatening her life, and that’s when she called us. The only problem with that, sir, is she has no signs of abuse. She has no bruises, no swelling, nothing to corroborate her story, and every time I have asked for her story again, it always changes sir. I think they had an argument, and when things got out of hand, she got upset and gave us a call to maybe stir the fire. I’m not sure.

I began walking toward the wife whose back was facing me. As I walked around to the front of her, I noticed that she was a middle-aged white woman and very easy on the eyes. Ma’am, would you like to tell me your side of the story?

As she began speaking, I could tell immediately that something wasn’t right because she wouldn’t look me in the eyes. In all my years on the force, I’d learned that only meant one of two things—either she had an uncomfortable eyelash intruding her eye, or she was straight up lying.

Okay, she said as she began speaking, it was like any other day. He came in yelling and screaming. I figured he had been drinking, because he would only get that way when he’s had something to drink. And on top of all that, I could smell the alcohol on his breath. So I told him to calm down but that’s when he balled his fist and struck me several times on my arms, my back, and my legs. And that’s when I ran to grab the phone. He went into the kitchen and I heard him in the utility drawer. That’s when I see him coming toward me with a hammer. I quickly dialed 911 and that was it. She stood there fidgeting, moving from left to right, as she stared upon her husband’s face. I turned to see what it was that caught her eyes.

Ma’am, I said as I turned back around to her. Did you tell my partner it was a knife that your husband had in his hands?

Right, a knife, it was a knife. I’m sorry, Officer—

Officer Greyson.

I’m just a little shaken up by this whole situation, Officer Greyson.

I knew she was lying right through those pretty pearly white teeth of hers; but even more, I knew this nigger would walk free without any charge if I didn’t intervene. I walked over to the male suspect as he stood there calm and very patiently.

So, you think you can hit women boy? I taunted him. You know I got some boys down in county that’s waiting for a man like you, I continued, as I grabbed him by his handcuffed wrist and placed him into the back of my squad car.

I don’t hit women, he said as he was seated in the backseat. As he was getting in, I tossed an eight ball of cocaine onto the floor next to his feet. The same coke I lifted off my informant earlier today over on the West Side. It was 3.5 grams. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to get him booked. I shut the door as he looked upon his wife with worry and sorrow. I walked over to the attending officers and they both stated his record was clean, and he was well-known throughout his community as a prominent influence on the black youth." There wasn’t anything we could hold him on.

There’s got to be something, fellas, c’mon.

They both shook their heads no. Judgment call?

Sir, I think we should let him walk. Furthermore, sir, I believe we need to have a talk with the wife. She needs to understand calling us and lying is a serious offense, and she could be the one facing jail time.

Okay, guys. Go wrap things up with the missus, and I’ll go and grab the mister.

They both began walking toward the direction of the woman, and I began walking back toward my dark-blue crown Victoria. Get out, buddy, you’re free to go, I said as I opened the back door. I watch him as he placed his foot onto the concrete and proceeded to get out of the car. When he did so, his right foot knocked the package of cocaine to the ground and leaned perfectly on the side of his shoe. Well, well, well, what do we have here? Looks like cocaine, gentlemen, I said so arrogantly.

Officer, he said in a frantic voice, that doesn’t belong to me! He screamed as he squirmed around. I stood there with my arms folded, and I looked upon his face with disgust.

Are you suggesting it came from me? Or are you saying it came from one of my guys? Are you calling me a liar, boy?

Someone is lying because those drugs don’t belong to me! he countered. We stared into each other eyes for about six seconds.

Fellas, look like we’ve caught ourselves another dealer. Don’t your kind know how to make an honest living? Good work, fellas. Take him down to the station and get him booked.

The attending officers looked at me as if they didn’t understand what I just ordered them to do.

That’s an order! I shouted their way.

Yes, sir, the officers said as they reluctantly complied to my orders.

He turned to his wife as she stood there in silence. "Roxie, baby . . . Roxanne! I’m sorry I cheated on you, and I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did, but you know I would never do something like this. You know what I stand for. Say something, Roxie. Say something to these people. Roxie! Roxie!" His loose rantings were silenced at the closing of the squad door. As I turned around, I could feel the piercing eyes of his wife staring directly at me.

What have I done, she muttered. She slowly shook her head in disbelief. My smile quickly became a blank smirk upon my face as I could see the hurt in her eyes. I turned away from her and headed toward my patrol car. Before I left the scene, I slowed down beside her and rolled down my window.

Eventually they all get caught, ma’am, that’s just how it goes. Just when you think he’s one of the good guys. There are no exceptions—not even for your husband, ma’am. As I pulled away from her, I glanced in my rearview mirror only to realize that she had gone from standing curbside to standing in the middle of the road. From the stance of her body, I could tell she was wondering what just happened, but I couldn’t help but feel elated. One more day without a nigger on the streets is a damn good day is what Daddy always told me, and he was right.

It was the end of my shift, and I noticed the sun beginning to set. Before I went home, I decided to stop at a nearby tavern. One of my friends I grew up with opened it a little over a year ago. I stopped by, occasionally, to see how he was doing. As I pulled into the back parking lot where most of the cars were, I noticed there were two humdingers conversing among one another. I killed the engine to my Victoria, and I searched for the nearest light. That lot was dark, because Johnny never put in the sensor light I suggested he put in when he first opened the place. He complained about it saying they were too much money and, of all the years I’d known Johnny, he was a pretty frugal guy with a bad gambling habit.

The two thugs looked as if they were up to no good, but I was off the clock and was tired so, unless they committed a crime, they’d get a free pass tonight. As I exited my patrol car, I nodded my head toward the thugs, and I made my way into the tavern. The place was dead; no customers, really, just a few regulars I saw every time I came in.

Hey, Sebastian, what’s it going to be, Johnny spat toward me.

You know you have a couple humdingers out back in the alleyway? I said as I walked over to the bar.

Yeah, that’s Tommy and his kid brother, Joe. They stop by here every now and again. Are you having your usual?

Yeah give me the usual, Johnny Cash. It’s been one of those days.

As I sat on the barstool, I began twirling it back and forth from left to right. So where do you know them from again? And why are they out back? I questioned him as I grabbed a handful of the bar nuts sitting to the side of me.

Just hanging, Sebastian, like everyone else does, I guess, he replied.

He walked toward my seat from the other side of the bar to grab a shot glass. He slowly pulled a bottle of whiskey from his selection of liquor. I’m sure he thought his cutting corner answer appeased me but as I sat there, I stared at Johnny’s behavior. He wasn’t acting like the Johnny I knew. I could tell by the way he poured the shot of liquor and his body language that something wasn’t right, which would soon be confirmed as he glanced at me out the corner of his eye.

Johnny, look at me, I whispered toward him, are they here to collect from you? Are they goons?

He stopped in the middle of putting the bottle of whiskey back in its place. Mind your own damn business, Sebastian! You can’t be coming into my place of business, questioning me like I’m your person of interest! he said in the sternest voice I’d ever heard him speak. I knew right away that he was afraid. I sat silently before finally speaking.

Hey man, I’m not trying to start anything. It was never my intention to get Johnny so upset. I considered him my brother and I just hated to see him backed into a corner. I heard the opening of the tavern door given away by the squeaking from the rusty hinges. The two goons from out back decided to bring their loitering inside. They sat at the end of the bar which was about nine stools down from me. They began banging on the counter with their hands and making all sorts of ruckus. I could see the uneasiness it caused Johnny.

What will it be fellas? he barked at them.

We’re here on business, not pleasure, two-timing Johnny Cash, they scolded him.

What kind of business would that be? I interjected.

They both turned their stools to face my direction. I looked at Johnny, then I glanced over at the goons. I knocked back my shot of whiskey and slammed the glass on the counter.

What business of it is yours? they questioned me right back. Unless you want to make it your business, pig, they continued.

You hear that, Johnny Cash? He said, ‘make it my business.’ Johnny is a good friend of mine. If he’s in any kind of trouble, I’d like to help.

Mind your business, Sebastian, just mind your business, Johnny said as he shook his head in disappointment.

Your friend here owes my boss a nice chunk of change. He made a bet and couldn’t cash out. Now if you aren’t going to help him pay it, I suggest you back off, pig! one of the thugs yelled down at me. I hate the word pig. They both removed themselves from their seats and began slowly walking from their end of the bar to my end of the bar. I sat quietly, not making a sound. They positioned themselves behind me, blocking both the left and the right sides of my back. Me and my brother, Joe, couldn’t hear you too well all the way from over there. What was that you were saying . . . pig? he said in an intimidating voice.

Look, fellas, I really don’t want any problems. I quickly elbowed the one on the right of me and from that moment on, we were in a full-fledged brawl. I wasn’t thinking about my next move. I couldn’t think about my next move. It was all happening so fast. All I knew was that I’d better think of something quick, or things would not be pretty for me. I grabbed a beer mug from the bar counter and cracked it over the other goons’ head. I spun around on my bar stool, and I noticed the first goon I attacked recovering from the elbow blow to his ribs faster than I had anticipated. I thought for certain that hit would have bought me some time. I hopped off the stool with both hands in the air ready to contend. As he ran toward me, he pulled back his arm and proceeded to hit me with a right jab that would inevitably bring me to my knees. He launched at me a second time, but this time it was with his foot. My mind was racing and, for a moment, I was thrown off my game. He raised his knee mid-air and kicked me on the outer side of my ribcage. It was the worst pain I had felt in a very long time. I curled over into the only position fit for the pain I felt—the fetal position. As I lay on the floor, I noticed his partner from the corner of my