Curled up and sitted on my window, the sky still rumbling, the rain pouring like it was declaring war on Earth and my tears wouldn't stop falling as my thoughts kept running. Today had seemed like every other normal day in my life, where I woke up, prepared breakfast and hurried my 19 year old son to school. Sometimes, I even scolded him for waking up late after staying up all night texting his friends.
But today wasn't just like any of those days, it was 2:35 PM when I received the call, a call that made today different from every other for the last 19 years. my child was in the I.C.U, he was fighting for his life. "I think you called the wrong number, this is Ms Akanimor and my son is still in school, sorry." There was no way I could believe my baby was fighting for his life, he was meant to be in school studying like every other student. "I'm sorry Ms Akanimor, your son David Akanimor was shot an hour ago, you need to come to the hospital." Reality had set in, I grabbed my coat and ran out of the office.
It was 3:15 PM when I reached the hospital. "I'm Ms Akanimor, I got a call that my son David Akanimor was admitted here about an hour ago," I was desperate to hear that he wasn't there, I was praying deeply that it would be a kind of mix up. "Yes ma'am, he's undergoing surgery now, please wait in the waiting room, you'll be informed when the surgery is over". I could feel my body shiver, my legs felt crippled as I walked to the waiting room, my body was somehow too heavy for me, all I could think of was seeing and holding my son again.
It was 4:30 PM when I heard the nurse call for me, I could feel my own fear embrace me when I saw one of the surgeons standing there, his faced looked tired and sad. "I'm sorry ma'am, we tried all we could but he didn't make it". I suddenly became numb of all emotions, I felt like I was dreaming, "this cannot be true" those were the only words I could mutter before I burst into uncontrollable tears, my whole world has gone, my 19 years as a single mother had just mocked me to my face, I had nothing left now.
6:00 PM, I just walked out of the police station. My mind couldn't help wandering back to what the detective had said. Apparently, my son had gone out to check out the latest play station with his friends, they were still in the store when they heard sirens, someone had reported that the store was being robbed. He and his friends got dragged out, he put his hand in his pocket to take out his phone, that was when one of the cops shot at him, the shot that unjustly took my boy away from me. The cop said he thought he was bringing out a gun, his thoughts took away everything I had.
9:50 PM, I felt a sharp pain on my hand. The thorn from the cactus plant on my window had cut me, I must have swinged my hand while I was lost in thoughts of what made today different from every other day, the difference was that today had been a whole nightmare. The pain from the cut hurt, do cuts from thorns always hurt this much? Though not nearly as much as the pain I feel from knowing I lost my son to police brutality, not as much as knowing the situation could have been avoided if young black boys weren't always seen as criminals. The cut from that thorn of police brutality and racism hurt more than the cut from the thorn of the cactus plant on my window.
