When Peace Turns to Fear

The snow was falling and I could see the patterns of footprints all around our driveway.  It was a very peaceful January and my midterm grades were great.  The house seemed quieter than usual when my parents got home from an outing.  They were acting different than normal, mom was crying and dad had that look in his eyes.  You know that look that freezes your body in its place, colder than standing on Chicago's navy pier in January.  I will never forget that day when I heard the news, my life would forever be changed.

Jones, Sharina. Sharina, From Finley to Jones. page 87.

Can you remember a time of peace before the storm?  Let me know how you felt before a life changing event.  Can you remember at the exact moment when peace turned to fear?  I would love to hear from all of you.  Please post!

-Sharina

The Day of My Shooting Part 3

Those same innocent rocks that I remembered from earlier in the day were a guide to us going home.  It was as if they filled every pot hole and moved out of our way.  The sun was giving Kim energy to run as fast as she could while carrying my lifeless bloody body.  And when we reached the downward hill it was if angels made her feet run faster as she struggled to hold my slippery body in her arms.   

I don’t recall arriving home that day to my father, brother, and cousin.  All I remember was this beautiful woman standing over me, a bright high yellow of a woman.  She had big brown eyes, and a glow of amazement.  She was the one who comforted me and held my hand.  It was like I knew her, her very ora; was like family.  She held my hand and we skipped to the sound of peace.  It was sort of like walking on clouds.  I remember hearing giggling and seeing two young children there with me.  “Mom run with us” they said and we all began to run.  Who were these beautiful children with curly black hair, they seemed so sweet.  And then in an instant the kids were gone and she began to fade.  Even until this day, I am saddened that I had to leave her.  I distinctively remember her letting my hand go, and walking backwards away.  I watched her until the last thing I saw were her high cheek bones disappear.  

The Day of My Shooting Part 2

Pop!  I was so scared, I didn’t know what happened.  All I could feel was the burning in my legs and the strength of my arms holding me up from hell.  I knew it, I was going, and I was gone.  For some reason, God had let me down, I was going to hell.  Was it that candy I stole from the penny store, or my neglecting to pray?  I can remember imagining my legs hanging through the floor, and trying not to let the fire reach them.  I had to hold myself up with my tiny arms as best as I could.  My knuckles were whitely tight and my very soul was escaping.  “God forgive me, God forgive me” is what I was whispering to myself when my sister Kim ran into the room. 

The look on my sister’s face as she saw the devastation of the situation will never be forgotten.  Kim picked me up, spun around to see where he was at, and lunged for the door.  It felt like home was miles away when blood is running down your pink Oshkosh pants.  I faded in and out on our way home.  It was brighter outside, that of joy, relief; I was no longer in hell.  My sister, the very hero of my days; was carrying me towards the light.  She refused to let the devil have me.  I was her baby sister, a child of God.  Surely God sent her for me; surely he remembered who Sharina was. 

Let me start on the day of my shooting - part 1

It was summer time, the year was 1985 and I was five years old.  I was an energetic, happy, and optimistic kindergarten graduate.  My cousin Omar had spent the night with my brother Robert.  I despised those rough playful boys and wanted to go with my sister Kim to babysit the Smith kids.  “Please, please mom, let me go with Kim.  I promise to be good.”  My mom knew Omar and I fought all the time, so she agreed I could go with Kim to babysit.  There it is, the baby of the family’s charm, got my way again…Sharina Finley, you are good!  It seemed like a perfect sunny day, my mom was at work, my dad was with the boys, and I was on my way to the Smith’s with my sister.

The sun was shining as we walked out of the house and down our drive way.  I remember kicking the innocent rocks as they lay in my path.  When we reached our dirt road to begin the long haul uphill, I remember skipping to the tune of the Flintstones in my head.  Yabba Dabba Doo, I loved that show.  I know Kim was probably annoyed, not only did she have to go to work but she had to bring along her baby sister.  I remember the mailboxes looking so tall like giants when I was going up that hill of endless footsteps.  When you almost reach the top of the hill, the graveled road slowly turned in to pavement.  I loved the feeling on my feet of hot pavement in the summer.  It was kind of like playing hot potato.  It was so early in the morning there were no neighborhood kids out looking to play.

When we arrived at the Smith house, my sister needed to get the kids ready for the day.  So I ask if I could watch some cartoons on the television and plopped myself down on the couch.  The roughness of the brown cloth rubbed my knuckles to say good morning. My sister proceeded to the back to run the bath water for Leslie, the little sister of Chris.  I was deep in to my show when I heard Chris say something.  I turned to the left and there he was holding a gun and pointing at me.  “Run or I am going to shoot you”.  Even though I was 5, I didn’t hesitate, I ran.

TO BE CONTINUED...........

Introduction

Its’ funny how you wake up some mornings and it feels as if the world has left you and just passed you by.  That’s how I felt this morning when I awaken from my deep sleep.  Call it what you like, deep sleep, passed out from margaritas, whatever you like.  I am 30 and it feels as if my life accomplishments have meant nothing.  With the Michigan economy quickly approaching non existence, my degrees mean almost nothing here.  So why do I bother to stay?  I guess I stay on faith, hope, and helplessness.  I have faith that things will turn around, just don’t know when, I’m predicting a ten year slump.  I have hope that I will be one of the lucky ones who get’s their desires.  And I am helplessly optimistic of both of these dreams.

I continue to search jobs in the world of unknown.  I have posted my resume to sites and wait for nothing.  However I keep writing in this damn book.  I wonder if I need to change my whole career to writing, because it is much more relaxing.  Except when you get to memories that disturb you and that you have hidden away in the caves of your soul.

Where will I go from here?  Will I learn to become a successful business woman like Kimora Lee Simmons?  I know that I am supposed to be more, but I don’t know what.  Do you ever get the feeling that you are suppose to be big, important, and downright successful?  I feel like that all the time and I continue to educate myself with more and more degrees, but where am I really going?  I have tried to start businesses, well I have imagined the idea, and even filled out my business papers.  It’s something when you have such a need to be more but something pulls you away.  I wonder if I am just lazy or am I suppose to be writing this book to help someone.  I feel like the book needs to come first, as if it will be someone’s guide through their troubles.  I have a lot to say but I am afraid of directing you in the wrong way.  Believe me when I say my choices are not of perfection, but I‘ve lived with them and gotten through them, and moved on. 

I’ve had years of therapy trying to forget the past but here I am about to expose my soul to you.  Please don’t be judgmental, for I would not judge you.  Just read and let this book take you where it wants.  Don’t look at me as just another gunshot victim but a young lady who truly believes in the good even after the bad.