Lukewarm air blew through a half-opened window.
I lay on the couch covered by a blanket.
The air smelled like spring, although leftover snow lingered on the streets.
It reminded of my first relapse.
A guy rode by on a bike.
I called him, "Yo!"
He rode to my steps.
"You got any weed?" I asked.
"I'm a ride around the corner," he said, "I'll be back."
Standing against the railing I scuffled and squirmed. I was split.
My body begged for a bag of weed. But my spirit pleaded to be Christ-like.
With my eyes closed, I contemplated both.
Someone called my name. I opened my eyes.
It was Rick.
"Hey Talia," he said. "How's everything going?"
"I’m good. You?"
Everyone in the projects was perplexed about my conversion.
When they saw me in a skirt, they couldn't believe their eyes.
What could turn around a hard-core thug like Talia?
Rick talked and talked. I hurried the conversation along. "Yeah, yeah," I said.
I knew the guy on the bike would be back at any moment.
"God, please don't let that guy come back while Rick is here."
But as I ended my prayer the guy came from around the corner.
He stopped. He handed me a bag of weed. I handed him ten dollars.
Rick's mouth dropped.
"T," he said.
I quickly responded, "I'm stressed."
"When my mother's stressed, she prays."
Embarrassed, I lowered my head and walked into our building.
I rolled the blunt.
I went into the bathroom and closed the door.
I lit the blunt.
While I smoked, the old me surfaced, suppressing my new spirit.