Not a Blueprint: It's the Shoe Prints That Matter

Still lurking in the wings, Marcus got wind of our reconnection. It was a hot summer weekend. As the sun rose, Marcus angrily banged on the door. His tone was violent.

“Open the darn door, dog!” the neighbors heard him scream.

It’s a good thing the security latch was on. China slept on her cot, and Craig was inside too. Otherwise, I might have gotten a serious beatdown from Marcus, the way he was clowning. Yeah, Craig had been staying over occasionally, and this happened to be one of those nights. I had no idea how
much longer Craig could stand Marcus’s screaming and banging on the door.

Leaving Craig inside the apartment with China, . . . I grabbed my crutches and hopped out the door to deal with that maniac. When Marcus saw me, he stood there laughing and stated, “Ha, how do you like the spell I put on you? Dog, screw me round, next time it’ll be more than your foot.”

Talking about his voodoo powers and how he’d worked his black magic, Marcus went on to say, “Baby, I told you I got the power! That’s just the beginning of what I can do to you.” Marcus had always been a quick mover and shaker. This time, he moved so fast I barely knew what hit me. But it was his fist that went dead against my eye. Even with the throbbing pain, I went immediately into attack mode. That jerk wasn’t getting away with this. I lifted my arms, brought down both crutches over his fat, round head, and cracked him as hard as I could. That cracking sound was so darn loud, I scared myself!