From Thrown Stones: The Herald 6i4t2d

From Thrown Stones

Volume 1 The Herald

Solomon Smith

Copyright © 2019 Solomon Smith

All rights reserved. No part(s) of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form, or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval systems without prior expressed written permission of the author of this book.

I would like to thank and acknowledge Knial piper III for context editing. Follow Solomon and check out the exclusive soundtrack at Www.Miiq.org / Facebook @onekingsol

ePub ISBN # 978-1-5356-1718-5 Mobi ISBN # 978-1-5356-1719-2

Contents Prologue: Revelations Chapter One: Lost in the Woods Chapter Two: Leading the Way Chapter Three: Divine Right Chapter Four: Warrior Chapter Five: Chameleons

Prologue

Revelations

-February 24th, 2008-

How did I get here? I’m out there, living in a fucking war zone. It was the worst place on the planet to be, especially as an American soldier in a post-9/11 world. Iraq wasn’t necessarily “welcoming” to the gun toting invaders from the West. This particular morning was cold for a Baghdad dawn. I do have to say though, the 90-degree weather felt wonderful. That is, compared to the last few days, when the temperature had reached over 120 degrees. The sun had been slowly cruising the sky for a while now. To add to this pleasantness, there hadn’t been any mortar attacks so far. In the words of Ice Cube, “today was a good day.” I was part of the unit in charge of an aerostat. For those of you that don’t know, an aerostat is like a giant blimp tethered to the ground. This aerostat served to collect information for the ground troops and the officers making strategic decisions. It was like The Goodyear Blimp, just deadly. That day was the day Sergeant (Sgt) Jordan, Specialist (Spc.) Stuches, and I had to bring down the aerostat to take the strobe lights off and run our daily checks before we launched it up to hang with the sun again. We had been on duty for 12 hours now, and it was almost time to change shift. The dust had been low this morning and the skies were clear. It was a very dangerous morning for mortar and rocket attacks. Our enemies were nearby, and they were paying close attention. They watched our daily operations in detail and loved to fire at us when they saw the blimp coming down. It was like some kind of sick ritual game they played with us, and we learned to prepare for it. And that giant silver balloon was an easy hit for

enemy target practice. For some reason they loved to practice when it was on the ground. I guess they thought they had a better chance to pinpoint our location and kill one of us in the process. Our Forward Operations Base (FOB) was hit almost every single day. Hell, sometimes those fuckers attacked us and our balloon, two or three times in one day. We had been here for 11 months by this time, and the volley of mortars would cluster in attacks from anywhere from 2 to 20 projectiles at one time. If this all sounds intense, that’s because it was. It used to scare the shit out of me and rightfully so, but like anything in life, when something happens enough, you just kind of get used to it. By month 11, it didn’t faze me. I just didn’t give a fuck. It is a weird phenomenon, that is, the mentality of a combat soldier in a war zone. It is like the main ingredient for the omnipotent and dreaded “posttraumatic stress disorder.” The army had learned to educate us soldiers about getting shell-shocked. We got taught early on about the levels of tension that your mind would exist in, while in combat. No good army education would be complete without a PowerPoint class and some colored charts. To educate us on this issue, they used colors to illustrate each level of tension. Green was relaxed and good, and red was bad, of course, but black was that next level shit. I had been existing in the black for a while now. I adopted the black-level mentality, and just gave all my “fucks” to the wind. That soldier I used to know who entered the field scared of bombs dropping on his head, was now plastering slogans on the inner workings of my mind, that read “fuck it” If a bomb dropped on my head, and I ended up dying that day, so be it. But once in a while, that thing called “civilian sanity” returned to me. I would wake up once in a while wondering, with or without worry, “Was today the day I was going to die?” My unit, 3rd Brigade, Special Troops Battalion deployed to this hellhole in February about a year prior, back in 2007. In less than a year we had already lost six good men. The aerostat had even been hit by shrapnel from mortar fire at least five times since we had our boots on the ground. One time we even got hit by five mortar shells at once, when we were reeling the aerostat to the ground.

The shells landed and tore the earth to shreds, less than 50 feet from where we were standing. There was an alarm ringing over the yells detecting direction of explosions and others commanding us to “take cover”, but we didn’t even have time to run and take cover. That was a time I can clearly and convincingly thinking, “I am going to die.” We were out in the wide open, docking the aerostat, when that first two rounds hit. These ’weren’t the regular mortar types, these were 155mm rounds, these were killers. I didn’t think I would have enough time to make it to the bunker, so what did I do? I just closed my eyes, maintained my command, and continued docking procedures. Training had at least prepared me for keeping my cool in moments like that. But deep down the panic was there. It was there begging me to lose my cool. But I found myself focusing on the irregular situation, wondering if I would feel some type of intense pain or would I just die instantly. It was all so strange; that lifestyle and mentality needed to survive it. We endured and embraced “the suck.” Living through that strangeness earned the entire crew combat-action badges. Shrapnel the size of my hand scattered through the air, penetrating the 3-footthick concrete barriers and everything within a 100-foot radius of us. After the earth fell back into its wounds and the dust settled, we were left amazed and in awe and wonder, of how we had survived. We still don’t fully understand how five of us were out there docking that big-ass blimp and left the scene of the crime unharmed. My adrenaline was pumping so hard that at one point I was convinced I’d been hit but just couldn’t feel it yet. It was like the scene in Pulp Fiction, where John Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson get a surprise attack from the dude in the back room, only to realize onslaught of unexpected bullets had miraculously missed them by inches. No matter how dangerous the mortar strikes became, we couldn’t let the tether go and risk losing the blimp; we’d be in the colonel’s office for sure. I was proud of myself for placing the mission first. There was one thing for sure. We were a hell of a group of soldiers. I was thankful to be working with such a good group of men. If you didn’t have good men watching your back and doing their job, it could be fatal. On top of that, out here, one mistake can lead to disciplinary actions. This drove us to keep a cool, calm, and collected composure. This and years of training allowed us to

dock the blimp under fire first, then ran for cover second. I never moved so precisely and fast in my life. Like I said, none of us lost our lives that day, but that’s not to say I hadn’t lost my fear of death. If it had been any day it left me, it was that day. Death and mortars didn’t scare us anymore. The fear of getting hit by a mortar was so constant that we just became numb to the fear and just did our job, like the professionals we were. There were other more direct threats that we had to worry about. Snipers were an ever-present reality out there in “the shit.” “The shit” wasn’t a playground; this was the real deal. Baghdad, Iraq, in the middle of the surge was no joke. Soldiers were getting killed every other day. When a soldier is killed, all communications back to the states, including the internet, were cut off and put in blackout status. It remained that way until the investigation and proper notifications were complete. This was one example of how effectively and efficiently the soldiers out there could be. Yet for every great soldier, there were equally terrible ones. Dumbass soldiers were telling people over Facebook about other soldiers dying. Some people were finding out that their family were killed in action before the army could properly notify them. I couldn’t imagine how my girl and kids back home would have felt to hear about my death through a stupid “R.I.P Solomon Smith,” social media post. I gained so many new perspectives on issues I wasn’t even aware I had perspectives on in the first place. It was all completely life-changing. This environment and experience was like some alternate universe I had been transported to without my knowledge. But the thing about this “alternate Universe” was that it affected the universe I was accustomed to. There were loved ones back home who would have to deal with the ripples that chased me and other soldiers back home. Aside from the threat of death there were troubles and strains that stretched soldiers and their loved ones thin. Some marriages turned for the worse due to the long-term separation. Some soldiers’ families were experiencing financial hardships. even with the combat pay and extra entitlements. I would end up experiencing these tribulations and more during my time in and after “the shit.” These were many of the instances of “embracing the suck” I mentioned earlier.

Part of “the suck” or “the shit” was terrible living conditions while deployed. Some soldiers lived like sardines in an open bay. The water would go out for days at a time and you could go a week without a shower. All of this coupled with the constant possibility of immediate death was what kept you in the threatlevel black. One thing you gain from all the strangeness was a feeling of unity with those that exist there in that blackness with you. For example, I had love for Spc. Stuches and Sgt. Jordan. They were my battle buddies and my soldiers. We joked and chatted about bullshit while we docked the aerostat in the bright sun, but deep inside we were waiting to hear that morbid alarm. We waited in the cleverly deceptive anxiety of mental states for the C-RAM counter system to notify us of incoming fire. The first time I heard that bone shocking alarm, my body went into an instant state of panic and fear. My heart dropped to a deepness somewhere, only to return and pound my ribs into shatters. This was followed by profuse sweating. I hated the sound of that alarm. I despised it. The worst thing about it, was that I had to hear it almost... every... fucking... day. I was a position of authority during the whole ordeal. I could see how someone might think such a position would be unwanted, but I considered myself lucky when the Command Sergeant Major (CSM) chose me to be in charge of this crew instead of putting me on route recon and sending me out the gate to look for IEDs. I appreciated the CSM for granting the honor but appreciating authority in my life wasn’t exactly something that came along every day. There have been a number of leaders I hated and had less than respect for. There is a saying in the military “You don’t have to respect the man, but you must respect the rank.” Sergeant first class (SFC.) Tick was one of those leaders. SFC. Tick was our platoon sergeant, so I respected this position, but not him. He was an undercover racist that believed in the good ol’ boy system. He hated everything about me as a person, but when I got promoted, he really started to gun for me. He tried everything in his power to get me removed from the aerostat crew. My General Technician (GT) score was too high for slime like SFC. Tick to have his way. I tested higher than most soldiers who applied for the position, so he had no justification to remove me other than purebred hate. But my GT score didn’t stop him from telling me that he hoped I would “come home in a body bag.” I was determined to keep his wishes unfulfilled.

It was dangerous to go out the gate, as soldiers were getting hurt every day. The death toll for the campaign was growing by the week and we still had four more months to go. The position the CSM had put me in was a shift NonCommissioned Officer in Charge (NCOIC). As NCOIC on the aerostat flight crew, going out the gate wasn’t on my daily list of activities. I differed from SFC. Tick in my leadership style; I hoped my soldiers would not die. The aerostat was designed by Raytheon, equipped with a high-resolution camera that has thermal vision and able to zoom in on targets up to four miles away. We had two crews of six soldiers, all hand-picked to manage their respective positions. Our primary mission was to surveil, 24-hour operations of Baghdad. We focused on the surrounding area of our forward operating base — Camp Falcon. We were responsible with identifying potential threats, providing over-watch, and locating hostile targets within a four-mile radius of our camp. Sitting at about a thousand feet in the sky, we could watch a family sit down, eat dinner, and then clean the dishes with wild clarity. Other times we would follow a small child through the market as long as we kept our line of sight. So pretty much you couldn’t take a shit without us watching you. And, yes, at times it was our job to do just that. You could see everything from our camera: people showering in their bathrooms, kids playing in the street, enemies pulling up in pickup trucks to fire mortars from the bed and then run like cowards, even vehicles hit by IEDs. Sometimes we saw things so horrible that they never fully left my mind. We sent dozens of daily reports, overlays with pictures and layouts of our area of operations up to higher. Their intention was to outline anything we thought may be a possible threat. Our stations video feed is monitored by all of the higher echelons, so we had to stick to protocol. We couldn’t just watch what we wanted. That meant we were not allowed to monitor our own camps. We also had to perform daily maintenance on the aerostat. Our first week of training was strictly for that. In the event of a sand storm we had to rapidly dock the blimp in harsh weather conditions, sometimes under fire. We had to be resilient and focused. Despite these requirements we found plenty of time to chat about this and that. The skies were clear, and by the time we detached the night lights our conversation had changed subjects. I can talking with the other guys

about what the first thing we would eat would be once we re-deployed back to Fort Riley. So many different foods came to our minds. We quickly changed subjects again as most conversations do when you’re in Iraq and started talking about home. Conversations often times got back to women, love, and relationships. Spc. Stuches asked me what I had planned to do once the deployment was over. I had an idea of what I was going to do, but I was still unsure. My situation was complicated and only grew more complicated once I arrived here. My wife was here with me, She was an engineer and a staff sergeant as well. We lived together in the co-ed barracks. It was one of the first married-couples barracks the army had authorized during the surge. She and I had been at war with each other for a while and our marriage was in turmoil before we deployed here. I wanted a divorce, but she wouldn’t let go, and when we received notification that we were getting a married-couples’ barracks, she jumped on the idea. She was seducing and flirting with me in the way she knew I liked, or at least couldn’t help but feel tempted. She had detailed knowledge of me, my interest, my desires, and of course the fact that I needed my own space to record my music. I traveled to Iraq with half of my studio equipment in the Conex, and the rest strapped to my back with my combat gear. It was pure hell getting on and off planes and choppers carrying all that gear, all the while trying to keep up with the others who didn’t have the extra weight, but I made it happen. Where there is a will there’s a way. My music was my life and Iraq wasn’t going to slow down my progress. I’ll never forget how much ridicule and jokes I heard on the flights over there. Everyone had 2 duffels, a ruck, and a personal bag. I had three duffels and a second personal bag with my ruck stuffed of wires, microphones, and headphones. I really had to man up for my music. By the time I arrived in Kuwait, I was burned out at muscle failure. So, when she presented that opportunity to have my own space for recording, she knew she had a hold of me. So, I moved in with her and away from SFC. Tick. What I failed to for with total attention was Daphne. Daphne was the woman I loved and just had a son with, back home in Fort Riley. Balancing the discomfort of being away from them and trying to find comfort in Iraq with the sexual goddess that was Shanisha proved difficult, to say the least.

It was the topic of my life and the bane of my existence. I was married and living with my wife here in Iraq, but in love with my son’s mother who was back home in Kansas. It was scary for me, because I left Shanisha a long time ago when she cheated on me while we were stationed at different locations. She was at Fort Benning, Georgia, and I was in Fort Riley, Kansas. Somehow after I found out she cheated, she convinced me that things were going to be fine, and eventually she got stationed at Fort Riley with me. But by that time, aside from the bedroom Olympics, I was unattached to Shanisha and in love with Daphne. 40 days before our unit deployed to Iraq, my girlfriend Daphne and I had a baby boy. Savior became my only son and Daphne proved a wonderful woman for me. I couldn’t deal with the fling Shanisha had while we were separated, and after being alone and broke at Fort Riley for months, I had to find some form of happiness. Daphne was that happiness. She was my best friend, my everything, and Shanisha knew this before we decided to move in together here in Iraq. This was one of many decisions I made, that shaped my life and my future

Flashback

Junction City, KS

-February 2006-

It had been a long time since I had been clubbing, but Tracy was adamant on getting me out the house. Ever since I was stationed at Fort Riley and separated from my cheating-ass wife, I bottled myself up at home. Tracy, a good friend I met while stationed in Korea and fellow a New Yorker, had decided to come and stay with me to finish college at Barton. He was discharged from the army a few years ago and had once been stationed at Fort Riley as well. Since I had a four-bedroom house on base where I lived alone, I had no issue

with him moving in with me. I was lonely and had very few friends I could trust in the city. He already knew my marriage situation and couldn’t stand to watch me sit and waste away. He knew I would lounge in the house full of sorrow all day everyday worrying about Shanisha. His solution was simple, “Get some pussy and everything else will work itself out.” So, I got my superfly on and we went to the club. It was Friday night and the club was jumping. I walked in, all-white Avirex, all-white Timberlands, and my chain was swinging. It was like a moment from a movie and I was the lead actor, ready to tear the night up. I had been holed up so long that when I entered the room, I was that new face. You know the guy who all the girls begin asking one another “Who’s that? He’s cute?” I had caught the public’s eye. As I walked across the room to the bar, time suddenly slowed down. I turned to notice I had caught the eyes of the woman walking right toward me. She was one of the most beautiful women I had ever laid my eyes on. Her shape was ridiculously delicious; she had the body of an hourglass and the face of a goddess. Her French vanilla skin tone, Asian eyes, and silky long hair entranced me. It was like I knew her from another life. Chills ran down my back as I watched her walk by me. She smiled as she ed. She was headed for the door. She was about to leave with her friends. I didn’t even have time to catch her name, but I’ll never forget that moment. I’ll never forget her face. I never did. Two weeks later while washing clothes at the barracks up the street from my house, Tracy asked me if he had his girlfriend and one of her friends come over would I cook a nice meal and keep her friend company. That was too easy for me. I loved to cook, (especially for women). But I didn’t want to get stuck with Tracy’s booger-wolf friend. So, I had to ask, “What’s her friend look like?” Unfortunately, he didn’t know. I threw my worries to the wind. Fuck it, it was Sunday night, and I had nothing else to do. Why not have a little company? The doorbell rang, and Tracy and I came to greet them. As the door opened, that time-slowing mechanism kicked into gear again. I couldn’t believe it. Right there, on the doorstep, looking back at me like she had just fallen out of heaven itself, she was there, at my house. It was her! The girl from the club that stopped my heart, was standing right in front of me. She was the “booger-wolf” friend. I was quick to introduce myself. She did the same. “Hey, I’m Daphne,” she smiled. That beautiful smile changed my life forever.

The night kicked off without incident. In fact, the night went so well that we grew inseparable. From the moment we met, until the day I was deployed to Iraq, wherever she went, I went. Wherever I went, Daphne was close by. It is funny how time moves both slowly and quickly with those you truly love. In those first few moments time had slipped into low gear, but the next 14 months slipped by like water over ice. Next thing I knew, Daphne and I were planning to marry. She was eight years younger than I, but we had everything in common. She was the female version of me. She was everything I wanted in a woman; a brick house shape, hip-hop cultured, sensual, and a ride-or-die bitch. I loved her, and when she told me she was pregnant with Savior, that love multiplied. Daphne was born with the most severe type of sickle cell anemia and when she was a child, the doctors had no idea how long she would live, they didn’t think she would make it to see her teenage years. She would get sick, and I would spend countless hours at her side in the hospital when she had serious episodes. This didn’t affect my love for her. I didn’t care if I had to push her around in a wheelchair for the rest of my life; she was my love. I would be happy to do it, as long as we were together. I would miss whole days of work with no excuse sometimes, just to be with her and SFC. Tick would be blowing up my phone, but I wouldn’t answer it. I’d just stay there with her and face whatever repercussions later.

* * *

So, my plan was to survive this deployment, save as much money as possible, divorce Shanisha, marry Daphne and permanent change of station (PCS) away from Kansas. I was already on orders for Fort Benning, Georgia, and from research I found out that Atlanta had one of the best sickle cell treatment centers in America. I also had been trying to buy a house at Fort Benning and I started preparing. Me and Shanisha were done, we both knew that. My future was with Daphne

and Savior. Spc. Stuches just didn’t agree with that decision. He constantly reminded me of the possible issues I would face with that decision. He thought I should take a really good look at what I was subjecting myself to, before I made an irrational decision. He was referring to how her sickness could affect my career and future. In my heart I still loved Shanisha, but I knew she could survive and thrive without me. She was strong and sexy, plus she was a professional soldier. Daphne wouldn’t have made it on her own with a child; she needed me much more than Shanisha did. I knew this a long time before I made my decision. I had pledged my life to Daphne, so I’d already made the decision before I’d gotten there. I wasn’t going to leave her and my child. The conversation became somewhat of a debate between Sgt. Jordan and Spc. Stuches over my happiness and my success. In the end I simply said, “We have four months left here. God will show me the right path and I will follow it” and ended the argument. God always showed me the path he had planned, and I was sure he was going to show me again. We looked around at each other for a moment, then shrugged it off. We continued with the conversation about food again and launched the blimp back up to the sky. After we went back inside the station for shift change followed by 12 hours of down time. It was 0915 in the morning by the time I got back to my room. I made a detour after shift and went to the dining facility to pick up some breakfast. Once I was in my room, I dropped all my things on the bed and took a seat. The cool air in the room relaxed me; it was hot as hell outside and the 300-yard walk to the Dining Facility (DFAC) and back was a nightmare with all that gear. I took a long drink of fruit juice and peeled my clothes off, then turned on the DVD player. I watched The Wire as I ate breakfast that day, then eventually I fell asleep. About two hours I awoke in a pouring sweat, nauseous and dizzy. I felt like shit. I must have eaten something wrong. As I sat there trying to breathe and slow my heart rate, I realized I wasn’t getting any better. The sickness was getting worse. In fact, I felt so bad, I thought I was about to die. I had no clue of what my body was going through. I started to panic. I was so weak, and I couldn’t breathe, my heart was beating so fast I thought I might have been having a stroke or something. I thought I’d been

bitten by some poisonous Iraqi insect, and I needed to locate the bite. I struggled to get up and get dressed. Fortunately, Shanisha came in at just the right time. She was shocked to find me looking like that. I was pale and laid out on the concrete floor trying to cool down. She dropped everything and rushed over to me, asking what was wrong. I had no answer for her. She forced me up and dressed me, then walked me over to the troop medical center. She always took good care of me, and she never denied me anything. That was why I loved her despite it all. She was down for me to the end. She would always say, “Even if we lived in a cardboard box, I would still love you and treat you like a king.” She meant every word of it too. She knew me well. She knew my habits, my behaviors, and my needs. So, she knew all too well that I was in bad shape when she walked through the door. When the medics took one look at me, they reacted quickly, rushing me to a room. They took my vitals, my temperature, and fed me an I.V. My temperature was slightly high, but my blood pressure was through the roof. The doctor came into examine me and suggested I was to be medically evacuated to Camp Victory to undergo further evaluations at the main medical facility in Baghdad. They put me on a gurney and rushed me out to the helipad. I didn’t know what was going on or what to expect. I was so scared. I just stayed still, and silent while being rushed across the tarmac. It seemed the most appropriate thing to do, not to mention I wasn’t capable at that time of doping much more than that. The flight was short. Once I arrived at Camp Victory the medical officers immediately drew my blood and put me on another I.V. I was exhausted. I fell asleep. I was awakened by the senior medical officer three hours later only to find out they had found nothing wrong with me. All the tests came back negative. I had slight dehydration and my blood pressure was fairly high, but overall, I was fine. That didn’t make sense to me or the doctor, but that was the final diagnosis. So, he told me he would give me one more I.V. and some nausea meds then I would be back on a flight back to Camp Falcon within the hour. If any of those symptoms returned, I was to follow up with my TMC. I was confused, but relieved. I was convinced that I had caught some crazy Iraqi virus and I was going to die.

The diagnosis blew my mind. The way I was feeling seemed something short of death. I couldn’t believe they had failed to find anything medically malfunctioning. I would take dehydration any day over what sickness was spinning in my mind and down around the rest of my body. Once I arrived back at Camp Falcon, it was after 2000 hours. I went straight to work because my shift was on duty. When I got to the aerostat my troops had everything well under control and they told me to lie down for the remaining hours of our shift. I took a short nap and woke feeling much better. It was midnight now and I had to go make my nightly trip to the Internet Lab. These trips were my chance to check on the house and call Daphne. It was a short walk to the lab. The entire time I kept looking up at the moon. The sky was pitch-black, yet wildly clear. I could see all the moon’s scars and outlining stars. There were only a few clouds that night, so I could really feel the gravity of the moon tugging on my mind. The moon stood out like the centerpiece of a marvelous masterpiece painting. It’s blood-red and crescentshaped that night brought out its full detail. That cool winded night brought a feeling in the moon’s voice that whispered to me in a hollow sound that was as creepy as it was beautiful. I couldn’t help but think of the crescent moon on a middle-eastern flag, like Turkey, Pakistan, or Tunisia. I couldn’t take my eyes or ears off of it. As I walked across the FOB, it kept me company, taking out of my reality, and into one that felt more real than the reality I had grown accustomed to. The moon disappeared from my sight as I stepped inside the makeshift building and out of the sand. That old reality jumped back into me like a flood of fluorescent lights disrupting my pupils. Flickering lights in the early a.m., dozens of soldiers waiting in lines (to use computers or phones) and the quiet animosity of unspoken judgements. Everybody was aggressively individual in a society designed to create similarity. Amongst the unspoken words, soldiers were arguing with their spouses, others just surfing the web and shopping. This was life for us. Every one of us were trapped in this world we were forced to embrace. Outside this world life had continued on without us. I wrote my name on the list for both the computers and the phones, then sat and wrote music while I waited. I sat there looking around at everyone, profiling and thinking

about what could be going on in his or her life according to their conversation or what they were looking at online. I have always been fascinated with humanity. I’m always trying to understand the human mind and body. So, I’m constantly probing others, looking and learning. I’ve been doing this all my life and it’s taught me to never be an asshole. You never know what someone is going through. You never know if someone is about to hug or kill you. They might snap and beat your ass. They might even snap and kiss you. Life was tense in the FOB, even if no one openly said so. I developed a strong sense of empathy as I grew up in this world. In turn these lessons taught me to write with an open mind, and to look at situations from multiple angles. Because there’s always more than one side of any story, and sometimes to find the truth you must search deep. You might even find out that there is no one truth, but many. A computer opened up. I raced to get the seat. When you exist in this world you learn come to appreciate things 6you once took for granted. Human communication was one of these things. Getting mail from back home was like Christmas morning. I checked my email. It was nice to hear from my peoples back home, but one message in particular caught my eye. It was a message from the real estate agency in Georgia. It stated that I was pre-approved for the home I was interested in. I couldn’t believe it. I was happy as hell (if hell is happy). It was a five-bedroom home with a swimming pool, Savior would love the pool. I had been staring at its pictures for over a month by then. I couldn’t wait to tell Daphne the good news. I was tired of Iraq and I was ready to get back to the states and PCS to Fort Benning. I had saved every dollar I could since I had been here. I just got promoted to staff sergeant 23 days ago, so my pay just increased by a thousand dollars. I had over 20 thousand dollars waiting on me once I got back, and everything was going just as planned. I’d be damned if the army was not (at times) pleasing to my pocket book. I couldn’t complain about certain payment opportunities in the army, but I still did. I’m only human. Now, a phone had opened up. I just had to go through the painstaking process of dialing and reconnecting from my location to another location, and then finally connecting to Daphne’s house; another example of simplicity of civilian life,

taken for granted. God, I hope someone would picks up the first time. Dialing all those numbers was frustrating enough to do just once. I didn’t want to have to do it again. After 20 minutes of dialing, connecting, and reconnecting someone finally picked up the phone, but they didn’t say anything. I just heard a lot of noise on the other end. It was odd because I heard Barbara, Daphne’s mother, shouting. I was saying “hello” over and over again, but no one spoke back. I was growing frustrated and feeling overlooked (it is easy to feel taken for granted yourself, when overseas). Why the fuck did they just pick up the phone and place it down? Was this some kind of joke? I heard a lot of commotion, voices, and I thought maybe a siren, but it wasn’t distinct enough to make out. The anxiety is building its home inside my head by this time of the phone call. I’m at the point of calling Barbara’s name to a tune while I waited. because the delay in phone conversation was at least a 2.5 second difference. I thought she might have answered the phone, placed it down, then run upstairs to get Daphne, and perhaps the TV was too loud. So, I calmed my mind and bit my tongue. I waited patiently with the control of a professionally trained soldier. Then I heard a lot of loud screaming, and multiple voices yelling. I still couldn’t make out what was happening, but I knew something was wrong. I was alarmed now because no one was telling me shit! In the midst of creation, a chaos, I would lose track of time. I cannot exactly when the top of the boiling pot, that was now me, blew off, but eventually it did. Eventually, I started to yell into the phone, “What the fuck is going on?” I think I repeated that at least 4 times. Then, out of the commotion, someone picked up the phone. Thank God. Whoever it was, was trying to tell me something but something intensely and internally emotional was preventing the words from slipping out. Then I heard Mimi, Daphne’s sister, she was shouting into the phone. At first, I don’t think my mind accepted what she was saying, all the commotion, and chaos put me in a diffenent mind frame. Even though it felt like a lifetime, only a few seconds had ed and her words computed in my mind. “Solomon…oh my God! Solomon…it’s Daphne! She’s dead! She’s dead, Solomon. She died in her sleep!”

Journal Entry

St Robert, Missouri

-January 12th 2016-

Today I took a step in changing my future. I decided to follow my heart and write this book. Even though I don’t know where I may be in a few years from now, I want my family, children and friends to know the truth. I’ve often heard people say, “We create our own nightmares.” Slowly but surely over the last three years, I’ve learned this is a truth. As factual as the statement it, it is also a powerful phrase. I hold this proverb very close to me. I will continue to keep it close by, for the rest of my life, whether it be dream or nightmare. I hope everyone who is alive today can learn the meaning of this statement without experiencing it. I say this because it is an extraordinary pain that can lead you into a place you never want to be. I d’ rather share a dark alleyway with my childhood monsters that lived under my bed, than go through the events that chained this quote to my heart. For those who fully understand this statement through experience, I commend you for still being alive today. This day will forever hold the ultimate remembrance of my life, to me. I have been waiting for 26 months for my army separation board, and every day that went by since I found out about Daphne’s ing felt like a strong kick to the face. I have been in some rough situations and come out on the other end victorious or at least unharmed. I have survived violent attacks and engaged in battle with powerful opponents, but never did I foresee that government bureaucracy would deal such a crippling blow. I had to go through this separation board before ultimately getting kicked out with nothing to claim as my own, but a dishonorable discharge. I was frightened

for future, my life, my and my children’s lives. This separation board would change my life forever and the day was finally here. The funny thing about this was that my entire military career was built upon military boards. I had won at least 11 military boards in my career, all culinary arts boards. But this board I attended this morning was on the opposite side of that spectrum. It was similar to a courtroom trial with three judges and no jury. In normal circumstances, a separation board would have been scheduled to be held three to six months after chapter paperwork has been submitted. Fortunately, I’d been waiting for mine for over two years, I guess luck was on my side again and gave me some time to get my affairs in order before my final discharge date. During those two years I had lived a nightmare, one in which I created. On top of that, the army left me no other choice but to find outside sources of income or starve. The resentments were building a home in the nightmarish landscape of my mind. In 2013 the army took my rank of E-6 and slapped me with a heavy punishment and fine. Since then, I had struggled every day to survive. I have been a member of the U.S army since August 6th, 1997. I have been a noncommissioned officer (NCO) and a leader of soldiers since 2001, but I have been flagged and was being processed for chapter¹ since 2013, meaning I had no career or educational growth since the day that flag was initiated. Since I lost my rank, I haven’t been the same man since. Everything changed for me that day. My finances have been fucked up since then, and I had no choice but to find other sources of income while I served my country and fought to win this brutal game every step of the way. It’s been a hell of a ride, and the last three years of my life can only be described as one epic life-changing event; one that I will never ever forget. Today was the day I had been anticipating, and today was also my birthday. It’s Funny how these things happen this way. At least God has a sense of humor, because he knew that during these last few months, I have lost mine. The coincidental irony couldn’t have been anymore more poetic. The rest of my life would be determined by the outcome of the day’s events. This morning I was recommended for a general discharge by a of my peers and seniors. Even though I would be forced out of the army in less than 3 months, I was more than grateful. It could be a lot worse; it could have been a dishonorable discharge, or

they could have recommended me to be retained. My sense of what was “lucky” had morphed itself into something a past version of myself could only scratch its head at. I didn’t want to be retained. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of Fort Leonard Wood and as far away from the army as I could get as soon as possible. It couldn’t come fast enough. My life had transformed from a beautiful and wonderful dream into a living hell. Worse part of the nightmare was that I couldn’t be killed in the hellish dream. I could only be tortured more and more until I eventually desired to kill myself. It was an endless nightmare that drove me to the end and I was so ready to just check out. I thought about going out with some dignity. I wanted to choose a dignified leave of absence from this thing called life. At least I could go out like a fucking samurai. Every 22 minutes a soldier commits suicide. At one point in my life I didn’t understand how someone could kill himself, but that initiation process was underway and another layer of empathy was added. Good thing that phase ed by quickly. What I didn’t know was that this was only the beginning. The nightmare was only getting more gruesome. Despite the devil laughing at my plans, I had some still in place. Once I got put out by the army I was going to move to Virginia with Ivory and her parents, until I found a way to recover. Yet she and I had been slowly engaging into an inhouse war ever since I lost my rank. I would be subjecting myself to her will, which I truly believed would destroy me internally over time because I knew she didn’t love me, but I didn’t have a choice at that point. I couldn’t stay here and become the laughing stock of the town, broke and struggling to survive in a city in which I had no real family or friends. I had to do something right now, while I waited to be kicked out. Something to give me a chance, a way to explain my side of the story, and possibly make me some money or at least give me some respect and self-respect. This book is that something. I felt trapped. I couldn’t leave for home, quit, or find a new place to start over. I was stuck in this nightmare until the army released me and to top it off I was feeling betrayed by those I once called my brethren. The men and women I stood shoulder to shoulder with in the defense of our country had turned their backs on me. Some of them, including my chain-of-command (COC) took it a step

further, as they were gunning to take me out. I was being hunted. I’d only been in this unit for 3 months and I barely knew anyone, but they all seemed to know me. They sure as hell thought they knew me. People are funny creatures. Like the soldiers in my unit, a person might not know your first name (or an accomplishment you were proud of), but they could form a portrait of you as a full person, based off one bad decision/mistake. Every morning at formation, the men and women who were supposed to be my closest friends spent a large amount of time staring at me like I had a fucking dick on my head. They whispered rumors in formation (“Can you believe that guy used to be a staff sergeant?”) without much regard for whether I heard them or not. They treated me like I was some kind of sub-human. I wish I could say some, but most of my “battle buddies” tried to demean me every chance they got. They all knew I was about to lose another stripe² again soon, so they found ways to twist the knife in my back. As I mentioned before, I hated being alive, so Lord knows I hated coming to work (with a ion). Every day was a constant battle of wanting to fight the fuckers or crawl into some dark room and cry. I had wished I never came to this unit in the first place, but the military doesn’t really give you much choice. Big army had no other place to stick me while I waited for my separation board, but to stick me in a fucking Military Police unit with the drug charges I have was like dipping me into fresh blood and dropping me into a pool of sharks. I’d be surrounded by the worst type of police in the country; military cops. That certainly wasn’t going to solve any problems for me. My last unit, 4th Marine Expeditionary Brigade (4th MEB), shut down a few months ago, and I’d been shuffled around Fort Leonard Wood like an unwanted toy amongst kids on the playground. I felt I was worthless, I was highly stressed, losing weight and my blood pressure was through the roof. I was living in the black, so I found sanctuary in cannabis. To make it all worst, last week I got called into my commander’s office and notified that I was being recommended for another field grade article 15. Geez, could it get any worse? I had come up hot on a drug test again; marijuana. Why didn’t they just leave me alone? I’m already getting discharged soon. What’s the purpose in staying on my back, testing me two or three times a week. Now they were twisting the knife the opposite way to maximize the pain. Would they run out of punishments soon? What more did they want from me?

My military career was over, and they wanted me to feel as much pain as possible on my way out. They treated me like I never served my country and put my life on the line. I would have never gone through this shit in the first place, if the army had done its job. After 19 years of service and 3 combat tours, I couldn’t believe all this shit was happening to me! I was an American and a soldier. They were treating me like I was a hardened criminal. The actions of my COC were more than unprofessional; they were inhumane. Someone notify the fucking United Nations. I was trapped within a vicious cycle and I didn’t know how long it would last. Better yet, I didn’t know how long I would last. I had been tossed around Fort Leonard Wood for so long that no one knew who I really was, my worth, my accomplishments, or my story. They just knew I was a fuck up. I think that hurt me more than anything. Yet, they all gazed at me with eyes of shame and ridicule every morning at formation. It was the worst feeling of alienation ever. It was horrible to be judged like that every morning for months and years on end. They talked to you like you were a dog, and treated you like you were trash. I thought this was America, home of the brave and the land of the free? I thought this was the United States Army; my family? I thought I was the best NCO in my field on the installation for the last four years. I’d trained my leaders and most of their soldiers every day, all day, and I have the paperwork to prove it. That didn’t matter then, and it wouldn’t matter now. None of these people gave a shit about what I’ve done, how many soldiers I’ve trained, or how many times I went to combat. I could have pulled one of them out of a burning Humvee and it wouldn’t mean shit. I took my last two punishments like a hardened soldier. I would take this next one the same fucking way. I was never going back to the person I was two years ago. I didn’t much care anyway. I was ready to kill myself over this dumb shit. That nigga done came and left. What remained was an innovative animal, the entrepreneur that I should have been long before all this happened. Sad thing is, now my COC was on the hunt and they wanted my life, they couldn’t just let me go. Understand this: the army doesn’t let you go out easy if it’s not under an honorable discharge. They’ll think you got over on the system, so they must crush you on your way out. They will rip apart the very fabric of

your humanity and they will all say, “I’m just doing my job,” while they take all your money and freedom away. I was a prime example of this. The crazy thing was that the only thing I was upset about was the fact that no one would listen to me before it came to all this. No one cared about me then and they really didn’t care now. So, I just stayed quiet and always followed all army customs and courtesies until I got out of there. I refused to let them end me like this. This attitude gave me a glimpse of dignity. It actually inspired me to move forward. I’d just gotten home from my separation board and I think I saw my path. I knew what I had to do. So, I decided I was going turn all that negative energy, that had been breaking me apart, into positive energy in order to struggle forward to my personal liberation. I’ll tell you how it all went down. This is an emotional story. I systematically placed flashbacks of my life and career throughout this story to give you a better understanding of “how I got here” or “why did I make that decision”. You can read, listen, and judge. Be my guest, but after this, struggle through your own dreams, and chase your own nightmares. Don’t ever let no one tell you what you can or cannot accomplish. 1 Chaptered - referring to the chapter process of leaving the army by commanding orders. 2 “Losing a stripe” refers to an enlisted person demotion from a higher rank to a lesser rank.

Chapter One

Lost in the Woods

March 2011

“Once more into the fray… Into the last good fight, I’ll ever know Live and die on this day… Live and die on this day…” ~ Liam Neeson, The Grey

After a long and grueling 18-hour drive from Fort Benning, Georgia, we finally made it to St. Robert, Missouri. I was supposed to sign in at Fort Leonard Wood on March 10th, 2011. I was nervous as fuck, but happy to have a fresh start. My time at Fort Benning was spiraling out of control but I made it out alive. We didn’t know what to expect when we got here, and we didn’t care. We had each other, and life was about to start over for us. The future looked bright. I was in my prime, and in the best shape of my life. I was extremely motivated, and I had my eyes on the prize. I had been a staff sergeant (SSG or E-6) since 2008, and I wanted to make the next rank as soon as possible. I was a 92G³, food service specialist, but I consider myself a “chef.” I always hated the title “cook.” That term just felt a little degrading to me; and in some

instances, it almost felt racists when used in a certain way by certain personalities. My beautiful wife Lauren and I drove across country with our two children; Savior, my 6-year-old son, and Allen, her 7-year-old son. We drove in separate vehicles. I drove a moving truck packed with all of our household goods, while she and the kids followed in our SUV. The entire trip felt like I was traveling into the Twilight Zone. It was so foreign to us that it felt like we were on a journey through “the fifth dimension, beyond which is known to man.” You know, that middle ground between light and shadow,” but I digress. But in all seriousness, these back roads (sometimes made of nothing more than gravel and red dirt) through small towns and national forests was something Lauren was not accustomed to. We stopped once to sleep for a few hours, but the rest of the time we were on the road, only stopping to eat and use the bathroom. I loved driving across country; I’ve done it at least 20 times by now. Even though I did everything in my power not to come to Missouri it was always exciting. There was something about change that felt fresh and exhilarating to me. Throughout my career I heard a lot of horrible things about Fort Leonard Wood, aka “Fort Lost in the Woods.” I heard the divorce rate was high, it was an extremely racist place for African-American people to live, and there was nothing to do but hunt and fish. This last point I heard over and over again. I was not thrilled to be living in a state where there was nothing to do. I was and always have been a fast-paced individual, and “boring” does not appeal to me. I wasn’t exactly drooling over the PCS to Missouri (pronounced, Misery) But It was one last kick in the ass Shanisha could give me when I divorced her. She got me put on orders at the end of my last Iraqi tour. There was a lot of truth to many of these rumors. You did have to drive two hours to get to any major city. Either way, I had no choice. I was on orders, so I had to make the best of it. I’d just married the woman of my dreams, won back my son in court, and was about to build my entertainment company from the ground up. Nothing would stand in my way, not even this place. I was in my 13th year as a career army soldier, and I thought I had seen it all and knew it all. I was 34 years old and I

was trying to live the American Dream, as a jack of all trades and a master of many. You know, a true definition of a renaissance man. While I had many areas of focus, culinary arts was just one of my ions. My ion does not exist in a vacuum. I loved to write, I loved to create music, I loved martial arts, and I lived for competition, role-playing, and strategy games. I can be and have been a bit all over the place in regard to my ambitions. But cooking was my money maker and it came naturally to me. I attended a lot of culinary seminars and classes but most of my skills came from years of trial and error. I loved to cook, and I knew I was one of the best cooks in the army. We rented a small hotel room with a kitchenette while we waited to receive government quarters. I had applied for housing a month before we arrived; Lauren stayed on top of me on that issue. We were proving we could work well as a good team. She was good at prior planning. Sometimes my procrastination upset her, and I was trying to fix that part of me, but my plate was always full, and my mind was always moving, so to me I wasn’t procrastinating, I was mentally multitasking. I had a lot of tasks to juggle. I needed to be precise and victorious over these tasks if I wanted a successful career and marriage. I had child killing me, I was behind on my military training to ensure I met the prerequisites for the next rank, I had dreams of becoming a world-renowned writer, and musician, but had no product or plan. I was trying to be the head of the household while fulfilling my role as a military leader. St. Robert was small. It was only three exits long and surrounded by the base on one side. There were endless backwoods and lakes on the other end. I still couldn’t believe I was in Missouri. I never imagined telling my friends and family I lived in a flyover state. It would take some adjusting to. Hopefully I would only be here three or four years, get my rank, and PCS somewhere else. I already knew I didn’t want this to be my last stop. I could see how someone might assume the rural area of Ft. Benning and Ft. Leonard Wood would be similar from a distance, but this was not the reality of it. Fort Lost-inthe-Woods was nothing like Fort Benning. Fort Benning had so much to do, and so many different types of food to eat. I loved the area, as I loved food. I was a chef after all. Ever since I was a child, I was a chef of some sort.

My mother used to stop me from trying to cook all the time. She’d always say I was experimenting with shit. She was right; I loved “experimenting with shit.” I couldn’t help it. I loved to mix things together and see what I could get. I’d mix and change anything to get something new; music, board games, ingredients, or whatever I enjoyed. I’d find a way to mix something out of the norm to make it into something better. I guess that’s why I never really finished things. I get bored too fast and want to mix things up. Housing finally notified us that our house was ready for our occupation. We went in to look at it immediately. It was beautiful, especially when compared to the small hotel room we had been struggling in for the last 10 days. It was a four-bedroom, two-story home with a garage. Everything inside this blessing of a house was brand-new. It even had a decent-sized yard. The rooms were huge, and the kitchen was recently remodeled with all new appliances. Lauren was happy, and I was happy that I gave her a home. Moments like these provided me so much satisfaction in my life. She couldn’t wait to move in and neither could I. “124 Depuy” was our new address. It was right at the fort’s front gate and close to the dining facility. which meant I could walk to work. Lauren and the kids were excited, yet I wasn’t as thrilled as the rest of them. I really didn’t want to live on post, but it was our only option at the time. I hated the stupid “pit bull rules” on post. Life amongst blood thirsty ego artists made for an intense eggshell walk of a life. Plus, military neighbors are the worst. They were extremely nosy and loved to create drama. They spread rumors and before you knew it, all your family business would be whispered amongst your soldiers and co-workers. Lauren and I had a tight bond, though, and we’d been through a lot of shit together. We had built quiet a world around ourselves and our relationship. It felt unbreakable. So, we made a plan in preparation for this new life. We would work hard, take care of the family, and fuck everybody else! We’d only been married for a year now, but we both had already dealt with enough shit in our pasts to know exactly what needed to be done. As soon as you or your spouse got caught up in the neighborhood drama, it would start to affect your whole life! We refused to let that happen. Military spouses are often times arrogant and depending on their spouse’s rank, they could be a degree of snobbish that you could only comprehend by watching

a show like Real Housewives of “who-gives-a-fuck.” To say they didn’t act like normal neighbors was an understatement. These people would go to your unit and bring the drama to your COC if they were bold enough. Think of it this way: you accidentally let your dog shit in your neighbor’s lawn. Your neighbor doesn’t come to you and ask for you to pick it up, instead you arrive at work to find your neighbor speaking to your boss about the shit in his front yard. I wouldn’t be surprised if this exact example situation has actually occurred in the military. If their spouse held enough rank or outranked you to any degree, they would come to your house to start some bullshit. People in the military take rank too damn far, so we intended to only associate with people who were just like us: down to earth, drama-free, and energetic. While we adjusted to the neighborhood and tried to keep in our own lane, we found more to like about the place than we had initially predicted. Missouri was beautiful in the spring, when we moved in. The air was clean, and the trees were a beautiful bright green. It had so many open plains and rolling hills. And somehow the sky always felt so blue. At night, you could see all the stars and constellations. It wasn’t that bad there, and we made our new house into a home. It was moments like this when I wished I had all my children with me. Between all the years I sacrificed for the army, or my baby-mama drama, I didn’t get to see my girls or spend any quality time with them. I always thought about them when I saw families out and about, enjoying life with each other. I wanted that so badly, and I tried too hard to get it, I realized too late that I married the wrong women. I missed Felicity and Teresa badly; I hadn’t talked to them in a while. I felt like a bad father and I wanted to call them, but I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t feel like going through all the extra bullshit, and rekindling the drama with their mother, Akasha. My children were worth the trouble, don’t get me wrong, but the trouble didn’t need to be an addition into my children’s lives. I did however need to get my shit on track and start sending more money. That way she wouldn’t have anything to say. So, at that moment, I was going to worry about what was in front of me. We had a lot on our plates to deal with and it was certainly too soon to bring all that drama to Lauren. Our marriage was too young to add more stress to it right now. We’d already had enough external female and baby-mama drama. That was one of the reasons I was glad we left Fort Benning. I didn’t have any baby mamas there, but I had baby-mama drama there because of child , which was taking a toll on Lauren. A new environment might be just what she needed to

have a better outlook on our relationship. I wanted this marriage to last; the last two had been epic failures. So, I decided to wait a little while to let us get comfortable here first. Then I’d slowly bring my daughters back into my life, if I didn’t end up fighting with Akasha on the first attempt. I wished things weren’t this way, but they were, and I had to deal with them accordingly or risk everything I’d built so far. I know Lauren didn’t want to come here either, but I couldn’t get out of the orders no matter what I tried. Our lives were semi-perfect at Fort Benning; we had a bigger house and both of us had family there in Columbus. I had been trying to get to Fort Benning since day one of my military career. It was beautiful, it had lots of things to do, and my cousins were there. Lauren’s family was close also. Her family originated in a small town in Alabama about 2 hours away from Columbus. Her dad was head supervisor for Defense Finance and ing Services (DFAS) on Kelly Hill. He had been working on Fort Benning for over 20 years and he had clout on the base. Her mom was retired military and she also was a computer analyst for DFAS on main post for over 10 years. They lived about 30 minutes from post in a beautiful ranch-style home on 80 acres of land, just 30 minutes from post. They had cows and horses out there, so I learned to ride. Lauren was turning me into a country boy. Her brother and I would horseback ride up and down the street like black cowboys; it felt good to be a part of her family. Lauren was a bona fide “Georgia Peach,” and I loved her lifestyle. She was seven years younger than I was and she introduced me into that easy living. Outside of Fort Benning was the small city of Columbus and having family so close by was a blessing as much as it was a growing experience. My cousins lived in Columbus also. Jonathan was a little over a year younger than I was, Patricia was three years younger than me, and Moet was seven years younger than me. They are my uncle Douglas’s kids, He met their mother while he was stationed in . So, they are half-German, and Jonathan was a “pretty boy” like me. Douglas and their mother divorced after he was discharged from the army. Then she moved to Columbus, Georgia in 1992. My cousin Jonathan and I were very close. When he came to New York, I spent all my time with him. Throughout the years we’d always keep with each other, and during my army career, if I was traveling and I had a chance to detour and drop into Georgia, I would. Even if it was just to chill for a day or two. So,

we had great in Georgia, and I loved it there. I didn’t want to leave Georgia so soon; I wanted at least another year or two there to allow my fairly new marriage to grow. It wasn’t often that a soldier had family at their duty station, so I was lucky, and I had the advantage. We’d already been through enough together, and I just hoped she appreciated me because I was afraid to get married again after Shanisha. Lauren needed the medical coverage and I couldn’t let her suffer, so I just took a deep breath and dove in head first. We got married by proxy; I was in Iraq and she was in the states. The ceremony was conducted over the Internet. This type of wedding was for military only. It felt wild and new. Deep inside I knew we should have had a real wedding before we left Georgia. It would have strengthened us before we got there, but Barbara and her attempt to take my son savior from me took all the money I had saved paying lawyers. I barely made it to New York for Nana’s funeral. Yet I got there, and at least I had my son right here next to me. This last year had been a constant war. I left Iraq four months ago just to fight Barbara in court in December, and then Grandma died two months later. It felt like I was fighting for my life and Lauren was right by my side the whole way. Lauren was so strong-minded and beautiful, so ionate and creative, that I fell for her fast. She was just like me, ambitious and creative, a true Capricorn. But it was her smile that stole my heart, and every time I looked at her, it was like staring into an actual ray of sunshine. I’d do whatever it took to keep her happy. I’d shovel shit for a living if I had to, and she knew it. I was willing to change, shape, alter, and/or break my life for this woman. Another day, another dollar, another decision, and another woman. I knew what I wanted, even in the face of catastrophic conflict. My logic often fought my desire. The battlefield was set. My logic had no desire to be afraid, but the inability to fear is not always logically desired. I had drive in my mind, Lauren in my heart, and calluses on my hands. I had yet another decision to make, and with a little luck and hard word, the door of “success” would open one day.

Flashback

Fort Benning, Georgia.

-September 2009-

I felt I had no choice but to move Lauren and Allen into my apartment out in Phenix City. Shit had gotten way too dangerous to live at her house after that big fight between her and Dawn last week. I thought I was going to have to shoot somebody, for real. Now every time we pull up to her apartment I step out of the truck with my pistol in my hand, loaded and in plain sight for all to see. I wasn’t playing with these niggas out here. Ever since Iraq I lived in the black, I was cautiously and nervously waiting for someone to try something, so I could lay their asses down. Lauren lived on Victory Boulevard at an apartment complex that was in the middle of the hood. Dozens of three-storied buildings with 24 apartments each stood just off of Victory Drive, and it was popping off over there. Most of Lauren’s neighbors in her building were Thirsty Hoes Over There,” (THOTs) with children and no man. Just a bunch of hood rats on welfare and stripping. Some of them were unbelievably sexy though, pretty faces with superfat asses. I was one of the few men who were in a dedicated relationship and lived there. These bitches were throwing pussy at me every day, shaking their asses on the balcony with no panties on when I came home from work, or stopping me to talk and flirt before I walked in the house. I could have smashed any one of them at any time, but it wouldn’t have been anything special. They had niggas running in and out of their houses all day and night, plus Lauren was “badder” than all of them. I had my own apartment in Alabama which I shared with my cousin Jonathan. I just decided to stay with Lauren since I spent most of my time there anyway, and it was five minutes away from post. After living there for a couple of months some drama popped off between Lauren and one of her neighbors, a woman named Dawn. The entire situation was over jealousy, but Dawn used another

method to bring it out. Lauren let Dawn borrow her car, that was the first mistake, but I was staying out of their business. Dawn crashed the car and parked it back in front of the house like it was nothing. When Lauren approached Dawn about the car, Dawn got really loud and started to show out. Dawn was waiting on Lauren to come ask her about the car and was standing outside our house with her home-girls, being all loud and extra. So, I stepped outside too. I just laid back under the stairs and smoked a cigarette while I watched. I heard their voices get loud, and I came from under the stairs and stood next to Lauren. Once I saw the argument get worse and watched their body language, I quickly snatched up Lauren and took her in the house. They were about to jump her and I didn’t want to have to knock a bitch out today, but I was pissed! I told her, “Don’t worry about it; she will get her karma in the end.” Later that day I bought some peroxide and emptied out about 40% of the bottle, and then I filled the bottle with pure granulated sugar. I waited three full days to let the situation die down. During that time, those bitches was egging my truck and keying the paint. I knew we had to go, but not without getting some payback first. 3:00 a.m. in the morning on the third day I grabbed the bottle of peroxide, my weapon, and I went outside. I popped open Dawn’s gas cap and filled it up with the substance, then went to PT formation. When I got home, I saw that Dawn’s truck hadn’t moved, so I went in the house to get Allen and take him to school. On my way back from dropping Allen off at school I saw Dawn on the side of the road and her truck was smoking so bad the plumes covered the entire truck. I drove by laughing like “Got you, bitch.” I thought it was over, but it was only the beginning. A few hours later, Dawn started beating on our door yelling for Lauren to come out. She had about 10 girls and 5 guys with her. She was here to fight, and Lauren wasn’t a punk by any means. We both what knew what had to be done, but I wasn’t about to let them jump my girl. We went outside ready for whatever. I stood by Lauren, watching everyone while they all yelled, and closed distance on us. In a flash… they all attacked! I was ready for it, though. I was snatching bitches off Lauren instantly while blocking all incoming punches and kicks, ensuring Lauren didn’t receive any

damage. I had to keep my eyes on the men, though. They just stood by their cars and watched. They were bought here for me, but they didn’t move a muscle. Once I saw that, I knew what it was, so I started popping bitches in their faces to speed up the process. Within seconds, I had deflected all attacks, tossed a few bodies, and got Lauren clear to get inside the house. I was still at the door when Lauren ran inside to grab the gun. She was so mad, and her adrenaline was pumping so hard that she flew into the bedroom, grabbed the pistol, and got back to the front door within seconds. The muzzle slid past my face and out the door at dawn. That was the game changer. Once the girls saw the gun, they took off running. So, like I said, I had no choice but to move her and Allen. I knew it had to be done fast, too, and without notice, because these bitches weren’t done with us yet. We borrowed Lauren’s dad’s F350, pulled up, and started loading up fast. We had already prepared the house in advance. Within 10 minutes, all of those bitches were starting to flock up. I called my cousin Jonathan and told him I needed backup, I had my pistol ready just in case. All I had left to load up was the freezer, and I needed John for that. John arrived 15 minutes later, and it was right on time to help me get the freezer on the truck. I had it ready, standing by the door. We grabbed it and lifted it onto the bed of the truck, and that’s when I heard that damned engine. Humming up the street, it was a sound unlike any other car, it was the growl of a Hemi engine, a sound that haunted me in my sleep and caused more drama than anything I could ever imagine. It was Shanisha, my soon-to-be-ex-wife, pulling up in her blacked-out SRT8 magnum. “Not right now, not right now,” I said to myself as I desperately forced the freezer into the bed of the truck. The drama was about to really begin now. Shanisha had been mad at me ever since I left her over six months ago, and she was a fighter. I knew once she engaged into the situation, all the other girls would follow suit and use it to their advantage. I had to move quick; I had to get us out of here fast. Shanisha jumped out of the car and headed straight for Lauren, in combat mode. Lauren didn’t stand a fighting chance against Shanisha’s skill level and body composition, and they both knew that. Shanisha

is a 10-year active duty combat veteran, 5 foot 5, 160 pounds of solid muscle, with an ass from an African swimsuit magazine, and she had a killer instinct. Lauren stood in shock for about two seconds when she saw Shanisha approaching her at ramming speed. She knew she didn’t have much time to react, so she pulled out the pistol and aimed it straight in Shanisha’s face, stopping her dead in her tracks. Shanisha just stood there yelling, “Put the gun down, bitch, and fight like a real woman!” But Lauren was smart. She knew that option may not have ended well for her, and we didn’t have time for that. We had to get out of there before the rest of the girls decided to capitalize on the situation. Lauren simply said, “Bitch, this ain’t got shit to do with you right now. I don’t wanna shoot you, but I will if you try to stop us from leaving. Me and you can settle up later.” Shanisha stared into Lauren’s eyes probing for signs of fear, but only found sincerity. Then she looked over at me, and I said, “Not right now, please,” then she paused. She took a second to calm down and assess the entire scenario, and once she saw what was happening, she stepped out of the way and said to Lauren, “Yes… we will settle up later.” Lauren put the gun down, jumped in the truck, and we drove off.

* * *

Fort Leonard Wood, the maneuver center of excellence, home of the military police and chemical schools. A TRADOC post, there were a lot of military schools here. The base seemed smaller than other bases I’d been on, but it stretched out pretty far. It was true about what they said: there is nothing to do except hunt and fish. The food choices sucked, and there was only one Walmart! When there was only one Walmart was when you knew you lived in a small town. After a few weeks we were settled in. My leave was over, so I signed in and reported for in processing. I was ready to meet the crew and see the DFAC. I was second in command, assigned to FSC 94th Engineering battalion. I was in charge of the welfare, discipline, and training of nine soldiers and four sergeants.

Sgt. Willis was my supervisor. He was about eight years older than I was and a short, stout, bald-headed black man. He was all about his business though. One might say he was the true definition of an old-school seasoned NCO. I was lucky enough to have him take me under his wing right off the jump. Preparing me for his position and teaching me the ways of life both professionally and personally. The dining facility I was assigned to was operated half by civilian workers from a contracted company called EDX enterprises and half by military personnel. It was called “Tommy’s Place” and it fed the NCO academy. This setup was new to me; I wasn’t used to the military not running the dining facility completely. In the past I’d worked with civilian cooks before, but not to this capacity. I was used to working long nonstop hours, every day of the week, feeding over 700 soldiers a meal, not to include field chow. But the setup they had in place here was unbelievable. It was marvelous; that is from my perspective as a chef. The civilians did most of the work, even though most of the items they prepared were precooked, but 80% of the soldiers were either in school, on appointment, or in training, and it had been this way for years. These guys had it made! Most of them had no idea about how a real facility is operated. Most of the cooks had little to no training, and the NCOs who had been there for a few years were either laid-back, or extremely inefficient at their job. They were all relaxed and complacent. This was a different army than the one I just came from. Fort Benning was the real army; these guys were clueless. I integrated, and I just did what I normally did: I went to work. I am an extrovert, and I could motivate people so well with words that it was extraordinary. I always had a mouthpiece and talking or speaking came naturally to me. I guess that’s why I loved to do things that involved being in front of a lot of people or entertaining. I was very observant, and I had a problem with profiling people. It was the writer in me, dissecting a character and figuring out how they thought so I could try to anticipate their next move. My personality was easy to get along with and I could blend into most social environments well. Everyone seemed to like me and my leadership style, and I knew they would. I was a born leader, and I strongly believed that soldiers were the most valuable piece of equipment the army had. I was never the delegator type I had to get my hands dirty, so my style of leadership was participative.

I had to show my skills off and keep them sharp; soldiers respected that in an NCO. They all respected me for my knowledge and ability to take the workload off their backs when the situation demanded it. Because of that, all of the soldiers gravitated to me. Especially the career soldiers, they looked at me as a model and would come to me for career advice and help with cooking products. As an NCO and a 92G, I had learned over the years that the only soldiers who will respect you are the ones you work hand in hand with. The ones you taught and challenged every day were the ones who would follow you into combat, because they knew you could do everything you commanded them to do. Many other NCOs and officers never earned the respect of their troops, and they didn’t care if their soldiers liked them or not. They were there to only do a job and move on to the next job. That was the dumbest thing in the army. How can you not care if the soldier whose life is in your hands doesn’t like you, or possibly hates you? This was the army, not IBM or McDonald’s. We were a trained fighting force. There was no way I was going into combat with a soldier who hated me. How could we ensure mission success or victory if we didn’t trust each other? What was going to make a soldier follow my orders in the heat of battle when he thought that I didn’t give a damn if he lived or died?” I was blessed with a wonderful section. All of my soldiers were on their “A” games and didn’t have any respect issues. All of them were motivated and most of them could cook. I didn’t have a problem with any of them. My first sergeant was a great leader also. Sgt. Fuller was his name and he led from the front. He was a tall skinny white man, and he was from the deep south. I expected him to be a super-racist. I misread him for sure. He became my mentor along with Sgt. Willis. One of my soldiers was a stellar soldier, Specialist Shelby Boat. He was from Cleveland. Boat was in his mid 20s and he reminded me of my uncle Roger. Boat was a young and misguided soldier, and at the time, he was the star player of the post basketball team. Boat knew very little about cooking and being a leader, but he had potential and I was dead set on getting him ready for the next level. I had other soldiers but most of them were getting out medically or about to

PCS. Boat was the only one who really wanted it. The days were easy, and I had plenty of time at home with Lauren and the kids. We didn’t work weekends and that was the best thing ever. Every DFAC I had been assigned to worked weekends, and this just freed up time I hadn’t had in over 10 years. During the weekends I would sometimes study or go to the gym. I’d mostly be with Lauren and the kids. Sometimes we’d ride our bikes around post; it was a great way to spend time with each other and get some exercise. I just wanted to be next to her and the kids. I wanted to enjoy life. I was so happy to have her I would have done anything she wanted. To have life go this way, felt like a blessing from God. My soldiers and leaders respected my opinions and knowledge, and I had all the time in the world to prepare for the next rank, and plenty of time to spend at home. Lauren enrolled into college, and it made me want to do the same thing. I started looking into Full Sail University and decided to try to enroll into their online program for music production. After talking to the school and finding out the steps I had to take to get in, I started preparing to enroll. It was going to be a couple of months before I could get everything together, so I set up my studio as professionally as possible and started making music. At work, I became the “go to” NCO in the dining facility really quick. I could cook everything in the military’s menu without a recipe card and make it 3-star restaurant quality. I did it faster and better than most soldiers, while multitasking from area to area, ensuring all products were above standard. I was already an established caterer, a baker/cake decorator, and a chef extraordinaire. I have been pushing my culinary skills since the day I became an army chef. I was consistently learning from every NCO I ever worked with, reading cookbooks and creating my own dishes. I competed in over 15 army culinary arts boards, ranging from battalion level to the 8th army board. I won division twice and 8th army once. I had been organizing and orchestrating military events and holiday events for over 10 years now. Most of the NCOs in the building did as little as possible and some of them had no clue how to cook simple recipes like gravy from scratch. Only a few of them were randomly in the kitchen cooking, or training and leading soldiers. So of course, the soldiers looked at me like a star. I talked the talk and walked the walk. From physical training to advanced culinary arts knowledge, I was that NCO that soldiers emulated and loved.

Where I came from, NCOs led from the front, and I let it be known. I didn’t believe in weak leaders, and I despised them. Fake and weak leaders can get you fucked up or even killed, so when I was in the DFAC, the only person I could be myself around was my boss; he was the realest NCO there. The soldiers loved when I’d challenge other NCOs to a cook off, but some of the NCOs grew hateful and jealous, not only because I was being recognized for my knowledge and work ethic, but because I was challenging their integrity. They had to start to do their job in order to not be exposed. My peers and the light workload made this job way too easy. MSG Fadelos was my senior food service NCOIC. He took a liking to me and my style of leadership. He was a young master sergeant (MSG / E-8) a baldheaded, short black man, and he was strictly about his business. Every time he saw me, he came over and gave me some strongly encouraging words of wisdom. One day, he came to me to say that I was on the list for Advanced Leaders Course and that if I wanted to advance to the next rank, I needed to attend ALC as soon as possible. I had been deployed a lot over the last five years and I was never in a good position to attend the school. I did now, since I had been stationed here, and he was absolutely right, I needed to knock out ALC and get to Senior Leaders Course the following year. I was one of the senior staff sergeants in my battalion, so I was in my primary zone. He promised me that if I graduated with one of the honors in my class, he would do everything in his power to get me an SLC class date, and once I graduated, I was to attend the next brigade level culinary arts board and go for division again. I had to report to Fort Lee, Virginia, in 6 weeks. This came at short notice and Lauren wasn’t prepared to run the household for 8 weeks by herself. But if we were to invest in my career advancement, then she should have understood that I had to go and get it over with. She had never been away from her family back in Georgia; this was going to be her first hardship without from her friends and family being close by. My work week was very consistent; Physical Training (PT) from 0630 to 0730 and in the dining facility by 0900 unless we had company training. I was getting to know the soldiers well; I was training someone every day on something. I

loved cooking, and I was also learning the equipment while I trained. Each dining facility had their own little equipment issues. Ours were moderate. The main issue I had was the single stovetop in the kitchen. It had four burners, but they were always in use for something. The senior NCOs would come and go. I was slowly getting to know all of them and associate them with a unit. We had enough staff sergeants to run the building, though. Staff Sergeant Pitts was one of them. He was a loud mouth, but he made sure he got the job done. He made shit happen, even if he rarely lifted a finger. On the other end of the spectrum was SSG Gravel. The man was laid back. He was far from incompetent thought. He knew what to do and he was always willing to learn other cooking methods. He had a very large head. I don’t mean this in an egotistical kind of way, but literally, the man’s head was like a melon atop a broomstick. I’d always laugh when I saw him. The military was mean in this kind of funny light-hearted way. You either accepted the humor or fell prey to it. You had to have a thick hide. Luckily SSG Gravel was that laid back thick hided guy. One of the other units’ soldiers was Spc. Gillette. He was what I considered a real chef. He was a white guy from Louisiana. He was in his younger 30s and was the best cook in the building, until I came in that is. He was an experienced baker/cake decorator as well as a Cajun-style chef. He and I would always get into it about cooking. He was one of the most eager of the soldiers. He was definitely a leader. He once was a police officer before he enlisted. Besides his weight problem, the man was good at his job. He was ultimately flagged for not making tape.⁴ So, he couldn’t get promoted to sergeant. As the days grew closer to me leaving for school, I felt a little despair and grew worried. I didn’t want to leave Lauren by herself after only being here for a few months. Less than eight months ago I was granted custody of my son Savior, and Lauren was still getting used to having another child. I needed to spend more time with him; his grandmother Barbara had him for over a year. But Lauren knew what my job was, and she knew how my mind was, so she had to take charge for a few weeks. They say the hardest job in the military is being a military spouse. I knew this feeling all too well. I was leaving home again all too soon. For once I’d love to leave home and everything go well, but it was closing in on the departure date

and the stress of military spouse life was eating away at Lauren. I hated leaving Lauren, even for a moment. I was in love with her. I always told her she was my dream girl, and I meant it. I didn’t need anyone else. As tensions grew and the dread of leaving approached, I set my sights on leaving on good . I may not have had many days left, but the days I did have left were enough to show her I loved her.

Flashback

Fort Benning, Georgia.

-March 2009-

Day after day and consequence after consequence, the path I chose led me to another battlefield. Shanisha and I were at our worst. I shouldn’t have gone back to her after Daphne ed away. Divorce was imminent. We had been fighting at home and arguing at work since we got back together. We were both NCOs and our domestic altercations didn’t give a professional appearance at work. Shanisha clearly didn’t understand that or didn’t care. I had to get the fuck out of there before we killed each other. I was really starting to hate this bitch. We’d been back and forth; in love at some points, and at war the rest of the time. But today was The Engineer Ball and I wasn’t going to let her stop me from having a good time with my battle buddies. My homeboy and fellow soldier, Bob, had called me and told me what time to meet him and his new girl. Bob was in Shanisha’s company and he hated her as much as I did. In fact, all of my friends and most of her soldiers did too. All Bob talked about over the last 2 weeks was this new chick he was with. I couldn’t wait to meet her.

After I spent 90 minutes in the bathroom getting ready, I put on my class A’s and I looked good! My waves were spinning, and my uniform was sharp. I was ready to mingle. I had 45 minutes until I had to leave, and Shanisha was nowhere to be found and she wasn’t answering her phone. By the time Shanisha got home, I was just about to walk out the door. I was pissed off. I mean when I say, “pissed off,” I mean I was a volcano on the verge of destroying the island, the inhabitants, and every little boat that cross this way of the ocean. It was for this reason I had to avoid Shanisha. I couldn’t look at her, talk to her, or hear about her. So, I left the home before the lava started flowing. I just walked out. I met up with Bob and his new girlfriend, Eva, at the civic center in downtown Columbus. He saw the anger in my face and we immediately started talking about Shanisha and her ways. Once we got inside, we grabbed a few drinks and got buzzed before the ceremonies began. The ball was decked out. It was classy inside and all the women wore beautiful evening gowns. During our conversation Eva told me she wanted to introduce me to her play sister Deuce. I had heard Bob and a few other guys I hung out with mention her name once or twice before. So, I agreed: after the ball we’d go over to Eva’s house, drink, and play cards while Deuce and I got acquainted. I tried to work things out with Shanisha after Daphne died, but it just didn’t work out. We had too many old memories haunting us, and neither of us acted civil enough to have an adult conversation. It was time to let it go. It was better for both of us at this point. When it comes to women, I loved shape and ion. I loved a very feminine and submissive woman. I loved high heels and long hair. But my main attraction was hips and ass. Those came first and were a major turn-on to me. My body would not react to anything less. She had to be intelligent and share somewhat of the same beliefs, and she had to be highly ive, and she had to have a body that I could handle in bed. She could be somewhat of a big girl as long as she was proportioned. If not, my dick would not work. And once the relationship goes sour, my attraction disappeared, and I lost most of my attraction to Shanisha due to her dominant and sneaky traits regardless of her perfect shape. Shanisha arrived an hour late, during the ceremony, and out of uniform.

Everyone looked at her…then looked at me. I just shook my head. My entire unit knew we had problems at home. It so was embarrassing, I still didn’t want to speak to her, but I had to play the game for my superiors and peers. As soon as the ball was over, and we went home, I changed clothes and left. Shanisha and I both already had one foot out the door in the marriage. We always did it right in the bedroom, but we barely could have a civil conversation. This war had been going on long enough and for the third time! We’d been through a lot. She cheated. Then I cheated and had Savior. In fact, the only thing that held us together for so long was the memories we shared of South Korea, the money we made together as two Staff Sergeants in the army and the sex. Yeah, it was great sex. But this time even sex couldn’t save us. Our separation was going to be permanent and it needed to happen. I was truly done, and she still didn’t want to let go. I arrived at Eva’s house and met Bob outside. When I walked through the door and glanced upon Deuce. I never in my entire life felt the way I did when I looked at her. It was love at first sight for me. She was 5’1, 120 pounds, and a yellow bone with a shape to die for. She was beautiful: big bedroom eyes, pouty lips, and a smile like a ray of sunshine. She danced her way up to me with her hand out to greet and spoke. “Nice to meet you, I’m Lauren.” The silly dance she was doing made me laugh. I looked over at Bob and he smiled. With a smirk of self-worth on his face he said, “You can thank me later.” Then he laughed. While we played spades and took shots of Amsterdam, Lauren and I were making a connection. The way she sat by me and laughed at my jokes made me feel special. We had good chemistry, the fact that all my homeboys tried to get her, and she chose me was the best of all. Some of my friends that were present had a little envy in their eyes, watching us stay close and giggle to ourselves. About two hours later she whispered to me, “Let’s go to my house and talk.” My heart started racing and my dick started talking, but I didn’t show it. I simply said, “That’s cool,” and we left. We sat and talked for hours, and we had so much in common. She understood me. I never had chemistry with a woman like this in such short time. The conversation was amazing and all I could think about was, “Wow, thank you, God.” She was perfect. I couldn’t believe it, that just like that I found the girl of

my dreams. The evening couldn’t have been more beautiful. What really sold me was when she kissed me, and I loved kissing. She leaned over and kissed me so ionately it swept me off my feet. It was so good we had to do it again, and it all lead to a wonderful night of making love. I thought I was in a fantasy. She made love to me with confidence, like a Georgia girl is supposed to. I left Lauren’s house at eight in the morning. Shanisha didn’t even call me once, and the fear of an argument with her was nowhere in my mind. The only thing I could think about from that moment on was her. I turned on the radio and Teairra Mari’s song, “Hunt 4 U,” was playing. It was the perfect song for the perfect beginning of a beautiful relationship.

* * *

The night before I left for ALC I was under some real pressure. I still didn’t have all my advance money yet and if it didn’t come, I was going to have to pay out of pocket until I received it. Lauren wasn’t too happy at that idea. She was worried that we would get screwed somehow in the end because this should have been taken care of already. I told Sgt. Willis I didn’t have a government travel card weeks ago, but he always told me not to worry about it. I came down on these orders too fast and I didn’t have enough time to get ready for school. Two weeks ago, he gave me a couple of forms to fill out and that was all I heard about travel. The only choice I had left was to decline the school, and that wasn’t going to be good for me in the end. The whole situation was starting to stress Lauren out, and every time I asked Sgt. Willis about it, he kept telling me not to worry. I had a feeling this was going to end up really bad, and I was about to have to deal with some serious issues if this money didn’t come soon. The next morning, I woke up and called the bank still no deposit. I called Sgt. Willis back and he said he was going to handle it today. “Don’t worry about it,” he repeated. “I seriously should not have to go through this,” I said to myself. I didn’t want to argue with Lauren either. Knowing I didn’t have time to dwell on it, I got dressed and reassured Lauren that it was all being taken care of. She was

upset; she knew the consequences, too. I was ready to go, and nervous to go at the same time. We weren’t here for three months yet and I was already leaving her. Lauren was a strong woman, and this was just another test of our love. I loaded the car and she drove me to the airport. It was only 15 minutes away on base. I arrived midday in Hopewell, Virginia, and as soon as I touched down, I called my bank one last time. “Nothing still,” I said. I knew I was screwed then, but I had some money just in case and that gave me a few days before I was really fucked. Hopefully Sgt. Willis would get it squared away before it came to that. I caught a taxi and went to post to sign in. The taxi dropped me off directly in front of the school. I struggled with all my bags and walked across the parking lot. I looked up at the large modern building and read the big bold lettering that ran across the center of the entrance: “Army Logistics University.” I thought to myself, “Hmm, this should be fun.” I carried all of my bags up the stairs and into the main office. One of the cadre looked at me, confused, and he asked for my orders. He looked at the school scheduling and he chuckled. He told me I was a week early; class started next Monday. My world just ended. “What… the… fuck!” I said to myself. I arrived a whole week early. A whole fucking week early and I already had money problems. The school’s NCO messed up the dates and now I was really fucked. What the fuck was going on with my unit? How did all this go wrong, and no one noticed? Now I have to provide for myself for seven extra days or until my school money was deposited. I told the NCO about my situation, and he took my name down and said he would get back with me. So, I caught another taxi and headed out to a hotel I saw in the yellow pages. When I got to the hotel, I wasn’t impressed. In fact, I was nervous. It was in Petersburg, right in the middle of the hood, and it was a shithole. I had to economize my money until I got my advance and I was too tired from traveling. I just rented the room for a month and dealt with it. I was trapped between a rock and a hard place. I had to adapt and overcome if I wanted to graduate. If there was ever a time to prove my resilience, it was now. The Advanced Leaders Course is a six-week training program, designed to place junior leaders in a high-energy, competitive training environment. It employs

and prides itself on the “take charge” attitude and it prepares NCOs for the next leadership position. This school could make or break you, and you would be challenged mentally, physically, and socially. Overall, ALC would separate you from your peers for promotions and career advancement. I was already starting off on the wrong foot showing up to school with these issues. Every morning you were there a 0600. The ability formation was followed by at least a three-mile run. Then the rest of the day you sat through full classes crammed down into a few hours taking notes in detail and trying to stay awake. You were put into leadership positions over your classmates and evaluated on how well you maintain their ability by means of your leadership. Testing began around the end of the first week, which includes a series of multiple-choice exams and performance evaluations based on confidence, memory, preparation, and leadership abilities. I needed to have a clear mind and most of all, I didn’t need any money problems on day one of training. I was already beginning to stress. It seemed like the more I pursue my goals, the harder they were to accomplish. It was like a spirit doing everything possible to stop me from becoming what I was meant to become.

* * *

I had all week to get ahead of my peers physically and mentally. I worked out every morning and studied most of the day. I rarely went out of my room unless it was to get food. I was trying to save money and gas because I knew the fun had yet to begin. Most of the time I’d sit outside and write or study while I surveyed the area. I’d watch prostitutes walk up and down the street all day long or people fighting and arguing in the courtyard. I was surrounded by drugs and sometimes I’d catch the occasional whiff of marijuana coming from the rooms next to me. I loved weed, always have and always will. I believed it was part of the key to life. Throughout my career I smoked every now and then, especially when I went

home on leave. But before I ed the military, I’d smoked every day! I even trained or fought high; it took me to a spiritual level of total bodily control. On my third day I rented a car for two weeks out of my own pocket in preparation for school. I didn’t have a choice, I needed transportation and class was starting in a couple of days. This hurt Lauren and the kids at home, but it was either this or the alternative: drop out and go home. No way was that an option. All I could do was stay on Sgt. Willis and hopefully get my school money fast. I didn’t really leave the room because I knew I had to maintain the funds I had, so I did PT and studied the manuals I got from the academy. I have always found a way to turn a bad situation into a beneficial one. Lauren was growing inpatient and so was I. It had been four days and still no money. I was draining our savings and I started class tomorrow. Sgt. Willis promised me I would be reimbursed for what I spent as long as I kept my receipts, so I did that, and I told Lauren the same thing to keep her tensions down. Lauren wasn’t used to struggling for the greater good. She was partially spoiled; her mom and dad took good care of her and her son. Lauren was also lavished with generosity for her beauty by some of the most famous entertainers in the hip-hop music world. She dated a well-known basketball player and had partied with some of Atlanta’s hottest entertainers and top hip-hop artists. She had a close friend named Allyson, a mistress of an athlete who played for the New York Giants. They all went to Troy College together. I couldn’t even watch TV without Lauren pointing out someone she dated. She let me know she was a hot commodity and could do better than me. So, this lack of money wasn’t good for her or my confidence. Lauren was even growing angry, and this was unlike her. I’d only been here a few days and we were already arguing over dumb shit. While the arguments may have centered around who drank the last of the milk,. we both knew the stress of being penniless was the true culprit. It had always been my life’s dream to become an entertainer and world leader. I wanted to leave a standing legacy that would evolve humanity in a positive manner. So, music, martial arts, writing, and the military were just tools to

achieve that dream. It hurt so much that the woman I loved so dearly showed more interest in people who were in those fields than in me. I have never been a jealous man, I never envy or hate on anyone, but her interest in my works was motivating on an astronomical level. It was the way I was built. All I needed was my woman behind me and I could accomplish anything. I had to focus. I couldn’t let everything I was about to endure be in vain. My eyes were set on top honors, nothing less! Advanced Leaders Course was the real deal. It involved no cooking whatsoever. So, I had to excel in other areas. 3 The United States Army uses digits and letters to define categories and classes of careers in within its ranks. This particular number/letter designation refers to “Culinary Specialist Jobs.” 4 Making tape is a term the refers to ing the physical fitness exam. The word tape literally refers to the tape measurer used to determine whether a soldier was physically positioned correctly for service.

Chapter Two

Leading the Way

“No one is more professional than I. I am a Non-Commissioned Officer. A leader of soldiers!” —The Creed of the Non-Commissioned Officer

I reported to the Army Logistics University (ALU) for class that next Monday morning bright and early. Flashbacks of my past military schools and old enemies were in the back of my mind. I used these flashbacks to prepare my mind for what I was about to experience. I couldn’t wait to meet my competition: my classmates. Regardless of how “cool” or “nice” they might be, this was survival of the fittest. This was war. I had my mind made up that I would graduate at the top of my class no matter what. This aggressive mentality was something I adopted growing up and had worked wonders for me in the military. When I set my mind to something I created the reality I desired. What I think about, I bring about, What I focus on expands. Yet hidden beneath the layers of my sharp teeth and flexing muscles, was a core of good intentions. I had to make Lauren and my unit proud. Most of all, I needed a strong evaluation for promotion and this would help both my family and I immensely. It was a fairly large class of 30 or so soldiers. I was one of four staff sergeants/E-

6 in my class, the rest of the class were sergeant E-5s. Knowing this gave me a sense of motivation. I had to set the example as a strong leader because some of these soldiers might one day be my subordinates or peers somewhere down the line. We received our in-processing briefing by the school’s commandant, and then we went to our classroom to continue the briefings. There were a lot of rules, and a lot of reasons to get a counseling statement. As they read off the rules and regulations for the class, I could just hear all the possible errors one could make. More clearly than that, I hear, “Please mess up, we want to catch you.” I refused to let that happen. I would not be a “counseled” soldier in this environment. If you received one counseling statement, you could not graduate with honors, period. If your phone went off in class you’d be counseled. This meant no cellphones. If you were late for any reason, you’d be counseled. On top of all the possibilities for mistakes, there were all the requirements for success. So, while you dodge the landmines, you had to actively seek the hidden treasure. You only had two attempts to each test or evaluation or you were kicked out. You had to score in the top 10 percent with a GPA of 93% or higher in order to make the commandant’s list. | I had to focus. I couldn’t let everything I was about to endure end in vain. There was no way in hell I wasn’t about to graduate top dog. Advanced Leaders Course was the real deal and it involved no cooking whatsoever. It prepared you as a leader in other areas of the 92G MOS, like istration and nutrition, preparing you to run a military dining facility and handle battalion-level feeding operations. As our small group leaders introduced themselves and explained the curriculum, I felt the pressure starting to build up. I felt the steam water boiling my brain and the steam struggling to escape. A point in the center of my forehead was screaming with anticipation. I refused to explode though. I just thought to myself, this wasn’t going to be easy. But I needed more than to simply , I needed to ensure I graduated at the top. I had to identify my strong points and everyone else’s weaknesses and capitalize off them every single day. After the completion of day one, I was mentally exhausted, and I still had to handle this lodging and money situation. God never gives you more than you can handle, but I was beginning to think that maybe God delegated my life to some lower form of angel named Steve. And Steve wasn’t paying attention. I joke about this because, struggle in my life was a constant gardener.

Things never came easily for me. I wished for once I could have a normal experience with things like most people. It always had to be harder for me. I always had to do more or work harder just to get shit done, and this time was no different. Still, I couldn’t dwell on it. I had to do whatever I had to and get past this situation. I really didn’t want to call Lauren and vent while I was here, either. I had to remain optimistic and appear stable. I didn’t want to stress her out any more or look weak. To start the day for physical training we ran about four miles, sometimes more, and we were tested every other day. Some classes lasted all day and well into the evening. ALC was a test of mind, body, and spirit, and designed to weed out the weak from the strong. As an NCO you were challenged on and off the battlefield. I had attended preliminary leaders’ development course at Fort Hood, TX, in 2001, so I knew this was my chance to get ahead of my peers for promotion. I had a lot competition in my class, and I took the lead of the class on day one. I volunteered for everything and participated in class discussions. I wanted my classmates to know I had knowledge and they had a fight on their hands. We had to recite the NCO creed and the quartermaster song every time we entered the classroom. Even if we took a 15-minute break, we had to do them again when the break was over. Those words were being drilled into us. Some of the NCOs didn’t know the words to the creed and it was funny as hell. I would have been embarrassed if that had been me. I knew the creed like the lyrics to my songs, and I recited it with ion. I made my presence known. It was too easy because most of the curriculum and discussions were on subjects I already studied or knew. I learned a trick from moving around all the time in the military and growing up in my neighborhood. The trick wasn’t so much a trick as it was a life hack for the military. Simply put, you stay quiet and go unnoticed for a while. This gives you time to assess the situation and your competition. Study harder and learn faster than everyone else during this time, find other’s weaknesses, and discover your strengths, then take the lead. Once you get the lead, you keep it by any means necessary, and you win by the largest margin possible. I used this method to help others accomplish tasks when the approached me about achieving goals years later. Friends and family had become inspired by my successes and I thought it appropriate to add this last step to the life hack: help others.

If I had not been leant a helping hand, I am not sure how far I would have made it. I was by no means cradled to success, but I was wise enough to accept the help when it came. My uncle Rodger made me into a competitor early on. On the other spectrum of things, the people in my neighborhood taught me how to survive. So, every time I would transfer duty stations, switch units, or go to schools, I would do what I was taught, and it had worked so far. Rodger’s helping hand was a little sterner than the average outreached palm. He consistently and brutally taught me that everything is a competition, and no one loves a loser. He taught me that competition was in everything, to include love, money, etc., and nothing is really a game, not even a game. He was the father figure in my life besides my grandfather. I looked up to him and loved him dearly despite all of the pain he caused me. Throughout my childhood and all the way up until I left for the army, Rodger and I would compete at anything. 99% of the time, he won. He beat me at everything. It had a serious impact on me in my younger years, and I would cry. When I cried, he would call me Mister Softee, referring to the ice cream truck that came through my neighborhood. Rodger taught me how to fight by beating my ass and scolding me. He would sometimes hold me down and let my younger cousin Deon hit me until I would get so angry, I would tell Deon I would kill him once I got free. I felt I was always the black sheep of the family because I was interested in non-traditional African-American things like role-playing games, fantasy, and science fiction, and I didn’t take to sports. I think because of that, Rodger was harder on me. Throughout my early teenage years, Rodger taught me about women and how to dress. His attitude on being an alpha male while being a gentleman was what made him stand out as a person. I took that outlook and made it my own. His approval meant the world to me and as I got older, I learned that I had to outplay, outsmart, or out-cheat him at all times until the competition was over and I was officially declared the winner. Going to multicultural schools taught me how to be non-threatening and to avoid confrontation until the last possible point. Growing up in Harlem and being short all my life, I was bullied a lot as a child. By the age of 12 I had more fights than most kids my age. Combined, I learned to profile everyone and to be prepared to fight at all times. I was the smallest person in every class I was in while in school.

My family wasn’t raising any punks, so it was either fight whomever in the street or run and get your ass beat when you got home. I was raised in a survival of the fittest environment, kill or be killed, hustle or be out hustled, and everyone that lived on 114th street had the same outlook on life. Growing up in Harlem in the 1980s and 1990s was rough, and the fact that I wasn’t the normal black kid made it a little rougher. Instead of basketball I chose martial arts and ice hockey. I dressed differently, and I was a born romantic. Because I loved to write and read, I spoke different and thought different. I was still “hood,” just a different type of “hood.” So ALC was just another environment I was going to have to evolve in if I wanted to achieve the goals I had planned. I was rolling solo the first week, and during the second week I made two good friends. Two white guys, and both of them were after the same thing. We competed to become the top of class and graduate with the most honors. Their names were SGT Rope and SGT Sonman. They were both E5s and we became close from day one. Both of them were 92G superstars in the making. SGT Rope was working for the C-10 program, an elite group of flight cooks who prepared meals for high-ranking officials, generals, even the Army chief of staff. SGT Sonman was assigned to the Pentagon; he was a true culinary artist and a member of the army culinary arts team. He knew food better than I did. These guys were the real deal, and they were my true competition. So, teaming up with them was the best thing I did for myself. They saw my potential as a threat. I saw this early on, and we became level balanced competitors. In this predator mentality, we decided to shift focus to other prey. We agreed we were to eliminate all competition and sort out the winnings amongst us three in the end. They were the creme de la creme of the army’s cooks and had the skills to pay the bills. We were the treacherous three, and we ran the classroom with an iron fist! There were other small groups of people who cliqued up also. Another staff sergeant named Nikolai was a brain child. He was scoring all 100% on the tests but was mediocre on the evals and he sucked at physical training. Most of the other students were here only because they had to be, barely applying themselves and doing the bare minimum to just the course. Some of the others wanted the glory but didn’t have the motivation to get it.

They weren’t a worry. But a select few like myself had their eyes on the prize. The question was whether they were willing to do what I was willing to do to get it. I lived for shit like this. I loved the intense competition, but like all competitors, I also had my weakness. My drawback in this situation was my funds. They were running short fast, and no matter how well I was doing, if I went broke, it would affect my chances with stress or worse, I’d have to drop out and come back at an unknown date. I had to find a way to sustain, and I didn’t want everyone to know my situation. I hated to ask someone for money, especially while in school. But I had no choice. I borrowed money from family, friends, and fellow NCOs from Fort Leonard Wood, just to sustain. Everyone ed me fully, except Lauren. She was trying to be ive, but we had underlying issues on top of the current financial situation we were in. She was upset that we had to go through this situation in the first place. I tried to tell her it was too late to worry about that, and I needed her to me instead. Without the full of my partner I might not be successful, and if I wasn’t successful, it meant we weren’t successful. We needed to be a team more than ever. I tried hard every day to explain to her the benefits of this school, and the stress I was under, but she didn’t care. She thought I was partying and having fun without her. She had no clue about what I was going through. A few days later, I was sitting in my room studying and I had to get out. I had too much on my mind and I needed to relax for a bit, so I went to Walmart just to take a break. I still had the money issues in the back of my mind, and I was praying for a way to fix it. Then, I lucked out. On my way back to the hotel room, I stopped at the corner store to grab a pack of cigarettes and I met a young woman by the name of Rosetta. I noticed she was staring at me from the moment I got out of my car, and the whole time I was in the store. Then, as I left the store, she stopped me to talk. I knew she would, because she was all in my grill. She started off with small talk and asked me about my shoes, and then she asked if I was from around that area. She was cool, and funny as hell. She made me laugh with her silly ways and wild thoughts. Our conversations were interestingly deep, not to mention much

needed. After all the chaos I had been through, and the addition of the chaotic relationship with Lauren, I needed to talk to someone. We stood out there for about 30 minutes, just talking. Once I started to tell her my situation, and that I could fight. She told me about an underground fighting club out in Richmond, and she knew the guy who ran it. Now she had my undivided attention, I knew if there was one thing I could do, it was fight. And if she could deliver everything she promised, I might have a chance and make some money to get through school. I was in excellent shape and was more than ready for the coming combat. I fell in love with martial arts when I was a child. That moment, when I realized my love for the sport was so far back, I couldn’t even how old I was. My stepdad Blue would take me down to Times Square back in the mid-80s to watch old karate movies. I watched the films of The Shaw brothers and Bruce Lee with wide-eyes and a dropped jaw. I had always been so small and short growing up, so I didn’t play many sports besides ice hockey. But fighting had no height requirements. I didn’t need anyone to convince me that martial arts was for me. I started studying martial arts and training at the age of 10. I went to a neighborhood dojo and learned the basics. When I turned 14, I learned Tae Kwon Do from sensei Geoffrey Canada. It was here when I learned the importance of flexibility and stretching. The following year I met “The Lion of Africa,” Sensei Abdoulye N’gom. The Lion of Africa taught me Olympic-style Taekwondo. His master was Master Richard Chun, another legend in the game. Sensei N’gom won the gold medal in the 1992 Olympics in Seoul, Korea. I studied rigorously for an entire year and a half with him. It was here when I learned the importance of speed and stamina. At 15 I studied Japanese Gōjū-ryū with Sensei Jose Reyes. This is where I learned to channel Chi energy (also known as Qi, Ki, or Prana). Sensei Jose taught us a breathing kata⁵ named “Sanchin.” I consisted of very slow attacks while breathing all of the air out of your body during each attack. You had to push every ounce of oxygen out of your body by the time the slow attack ended, ten your muscles and holding it for two seconds. All the while, he was beating you with your belt. Sometimes the whole class would remove their belts and file past you, beating you to death. You couldn’t move or cry. You had to keep focus while you slowly executed out an attack or a block. The full kata took nine minutes to move eight steps; it was very long and painful. Over time, you’d became numb to the pain. When the pain dispersed into thin air (or it felt that way) a chill would run across your body. Once you hit that point it was

dangerous. There was so much adrenaline you barely felt any pain; it was easy to ignore injury. It was there in that dojo with Sensei that I learned the importance of variety and power. After two long years of training, I considered myself a force to be reckoned with. I was the top student of the class and I was maturing into a young man in the middle of puberty. Sensei Jose was like a father to me during this time in my life. That class taught me so much about myself and my interactions with the world that I am eternally grateful for its presence in my life. Through the class Sensei taught me and the other students the traditions of Japanese martial arts from the benefits of meditation to the art of war. He trained us to live by the code of the samurai and taught us how to be strategic fighters by combining skill with stamina and a variety of powerful special attacks. For about a year after Jose left, I trained in various martial arts schools and styles: tai Chi for three months, muay thai for two months, and Okinawan karate for three months until I became a member of the Wolfox family with Sensei Rock right around the corner from my house at Wadleigh high school, where I studied a Shotokan-judo-boxing hybrid style until I ed the army at 19 years old. Sensei Rock was originally a member of the Zulu nation and a true OG of the game. I was honestly blessed when it came to all of my instructors. I was trained by real legends of the martial arts world. Rosetta was a tall, dark-skinned woman, she stood at least six feet tall, and she had a banging body. She wasn’t that pretty, though it didn’t matter; I already knew I wasn’t going to touch her. I wasn’t even going to give her my number until she told me about the fights. I wasn’t about to jeopardize my relationship with Lauren for a short fling with Rosetta. It just wasn’t worth it, but I had to keep her close enough to get me in those fights. Rosetta respected my decision, but she still had her motives. She wasn’t completely done with trying to get me in bed; helping me get into these fights was just a ploy. She really wanted to spend time with me and slowly break me down. We exchanged numbers and the following Friday we linked up and drove out to Richmond. I had trained all week long and gone extra hard during PT, but I was still a little nervous. Still, I was in the best shape I could be in and I had the heart of a lion and the spirit of a killer pure focus! I didn’t care who I had to fight, I needed this

money for my family and future. We pulled up to the spot, and it was nothing like what I expected. It was like a club, and there were a lot of cars parked outside. I heard the music as I walked up, and I looked at all the women that were standing around outside. I didn’t know what to expect once I got inside. Rosetta was hugging everybody; she knew so many people there. She was introducing me to all these people and telling them I was going to fight tonight. She made me feel good. Once we got to the door, we walked right in. The music was loud, and it was nice inside. It was dark and had strobe lights dancing though the darkness. She introduced me to her friend Mousey. He ran the operation. He looked just like a mouse, but he had swag. His grill was full of gold. He spoke just like a Texas boy. He showed me where to sign up and Rosetta took a seat by the ring. The whole experience felt underwhelming at first. They put me in with the lightweights without even weighing me. To top it off the short Mexican dude who was in charge of registration looked drunk. He took one look at me and said, “lightweight,” and handed me a rules form, then pointed me to the locker room. I grinned and stayed silent. I was already too much to handle as a middleweight. I was going to crush this lightweight class. This should have been easy money as long as I didn’t become complacent. If I focused and fought hard, I could take these niggas out swiftly. I planned to save energy and not get hurt. I looked around as I walked down the hall shaking my head. I kept asking myself, “What the fuck was I doing?” Sweat was dripping off my nose. I watched it hit the cracks in the concrete below the wooden bench I sat on. The locker room was disgusting. Bloody towelettes filled the trashcan and the smell of tiger balm haunted the room. There were a few sinks and a stall. I could hear people talking and warming up, followed by the cheer of spectators. It was all heard like a megaphone into a coffee can. The announcer’s voice interrupted the applause to introduce the next fight. I was trying to convince myself that this was going to be a cakewalk. I sent my thoughts to what I wanted my reality to be. I began thinking my opponent was under-trained and not a real fighter. I didn’t even know who I would be fighting, but I was making my mind up about who they were anyway. I just knew there was no way he was trained like I had. This seemed a strong possibility from the looks of the place we were in then. If my opponent trained in that place, he was sure to have had a much different training regiment than I.

As is custom, there was a lot of taunting and shit-talking going on in the locker room. I just stayed to myself and occasionally laughed at the guys while they joked with each other about me. Some of them asked me a few questions like what my style of fighting and what class was I was fighting in. I went by the same life hack I used my whole life (and mentioned earlier). Keep the conversation short, while being polite. I wasn’t there to make any friends, but I was there to win with grace. After I got dressed, I went directly into meditation. Clearing my mind and preparing for battle was the goal at this point. It wasn’t as easy as usual, because I had trouble shaking the thoughts of Lauren. All I saw was her face. She was the reason I was here and there was no turning back now. I heard the fights begin, and I pulled out my gear. I had to get into combat-mode and get Lauren out my head. There were some huge guys there, but most of them were street fighters, looking to make a quick buck or prove who was the baddest. I bet less than half of them had real martial arts training. By looking at some of them I could tell they weren’t conditioned enough on a pro level, so I definitely had a chance. Plus, over the last week or so I trained all day, every day. I worked the hell out of my legs and as a result I could barely walk by Wednesday morning. When I was walking to physical training (PT) that morning for first formation ability, I knew I was ready. It was a feeling of completeness that was collecting inside me. As it grew so did my confidence. Suddenly, in the midst of the growing self-esteem and mental stability, I started having flashbacks of old battles. It was in that moment between the growth and chaos twirling around in my head and gut, that I knew, somebody was about to get their ass kicked. I hoped ultimately it wasn’t going to be me.

Flashback

Camp Casey, Korea.

-2003-

I chose victory. I woke up in the morning with one thing on my mind: the destruction of anyone who stood in my way of victory. Especially Sgt. Thompson. This douchebag was the standing champion. Sgt. Thompson was the unit champ in 2nd Tank Battalion, and he let me know it every time he saw me. He would come into the DFAC and talk shit to me right on the serving line, or in front of my troops. Right in the middle of serving hours, while I prepared his food and my soldier fit it to his plate, this guy had the nerve to shout obscenities and “the sweet taste of my demise,” then laughing on his way to the feasting tables. He was a bold motherfucker, and a so-called second-degree black belt in Taekwondo. He stood about 5’9”, 165 pounds, and he was an arrogant black guy from the hoods of Louisiana. He was hood as hell. Sometimes it was just funny to watch him talk. The taunting went on for weeks, leading up to one of the biggest martial arts tournaments of the year. This was the grandest of the grandest fights for a soldier in South Korea. The rules in Korea were different from traditional martial arts tournaments in the United States. This was Olympic-style Taekwondo. In this country you could knock someone out. K.O.s didn’t fly back home. Further differences included: punches didn’t count, a kick to the body was worth one point, and a kick to the head was two points. There were also two three-minute rounds. In the end, the person with the most points in the end wins. This was going to be my style of fighting. I couldn’t wait to get a K.O. on “SGT Shit-Talker” himself. I was a headhunter and I loved to kick a motherfucker in the face. It was a feeling unlike any other. To kick someone in the head with a Van Damme type of kick was exhilarating. It would absorb all of their energy once the kick landed. I am, was, and always will be dangerous with my legs. I’ve knocked out plenty of people with the power of a solid kick. I had been training hard every day after work for months to gain a spot on the 2nd Infantry Division (ID) fighting team. It was paying off. I was at my best. My current sensei, Master Kim, was very proud of me. He taught me for free as long as I didn’t miss one class. He was one of the 2nd ID team’s trainers and

would be a judge at the tournament today. I had too much riding on this. After all the public arguments between Sgt. Thompson and me, everyone in the unit wanted to see us fight. My wife Akasha was there. I flew her to Korea a week before. It was her first trip here and I hadn’t seen her since I left the states over six months ago. I had suspicions she was cheating on me, and we were starting to have small marital problems due to the deployment. We had already been through hell, so hopefully this was a good time to patch things up. Maybe, just maybe we could fall back in love. I could win almost any fight I was put up against, and win, but when it came to fighting and winning over girls I was in relationships with, the victories did not come as easy. The fighting spirit had bled over into my love life, and I became willing to fight for our Marriage. We’d had a baby girl two months before I left. Her name was Teresa, and she was our second child together. Felicity was our oldest child; she was five at the time. I finished my protein shake and turned on my motivational playlist, then started my stretching routine. Brian McKnight’s “Win” calmed me as I transformed into battle mode. I was going to crush this dude. Thoughts of Sensei José pushing me to my limits raced through my mind. In moments like this, some people talk about “seeing red,” but I had trained to see something different. All I saw was victory. In that moment, as I prepared myself, Peter Cetera’s “Glory of Love” came on. To this day, that song brings me back to that glorious moment captured in time. I can’t be sure what I looked like, but I a grin creeping up my face. It may have looked sinister, but the grin was that of accomplishment. I had found my Chi energy, and just in time. I felt it surging through my muscles, traveling up and down my skin like goosebumps. Everything felt in sync. Everything felt within my control. I was ready. Akasha was used to seeing me in this warlike state of mind, but even she remarked that she saw the energy flooding my senses before that fight. She had always been inspiring to me. We’d started dating while I was in high school and I had just started full fighting around the same time. A lot of men brag about being fighters, to impress girls, so at first, she didn’t believe I could fight the way I always bragged about, but after one fight, she didn’t have any trouble believing. A few years back, I took leave and Akasha and I went to New York. Her cousin

Corey was thirsty to see if I knew all I talked about. He was the top student at his dojo, and he invited me to come train. I knew it was an invitation for battle. I knew the game, and Akasha knew it also, but she just smiled. She wanted to see me fight Corey. She still needed more proof. After his sensei tried to break me off with warm-up exercises, we started combo drills. I was being probed; they were analyzing my form and speed. I was doing the same to them at the same time, watching and learning. After another failed attempt to wear me down, we finally circled up and it was time to fight. I had my own gear; I never left home without it. I watched Corey as he warmed up. He was slow, and he had a bad tell. Of course, I was first in the shoot, and facing Corey. And as soon as the match began, I immediately unleashed. I was too fast for him. He could not penetrate or land a blow. I had the power to match my speed and the last year in the army gave me the stamina I needed to constantly attack and defend. Corey’s sensei was impressed. So, in other words, Sgt. Thompson had no idea about whom he was fucking with. I hoped he was all he said he was, and won all his fights, because I was going to win mine. After I warmed up, I jumped in the shower and packed my gear. Akasha and I caught a taxi out to Camp Hovey and stopped to eat breakfast. Sgt. Thompson came into the cafe with an entourage and started talking shit as soon as he saw me. I just smiled and said, “We’ll see in a few hours, buddy. Trust me!” He and his groupies took their breakfast to go and I was relieved. I didn’t want to go through all that bullshit with my wife right there. Plus, she already knew I was going to beat his ass if he survived and made it to the final round. The tournament began, and I won all my fights easily. Some of his wins were almost losses. I was happy to see him make it to the final round. I watched his fights closely, studying him. He was basic, but he was better than most of our competition. His form was decent, and he was kind of fast, but he telegraphed all his attacks. This was going to be a cakewalk. I was going to take his head off. When I entered the ring, I never made eye . I kneeled down in meditation and gave him my back to spark my Chi. Of course, he was still showboating and taunting me. I paid him no attention; I just focused. Then I hopped up and faced the judge, waiting to be bowed in. Then came the signal to begin and he came out flashy and making sounds as if he was some kind of Kung-Fu master. I

laughed inside. I fought so many guys who did that, and I couldn’t wait to give him a taste of real power. He was dancing around, and I was target-locked on his head. I waited like a mongoose ready to deliver the killing blow, and 40 seconds into the first round he tried to kick me and missed. I timed his attack, watching how much power he put behind it. He put everything into that kick, and I anticipated his foot touching the floor as his kick ended and I threw a spinning hook kick with everything I had in me. I knocked him out cold. His body hit the floor like a sack of potatoes spinning in the air. The crowd gasped all at once. There was a quick silence followed by cheers. The sound of every cheering voice in the crowd was exhilarating. The referees rushed to his aid as I turned around and kneeled, giving him my back as he lay there barely awake and dazed. I looked into the crowd at Akasha and she smiled. It was over. The next day we hooked up the camera to the dining facility TV as we served lunch and played the fight over and over again. It was ridiculously embarrassing for him after that, and he had a shiner around his eye to add insult to injury.

* * *

I sat there in the locker room ready for war, going over the list of rules. There were three rounds; each three-minutes of mixed martial arts. Submissions and knockouts were allowed. As I read the same short Hispanic man came into the locker room and called my name out loud. I jumped up from stretching and grabbed my gear: a pair of four-ounce gloves, shin guards, and my mouthpiece. I had to focus; I had to breathe. I didn’t know these judges or these people. I just hoped they had fair rules. Now I was getting really nervous and paranoid, like something’s about to go wrong. I’m starting to think, “It’s ten o’clock at night. I’m not supposed to be doing this shit while I’m here for school. What if I get hurt; bad? I wouldn’t be able to graduate anyway. I’m fucked then, so fucked!”

Suddenly the music got really loud, really quick. It scared the shit out of me! But it snapped me out of the despair I was in. It was too late. I was in too deep now, and I really needed the money. I had to man the fuck up and fight. I tried to use the music as a motivational tool, but my heart was still racing, and my mind was spinning. Then I heard the music lower and the DJ called out the next fight; my fight. As he called my opponent’s name I listened for the crowd, hoping to hear if he was known, or better yet a favorite. The crowd cheered a little, but nothing special. I walked down a short pathway into a large room and received the same attention. You could tell this was a hush-hush operation. It had a very exclusive vibe. It wasn’t overcrowded, and the decor had some class. The ring had some padding and it had some space to it. I had room to move and use my speed. I received the same level of enthusiasm when my name was called as I entered the ring. I looked over at my opponent. He was scrawny, but he didn’t look scared either, but no longer was I. We touched gloves and went back to our corners. “Ding,” went the bell. I began to dance as I closed distance on him. My tactic was to trick him with fast powerful kicks and flurries of punches to make him think I was going for a knockout. But I was actually going for the submission. My attacks were intended to get him tired really fast and test his stamina. So, once I struck, he wouldn’t have the energy to defend against my trap. I crushed him with a series of combinations. In return he came at me with a few weak ones in an attempt to land a hit. It was one and a half minutes into the first round and he began to show signs of fatigue. He began to pant. His next kick or weak attack would be his mistake. I saw it coming; he was going to try to grab me and hold me until the end of the round. As soon as we clinched, I tried to push him back into a corner and waited for him to try to push me back. As soon I felt him pressure me back, I grabbed his neck, stepped back, and dragged him down with his own force. Once he hit the floor, I started punching him in his head while mounting his back. Then I went in for the choke. It was clean. I snapped it in with so much power I felt his body clinch up. I knew I had him, so I went full strength and he tapped.

I jumped up with an “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just won” feeling. It felt amazing. I felt amazing. I felt powerful, in control, and accomplished. The judge declared me winner by submission and the crowd went wild. I thought I was in a movie for a split second. The whole thing just felt surreal. I made a great first impression, and I earned some serious rep with that display of skill. Rosetta rushed to me and kissed me. It was on impulse, so I didn’t mind. I received so many pats on the back as I left the ring. It was awesome. I was fast and relentless, precise and disciplined. This was result of my culmination of the true natures of all my combat trainings. I was at my peak. I hit the locker room, changed clothes, and then went to collect my winnings. I was only allowed to fight one fight that night because of the late entry, but I was invited to come back the following weekend to fight three fights with a $300 payout. I said, “Hell yeah.” This wasn’t that hard. I could make some quick money on the weekend and push through school. I always looked at situations like this as a sign from God I had found my way to sustain. As long as I didn’t get hurt, I could pull off a couple of fights until my school money finally came in. Hopefully that would be soon. I didn’t know how long I could do that before I got hurt. School was going great. I had adjusted properly even though I was going broke. The daily schedule was getting more comfortable for me to deal with. It was simple math to me: proper place, proper time, proper uniform. I had a formula. As long as I was where I was supposed to be, early, and in the right uniform, I was good. After PT, we would rush to eat and shower. We only had 90 minutes before we had to be sitting in class, ready to start training. Classes lasted all day long, and they were mostly death by PowerPoint. Hours and hours of slides and taking notes were the majority of the day, lunch from 11:30 to 13:00, then back to more PowerPoint classes. The competition was intensifying, and by the third week I was at the top of my class. I had a 97% grade point average and my instructors were beginning to recognize my potential. I had written all of the platoon mottos. My musical background made writing cadences too easy. It also set me apart from most of other soldiers when calling the cadence during runs and marches. I lived for shit like this. I was at my best in competitive environments. The combination of physical

training and martial arts had positive influences on each other. On the one hand I won my next three fights and earned over five hundred dollars that was because of physical training in school every morning. On the other hand, during real physical training activities I was by far in the top three percent of the strongest soldiers in school overall, and that was because of the extra martial arts training in the evenings all week long. Every morning I attacked PT like a wild animal. I knew I had the advantage in this area. My classmates were in decent shape, but I could tell they weren’t interested in PT like I was. I was built for physical training; 20 years of martial arts had ensured that. I was relaxed during our morning runs while most of the others were hurting badly and falling out of the formations. NCOs should never fall out of a run. They don’t have to be the fastest, but they’d better have more heart than their soldiers. We ran almost every morning for at least four miles and I loved it. I continued to call cadence, and now I was doing so almost the whole run. I was doing my job and keeping everyone motivated. It felt good to run like that, and my run was getting stronger. I felt my stamina growing by the day. It allowed me to train harder in my off time. I’d aced the first two tests and killed all my evaluations so far. It was too easy. I noticed that most of my classmates were weak comparatively. Some of them talked a good game, but they just didn’t have the same heart. Hell, two of them were always asleep during class. The trio was on it though. If things stayed this way, we had it in the bag. Everything pertaining to school was going great, that is everything except minus the money and marriage. My marriage was falling apart. Lauren didn’t understand that I had to focus if I was to get promoted down here. I had to shut her out in order to have clarity a lot of the time. That meant short phone conversations and she took that in a totally different way than I intended. If we hadn’t been fighting every night, I wouldn’t have to do that, but sadly, that wasn’t the case. I had to graduate and stand out from my class . So, I had to ignore her for now. In the end my success would spell success for her and the kids. But believe it or not, I still hadn’t received any money yet. I was doing my best to deal with it. Everybody was going out to eat every night. I sometimes went,

but I tried to save as much as possible. That was just more study time while they partied and relaxed. If I didn’t get it within the next two weeks I was going to be in serious trouble. I wouldn’t have a place to stay for the last four weeks of school, and I wouldn’t be able to graduate. I could not let that happen; I had to find a way. I’d already earned a few enemies in my class and they would have loved to see me fail. That was how the army was designed. They would capitalize off me failing any task or test, or dropping out, and I would never be able to forgive myself. I could not give them that pleasure, especially over some shit that was out of my hands. The next two weeks would separate the graduates from the elite graduates. I estimated at least half of my remaining competition would be eliminated during the physical fitness evaluation in accordance with the new regulations and the Army Food Management Information Systems (AFMIS) test. My memory had always been impeccable when it came to public speaking and leading, so the PT evaluation was bound to be a cake walk for me. Yet the AFMIS test was my biggest concern. I’d worked in the istrative area of the dining facility once, but that was six years ago when I was in Korea, and the system had changed since then. I had to study hard, and I had to train for my next three fights. This would take a lot of focus, ambition, and conditioning of the body, but I thought it was feasible. I knew I could do it all and still come out on top as long as I planned my work and worked my plan. I still had major opposition in my way. I had Lauren ripping me a new asshole every night, and I needed my advance to hurry the fuck up. When I got into situations like this, I used my son as motivation. I could force myself to complete the task at hand if I thought of him hard enough. If I thought about everything his mom had told me or if I thought of the situations he’d been through on of me I felt that drive pushing me forward. It helped me go that extra mile. In the army they say when you feel like you can’t possibly do anymore, you have only used 40% of your energy. I found this to be true. My son was the factor that got me forcing that extra 60% out. When I could see his face and place myself in the situations I was thinking of, I harnessed enough energy to do anything. I continued to train and study. I didn’t miss a beat or step. But Lauren was becoming more and more unruly the more I focused on myself. I found myself trying to handle the pressures from school, arguing with her every

night and fighting out in Richmond. The crazy part of it was ALC was the easiest of the three. Once I got to class, I was comfortable. I was in my element and I could focus on one thing. All of the haters had been identified and resistance was moderate. They didn’t possess the skills and talents to make their hate relevant. Sgt. Drystan was slightly a hater; he was cool most of the time and sneaky the rest. I liked him for some reason though. He was better than the rest of them. He kept me on my toes and I appreciated that. My personality always brought out the true “hater” in people. It had been that way my entire life. People could try to hide it, but eventually my presence brought it out of them. I thought it was a combination of my skills, looks, and personality. A lot of people couldn’t deal with a person like me. It drove them into a deep hatred and it always ended badly for them. The classroom became a battleground, and I loved every waking moment of it. Our cadre would set us up to debate on another in class. It was all to test us. I understood that, but not everyone else did. It was all-out war for the rest of the day and it got so bad that I began to pick arguments. I was maliciously targeting my competition and luring them into debates. What they didn’t know is that I had the high ground because I had spent so much of my extra off duty time studying and researching. I spent nights, lunches, and every break I got to educate and inform myself. I hate to sound arrogant, but it was a joke. I was humiliating everyone who decided to step up. Then I would go back to being quiet, making people hesitate to speak out in class. I could debate these guys with no trouble, but when I got home, I couldn’t even talk to Lauren. Every night was the same. I knew I would go to bed angry and not focused on the next day. We began to argue every time we spoke. I had too much on my mind, too much was at stake. The girl I once loved was becoming a distraction. Our arguments would last for hours, and almost every time they ended with one of us hanging up on the other. She had to be right. She had to ensure that she got her point across that her current situation was far worse than mine. What she never understood was the pressure she was adding to an already boiling pot. It wasn’t helping anyone. Most of the arguments were over the same old bullshit, too. Facebook messages, past events, and who was cheating and who wasn’t. I didn’t have time to cheat even if I wanted to. The energy it would take to cheat,

lie, and keep up with those lies was far beyond anything I had left in me. It would have been too much. She couldn’t seem to comprehend all the energy I was putting into my work. In fact, it only angered her more. Explanations became pointless. I was just wasting my time, and that time was not something I could afford wasting. But it didn’t make it feel any better. In fact, it hurt like hell. I loved her more than any woman I’d ever known. To argue with her every night at that level of intensity did more damage to my academics than the guys I fought every weekend. Eventually it began to show. My performance level dropped, both physically and academically. Her constant stressful attitude was forcing me to see her true self. She didn’t want to hear about what I was going through, or what I had to do in order to provide for her and the kids while working to graduate with honors. She kept retrogressing back to old irrelevant events and she wouldn’t give me a chance to speak. All the surface level arguments were growing worse, because of the subsurface issue; money. We still didn’t have any. After a few days of this situation reoccurring, I just accepted the fact that I needed to just finish this training and get back home ASAP. If I was to salvage my marriage, I had to act fast. I needed to get home before it was too late. So, when we spoke, I was on my best behavior. I was sympathetic to her situation, I carefully explained all answers to her questions, and I didn’t ask any questions in return. This method worked for her, but it created resentments in me. Why was it so hard for us to have a civil conversation like adults and resolve our issues? Why did I have to bend over and take it just to get through the day? Why did I have to live with my questions until I got home from school in order to receive some form of justification? I was filled with resentment and I lived with it just to make school more manageable. The day of the AFMIS test came quickly. I walked up to the hall and looked down the hallway to the testing room. I was nervous as hell. This test would eliminate the rest of the competition for the Commandant’s List. My test average was 91% and I was still in the running, but I needed a 95 or higher to secure my victory. I looked around the classroom and observed so many different expressions. Only a few of my classmates looked confident. The rest had either worried expressions or didn’t care because they were already out of the race. We sat down and waited to begin, and I couldn’t stop worrying about the grade I

needed. I knew I should have studied harder. At least it was multiple-choice, so I hoped I got lucky. This was a two-hour test, and I wanted to use all the time allotted. They told us to begin and I opened my booklet. It started out fairly easy. I moved through the questions pretty quickly. A few of them stumped me so I made the best guess, marked it, and moved on. I had to save up my time and I’d go back to it. An hour in and I thought I was doing okay. I only had four questions marked to go back to and I was 70% done. Sgt. Golden got up to turn in his test; of course, he was done first. Fifteen minutes later, more students started turning in, Sgt. Drystan was one of them. He didn’t care; he knew he was out of the running. He just wanted to graduate at this point. Sgt. Rope was done also, but Sgt. Sonman was still working. We still had 30 minutes left and I was done. I began going over the questions I had marked. I was getting tired of searching and rethinking the answers to the last six questions and I said fuck it. I was done. I stood up and went to turn in my test. I hoped, and I prayed that I had performed well enough to at least get a 90%. I had to stay within the parameters of earning the Commandant’s List. We waited outside in the smoking area while the rest of the class finished. We talked and argued about class while we smoked. It was close to the end and we knew it was all about to be over soon. Everyone was done, and we went back upstairs into the classroom. We all sat and waited for SSG Finway to call out the scores. He would call out a person’s last four numbers of their social security number, then their score. My heart was pounding. The competition was so bad everyone was keeping track of everyone else’s scores. They were all measuring them up, so it matched all they bragged about. I just sat there with my head down on the desk, waiting to hear my last four. Then he got to my last four, and he called out “88!” “Fuuuuck!” I might have said out loud. I was heartbroken and embarrassed. I just put my head down. I felt like crying, but I couldn’t. I knew I missed it, but I still had to calculate my average. I only had a 90.5% average and I needed a 93% or higher. I missed it, and it hurt. It hurt bad. After class everyone began asking each other if they made it or not. I didn’t want to say I didn’t make it after all I had bragged about. It hurt to start off so strong and end so weak. I was crushed.

At this point, I just wanted to graduate and get home to Lauren. Later that afternoon, the class had to vote for lead motivator. It was my last opportunity to gain a title from school. I knew I had it in the bag. This was the one thing I knew was guaranteed. After about 30 minutes of presenting our campaigns, Sgt. Drystan thought he had it. I stole the show when I reminded the class that not only did I write all the class mottos, I designed the class video, and I called cadence more than every one of them every morning. That did it. Rope and Sonman banged their hands on their desks signifying that was the killing blow. Our cadre was in accordance with them and declared me the lead motivator of the class. I did it! I gained a superior on my evaluation and I was the “student sergeant major.” My evaluation would definitely separate me from my peers. Sgt. Drystan was shooting me the death stare through all the cheers. I gazed upon him with victory in my eyes as I accepted the congratulations from Rope and Sonman. The next couple of days of class were getting our uniforms ready for the graduation ceremony and last-minute tests that didn’t count towards your GPA. We still had a few more evaluations to complete, but overall, the stress levels had dropped. The following Thursday night I got hurt really badly from fighting. My first two fights went smoothly, as planned, but the final contest was when it happened. I was so focused on Lauren and getting this final fight over with that I made a mistake. I was in a daydream in the middle of combat and I got swept off my feet after I executed a weak technique. My opponent caught me with a powerful sweep to my right leg, crushing my ankle in the process. I was severely injured in the middle of the second round. I went straight to the ground and fell into the guard as he mounted me, followed by a barrage of punches to my face. I was blocking but a few punches got through my defenses, and my head was bouncing off the mat. I was seeing stars, but I wasn’t about to be knocked out. I knew if that was to happen, I might not make it to class tomorrow. I had no choice but to recover fast. I clinched him from the bottom with everything I had, locking him chest to chest. I needed time to catch my breath while I dealt with the excruciating pain in my ankle. I was done, and I knew it. This nigga wouldn’t let up, either; he still had a lot of energy left. I was about to lose this fight. I was on the ground, in the

guard, and I couldn’t do shit with my right leg. I was trying to keep it off of him and I was defending myself with one leg. For the remaining time left in that round, I held him as close to me as possible and looked for the trap. I was hurt, and for the first time in a long time…. I felt defeat whispering in my ear.

Flashback

Harlem, NYC

-1991-

What is pain? Pain is the feeling you get when Fear leaves your body. -Shihan D. Johnson

I had studied hard, so that day’s class was an easy one. Sensei Jose had me teaching the white belts spinning hook kicks in the corner of the gym. It was busy work for me, but they seemed to enjoy it. I didn’t want to do it and I became complacent within 20 minutes. I started teaching less and dictating more. I was mad that the other senior students were learning a new kata and I was stuck with the white belts. I was number two in the class next to Sempi Rayvon and I felt as if it was my right to learn the new kata also. I was resentful, so I was doing a poor job of teaching, and he noticed it. He stopped the whole class, came over to me, and told the white belts to sit down. Then he shouted, “Why do we train?”

We all responded loudly, “To perfect our craft!” Then he held up a pad and ordered me to execute a proper spinning hook kick. I did it with ease, but he wanted me to do it again, and again. His voice grew louder and more intimidating as he said commanded me to kick over and over again. Each time he wanted more power, and more speed. I kicked until I ran out of energy and became extremely dizzy. But he persisted. He was mad at me and he was teaching me a lesson. I continued to kick, and I kicked the pad until I was so dizzy and so fatigued that my next kick ended with a sprained ankle. I fell to the floor crying from the pain. I had never hurt myself like that before. He took a quick look at my ankle and told me to stand back up. Then he demanded that I continued to kick. When I refused and tried to explain that I was in too much pain, he loudly presented me with an ultimatum. He shouted so loudly he scared the shit out of me. “Get up and kick or get the fuck out my dojo!” What? Was he serious? I looked at him with tears in my eyes, hoping to gain some sympathy from him, but there was nothing. He was dead serious, and he grabbed me by my uniform, stood me up, and said, “Lions prey on the injured.” They look for the weak ones as an easy meal without chase. If this were to happen to any of you out there in those streets, you’d end up hurt or dead. “Now get the fuck up, Solomon, and give me 10 more kicks, and the last one I want it jumping! I tilted my head, looked at him and thought “What the fuck! You can’t be serious. I never felt pain like this before in my life and you want the last kick to be a jumping spinning hook kick? You’re out of your damn mind. There’s no way I’ll be able to do this!” It was in that moment, when I looked around at the other of my class, and their faces revealed no sympathy for me either. Some of them had an expression as if I’d better do it. I knew I had to do it or lose all my respect as senpai. So, I took a deep, deep breath, nulled out the pain, and focused my Chi. Then I took my fighting stance, signaling Sensei that I planned to conform to his wishes. He held up the pad and began to count. “One!” I kicked the pad, but the spin on my swollen ankle sent a feeling up my

leg so painful I began to cry again. He didn’t care, he just continued to count. “Two,” he shouted. I kicked again with more pain to follow. “Three,” he commanded, and I kicked again but now I was angry, so before he could finish the word “Four” the snap of my kick hitting the pad screeched across the gym. The combination of the pain, his voice, and the looks on the faces of my fellow students activated my Chi. By the time he got to “Nine,” my Chi had invigorated myself and my fellow students. They started chanting, cheering for me to perform the next kick with precision and finish strong. A jumping, spinning, hook kick was my pride and I fell in love with it the first time I saw Jean Claude van Damme execute one in Bloodsport. That’s why I had to get it right the first time. Sensei Jose also knew this about me. that’s also why he was so adamant on me performing it for the final kick. My Chi was at full force, and I felt no pain. It felt like time slowed down as my eyes targeted the pad he held high above his head. Then in one final breath I took flight. As I spun around, I could see the pad mid-flight, and in one swift motion I kicked the pad with so much force it flew from his hands into the air across the gym. My Chi had left me, all my energy was gone. All that remained was pain and then I collapsed.

* * *

That memory harnessed that same energy again. My opponent was dead set on delivering a knockout blow to my face, but I avoided that at all cost while regaining my breath. I still couldn’t’ use that right leg for a moment, I had to let the shock from the blow go away first. Once I regained my focus, I released that energy in an explosive seatbelt sweep from the guard, and I mounted him! He didn’t even know what happened and I unleashed a series of cataclysmic blows

to his face. Each attack was fueled by all the pain I been through over the past few weeks, resulting in a win by knockout and five hundred dollars. I was done, completely finished with everything. I didn’t even care about all the cheers I received. I just wanted to change and go home. I didn’t want to fight anymore, and I was tired of school, tired of arguing, just fucking tired. It was 3 a.m. and I had to be in formation for class at 8 a.m. I got home at 430am, and by the time I finally controlled the pain enough to go to sleep it was almost 6am. I needed to go to bed. Rosetta helped me to the car. She knew I was in pain and she made sure I made it home. She wanted to stay the night with me, but I didn’t let her. I just wanted to get back home to Lauren. The next day, I limped into the NCO academy with swollen eyes. I was headed to class as if nothing were outwardly wrong with me. As I ed soldiers in the halls, they all looked at me like “What the fuck happened to you,” but I just kept walking, ignoring the blatant looks of awe. My classmates knew what I was doing in my spare time, but they dared not challenge me at this moment. I was tired as hell and in the worst mood ever. I just wanted to get through the day and get to bed. It was hard to stay awake in class, but I somehow pulled it off. When we got lunch break, I rushed to my favorite hot dog stand and grabbed a bite to eat. I gulped down something to drink as fast as possible then I got to my car and take a quick nap. I grabbed my lunch and headed to the parking lot. It was so hot and sunny that day I couldn’t wait to get to the AC. I ate my lunch fast and I looked over at the time. I had over an hour to take a nap before I needed to walk over to the field. So, I set my alarm on my phone and I fell asleep. Lauren was blowing my phone up while I slept, but I was too tired and in no mood to argue. She called and called until my phone died. When I awoke and looked at the time, I was about to be late. I looked at my phone and it was dead! I had two minutes to get to the formation. I grabbed my books, turned off the car, and attempted to run. My ankle was at its worst, it had doubled in size, but I had to suck it up or I was about to lose my lead motivator title. We couldn’t run on the grass, so I had to take the long way. I was running out of time. I had about 40 seconds to run around a thousand feet of grass, followed by a ten-yard sprint to the courtyard, and my ankle fought me every step. As I approached the courtyard, I could see the formation. I dropped my books,

closed my eyes and ran. I saw Rope gesturing me to hurry up, but I was moving as fast as I could. I saw the grins and sneers of my classmates, all hoping I didn’t make it to my position in time. The thought of failure and losing my lead motivator title made me push through the pain and pick up the pace. I was seconds away from the blacktop when I heard the platoon leader call fall in. I missed ability formation by mere seconds, and Sgt. Trystan had a smile on his face. In the moment my adrenaline immediately shut off. I fell to the ground in pain as I watched the class march into the building. Slowly I pulled myself up and gathered my books then rushed to catch the others. I was out of breath and shamed. It felt like the longest march ever. I felt the pain every step I took. As soon as class began, I was called into the office and I received my first counseling statement. I didn’t even put up a fight. I was mentally and physically tired. I just signed it and left. I went into the bathroom and cried it out really quickly, then walked into class like it didn’t hurt. I saw all the faces of happiness, but I just shrugged it off. The cadre came into the class and we had to vote on a new lead motivator. it became an argument. Half of the class didn’t agree with me losing the position and the other half were like vultures. In the end, Sgt. Rope won the position. I was happy he got it and none of the haters. After class, everyone started to inquire about my injuries. But, in the end, all they really wanted to know was if I had won. When I called home, Lauren showed even less concern. She was happy when I sent her most of my winnings, though. She was ecstatic! Over the next week, my ankle got better, and things went back to normal. The advance money never came in, and Sergeant First Class Williams told me I had to take care of it once I got back. I had two days left in the hotel and I was almost out of money. We borrowed all we could, and it was crunch time. Lauren had extinguished all her sources also, but I had one last option I could always count on…I had Shanisha. Lauren was going to be upset if she found out I had talked to Shanisha, but we had no other option. I was under pressure, and I damn sure couldn’t fight anymore. I was about to be out on the street and living out of my car while in school for the remaining two weeks. What else could go wrong? Lauren and I were constantly fighting, I’d already lost my chance to make the Commandant’s List, and I was about to be out on the street. The last thing I needed right then was to go back to Fort Leonard Wood as a failure. I would never make the next rank if I didn’t complete ALC anyway.

Also, most likely this might mean I would lose my current rank because I failed to meet the prerequisites. I sent Shanisha a message on Facebook, explaining everything to her. She had always been there for me no matter what. I knew she wasn’t about to let me fail school or live in my car. All I could do now was hope and pray that she got the message in time. I couldn’t believe I was going through all this while I was at school and the person who was supposed to have my back was my enemy. I was on the edge, I was ready to quit and just go home, but I knew that wasn’t the right answer. Even if I did quit and run home, my problems would only get worse. I had to finish this. The next day in class I just stayed to myself. I really didn’t want to talk to anyone. After losing my position as lead motivator, having to face all those haters made me sick to my stomach. I hated to lose at anything and knowing all this could have been avoided if I didn’t have to deal with Lauren and the money issues taught me a lesson. I learned that no matter what, all you have is yourself in the end so make sure you’re taken care of. Finally, Shanisha texted me saying she got my message and she was going to send me the money. I just had to wait until she had a chance to send it. All day long I was worried, and I was hungry. Even though Shanisha said she was going to look out for me, I still had to use my money wisely. So, I refused to eat yet and it was making me very uncomfortable and irritable. I had too much on my mind; I just wanted a normal life like everyone else. Why did my life have to be so extraordinary? Why couldn’t everything be simple and easy like it was for everyone else? I knew why: because we create our own nightmares, and I created this one when I rushed here to school instead of ensuring my family was taken care of. I was in a dream. I pulled up to my lodging and waited for Shanisha’s call. I’d just spent my last eight dollars on a pack of cigarettes, a bag of popcorn, and a drink. I was sulking in my misery and I just sat and listened to Brian McKnight’s “Baby It’s You” over and over again while I searched my mind for other options. Then Shanisha called. She told me she sent me a thousand dollars, and I was so happy I could have kissed her. She saved me. I was watching all my dreams slip away slowly every day, and she saved me. Now I could graduate and go home. The pain from having my goals in my

hands, then watching them slip away, created a humbled and more focused attitude in me. I was tired of talking and barely producing, and from that day forth, I would produce before I said anything. I will accomplish the mission, then I will say “I told you so” if I felt it deemed necessary. The remaining ten days of class went as expected and Lauren came down for graduation. It hurt badly that I didn’t achieve any of the goals I had set for school, but I used that as clarity for the future, and motivation toward my ultimate goals. Once again, I made a few friends and many more enemies. It was my life’s story. Because of my mistakes and misfortunes, they had won the battle. But I was still determined to win the war!

5 Kata - a system of individual training exercises for practitioners of karate and other martial arts. 6 Chi is the Chinese word used to describe “the natural energy of the universe.” This energy, though called “natural,” is spiritual or supernatural, and is part of a metaphysical, not an empirical, belief system. “New Agers” often refer to this energy as subtle energy. Chi is thought to permeate all things, including the human body, where it allegedly flows along meridians that are unobservable by even our most powerful machinery. Such metaphysical systems are generally referred to as types of vitalism. One of the key concepts related to Chi is the concept of harmony. Trouble, whether in the universe or in the body, is a function of disharmony, of things being out of balance and in need of restoration to equilibrium. —The Skeptic’s Dictionary

Chapter Three

Divine Right

“Competence is my watchword. My two basic responsibilities will remain uppermost in my mind; The accomplishment of my mission and the welfare of my soldiers.” - The Creed of the Non-Commissioned Officer

When I got back to Fort Lost-in-the-Woods I finally found the motivation I needed to buy into the army way of things. I understood what it meant to invest in your career and create progress out of effort. I had a new agenda: eliminate all competition, work harder than everyone else, and enroll in college. What I’d just gone through in school had a serious impact on my way of thinking. It took my motivation and initiative to new heights. I knew every step I had to take to get to the next level; The main part was to get into SLC as soon as possible. I just struggled for six weeks, and I had the crown in the palm of my hands and I let it slip away. I’ll never forget that experience, and I’ll never forget their faces. First things first: get in the best shape I have ever been in. I visualized my end result and I began training. I was running or riding my bike everywhere I could. In the mornings for PT, I found the fastest person in the company and challenged him or her in some way. I had to make sure I was one of the strongest soldiers in the battalion, and I wanted to motivate everyone else. This way I knew I would get their best. If I couldn’t beat that person in an exercise or event, I would challenge him or her every time I saw them at PT. I used PT as a social method and I made a lot of friends this way. It made PT

fun. I made a lot of enemies doing this also. Haters were everywhere, lurking and plotting. Instead of ing in and winning, haters would rather shut you down completely. So many NCOs tried to tell me I was out of regulations with flutter kicks and other exercises. But I wasn’t holding organized PT; I was doing flutter kicks during waiting times or in between sprints. I needed to keep my heart rate up. Other soldiers just ed in to show motivation. I didn’t order anyone to do anything. I was a little arrogant, and I wanted everyone who saw me doing PT to know that I wanted it more badly than they did, and I knew that the first thing to do to get recognized in the army is through physical fitness. So not only did I push myself, I pushed my soldiers hard, too. I took them along for the ride. I had no fear when it came down to PT, and I wanted my soldiers to emulate my spirit. Spc. Boat was the fastest in the company; he was running 2 miles in 11 minutes. He was tall and in great shape. I couldn’t beat him in a sprint or in distance running, but I tried to every morning just to give him some competition and to show him participative leadership. I treated all the soldiers in the dining facility equally, but I had grown somewhat accustomed to Boat. He and I shared similar culture and ways of life. He had a wife and a child. He also had music and entertainment dreams. I saw a little of myself in him and I wanted to see him get all he deserved out of the army. Spc. Boat was a little arrogant. I could relate to him in this way. I understood his confidence came from his physical fitness and sports performances, but he lacked technical skill on the job side. I wanted to help him with this. My goal was to make him better at his military profession as well as mentor him in other aspects of life. My next goal was to be the best cook in the army, or at least the best cook here at Fort Leonard Wood. Being great at your job is the second-best thing to accomplish in the army, Being a responsible leader is the first. Soldiers always someone in their unit that was great at their job…especially a cook. I started to study cooking shows all day long, reading cooking magazines, and preparing an assortment of dishes at work and at home. My knowledge was growing fast and my ability to retain information pushed me past the other NCOs in the building.

I can credit most of that to the monatomic gold I started taking a few weeks ago. It had my brain working like a superhighway. Even my dreams were becoming more vivid and enlightening. I made sure my shift was preparing high-quality, nutritious meals that looked good and taste good. I still had a problem with cooking too much and supervising to little. I’d always fall behind on my paperwork because I stayed in the kitchen. I knew I needed to fix that as soon as possible but I loved to cook so much and our shifts had very little experience to get the daily mission completed. I was trapped between a rock and a hard place, so I chose to lead by example in hopes that the shifts would learn quickly before I got into trouble for lack of supervision. I was showing the advanced soldiers the shortcuts, like how to prep your entire lunch meal during breakfast. On high-traffic days like special meals, most likely you have multiple additional products on your menu. In our situation, we had under-trained soldiers. I had to implement earlier preparation times without affecting the current meal. It was very simple to do, especially if you knew every recipe on your production schedule. This way you could identify the difficult products and supervise or prepare it yourself. Then you figured out a plan on how to prepare a product without jamming up ovens or kettles; this could slow down the flow of food for your current meal. After that, it was all about the placement of your soldiers and proper supervision. Set 30 to 60-minute checkpoints, meaning: make a checklist of your overall vision of the meal. Include shift leader duties and other special areas of concern and go to work. Hitting checkpoints will ensure you correctly perform HAC procedures, keep a proper warmer count, and monitor the shift. One major obstacle that can’t be ed for is individual personalities and current emotions. Sometimes people come in with bad attitudes, no motivation to work, or are under massive amount of stress. Being a shift leader, you must have interpersonal skills to ensure you keep your shift’s climate under control as well as manage and listen to your cooks’ problems while keeping them productive. Some shift leaders ran the shift with an iron fist, meaning they barely interacted with their cooks, while others got too friendly and lost respect. There was a happy medium that must be identified quickly to maintain a good climate.

After a few weeks, the shift fell right into a groove. Now I looked for deficiencies, I challenged each person on shift in a competition using those deficiencies in a positive way. I made it into a form of a game and rewarded those who won. I could identify the motivated soldiers and be fair and impartial. I was multitasking. I was training soldiers on preparing meats all the while I was cooking three or four products myself and running the shift. I was unstoppable, and the more I did it, the more I wanted to do more. I realized that my ability to do so many things simultaneously didn’t solely rely on my creativity; my memory played a big part also. I have the ability to memorize music quickly and retain it for years. I can tastes and ingredients; I can go to a restaurant and learn a recipe just off of taste. I have 95% of the army’s recipe cards memorized, from soups to pastries. As I mentioned before, my last set goal was to enroll into college. I completed everything I had to do and submitted it. I was afraid I wasn’t going to get in. I just didn’t see myself as a Full Sail University (“FSU”) student, but I wanted it more than anything. Lauren was already two months into school and she was on the right path. I knew if I wanted to excel in anything, I needed college. Life was good, but my past was still haunting me in numerous ways. With home life and marriage, I felt like I was walking on eggshells most of the time. I didn’t want to make Lauren upset in any way. I was a natural horny toad. I wanted to have sex at least twice a day every day, and after being with Shanisha for five years I became spoiled. Shanisha could read my mind. She would and could satisfy me at any moment. I became accustomed to that and I looked for that in every woman after her. And so, all day long I was ensuring that I kept Lauren happy in hopes of getting some bedroom action every night. One night, after Lauren and I had our way with one another, I had a dream. I had a dream about going to huge concert and it was being held in a beautiful arena. Thousands of people flocked inside, and I wandered aimlessly amongst them. I wasn’t fully aware of what I was doing there, but I was there. I followed the crowd inside to the arena. I sat in my seat and waited for the show to begin. The lights went dark and then I heard a car start up. The engine was loud and deep. It caught my attention. The

lights slowly came on and a beat started to play. I saw this artist drive on stage in a nice car. While he was driving around the center stage, he was rapping. The song he was singing to was so catchy that it had me nodding along. I it clear as day. It had real content, was not just blabbering random words to a hot beat. He was rapping about riding in his car with his girl, and the hook had the words “beating down the block” in it. I’m sure it was a reference to the bass from his speakers while he drove through the hood. It was genius and creative. I sat there in the audience studying his lyrics, memorizing them. Then I awoke with my heart pounding and chills running up my spine. I jumped out of bed, found a notebook, and started writing. Lauren and the kids were already awake and out and about. I was in a trance, writing like a zombie. I stole every idea I could from that artist in my dream. I’m not sure who he was, or what he was supposed to symbolize, but this wouldn’t be the last time we would meet. We met so many times before that, I am sure of it. And we met many times after that. This had happened frequently enough that at times expected it. I would dream about going to a concert or getting into a rap cypher at some random place, and I would hear a song from him or spit a verse I felt was inspired by him. Then I would wake up and try to it. I kept a notebook and pen next to my bed to write the words down when they came. One night, Lauren came into the room and asked what I was doing. I told her without taking a moment to stop about the man, the dreams, and the verses. I barely even stopped writing to address her questions. It was pouring out so fast. Within an hour I had a hook and a verse. It was called “Beating Down the Block,” just like the song I dreamed about. Later that day I finished the entire song and went to work on the beat. The concept was genius: songs about cars always do well, and I’d just hit the motherload⁷ on content. By the end of the day I had the beat completed and the song recorded. It was hot, and I loved it. I needed to learn to clear up my vocals; everything was fine except the vocal levels and frequencies. The difference between other rap artists and myself is I utilize clarity. I have a very soft voice, so I enunciate when I rhyme. I hold notes longer and I try to get the full word out from start to finish. Most rappers can’t do this, and this is why a lot of white people don’t listen to rap. It’s not because

they’re racist always; most of the time it’s because they can’t understand the lyrics to the damn song. I rehearsed constantly, identifying breathing points so I could maximize clarity on every word. I sounded great live, but I couldn’t get my recordings to have that same quality. It had always been that way with my recordings; my beats sounded great while they were on the synthesizer and my lyrics and delivery were always on point, but when it came to levels and equalizing and adding the proper effects, it always went wrong. That was exactly why I needed to get into school. It was necessary to learn the right way. I still loved it and I couldn’t wait to let someone hear it. Lauren liked my music but she didn’t react like I expected. She was never really into my music as much as she was into her exes’ and other established artists’ music. Her likeness to my music was almost “check the block-ish.” By this I mean, just because she was my woman, she showed just enough excitement to keep me happy. It pissed me off and hurt at first, but I was used to it at this point. One day I’d show her. One day she and everyone else would respect my art and music. I knew that Full Sail was one of the most prestigious arts schools in America. Full Sail’s alumni consisted of many of today’s hottest music composers, video game designers, film writers, and artists. It was an honor to attend this school even if it was online. I knew it would increase my skill level and eventually take me further. The question was if I would be able to take 3 full classes a month while attending to my already overwhelming schedule and responsibilities. Either way I knew I had no choice. I wanted my dream and I was willing to do whatever it took to make my dreams come true. After weeks of gathering documents and filling out forms, I finally got in. I lost my damned mind. I was so happy I had to tell everyone. I told my section and soldiers at the DFAC about the program. Two soldiers were interested: my soldier Specialist Boat and Private Books. Boat had been in for more than two years and he was eligible. Books had to wait another year to become eligible. Since the steps to enroll were still fresh on my mind, my guidance was effective, and Boat enrolled fast. He was going to start at the same time I was, with the same classes. That was great; I had someone to work with, compete with, and bounce ideas off of. I felt my love for music reconstitute inside of me. I was freestyling and writing again.

I started to visualize performances and ideas again, too. This time I wasn’t doing it to slow down or quit, either; this time was the final push. This time I was determined to make a name for myself in the entertainment industry. That weekend, I remodeled my music room again. I was about to get all the newest gear, the final tools I’d need to finally produce quality music. I hate myself for pas all the opportunities I’d had for music, sacrificing everything for the army. I knew I needed to finish out my army career, yet at the same time I worried I would be too old to chase a music career after I retired? I already had naysayers telling me I was too old to be a hip-hop artist. A month later, I received an Apple MacBook Pro, tons of software, and a midi interface. To add the juiciest of cherries on top, I had ProTools 10. needless to say, I felt like a boss. One of the best music production software packages in the world. My first class was digital literacy, learning how to understand my equipment, creating professional documents and podcasts. I needed to get my life together. I felt like a professional and I wanted to work like one. Things were great, Lauren and I were back to normal, and we were starting to save a little money again. I couldn’t wait until I got reimbursed for all the money I spent while I was in school; that should put us back on track. Work was going well, and I thought this might be a good start to a great future. As I mentioned earlier, Missouri was kind of beautiful in the fall. The weather was nice and all colors from the fallen leaves decorated the ground with vibrant oranges, reds and browns. I decided to get the family bikes, so we could all ride together and get into shape. Plus, it was a great way to spend time with each other. I was trying to do more with the family, be a better father to the kids. I didn’t want any more obstacles in my path. I wanted to live right and healthy. The dining facility was calm and relaxed. But there were talks of us taking over the building completely, removing all the civilian cooks and operating under total military control. The plan was to be effective by a week before Thanksgiving, in 40 days! Thanksgiving is the biggest event of the year for a dining facility. I didn’t see that transition working out too well, because most of the cooks hadn’t been trained or been in their field for a very long time. It looked easy now because we only had a quarter of the workload. I saw a disaster about to happen. It wouldn’t affect me, though. In fact, this was perfect. Now we would really get to see who could “Put up or shut up.” I already knew what was to come, and I

was fully prepared for it. This Thanksgiving meal was estimated to have a headcount of 700+, because it was going to be the soldiers’ first event in total control of that building. It was going to be a huge spectacle. Decor and displays had to be prepared in advance, and the food had to be flawless. Each unit’s command team would attend also, in their dress uniforms. They would greet diners and post up on the serving line. Most of them would plate and serve to show appreciation. Thanksgiving is always great exposure for the dining facility and the soldiers. This was when I made my money. I got to train soldiers on products and edible displays while getting that shine, I need from my leaders. So, I had a plan for my soldiers and Sgt. Willis did, too. He was a great leader and he listened to my ideas. He gave me room to explore, lead, and fail but always caught me before anyone else noticed my shortcomings. Best of all, he displayed a participative leadership style, and for soldiers at our level and occupation, it was the only style respected. Others talked a good game but never did shit. We worked double time to prepare for the change over. It was becoming a huge spectacle, too. The dining facility was in the front of post by the NCO academy. Our brigade was in the middle of the post and our barracks was somewhat close to the brigade area. The soldiers in our brigade weren’t assigned to eat in our facility. They could eat there but it was far away, and there were other civilian-run facilities closer to them. I was positioned as a shift leader again, and I knew it. Only three of the staff sergeants had the skills to handle it. There were two shifts of about 11 soldiers to prepare and serve meals for a headcount of about 600 a meal. We had a decent crew overall. I was just skeptical about some the NCOs. They seemed a little unattached and uninvolved. SSG. Digg was the other shift leader. He was in the 193rd Battalion. SSG. Digg had been the army for a long time. Much longer than me. He was a big fat black man from Brooklyn. He wouldn’t use the word “fat,” but rather “big boned.” But he had this thing where he leaned up on the wall in the kitchen while he yelled at the soldiers. We all worried about the wall caving in. He seemed cool to me. Sgt. Dillard was a strong leader. He was West Indian and he had some hood swagger in him. He always did his job and worked with the soldiers. He was a decent chef but an excellent leader, and he was always very professional. SFC. Lakewood was the dining facility manager and the NCOIC of

193rd. She’d just made the rank of Sergeant First Class, and it showed. She was a follower and a partial leader. I understood her position, though; she lucked out on a manager position, so she needed help and from everyone she can get. Sgt. Kicsun was the NCOIC of rations and one of the MP companies. Like I said, by all appearances he seemed cool. He was also my neighbor and lived two houses down from me. He was definitely unattached, and he couldn’t give a rat’s ass about our operation. He was a problem but was about to PCS somewhere else anyway. SFC. Path was the NCOIC of 5th engineers. I knew him from Fort Riley. His demeanor was always laid back, but he was an efficient soldier. He was a “soldier’s leader” and he took care of his troops at all cost. He was a slim white man with a hell of a smile. I loved SFC. Path; I knew he knew what he was doing. SFC. Trixgul was the NCOIC of . She was my A.I.T. instructor back in 2002 when I reclassed to become a cook. She was always a strong leader and she took care of all the soldiers. Even though she turned her life over to God and became a devout Christian, she didn’t take any shit and she would let you have it at a drop of a dime. SFC. Rivers was the NCOIC of the 92nd MP. He was a pretty boy. He was a weak leader, though; I had to keep his soldiers off of him at work. He did know his job as an NCO, but he was trash as a chef. There were a lot of soldiers, and some of them were new to the army. Overall, we had more than enough bodies to run the operation. As we all got used to working together, true skill showed its face and tensions grew high in the DFAC really quickly. Everyone was challenging everyone else. NCOs were talking about each other in front of soldiers. Menus were wrong, rations were falling apart, and the soldiers weren’t used to that high workload. Some of the soldiers had true skills while others had raw talents. A few of the soldiers had a high-energy work ethic which was all I needed to train them, but the rest of the soldiers were lazy as hell and couldn’t boil water right. I was in the trenches with all the troops, so all my soldiers were on their “A” game. We made it work and the changeover came and went. It was starting to feel like a normal dining facility now. Soldiers began to understand real work, even though we didn’t work weekends.

One day Lauren opened my mail and read the outcome of my child case for Felicity and Teresa. I had to pay more than I’d expected, and she was upset. She came and talked to me about it and it turned into an argument. She wasn’t happy with how much I had to pay. I didn’t understand why, though. It was done and over with at this point. There was no need to make it worse. My kids needed , and this was the best time to start it. I had to have a paper trail before Akasha tried another dirty trick. I was content with the outcome. My girls had been back and forth from Akasha’s care to their grandparents’ care. I couldn’t send money to them twice, because Akasha decided to keep the money but the girls were with their grandparents. Sometimes I would get into heated arguments with their grandparents because they wanted me to send them more money when they had the girls and Akasha wasn’t giving them any of the money. I was tired of arguing with people over money! I had to alleviate some of the issues and this was one of them. This way, I could finally have a paper trail and ensure that if the girls didn’t receive the , all I had to do was notify the child agency. It had been a long 12 years going back and forth with Akasha over the girls and dealing with the stress that came with it. I was glad it was over, but Lauren only saw more money lost. That was a damn shame that we had to argue over me ing my children. She was fully aware of them before we decided to engage in this relationship together. What made it more fucked up was the fact that I ed my children, and her, and her child, but her child’s dad didn’t pay child . But I was wrong for making sure my children had what they needed. It wasn’t like we were broke; we still had money. We were still doing fine, but she was upset that we didn’t have more money. Everybody wanted more money. Everybody on the planet was looking for ways to get more money. In order for us to get more money we need to love and each other so that we can build together and earn more money. She didn’t understand that concept and I’m beginning to believe I might have made a mistake and I really prayed I was wrong about it. A few days before Thanksgiving, tensions were high. I knew it was about to be mayhem in DFAC. We weren’t ready for the high-volume traffic. The seniors made too many promises on the side and put too many items on the menu. It had

been too long since most of the seniors had worked in a large garrison facility that was totally run by the military. I just pushed through. I’d seen worse. It was in my nature to motivate those around me, so I did what I do best. I did whatever it took to motivate the soldiers. I knew how to run shift; it was all I’d ever done, besides a few months in or running night baking. Rumors were spreading throughout all the DFACs on post that Tommy’s Place was failing. It was true; meals were coming out late, rations were fucking up orders, and the quality of food had declined. The spotlight hit the DFAC. Things needed to pick up. SFC. Lakeway did her best to maintain food preparation standards but she was falling short on fairness. She was showing favoritism to her 193rd soldiers and shitting on everyone else. Plus, the NCOs weren’t putting in the work that the soldiers were putting in, and it was becoming an issue. The soldiers started complaining because they felt that it wasn’t fair for the NCOs to not show up to PT or barely do anything on shift. I felt their argument and after a few weeks of being one of the few NCOs to put in work, I was in agreement with them. The Art of War taught us to care for our troops. They were the backbone of your force. Undisciplined officers and NCOs mistreated their soldiers and weakened the force internally. Being fair and impartial was one of the main factors in troop-leading procedures. Some of the NCOs in the DFAC had no clue to what they were doing to their own troops. This was bullshit. Only two of the Sergeant first classes would do PT; the rest were nowhere to be found and I was forced to counsel the soldiers if they missed PT or work. I kept my mouth closed at first. I didn’t want to start any drama just yet. I wanted them to fix the issues without anyone saying anything to them. Over the next few weeks, I trained soldiers and studied hard for the board. I cooked dinner almost every night after I got home, regardless of how tired I was. I wanted this marriage to work, so I was willing to sacrifice everything for it. For once, I had the life I always wanted. My wife was a dime, my finances were coming together, and I was in the perfect position for promotion. Once I won this board, I would be noticed by everyone in my chain of command and on my way to E-7. I was notified I needed to see the school’s NCO about my travel voucher. After shift was over, I went to my battalion. I took a seat and waited my turn to see the school’s NCO. I loved my battalion; everyone was so

engaged and professional. My turn came, and I sat down at the desk while he pulled up my DTS (travel pay). He turned the computer towards me and showed me that I owed the army $400.00! I asked him, “How? How did I end up owing the army after what I just went through?” He explained further, saying that everything would have equaled out if I hadn’t been there an extra week. I just shook my head. I couldn’t believe this shit. Lauren was going to have a fit once I told her, too. There was nothing I could do, and I still owed people. I was waiting to get my reimbursement to pay them. “Fuck,” I said. I had to let it go and stop dwelling on what couldn’t be changed. I went back to work thinking about how I was going to tell Lauren. It was going to be a bad weekend. Lauren and I had been going back and forth the weekend before the board. That money loss was tearing us apart slowly. I was scared we were in the danger zone and I didn’t know how to react. We were fighting one minute and loving each other the next minute. It was driving me insane because all I wanted to do was be next to her. I enjoyed my time at home with Lauren and the kids. I looked forward to having my one-on-one time with her, too. Eating and watching a good movie was our favorite pastime. We had been spending a lot of time apart in separate rooms lately, and I missed her smile and her laugh. All I got now when I saw her was an occasional halfway smile or that snarl she gave when she was mad. I couldn’t help but think that she was really mad over money, because every time we had money, she was happy. We had fun and make love, and everything was fine. But when we didn’t have any money, or needed money for something, she was edgy. She got irritable and distant. I had been noticing it for a while now. It had happened too many times in the past for her to deny it, too. The funny thing was we weren’t really hurting that badly for anything, and once I got promoted, everything would be great! I guess that wasn’t the point to her, though. She was saying I didn’t appreciate her and all she did. I needed her to explain that, because I didn’t understand how that was the argument. She claimed that everything she did while I was at work was a serious workload. I understood that; I was married twice before. She said I was beginning to take her for granted. I didn’t understand how, or what was I doing to make her think that.

All she could say was that all I wanted was sex. She never elaborated other than that I took her for granted because her workload at home was a lot for her to handle. So, I defended myself based on those reasons, naturally, I told her I understood that she had the kids all day long. She also kept the house clean, and it was a big house. She handled most or all of the bills, but it had been that way since we got together. So, I understood that she had a lot on her plate, plus she was going to school online. I never took any of that for granted, though, so I didn’t understand. I then explained my workload to her, trying to let her know it was 50/50. I wasn’t having her slave for me. I was out here grinding too. I tried to carefully explain it, almost Barney style, so I could ensure she fully understood my pain. She had two people to manage all day: the kids. I had anywhere from 8 to 15 people I had to manage all day, and I had to do it. I went on and on, comparing my day to hers. It wasn’t a competition; I wanted her to know that my day was just as stressful as hers, and I didn’t bring it home. I was happy to be home, plus she didn’t do all the work in the house. I cleaned also, just not as much because I was at work for 12-plus hours a day. I wanted her to know that it wasn’t a competition. We were in this together. She thought I was leaving her hanging, and only worrying about the army. She didn’t understand that as a first line supervisor and soon-to-be NCOIC, I had to be flexible. Anything could happen with any one of my soldiers at any time, and I would have to be the first responder. Plus, if I had to close the DFAC, I could be there well after 8:00 p.m. because I had to wait until the civilians were done cleaning. I would still come home and cook on my late nights, after she had been home all day. She knew that our schedule alternated, meaning from late shift to early shift, so I had to be back at work at 4:15 a.m. when I got off late. On the days I got off early, I would try to get some sleep if I didn’t have mandatory training or vehicle maintenance after shift. I was busting my ass to get promoted, and it felt like she was trying to stop the process. She just didn’t think our contributions to the family were equal, and I didn’t understand why. Sooner or later the conversation became another argument because neither of us felt like we were getting our points across to the other. We’d start yelling and not allowing each other to talk, and then we would go to separate rooms for the rest of the night. I would go into the studio and do homework or work on some

music while she would stay in the bedroom and do homework or watch T.V. It was becoming more and more frequent most of the time I was at home, and we both used it as an excuse for avoiding conflict, but we just couldn’t stand each other. Eventually, I would break first and go apologize, because she would never apologize. It just never happened, not even when we first began dating, Lauren would never apologize for anything. So, if I wanted to let the bullshit go and move on, I had to go apologize. Even if she was dead wrong and I had my attitude for a little while, I would still have to go apologize to her just to get past it. I was ready to get past it now. I had the division board on Monday and I didn’t want to leave on bad . I understood that we both had our attitudes and feelings, but there came a time to let it go. We just couldn’t get past the bullshit and I could feel the tension building, because every little thing I said or did was making her upset. I was just going to avoid conflict and stay in the music room and study until it was time for bed. She called me into the room to talk, so I shut down the studio and went into the room. I told myself I was not going to say anything. I was going to be absolutely quiet until she was totally finished. She talked for about four minutes before she was finished, and then I addressed the issues she pointed out. She only let me talk for about 30 seconds before she cut me off. I pointed out how long I let her talk, because we needed rules to have a civil conversation. So, when I walked into the room, I looked at the clock. She thought I was being funny and that only angered her. I felt like I had nowhere to go with her. I was confined, trapped with no outlet, and no way to express myself. On top of that, I wanted to make love to my wife. It had been a few days and I was getting frustrated. She knew it, too; she used it as a weapon, not realizing she was only adding to my feeling of confinement, making it worse. I felt like I was being manipulated and enslaved with no voice. Before you knew it, it was a full-blown domestic dispute. We started arguing over the same bullshit: money, Facebook friends, and past issues. The whole neighborhood had to have heard us, too. It was embarrassing. Then, to prove her point that I did not appreciate her, she said she was leaving. Right there in the middle of the night she was about wake up Allen and leave, knowing I had to leave for Fort Riley in the morning. I couldn’t take Savior with me, either, and I didn’t have any childcare for three days with such short notice. So, she wasn’t teaching me a lesson, she was fucking me and our family, over pride. She was willing to abandon me and my child to prove a fucking point! My

battalion had already paid for this trip, it wasn’t like I could just tell them I couldn’t go. I didn’t abandon her in her times of need. I was starting to believe that she didn’t love my son like I loved her son. Sure enough, she walked out the door at 2:00 a.m. with Allen, leaving Savior crying in his bed. That was enough for me. The children didn’t have anything to do with our shit, and Savior needed stability just like Allen did. I stayed up all night worried about her and what she was doing. I wondered if she was going to come home or not. I tried to talk to her, but she would only talk if I didn’t speak or she would hang up. She knew I needed her, and she exploited it as an advantage. I was furious, but I had to be quiet. After a while, I became resentful and just said, “Fuck it. I’m not about to let you dictate the situation like this, and I can’t say shit. This isn’t fair, so, whatever,” and she hung up on me. I stayed up all night thinking about what I was going to do. I wasn’t about to leave my child with anyone. Instead, I decided to just bite the bullet and not go. I was going to call SFC. Willis in the morning. About 8:00 a.m., Lauren came home. She was still mad, and she barely spoke. All she said was, “go.” In my mind I’m saying, “Hell no! I at least need to know that you’re going to treat my son right while I’m gone.” So, I said it. She got mad again as if I shouldn’t have said it, but what did she expect? I needed to know that she wasn’t going to take her anger out on my son over the next three days. She just looked at me and said, “Go!” I just shook my head and got dressed. I didn’t want it to go back to last night. SFC. Willis pulled up and I got in the car. She didn’t even kiss me good luck or goodbye. She just slammed the door behind me. We had a six-hour drive ahead of us. During that entire ride I thought about Lauren and our future. I had a lot of time on my hands and a lot to think about. It was more of a struggle than I had imagined. Plus returning to Kansas was something of a trip in and of itself. I could barely even study on that ride. The consequences in my mind were piling up. I had to relax, somehow, someway. I was told years later by a therapist that crying was a good thing, but I was a man. I needed another way to handle my troubles. I awoke as we pulled into Junction City, Kansas It was here, in the middle of

butt-fuck nowhere, that I found a lot of things that I thought were once lost. My mind opened up under the quiet winds that graced the empty road we drove on. And the scenery of the flat fields of Kansas opened the floodgates of memories long forgot. All of the memories of Daphne rushed back. They flooded the streets of my dreams and ripped the trees of reason from the roots of logic. I could feel the mud soothing eerily across my brain. The flood was powerful, and so much so, that in that particular moment I drown in the recall waters. The flood must have materialized and reached my eyes. My tear ducts were at full capacity. It created a tension in my head. I fought it so hard, to the point of migraine. To say I felt like crying was the understatement of the year. Somewhere along the line I fell for that societal norm. I learned that grown men don’t cry. So instead of letting the flood pour, I held back the driving rain to suppress, suppress, suppress! Between Lauren, our fights, and coming back to cornfields, windmills, rolling hills, and towns with populations lower than tears on my cheeks it was all so overwhelming. Crying wasn’t going to bring Daphne back. The only decision I had to make in the disorder of that minute (or minutes?) was to not cry. Especially not in front of Lauren. I won’t let you know what happened. Otherwise, I lose might lose my manliness. That’s how it goes, right America?

Flashback

Fort Riley, Kansas

-March 2006-

Pondering and wondering. I was sitting outside on the stairs wondering and wondering about everything that happened. I had nothing else to do while I waited to be released. I just got out of a three-week field training exercise. Shanisha had finally arrived at Fort Riley; we’d been on the brink of an annulment just a month ago. I wanted a divorce because she cheated weeks before we got married. I felt like I never got the whole truth about the situation from her, and slowly over time it destroyed my soul. For months I resented her. I just couldn’t let it go. Finally, I decided to file for divorce and I moved on. I met a beautiful woman by the name of Daphne two months ago. We became very close; she was exactly what I needed, when I needed it. But I had to break up with her when Shanisha convinced me our marriage was worth more. After a year-long separation, Shanisha was finally here at Fort Riley. I wished I’d been sent to Fort Benning instead, but this was just as good. She got here while I was in the field, and today was my first day back. So, as I sat there, I thought about them both. I was falling for Daphne; we were very compatible. It hurt to have to leave her, but I owed it to Shanisha to give our marriage a chance after being separated for so long. Finally, we get released. I grabbed my bags and I headed to the car. “Whoo whoo!” I was free, and it was Friday! As I approached my car, my cell phone rang, and it was Daphne. I really didn’t feel like that right then. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I had to talk to her and clarify some things. I answered the phone and she sounded…happy. She said, “Solomon…oh my, God, Solomon…I’m pregnant!” I dropped my bags. “What the fuck! How?” I screamed. She didn’t understand it either; her sickle cell anemia had destroyed her reproductive system. At least that what her doctor had been telling her since she’d had her, for the last 10 years. She never got pregnant in her past, and her hormones were out of balance also. I stood there, silent, listening to her excitement. She didn’t care that I’d broken up with her. She was happy that she was able to have a child. She always told me, “I’m going to show you that I’m the one for you, and I’m going to prove it by giving you your only boy.” I didn’t pay her any mind; I knew she couldn’t get

pregnant. I sat in the hospital with her for countless hours, listening and learning about her condition. I guessed she was right. Her doctor had no answer either. I was happy, but I was sad. I had a serious dilemma on my hands. The crazy part about the whole situation was that not only was Shanisha here, she drove to New York and brought back my girls. They were in a bad situation with their mother and they needed to stay with me for a while. I hadn’t seen them in four months. I got into my car, put my head on the steering wheel, and cried my eyes out. What the fuck was I going to do now, and what was I going to tell Shanisha? I had no solutions this time. The shit just hit the fan and I got splattered! I picked myself up and drove home. During the whole ride, I grew more scared as I got closer to home. I was fucked up; my mind was spinning. I couldn’t decide on what to do once I walked through that door. I had Shanisha on my mind. I knew I was about to break her heart. How did I tell her this? I walked through the door and the kids rushed me they jumped into my arms. I was so happy to see them. I couldn’t believe that Shanisha drove all the way to New York and got them. After we reconnected, I took a long shower. I was filthy from the field and I needed time to myself to think. Shanisha knew something was wrong with me. It was written all over my face no matter how hard I tried to play it off. I couldn’t eat dinner without stopping to daydream about everything that was going on. Shanisha caught me drifting in and out of deep thought and asked me what was on my mind. Finally, later that evening, I couldn’t hold it back anymore. My conscience was killing me every time I looked at her, or every time my phone rang. I had to get it off my chest; I couldn’t lie anymore. We were alone in bed and the kids were in their rooms, asleep. Shanisha wanted to make love of course, and so did I. But I couldn’t do it, knowing I had this issue on my mind. She deserved to know, and I couldn’t make love to her before I told her the truth. Right before she attempted to give me head, I stopped her. I told her to have a seat and hear me out before she exploded. She agreed, and I told her. I just came right out with it and waited for the blows to land. She didn’t even cry. She wanted to, but she just said her piece and let it go. It shocked the hell out of me, I didn’t expect that reaction at all. She was very upset, but she acted very mature about the situation.

We sat and talked about the next steps and what would be the right way to handle helping Daphne with the baby without putting our marriage in peril. After we talked it all over and came to an agreement, we made love and it was so good! It felt good to have her and not have to fight. It made me love her even more. A few days later Daphne had an episode, and she was hospitalized. Her sickle cell anemia was getting worse, and she would spend more and more time in the hospital. She needed blood, and she was going to be sitting in the hospital for days until she got it. She was in her second trimester and she wasn’t feeling good about herself. Being 21 and always in the hospital made her depressed a little. She wanted some food and some company. I snuck to see her a few times before she was hospitalized, but this time I needed to stay with her for a few hours and play cards with her or something to help her feel better. I couldn’t lie to Shanisha about it. I had to tell her. When Shanisha came home later that day, I told her that Daphne was in the hospital and I needed a few hours to take her some food and talk to her for a while. Shanisha didn’t agree; she felt that my only duty to Daphne was child . She didn’t want me to see her at all. She didn’t care if she died. I couldn’t do that; I couldn’t sit by and watch my child’s mother suffer like that. Especially while she was pregnant with my child! We got into a serious argument. It was one of the worst fights we ever had. Our arguments were becoming physical and I didn’t need any domestic violence charges because she couldn’t control herself. I just walked out and went for a drive. I couldn’t believe she was being that way. It wasn’t like I was still sleeping with Daphne. I just wanted to be there for her and my son while she was sick. This wasn’t the way I wanted this to go, and I wasn’t about to let someone tell me how to treat my child and his mother. I knew what I needed to do. I didn’t want to but I had no choice. I drove home and sat Shanisha down again to try to get her to see the entire situation and not just her biased view. She still didn’t want to hear what I had to say, and I was out of energy. I just left it alone. I made my choice and stuck to it. I went to see Daphne anyway, and if Shanisha wanted to fight about it. Oh well.

7 OTherwise referred to as FUCKLOAD

Chapter Four

Warrior

“I am a warrior, destined to be king! True power manifests itself within the soul, cultivating the inner being. With strength I shall endure, with love I shall find inner peace. Combined I will achieve my ultimate goal.” ~Wolfox Creed

The next day we arrived at the DFAC and I looked around, ing being in this building before. There were a few familiar faces there also, soldiers I served with in my early years. Sgt. Samos was there. He was my dining facility manager in Korea back in 2003. Sgt. Morales was there, too, sponsoring a soldier. He had gotten to Fort Riley a couple of months before I PCS’ed to Georgia. I competed against him at the 8th army board in Korea, when I won. He ed me too. He joked with his soldier and told him he didn’t stand a chance against me. I laughed, Sgt. Morales was a good leader. The board started, and the soldiers went first. There were six of them, so I figured it would take about 90 minutes before they got to us, the NCOs.

I continued to study. I believed you should study all the way up to the time you went into the board. That way you were in question mode when you entered. Everyone else was standing around, chitchatting and bullshitting. I was getting into character and preparing. It was time for the NCOs to start and the first NCO went in. We all waited quietly, hoping to hear something from inside the room. All we could hear was mild grumbles of the NCO creed when that NCO was reciting it to the board . We all knew he had to be shouting at the top of his lungs, so to only hear muffled words told us we weren’t going to hear anything else. They were drilling him in there. The board were serious about their questions. I knew that they were running every trick in the book on us, too. They were playing mind games like asking soldiers to sing, testing their spirit. One by one, NCO after NCO went in and came out, each one looking more disappointed than the last. I was laughing in my head; my overconfidence was turning their ignorance into humor. I always went in close to last because they always went in alphabetical order, so I got a chance to probe everyone after they came out. I didn’t get scared in boards anymore; I knew it was all about performance. As long as you studied the material and retained all of it, all you had to do was be a robot. No smiles, direct eye , and straight answers. As long as you did that and followed basic customs and courtesies while you spoke, you were golden. Don’t let them break your robot character, stay focused and snap out answers. It was a show. You were the actor and the board were the audience. Their purpose was to test your confidence and knowledge under pressure. I was a veteran at this, and I was more than ready. More so, I was extremely confident. My turn came, and I walked up to the door and waited. When I was told to report, I knocked on the door three times, hard as hell. I was the first to do that and it got everyone’s attention. Once I entered the room and measured the distance, I had to march to get to my position to report, I began my march I carefully approached the large table and stopped about 10 feet in front of the president of the board, Sergeant Major Hernandez. After executing my facing movements, I was asked to recite the NCO creed. This was my favorite part. This was my board winner. I recited the NCO creed with precision, I snapped from board member to board member, perfectly pronouncing words and phrases.

I opened all paragraphs with emotion, and I finished sentences with clarity. I had the NCO creed down pat, and I recited it beautifully and with motivation. I took a seat and found that magic position. I was in robot mode from that point on. I recited my biography like a recording, full of enthusiasm and in detail. Then I snapped back into robot mode, ready to withstand the barrage of various questions. Each member of the board asked me 5 to 10 questions, based off of the sections they governed. Sometimes they would throw you a curve ball and ask you something off-subject, but food-related, just to get you to break character. They even asked me to sing the national anthem because I had mentioned I was a singer in my biography. I never broke character, even when they stopped asking me questions and began to have random conversations. I just sat there in robot mode, waiting and not moving a muscle. They asked a few more questions and finally, after 20 minutes of answering questions, I was dismissed. I stood up, rendered my salute, turned, and marched out. I walked out of the board more confident than I did when I entered. The last NCO went in and then we waited to be released for the day, the cooking portion was tomorrow. We went back to the hotel and I took a shower. Immediately afterwards, I called Lauren. She had called me a couple of times during the board, but I ignored her calls to keep my focus. After we argued for 20 minutes and hung up on each other, I grabbed a drink and ordered some food. I ate, and I watched a movie until I fell asleep. Around 8 p.m., Sgt. Flores and Private Black knocked on the door. She had drinks and wanted to play spades. I needed to relax and exercise my mind with some strategy, so I asked Sgt. Williams if he wanted to play and he was in. We drank tequila and played cards. It was fun and relaxing until Lauren called. When she heard the girls and the music, she thought I was out partying. I knew it was about to turn into an argument, so I grabbed my cup and walked outside. I explained to her we were just playing cards, but she insisted I was cheating. I was so sick of being accused of cheating every time a woman was around. Eventually we hung up on each other. It was becoming the norm. We were arguing over the same old stuff, and neither of us gave the other person a chance to talk. It was so frustrating. Our arguments became a game of getting who was right and who was wrong. We had to get “one up” on each other somehow. The next day I woke up ready for war. I had my mind right and my creative juices flowing. I took a shower and went down to the lobby. Master Sergeant Fadelos looked happy this morning, He loved the cooking portion of the competition. I

agreed; it was the best part. We ate breakfast and enjoyed a debate over cooking. All of us thought we were premier chefs. The only one at the table who was humble was Private Black. She only ate her breakfast and laughed at our rambles. After breakfast, we loaded up into our cars and headed out to post. The morning was gloomy and raining. I put on my headphones and listened to music while I forecast my menu, based off of what ingredients I knew they would have. I was hoping for fish as the meat. I knew I would have the advantage. Most army cooks only knew how to bake fish. They rarely had other recipes. I often related the rain to a bad day. I had to shake my thoughts of possibly losing. I had talked too much shit to lose; I had to win or face ridicule when I got back to Fort Leonard Wood. We arrived back at the dining facility on main post and I quickly put on my chef jacket, and everyone laughed. They didn’t take it as seriously as I did, so they wore cook whites. I wanted to intimidate my competition. Everyone gazed at each other, probing and profiling as the sergeant major came out to brief us on the rules. We all stood, listening, giving him our undivided attention. He explained to us how each portion of the board was scored and combined to determine a winner, but before we went into the cooking portion, we had to take a written exam. I was pretty confident I’d won the board yesterday, but the written exam made me nervous. They sprang it on us days before we came here, and we didn’t receive any study material on it. We had to look it up on the internet. I figured the other soldiers were in the same boat as Private Black and I, but I was wrong. All of the Fort Riley soldiers had had the material. This was a multiple-choice test, and I wasn’t anywhere ready for it. I didn’t think this was fair. I had to stay up all night and search the internet for study material. The only things they told us to study were cooking methods and used by the American culinary federation. That was a large area to tell someone to study, just days prior to the board. We sat down at tables with about 10 to 15 feet between us. Then they handed out the test booklet and answer sheets and told us not to look at them until we were told to begin. The booklet was pretty thin. It was only about three or four pages thick. The sergeant major told us to begin and I flipped

over my test, scanning through all the questions and looking to see if I knew any of it. This shit was 40 fucking questions! I barely knew any of the questions they were asking. I did some of the terminology and cooking methods, though, and there were a few of those questions in the test. I began bubbling in the answers I knew. If I knew I had no clue whatsoever, I just took an educated guess and moved on. Some of the questions were basic cooking questions like temperature control points and equipment knowledge. I knew all of those questions, and I was getting it done as best as I could. Once I completed the test, I went outside to call Lauren and smoked a cigarette. We had a decent conversation for once. She sounded excited for me. I didn’t have much time. I finished my smoke, told Lauren I loved her, and went back inside. 10 minutes later, the sergeant major came back out and briefed us on the cooking portion. The rules were simple: each NCO was assigned the soldier from their accompanying unit, and we had 10 minutes to come up with a menu after we looked into our mystery boxes. I’m like “What the fuck?” in my head. I had never been to a board that had teams for the cooking portion. I just went with it, and when we got the signal to begin, we all rushed into the kitchen. Everyone was excited to see what was in the box. It was chicken, potatoes, and asparagus. Once again I was like “What the fuck? this is some simple-ass shit. This board sucks!” I quickly came up with a recipe, one that I always made at home and Lauren loved. Honey ginger chicken, rosemary, garlic roasted potatoes, and asparagus sautéed in garlic, butter, and white wine. After we designed our menu and listed it with one of the judges, we had one hour to prepare it. We had to use a portion of everything in the box and work as a team. We were allotted an extra 10 minutes to plate, garnish, and have our product out in the dining area on the presentation table. We immediately got to it. I gave Private Black the potatoes to dice and told her to get some tomatoes to dice as well. I preheated the oven, started to reduce the wine, added some onions and fresh garlic, and then cleaned the chicken. Once Black was finished with the potatoes and tomatoes, I told her to melt some butter and add salt and garlic to it, then season the potatoes and put them into the oven. I had the chicken seasoned and, in the oven, already, and the wine reduced nicely.

The judges walked around and asked questions while everyone scurried through the small kitchen. 20 minutes left till plating and we were on track. I had created a butter sauce out of the white wine and used it to sauté the asparagus before I thickened it for the chicken. I seasoned the asparagus with lemon juice, garlic, lemon pepper, and sea salt. Private Black used some of the wine and melted butter for the roasted potatoes, but she added fresh rosemary, and a hint of basil and oregano. I followed that by roasting them to a beautiful golden brown. Ten minutes left, and I sauced the chicken. The sauce was perfect in consistency and flavor. The wine and butter blended well with the honey and ginger, and the chicken was cooked perfectly. I had three different dipping sauces. Two were wine-based and butter-based. The other was based in honey and ginger with a touch of peanut. The differences between the two wine and butter sauces was; one was sweet, garlic-flavored and tangy from lemon, and the other was mildly spicy, with orange and honey. Everyone else had begun to take their dishes out to the presentation table when we started plating. Two minutes remaining, and I was putting sauces in dipping bowls. I told Private Black to garnish the plate and take it out while I finished the sauces. 90 seconds left, and she was walking out to the table. I was right behind her carrying two saucers, holding the three dipping sauces. We placed our plates down and snapped to the position of parade rest. I glanced down at our main plate and noticed it was almost completely covered in paprika and garnished with uncooked bay leaves. For the third time today I was saying, “What the fuck?” It had a decent appeal, but it was too much paprika, and it was sprinkled on the outer rim of the plate. The raw bay leaves were a complete no-no. You should never put harmful ingredients on a plate to serve. PFC Black was rushing when she tried to garnish the plate with paprika for color. But too much came out the bottle. I could tell she tried to wipe some of it off. She didn’t have enough time to get it all. She must have just thrown the bay leaves on top of the potatoes out of haste. I was horrified. Sweat was rolling down my face as I constantly looked down at our plate, and then at the judges as they walked from plate to plate. I looked over at the other plates and saw that all of the Fort Riley soldiers’ plates were very small portions. Their plates were beautiful. They probably tasted like shit, but they were small and colorful. It was as if they were told the judges were looking specifically for size and color.

I knew we were about to lose a lot of points for the garnishing, but worst of all, we had to explain it to everyone. I just hoped they didn’t get on us too bad for it, and maybe I could sugarcoat it. I watched and listened to the other cooks while they prepared their dishes. I wasn’t impressed at all. So, I was confident that we had them in overall taste, which should be the majority of the score. When the judges stepped over and looked at our plate, I almost ed out. My heart was pounding too hard. I had to breathe. I watched their faces. I could tell that they weren’t too happy with the paprika effect Black had all over the plate. But when they tasted the products and tried the sauces, I saw their faces change. They briefly discussed our plate amongst themselves, wrote down some stuff, then moved on. Once the presentation and tasting phase was over, we moved into the judges’ and scores phase. The judges didn’t hold anything back, either; they were blunt and harsh. It was hilarious the things they were saying. One team’s chicken was raw, and the sergeant major tore their assess up. One of the Fort Riley teams didn’t use all of the prescribed ingredients and they took a huge loss. Then it was our turn, and I knew I had to remain confident. They immediately went in on us about the garnish. They were laughing and asking what was he thinking? I told them we had a small issue and from there PFC Black jumped in and took over before I could finish what I was saying. She explained to them what happened and used her pretty smile to awe the judges. It was a good attempt, but she failed. They told us we lost a ton of points for the garnish. They moved on to the tasting portion and their attitudes changed. They were extremely happy with our plate, and I started to breathe again. The beat-down we received over the garnish was heartbreaking, but our overall score was above average, and I was happy for that. I didn’t think I won the NCO category, though. I just hoped everyone else did as badly as I did in the other events. I knew I scored high on the board portion, but I wasn’t prepared for the written exam and the team cooking. I just shook my head, and prayed I won. Private Black was in the same position I was in. She did great on her board portion, but that test caught her off-guard. They took us into a room and lined us up with our sponsors, in accordance with rank. We stood at parade rest for five minutes while we waited for the sergeant major. He came in the room and

congratulated all of us for doing an outstanding job and competing at the division level culinary arts board. He pointed out all of the common mistakes some of us made and talked about the overall event. In the end he was very happy and proud of all of us. He started to announce the winners of the Soldiers category. He only called out the runner-up, followed by the winner. He announced that Private Black was the runner-up and a soldier from Fort Riley was the winner, of course. Then he allowed all of the judges and board to speak and give their opinions. Then he moved on to the NCO category, and announced the runner-up. He called out my name and I didn’t know how to feel. I was happy that I placed, but I knew that if I’d been ready for that test and I hadn’t had all the stress from Lauren, I might have won today. He declared a Fort Riley soldier the winner and Master Sergeant Fadelos face turned upside-down. He was pissed, but he held his composure. Once the board and judges gave their and we were released, he was ready to go. We walked outside and stood by our vehicles. He came outside and talked to us. He told us that test was bullshit and all of the Fort Riley soldiers had had the study material many days prior to the board. He explained to Private Black and me that Fort Leonard Wood hadn’t won this board in many years, and Fort Riley made sure that their soldiers won it every time. I wasn’t even mad though. After hearing that, I made a promise to myself. I would win. I was determined to win the division board, no matter what! I deserved to lose today. I should have checked the plate before she put it out, and if I had known it was going to be a team cookoff, I would have prepared better. That was all new to me. I didn’t expect to have to combine ideas with someone else. Normally a cook off is a solo event, and I never took a written exam for a board. I was content. I knew I would be coming back next quarter, because I didn’t have any competition back at Fort Leonard Wood. None of the NCOs wanted to go to the boards, and the ones who did go were forced, so they barely studied. We got back to the hotel and packed up to leave. SFC. Willis was ready to go and so was I. I still had unfinished business with Lauren back at home. I knew I had to prepare for the arguing again. We hit the road around 3:00 p.m. and drove back during most of the day.

SFC. Willis was a funny guy. During most of the ride he talked about his business plans and the shady bullshit I should watch out for at the DFAC. He was like a big brother to me. I loved him and the way he treated me. He treated me like a leader, a battle buddy as well as a subordinate. He made sure that he was teaching me something every minute we were around each other. That was just how he was. He was a talker and a dreamer. He was always giving advice and mentorship to someone. When I got home, I was happy to see Lauren even though she almost cost me the board with all that extra drama. I tried desperately to get her to see the bottom line and that was simple: fuck the bullshit in the past, help me get this money, and we make each other happy along the way. It was that simple to me. I needed her . I wasn’t trying to suppress her feelings; I just wanted her to express them under better conditions and not during critical moments, like the night before a board. She didn’t care, though. Her main argument was that I put too much into the army and I put the army before everything else. She didn’t understand that the army demanded a lot from me, and I was only months away from victory. Once I achieved the next rank it would be smooth sailing from there. That didn’t matter to her; she wanted to fix the issues right now and I understood that. The problem was most of those problems were money problems. Only time, hard work, and a promotion were going to fix it, so she needed to have some patience and help me reach that goal. Lauren and I were going back and forth from love to hate, but hate was winning. We started arguing over dumb shit and it was beginning to seem like our house was divided. She and Allen were on one side and Savior and I were on the other side. I didn’t like the way our relationship was affecting our children, but mostly Savior because he needed stability. She and Allen had always had from her family, but Savior looked at her as Mommy. I hated when she would use him as an example to prove something to me. That shit made me hate her, when I could see the pain and confusion in his eyes. My home life only gave me more a reason to bury myself into work. I didn’t know where our marriage was going. The only thing I knew was the army had my back. I needed to stay focused and not let my personal life affect my professional life. That was hard for me to do, because I needed my personal life to my professional life in order to function every day. The board and ALC made me realize something: if I didn’t have all the extra stress from arguing all the damn

time, I might have been more focused and done better. Marriage had always been the downfall of my career. I wished I’d never gotten married sometimes, and maybe I could have given the army what it needed if I hadn’t had someone else distracting me. I always heard old soldiers say, “If the army wanted you to have a wife, it would have issued you one. “The DFAC drama was escalating also; the soldiers claimed the workload was too much, and it wasn’t fair that their NCOs were never in the building. It was becoming a circus. People started to clique up. Some soldiers refused to work with other soldiers and NCOs bouthed other NCOs in front of soldiers. I couldn’t stand it. All they needed to do was stop hating on each other and talk like civil human beings. Instead, everyone chose to contribute to the growing problem. No matter what, work was pretty easy for me. My soldiers were all stars in my eyes. My unit didn’t have issues like the other units did. All of my soldiers were on their “A” game and SFC. Willis had my back when I made a decision. Some of the other NCOs didn’t like the fact that my unit was so tight and theirs weren’t. It wasn’t my fault that I came from a duty station that worked and trained soldiers every day, and they had been here for three-plus years not doing shit and lost their work ethic. Sgt. Curtis and a few other NCOs were on the same page I was. We worked and trained soldiers every day. We despised the rest of the toxic NCOs and challenged then daily. Sgt. Digg was one of them. SSG Digg thought everyone was stupid, but most of us knew he was sleeping with SFC. Lakeway. He lived on base in housing, next to most of our soldiers. The soldiers would always see her coming out of his house after PT while his wife worked in our facility every morning. He was full of shit, one of those talkers and non-workers. I hated that he would stand on the wall and yell at soldiers without lifting a finger. His shift could be failing epically and his excuse for not helping was they needed to learn to execute under pressure. Yeah, right. His fat ass was lazy, and he was comfortable not participating. He had been in the army longer than I, and his style of leadership was to delegate only. There were a few other NCOs that followed his suit, because they were the same way and they used that lame-ass excuse to not work either. One morning my unit had to switch around some soldiers on shift, because we

had mandatory training in the afternoon. So, all of my soldiers were scheduled to work that morning, and the other unit’s soldiers were moved to the evening shift. SSG Digg and SFC. Lakeway didn’t like this and fought SFC. Willis the whole way. But in the end, they had no other alternative and accepted the plan. The plan was to move all of 94th Engineering soldiers to morning shift, leaving five soldiers from the other units with us to ensure that breakfast and lunch ran smoothly. That equaled 12 soldiers, just enough for us to operate and ensure mission success. But when we opened the building, the five soldiers from SFC. Lakeway’s unit never showed up, leaving us undermanned. When SFC. Willis called SFC. Lakeway, she never answered her phone. That was the first hint that she was fucking us. A sergeant first class in the army will always answer her phone. SFC. Willis informed me of what was going on. He told me about the huge unnecessary debate they had over the whole thing. It was stupid because, no matter what, we still had a mission to accomplish regardless of personal feelings. The soldiers never showed up to work and we had to hump all morning. My soldiers were pissed that they all had to do the work of two people. I kept them calm and showed them that I was right there with them, and I had to work double also. I was good at what I did, so SFC. Willis put me on meats by myself while he handled the rest of the shift. I had his back all the way, and I was pissed, so I made sure we didn’t fail. We turned a bad situation into a party. We turned up the music and got to work. I loved SFC. Willis; he was my type of leader. I had no doubt that if it came down to a combat situation, this man was going to fight and lead his troops from the front. By the time SFC. Lakeway came to work, and after 0900 of course, she didn’t even check the kitchen, and she checked the kitchen every morning when she came in. In fact, she stayed in her office and avoided us. She didn’t even check the serving lines. She just went into her office and shut the door. We turned up the music louder and let her know we weren’t hurting. We were 94th engineers; we got the job done regardless of the situation. Around 10 a.m. when the other shift came in, Sgt. Granite came up to me and told me that yesterday during the evening shift, SFC. Lakeway told all of her troops not to report to work this morning and she wanted 94th to fall on their faces. Once I heard that bullshit, I had to say something. That shit pissed me off, and I walked into the dining area where she was sitting. The table was full. Master Sergeant Fadelos and a few other NCOs were sitting with her, eating breakfast. I

didn’t care. I asked her for permission to speak and she granted it. That was her mistake because I lit her ass up. I told her that I knew about the sabotage she committed and that was unbecoming of an NCO. I also went in on all of the NCOs that weren’t doing PT every morning or helping the shift out. She turned red as hell. She didn’t know that I knew what she did. The fact that Master Sergeant Fadelos was sitting there listening made it worse. She put me at parade rest and told me to shut the fuck up. Master Sergeant Fadelos challenged her order and told me to continue, and I did so. Sgt. Willis came out there then and backed me up. She was exposed and embarrassed. I let her have it, respectfully of course. She knew I was right, and she knew she was entirely wrong for what she did to us this morning. So, she apologized to shut me up, making excuses for all the issues I pointed out. She saved face by saying she was going to make changes, but in reality, I started a war. I knew exactly what I did, though, I didn’t take into that Master Sergeant Fadelos was out there, but once I saw him, I put her integrity on the line. We finished the workday and went to training. SFC. Willis had a newfound respect for me after that and so did my soldiers. They had never seen a staff sergeant go in on a sergeant first class like I did, professionally and tactfully. I gained their respect and from that moment on, I had more control over my section. I could get any task completed because my soldiers had my back and were willing to go above and beyond for me. As the days went by leading up to the board, I had realized that not only my soldiers looked at me as a good leader, but soldiers from other units started to come to me for advice. Whether it was something as simple as a recipe or career progression, they were all coming to me and not their NCOs. I didn’t discriminate with soldiers; I always helped everyone, and that was my problem. I soon found myself with an army of soldiers wanting to be on my shift, while the other NCOs only got the silent treatment from most of their own troops. I studied my ass off and practiced new cooking methods and recipes. I had to win the brigade level board again if I wanted to go back to division. Private Black was competing again also. We studied together here and there but she already knew my study methods. She applied them to her methods and I had confidence in her. I didn’t have any competition, though. All of the NCOs were scared to go against me. They knew I was out for blood.

All day long I would ask random NCOs board questions just to see if they knew the answer, and to let them know I knew the answer. I was intimidating all of my competition before the board. I studied every day all day, and I could cook my ass off. I was hungry, and they weren’t. I was just going to embarrass them in the end anyway. Two E-5 had the courage to step up for the board and the shit-talking began. Every day during work we’d all talk shit about who was going to win and why. I loved it. I love a competitive environment, because it only makes everyone better at what they do. Even though we talked shit to each other, in the end I was gaining their because I was helping them study. Everyone knew I loved cooking and leading troops, and it showed in my work performance. I loved my job and despised those in the MOS that didn’t. They were worthless in my eyes and should get out of the army if they weren’t here to contribute. One afternoon I get a call from my first sergeant. He told me that J.A.G. Had notified him that Savior’s grandmother was coming to pick him up tomorrow. I lost my mind. There was no way in hell I was giving my son to that woman again. What was she trying to pull? She had no court order, nothing. How did she get J.A.G to call my command without presenting any documentation? Something was up, and I didn’t like it. I went home and gathered all of my court documents and read them over. There was nothing stating that I had to release my child into her custody. I put the papers in a folder and took them to my first sergeant. He looked them over as well, and he found nothing. This was a trick and we both knew it. I was not giving up my son, anyway. I would have been dead first. The next day after shift I get a call from J.A.G. stating that I needed to come up there. Lauren and I got in the car and went. When we pulled into the parking lot, I saw Barbara’s truck and a civilian sheriff’s police car. I laughed; that didn’t scare me. We walked inside and there she was, sitting there like she had accomplished a victory. She asked, “Where is Savior?” I said, “He’s at Six Flags with his grandparents. He won’t be back for another week.” I handed the J.A.G. officer the folder. He looked it over and he didn’t find anything stating I had to give up my son either. He asked Barbara for documentation, but all she had was some bullshit paperwork her lawyer shined up. It wasn’t anything official. I laughed again and asked was I free to go. The

J.A.G. officer said “yes”, and we walked out, smiling. Savior was at Specialist Boat’s house. Lauren and Boat’s wife were friends, and she watched Savior and Allen in the day. I’d just gone through hell with Barbara over my son. I’d had steps in place before I came up here. Barbara called me a few times and eventually she left town. I wasn’t going to stop communications between her and Savior, but it was too soon for her to have him again. I just got him from her a year ago, and I spent all my money to do it. That was a battle won, and I relaxed afterwards. Barbara’s actions bought Lauren and me a little closer. At least some good came out of it. I took full advantage of it, too. I loved Lauren, and when we stand by each other, things work out better. We drove to my company and I informed my chain of command the outcome. They all laughed too. The DFAC was still having issues. It was becoming a civil war. Units versus units, and who was getting more time out of the facility versus who was working all the time. I knew this would happen. It was only a matter of time. The workload was heavy, and the soldiers were feeling the pain. The NCOs were walking in and out of the building whenever they wanted. Only certain NCOs were working all the time. I was one of them. I strongly believed that most of these NCOs were complacent and would eventually get a soldier killed in a combat, due to their lack of care and selfishness. The soldiers were revolting, and I was caught in the middle. I didn’t have many issues on my shift, so a lot of the soldiers from other units came to me for advice because they didn’t trust their leaders. I was neutral, and I just did my job. But I felt their pain, and what they were saying was true. A lot of these soldiers and junior NCOs had never been to Iraq or Afghanistan and had no clue what the real world was like once you were put into a combat environment. If your soldiers didn’t trust you with their lives, or didn’t have confidence in your leadership abilities and knowledge, why should they follow you into battle? At home, Lauren and I were still going back and forth from bliss to hell. I didn’t understand why we couldn’t get along and I couldn’t just let her run over me. She swore up and down that I had to keep a relationship with females on Facebook, like I needed a backup plan. That wasn’t the case; I had a lot of friends, male and female alike. Most of my Facebook friends were people I grew up with. Unfortunately, most of the females I had as friends on my Facebook

were ex-girlfriends and schoolmates. These women knew my family and I grew up with them, so it didn’t matter if we dated when I was a teenager because they were considered family. I thought she was just looking for a way to vent because of the money. She said something different, though. She said it was because I needed females around at all times. Then she went into how I procrastinated for so long on my child , saying I could have lessened the amount I was paying, but I was saying that it didn’t matter because my children still needed . It was the least I could do since I barely saw them, so why would I try to find reasons to lessen the I was providing? I understood her argument to a point. I was a bad procrastinator, and I could have alleviated some of my financial issues if I had paid closer attention to detail. Still, in my eyes that was irrelevant to the fact that I’d had these problems before we met, and it wasn’t like we were starving. She just wanted more money and to have more to brag about to her friends and family. What Lauren didn’t understand was that I was married twice before her, totaling 12 years of my life and career, and I had experience. I’d spent most of my life making women happy and I was getting tired of arguing with her every day. I loved Lauren more than any other woman I had ever been with, but experience told me if things didn’t change, I would wind up missing out on my goals trying to keep her happy. She had me. I would have done anything for her and she knew it. What she didn’t know was me she didn’t know that I was strong enough and smart enough to accomplish all of my goals if she loved and ed me the right way. She also didn’t know that I was starting to look at our marriage as a liability. The army was all I had after every divorce, and I knew before I lost my career, I would divorce her ass. I was beginning to believe that she was the one who didn’t appreciate me. I’d come home and cook every night after 12 hours of work to include PT. I gave her all of my money and let her handle the bills. I never really was a club type of person, so most of the time, I just wanted to spend time with her and make love. I was trying to beat out all of the men from her past. I was trying to have more money, fame, and respect than all of them. What really pissed me off about her was that I was trying to get into the music

industry most of my life. I wrote songs and novels and produced music and she never really got involved with my music, but she would go nuts over the musicians and actors in the industry already. She would play their music and watch their movies every day, and she ed them. That shit hurt so bad, to watch the woman I love be so involved with someone she barely knew, rather than helping me get there and reaping the benefits. I think that created an underlying resentment for her. I was desperately seeking attention from her, but she was giving it elsewhere. That made me work even harder, and study more. A month later I won the brigade-level board again. Those E-5s weren’t really ready. I knew how it went when it came to the board; you started out motivated, studying all the time. Then as the day got closer, you got complacent and started to procrastinate on studying. About three or four days before the board, you picked it back up and crammed. That was exactly what they did, but not me. I studied on- and off-duty. I used my soldiers as training aids and had them take my index cards and randomly ask me questions all day long. As long as I followed my board preparation customs as I always did, I would have an advantage in the end. It was a cakewalk, and Master Sergeant Fadelos knew I wasn’t playing. He knew I was about my business and I had a goal to accomplish in order to accomplish my end game goals. The night before the board was almost deja vu. I was in the studio doing schoolwork and she was in the bedroom doing schoolwork. We weren’t on speaking and I wanted to go to Fort Riley with a relaxed mind this time. Once again, I went into the bedroom and tried to make up with her. I bought a bottle of Moscato and two glasses with me. She smiled and sat up enthusiastically. I was shocked to see she was happy to spend time with me and I poured the champagne. It was great. For hours we sat and drank while we talked. For once I thought we were making progress. Then we got on the topic of our futures and that led us onto finances, and then shit got stupid. We started arguing again. I couldn’t take it anymore; I was tired of hearing about my child when her son’s dad wasn’t paying any. I made it clear, too. I said, “If my child is affecting our finances so badly, why don’t you contribute and put Allen’s dad on child ?” She didn’t like that statement and got really angry. The fact that we were totally drunk this time didn’t help either.

I said, “Instead of us drinking, fucking, and having a good time before I’m gone for four days, we got to be stupid and fight. I’m tired of this, I need affection. I don’t want to go away again, and we are on the same . For once, can I fuck my wife and she treat me like a king?” That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She got even madder and said, “That’s all you want, to fuck me all day long. What about what I want?” I was confused. What I was trying to convey to her got misconstrued somehow. I was trying to tell her I was tired of the drama, and I wanted us to fall in love again. What she got out of that was completely different, and she picked up a hammer. She pointed it at me saying, “If you don’t shut the fuck up, Sol, ohhh, I swear!!!” I looked at her and said, “What you gonna do? Hit me with the hammer? I wish you would!” The argument raged on, and we started yelling louder. We were drunk and acting immature. But then, out of what seemed like nowhere, in the midst of the spat, she hit me with a hammer on my head. I couldn’t believe it; this bitch just hit me with a fucking hammer, and it hurt like hell! I snapped. I grabbed her, threw her on the floor and slapped the shit out of her. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Is this how you think of me? Like I’m a dog or something?” She pushed me off of her and got up like I just committed murder and started packing. She yelled to Allen and told him to get dressed they were leaving. I was like, “Where are you going? You know I have the board in the morning, and you hit me with a fucking hammer on my head! So, you’re mad because I hit you back? You really think the world revolves around you, huh, Lauren?” She just ignored me, packed her shit, and called someone. Then she left, leaving me and Savior again. “What the fuck am I going to do now?” I thought as I sat on the bed. She had me fucked up and I didn’t know what to do, so I continued to drink. I knew our relationship was over now. She had me trapped, because I needed her. But she didn’t give a fuck about my son, or my career, and I was doing all of this to make our lives better. That was where I believe I went wrong. I should have been doing this for me and my children. I should have never put her before I myself. I thought I was being selfless and considerate, trying to give her what I thought a woman needed. I

was selling myself short in the end. All night long I tried to call her, but she didn’t answer. I was only getting more convinced that she didn’t give a fuck about me or my son. She didn’t care that my battalion already spent money on sending me to the board again, and she was about to make us look like fools again. I was done. From that point on, I had to start separating myself from Lauren if I wanted my son to have a stable home. I couldn’t do this shit anymore. She was misappropriating her obligation as a wife and military spouse and jeopardizing everything over foolishness. This was a pain unlike any other: on one hand, I had my career and my child; on the other I had the woman I loved and my family. I felt like I was confined, imprisoned, and being used. I stayed up all night drinking and trying to call Lauren. Around 0600. I took a shower and got dressed just in case she came back in time. I didn’t want to leave Savior with her; I was scared she would mistreat him. I was between a rock and a hard place, and the hard place was the Army. Who the fuck was I to tell Master Sergeant Fadelos I wasn’t going because I was having domestic issues? If she didn’t come home before they came to pick me up, my chances for promotion were over. They wouldn’t recommend a leader with problems at home. At 0800 on the dot, Master Sergeant Fadelos and Chief Dejay knocked on my door. I was dressed and ready to go, but I smelled like a refinery. I had a bad hangover and Lauren never came home. I opened the door and they took one look at me and said, “Not again, Smith!” I just looked at the men and put my head down. Embarrassment would be an understatement compared to how I felt. Chief walked out. Master Sergeant Fadelos looked at me, then watched Chief get into the car and slam the door. He was mad, and it crushed me even more. I’d just ruined my reputation and respect. Then I heard Lauren pull up, and I jumped up. She saw them as she parked and didn’t give a fuck about the appearance. She was happy I was in this situation; she’d proved her point. Even though I never disagreed with it, I knew I needed her, so I didn’t understand why she had to prove it. She walked into the house and greeted everyone like everything was fine. Master Sergeant Fadelos said, “Hurry up and let’s go, Smith.” I looked at Lauren and she didn’t look back. She just walked up the stairs. Master Sergeant

Fadelos closed the door, and I called her name. She ignored me and checked on Savior, like she was concerned about him. I called her name again and she shouted, “Go to your fucking board, Sol. That’s all you care about anyway!” I wanted to respond but I wasn’t about to start an argument, so I just grabbed my things and walked out. Too many emotions were running through my head: I was leaving for three more days, I was leaving my child with a woman who might mistreat him out of anger at me, I’d just lost all respect from my leadership, and I was going back to the division board with more stress than last time! We drove off and I stared at the bedroom window as we pulled away. I never thought Lauren and I would get to this point, and I was losing ground overall because my child and my career were in the middle of our war. She didn’t have as much at stake as I did. She could destroy whatever she wanted, then leave me high and dry, and wouldn’t lose much. Me, on the other hand, I would have bet everything on the army and added her to the equation. So, what was I going to do now? Six hours later, we arrived at Fort Riley. I completely pushed Lauren out of my head, and I was focused. I studied all night and demolished the board the next day. I was not playing, and I don’t think I missed a question. That night I didn’t even call Lauren; I just studied. The next day, I was ready for the written exam. Master Sergeant Fadelos gave us the study material from the American Culinary Federation. Private Black and I killed that test. The rules for the cookoff had changed back to normal and it was a solo competition. This time it was fish in the mystery basket! A sole, and it was whole. Sole is like a flounder; it’s a flat fish. It’s a mild-flavored white fish and you had to be careful not to overpower its flavor. There were leeks and risotto in the basket also. I already had a plan if it was going to be fish: I used a coconut curry recipe I learned from my mom’s friend. She was from Belize and she was a fish expert. The risotto was an added bonus. Her recipe called for white rice, but I always knew risotto was a better substitute. We got the signal to begin and we had an hour to cook with the extra 10 minutes to plate. No one knew how to skin and fillet a fish, but I did! I ran over to Private Black and showed her quickly, then I reduced some sweet

champagne on the stovetop. I found some bacon and I put 10 slices in the oven, followed by the risotto. I used orange juice and water for the risotto to add flavor and color. I filleted my fish into beautiful pieces and stored them in the cooler. Then I sliced my leeks into cylinder shapes and sautéed them in champagne seasonings and butter. I pulled out the bacon and wrapped the leeks with it, and then I skewered them to hold the bacon in place and firm. I put them in the oven on low. I didn’t want it to fully cook yet. I thickened the champagne with a white roux and added curry, coconut, and a touch of peanut butter. I tasted it until it had that slight peanut flavor, and then I added garlic and sea salt. 20 minutes remained, and my risotto was perfect. I put my bacon-wrapped leeks in the oven and let them cook, then pulled out my fish and headed to the stovetop. I seared the fish with salt pepper and garlic, then I added the curry sauce and let it cook under a low fire. I started plating: I placed a very small amount of risotto on the right side of the inner rim of the plate. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake I made last time and have tons of food on the plate. Then I pulled my leeks, and they looked delicious. I carefully placed them on the left side of the inner rim next to the risotto. Then I turned to my sauce and added chopped cilantro and freshly diced tomatoes. I had to wait until the last minute for this because I didn’t want the cilantro and tomatoes to get soggy from a long cooking process. I let it cook while I placed the fish on top of the risotto. Then I ladled the sauce over the fish and the leeks and placed a nice leaf of cilantro on top of the fish before I took my plate out. It was clean and had a very nice look. The risotto played as the background, while the bacon-wrapped leeks stole the show with color. The sole was the tastiest part of the dish. The coconut and curry stood behind the fishy flavor but stood strong. I took a picture and added it on Facebook instantly. I was confident in this plate. I looked over at my competitions plates and they looked good also, but that was it. They weren’t ready for taste. They had all prepared a modified version of lemon-baked fish, and I was happy. The judges came through and followed their routine. When they got to my plate, I stuck my chest out. They loved it; they loved the entire concept. They couldn’t decide which one of my products was their favorite, the bacon wrapped leeks or the fish! I knew I had won this hand down, and once they announced the scores I looked over to Chief and the Master Sergeant and they were smiling. About 20 minutes later, we stood lined up

waiting for the sergeant major to announce the winners. He came in and congratulated us for a fine job and great showmanship. Then he moved on to the winners. This time he started with the NCO category. My heart started pounding when I heard that. I needed to win; I needed something good in my life right now. He announced the runner-up, and it was a Fort Riley NCO. I was glad that was out of the way, but my heart was pounding even harder now. Then he announced the winner, and he said Sgt. Solomon Smith, Fort Leonard Wood, has stolen the title today. Oh my God! I won, yes, I won bitches! I didn’t say that, because I was in the position of parade rest and had to maintain my military bearing, but I damn sure thought it! Finally, I earned some recognition and respect. Private Black won in the soldier category, and this was the first time in many years that Fort Leonard Wood had won either of the categories. We came; we saw; we conquered. It was a four-day weekend, so we stayed overnight and left the next day. I needed to get back home and handle my domestic issues. We needed a resolution, or our marriage was over. When I got home Lauren seemed happy, but I was weary. I didn’t care if she wanted to forget about what happened or not. I didn’t speak on it, and I played along with her game. But I was planning. I wasn’t going to allow her or anyone else to put me in another situation that could fuck up my life. I wanted our marriage to work out, but I had to prepare in case it didn’t, and my first step was detaching myself from her. All weekend I was thoughtful and considerate as normal, but I looked at her differently. I forced myself to love her less. It was either that or face the possible pains of missing her if she decided to leave again. I couldn’t allow her to have that power anymore, so I just enjoyed her while she was happy. I wasn’t going be long before it was back to the same old shit. Monday morning, right before I was about to go to work, I came down the stairs and heard Lauren on the phone talking to her cousin Dedra. She must have thought I was still in the shower and was talking shit about me. I sat there and listened for a moment. She was telling Dedra that she didn’t need me and talking about all the men with money she dated in her past. They were

laughing and joking about memories of Lauren when she was dating these guys. I was pissed. I was out there busting my ass and this bitch was being ungrateful! I came down the stairs and said, “Fuck you! You can leave! I don’t need you or your shit!” She said, “I’ll talk to you later, Dedra. This nigga mad,” while she snickered. Then we started arguing, and this time it was about money. She got on me about my child and how I could have avoided paying so much. She got on me about the money I owed the army for school, and that was when I said, “Hold up. I was down there fighting niggas every weekend for you to have money too. You think I’m happy about owing the army after I went through all that? You self-centered ungrateful bitch, you got me fucked up!” She looked at me like “So? And?” Then she said, “Okay, so now what? Now what do we do? We need to pay for shit today. Do you have the money?” I’m looking at her like, “What do we need right now that can’t wait? We’re not hurting that badly for money! You act like we’re dying out here! We will be fine, and once I get my Redux, we will have more than enough money. Plus, both of us are about to get $4,000 dollars apiece for school, so really, it’s just a waiting game.” She still looked at me like she didn’t understand what I was trying to say. I guess she wanted money today, right here and now. Then my phone started ringing. It was Boat. Lauren got mad and told me to answer it. I wanted to finish the conversation, but she walked away mad already. So, I answered, and he told me that he was not at work, and that someone from the DFAC was about to call me to let me know. I didn’t need this right now, I told him to go to work. He responded with “Sapphire didn’t come home this weekend. I got my son.” “Fuck!” I said, as I watched Lauren storm up the stairs. I told Boat, “Okay, I’m going to the DFAC to check in and let SFC. Lakeway know I had you and we are handling personal business. Then I’m coming to your house to find a way to fix this fast.” Lauren was listening and started yelling, “So you’re going to handle another nigga’s family instead of taking care of your family right now?”

I said, “What? I gotta go to work now anyway! It’s time for me to go to shift, so what the fuck are you talking about?” She yelled, “No, I heard you! You’re going to help Boat and his shit!” I said, “Yes, that’s my fucking job! And I gotta go to work anyway! So, you’re just looking for a way to turn this shit on me because I caught you talking shit about me!” She replied with “Whatever, nigga! Get the fuck on!” I just shook my head. There was nothing I could do to make that woman happy, so I left. I went by the DFAC and checked in. I told SFC. Lakeway a small portion of the entire situation, just enough to keep Boat’s situation quiet. Then I left. When I arrived at Boat’s house, he told me what was going on. He told me that his wife Sapphire spent the weekend with an NCO that was a student at the NCO academy. He dropped Sapphire off in front of the house on Friday night, but Boat didn’t have enough time to confront him. Boat told me that he and Sapphire got into an argument as soon as she walked in the door. Then she left him with their son, and he hadn’t heard from her since then. I was mad as hell: some NCO was fucking my soldier’s wife! I could choose to let it go and live with myself or be the leader I knew I was and handle that shit. I chose the latter. I took that shit personally.

Flashback

Camp Casey Korea

-Spring, 2003-

I just got out of the field and I still hadn’t talked to Akasha in over a week. I had a dream last week that fucked me up. In this dream, I was sitting at a round table with a white tablecloth, waiting to eat. My wife, Akasha, came out of the kitchen holding a very large dish with a big black fish on it; it was a whole anglerfish, and it looked disgusting. She served it to me with a smile on her face. When the tray hit the table, I took a good look at the giant black fish. I slapped it away then I woke up. It was upon awakening that a feeling started to creep up on me. I can’t explain how these things work, but I believe whatever connection they bear exists. I mean I don’t know how dreams form, or by what subconscious thoughts they grow from, but I do know the feeling I awoke with, after that dream wasn’t pleasant. Burrowed deep in my gut was a feeling, I feared might be reality. I had a feeling my wife was cheating on me. I the sour taste in my mouth; that disgusting anglerfish-y taste. Days before I went to the field, I’d noticed a change in her. We barely spoke on the phone anymore, and she was spending a lot of money. But that dream did it for me. I was convinced. I knew there was no way I could catch her because I was here and she was in New York. So, I devised a plan. I emptied the bank and I stopped calling. Then I waited for her to call. When she did, I said, “Bitch, I know you’re cheating! Stop calling me!” and I hung up. I had been doing this for over a week now, and she stopped calling. She wouldn’t even email me. She stopped trying. I knew something was going on when she did that, but I still needed confirmation. I needed to know how bad it really was, and if the kids knew. I thought, “Would I be able to handle it, if she were cheating?” Plus, I was 2000 miles away and I couldn’t just leave. She had everything I owned and worked for, and access to my bank . I had to think. I had to prepare for the worst! The bottom line was that I needed to know what was going on before it got out of my control and I lost everything. My phone started ringing and it was her. I knew the money would bring her around eventually. I answered the phone, and before I could say anything, she cut me off and said, “Who told you, Sol?” My heart dropped, but I had to keep up the game. I said, “Donella told me, bitch! Now what do you want?” She got silent, then tried to say sorry, but I cut her off and demanded to know who he was.

She started crying and spilled the beans. She told me everything: how they met and what had been going on with them. She was fucking this nigga and letting him drive my cars! I wanted to kill this bitch, but I had to get as much information as I could before I lost control. Then I started cursing her ass out. I couldn’t hold it back any longer; listening to her talk about this shit was killing me on the inside. I told her to call him while I was on the phone and break it off, or I was leaving her! She tried to talk her way out of it, but I was serious. After five more minutes of me screaming at the top of my lungs, she finally agreed to call him. I told her she’d better not let him know I was on the phone, and she’d better be clear when she broke up with him. She agreed, and she dialed the number. When he answered the phone, she said, “Hey, Hersh, my husband is on the phone and he wants to speak to you!” I just shook my head like “This… dumb… bitch…here! Ima kill this bitch when I get home!” Then Hersh said, “Hello? Waddup little nigga? Speak!” Now I’m looking into the phone like “What?… Is he talking to me like Ima bitch ass nigga? I’m going to beat this nigga’s ass when I get home!” I responded crazily. I said, “First off, don’t get all wild over the phone, nigga, and wind up getting fucked up on some real shit! I’ll fucking kill you, word up!” Then he says, in a cool nonchalant manner, “Yeah Yeah, Akasha told me about you, son, with all that karate bullshit. Hope you ready for a bullet, Bruce Leroy! Anyway… yo, Kasha, tell this little nigga how I bussed in your neck, while I was driving his whip!” I fucking snapped! I couldn’t even begin to explain how I felt. I was going to kill this nigga for real! I started screaming into the phone, “Nigga, when I get home, I’m coming straight to you. You better be strapped! I’m beating both y’all asses when I get back to the states!” Then I hung up. The entire first floor of my barracks heard me screaming. My battle buddy Sergeant Pendleton knocked on my door, and came in and said, “Bro, you all right? You good?” I didn’t respond. I just sat there with rage in my mind. I told him, “Get the fuck out!”

Then I dropped to the floor and started training. All I saw was red, and I did push-ups until I couldn’t move my arms anymore. I sat up and I calculated the days it would take before I could get home. I had to put the packet in 20 days prior to the leave date. That gave me plenty of time to plan and train. The next morning, I walked into my manager’s office and told him I needed to go on leave. He said, “Hell no! I know what’s going on. Everyone in the damn building knows.” All my co-workers saw the pain in my eyes. They heard my yelling into the phone while I sat in the bathroom on the far side of the DFAC. This was normal to them. They had seen it time and time again. Everyone acted like this was easy to deal with and told me I needed to man up. I still wanted to go home; I had to get this nigga! I demanded he let me go on leave, and I told him, “If it was your wife, I bet you’d go!” He just leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. He looked up at me and said, “I’m going to let you go handle your business and take care of your family. But I want you to think about something. Think about if you hurt or kill someone. Will your wife be faithful while you’re in jail?” I didn’t care. I was dead set on killing this dude. I handed him my leave packet and I asked was I dismissed. He responded, “Brother…your dismissed.” I went back to work and I didn’t say shit to anyone for the remaining days until I went on leave. I stayed in my room working out and counting the days until I went on leave.

* * *

After I talked to Boat and gave him the best advice I could, I left and went to shift. About an hour later, he came into work and told me she came home.

After shift, I marched Boat over to the NCO academy and straight into the Commandant’s Office. I explained the situation to the commandant’s secretary and we left. Boat didn’t understand, so I explained to him why we did that. I told him to randomly go by his wife’s job and see if the guys truck was out there. I told him, “If she was going to cheat still, then the guy would go to her job behind your back. When you see his truck, you call me, and we’re going to beat this nigga’s ass. This way we are covered. We told the command sergeant major about the situation, plus this NCO is in violation by sleeping with your wife. He ain’t gonna tell on himself if we beat his ass. He will be in more trouble than us.” A couple of days later, about 7:00 p.m. at night, Boat called me and said, “Smitty, he’s up here!” Lauren was cool by now, and I explained the situation to her when it happened. She was down to ride too, so I grabbed my pistol and we jumped into the truck. When we pulled into the Buffalo Wild Wings parking lot, we pulled right next to Boat. He waited for me like I asked, and once I got out of my truck, I told him to go in and confront him. I’d wait there by his truck until he returned. Boat went in, and five minutes later he came out angry as hell. I knew it was on now. I prepared myself mentally for a fight. Boat walked up to me and said, “These niggas are pussy. It’s three of them and not one of them will own up to who’s fucking Sapphire!” I said, “No problem. I know how to handle this. “The three men walked out of the restaurant, and Boat pointed them out. I stood right in front of their truck as they approached, probing and analyzing their body compositions. They were much taller than me, and one of them was built like a tank! I took a second to rethink how to engage them and then I said, “Which one of you niggas is fucking my soldier’s wife?” I had my hood on and my hands in my pants like I had a pistol. But Lauren had the pistol in her lap. They stopped and looked at me. I didn’t budge. I just kept my face concealed behind my hood and poked out my chest. “I said, which one of you pussy-ass motherfuckers is fucking my soldier’s wife!” One of them says, “Look, bra, we don’t want no problems. We just want to go back to the barracks.” I said, “Barracks? Oh, so y’all some army niggas too, huh? Yeah, I know. I’m Staff Sergeant Solomon Smith and I’m not playing with y’all niggas today!

Either we can handle this shit right here like some real ‘Gs’ or we can handle it on base like NCOs. It’s your call!” The tank-looking dude looked like he wanted to strike. I looked that nigga dead in his eyes, stepped up, and said, “What, nigga? What you wanna do? I’ll fuck you up out here! Gimme a reason to lay your ass out while you’re here in school!” His buddy said, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, chill, bra, chill. We’re gonna leave the chick alone. It’s all good. You won’t hear from us again.” I responded like a real nigga with “Good, because if I see this truck here or at my soldiers house…I’m going to give the owner a reason to identify himself! Try me! Now beat feet, bitch boys! Fuck outta here!” I felt like I made the right choice. I felt the strength, power, and winning attitude of being a strong leader. My men would eventually see this leadership in me. The others got into the truck and left. I looked at Boat and said, “Now….fix your marriage or let it go!”

Chapter Five

Chameleons

“The world is not dangerous because of those who do harm, but because of those who look at it without doing anything.” - Albert Einstein

I was told it was going to be a bad winter. It was October of 2012 and it was cold as shit. Korea was bad, but not this bad. It was 20 degrees outside and it felt like 20 below 0. Lauren and I were still arguing off and on and she was planning to go home for a few days to take a break. She thought it would be beneficial to our marriage. I didn’t agree, because she was planning to leave me here with Savior. She was only taking Allen and that was about to cause conflict on many levels. She was already making Savior feel like she didn’t love him, and we weren’t prepared financially for her to go on a vacation. We argued all morning after PT and I was getting dressed to go to shift. I really wasn’t in the mood for it this morning, so I said my piece and left it alone. Lauren didn’t like my nonchalant attitude and got really mad. I didn’t care. I was tired of the same old bullshit, and I told her she was wrong for what she was planning, and she was putting our family in jeopardy. She was even mad when I

studied with Specialist Boat. He would come over and we would do our school work together. She was mad about everything. That was a telltale sign: when the person you were with was constantly irritated by you, they have fallen out of love with you. When someone was in love with you, they laughed at all of your jokes and mannerisms. They found everything about you wonderful. Lauren stuck to her guns and retained her attitude. I continued to get dressed and ignored her stupidity. My phone started ringing and I answered it. It was Sgt. Willis telling me to get over to my soldier’s house. Private First Class Ambrose was having a domestic dispute with his wife and I needed to get there before the MP’s arrived. I told Lauren I had to go, and I grabbed my things and ran down the stairs. She was furious. I tried to explain it to her as I went down stairs, but she wasn’t trying to hear me. She just kept yelling, “See what the fuck I’m saying? All you care about is the fucking army! “I didn’t have time to argue with her. I grabbed my keys and ran out the door. She was still yelling as I pulled off, but I couldn’t understand her. Private Ambrose lived less than two miles from me on base and I got there quickly. When he saw me pulling up, he jumped in the truck and said, “Let’s go!” I backed out and pulled off. I didn’t even ask what happened. By the look of his face, it seemed like we’d had the same type of morning. We got to shift right on time for me to hold cook’s mount. I filled my shift in and issued out orders. I always found a way to motivate my shift so I went into speech mode. I got them amped up and sent them to work. I was filling out my production schedule when SFC. Lakeway came into the dining room to tell me my son was on the back dock. For a second, I didn’t compute. Then she said, “Your wife pulled up and dropped your son off in the parking lot, then pulled off.” I jumped up. My heart was racing. I didn’t want to believe it. I was running through the dining area and into the kitchen when SFC. Trixgul walked Savior to me. He was crying and confused. I was furious and embarrassed. Right there in the middle of the kitchen, my son was crying and asking, “Why did Mommy leave me, Daddy?” I wanted to strangle Lauren, but SFC. Trixgul said, “God bless that wife of yours, Sgt. Smith,” and I calmed down a little. Lauren needed to go home. She needed to get the fuck away from me! Spc. Muala came to me and said, “I’ll watch him until you get off shift, Sgt. Smith.” She was off that day.

Spc. Muala was from Samoa and she was kind of hood. She had two kids of her own around Savior’s age. I had served with her for about a year now and I knew her, so I said, “Thank you.” She immediately took his mind off of the situation by talking to him and laughing. I sighed, still embarrassed, but it felt good for my battle buddies to have my back with no question. I kissed Savior goodbye and told him I would come get him later. I reassured him it was okay, and he would have fun. He smiled and said, “I love you too, Daddy.” Then they left. I needed a second to myself and went into the bathroom. I was so tempted to call Lauren and cuss her out but I didn’t. I knew she was waiting for me to call, and she wasn’t going to answer anyway. I chuckled to myself. Then I took a deep breath and went back to work. My knowledge and skills weren’t strong enough to get my peers and soldiers to look past my problems at home. I was losing my respect. My name was floating around amongst the rumors now. I was now contributing to the DFAC drama. Lauren clearly didn’t give a fuck about my son and bought drama to my job. I would never forgive her now. Now we were done. Now it was fucking war! I knew I had to be cool, and I was. I was going to play it cool until she went home. Over the next few days, Lauren and I spent all of our time in separate rooms. She never even apologized. In fact, she justified her actions as teaching me a lesson on needing her again. I wasn’t apologizing, either; I was weaning myself off of her. I didn’t give a fuck about how beautiful she was. All I saw was a monster. We barely could have a civil conversation, and she was about to abandon my child and I. She knew I needed her, but she had to prove it to me. She had to make me feel it. But I had preparations now. Her little display of affection to my son caught the attention of a lot of my co-workers. Specialist Muala told me she would watch Savior for free if she left, and I was cool with that. I even let Lauren know I was cool with her leaving now, since I had child care. Lauren felt challenged when she met Specialist Muala at a birthday party the following weekend. Muala invited both of our kids to a sleepover birthday party, and when we dropped them off and they met, Lauren took one look at her and felt challenged. Spc. Muala was about my age and she was beautiful; Lauren was intimidated by her on the spot. She played it off and was civil until we got into the car. She immediately accused me of sleeping with her and started acting fucked up. I laughed, and I laughed hard. It was hilarious. I’d never even had a conversation

outside of work with Muala until she watched Savior the other day. She and I had no other relationship, and Lauren made up some shit out of thin air to hide her insecurities. I laughed, but I chilled out when Lauren was about to get crazy. I explained all this to Lauren, but she was stubborn, so I stopped explaining. The next day, after we picked up the kids from the party, Lauren wanted to talk about her trip home. All of a sudden, she wanted to take Savior with her home. She explained to me how it was wrong for her to take Allen and not Savior on vacation. She suddenly found clarity and said all of the arguments I presented on the situation were right. Yeah, right. I knew why she’d had a sudden change of heart, but I went with it. During shift, SFC. Lakeway called me into the office. I took a while to leave the serving line, but once I was done with what I was doing, I headed to her office. When I walked in, she was kissing SSG. Digg! I stopped in shock, then I laughed. Fucking hypocrites. They played it off like it was a joke, but I know what I saw, even though I didn’t give a fuck. They told me to take a seat, and I did so. I wanted to know what they needed from me since I needed to take a seat and my shift was serving. Sgt. Lakeway turned her attention to me and asked me if I could train Private Books for the next brigade board. I said, “No problem. Is that it?” She said, “No, I need you to ask your wife if it’s possible to help her husband get a job up at the bowling center. They’re going through a hard time and they need help. She’s an excellent soldier, but she’s having problems at home.” I told them, “I’ll ask her, but I can’t make any promises. As for the board prep, that’s too easy.” SSG Digg said, “I would help her husband with shit. I wanna beat his punk ass, since he wants to fight all the damn time!” I got up and went back to the serving line. There are a lot of rumors going around the DFAC, and Private books was in the same boat I was. Her husband was a civilian and they had been fighting a lot. She got here the same month I got here, and she was very quiet. All she did was work and go home. Apparently, her husband was this so-called thug and he had a hitting problem. I heard a lot of the rumors, but I didn’t entertain them. They only added to the problem. I recently met Private Books personally, a few weeks prior to Specialist Muala’s

daughters sleepover. She was a nice young lady, and the fact that she was going through what I was going though at home made me want to help her. It was hard to be a soldier when the person who was supposed to have your back was your main enemy. I told Lauren what SFC. Lakeway was asking, and Lauren didn’t have a problem with trying to get her husband a job up there with her. A week later he was hired, but that didn’t make anything better. It empowered him to act even worse. During the workday, when I would give Private Books assignments, she would tell me her problems. I felt her pain. I understood everything she was saying. Over time we became good friends. She was a hard worker and a strong woman, I respected her for that. I tried to help her fix her marriage and give her advice, but her husband didn’t love her, and no matter what plan I came up with to help her, he shut her out completely. Things weren’t going well for me at home, either. I was doing great in school because I spent most of my time alone in my studio. Lauren and I tried not to involve the children in our issues, but we were living like roommates and the kids sensed the difference. We barely slept in the bed together and we argued every other day until the day she left to go home. That was a terrible day, and I knew it would never be the same after. We already had trust issues and I felt like she was running out on me before we could fix them. She loaded the car while she and the children sang. They were excited to leave. I wasn’t happy at all. I didn’t want her to go, but she needed time to rethink our situation. I just didn’t see that as a tool to help us. I didn’t understand how her going on a vacation back to her hometown, without me, was going to help us with our trust and respect issues. She couldn’t wait to get out of here and I knew she was going to spend most of her time partying and not thinking about me. I watched Lauren walk out the door and I knew it was over. I knew that once she left, we would never forgive each other for what was going to happen next. I knew my marriage was over as I watched Lauren pack. She was only going for a short time, but somehow, I knew it would be the end. After all of the arguments and saying hurtful things to each other, I just knew she was going home and do something spiteful to me. She had spitefully taught me lessons in pain, and this was going to be another addition. I tried to act like it was okay, but after hearing her and Dedra talk about me like I

wasn’t shit and talk about Lauren’s exes like they were kings made think she was going home to cheat. She was singing and dancing like it was nothing, like she couldn’t see the pain in my eyes. Then she kissed me goodbye, and told me, “I love you.” I watched Lauren and the kids pull off and I started to cry. the tears were momentary, because self-pride and self-worth took over. I went straight into the studio and finished up my school work. I was alone, and the house was quiet. I missed them already. I needed to take my mind off of her. I decided to stay in the studio all night. The consequence left me fast asleep after a long day at my workstation. I slept well that night.

Flashback

Fort Riley, Kansas

-October 2005-

I just got off the phone with Shanisha after a long 2-hour conversation. I had to endure that phone call if I wanted my plan to be effective. I was about to go sign out on leave and possibly make one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I was about to drive to Georgia and get married for the second time. The problem was that I just knew in my heart that Shanisha, the woman I was about to marry, was cheating on me. I was married for eight years before and I knew the signs of infidelity. The shit that she was doing just didn’t add up. Like leaving her daughter with a friend overnight, then not answering my calls until the next afternoon. But Shanisha was intelligent and was married before also. She always had an extraordinary excuse for whatever happened, leaving me partially convinced.

Eventually I would pretend to let it go for the benefit of stopping an argument that could last for hours over the phone. But mostly because I had a plan to find out everything I needed to know. Shanisha thought my leave started in November, but I scheduled it to start a couple of days earlier and I never told her. I was going to drive to Georgia and follow her for a day or so. I was dead set on finding out the truth before I married her. We had been separated for five months now, and things hadn’t been the same since we left Korea. I couldn’t believe she was doing this to me after everything we’d been through, everything she knew I just went through with Akasha. I had the car loaded up and I was ready to hit the road. It was a 16-hour drive across the heart of the country to Georgia. I had nothing but time to think about what I was going to do to trap Shanisha and find out the truth about what was going on over the last five months. Shanisha left Korea one month before I did. I was originally supposed to go to Georgia behind her after my tour in Korea. But because I extended my tour in Korea until my divorce with Akasha was finished, it voided my original contract, and left me at the needs of the army. So, I got orders to Fort Riley, and Shanisha and I weren’t married yet. So neither of us would even be able to submit a change of duty station until we were married. But I was having second thoughts about the whole situation. These last few months had been rocky, and our long-distance relationship was turning out to be a failure. Shanisha and I didn’t find out about my orders to Fort Riley until two months before we were to return to stateside duty from Korea. We were already in love and planned to marry a year after we got to Georgia, so we had to change the plan and continue our relationship long-distance until we got married. When I returned from Korea, I spent a week in New York with my family, and then I spent the rest of my leave in Georgia with Shanisha. I should have just signed into Fort Benning and taken the article 15 and loss of rank, but I didn’t know if she was worth all that at the time. Now I was stuck between a rock and a hard place because I had spent all my money helping her with her bills and her second house and she had half of my belongings down there with her. So, no matter what, I had to go to Georgia and face her if I ever wanted closure. I started the car, hit the road, and the adventure began. For the first few hours of the drive, all I thought about was all the bullshit I knew she was lying about. For example: one night after I called her over 20 times and

she didn’t answer, I decided to check her messages. I had too much invested into Shanisha, and the last 2 months had been hell for me on my end. I was sending her all my money, leaving me in fucked-up situations. I needed to know what was going on, so I went through all of her messages one by one. The last message was at 1137pm. The message was from a man. I listened to it and he said, “Shanisha, thank you for the wonderful evening, and I can’t wait until the next time we can spend time together.” I was about to calm down until I heard that message. Now I wanted to talk to this bitch, but she wouldn’t answer the phone. She finally answered the phone, and she knew I checked her messages. So, before I could go off properly, she told me she had to call me back because she had her command sergeant major on the other line and she hung up. “Huh? What? Wait!” I shouted, but she was gone. Now I was confused; I wasn’t prepared for that. I was ready to curse this bitch out and she hit me with that before I could get a word out. She had my attention; she flipped that shit on me quick. I wasn’t sold just yet, though. She still had some explaining to do. She called me back about 15 minutes later and told me that a soldier got raped earlier that evening and she was called in because she was the SHARP NCO for the battalion. She explained the situation and when I asked her about the message, she told me that the man was Sgt. Henry and he was the SHARP NCOIC at brigade level. She said they had been working together since the incident occurred and that was why she couldn’t answer the phone. So, I asked her, “Why did he say he couldn’t wait to spend more time with you? And what was so wonderful about the evening?” She responded with “The situation was bad, but they caught the soldier who did it and they were all happy things went well.” I still wasn’t convinced, but I bought it. It was situations like that, and it was a lot of them happening every other day for the past two months. I was sick of her lies, and she was spending a lot of money. Mostly my money, and her reasons for it didn’t make any sense. I had two children of my own. An E-5 in the army didn’t make that much money. I was thinking that this woman was not only a cheater, she was ungrateful and selfish also. During the next few hours of the drive all I could think about was all the good times Shanisha and I had had in Korea. It was going to be a hard decision in the end regardless of what was going to happen. I loved Shanisha, but I knew it

might have been too soon to marry her anyway. The rest of the drive I just listened to music, recollecting all the wonderful times I had with Shanisha, then all the bullshit she and I went through in the past few months. It was a hell of a drive for me, and an emotional roller coaster. I had always been a hopeless romantic, and throughout the whole drive, I listened to R&B and looked for answers. One hour before I pulled into Columbus, home of Fort Benning, I called up my cousin Jonathan and asked him if he was ready to switch cars. He was and suggested we met up at his house. The plan was in action. I switched cars with John and drove over to Shanisha’s house. Shanisha was moving at the time, because we agreed that the place, she was renting was too expensive for us at the moment. So, she found an apartment right down the street for 200 dollars cheaper. When I arrived, Shanisha was outside loading up her moving truck. The plan was for her to move the small stuff and once I got there, I would help her get the larger items. I purposely did that, also. I figured if there was a man in the picture somewhere, he would at least be helping her move. I parked 30 yards away from her and watched her for over an hour. Then I saw her answer her phone, and she started arguing with someone. Whoever it was, they pissed her off. She was yelling into the phone, but I was too far away to hear what she was saying. I couldn’t move any closer without giving my position away, so I tried to read her lips. She was still loading up the truck while she argued on the phone, so reading her lips wasn’t working either. I decided to call her and see what she does. She looked at the phone and ignored my call. I called again, and she did the same thing, so I waited until she was done with her current call before I called her back. As soon as I saw she had ended the call. I called back, and when she answered I said, “Hey, I was trying to call you, but I got no answer. Were you on the phone or something?” She responded, “No, I wasn’t on the phone. I was moving stuff out the house. I left my phone charging in the moving truck.” She lied to me, without hesitation. She blatantly lied to me. I knew she was cheating now; there was no other reason for her to lie about something that simple. I sat and watched for another hour,

waiting for a man to show up. After waiting there for so long, I came up with another plan: I needed to get her phone. I should have thought of that sooner. It held all my answers. I devised a plan to get to her phone without her having a moment to delete anything. I called my cousin Pat and asked her to help me out. Pat was glad to help; she didn’t want me to marry Shanisha anyway. The plan was for Shanisha and me to have dinner over the internet. I told her to stop packing and moving and take a few hours to relax and eat. She was to get her laptop and go to her favorite restaurant, and I was to do the same. She thought I was just being sweet and spontaneously romantic, she had no clue I was sitting in a car less than 50 yards in front of her apartment. Pat was coming to babysit her daughter while we ate, and when Pat left the house, she was to leave the door opened or unlocked. So, while Shanisha was in the shower, I would sneak in and grab the phone. Ten minutes later, everything was set to go, and Pat was on her way to Shanisha’s house. I waited downstairs in the car talking to Shanisha on the phone. I was pushing her to hurry up and get ready to go. She was very excited to do something together, something sweet, and that was genuine. She was happy, and it made me feel bad in a way, but I had to do what I had to do because my future was on the line. Pat pulled up and got out of her car. I turned off the car and watched. Pat walked up the long flight of stairs and knocked on the door. My heart started pounding. I was getting nervous, or anxious to finally do this and find out the truth. Once Pat went inside, I walked up the stairs and waited by the door. I heard them talking. I heard Pat say, “Okay, well, I’m going to leave and let you get in the shower.” Then the door opened. Pat opened the door and stepped out, I was standing on the side waiting to hug Shasha, her daughter, once she saw me. I had to get her quiet and tell her, “I’m surprising Mommy.” When she saw me, she lit up with joy. “Daddy, Daddy!” I grabbed her, hugged her, and told her what I needed to tell her to calm her down, while Pat held the door for me. I was in the house. I heard Shanisha in the tub bathing because she had the bathroom door open. I didn’t see the phone in the living room or kitchen, so it had to be either in the bedroom or the bathroom with her. I took the chance and tried to sneak by the bathroom without her seeing me. I

had to be a silent blur. I whipped past the door without notice and got into the bedroom. I couldn’t find the damned phone there either. Now I was out of options. I looked everywhere and could not find it. I sneaked back into the living room and looked for the phone again. She saw me and jumped out of the tub. I was caught, so I just came clean, so I wouldn’t have her thinking someone broke in while she was naked. When she recognized me, she just starting crying and it made me feel loved. But I had come too far. I asked her for the phone. She was startled; her face gave it away. She asked me why I needed it and I told her I needed to call my mother to let her know I made it, and my phone had died. She seemed weary and pretended to look for the phone. She was trying to act like she was looking for the phone, but she spent half the time doing it hugging me and kissing me, saying she missed me. It was a ploy and I saw right through it. I began to help her look for the phone. All of a sudden, she found it and tried to unlock it before I could she’d found it. I turned around and demanded it because I needed to call in a hurry and snatched it out of her hand. It was unlocked so I kissed her and told her to finish her shower. I was going outside to call my mom and smoke a cigarette. She stood there with a worried look on her face. I gave her another kiss of reassurance and proceeded out the door. I’d done it. I had the phone and she didn’t have a moment to delete anything. This was the moment of truth, the reason I needed to answer my question…should I marry this woman? I exited the apartment and jogged down the stairs to my car. As soon as I got inside my car and turned on the air conditioning, I couldn’t wait to see what was in her phone and I opened the text messages. I scrolled through dozens of messages and then I noticed one particular number she had over 50 messages with it. I opened it, and as I scrolled through the messages, I saw pictures she had sent to the person. They were naked pictures of her posing in sexy positions, the same exact pictures she was sending me as a remembrance of what was mine. “That bitch!” I yelled in anger. I continued to scroll down and read more messages and I had all my answers. I called the number that she was sending these messages and pictures to. A woman answered. I said, “Hello, yes, um, my wife has been sending pictures and messages to this number. Can you tell me why and who she was sending them to?” The woman took a deep breath and said, “You must be the fiancé. I’m sorry, sir, but your fiancée and my husband had a situation, and I think you should talk to her about it. I’m trying to get my household back together in the aftermath and

I’m a Christian woman. I won’t bring any drama to your household.” Then she hung up, and I’d heard enough. I’d heard the pain in her voice, and I broke down and cried myself. I stormed back upstairs and into the house. Shanisha was sitting on the couch, crying, waiting for me to come back. She knew I’d gone through her phone and found the messages and pictures. I threw the phone at her and said, “I fucking knew it. You’re a fucking liar.” She just sat there and cried while I went bonkers. After I was done having my moment, she spoke. “I love you, Sol. I’m sorry, but I never slept with him. I was working with him on a rape case and his wife thought we were sleeping together. She threatened to hurt Shasha out of impulse before I even explained the situation to her. I snapped, and we argued. I’ve been sending pictures of my ass to his phone ever since. “I wanted to believe her. I didn’t want to believe she slept with anyone. I’d invested too much into Shanisha and the separation was rough for the both of us. I still wanted the truth, and I wasn’t going to let it go until I got it from her. For days, she stuck to the same story. I just wanted my stuff out of her house and the money she promised me. After that, I was gone. She never stopped trying to make things right. She wanted to go through with the wedding. I was still waiting for the truth. She swore to God she gave it to me already. Twelve days later, we married. I spent my remaining days on leave partially happy. The love we made was great and things felt like Korea again. I still had to go back to Fort Riley in a few days, and no one knew how long it would be until one of us got orders to relocate. I tried hard not to stress over what she might do when I left, and I thought I had the strength to let go what she did, but it stayed in the back of my mind. I resented her, and that resentment grew every day we were separated once I left Georgia. I loved Shanisha. She made me fall in love with her to do the same shit Akasha did to me in the end.

* * *

I went back to work worried. I wondered if anyone could see the pain I was feeling. For the next couple of days, I zoned everyone at work out and focused on getting home to relax my mind. Every time Lauren and I would talk, it would be about the same old shit. It never failed, no matter how nice the conversation started, we’d end up arguing. That was if she answered the phone, because since she got to Georgia, I could barely get a hold of her. I knew she would do this, too. I knew she would act different once she got home. This vacation wasn’t getting us anywhere, and when we did talk, the arguments were only hurting more. We were destroying each other verbally and eventually would wind up hanging up on each other. She was forcing me to make a decision, because what she was asking for, I couldn’t provide. She wanted me to stop putting work before her. I tried to explain to her that I wasn’t doing that. I had no choices in when the army needed me to work, so it was best that I just did it with a smile on my face. She didn’t understand that if a soldier had a problem and my command was notified, I had to respond first. I was the firstline supervisor and Sgt. Willis lived 30 miles away in Rolla. The rest of her argument was about pointless Facebook friends and old relationships. I was trying to tell her that I couldn’t take anymore arguments, it was beginning to affect my focus at work. But she always thought I was making it all about me, and that became the next argument. She left me with no way to defend myself, not being able to talk or express my side of the story made me feel like I was being suffocated. A lot of issues she was pointing out I did make change to but I needed her to make some changes too. My days at work was starting to feel longer. I was constantly flipping my concentration from work and back to solutions I needed for problems I had at home. This took a lot of resiliency; I had a large workload on my plate. The army didn’t care about your home life when there was a mission on the table. I was in charge of a small platoon of soldiers, not to mention that I had to run shift, and I had over 10 soldiers I managed every day in order to feed over 400 soldiers three times a day. This is how our dining facility functioned: we had three serving lines at breakfast and dinner, and four at lunch. Each station required one to two soldiers; the main lines needed two. That was five soldiers minimum in order to serve the customers at moderate speed. Two soldiers were needed to prepare and back up the salad bar, and those two soldiers had to be good workers because the

salad bar had to help the pastry area also. That equaled seven soldiers minimum. Include pastry or baker and that was eight. All of our pastry personnel were trained by me from the moment I came to Fort Leonard Wood until the dining facility closed, with the exception of two soldiers, and I had a great impact on them also. Our main areas and most demanding are the meats and starches and vegetables sections. Meats needed two well-trained soldiers and starches and vegetables needed one soldier and two on special meals. That equaled eleven soldiers so far. If the shift leader and the first cook were real soldiers, you wouldn’t need any more soldiers unless it was a special meal. But there were only two or three shift leaders and first cooks who could handle the traffic and quality our facility required. As the primary feeding facility for all of the NCO academy’s personnel, we had to be one of the best. The civilians had it easy; most of the products they prepared were pre-made. All of their pasties were pre-made, and they barely cooked products from scratch. The military had different standards. We had to prepare food in accordance with army nutrition and preparation standards. We had to do it with a smaller budget than the civilians had, so we saved a lot of money making most products and dishes from scratch, like pastries, soups, and some main-course items. We had to order an abundance of fruits for the fitness and salad bars anyway, so it was easier to teach the soldiers to use fresh fruit for desserts. A Minimum of eleven soldiers were needed on each shift. This was the minimum number of soldiers needed to run a shift on an average day. This did not count the soldiers needed to run the other sections, like and rations. Those sections were separate from shift and food preparation. I made it my business to train each soldier every day I worked. I loved my job; it was the best. I loved showing soldiers how to cook great dishes. I held competitions in the dining facility during shift every other week, placing cooks against each other in a competition setting, and I used the senior NCOs to judge. The motivated soldiers loved the idea, and of course the slackers and the soldiers who really didn’t give a damn about their job downplayed the ideas. That only made me grind harder though. I love opposition. One day during shift, one of my soldiers, Sergeant Aspen Schmitt pulled me to the side and asked if I had a moment to talk. He seemed stressed, I knew it was about this demotion he was facing, so I went outside to talk to him. He told me that he went to see the first sergeant that morning and yes, he was recommended for a reduction board. He had to get his defense

together and be ready in three weeks. I disagreed with my first sergeant’s decision, and I had been working with Schmitt for the month on his PT. He was making progress fast, but he overextended himself and hurt his ankle. My first sergeant thought he was malingering and using his ankle as an excuse. So, he recommended him for a reduction board based on the idea that NCOs should never make excuses to fail a PT test. I tried to talk to the first sergeant about it, and I let him know I was working with him on his run. My first sergeant was a real leader. He said to me with a cool demeanor, “There’s no bad blood between you and me, Sgt. Smith. You have your reasons, and I have mine. If you strongly disagree with my recommendation, then speak on his behalf and let the board decide. I won’t look at you any differently because you disagree with my decision. In fact, I want NCOs like you to stand up for their soldiers. That’s what you’re supposed to do if you disagree. First Sergeant Mathews taught me a valuable lesson that day, and I told Sergeant Schmitt I had his back. I asked him what was the uniform, and he said, “Regular ACU uniform.” I told him to have his dress blue uniform ready for inspection in two weeks. I wasn’t going in there for him if he wasn’t ready. He didn’t understand why I was making him get into his dress uniform if the prescribed uniform was ACUs. I told him. “A reduction board is a brigade-level board and hasn’t been used in the army in years. The fact that they are using it on you means they have no other justification to demote you. You need to impress them and show them you’re more than just a PT failure. I’ll defend you with PT; don’t worry about that area.” Then I went back inside and continued to run shift. While Lauren was back in Georgia, I had a lot of time to think about our marriage. I didn’t see any light at the end of the tunnel because we couldn’t have a civil conversation. Plus, I knew in my heart that she wasn’t being fair to Savior. She didn’t treat him like a mother would treat a child. He wasn’t her child, though, and I knew she wanted to say that to me. The problem was I treated Allen like he was my son; I just didn’t let him bully Savior. I would have been the same way if it was the other way around even more so. I wouldn’t want my child bullying my stepchild. She didn’t see it as bullying, though; she thought of it as sibling rivalry. I could understand that, but Savior had only been back with us for about a year. He needed to get more comfortable first and find his place in the family. She thought I was babying him and being rougher on Allen. Allen had a smart-ass mouth. I was rougher on him because he was older and I didn’t tolerate disrespectful

children. I’m not saying he was disrespectful, but he tested the limits at times. Lauren thought it was funny and would laugh at it when he tested those limits. I told her she was breeding disrespect toward me in him by laughing. She would always disagree. One afternoon during a heated argument with Lauren while she was out shopping back at home, she gave me a fucked-up ultimatum: she told me to shut the fuck up or she was about to leave my son on the corner in downtown Columbus. I paused. My mind started spinning. She just crushed my heart. What with the fact that she left him in the middle of the DFAC parking lot just a couple of weeks ago, in 15-degree weather and drove off I believed her. I pictured him standing alone, in downtown Columbus, crying. I could imagine how he was feeling, hearing her say those words to me, because she was yelling, and he had to be nearby. She didn’t know how much she hurt me when she said those words to me. I was done with her from that moment on. I hung up the phone. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. I just snapped and hung up. A few hour later, after I planned out my next move, I finally called Lauren and apologized. I needed to ensure she brought my son back to me, and then I was absolutely through with her. I had to get my focus off of Lauren, so I used work and school as a focal point and motivational tool. She had me in a downward spiral. I was busting my ass to live the American dream and provide her with the best things I could, but she was fighting that dream and tearing it apart. I had to find a new tactic, a different way to engage her. After about 20 minutes of hard thinking, I figured out what I was going to do. I was going to agree with everything she said, and not talk about my needs whatsoever. I wanted to show her that I was willing to do whatever it took. I was also using it as a learning tool. I wanted to see how long I could cater to her issues vs. how long it would take for her to ask me about my issues. We still argued consistently, but my new method was working. She was all about me focusing on her. She never asked me about my issues, either. Days went by. Mostly, the entire time she was away, she never asked. It pissed me off so badly to sit there for all those days, listing and working out ways to make her happy. While she never asked me shit, like all my issues I had with her just disappeared. I knew then I had to leave; she didn’t love me at all. I figured, all I would ever have in the end would be the army anyway, so I’d better give

that all my focus first. I loved Lauren so much, and it hurt really badly to think of us divorcing. I honestly blamed most of our problems on us never having a real wedding. The next conversation with Lauren went a lot differently. We both agreed on not arguing at all during the phone call. Our only topic was what was going to happen when she came back home. She told me once she got back, she would only be here for one day. Her dad was coming with her. They planned to get a moving truck the following morning and be on the road before 4:00 p.m. She was serious about staying home and so was I. We both had lessons to teach and something to prove now! I called Specialist Muala and told her the situation. She had no problem with watching Savior while I was at work. Private Washington was her best friend and alternate sitter, so I had childcare under control. Shit, I was ready. I was going to show her who needed whom more! I started packing her shit, and I put it all in the garage. I gave her everything she wanted. I was carrying dressers and TVs down a full flight of stairs by myself. I wanted her to spend the least amount of time here. I had all of her shit packed and ready to go. Lauren came back as promised. She brought me my son. She had her dad and a moving truck with her. It was very obvious she was serious. Well, I guess I was too, after moving all of her belongings into the garage. She had made up her mind. She was going back home for a little while until things cooled off between us. We didn’t argue that badly, but we had a good disagreement. She still had her reasons and feelings and so did I. So, she tried to say I was mental. She said her mother told her I might have PTSD and I needed to go get checked. Maybe I did have a small form of it, but it wasn’t my problem. She was my problem. I had been making changes; I even made a list. She wasn’t willing to make changes because I wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t love me, and it showed. The things I was asking for were simple: I needed her to meet me halfway on everything and from there our relationship would grow. I needed her to put Allen’s dad on child to pay some of these bills we had. I needed her to apologize for once and make up with me for a change. Either way, in the end we strongly disagreed with each other and she was going back home. This was it. This was about to be devastating to both him and me. But it had to be done. I

wasn’t about to let her mistreat my son. She wanted to prove to me that I needed her, and I had to prove to her I didn’t. Those were our , and we accepted them. Now we marched onto the battlefield, to see who would win. The next afternoon I helped Lauren finish up packing the moving truck. Watching her prepare to leave had me feeling so empty, but I wasn’t going to show it. I knew in my mind she was ready to get back to Georgia, so she could party and run the streets. She wasn’t ready for the life I was trying to give her or what it took to get it. Savior looked so confused; the way she was brushing past him was breaking my heart. It was like he meant nothing to her at all. Around 1400, Lauren got into the truck and left, I stood outside and watched the moving truck peak at the top of the hill and disappear. I was torn apart. I was terrified of what was next to come. I was embarrassed to let people know my wife left me. I was on my own and I had to man up for my son. The expression on his face reminded me of his mom when I deployed to Iraq.

* * *

Here in this moment, particularly I was unprepared, but I was also relieved. Lauren was gone like a chapter finished; a page turned; a book concluded.. She was really gone. It was crazy how, just a few months ago, I never pictured life without her, and now she had left me. I turned to Savior, and he was crying. I said, “It’s just me and you now.” He turned and hugged me. Then he grabbed my hand and pulled me in the house.

END OF PART 1

The story has only begun...