Philip Dampier's Blog

Toby’s mother pulled into a parking place in front of their motel room. She did not shut off the car but lay across the steering wheel. Her shoulders began to shake even though she gripped the wheel harder and harder. Soon, sobs accompanied the shaking and tears came with the sobs. She felt a great sense of guilt rush over her. Guilt about leaving Toby and her mother, guilt about ignoring them both for ten years. Guilt for all she had been and done since she had left them.

Through the tears, she asked herself, “Why did I do that, why?” She knew the answer. She was too young to be a mother, and she resented the authority figure her mother had become. She had ideas, and with the ideas there were plans, and Southern City and all that it represented was holding her back. She had to leave, get away, be herself. That’s what she thought the morning after giving birth. The father wanted nothing to do with Toby, and she wondered why she should be saddled with him. Trying to raise a child without a father in an African American neighborhood was hard enough but to do it as a young teenage mother would have been impossible.

I should have relied on mother to help me, she thought. I could have, but I left her to take full responsibility for Toby. That was wrong. I’ve known it was wrong for a long time. It was wrong to her but even worse for Toby. Why haven’t I done something about it? The sobbing stopped, and she looked at her face in the car’s rearview mirror.

Her eyes cleared and the deadness she was used to seeing was replaced by a new look. Suddenly, she saw a glimmer of life. A long-forgotten spark glistened in the corner of her eyes. For the first time in years, she felt a sense of purpose rising in her heart. Her body seemed lighter, and it was as if a heavy load had been lifted from somewhere deep within.

For the first time in ten years, Maxine Blackwelder looked up and acknowledged God. “Forgive me,” she prayed, but her lips did not move. Then, as if the floodgates gave way, the words came gushing forth. She bared her soul and her heart and confronted herself; when she was done with her soul-searching, she felt empty and then slowly, she began to feel full.

It was different being full of God instead of herself. Courage she had not known she possessed overcame her. She picked up her cell phone from the passenger seat and dialed 911.

“The man who killed Charles and Toby is in room 24 of the Lazy Inn motel. His name is RaQuen Walker. The room is full of drugs which he intends to sell.

“My name is Maxine Blackwelder.

“I’m outside the room, but I want to go in. I want to confront him with the truth of what he’s done.

“No, Sir. I’m going in. I want him to know that he killed my uncle and my son.

“I won’t tell him that you’re coming, but I want to see his face when you get here.

“Yes, Sir, I’ll leave the door open.

“Oh, that’s easy. I’ve lived with him for the past five years.

“No, Sir, I won’t leave.”

Maxine opened the car door, swung her purse over her shoulder and took purposeful steps toward the door of room 24. She inserted her key in the lock and turned the handle, stepping into the edge of the room. RaQuen stuck his head out of the bathroom door and grinned.