Bud light part 1

It’s an early Saturday morning. I have just been woken up buy a loud hooting of the Cargo train across the street. Gosh, it was freaking sucking. It’s only on Saturdays that I got some free time in the morning. That damn train! Shameless it is. Oops, I can’t get any sleep. I try to text some of my online friends and none of them is concerned. They are probably having lunch. And some are probably so hungry to reply. Time zone difference is another issue. Many of my friends are in Kenya. They are 7 hours ahead of me. Those are my friends. I am like Jesus; we both have Judas Iscariots. If you do reply to my texts you are not a Judas, and if you don’t, you better quit reading this essay. Am gonna attack you. You are a snooper. A freaking Gossiper and a gnat. I don wonna be rude, or intimidating here, but I would like to love you, or hate you. Well, the cocktail of love and hate works best for me. I would love to hate you.
Sorry guys, I am not always the smiling guy I seem to be. Sometimes I get mad. It’s not your fault this time. It’s the heart breaking train. It got me started. I guess my sugar level is high. I need a doctor. You probably need one too. They say we are all positive until proven negative. I have always gone to the doctors. I love myself. I love my health too. That’s how I am. When the doctor sends me to the lab I cooperate and have all the specimen with the Lab tech. The Problem is that I am never patient to wait for the results. They could be disappointing. So I sneak out and leave them with the results. But am better than you. At least I visited a doctor. You did not. The reason I called you Judas. You are always betraying me, betraying me for a bottle of beer. Gosh, I love beer. I love drinking. And it’s what I am likely to do today. I have to go to the Indian liquor store in the city square. Indians are everywhere. Almost seventy percent of motels in the USA are run by Indians. Gosh, Here I start lying. I seem to be so sure of this Indian statistics. I have slept only in 5 motels. Three of them were run by Indians. I am now here comfortably misleading all of you with the 70 % thing. Don’t take me seriously. I never take you seriously too. After all many of you are strangers. In facebook I only know 200 people. At least I have met them. The rest are surrogate friends. I probably need them. Probably I don’t. Oops back to the story. I love this Indian liquor store because they are cheaper. The seller is my friend he is called Vicky. He is always giving me a discount because I am from Kenya. He loves Kenyans. I need to buy a lot of beer. Enough for today and tomorrow. Tomorrow is Sunday.
This is Early County. My city is called Blakely, Georgia. You probably have not heard of such a city. It’s a small town three hours away south of Atlanta. This is a dry County. They don’t sell no liquor on Sundays. The reason for this is because it’s predominantly protestant. The evangelical denominations condemn alcohol. Wow, I love being Catholic. The Catholic Church does not encourage alcoholism, but it does teach moderation. The Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC 2290), teaches that “Alcohol Consumption in moderation is not immoral. But we should avoid the abuse of alcohol, just as we should avoid the abuse of any food, drug, or other substance. The virtue of temperance disposes us to avoid every kind of excess: the abuse of food, alcohol, tobacco, or medicine.” I am sorry am taking you back to Sunday school. I got many protestant friends who don’t understand our doctrine. I had to get them educated. It is foolish to criticize a doctrine you not familiar with. I am so kind to rob off that foolishness. Friends don’t be a person of one book. It’s dangerous. Read widely and you will widen the scope of your thinking and reasoning. Oops, back to my story again. It was about Alcohol. And I remember mentioning that I had to purchase enough. And indeed I did. I got enough bud light beer in my car.
Its 11 am. I am driving home from the liquor store. I turn right to merge the North main street. My house is only 0.4 miles away. In less than a minute I will be sipping my cold beer. Gosh, I just can’t wait to. It’s very hot here. The temperature is 90 degrees Fahrenheit. This is equivalent to 32.2 degrees Celcius. I am using and old car. It’s a Honda Civic – Sedan, 2007. It has poor air conditioning. Its old, it has 179502 miles on it. I am boiling in here. I can’t speed. You don’t wonna speed here. The speed limit is 35 miles. Am almost home. And Damn! The red light blinks at the railway station. I have to stop! The road is blocked. The earth is vibrating. The deafening hoots are at best. I hate this. Am sad. And this friend of mine called Isaac is video calling. I am thinking, cant he give me a break? Must he call? Can’t he be patient for once? I am able to pick the WiFi from my house. I am just a railway crossing away from my house. The after I cross the railway I get to my yard. This Cargo train has 5 Engines and probably a hundred containers. It’s infinite. I am spending here today.
There is a heavy traffic behind me. A man behind my car is hooting. He probably thinks that I am the cause of the traffic. Can’t he see the damn train. I am sure he is upset by the scotching heat. He is in an old dodge truck. Probably he has no conditioners in it. I cant help him. Luckily the last container or trailer passes. No more red lights, no more blockage. I cross the railway. I have to turn left then slide right to my yard. I just cant turn left. The traffic moving the opposite direction is longer than the train. They were also blocked by the damn train. This calls for patience. The Man in a dodge is allergic to this virtue of patience. He is hooting continuously, and probably cursing me. I notice that he is not good looking. Above all he is angry. Can you imagine of an ugly angry man? That is what he is. He looks like a bad omen.
Wow, this young lady stops on the left lane to allow me pass. She is white with a long silky hair. I wave at her in appreciation and I notice the beauty behind her smiles. Her beauty makes my day. I wish was able to see some places below. She is riding in a Cadillac. A black and elongated model. It’s a good car, real Good. I am embarrassed in my blue Honda. And finally I am in my yard. I am so happy. I cant wait to get to the house. I live in an old house but has the best air conditioner. Before I get in I notice that the old, ugly, angry and probably hungry man is stuck. His engine couldn’t start. I pity him, though I feel happy deep inside me. I always feel some inner joy and a sort of satisfaction when I see some of my enemies suffer, especially the bad looking ones. You probably do too. Hahaha this reminds me the wise Saying of this African Legend and the President of Zimbabwe Robert Mugabe. He says that it’s not good to be ugly. When a good looking man farts the ugly ones become the prime suspects.
I am in my house. I am sipping my beer religiously. Oh My, it has a taste of amazing grace. Can you imagine a cold beer on a hot day? If in heaven there is beer, I seriously confess my sins. I am never sinning again. My recent sin was to say that someone was ugly. I change my mind. He is good looking. I think is an American Ezra Chiloba. I love the music I am listening. The club music is hitting. I am listening and watching the “Dash Berlin: Extra Music Festival, Miami). Gosh I love his music selection. I am on my 7th beer, and still I feel thirsty. What a day? It’s getting late. Its 6.30pm. I can’t cook. Am hungry. I cant drive out when drunk. I could be a bad boy, but I don’t mess with law. In USA law is binding. And you don’t wonna have a DuI in your records. DUI is Driving under Influence. Don’t say I never warned you.
I decide to walk across the street and buy some BBQ chicken. And that is what I do. It’s a small food joint. They got seats outside. You order and wait for 20 minutes. I love this place because the chicken never gets cold. It is very hot outside. Only African-Americans come to dine here. To be honest, I don’t understand them. Their accent is very difficult. I lived in Bertie County in North Carolina and majority of the residents there are African –Americans. Actually 66% is black. No matter how I tried to be attentive I couldn’t understand them perfectly. I recall this Saturday afternoon. I was volunteering in a food pantry in small town called Windsor, North Carolina. I was helping this lady to take some cereals and fruits to her car. I exactly don’t remember what I was trying to explain to her, but I do remember her asking whether I speak English.
She questioned, “You don’t speak English, Do you? Where you come from?”
This question was very frustrating. Nevertheless, I was polite in my response to her.
“No, I don’t speak English. I am from Kenya.” I replied.
“I thought so.” She said.
I thought I knew how to speak English until landed in the New World of the Americas. Everyone says I got a heavy accent. They got accent too. Damn! Everyone got an accent. When I am in good moods I am always willing to repeat the pronunciation of some words to perfect our dialogue. But Many Americans are lazy, and unwilling to listen attentively the way I do listen to them. Ok, back to my story. And this is a true story guys.
It’s probably 7.30 pm. I am just crossing the railway walking towards my yard. I can hear some loud music in the neighborhood. It’s so tempting. I am thinking, “Do I go to that club today, or today and tomorrow?’’ This temptation is strong. I am walking along the Georgia pike avenue. And after 0.3 miles I turn right to the North Church Street. I can now see the noisy club. It’s called, OLD SCHOOL 21, whatever that means. It’s a small pub, the size of trailer houses. I get in and fine four big African American women. Two are playing pool game and two are talking, one from the counter, each with a bottle of beer.
I say hello to them and ask for a bud light. I lost the count of the beers, but its more than 12 beers. And like Jesus on cross I say, I thirst. I did not engage in a conversation. I already mentioned to you the scandal of language here. Well, I must finish this beer and go back to the house. Truly this is an old school pub. The music playing is the Caribbean queen. I finish my beer and walk back to my house. Outside the pub I notice many good cars, many guys are having fun, beautiful ladies with their boyfriends smoking and drinking beside their cars. They all look suspicious and uncomfortable with my walking beside them. I feel insecure. I relax when I see a cop pass. This is a black neighbourhood. You may have watched in movies how many of them are brutal and extremely violent.
I am safely back in my house. The bud light in the refrigerator is still seducing me. Gosh, am thinking, I am so cheap and easy. I give in and swallow several. I switch the music from Dash Berlin to “Mugithi.” Salim Junior is entertaining me.
“Ndaciarirwo gwitu Ndeiya, kanyumbani ka ruthiro, mucii wari handu karuini, gatagatiini ka irima, kundu kwari na muthanga, gutangirimika…”
I am literally dancing and singing the song. What a day? I am really having fun. In few minutes am sweating. I decide to take a break. I grace myself with a quick shower. Change my clothes into a better relaxed outfit. Gosh, again I am sober. I don’t want to drink all the beers in my fridge. I need some for tomorrow. I notice that the music outside the house is getting louder than my home theater music system. I am tempted to walk outside again. To my surprise the Georgia pike avenue is fully parked with cars. Many people having fun. They are in a club called Coco. The club is just on my street. It’s only 50 meters away. I have to go dance. This is a big club. It looks like a ware house. It’s only $10 to get in. I walk near the entrance. I notice some two big guys following me.
“Hey Dude, you are not allowed to be here.” They threaten.
I have been in many clubs even in big cities and I have never been unfit to any club or pub. Many times the bouncers ask for an ID to make sure you are above 21. This time I am so unwanted by these African American people. If they were whites I would call them racists. I don’t know what to refer to this. This ruins my evening. I decide to walk back to the house. I am even afraid that someone is following me. I feel like I can run. I touch my pockets to make sure my Samsung Galaxy S8 plus is safe. I am back in the house, a big house. It’s around 11 pm. The outside is very noisy. I off my music. As I walk to the bathroom I see blood spots along the corridor. It’s a lot of blood. It looks so fresh. I haven’t cut myself. Am I really alone in this house? I am terribly scared. I can’t even move. What do I do? I pretend to act sober. I decide to walk outside get into my car and drive miles away. I walk outside. I lock the door behind me. I get into my car, start the engine and I dial 911.
“Hello, is it an emergency?” the operator asks.
“yes It is. I think someone or some animal broke into my house. There is blood all over.” I explain.
“what is your address?” she asks
“341 North Main Street.” I stummer
“Where are you at? Get out of the house and wait for the police outside. They will be there in a minute.” She consoles me.
“I am in my car, in my yard. Am I safe?”
From my car I notice some movements in the living room. I am now sure someone is in there. He got injure while breaking into it and was bleeding. Oops, I can hear the police siren. I see the blue light fly in the sky and boom here comes the sheriff and his deputies in two cars written: The city of Blakely, and Early County, Georgia. I step out of my car, and explain everything to them. They are ready for an ambush. They are four cops each with an ASP pistol. With a forced bravely I walked them the house to show them the blood in the house. They notice many cans of beer scattered all over my living room. To my surprise, there is no blood. Not even a stain. I am thinking, “was it a hallucination?” I try to explain to them, but they are damn furious.
“Sir, I swear there was blood. Believe me sir.. ‘’
“Shut up boy, you kidding with the sheriff, do you know how you have put yourself in a big trouble?’’
I am speechless. I am cursing my hallucination. I now believe that I am gone crazy. I am sure they will take to a mental hospital. I feel sorry for them. Why did I have to lie to the police? I am regretting. Why did I even call 911?
One of the deputies decides to patrol the rooms in the house. He notices a broken window and blood in the bathroom.
“O.M.G. the boy isn’t kidding Sheriff. Someone is or was here. “ He shouts.
The cops ask me to retreat to the living room as they do some thorough checks in the guest rooms, library and other rooms. I am bending down to collects the beer cans when I hear someone walk behind me and demands that I should not move. The gun is on my neck. He smells like shit. I wet my pants and praying that he doesn’t pull the trigger.
“Why did you call the cops nigger?, you will gonna pay for this. You will leave this room in a body bag”
Immediately the cops get into the living room but it seems too late.
“Drop the gun!!” the sheriff shouts.
I hear a loud gun blast near my ears. The blast throws me down to the floor and I land on my belly like a cold corpse. It's over.