ZIN URU

"And a parr-tridge in a pear tree".

As heavenly were the notes drifting from the baby faced teen with the vacant stare; the cold thud as he collapsed backwards, striking his head on the frozen concrete rang antithetically.

Stunned, his fellow carolers shuffle into a half moon before parting to make way for the heavy set woman bouncing urgently down the porch steps.

"What is his name? Has this happened before?", a heavy Caribbean accent colors the questions in a sing-song tone that elicits an alert yet calm response from the group as she spirits to their fallen member's side.

"Robert", the teens answer in unison, followed abruptly by a synchronized, "No ma'am".

"Move children so I can carry him upstairs, inside. One of you should call his parents", scooping the boy up and cradling him in her bosom, seeing his clouded eyes up close she realizes aloud, "This boy is blind?!"

"Yes ma'am", the teens reply.

"None of us ain't got no cell phones or no parents. We stay at Saint Francis", one girl reports stoically.

"Saint Francis Group Home on Nostrand Avenue? Shit", the woman mutters.

A split second later, almost as if on cue, the seizures start. Violent heaving, undulating and jolting, every convulsion threatened to toss the teen from the large woman's embrace.

"Well young mister Robert don't you worry yourself, my name is Miss Prudence. You're in good hands boy. Let's just say I'm a nurse of a different sort. But never mind that... breathe". Pressing his head into her chest, she intimated. "Great Mother hear my heart"

Sweeping past the group, up the steps of the Brooklyn, New York Brownstone and through a screen door already swinging open for her, Miss Prudence moved with the size and grace of the Goddess Taweret, pulling eight slack jawed preteens in her wake.

Once inside the group of shaken teens stood silent. Though undoubtedly paralyzed from the instant chaos of the moment, it wasn't the blood visibly leaking from Robert's head that held the eight's gawking attention. It was the way Miss Prudence moved through the large densely foliaged sitting room, in more of a waltz than a frenzy. First drawing the blinds, next lighting incense and placing the needle onto a spinning old school record player. All of this with Robert rag dolled and convulsing in one arm or another, the room warmly lit by candle light seemed to flow with her every move.

"Is he dead?" one gangly brace faced boy asked, the faint sound of Fela Cuti's "Yellow Fever" accompanying the breaking of awkward silence.

"No." Miss Prudence answered sharply as she lay Robert on a large rug in the center of the room. "But from what I've seen before in my life, your friend is... afflicted. But I know someone who can help him get unso"

Then, inexplicably, a large handled bottle of Meyer's Jamaican Rum, flew from its spot on the fireplace mantel at least six feet across the room directly into Prudence's outstretched hand.

For a split second, the air in the room stood still as the gravity of what they all just saw registered. There was zero doubt in any of their minds what happened, and the matter of fact look on Prudence's face as she uncorked the bottle, took a pull and began spitting the elixir in four directions, sealed the deal.

"What the fuck?!", a boy yelled as he turned bee lined and bounced out the front door down the steps and up the block in an instant. Momentarily stunned, six of the remaining seven teens broke the silence with only the sound of scrambling feet.

Miss Prudence couldn't have been bothered less, her attention focused on Robert as she circled him with measured steps and tribal muttering. With every wave of her hands over his writhing body the convulsions lessened, calming and eventually subsiding.

The remaining teen, a tom-boyish brown skinned girl named Devvan spoke softly but unafraid and with confidence.

"So you're a witch or what?", the girl blurts.

"Or what." Prudence intimates, now hovering over Robert, her face within inches of his. Her ample chest heaving in and out with deep breaths. Breaths that Robert's body begins to mirror. His eyes, open in the signature empty stare of the blind, his face had remained placid during the entire episode.

"Why didn't you leave with the rest?" Prudence asks without breaking focus on her ritual.

"Run for why though? Magic or whatever don't scare me", Devvan answers then adding, "Don't worry about them either. The other ones I mean. They let us come out to sing Christmas songs to people so we don't feel like shit cause we all orphans at Christmas. Terry and them ain't gonna say shit. Once you get teenaged at St. Francis they barely care when you come and go, you feel me? Long as that SSI check clear..."

As Devvan spoke, Miss Prudence paused to look away from her healing work towards the brash teen girl across the room, running her hands along a huge Monstera's thick green leaves, lost between a stream of thought and examination of the giant plant.

Before Devvan could breathe another syllable of wayward teen life's woes, in a blink and without a sound, Miss Prudence was standing no more than a foot from her.

"Impressive for a big bitch, ok I see you Miss P, whicho voodoo ass", she thinks to herself.

"Do you think a concrete rose cares that it's not bathing in the sunlight of a better garden? You hide your Goddess behind boyish mannerisms and tough talk girl. Mind yourself. The Goddess says fire will consume those who won't allow it to burn.", Miss Prudence waxes.

"Her name isn't girl. It's Devvan, and I tell her that all the time Miss P", Robert’s voice interjected from behind woman and girl, who would’ve stood nose to nose in a stare down were it not for the massive waxy green leaves fanned between them. His voice was strained and noticeably baritone.

“Back from the great beyond are we young mister Robert?” Miss Prudence smirked before turning and gliding back towards the center of the sanctuary and her reawakened patient.

Mockingly, Devvan mirrors her movements before sliding around the larger woman and plopping down in an embrace with her friend, now seated at the center of the elaborate Egyptian circle rug he’d been convulsing on minutes prior.

“You’re starting to scare me with this catch me I'm falling out shit Bobby O”, she jokes.

“Stop. I told I hate when you call me that”, Robert responds, wriggling out of the bear hug then tapping at the blood wet back of his head

“You hate it when I call you Bob Omega. You ain't never said shit about Bobby O”, Devvan cracks. Taking note of his attitude the unflinching teenaged girl with the sharp tongue softens slightly. “Robert Omega Wishmoreland are you really gonna trip off Bobby O right now? After what you just survived AGAIN for what? The eleventh time in two weeks?”

Materializing through a beaded curtain with a tea tray, Miss Prudence interrupts. “Did I hear correctly that this was the eleventh time this has happened?”

“Yes ma’am”, the two teens respond in unison.

Pouring three cups of a steaming black liquid, she spoke carefully and with precision through wafting white streams of incense smoke.

“You both need to listen to me closely. There isn’t much time and honestly I’ve got enough on my hands without having to usher in any new links.”

“New links? Usher in? Like what the fu--?”. Devvan was in full head roll interruption when the sound just stopped.

Her mouth was moving, she could hear the words in her head, but it was like her voice were muted. She was so shocked that she barely noticed the gesture Miss Prudence was making as she stared at her.

Cold. Intently. The woman's eyes unflinching with one finger held tightly over her lips. The classic “shush” motion. And it was working. It didn't matter that her internal dialogue remained defiant, Devvan’s voice was compelled to comply.

Where flying rum bottles couldn’t move the needle, for Devvan Diane Draco, the thought of being involuntarily silenced knocked her off her square. For the first time ever, the street hardened run-away from Jamaica, Queens shrank in silent surrender to a power greater than her own.

Blind to the figures in the room, something deep within Robert picked up on the moment’s gravity. Reaching for his friend, pulling her into his side he spoke with caution and calm.

“I don’t know who you are, But you obviously wouldn’t have helped me if you were gonna hurt us. Please Miss P. I don’t know what’s happening to me. Devv doesn’t mean anything by it. She’s just trying to help.”

Roberts’ words were enough to break both the tension and the spell.

“You are correct young mister Robert” Miss Prudence spoke evenly and without malice. “That was Santeria your friend just experienced courtesy of me. I am a practitioner and I am not here to hurt either of you”. Her face softening with every syllable the woman placed her hand on Devvan’s shoulder with a gentle rub. The reassurance of the moment left little more to be said.

She continued. “Young mister Robert, it has been my experience that people who’ve taken on what is soon to happen for you have little choice but to either lean in, learn and grow stronger or shrink back and go insane”.

“How long have you been blind Robert?” She asked, continuing before he could answer “Less than half of your life yes?”

Robert nodded yes quietly, “Three years ago” he says, tears welling up in his clouded eyes.

“And the seizures… when did they start?”, Ms Prudence asked.

“One every day for the last eleven days straight”, Robert responded wearily.

“Robert, most people think there are only seven Chakras. Most people are wrong. There are twelve.” Now sitting legs crossed directly in front of the pair, she points at the teens gradually moving upward from floor towards the ceiling. “Beginning with the Root Chakra, and ascending twelve levels up to what is called the Great Central Sun”.

“Robert there are only a few of us on the planet that are awake. Everyone is asleep. But the ones that are awake are in constant amazement at the different ways that the Gods choose to manifest themselves. What you’re experiencing…” Ms. Prudence paused and reached for the tray with the three cups on it. Gesturing that each teen grab a steaming cup before then grabbing one herself, she then continued speaking.

“It is my opinion that you are what some call in African esoteric sciences, a Mutwa. Like a witch doctor. One who practices esoteric arts like Yoruba. But not just any one. One that’s been chosen by the Gods.” The flicker of candlelight in the room broadened to a bright glow with every word spoken.

“A great trouble is fast approaching and the chosen are being rattled from their sleep Robert Omega Wishmoreland. And you Devvan Diane Draco, you have been chosen as his companion through this transformation and the war to come”, her voice rose with drama before falling calm and reserved with Caribbean class.

“But I don’t have time to mess around with pickney foolishness”, raising her cup she gestures to the two teens.

“To drink from the cup is to accept the mantle after which there is no turning back. Your life will never be the same, and be forewarned, the journey could devour you whole. Drink not however, and you will forget all of this when you pass that front door as you leave. No different than your friends earlier. None of you will remember any of this. You’ll be glad to know young mister Robert that your sight will return to you within days, as the Gods will have accepted your rejecting the call. Life will continue as before losing your eye sight. So what say you Robert Omega Wishmoreland and you Devvan Diane Draco?”

To be continued...

Choose your own adventure style what would you do?

A) Bottoms up,

B) Nah I’m cool