Turn Around Time - Part II

Quinton’s wife Jewel was now standing on the stairs shaking and asking what the hell is going on. She was all the wife he ever wanted. Dropped dead looks, a great mother for his children. Perfect old fashion ways, and the greatest lover on earth. She grew up in Harlem. Her mother was from Trinidad so she possessed Strong Caribbean Blood!

They had already been through a lot. But this was the climax of everything, every sin he’d ever committed was seeking revenge. How he hated hurting her. The pain soaking on her face. Her words where uncommon. She was the strongest person in the room hands down. And she loved him from the deepest depths of her soul.

“We’re here to arrest your husband” Do you have a warrant she asked? We don’t need one, was his reply, but presented the warrant for the arrest of Quinton Stiles. They roamed throughout the house, the living room, the dining room, the kitchen. They opened closets and drawers looking for god knows what. They asked did he have a passport? He said yes and their stoned-face reply was “can we please have it.” Quinton looked at Jewels and told her to get the passport.

They moved to the basement with Quinton in tow. Once in the basement they asked him in a much more sterner face, “Do YOU have a weapon.” Quinton said no. They looked around at the usual basement clutter of a house lived in the past 20 years.

They moved upstairs to look in the bedrooms. Quinton then realized the consequences that were being created. It was like he was weightless, walking on air. As the agents roamed throughout his bedroom. His wife Jewel gave them his passport. His daughter Ebony’s bedroom was being viewed by what looked like a couple of rookies who came along for the fun.

But the bedroom located to the rear upstairs is what brought Quinton to a near breakdown. The lives of two little ones asleep in the room. Their worlds will crumble. Shamed by a reckless father for the rest of their days here on this earth.

For whatever reason the agent who stood about to open the door looked at Quinton and asked, “who’s in here”? Quinton gave him a desperate plea of a look and replied, “my two youngest kids”. Again, for whatever reason the agent asked “how old are they”? And Quinton replied “a five year old set of twin boys”.

For whatever reason the agent did not open the door! Quinton’s twin boys didn't witness the drama. The sight of their father handcuffed in his living room and taken away from his home in chains.

It was at that precise moment that Quinton stopped believing in Jesus. He had always questioned the validity of religion in general. At the moment when the agent asked how old are they and Quinton said they were five (when they were actually nine). It was right then that something else transpired.

Something more powerful and in control. An intensity let Quinton know it was going to be all right. It spoke with a force. It meant it! Something moved Quinton but it also moved that federal agent. Who didn’t open the door.

With all the chaos and noise and nonsense and fear and what ifs. Something didn’t allow the agent to open the door (Possibly that was Jesus?). Quinton’s youngest children would never see their daddy in bondage. A sight never forgotten. It was at that moment in space and time Quinton knew it was gonna be alright.

They held Quinton by the arm and guided him out of his home. Jewel, horrified by this whole experience. Eyes filled with tears she asked, “what do you want me to do"? Quinton knee-jerked his and immediate reply was, “call Reuben". The family attorney who’s part of the reason Quinton was in this mess in the first place.

Quinton walked outside struck by the brisk late October air. They placed him in the back seat of a car with his hands behind him handcuffed. Then, they handcuffed him to something else inside the car. To insure no escape or hostile acts. He had no idea were he was going. Handcuffed to handcuffs he was starting to feel uncomfortable.

About forty minutes later, they pulled into a garage. Started the process of taking his picture and finger prints. Quinton refused a swab of the interior of his mouth - they insisted - he refused. Later they offered Quinton a coffee. Quinton said sure and thought, “there’s your swab.” They placed in a holding cell to await his arraignment.