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The Jehovah Witness (by Frankie Dawson)

Updated: Jun 25, 2019

It was in Hobart, Oklahoma, a small town in the 70’s right across the border of Texas, I was working at the airport, air traffic controller. I lived in the first apartments there the population was about 4,000.

A smithering of Niggers, I tried going to their little church, but I was not welcomed there being a single black female. I might steal somebody’s husband or worse yet, fuck the pastor.

So I was alone that fine fall afternoon, there were empty fields all around those apartment where farmers had planted maze. A very quiet place, flat lands. My head was pressed hard against the screen of the second floor apartment. I wondered what my friends were doing in the city. I wondered how long I was going to stay in this dead little town, what kind of assignment I was to do for destiny? As I turned my head to gaze on the fly that had landed on the screen, my eyes focused on a couple coming through the cars, headed this way. I know they were not coming to visit me, so I headed on back in the living room to watch TV.

I heard a knock on my door.

“HI, we’re Jehovah’s Witnesses and we’d like to come in to talk about Jehovah,”

It was the couple I saw from the window, the man was white with a beautiful oriental wife. They were so docile and nice.

“Damn,” I grabbed his hand, looked all around, to the left and right behind him and pulled them both into the apartment.

“Come on in, I don’t get any company around these parts.” It was still racial, couldn’t be with the niggers and damn sho wasn’t going to be accepted by the red necks.

“Listen, I don’t give a rat’s ass about your religion, but I could sho use some company. I was about to make a bologna sandwich, I got some Sprite. Come on in, sit down.

I turned the television off.

“Where yall from? I don’t remember much more, it was so long ago. But I do remember him, the husband, coming by my place months later.

“Hey, Jehovah’s Witness, how you been? I said with a wide grin.

“Where’s your wife?”

“She’s no longer with us?”

“What do you mean?”

“She had an operation, and since we don’t believe in blood transfusions, she died on the operating table!”

“Damn, son of a bitch, see what you get for fucking around with some cockeyed religion?"

Tears swelled up in my eyes,

I felt so sorry for him. I realized he was already hurt and I shouldn’t have been so blunt.

“That’s why I believe in Jesus! I can’t keep the rules, do my witnessing, keep tabs on good deeds. I just know His blood covers my rebellious ass! I can ask for forgiveness and that’s it.
“Praise and Thanksgiving” that’s how I worship Him, that’s my church! "Praise and Thanksgiving" That's my intimate kiss (worship) to my savior!

“I hope you learned your lesson” I said as I was blowing my nose.

“Well I have to go now”he said.

As I watched him go down the stairs of the apartment, I knew it took a lot for him to come by my place and tell me about his wife’s death. Maybe just maybe he was still searching.

I know he would find Jesus after this…I always get my prayers answered.

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