Sister Souljah - Life After Death

“Hey Ma,” he said. I didn’t even argue. Normally I’d be like, I ain’t nobody’s fucking mother.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“Siddiqah would be so happy to know that your first question was about her. She is not here. She got herself listed.”

“Listed?” I repeated.

“An official request that any UBS can make when they want permission to be born to new parents,” he said.

“Oh,” was all I could say in reply.

“It took her a very long time to decide. She loved you so much and dedicated her existence to seek Allah’s mercy on your soul,” he said, but still so calm and unaffected.

“So why did she if she didn’t want to?” I asked, having nothing else to say really.

“Because we UBS know that it is perfectly okay to love our parents, to miss and to cherish, to pray for and yearn for them. However, it is never okay for anyone to worship their parents. Or to worship any person, living thing, place, or item. There is a razor-thin line between love and worship. The only ONE to be worshipped is Allah, the Maker of the sun, moon, stars, planets, universe, and all living things, of all souls, of all spirits, of all men, of all angels, of all women, of all Prophets, of all creatures. If any one of us gets it confused, and allow our love of someone or something other than Allah to turn into worship of him or her or it, we have gone astray, committed a grave mistake. Damaged ourselves, even.”

“Damaged?” I repeated. His words led me to believe that Bomber Girl damaged herself by caring too much about me.

“Yes,” is all he answered. After a long pause he asked, “Do you really want to know her story?” I widened my eyes instead of saying anything back. It took my total concentration for me not to say, Yeah nigga, I asked didn’t I? So of course I want to know!

“After you threw the Holy Quran out of the car window, Siddiqah felt you would be dropped into the hell fire immediately. She was so troubled, she made the choice to make prayers for you all day every day for ninety Earth days. She was doing her regular five-times-a-day prayers and then doubling them and praying through the nights. She was so much consumed with saving you that she reached the borderline between loving you and worshipping you. Since she knew she was wrong for approaching the line of worship other than Allah, she began to fast and pray to correct herself. She begged for Allah’s mercy. After seeking forgiveness for her error, and being forgiven because of her sincerity, that’s when she decided to get listed.

“Once she listed herself, she prepared a gift for you. It was the pearl-colored coat, the dress, and the kicks. She chose what she thought you treasured . The grenade she secretly placed in your coat pocket was what she wanted to give to you, that she believed you would not want or cherish, but that you would definitely need because of your ongoing love of evil.”

“How would she know I threw the book out of the car window? Did she see me do it?” I said, hood style. Show me the evidence. Then I felt bad about it.

“Just accept it, Ma. There are some things you cannot fight. In the realm of the unseen, Ma, you don’t know anything or everything, like you thought you knew it all when you were in the world of the living. Even though you didn’t know much there either.” He said it so calmly and respectfully that I could not hate him, “Everything you have ever done in your living life on Earth and your afterlife at the Last Stop Before the Drop has been seen and recorded,” he said, and I felt like I got hit by a sledgehammer. My game face switched on without me ever calling for it. Then I was feeling like, Nah, that can’t be true. Nobody knows what is done behind closed doors. But then I looked into his eyes and studied his facial expression. I remembered that Bomber Girl said that UBS cannot lie about any sacred thing. He saw me, seeing him clearly.

“So I love you, Ma. But I don’t worship you. I worship and fear only Allah, who knows all, sees all, hears all, and is the creator of every living thing within and beyond the universe.” He held up his one finger. “And in the Holy Quran that you threw out, the last and most important Book of Guidance ever revealed and written to humanity, were the answers to every question that you or any of us have ever had. If you would have chosen to read it, even slowly, word for word, line by line, paragraph by paragraph, or page by page, day by day, you would have saved your soul a lot of losses, pain, and suffering. But now I am here to ask you are you done playing and pretending?”

“Pretending!” I said indignantly.

“Siddiqah told me that she already told you long ago that the greatest sin in your afterlife is to pretend that you do not understand when you do understand,” he said, and I was quiet. He started playing his drum for some reason. When he did, he closed his eyes. It was as though he was calming himself through his own music. He was very talented at it. The way he blended the beats, separating and combining, slowing down and speeding up and finishing softly, caused me feelings.

“I’m done here,” he said abruptly, and the silence that was here before his arrival began to rise up. The thought that he would leave and the blackness would come and swallow me and only I would remain scared me.

“Your decision?” he asked. I could tell it was the last question he would ever ask me. Same as I could tell that if my answer was not yes or was not honest to him, he would disappear from me forever the same way his sister, Siddiqah, aka Bomber Girl, had done.

“If by stop playing and stop pretending, it means—” I began saying. He cut me off.

“Stop. Do not bargain with me. There is no God but Allah. There is no judge but Allah. There is only one thing that remains for you. Are you ready to stop playing and pretending and to begin on the route, which is the only option and path out of here available to any and every living thing?”

“Yes!” I hollered.

28.

I stood up easily. I knew now that it was because of the mercy and not because of any other person or any other reason that I could suddenly stand. He strapped his drum to his back and placed his drumsticks in a long side pocket. He offered me his hand. His hand was warm. Soon as I held on to it, we began to travel. Young Drummer didn’t push a Rolls or a Bentley, a Suburban or a Porsche, a BMW or a Benz, but it was the best ride I ever felt. He was pulling me through the atmosphere. I could feel it. I was myself, still with my mind turned on. However, I could not feel the weight of my flesh. I wasn’t worried. I didn’t feel threatened. I no longer feared or anticipated being turned into some kind of animal that I never wanted to be. We were soaring inside of a green haze with a blue color above us and a relaxing scent. Outside of the green there was only blackness. But when I looked down, I could see the cityscape of the Last Stop Before the Drop, all of the buildings and roofs and vehicles that I could not see before. It caused me to feel like I was exiting from the Last Stop Before the Drop, the City of the Ungrateful, County of the Arrogant, and the State of Ignorance. I didn’t think anything stupid like I was on my way to Heaven. I got that Heaven was reserved for those who lived life according to some certain standard. It definitely was a place occupied by those who didn’t just do whatever the fuck they wanted to do. I still prefer to do whatever the fuck I want to do. I prefer unlimited freedom. But anyplace but where I had been since I got shot dead and after my three visitations would be an improvement over the Last Stop Before the Drop.

After what felt like a long trip in terms of distance but not exhaustion, we were approaching a thin line that separated the total blackness from the light.