The Strange Wonderful Life of Lakeesha Rydell. Fiction by Michael Edwards

The Strange Wonderful Life of Lakeesha Rydell

Also Known As

(The Dearly Beloved) Sister Cecilia

Formerly of Detroit, Michigan

 

In Detroit, Lakeesha Rydell is a legend.  To this day.  It’s all in the record, of course, but let me retell it right here, in writing, one last time.  To honor her. 

As you may already know, Lakeesha was American.  She was black, and she was lesbian.  And the world was too much for her, so she became a nun.  A Catholic nun.  And oh, that is a story in itself, but let me move along.  I can circle back, later on. 

The Mother Superior of that order had taken a special interest in Lakeesha, from day one, and had helped her through the entire process.  It took quite a while, but Lakeesha finally made her vows.  She had now taken on a new life, and she was, therefore, given a new name:  Sister Cecilia.  

And then she went back into the neighborhood, to make a difference.  First of all, to convert the drug dealers.  Because she knew:  they were a plague upon the neighborhood.  And a torment to the people.  After all, she said to herself, Saint Francis had tried to convert the King of Babylon.  And Lord Jesus had tried to convert the Jews.  Not to mention, all things are possible with God.  All things are possible to one who believes. 

But then, after a great deal of missionary work in the streets, Lakeesha realized that she would, first, have to convert the drug kings, at the top.  They were the source of the problem.  And the agents of Satan.  But, however she tried, (and she did try, in every way she knew), she couldn’t reach them.  They wouldn’t even give her an audience. The Pope, himself, might have given her an audience, in Rome, but not the drug kings.  In their pride.  

So, like Jesus in the temple, confronting the money changers, Lakeesha went back into the streets and confronted the gang members who were pushing the drugs, right out in the open, and killing killing killing.  Yes, even killing each other.  Every day.  Every night.  So, she confronted them, every day and every night.  It was spiritual warfare, to her, and she used the only weapons she had at her disposal.  Scripture, prayer, forgiveness, love, and the name of the Lord.  

Then, one night, some gang members got tired of laughing at her, so they threatened her, with killing.  But they didn’t realize: she didn’t want to live, anyway.  So they beat her up, and gang raped her, and shot her in the head.  And left her for dead.  

And, thus, they had created yet another martyr for the church.   Or so it seemed.

Because, next, when she crossed over to heaven, (as the story goes, and I believe it), she was told, in no uncertain terms, to go back, that she had work to do and a job left unfinished  — and, frankly, a lot of sins to work off.  So, it seemed a miracle to all who witnessed it, but Lakeesha recovered in the hospital, and then again, in the rehab clinic, where she learned to walk again.  The church, kindly, had covered all her expenses with their insurance. 

Therefore, one fine day, the sun shining above, she walked out again, a bit unsteady, but able to think more clearly than ever.  More simply, but more clearly.  And one eye blind:  it had been replaced with a glass eye, (which looked a little bit sideways).  

Then Lakeesha went straight to a pawn shop, bought a Colt Detective Special revolver, chambered in .38 caliber, and one box of ammo (with money she had taken from the poor box at the downtown church) — and went looking for the gang that had ruined her that night.   After all, she thought to herself, Lord Jesus had said, sell your cloak, and buy a sword.  And, as she walked out of that pawn shop, she whispered quietly to herself, “Praise God.  Praise God.”

Back in the neighborhood, Lakeesha went walking down the middle of the street in full nun regalia.  Oh yes.  And because of her holy blissful expression, she looked almost like an angel from heaven.  An avenging angel.  Because — may I be honest? — her plan was to kill somebody.  To shoot him in the heart three times. Wham, wham, wham.  Just like that.  

And there he was.  There he was.  Our dear Lakeesha, yes, a Catholic nun, walked up to the first teen she saw, wearing gang colors, pulled out the Colt, and put her finger on the trigger of that revolver.   

Thank God, it was one of those long, hard triggers, typical of revolvers, because as she began to apply some pressure to the trigger, and the hammer came back, the teen looked at her and said, “Girl, what are you doin’ with that gun?”  And he wasn’t even afraid, because she was a nun, and by that time, well known in the neighborhood — although, unbeknownst to him, he was already as good as dead and in hell.  

But just then, as clear as a bell, Lakeesha heard a voice.  It said, simply, “Sister Cecilia!”  And she looked up.  And she knew, as plain as day, (how she knew, I don’t know), but it was the voice of Mother Mary, calling out to her.  Commanding her, in effect.  To look up.  To the source of her salvation. 

And, suddenly, Lakeesha took her finger off that trigger, let the hammer down, and put the Colt back in her habit.  And walked away.  And then she kept on walking.  

One lady, leaning out of a window, five stories up, said, “What the hell did I just see?”  And she kept watching as Lakeesha kept walking — until Lakeesha took a slow right turn and disappeared from view.  

Down below, a crowd was gathering.  And that lady, up above, pulled her head back in and said, “I didn’t see nothin’.”

In this way, Lakeesha Rydell, the black, lesbian nun, from Detroit, Michigan, also known as Sister Cecilia, escaped, (but very narrowly), the snares of Satan.  

And three days later, without any explanation, Lakeesha put in a request to be transferred to the nunnery in Key West, Florida.  Where she lives on, to this day.  Much older now, and a much beloved character.  With the one glass eye that looks a little bit sideways, and the holy blissful expression that never seems to go away, no matter what.  In the paradise of the Florida sun.  

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Michael Edwards is a newly-retired college professor, living in Florida.  Recently, with more time on his hands, he has begun to publish more than ever.  His most recent publication is a poem, titled “Roller Coaster,” in The Odd magazine.