Real Talk With Simply Phillip Brown

Written by Simply Phillip Brown

The more he watched me, the more my stomach ached and the more I sipped from what was now my empty wine glass. I knew he was trying to do harm to me; I could tell it from the evil looks that trickled down to his sudden bursts of anger. The late night phone calls, even days later, still haunted me. The laughing seemed to echo in my head. I wondered why he was the way he was, why he had become this person I felt I no longer knew. He said people like me didn’t know how the world truly was, that we didn’t understand. “People like me,” I whispered to myself. “What were people like me?” I am Adam Johnson, Jr., president of No Time Publishing. I thought of myself as a fairly good person, an above-average individual. I helped as many people as I could, but jeeze, I am only human, and there was only so much more I could do, let alone take. But telling people that was like talking to air; they only knew the language of what they wanted, clouded behind the images of what they want to see.
“Oh, you’re rich. You don’t have any problems.” If only they knew. I set down my now empty wineglass as my eyes caught a sudden movement within the crowd. My fall down the stairs was no accident. I could have been killed, he said. But as I looked into his face. I saw that hurting myself would be all too good to him.
I always said money was the core of all evil, as well as the oldest language. Learn it and master anything, he’s my best friend, well, at least, he had been…..but over the years he changed. He needed money, constantly wanting more and more, like a drug, with each passing day. It was never enough.
When I would say “No,” his anger would grow, and my breaking point was the night I slammed down the phone as he began to shout in my ear.
I’m afraid. I can’t believe I am admitting that, but I really am. “He’s my brother, my best friend,” I said to myself, realizing the only person who was now looking at me was the bartender, wanting me to settle up, so he could close for the night. I picked up my glass and walked outside on the patio. I heard footsteps behind me and then a voice followed those footsteps.
“I need to speak to you,” it said.
I slowly turned around, and looked into the blood-colored eyes of someone I once called my best friend. “What is it?” I softly said. “You’ve been avoiding me all night,” he voiced.
“I haven’t been feeling good tonight; you must excuse me,” I said with the attitude and smartness of a Terry Macmillan book character.
“I want you to please reconsider giving me the $15,000. I know this time I can make my business plan work.”
“That’s what you said before,” I shouted, as my voice filled the air. “I need the money,” he shouted. I walked toward him, looking him dead in the eyes, and softly spoke the words, “Leave me the hell alone! Not later, but right now!”
The words echoed in my head as I slowly left the bar walking toward my car.
Rain! Rain! It poured so hard I could barely drive. I pulled into my driveway, and ran into my house, my clothes soaking wet. As I was shedding my coat, a sudden voice made me realize that I was not alone.
“I need that money.”
“Don’t!” I said, as tears fell from my eyes. “Don’t!” I shouted as I looked at the gun he now held in his hands.
“Please,” I begged, as I lay on the floor in a pool of my own blood.
I felt hands go into my pockets, reaching into my wallet, taking my cash, credit cards, and the keys to my home security volt.
“I’m sorry, but you don’t understand,” he shouted as my eyes slowly closed.
As i opened my eyes, a soft hand touched mine, urging me to take it easy, and rest. I looked up and, slowly, it came to me where I was, at the Lathel Carrington County Hospital.
I looked outside my hospital room window, and realized how much happiness my wealth had brought me, but at the same moment, I realized as well, the pain.
Money is the root of all evil!