The sun set, and the darkness rose. I met Dion under a concrete bus shelter, where he was accompanied by another one of his cronies I was not familiar with. He had the air of a rough neck but a rookie. He introduced himself as Trouble-maker. We pulled our matching black hoodies over our heads and went into the black night.

We approached a beautiful house in an even more beautiful neighborhood. Trouble-maker fiddled with the alarm and the gate system. A moment passed, and we were in. I was grateful to find there was nobody inside. We made haste in our endeavor as we spring cleaned that monstrosity of a house. We made sure to not leave any jewelry, valuables or any small accessories. If those people were filthy rich when we entered, we left them rich and took away the filth.

As we headed towards the exit, Trouble maker tripped an alarm. The security was there faster than we could say “armed response”. Without warning, they fired, mortally wounding trouble-maker. More lead pellets rained from all directions. All we had were hand pistols. We had not anticipated heavy fire. I covered Dion as he sprinted for the windows and I followed. Finally, a fatal bullet entered into Dion’s chest, puncturing his lungs.

I was alone, and the thought of surrender crossed my mind, but I had a daughter soon on the way on the other side of this fence. I rose up and quickly made for the window but felt a sting on my thigh and as I looked, I felt another on my arm. Blood squirted as I crashed on the outside of the window, relinquishing the jewelry in the process. I heaved my numb body and jumped over the brick wall fence and made off into the streets that led to my haven.

Two days later, I found myself limping towards the hospital. I had received word that Apollo was still fighting. When I entered his ward, I found a frail but recuperated Apollo serenading nurses who were checking his heart-beat frequently.

“Ah, Ntwanas,” he said as his eyes lit up.

“I see you are looking better,” I said as we shared a laugh.

I told him about the past few days while he was away. He gave an unapologetic response when I told him about Dion.

“It was a matter of time,” was all he said.

“I have a surprise for you,” I warned him as I dug into my side pockets. I pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and read to him:

“‘Mr Ndlovu

You have been accepted into the Harvard school of Medicine.

Regards,

Dean’

“I’m going to be a doctor, Apollo.”

A tear sparkled down Apollo’s eyes as we embraced. My mind was made up there and then, and I have not looked back ever since. It’s never too late.

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