Life Without Hope (4 page)

like a dam that suddenly burst. I was propelled into another time,

another place. Black men being lynched and killed. They took my

brother’s life for eighteen rocks of cocaine. It seemed like from the

beginning, or as far back as I could remember when I was a young

girl, Black men were always running. Running from life and run-

ning from their responsibilities. I exited my car in a daze and then

the police showed up in throngs. Too many white faces, all of

them police, lawd-have-mercy. It hurt a sister to her heart to see

so many Black men locked up. Six percent of the population, 90

percent of all incarcerated. Until this day no one could convince

me that this was not genocide, especially when the majority of the

people that commit crimes are white. In my heart I really thought

I could change the world. Maybe it was because I was young and

naïve, just 21 years old. Anyway, that was why I was going to col-

lege to become a criminal lawyer. And one day, I planned to pres-

ent my case to the United Nations just like Malcom X wanted to

do.

Police raced past me with police dogs. I tried to shrug the sight

from my mind, but even as a little girl growing up in the ghetto,

ever since I saw the movie

Roots

, white men in blue suits, chasing

Black boys–well to me they always look like slave catchers. It was

pure pandemonium as I walked. The police were ever ywhere. It

unner ved me. I stepped inside of a clothing store, more for men-

tal refuge than to shop, and that was when I saw him again. The

fear in his eyes sent shivers through me. He changed clothes. His

handsome face was angular with dimples. He was frightened and

his desperation was palpable. I was only a few feet away from him

now, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. I walked right up close to

him, and then all hell broke loose. The police stormed in and

headed straight for him. He looked at me with my brother’s eyes

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…
the police neared … he grabbed me. I screamed like I was his

damn hostage and although he laughed in a mock show of affec-

tion, I let him hold me. In fact, I sunk right into his arms like they

were the waters to my bath. He whispered into my ear, his lips

brushed across my earlobe, I felt the two day old stubble of his

beard to my cheek. His raw masculinity seeped inside my soul.

“
Please, Shorty, help me!” he pleaded.

I was sure the police were about to arrest him. They walked

right up to us and the clerk was startled, like he was watching a

horror movie. When one of the officers asked him something, I

wasn’t paying attention to what was being said, I just kept hearing

my oldest brother’s voice,

you never helped me

. Somehow these

words shattered my resistance. As I watched the police walk out of

the store, I was suddenly filled with trepidation. What if I was

helping a maniac, some hardened criminal on the loose from some

insane asylum … with a gun! I turned and walked away. I had

done some stupid things in my times but this took the cake. God,

the man could be a murderer or a rapist with those damn sexy

eyes.

Finally I made it to my car but to my utter shock, he was still

behind me. Unable to believe he actually followed me out of the

mall, I turned toward him and in a brusque manner, I yelled,

“
Go!”

He cringed. The mere sound of my own voice emboldened

me. I fumbled with my purse removing my key chain with the can

of mase attached to it. We were starting to attract attention.

Darkness temporarily shielded me from the sun. I looked up and

saw two helicopters in the sky.

“
Shorty! I swear to God I have not done anything wrong, you

gotta believe me.”

One of the helicopters lowered, it looked like it was taking a

picture of us. It was damn sure filming the mall. I panicked and

quickly walked around to the passenger’s door because my old car,

which I had named Betty, only cooperated with me when she

wanted to. The man must have thought I was opening the door

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for him because he sure as hell hopped his ass in, and to this day,

I don’t know why I let him get in. I walked around to the driver’s

side and he opened the door for me. He reclined all the way back

in the seat. I prayed old Betty would start. This became a ritual, I

turned the ignition, pumped the gas and she coughed and sput-

tered to life. I drove out of the parking lot scared to death. Once

I hit the highway, I turned to him.

“
You can get up now.”

The wind tossed my hair. He popped his seat up shielding his

eyes from the sun with his hand.

“
Thanks Shouty,” he said with too much hubris for my liking.

“
My name is Hope Evans. Please don’t refer to me as ‘Shor ty’

or ‘Shouty’ or whatever it is. You can call me Ms. Evans. Now

where do you want me to drop you off?” I was trying to sound

stern and unafraid. I felt the corners of my mouth saccade. Hell,

he had a gun. He could take whatever he wanted. I felt his eyes

roaming, leering at me. I wasn’t wearing a bra for the long trip. I

wanted to be as comfortable as possible. Every time I hit a bump

my breasts would bounce; I could feel him looking at them. I was

wearing a FAMU T-shirt. Fur tively, I looked down at my breasts

and noticed that my nipples were protruding. I tried to hide them

by rubbing my feet thereby placing my arm to obstruct his view.

And then my worst fears came tr ue. He pulled out, not one but

two guns, and pointed them right at me. I almost pissed in my

panties as my entire life flashed before me.

“
Where can I put these?” he asked.

My mouth moved, but my tongue refused to oblige. I point-

ed to the glove compartment. I swore to God, one of those guns

was so big it wouldn’t fit so he placed it underneath the seat.

“
Where ya headed?” he continued, trying to make conversa-

tion.

“
Tallahassee.” The word came out of my mouth strained. I

hoped that he didn’t notice. “I am a Senior at FAMU.”

“
You in one of them crazy sororities?”

I don’t know about crazy, but I am a Delta.” With that, I

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glanced over at him, I was curious as to why he asked me that. He

smiled sheepishly answering my curiosity.

“
I saw the bumper sticker on your car.”

I took advantage of his laxity. “Why are all those police look-

ing for you?” Silence, in the form of a pregnant pause filled the air,

and I instantly regretted asking. He turned to me, his words slow,

deliberate, his brow crest and eyes distant.

“
This morning when I awoke, I was seriously thinking about

getting out of the game, stop selling dope, no more hustling …

then this nigga and his supposed-to-be-cousin came by my hotel,

dude and him were looking for some hard …”

“
Hard?” I interrupted.

“
Crack cocaine!” he said, giving me a look, somewhat

annoyed.

“
Uh huh.” I nodded my head like I got it.

“
This dude owed me money, and I’m figuring if I take what

belongs to me really ain’t a crime, besides who he gonna tell? And

if he don’t like it he can get it like Drac!”

“
Who?” I couldn’t understand his lingo.

“
Drac, Count Dracula, the vampire got his in blood.”

“
Uh huh.” I nodded my head. Just then an eighteen-wheeler

flew past us.

“
I hate them damn trucks. My hair flies everywhere,” I said

out loud.

“
I took my money from dude and his cousin. Come to find

out his cousin was really an undercover cop. After I realized that I

was being set up, I jumped out a window, stole a car and here I

am.” He gestured by waving his arms.

More silence–the kind that comes when two strangers are con-

sidering each other. I honestly felt that he was being sincere, even

though he was in big trouble, it could have been worse. He could

have been a killer or coochie-taker. I felt somewhat relieved. Now

all I had to do was get his ass out of my car.

“
Where do I drop you off?” I tried to sound nonchalant.

“
Tallahassee.”

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“
Talahasseeeeee?” I quipped.

“
The same place where you headed.” He tried to say it with a

straight face but then added, “Don’t worry Shouty, as soon as we

get there, you can drop a nigga off at the mot.”

He meant motel. I watched as he primed his lips with his

tongue. His eyelashes were long like a girl’s and pretty, too. I

couldn’t help thinking, so handsome, yet he was so damn dumb.

He was just wasting his life, headed in the same direction as my

brother, and his language was foolish. He actually thought he was

sounding pimpish, tr ying to impress me, but there was something

about him, his character and its aloofness. He wore his thugness

like a black panther; it was all a natural part of his aura. I could,

for the first time, see how a sister could be attracted to a thug. Not

me, of course, or so I thought. I thought that he was the same

kind of brotha that hung out on the street corners drinking out of

brown paper bags, saying slick flirtatious remarks about girls’ asses

when they passed to go to school.

I knew that I was on fragile ground, but I had to take control.

“
Listen,” I said with more venom than I actually had. He turned

and stared at me with those big old pretty eyes. I almost drove off

the road.

“
The name ‘Hope’ has a special meaning for me. My mother

named me that and she almost died while giving birth to me. She

passed away later, when I was a small child.” I heard my voice

crack. “And another thing, I would appreciate it if you would not

use that word ‘nigger’, ever in my presence. Too many of our

ancestors have died and sacrificed their lives just to be treated as

human beings. The word ‘nigger’ ser ves no other purpose but to

dehumanize and degrade Black folks.” I turned to look in his

direction and noticed that his mouth had formed in an O like

shape, like I had just berated him or something. “And another

thing –” I was on a roll and felt like getting ever ything out of my

system. “What I did back there was wrong, and you were wrong,

regardless of how we try to sugar-coat it. You have issues that I

cannot be involved with. Where do you want me to drop you off

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and boy, don’t say Tallahassee!”

I was winded like I just delivered a speech. He dug into his

pocket removing a large roll of cash, peeled off some bills and

placed them in the ashtray I used for loose change. I spied the

money, hundred dollar bills.