The 'N' Word, Book 1 (24 page)

T
HE LARGE, PLASTIC
green box overflowed with small, soft pillows, neatly folded blankets, and sensory toys. Mia stooped low and reorganized the items, preparing everything just so for the next day. When she was all finished, she looked around her classroom, taking notice of the filtered sunlight that caught the toe of tiny particles of dust. The room was eerily quiet, drawing her into a reflective zone she hadn’t anticipated. On a sigh, she made her way back to her desk, slid onto the hard, wooden chair, and ran her fingers lightly through a few stubborn strands of her hair. The students were long gone; only an occasional voice or two wandered the hallways, but even those were muffled as she sat behind a closed door.

She finally reached into her large, sky blue messenger bag and pulled out an envelope. Unable to hide her newly budded smile, she crossed her legs clad in black linen pants. At last she had a quiet moment to herself, one free from obligations and distraction. She slid her finger under the flap of the envelope, and pulled out the letter from Mr. Pike…

Melissa,

I want to first tell you how happy I am that you are willing to get to know me on a more personal level and become my lady. Since we’ve established we have a mutual attraction to one another, I think it would be ideal for me to address some of what you stated, as well as your concerns. Firstly, you’re right… no one is perfect. I try to be the best man I can be, but sometimes I fall short. Nevertheless, I am still striving, each and every day. With that said, I will tell you that I’d like to speak to you in the near future so that I have the opportunity to present a more accurate portrayal of myself. Letter writing does not give me the platform where I can give you a full picture, so just know that I am arranging for us to speak on the phone soon. I want you to really know me, completely.

Just like you stated of me, I think about you all the time, Melissa. I daydream about us sitting across from one another in a secluded park, on a picnic bench. It’s a beautiful day, and I reach across the table and take your hand into mine. I’ve thought all sorts of things, but I’ll just say that I wonder what your kiss feels and tastes like, and in this daydream of mine, this fantasy, I find out. I then imagine you lying against my chest, sleeping peacefully.

Peace comes at a price, however, Melissa. As I stated to you, I’m a freedom fighter. I do appreciate you allowing me to explain the nature of the reason I’m incarcerated without going to others and getting their tainted, skewed side of the story. The media coverage is wrong. They’ve either sensationalized it or have the facts wrong. I am incarcerated for assault. That part you are aware of, but the details you are not. I want to clear that up for you. It was self-defense. I am certain you may not believe me, or at least question my stance, but it is God’s honest truth. I was at a store, getting some things for my crew – for clarification, my crew are my employees. As I stated previously, I own a company that specializes in training bouncers and bodyguards for businesses and personal use. Every morning, Monday through Saturday, I go into work at 6:00 a.m. Right before this incident, the vending machine inside my business premises got on the fritz. It was going to take some time to get a repair guy out, so I thought I’d stop at this small store on my way into the office, and get snacks and cold drinks for my employees, like my receptionist and accountant, to have throughout the day.

The particular morning in question, a man approached me as I purchased the items. This man was someone I had known previously, but I have no evidence that he knew who I was or remembered me. Regardless, he approached me in a confrontational manner. Initially, I told him to move out of my way. He refused. I asked him again, told him if he did not, I would make him. He did not believe me, put his hands on me, and a physical fight ensued. I did in fact beat this man up. I do not deny that. The assault charge is accurate, but there was more to the story.

I am trained to kill. I do not like saying that to you because I do not want to frighten you or give you the wrong idea. As stated, being belligerent for no reason is not in my nature and I avoid public violent scenes if at all possible. However, this man left me no choice. I could have killed him, I debated it, but then I thought of my daughter. He is now in the hospital in serious condition, and because of my affiliations with being a freedom fighter, it has been assumed that the incident was racially motivated. That is untrue.

I do not know how you feel about this, but you stated you are a registered democrat. That leads me to believe that you may be more liberal in your thoughts, especially as it pertains to minorities. Melissa, I’m a white nationalist. I am a civil rights leader for the freedom and protection of white people in this country. I am considered a leader, and held in high regard. I’m also a member of the NSM88…

Like blood-covered leaves falling from a branch, the letter teetered in her grasp and landed face down on her desk. Mia looked at the thing. The letter morphed, grew scaly legs, and took on the shape of something grotesque. Feeling queasy, disgusted, and hurt, all at once, she smoldered in her own self-induced haunting. She pressed her eyes closed and ran her trembling hand along her forehead, wishing the words she’d just read would just go away.

“Oh my God…”

After a few moments, she regained her composure, picked the letter back up, and pushed herself to continue reading…

You and I may have many different political beliefs. Matter of fact, I think I am safely assuming that we do. That doesn’t bother me. The reason it doesn’t bother me, Melissa, is because as long as we agree on how to treat one another, raise our family and treat others, we could still be very good together. Besides, I have dated many women with similar political beliefs as myself, and it still did not work out. It takes much more than that to make a relationship work, and I’ve also learned that every moment is a teachable moment. I know that you’re a spiritual person. I know that you’re intelligent. I’m attracted to your personality, above all else. I know that you’ve never been married and have no children and you appear to be a warm-hearted, forgiving person. I typically do not feel the need to explain or defend myself, but with you, and because of our limited abilities of expression due to my incarceration, I feel I have to go the extra mile, extend the extra effort to ensure that I make myself as clear as possible. Here is a common misconception I want to address before you even ask.

I do not hate other races. However, what is best for them may not be best for me, you, and the rest of our people. Self-preservation comes first. Love of self comes first. I vow to love myself, my wife, my family, and my white brothers and sisters until the day I die. I’m a protector; it is what I do. Now, I will be honest. For the first time since I’ve been a part of this movement, I hesitated admitting my affiliation. I’m proud of it, but with you, I waited on telling you in previous letters because I liked you so much, and didn’t want to scare you away before we had a chance to get to know one another a bit better.

If you knew me in person, things would be much easier. We could look into each other’s eyes, and I could describe and explain these things in a clearer, more succinct way. Since our relationship is limited to written correspondence, I don’t have that luxury. All I can do is answer any questions you may have regarding this, hopefully to put any possible concerns at ease.

That brings me to my next point that I briefly touched upon at the beginning of this letter. I wish to have a telephone conversation with you in the near future. Please tell me the best days and times to reach you. I could talk to you now, but I want us to have confidentiality, so it is taking longer to arrange. I hope to hear back from you soon.

Thinking of you day and night,

Aaron

“This is what I get!” she yelled, fuming with herself as she got to her feet and tossed the five-page letter across the damn room. “I knew it was wrong… I
knew
I should have never wrote him! But I was bored, wanted to help… a little lonely, too. And then…” She pranced around the room, yelling at herself.

When I saw him, I was done for. He was standing there… tall, strong… intense. A white nationalist? A Nazi?! Really?! Seriously! I couldn’t make out the tattoos that well; I was too far away. I should have tried harder! Oh my God! What have I gotten myself into?!

Panic seized her tighter, and damn near choked her. She paced frantically about the room like a headless chicken. Trying to flee her own mind, she set loose her thoughts that continued to fly here and there as the new information settled inside her, making her sick to her damn stomach… and then, suddenly, she stopped…

She looked down at the ground. Her light gray high heel smashed the crumpled letter, causing her step to be slightly uneven. Reaching slow and low, she grabbed the thing in a tight grasp, and gently, ever so gently, unwrapped it, smoothing out the pages just so as she made her way back to her desk.

Teachable moment? Hmmm, teachable moment is right, Aaron… Class is in session!

She plopped down in her seat, deliberated a moment or two, then pulled out a pad of paper. On a deep breath, she grabbed a golden pen from a ceramic pencil holder shaped like an owl, and began a fresh, new correspondence.

Dear Aaron…

Thank you for your letter. I believe there are some things we should discuss…

“
D
URING YOUR LAST
session, we were talking about—”

“Yeah, I know,” Aaron shifted around in the chair, feeling anxious, strange, and a bit silly. Nevertheless, he had to get the shit off his chest, speak up. “Uh, Dr. Owens…I have a question first, before we get into all of that.”

“Of course. What is it, Aaron?”

“You know this uh…” He shot a glance at the boy with the rifle, this time taking notice of the brown and green crumpled leaves under the boy’s muddy shoes… “This pen pal program? You think… you think I could talk on the phone with my pen pal pretty soon? You never got back to me about that.” He looked back at the man, hoping and praying, but keeping that shit tucked tight within. Disappointment had been a daily occurrence so far, and it would be a miracle if the bastard decided to skip the daily visit.

“You mentioned that last time.” Dr. Owens gave a gentle smile and nodded politely. “I tell you what, Aaron. I will allow a phone call to your pen pal. It is contingent, however, upon you still making progress here.” The man’s eyes narrowed, as he grew serious. “Do you understand me?”

“Yes. Yes, I understand.”

“Okay, good. Now, I would like to get back to discussing Patti. How does that sound?” He cleared his throat and shuffled papers about. A sweet, floral scent filled the air. He looked to his left, taking notice that the man had a candle tart melting… it smelled like freesia.

“Is that okay?”

Aaron shrugged and looked down at his shoes as dark, yucky feelings made their way back to the goddamn forefront. “I guess that’s fine…”

“Alright. My question to you is, did Patti have a husband? Children of her own?”

“Nah.” Aaron shook his head as he stepped back onto the uneven pavement of his memories. “Patti couldn’t have kids; Mama said her womb was all screwed up from living a wild life when she was young. I don’t know if my mother made that last part up or not, but everyone knew she couldn’t have children. She’d admitted it. Regardless of the reason, she took care of me and my brother and sister, and other neighborhood kids, too.”

“So, despite her lifestyle, she was kind, good-hearted… she had a community first mentality?”

“You could say that.”

“You stated she fed you and other people… that’s important. The people that feed us, we oftentimes associate feelings of gratitude to them, sometimes romantic love, even attaching a motherly connection, especially if our own mothers were absent in some way. Patti is what I call an investor of maternal roots.”

“I can understand that, I get that. I suppose that makes sense.” Aaron nodded in agreement as he clasped his hands together.

“Food, culturally, symbolizes togetherness.” The man tapped his fingertips together in demonstration. “Nurturing, so to speak. It creates a sense of care. What do you recall regarding some of the food Patti gave you? You mentioned some homemade desserts in your last session.”

Aaron jetted the tip of his tongue from between his dry lips and licked the right corner as he delved deeper into a pit of perplexity. He shrugged, suddenly growing annoyed, and feeling a bit inane, too.

“What does that have to do with anything?” His brows furrowed.

“Please just humor me, Aaron…”