The 'N' Word, Book 1 (32 page)

“One is… and he is still in intensive care.” Aaron gleamed; his chest heaved as a proud rush of heat raced from his head to his damn toes.

Dr. Owens looked a bit taken aback, and Aaron enjoyed that, too…

“Yeah…. Here we are, grown adults now. That motherfucker came for me, didn’t even know who I was… didn’t realize I was that same white boy he fucked with in homeroom class all the way to the last period. He’d kick me, spit on me, and fucked with me for entertainment’s sake. I was the one out of three white boys in that entire goddamn school and nobody fuckin’ helped me! NOBODY!” Aaron lunged forward, sneering, feeling like the demon in wolf’s clothing that he truly was…

“My mission was to make him an example, Dr. Owens. I beat and beat and stomped and stomped until there was so much blood on his goddamn face, I couldn’t see his fuckin’ bucked out, shit brown nigger eyes anymore! His little coon dance was over; no more ShowTime for Clarence Gable… Curtain call, motherfucker! The minstrel show is now officially over and you know what, Dr. Owens? I hope he dies! I hope he fucking
DIES
!”

W
INSTON STOOD 6’2,
his wispy light blond hair braided down his bony back. He jerked about in fast, tight movements, whispering between two men as Aaron took a glance at the guys while devouring his overcooked, stale breakfast of powdered eggs, toast, and something pretending to be sausage. Much to his surprise, Dr. Owens suggested he be allowed with the general population for the first half of the day. Yes, strange things were happening, rolling down the pike. This unusual suggestion was granted, but he noticed an officer looming in the near distance, staring at him the entire damn time. He cleaned his hands over the dry napkin, the thing so rough it almost cut his finger open, drawing blood. The chewy meat tasted like burnt ass, but he was famished after working out in his cell, burning off steam.

Dr. Owens had fucked his mind so long and hard the previous day, he believed he may have to give his brain a pregnancy test. He refused to speak to the man that morning, feigning illness, then miraculously felt better in the latter part of the morning. He’d complained to the man countless times about being segregated, and lucky for him, his wish was granted to be out and about. Gripping his small Dixie cup of water, he placed it to his lips and stared at the triple threat once more. The guy to the left of Winston was Jacob. The man had a lazy right eye and a thick scar that went through the middle of his thin, bright pink lips, cutting them into four equal sections like a quesadilla.

He was a skinhead, but Aaron didn’t nod in his direction, refused to give him the ‘OK’. Jacob was a damn troublemaker who liked to spread rumors, and he was a fucking wimp, unable to fight his way out of a goddamn ripped paper sack. He was a big guy with a tiny heart, and that made Aaron have not one ounce of respect for that son of a bitch. Regardless, he watched the men, seeing that something was brewing, being cooked up. Jacob shot him a glance, his eye dancing the tiniest bit.

Aaron had noticed a change in the air over the last couple of weeks. The wind had swooped in an opposing direction, and he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. People he could previously rely on became suddenly inaccessible. Calls weren’t being returned, but his gut knew the damn truth. There was an internal take-over and he was being pushed out of the way…

He sniffed and stabbed at his eggs, angry pangs feeding an emotional fever of sorts. Before his latest imprisonment, he’d tried to bring order to chaos. The bastards were attacking randomly, and the media promoted alleged race crimes, hyping it up. He was labeled a hypocrite on the down low, not realizing until it was far too late that his dethroning had commenced. Fact of the matter was, he knew jealousy reigned supreme in his world. He’d earned his spot, his commander title and his clout, and fuckers that hadn’t garnered a fourth of his respect were clamoring to take the helm, become what he was – the first God, the last Devil, and the current Grim Reaper.

“Aaron,” Jacob called to him, a twisted smirk on his silly face. “How are you doin’? Surprised to see you here.” He made his way over with Winston close behind and the third wheel, a little guy with a spider web tattoo on his neck.

“I’m doin’…” Aaron kept his eye on the man as he stabbed his meal with the plastic fork, almost breaking the weak prongs off the thing. “What the hell do you want?” He leaned back, brows dipped, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Now that’s no way to be,” Jacob stated, that dumb grin still spread across his face. “I’m just bein’ friendly.”

Aaron rose from his seat, grabbed his tray and made his way away from the guy.

“Where are you going, huh?” Jacob said with a grating laugh.

Aaron paused and looked over his shoulder.

“Winston, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from him. He’ll get you wrapped up in some trouble you won’t be able to get your ass out of.”

Winston visibly swallowed, but didn’t offer much else.

“Trouble? I’m the kindest man you’d ever know!”

Jacob laughed loudly as Aaron turned back around to sit at another table, which teeter tottered as he took his seat and rested his elbows on the thing. His heart beat a mile a minute as the anxiety within him built up towards the goddamn rafters. The tension in the air was taking him down, and he felt the eyes on him, all around him. He dared to look up, and sure enough, like a swarm, some of his brothers nodded in his direction, showing reverence, while others wore smirks and the rest resisted eye contact altogether. He looked down at his tray, noticing one crumb broken off from the end of a sour English muffin…

I’m that fuckin’ crumb, aren’t I? But nobody in this motherfucker is eatin’ me alive. I won’t have it! My enemies may have a go at me, but I’ll return their asses right back to Hell. You want to come for Pike? Plan for that to be your last night…

Chapter Fourteen

C
ROWDED
H
OUSE’S
‘Don’t Dream It’s Over’ played softly as Mia sat at her dining room table, reading the letter from Aaron, the sheet’s upper left hand corner all torn up. She felt the softness of the area rug under her feet as she crossed one ankle over the other.

Melissa,

I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’m going through some things. There is some stuff going on here that you wouldn’t understand, but I have to be fully alert and proactive. Sometimes you may not hear from me for a few days, but don’t worry. I’ll always be back in touch. I want to tell you how much I love you, enjoyed speaking to you, too. You’ve got the sweetest voice, you know that? It’s sexy, too. I received the latest care package. You are too good to me, baby. Listen, I’ve thought a lot about what you’ve said.

I am also going to do what you requested me to do. Therapy with Dr. Owens is getting hard again, by the way. He says that means I’m about to have another breakthrough. I really don’t know. What I do know is that I’m questioning a lot more things about my life, my past choices. Things I was sure about, certain of their truth, I’m not clear about anymore. That leaves me a bit confused. Something is happening to me. Maybe it’s the stress of everything, maybe it’s because I’m being mind-fucked, or maybe it’s just the love and care from a good woman…

What I do know is that something has to give. I keep fighting for my beliefs but Melissa, my beliefs don’t seem to be fighting for me. I hate to admit this, but it bothered me when you were going off on me on the phone. I didn’t expect that; it took me off guard. I don’t like the idea of you being angry with me and it caused me to sit down and really think about what you were saying. All this time I felt like you and Dr. Owens were wrong, but what if things aren’t really as I see them? What if, in some way, I’ve convinced myself of the truth of things that aren’t really happening? I know what happened to me as a kid. I don’t like the direction this country is going in, and my political beliefs are conservative. I am totally against illegal immigration and handouts… but what is stopping me from seeing things from a different point of view? Maybe it is fear, just like Dr. Owens said.

I feel so angry, Melissa… yet, I got to experience happiness with you. I don’t want that feeling to end. Anger doesn’t feel as rewarding anymore. It’s not doing anything for me, but the way you care about me, is making all the difference. I love you, baby.

Yeah, I can admit that I am angry now. I used to say it as a response to outside forces, but no, this anger is inside of me, and was eating me alive. I don’t want to feel like this anymore. It’s not productive. I’m doing something wrong, because I’m not happy with the results anymore. You’re my lady, my sunshine. I want to get out of here and have a life with you. That means I need to not only talk, but also listen. I know we won’t always agree, but as your man, I need to make you feel like you’re being heard, regardless. I can’t keep writing off how you feel about my affiliations. I’m listening now, baby. I’m listening. We’ll speak again soon.

Love,

Yours Truly,

A.P.

T
HE MAN STOOD
about thirty feet away…

The black guy looked to be in his mid-thirties, tattoos covering tawny, brown skin. Standing about 6’2, the guy had wavy, dark brown hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. He cracked his knuckles a lot as he drifted about, circling the basketball court like a damn vulture until finally, he rested against a gate. He stood by himself, which made him even more of a thing of bewilderment and intrigue. Regardless, Aaron found it mighty odd that the man didn’t stand with a group. Protection was key in the pen, especially a place like Holman.

Who is watching his back?

To be alone was almost unheard of. The blacks stood with the blacks, the Mexicans with the Mexicans, and the whites with the whites. For some odd reason, he was drawn to the man. And, since he’d been forced to go fishing, why not? This one would be as good as any other.