The 'N' Word, Book 1 (36 page)

Marcus slowly got back up. Through squinting eyes, he assessed his surroundings before speaking. “I hope you got what you needed. Anyway, I gotta go, Aaron.”

“Yeah, you’re about to be called back in.” He looked down at his watch. “I got ten more minutes. Anyway, thanks…” Aaron stood up too, and this time, he didn’t extend his hand. They agreed on the shit via eye contact, man to man, as they stared at one another a final time. No public display needed.

“Don’t thank me, man…just do
yourself
a favor.”

“And what’s that?”

“Stop hidin’ behind your ego. Ain’t no woman make you talk to me. Man, it was more than that.”

Aaron cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms. “…She
did
ask me do it.”

“I ain’t sayin’ she didn’t. The idea was hers, but you went wit’ it. You did it ’cause after she put the hint in your head, you
wanted
to. Don’t
nobody
make you do a motherfuckin’ thang, and you know it.”

He’s right.

“Tell me something…”

“Yeah?”

“Aaron, are you happy, man? I mean
really
happy?”

He hesitated a little before responding. “It depends what day you catch me on, Marcus…”

“Well, today ain’t a good day then… You might be a bad mothafucka, got these sons of bitches in here scared to even goddamn breathe.” The man pointed around at all the guys standing about, none of whom dared to approach him without permission. “I heard about you long before I ever saw you, that’s for damn sure. You make me a little uneasy too… just sittin’ there listening to you, looking you in your eyes like that. You got hate in your eyes man, but you got something else, too.”

“What else do you think I have?”

“I can tell you ain’t at peace, man… Them same eyes of yours that glow like orange flames, they the same eyes that’s fightin’ back a bunch of shit most people can’t even see.”

Aaron swallowed, looked down at his dusty black boots, then slowly lifted his head once more to meet the man, eye to eye.

“Ego is a son of a bitch, Aaron. It turns every damn body into its slave. Set that mothafucka free, so you can be free, too.”

And then, just like that, he walked away…

Chapter Sixteen

T
HE SLANTED WOODEN
table painted in a tapestry of muted rainbow colors displayed a pair of vintage beige wedding shoes, weathered and yellowed from the cruelty of blood-splattered time past. Next to them sat a pair of tattered mule shoes, and as Mia tipped her body slightly forward to read the museum inscription, she soon discovered that a slave had created them to keep the mule’s hooves from sinking into mushy rice fields. She paused from her perusing and made a note of the rapid minutes that had rolled by without her notice. She’d been so wrapped up in the various displays featuring Civil War and African American slave memorabilia, she’d completely lost track of time.

I better get home…

She made her way through the gift shop, the only way to reach the exit. Boy were those retailers skilled at such sneaky marketing techniques! A pair of dangling burgundy earrings caught her eye. The things sparkled like strawberry Kool-Aid in a glass pitcher being hit by the sun. Nana used to make it for her and Trudy as they sat on the lady’s rickety porch in the heart of the summers past.

So pretty…

She ran her fingers delicately over the things, causing them to sparkle a bit brighter.

…What a nice color…

Yeah, burgundy… a deeper shade of red…

She smiled as she contemplated and wondered if Aaron would like those on her, and then, her smile fell flat as reality dawned on her. The sound of the ringing cashier served as a horror sonnet in her mind as she raced out of there, through the large glass doors covered with stickers and signs of upcoming events. She continued her mad dash to the semi-full parking lot. Looking from left to right, she tried to calm her nerves while rolling a tiny pearl pendant from her necklace between her pointer finger and thumb.

Where did I park? Oh wait, there it is…

She spotted her black Ford Explorer a short distance away and made the jaunt, her oversized brown hobo bag swinging with each urgent step she took. She snapped on the radio, allowing the Isley Brothers to serenade her along the way with their ‘Always Come Back’. It didn’t take her long to get on the highway, speeding along the way and daring someone to honk at her. What had begun as a wonderful little after school trip to ease her mind turned into an emotional internal upheaval, an intramural wreck.

Things had changed. Over the last few days, she’d ignored Trudy’s calls, even got her lock changed. Too much had happened – too much pain, too many damn tears…

Approximately twenty-one minutes later, she was driving up her gravelly pathway, illuminated only by two deep yellow lights she’d left on in the kitchen, which highlighted her cream lace curtains and the small, circular, yellow table given to her by her mother.

I forgot to turn the porch light on… Damn it.

Her home was shrouded in black, swallowed whole by the unforgiving night. Had it not been for the kitchen, a stranger may have completely missed the house altogether. She parked haphazardly, grabbed her purse, then paused to stare back down the road.

Damn it! I forgot the mail.

Looking back up at the house, then back down the road, she sucked her teeth and huffed, then, pulled out her cell phone and used the flashlight app to light the way as she made her jerky trek. She pushed aside the sound of the chirping crickets – tiny animals that were only heard and not seen as they scurried about – and the unmistakable slithering noise of a snake winding its way through a thicket of slightly damp grass. Her beige canvas flats barely provided enough cushion from each stone that attempted to dig into the heel and balls of her feet.

“Uh… ow!” She gritted her teeth as she continued on the path, almost toppling over a time or two. She finally reached the decrepit thing, swung the lip of the mailbox open, and exposed an abundance of mail stuffed inside so tightly, it amazed her she was able to release the mass. Hitching her cell phone under her chin, she pilfered through the mess, blowing away a bug or two that drifted to her, enchanted by her artificial illumination. As she made her way back up the walkway, she paused…

One of her packages was a small box, and on the front of it was Aaron’s name, and Holman’s address. Curling her lips in a smile, she hastened her steps up her porch steps, one of which was fractured and in terrible need of repair. The next few minutes were a mere blur… She slung her purse and keys down somewhere, and she’d have to send herself a text to find her phone, which she’d haphazardly deposited on a forgotten surface. Sliding her shoes off, she rushed inside her bedroom and closed the door. She gently placed the box down on the middle of the bed, then removed her light pink jacket. Scooting up close to it like some lover she’d not seen in a while, she tucked her leg under herself, while the other swung slowly back and forth along the side of the bed.

On a sigh, she opened her dresser drawer, removed a sharp metal nail file, and split the cardboard box down the middle like a poppy seed and lemon muffin prepared to be buttered. Inside sat a letter, neatly folded and hand-written on stark white notebook paper. She removed it, primed to read, then took notice of two tiny white objects…

What are these? Birds…

They were made of paper, folded to perfection.

Origami… He does origami?

“How pretty!” she uttered softly as she handled the tiny, fragile things with extra care. After taking a few more impressive glances at them, she placed them down delicately on her nightstand, and unfolded the letter, ready for her main course. Sitting back against her headboard, she smelled the familiar prison soap scent encasing the entire box, but this time, with something else added to it: lemon zest. This was now the second time. The strong scent enveloped her in a fresh, crisp cocoon.

Where is he getting this lemon zest from?

Melissa,

I hope you like the birds I made. When I was a kid, my art teacher in 7
^th
grade, Mrs. Jacobs, taught us for an entire week about origami. At the time, I wasn’t too much interested in it. While here, however, I found a book in the library about it, and since I have a lot of time on my hands as you can imagine I decided to give it a try. It’s funny the things we don’t forget…

That brings me to my next point. I did what you asked me to do, Melissa. I spoke to a black inmate. While talking to him, I felt a lot of different things, some of which I can’t even really explain to you right now because I can barely explain them to myself. I haven’t discussed any of this with anyone else; I can’t bring myself to do it just yet. So, in speaking to you, it is to let you know that yes, I followed up, but I also need to discuss it. Not to mention, I want to be honest with you, as I always have been.

I doubt it is of any surprise that I did not want to do what you asked, and I didn’t think it would make any difference. I’m not a person that changes easily. I readily admit that about myself. I did not believe anything would change my mind about my convictions. Not only that, I’ve spoken to black people before. I didn’t feel that this would be any different, but – it was.

The difference this time, Melissa, was that we were not having a casual conversation or confrontation. Those were the only instances in which I’ve spoken to black people and this was my first time truly realizing this. I’d never given it much thought previously. If I wasn’t in some sort of argument, or just acknowledging that they’d said, ‘hello’ or ‘nice weather’, then it just didn’t happen. As a child, I’d see black people on television, and we had a small number of them in my neighborhood, but that was about it. I had played with a few black boys as a kid, but I was so young, I barely remember… But what I do remember is my mother not wanting me to play with them anymore.

Melissa, the man I spoke to the other day gave me a lot of food for thought. His name is Marcus Cunningham. Marcus was scared of me, and for the first time in my life, that didn’t make me feel good, powerful, or any better than him. He didn’t let his fear stop him from talking to me though, and standing up to me like a man, and being truthful. We had a long conversation, the kind that shakes you a bit. You, as a teacher, handed me an assignment. I try to not fail at anything that I do, and I didn’t want this to be any exception. So, I caught myself several times from interrupting him. I didn’t want to react the way I normally did. After all, I’m in this prison cell for a reason. Yes, my crime was self-defense and I stand by that but I spent the better part of last night realizing that I wasn’t the only one that needed protection. I realized that, if my so-called victim, the guy that approached me, getting loud and trying to pick a fight with me, had been someone else, I wouldn’t have had as much anger explode out of me.

Melissa, the man that put me here, in this place, is still in the hospital according to my attorney. He got the beating he got because when we were children he made my life a living hell. You see, when I was in foster care and before a lady that meant the world to me took me in, I was at one school for a little over six months. In that time frame, this boy would torment and torture me, so much so, I would literally shake when I saw him coming. He was much bigger than me at the time and though I could fight pretty good, I wasn’t any match for him. When I saw him at that store, I didn’t notice it was him until he got in my face. He was still bullying, Melissa… still a predator. I couldn’t believe here I was, an adult, a grown man, being bullied again by the same bastard.

I wanted to make sure he never did it again. Not to me, not to anyone. I’m twice his size now, but he still thought he could take me, probably because I’m white and you know what I realize now? I realize that sort of thing don’t give a shit about what color you are. Being afraid or resentful has nothing to do with the race of the person in question. My own issues with race and injustice toward my people in this country have occasionally clouded my ability to see things the way they truly are. Maybe it’s more than occasionally; only time will tell.