The 'N' Word, Book 1 (4 page)
But then, one day I changed my mind…
I began to correspond with someone, and her perfumed, pastel colored letters smelled like jubilee and freedom. Her handwritten penmanship was loopy, feminine, and perfect. Her words were straight forward, but laced with the kindness and compassion that comes from an antebellum Southern woman. She was perfect, and just like I’d created my own image of myself, I did the same with her; only this time, I was only 99% right…minus one…huge…detail.
That detail became my undoing, my transformation, and my heartbreak. It shook my core, caused me unbelievable pain—but somewhere deep inside of me, I knew it was the central component to my sovereignty, too. She slid into my life, jammed a key into my heart, and released me from my self-inflicted cell. She proved to be a cruel, beautiful joke, but when the smoke cleared, I wasn’t laughing. No, I found nothing funny about the shit at all…
I’d fallen and hit the floor hard. I’d drowned in desire. The situation was grave, treacherous, and most of all, devastatingly ironic.
I was in serious trouble.
In too deep…
And so, I was determined to keep her. I’d become obsessed with her; so much so, that if anyone or anything looked like they could pose a threat to what I wanted with her, well… let’s just say I’d devise a plan and address it.
…And I knew what I had coming to me if I did…
…And it could very well cost me my life.
But is life truly worth living if you don’t stand up for what you believe in? Doesn’t the saying go,
‘If you don’t stand up for something, you’ll fall for anything?’
Yeah, well, somehow, I did both.
I stood up for something, but fell anyway.
You see, I fell in love…
Only in this case, there would be consequences, Hell to pay, and the Devil wanted my soul back, intact. How dare I turn away from my master? For I did just that—I ran away from my teachings.
Fact was, I didn’t fall in love with just
any
one. No, I fell in love with the
enemy
…
And the enemy was
me
…
Preface
Slavery can only be abolished by raising the character of the people who compose the nation; and that can be done only by showing them a higher one.
–
MARIA WESTON CHAPMAN
, speech, 1855
S
HIT BROWN WALLS,
paper thin, frail, and easily blown over with a careless whisper… The courtroom was a box, smelling of stale, stagnant summer air, the stench of mounting fear, and timeworn resentment. The unholy body heat meandered from the hard, wooden pews towards the low ceilings with nowhere to go but back down, coating everyone in a thickness that only Hell could appreciate. Aaron stood there in his crisp white shirt, rotating his sweat-covered neck and shoulders as occasional murmurs from the crowd behind him tickled his ears. The judge looked down, then at him, a steely dark gleam in his eyes.
He’s a traitor… a liberal, forgotten the stock he came from. I can see it all over him… The niggers put him in office, but my people will take him out.
Like a great world-renowned psychic, Aaron predicted the next moments to transpire as the gavel slowly rose in the air in the tense grip of Judge Cole. He slammed it against the block as a cluster of panic struck the room in the form of cries and muffled curses.
“Come to order!” he began, then cleared his throat. “Mr. Pike, your heinous actions, lack of remorse, and previous history of hateful conduct has led us here today. I sentence you to one year in Holman Correctional Facility in Escambia County,” he announced.
“One year?!” someone screamed out, their voice piercing his eardrum. The incredulity was dyed in tones of horror, disbelief, and, more than likely, a dire need for invasive revenge. “All he gets is one year for beatin’ my brother half to death?!”
Aaron leisurely looked over his shoulder, the right corner of his mouth twitching in a satisfied smirk as the fallen fucker’s family wailed and moved about like mindless, enraged chimps in an enclosure.
“Order in the court!” Judge Cole hollered, beating the block once more.
“Ain’t no order in this damn court! Aint no justice!” A female voice screamed, old and withered with time. Aaron presumed it to be the fella’s mother, a tormented, worthless womb who bled forth a bastardized son of a bitch for a child. He tossed a lazy glance in her direction. His chest rose and fell in an even rhythm as she leaped up and down, tears streaming down her dull, ashen black face. She raised her hands to the ceiling as the whites of her eyes widened, now clearly visible. “My son is fightin’ for his life because of this monster!”
Just then, a black man, the color of a brand spankin’ new baseball mitt with long, swinging dark dreadlocks and a scowl on his protracted face, made a mad dash in Aaron’s direction. His shackles and restraints rattled as he waited for the bastard, craving so much another taste of the withered fruit off the derelict family tree…
Yeah, come on over here, boy…get you some. I’ll fuck you up in these chains ’nd all…
Scuffling, hollering, and falling about ensued as Aaron stood still as frozen time amongst the chaos, watching the frenzied beast come under harsh attack from nearby overwhelmed guards and officers who’d put a swift end to his advances. Swirls of uniform gray created a mayhem cloud right before his eyes. Aaron’s lips curled at the ends just so as he clicked his tongue against his freshly cleaned teeth, pissed at how things had gone from downright despicable to a travelling circus show of emotional buffoonery. The judge sounded the gavel once more, but it was no use. Aaron leaned in close to his attorney. Her skin smelled of floral sweetness and her bright auburn, wavy hair brushed softly against his cheek as he placed his lips
almost
against her pearl-earring clad ear.
“One damn year, huh? You couldn’t do better than that?” He jammed his tongue roughly inside of his jaw, stifling a series of curses.
She looked at him, somewhat appalled, her vibrant green eyes dancing about as if he’d asked her to do anything short of perform her job. His gut tightened a time or two as he narrowed his glance on her, blaming her for his damn predicament.
“Aaron, that is actually a fair sentence, but we will appeal.” It was all she offered as she turned away, clasping one hand over the other.
She isn’t worth two bent, fuckin’ cents… If she doesn’t get me out of this shit, I am replacing her ass. A goddamn year! I’ve never served more than a few months.
“Mr. Pike,” the judge spoke. “Do you have anything to say to the family of Clarence Gable?”
He rose from his seat once more, stood there for a trice, rocked back on his thick-soled black heels, and then peered towards the ceiling lights… How much they reminded him of the fractured sun rays he’d soon not see from behind prison bars. He turned around, his manacled ankles and wrists clanking, metal songs of soon-to-be lost freedom as he maneuvered just so. Clasping one hand over the other along his taut gut, he looked at the ebony animals with their woolen hair and dead eyes, the entire miserable lot of them.
“Yes, I have something to say.” His lips twisted in a roughish grin before he cleared his throat to speak. “Fuck
each
and
every
one of you motherfuckers!”
He burst into echoing bellows of throaty laughter, the kind that is born from the apex of the gut. The crowd erupted once more, falling all over each other and bursting at their fleshy seams. The gavel struck hard against the wooden block as pandemonium ensued, creating a beat to a heated musical tune drenched in bedlam. His body was suddenly pushed back and forth in the ruckus and as he swayed to and fro like a sailor on rocky waters. But, amid the commotion, he added a few more touching words to end his sermon.
“I beat that nigger’s ass and I
wish
I would have killed that worthless piece of shit! Would have done the world a hell of a lot of good! One less fucking brainless jackass to deal with! WHITE POWER!” he screamed out, the veins straining in his neck as he held his chin as high as he could muster.
“Get him outta here!” someone screamed out, more than likely a guard fearful of his own damn shadow.
In a matter of frantic moments, he was grabbed, tugged then hauled away in the continuous commotion. A blur of police officers surrounded him, some of whom worked shoulder to shoulder with him behind closed doors, while others shot him timid glances sprinkled with caution and trepidation…
Don’t worry; I won’t try to make a break for it… you fucking cowards… And I won’t send my wolves after you…
Aaron had a reputation for moving crowds, giving orders with only a whisper, and that reputation undoubtedly preceded him. It felt grand to be king…
“White Power!” he repeated over and over until his voice ran hoarse and the antediluvian, wooden double doors closed on him once and for all…
As he was swiftly ushered down the lengthy hall, people spoke around him in elevated voices while the odor of burning cigarettes and freshly extinguished cigars filled the area. His attorney yelled things, but he did not hear her, could not take in or comprehend a word she offered. No, he disappeared inside of himself, the cold hard shell he’d come to love. As he was placed in the police car and reporters from various news stations bumped into one another vying for his attention, their electronic devices in hand and urgency in their eyes, he drifted even further away until they became yapping smears and faded splotches pretending to be souls covered in human flesh. They continued on, springing against the car doors, pleading and carrying on, imploring him to speak, make a statement, make their day, give them a story to sink their bloodthirsty teeth into. They wanted something to wrap their greedy hands around and hold tight then toss the tidbits into the media-crazed listeners’ gaping mouths. Feed the beast…
Instead, he kept his quiet; he’d said his peace. This would be the longest stint of all, though he was rightly pleased that the judge hadn’t gone even further, thrown the unjust book at him. He surmised Judge Cole might not have been so bad after all. Maybe the liberal bastard was seeing the light, considering the ghastly vermin for what they truly were despite his bleeding heart ways. After all, the man’s court was inundated with the lawless, black bastards all damn week. Robberies, homicides, drug trade and usage, rapes…
They were the reason the country was suffering, falling apart—the original laws of the land taken for granted and all but ignored. The roaches were programmed to destroy all that was good, proper and holy. Wasn’t Judge Cole tired of seeing the same ol’ entitled fuckers, their primitive ways on full display, dumbing down the place each time they parted their fat, lying lips? Perhaps he was; conceivably, it was finally all becoming empty gin bottle clear.
I’m a true fighter, the genuine article. I’m the last of a dying breed. In serving this time, I pay the price for my future white sons and daughters. I pay the price, so that they may be okay, at peace, and their rights upheld.
Just then, the patrol car pulled from the curb and, not long during the slow quiet ride, they rolled leisurely past an old, leaden church, barely fit to stand. The windows of the drab, gray place were long and sallow like fatigued hound dog eyes, sullen as splintered wood framed them just so. A small cluster of people gathered around the place, some older ladies with flat, wide hips stuffed in floral print summer dresses and holding Tupperware containers and cheap, paper fans in their hands. Sweaty children, little boys laughed and hopped around in freshly ironed shorts and dapper shirts with tiny pockets.
He surmised they must’ve been having a special service, perhaps it was the pastor’s birthday. His chops twisted and turned, forming a serpentine grin as he observed all the pure, white faces.
He soon found himself staring into the eyes of a little girl, around the same age as his own. They simply glared at one another, the trance only broken by the scream of the church bell tolling, ringing out, and demanding to be heard over the roar of the patrol engine. His body oscillated lazily back and forth as the vehicle moved about the rural, bumpy road, jostling him to and fro like a mere pebble in an otherwise empty glass.
Then, the church grew smaller and smaller, and so did that little girl who still stood there, watching him disappear, swallowed by the day and inequality of it all. The bell rang out once more. A woman took her by the wrist and dragged her along the slight incline of the dying grass towards the open front doors of the church. The little girl went along, but kept her eyes on him… kept her head turned in his direction until she was ushered inside, cloaked away from his view. The church bell’s scream kept echoing in the air, sending a slight chill down his spine as he slumped uncomfortably forward, now face to face with his fate.
“Yes God… let the bell ring… Let. Freedom. Ring…”