I'll let words already written in my debut novel
PATCHES OF GREY [available at Amazon in
print paperback and
Kindle format] do the talking in this post...along with some carefully selected pictures.
The Kaos Krew paid little heed to those who supposedly
controlled their neighborhood. They felt nothing but disdain for landlords,
store owners, politicians, and especially cops, who were considered to be
nothing more than a better funded gang. The boys in blue thought they called
the shots, but were deluding themselves. The streets belonged to those most
intimate with them.
Was love ever easy for anyone? If less complicated, would
this make it less appreciated? Perhaps love was difficult for good reason.
Perhaps everything on God’s green earth was the result of a flawless plan, even
that which seemed most muddled.
When he spoke of love, it was in the manner of someone who
can recite a phrase in a foreign language but has no idea what it means. He
only knows that it sounds pretty.
He
now realized that right and wrong were intertwined notions. His arms could not
differentiate between just and unjust causes. They only knew that they were
empty.
They demanded to be heard, even though it didn't seem they
had much to say. Perhaps the futility and smallness that characterized their
lives was too overwhelming to articulate in any manner other than a primitive,
incoherent scream. Maybe it was inevitable that those who felt they had no
stake in society would opt to destroy it.
A
tightrope walker uncertain if he could make it to the other side probably would
not. A racecar driver wondering if he was taking a turn too fast was likely to
lose control. If a man feared death, whether his own or the taking of
another's, death would surely come calling.
The
wall again exerted its magnetic pull. It was just a word. It took nothing from
him. It made him feel only as low as he allowed himself to feel. His own
brother used it in conversation habitually. But not in the same way - filled
with malice, overflowing with insult. He couldn't tear his eyes away, shook
with lust for retribution. Six little letters making one huge statement.
It was his experience that life worked under the same
guidelines as a capitalistic society. In order to get what you wanted, it was
usually necessary to give up something in return. Sometimes gaining what you
defined as everything meant losing what you most needed.
Time had taught him that whether his sins were pardoned or
left unforgiven, they would remain committed. Tomorrow he would hopefully
choose wiser, with a stronger measure of compassion.
There were many tomorrows to be lived through his children.
He could only hope that they would face them more courageously than he had,
that his mistakes would serve as warning signs rather than crutches to lean on.
The genesis of their love was physical attraction, and his
complexion had lured her the same as hers undoubtedly pulled him. It was not
his blackness that she fell in love with, but it was a part of him, and
therefore, a part of what she loved.
C.J.
had once believed that he understood who he was, what he was about, what he was
capable of. But when the moment came to act upon these convictions, he
discovered that his knowledge of self was faulty. Had his lack of killer
instinct been a momentary lapse, first time jitters? Or was there more to it
than that? If not the fearless, remorseless man he supposed himself to be, then
just who was he?
Tony and Tanya had grown accustomed to seeing their mother
pushed around. Listening to her now, they viewed her as if for the first time.
She was indeed a wise woman. She was a teacher. Her lessons would be in how to
survive, for she possessed a PHD in the subject.
I want it for him too. But the things he wants have a way of
changing a man. He'll start thinking that the money and the white man's
learning are all that matter. He’ll get himself a college degree and a paper
pushing job, and he won't have to sweat and strain to make it from one paycheck
to another. That's a blessing. But he'll take it for granted. He'll feel
ashamed that no matter how different he acts and thinks and feels, he'll be
seen the same as the rest of us. The same as me.
When
it came to race relations, why was the exception so often taken to be the rule?
But
there was no denying that a generic hatred had been stirred up. Wide spreading
ripples can reach calm waters far removed from where a stone has been tossed.
So,
he decided to suffer from selective amnesia. Forgotten would be the sound of
Janet’s laughter; the feel of her lips against his skin; the way her hair
spread out over his chest as they lay in repose; the look on her face as they
made love; the sound of her voice when she said he was her sun and moon and
stars. Only by deleting heaven from his memory did he have a chance to survive
on earth.
Tony
was no doubt looking down on him, thinking that once he was out on his own, he
would never allow himself to be imprisoned by poverty. He would not accept
limitations that others attempted to impose on his options. He had no intention
of blaming racism for that which was brought about by submission. In other
words, Tony had arrogantly concluded that he would never become his father.
They all believed back then that love lasted forever. By now
they surely knew, as did he, that forever was a treacherous myth, though
probably a necessary one.
