The Great American Negro Tetralogy
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The Great American Negro Tetralogy - A Collection of Short Stories By: Eric Blair
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The Great American Negro
The last time I was bullied was at the age of eight, I was in the third grade. I went to some all white, racist school in the Northeast section ofPhiladelphia. I was the only Black kid in my school and believe me, I felt and knew that I was the only Black kid in my school. Rose, I was called nigger so many times in my schooling days it felt like my precursor name to Poof. When one of those White kids dared to call me a nigger I’d fire a joke their way. Of course there was that one dick that didn’t know how to take a joke. Ricky Davis, some big Irish, mick; this kid was on steroids at eight. His face was a fucking muscle, true story; I witnessed him flexing a face muscles once. He was the jock of the school and a future homosexual if you ask me. “Hehehehehehe” Stop laughing at me, I am serious, this is a true matter here. Really, listen to this, so we were in English class and Ms…Ms…? *Snap, snap* Fuck it! I forgot her name but anyway, she asked what does the word filiopietistic means to the class. “Is that a rea—?”
Yes, Rose, that’s a real word but stop interrupting me. Like a screaming retard on a small yellow bus Ricky blurts out, “It means eye surgery with a laser pin!” That kid was a fucking monkey humanoid; I swear he should have been a fucking caveman. I could only imagine the look on my face while he was screaming out the wrong answer. That kid used to rub in the wrong way. He could’ve killed God in front of the principal and he’d get an MVP trophy for that, therefore I called him on his shit. So. I turned around toward him, he sat a few rows behind me, in a disgusted tone I said to him, “No it doesn’t.” I turned back to the front of the class where Ms. “whatever her name was” was standing by the board and with a snarky tone I replied, “Filiopietistic means, of or pertaining to reverence of forebears or tradition, especially if carried to excess.” “Wha—?” Wait, it gets better, I turned to Ricky and said to him in a condescending tone, “It’s an adjective by the way.” He yelled out, “Ha-ray, for the amazing coon!” I looked him right into his eyes to show him that I was not joking, or playing his games. I said to him, “Ya mom was yelling the same thing last night, I guess you must’ve over heard us.” I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off that doucher because as soon as I turned my head he hurled a fucking text book at my head. Yeah, that shit hurt like hell. I was escorted to the principal’s office while Ricky was welcomed by high fives from his idiot friends. I stopped asking why I am the only one who’s getting in trouble; I just took it on the chin like a champ. I didn’t get suspended because I was suspended two weeks prior for an incident instead I got detention. Yup, poor old me got a week of detention. After detention that’s when the real fireworks begun. Ricky met me out in the schoolyard and beat the mighty shit out of me. Busted my lips, nose, and blackened my eye. He chuckled as she stand over me victorious as he looked down at me and uttered, “You look like a real coon now, nigger.” I rode home on the bus defeated, ashamed because my brother was such a tough guy in my neighborhood and I was a witty punching bag. Whenever I get home dinner was on the stove or in the oven because my mother workednine to fiveand then six to twelve at nights. She worked so hard to keep us comfortable and me going to that awful private school. “What about your brother, C.J.?” Well, he was in school at the time also a brilliant student but his passion was making money over anything. Alexander was a big time drug dealer in South Philly at seventeen. He kept it from our mom because she was always working but the backpacks of money he used to bring home and hide was insane. He never brought his work home and always turned off his phone once he stepped into the house. Every day he used to come by to check on me every hour, and helped me with my homework every night. The day I got beat up he was searching for me all over the house and he found me in our mom’s room. I was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room with my knees at my chest and my arms wrapped around my knees as I sobbed in the dark. Alex opens the door to our mother’s room; the light shines directly in onto me sitting in the corner. He yells at me and says, “You heard me callin’ you? Why the fuck didn’t you say somethi—?” The look on his face went from anger to concern, like a droopy dog. He stumbled over his words as he cautiously walks toward me, “Wh-What the fuck hap-happened, kid?” I replied to him,
“Nothing, just got into another fight today.” Alex sat on our mother’s bed and smirks as he looks down at me. He says to me, “You sure you was fightin’ or just got your ass woop’d? What happened?” I kept my gaze low because I was ashamed to come home bloody and bruised. Honestly, I was ashamed to look Alex in the eyes because I felt as if I failed him. I whispered to him, “It was Ricky.” He replied, “What boy?! Speak up; put some bass in your voice. I can’t hear you.” I begun to speak but he interrupted me, “Look at me when you’re talkin’ to me. You always look a man in his eyes to show him you mean business, show there is no bitch in your heart.” I took a long pause and right before I begun to reply to Alex I inhaled deeply and took a big gulp. “I got into a fight with Ricky Davis.” My brother’s face frowned up and then he blurted out, “What the fuck did I teach you? I taught you how to fight, how the fuck are you still gettin’ beat up by some cracker?” My head was lowed in shame, but I slowly raised my gaze toward my brother. I replied back to him, “He’s bigger than me.” He rudely interrupted me with his deep voice with tones of anger behind it, “So the fuck what! You pick up something and knock his ass the fuck out. Do you wanna die on your knees or on your feet? If you fight this boy back one good time he will fuckin’ respect you!” I finally raised my head and stared him right and his eyes and break his heart by saying, “I am not like you. I am just some geek that is lucky enough to go to a good school. At the end of the day, I am called nigger, coon, monkey, and everything else in the book by moronic White kids. When I come home I am forced to stay in the house because when I go outside I am picked with for being smart. So my own friends call me an Oreo, Uncle Tom, uppity nigger, etc. How do you think that makes me feel? I have no wins across the broad. I just want to be like you, feared, respected, and loved. Everyone in the neighborhood knows your name and is friendly toward you. The corner boys doesn’t pick with me because they know I am your brother but I hear the things they say about me when I walk away. I just want people to respect me as C.J. not because they fear your wrath. I just want to be like you, Alex. The look in his eyes was disappointment, his eyes almost begun to water but he would never let me see him cry. There was a long, cold pause between the two of us. He cleared his throat and reached behind him and pulled out a gun and then placed it on our mother’s night table next to her bed. His face became enraged with fury and anger. He sternly said to me, “Here is why niggas fear me ‘cause they don’t wanna feel this heat on their ass. People do not fear or respect me because of my line of work, fuck no! They fear me because I will kill ‘em, point blank. This gun doesn’t make me a man; honestly, I am more of a bitch with it. I carry it ‘cause I fear the worst happenin’ to me. To be real with you, I respect that you’re yourself; you do not try to be anything else but you. You’re a smart kid lookin’ to do big things with your life and that’s respectable. If people can’t respect you for you, fuck ‘em. Baggin’ up rock and standin’ on the corner rain, sleet, or snow isn’t fun but goin’ to college, gettin’ outta the hood to never look back at it in your rearview is everything. I do what I do so you and mom can have a little extra money to keep the lights on, to keep you in school, and so you can continue to be you, NOT ME! I never want you to be me ‘cause at the end of the day you’re the brave one between me and you. I am just another bitch ass nigga who likes to rampage through the streets demandin’ respect. Respect is earned, those niggas out there might not have my respect but you have all my respect, little man. The moment you dare to pick up a gun and use it, my respect is gone for you. You be another bitch nigga with a gun wantin’ respect. So I am going to leave you
with this gun, if you wanna walk down my path, into my world feel free. Do know this, once you pull that trigger there is no turnin’ back. The choice is yours.” He then got up off of our mother’s bed and walked out of the room, never looking back at me once. I continue to sit in the dark until I fell asleep. I awoke the next morning in my bedroom, dreading attending school because I knew Ricky was going to be there. I opened my bag just before I was ready to leave and my brother’s gun was in my bag. I took it out and hid it in my room. So I went to school as usual and I got off the bus and bam, Ricky and his crew were a few feet in front of me. Of course this a little miserable shit approached me like yesterday wasn’t enough of an ass kicking. Ricky jumped in my face with his funky ass breath and said, “Hey, tar baby. I am surprised you showed your face around here.” I replied to him, “I do have to go to school still, can’t let one gingered hair inbred stop the show.” He shoved me really hard, I fell to the ground. I had enough, so when I rise from the ground I rise with a might uppercut to his fat faced chin. He fell to the ground and I begun to pounce on him. I was hitting him so hard he begun to cry. His boys pulled me off of him as I begun to kick him as they dragged me away. A teacher came over to us in the schoolyard and asked if everything was okay. Ricky quietly sobbed and lowly uttered, “Everything is fine, we were just playin’. From that moment on I was never bullied again. After school I went home to do homework as usual and my brother came in the house. He looked me in my eyes and gave me a lite smirk and sighed, “Hm.” He then asked me, “You wanna go get something to eat, little man.” I looked up at him and replied, “Sure.” At that moment I knew I had gained Alex’s respect and no matter what he was doing in the street I knew my brother will always be the only man I will ever look up to…
The Great American Nigga “I hear you talk about how you looked up to your brother, how was he as a person overall?” Rose asks as she sits across from C.J. at his dining room table.
“Here is the story about my brother through my eyes… He was a strong, fun, funny, smart, cunning, passionate, at times dark, cold, and a depressing young man. He was the first person to teach me the other meaning of life.”
Rose interjects, “The other meanin’? Elaborate please.”
“Shit, I was until you rudely interrupted me.”
Rose utters with a whisper, “Sorry.”
“See, you’re doing it again! I kid, I kid but we digress.”
“Alexander taught me about the other things in life, the things we never learned in school. Things like heartbreak, women, and the barbaric ways of humanity. He once told me there are people in this world who are beyond selfish or self-centered. In his line of work he witnessed and encountered those types of people every day. I actually watched someone’s mother give her last few dollars for a hit. After Alex sold her some drugs she left her newborn on the corner just to shoot up. She left her newborn on a cold, dark, dirty, steamy corner. He kind of introduced me to a reality I was sheltered from. I will never forget the lessons I’ve learned from him. I use some of those sprinkles of dark spots in humanity in many of our skits. He was a parody of the world he lived in. I never understood, but I would never question why he did the things he did, he was a brilliant kid. He graduated high school at the top of his class. There were at least five ofAmerica’s best universities ready to pay his way through college. I do know one of those schools was Ivy League. Insane, right? Alex felt as if college would be a false representation of who he really was. He didn’t go to college; I don’t think he was ever looking to attend college. Funny, he had the world in his palm, but he wanted to stay in the hood for some street dreams. He thought he could make it in the streets, “The American Way” of becoming a millionaire. In actuality, he could have changed the game because he was a genius, book smart, street smart, and had common sense. Ha, funny huh? It’s funny at some point in my life I actually saw myself running a “family business” with my brother, like Nino Brown and G-Money. Movies, they have a powerful impact on young, impressionable minds. Well, one day Alex— Wait, give me a second, I need a sip of water. My throat is parched from talking.” *Long sip* “Aaaaah. Well, I was about nine or ten years old, all my homework was done I was bored in the house. Alex came home with two duffle bags full of money, he ran upstairs to put his stuff up. He ran back down the steps at full speed, he stopped at the entrance of the living room and glared over at me and said,”
“What cha doin’?” I replied, “Nothin, I am done with homework.” He then smirked and replied with a sense of pride, “You wanna take a ride with me?” I replied, “Sure.”
“I ran to the front door in excitement to hang with my big brother. He was already sitting in this black ’97 Mercedes Benz with shiny silver rims. The rims always stuck out to me, because it was like holograms would come out of them when the sun hits them right, beautiful car, Rose. We rode around together with the sun roof open and windows down, music blasting in the middle of the spring. It was a beautiful day; everybody was outside, just watching us roll by. Rose, I was happy to be with Alex, in this dope ass car. We rode around to several corners, young guys would approach the car and drop backpacks of God knows what in the back seat. They would pretend to talk to my brother about some bullshit and drop a backpack in the back seat. I never
asked questions because I was so happy to be with my big brother. We passed corners and people would shout out his name as if he was a neighborhood superstar. There were mostly women who shouted his name. So we pulled up on the corner of twentieth and Dickerson and Alex just bolted out of the car toward this guy name Cheese. Cheese was this tall, bony, pale, light skinned guy. Cheese and Alex exchanged words, mostly Alex. Alex calmly said,“Where is my money, Cheese?” Cheese’s voice quivered as he stumbled over his words, “Ri-Right H-Here, Alex. I waz ‘bout to cum look fo’ you.” Alex replied with a calm, dark voice, “Is that a fact? When?” Cheese begun to sweat as he lowered his gaze, “To-To-Today. But ya kno’, the block was busy.” Alex closed his eyes and took a deep breath and uttered, “Please give me my money, Tyree.”
Cheese went to the stash area and came back with a brown paper bag full of money. He handed the bag to Alex. Alex turned away from Cheese to walk back to the car and Cheese had to say something, he could have done with out anymore words but noooo Cheese had to run his big fucking mouth by saying,
“We cool, Al?”
Alex turned around and shot Cheese in both of his hips. The gun shots rang out so loud people in earshot ran for cover including myself. The shots were on point, one shot for each side. Cheese released a roar of sobbing and screams as he lied on the ground holding his hips. Alex slowly walked back over to Cheese with a stone, blank look on his face. He leaned over to Cheese on the ground and lowly uttered,
“We cool now, nigga?”
Alex smoothly walked back over to the car, calmly entered the car, put the paper bag of crumbled, dirty, and faded dollars into the back seat. He started to drive and he then looked over at me and said,
“Ya cool, little man?” I franticly nodded my head and quickly replied,
“Yeah, yeah.”
He gazed at me out of the corner of his eye and replied back to my frantic movement,
“Ya know that was just business. He owed me money for weeks. Sometimes you have to keep ya enemies close. Hm, sometimes ya enemies are ya friend. Ya kno’ what I mean? No need to be scared, little man. Ya my nigga. C’mon let’s go have some fun.”
Then he took me to some big ass house inMountAiry. I don’t know how he exactly knew those people but for sure, everyone knew him. We entered the house and there were half naked women every where, people smoking, drinking, and other things; drugs and madness. He yelled out at whoever was doing drugs, drinking, or sexing; it all stopped in my presence. We played some video games and talked shit to one another. When my brother stepped out the room, women were coming up to me telling me how cute I was and guys were telling me how much my brother talked about me. One guy told me my brother once called me “The ticket out of the hood. The Savior” My brother has a lot on me and in the guy’s words exactly, “Don’t fuck it up, young baw.” It was getting late so we headed home to a big surprise of our mother home early. Maaaaaan, she was furious at Alex. She made me go to my room as she yelled at Alex about taking me around the things he’s into. Mind you, I can hear every thing they’re saying, mainly my mother doing the yelling. She yelled at Alex that she didn’t want him to fuck me up or corrupt me with his ways. They argued for almost an hour until shit got really real. My mom blurted out in rage at Alex, “You’re as fucked up as your father!”
Alex snapped, I have never heard him yell in my entire life until that day. Chills raced up my spine from the anger in his voice. Alex yelled, “Are you fuckin’ serious?! You didn’t have any problem when it’s helpin you out! It helps you to keep the lights on! It helps you to keep food in the fridge. What I do helps you to keep C.J. in that nice ass school. You dare to take my money when you know what the fuck I do but you also want to turn a blind eye. BULLSHIT!”
My mom yelled back, “BOY, don’t talk to me like that in MY house! My name is on the bills, YOU live under my fuckin’ roof! You’re still a child! I can give you as quick as I can take from you! Watch your mouth, boy!”
Alex replies, “You’re such a hypocrite, it’s okay to sacrifice your eldest son to the wolves but your baby is too precious to chum up with Black kids in his own neighborhood. What do you want to do, give up on me or help me? Do you even know? Where I am standing at you’re no better than daddy, another deadbeat parent.”
I think at that moment my mother slapped Alex across his face and then I heard a lot of thumping. I ran to the top of the steps and my mother was beating on Alex with her fist, a bat, plates, and whatever else she could get her hands on as tears raced down her face. She yelled over and over like a broken record, “GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!”
I ran to the bottom of the stairs and yelled, “Mom, Alex, stop! Please!”
My mom turned back to me and yelled, “Go back to your room, C.J.!”
At that moment I broke down in tears and Alex looked over at me and yelled with a deep roar, “Oooooooooookay! I will leave but remember, you done this to me, mommy! Just let me get my things, please.”
She yelled back, “YES! Please get your shit, your drugs, and damn drug money out of my god damn house!”
Alex walked pass me going upstairs, he returned a few minutes later with seven duffle bags. He kneeled down to me as I sat at the bottom of the steps. He looked me in my eyes and said, “Nothing is gonna change, I will still help you with your homework. Come check in on you; make sure you go to bed on time, and talk to you each and everyday. Nothing will ever change between me and you. Ya my little man, I love you to my last breath. Ya hear me?”
I quickly nodded my head yes as tears raced down my face. I grabbed him tightly around his neck and whispered into his ear, “I love you too, Alex. Please don’t go.”
He stood high and tall over me, he smirked, placed his hand on my shoulder, and uttered,
“It’s for the best, little man. You’ll be ‘ight, trust me. Don’t let anything change in school, continue to give them hell.”
He turned around, and as he walked toward the door he attempted to give mother a peck on the cheek, but she turned her face away in disgust. Alex smirked and said, “I love you too, mommy.”
My mother and I stood in the doorway and watched Alex load his bags in his car. Before he got in he looked up at us with a smile and waved. I waved back to him; my mother folded her arms across her chest in anger. Alex started the engine and rode off. I never asked Alex where he stayed that night. That night our lives changed, especially Alex’s. From that day forward he was a bit more grim, bitter, and melancholy. That’s all I have to say about my brother at this moment…”
The Last American Nigga “So, what ever happened to Alex?” How long did it take for you to ask me that?
“What are you talkin’ ‘bout? It just popped into my mind, ya know?”
You see this blank stare? Stop lying to me, please. Wait, real quick, I hate the saying “ya know.” What the hell does it even mean? Are you asking me a question or telling me something? That phrase is too confusing for me. I don’t like it.
“Are you done wit’ your mini rant?”
Wait…Now I am done.
“Honestly, I have heard rumors ‘bout your brother livin’ inFloridaor bein’ Kobe Bryant.”
What?!Kobe? Why him? That guy is a fucking tool! I met him like twice, whole douche bag including the douche solution. Ha, that’s funny that my brother has rumors about him.
Well, in my tenth year of schooling…
“You couldn’t just say tenth grade?”
Okay! When I was in tenth grade Alex and I hung out heavily. By now he had his own place in theGermantownsection ofPhiladelphiaand commuted to South Philly. He still helped me with my homework even after the fallout between him and our mother. He still left money for our mother daily. She never spent it because she felt it was dirty instead she put it in the bank. One particular Friday night, Alex dropped me off after we hung out at Dave and Busters…
“What’s Dave and Busters?”
A restaurant/game house, it’s an awesome place. Next time we visit my mom in Philly I am taking you and the guys. By the way, Rose, stop interrupting me! Alex dropped me off right in front of the door of my mother’s house. He would pull off once I opened the door. As soon as I
stepped one foot into the house a loud crashing of metal and glass roared. Less than a few seconds later loud shots rang out. I stood in place for a few seconds, not fully in the house but not fully outside. My heart turned completely cold, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and my hands begun to shake uncontrollably. I stepped back outside to find my brother’s black Lexus crashed into a light pole, pumped full of holes, and still smoking. I ran to the corner as fast as I could. I could actually smell the stench of gunpowder, leaking gasoline, and blood. I slowly approached Alex’s car on the driver’s side, the glass was shattered and the doors were covered in holes. I finally approached the driver’s door to find Alex slouched down in his seat. Smoke was venting from the bullet holes in his chest, and his jaw, and through his chin and above his eye. Blood gushed from his face. He slowly turned his head toward me; his voice was cold, deep, dark, and I could tell he was trying to hide the fact his voice was about to crack from the death shock. He uttered,
“G-Go Ho-Home.”
He just stared at me with his eyes wide open as the life seeped from his body. Then his head just rolled, following the slumping of his body. I stood there quivering with chills through my body. Out of the silent death of the night I heard a loud scream a few feet from me calling out,
“ALEEEEEEEX! NOOOOOOOOOO!”
My mother rushed to the still smoking car to open the door so she could get Alex out. She opened the door and Alex’s body fell out of the car, my mother caught his body before it hit the ground. She sat on the ground crying holding Alex’s lifeless, bloody body until the police came. I just stood in the same place looking on in horror and shock.
“Wow, I am so sorry to hear that.”
It’s cool, the days after Alexander’s death were rough. My mother called our father to tell him that Alex was murdered. I could hear her screaming from my bedroom where I just sat and studied, quietly. She was screaming at my father on the phone. All I could understand and piece together was her saying,
“What the fuck do you mean that’s not your problem, James? “…” “I-I didn’t do this alone, I know you’re not worth much but I really need your support! I can’t do this alone!” “…” “This is not my fault! I tried! I tried to keep him outta the streets! What did you do?!” “…” “Of course make excuses, you walked out on your boys for some fuckin’ young tail! Now you’re such a perfect father with your new family! We were your family first!” “…” “I don’t ask for support for C.J., the least you could do is be a shoulder for me! I need you, C.J. needs you!” “…” “What the fuck is your problem?! You son just was murdered!” “…” “What?! What?! Fuck you and your family!” I entered the kitchen to watch my mother slam the phone down on the hook with frustration, anger, and grief. She dropped to the kitchen floor in a rage of tears and screams. I rushed over to console her with a big, loving hug. I whispered in her ear,
“Don’t worry mommy, I am here. I will never let anyone or anything hurt you again. I will take care of you…”
“Are you okay, C.J.?”
Yeah, I am fine, I haven’t thought about these memories in a really long time. A few days later was Alex’s funeral, it was on a Saturday, it was rainy, cold, and gloomy. Pieces of that day have
been expunged from my memory. There are bits and pieces of Alex’s funeral I remember. Like the fact that my father actually showed up, or my mother screaming and jumping on the coffin because the funeral was a closed casket ceremony. At some point my mother screamed at my father who was standing in the back of the funeral home.
“This is your fault! You should have been here for your boys! You should have been here, you selfish bastard!”
I was there to witness his death, I didn’t cry. I was there to see my mother breakdown, I didn’t cry. I ran my hand across the cold coffin, nope, not one tear. The moment I had to give Alex’s eulogy I stepped up to the podium to face a packed funeral home. I cleared my throat, closed my eyes, and begun to speak,
“My brother Alexander David Johnson was…was…wwwww—”
That was it, I broke down in front of hundreds of people who came to pay their respects to my brother. At that moment I realized he really was gone, no more fun rides, no more help with homework, and no more looking up to Alex. He was gone and never coming back, it hit me like a speeding train. I released a roar of screams and cries, at that moment the thought of my brother being gone from my life drove me insane. My cousins and aunts helped to escort me off the stage back to my seat. Once I got to my seat I buried my face into my mother’s arms. I didn’t want to be there anymore. I didn’t want to see or hear anyone. When it was time to carry Alex’s coffin to the hearse my uncle Andrew asked my father if he wanted to help, when he said,
“Naw, I’m good; that’s not really my place, Andrew.”
My uncle almost punched my father in his face but his brother/my uncle Mike restrained Andrew, I yelled out,
“I will help! I will help to carry Alex.”
Everyone looked over at me. My uncle Richie asked me,
“Ya sure, little man? We can get some else to help out.”
I replied with my voice cracking,
“Ye-Yeah.”
My father strolled over toward me as I stood next to the coffin; he was cool, smooth, charming, and laid back. He looked down at me and said to me,
“I’m proud of ya, boy. Alexander would be proud of ya too.”
He handed me a fifty dollar bill and smiled
“That’s fo’ you, big man, fo’ bein’ brave and steppin’ up when the fam needed ya ta be there.”
He patted me on my back and then strolled down the isle of the empty funeral home, out onto the crowded street. I watched him drive off from inside of the funeral home; I watched through the doors as my father drove away in my time of need. At that moment I learned hatred; I’d never wanted to kill a man until I watched him drive off. I didn’t cry, but I’ve always remembered, I took it in stride and it’s fueled my ambition. I focused on carrying Alex’s coffin and putting it into the hearse. My three uncles and two cousins helped me to carry the coffin. The moment we lifted the coffin my knees knocked together, I don’t know if it was from grief or nervousness but I do know that coffin was heavy. I thought my arm was going to rip out of my shoulder blade from the first lift. When we extended it over our shoulders my legs buckled from the weight. I thought the isle was never going to end, the street felt so far away. Once we exited the funeral home there were three times more people than there were at the service. I don’t know if the neighborhood loved Alex, feared him, or a combination of both. At that moment, Rose, all I could do is be proud that Alex was my brother and that this many people came to pay their
respects. He was a great man. He was a great brother. I will always love him, until my last breath.
“Did the police ever find his killer?”
Do you remember the story I told you about Cheese? Well, the streets talk and they knew he either killed or set my brother up, but the police could never pin him for the crime. I heard karma caught up to Cheese and someone killed him execution style. I guess it happened about a year ago, one bullet to the back of his head at the tip of his spine on the corner of seventeenth and Johnson.
“Do you know who killed him?”
No. I wouldn’t have the slightest clue…
The Great American Negro Performer “Hey, C.J. I heard what happened last night. Are you okay?”
I am still a little agitated but I am good, Rose.
“Did you tell ya mom?”
Why the hell would I do that? This isn’t her concern. Do you have any cigarettes?
“You don’t have to look at me like that, since when you start smokin’?”
Since last night, that shit was fucking crazy.
“C.J., sit down, talk to me; I am here for you. Talk to me, papi. Wazzzup?”
Well, my father stopped by our show last night.
“Oh my, what did he say to you?”
Some bullshit, nothing but nonsense. I really don’t want to talk about him.
“Wait, wait, wait. C.J. STOP! Talk. To. Me. I am here for you, I love you. Let’s go sit in the livin’ room.”
After the performance before last I came back to my dressing room and low and behold he was there holding a bouquet of red roses, sitting in my chair, with a big goofy grin on his face… as if he missed me or something.
“That’s why when you closed wit’ Moons and Stars and you were a little off key.”
Really, with the interruptions? C’mon son!
“My B. Continue.”
Shit, more like start. Can I start interruption free, Rose? Thank you.
I entered the dressing room in disbelief, not because my father is there, because he’s sitting in my chair with roses like Ike from What’s Love Got to Do with It. He stood up from the chair, reeking of cheap knock off cologne, wearing a grey suit that looked like a hand me down. My father looked skinny and sickly. I have always known him to be a strong, charming, great looking man, but what I saw last night was a shard of the man he once was. I was fresh off of stage, still in my costume and makeup. His eyes were wide and bright like a deer in headlights; he smiled and said,
“Hello boy, ya look good.”
I scanned him from head to toe with a look of anger, and disgust. I replied,
“Why are you here? What do you want?”
The goofy smile left his bony face. I walked over to my fridge to get some water and he followed behind me like a lost puppy still holding onto the roses. He looked over my shoulder and said,
“My throat is kinda dry, I want a water or something ta drink, boy.”
I gazed over my shoulder with a stare of hatred and replied,
“You have air and spit, enjoy that. What’s with the roses?”
He shifted his weight nervously as he released an uncomfortable chuckled. He replied,
“They’re fo’ you, ya…ya kno’ cuz of ya good performance. Ya funny, always was funny.”
I walked toward him as he extended his arms to hand me the roses, I walked around him to my chair and sat right down. After I sat down his back was still toward me, his shoulders slumped in defeat or embarrassment; I really didn’t give a fuck. He lowered his head and took a deep breath before he turned around. He turned toward me and uttered the dumbest sentence he could utter,
“How is ya mom, boy?”
I stared straight in his face, and slowly took a sip of water. I stared him right in his eyes, the same way Alex would stare at me when I had done wrong. He lowered his gazed like an little boy in trouble, looking pathetic with the roses in his arms. I slowly swallowed a mouth full of water never taking my stare off of him. I know he could feel it all, my disappointments, my rage, my anger, and my hatred all for him. I replied,
“You have her number, call her yourself. Wait; is this the part you make up an excuse why you can’t call my mother because your wife is stopping you or you’re too busy at work? Come on, old man, give me something.”
He looked down on himself, rubbed the back of his head with his right hand, and smirked. He dared to utter,
“Hm, maybe this was a mistake. Why do ya gonna treat me like this, boy? I made a mistake, I am sor—”
I snapped at the sound of his pathetic words, his smug attitude, and his arrogance; I just couldn’t take it anymore. I just jumped out of my seat and threw my water at him and he threw down the roses and we got up in one another’s face. Before he could utter one word I screamed at him,
“YOU DO NOT HAVE THAT FUCKING RIGHT! You’re not going to march in here and just say “sorry” and then expect shit to be cool. You don’t know me, I don’t know YOU! Who are you! Don’t give me that sorry shit. Where the fuck were you when I needed to learn how to fight? Where were you when I needed to learn about sex? Where were you when Alex was killed?! All you could do is pat me on my back and leave me! You left a boy to bear the burden of a man! You stroll back in here when I got a little something? Now I am your son? You’re so proud of me? Fuck you!”
His face flinched in anger as if he was trying to contain his rage. He simply said,
“Watch ya mouth, boy. I came ta make peace not start war but I will bury ya ass if ya keep talkin’ ta me like that, boy.”
I gritted my teeth together and begun to make a fist. I screamed,
“My name is Christopher James, not “boy,” not “sonny,” and not “C.J.” You call me “Mr. Johnson.” Truthfully at Alex’s funeral I wished it was you in the casket not Alex. I wish you would die each da—.
He shoved me into my vanity and I jumped up, charged him, and wrapped my hands around his throat. I blacked out; all I remember are moments of my white gloves around his frail neck. I squeezed so tight. I still stared right in his eyes, and watched hope drain from his limp body and life drained from his eyes, just as I had watched Alex slip into lifelessness. I felt his body begin
to give up on struggling. At that moment security rushed into the dressing room and pulled me off of him. He was grasping for air as I was screaming trying to break away from securities’ hold. Security helped him up and then asked me if they wanted me to throw him out. I replied,
“He can find his way out.”
He dragged himself away with one hand around his neck. At the doorway he turned around with his red, watery eyes. He barely uttered,
“I came ta make peace, bo—.”
I interrupted,
“Fuck your peace.”
He took big breaths as he broke down in tears and said,
“I am your father! I kno’ I fucked up but I am tryin’! I am tryin’ ta make it up ta you and Alex. Ya so fuckin’ blind and stupid, ya rather dress up and chuckle and jive fo’ tho’ crackers out there, but you greet me wit’ war. That black paint on ya face, boy, isn’t makeup, that’s really who ya are; The Amazin’ Poof. ‘Nother Uncle Tom! Ya keep actin’ like ya don’t need anybody; ya gonna die alone. I was honestly ashamed ta tell or know that ya my son but at this point it’s not ‘bout my feelin’ or yours. It’s ‘bout a new beginin’. If I can accept you fo’ bein’ the “most famous Minstrel” then you can accept me fo’ my past mistakes.”
The room became silent, pain was in the air. I stared him in his eyes with my face frowned up and blurted out,
“Get the fuck out! Don’t come near me again.”
He looked directly in my eyes, searching for compassion in my heart. As tear were racing down his face he said,
“I have cancer, Christopher. I don’t wanna die wit’ ya hatin’ me. I don’t wanna die not knowin’ my last son. I don’t have long ta go. I am sorry, son.”
He reached his hand out to me. I walked away from him to lean. The moment I glanced away, I saw in the mirror a person I would never want to see again; a man of hatred and rage. My paint was running down my face with my brown skin peeking through themidnightoil, black face paint. I looked back at him and said,
“So? That’s not my problem. Send me a postcard from hell. Get out.”
He sighed as he wiped the tears from his eyes. He pointed to the flowers on the floor and said to me,
“Ya can keep ‘em. Good luck.”
He turned away from me and walked away in defeat and embarrassment. I continued the show as you know and I just got a call from his wife and my mother telling me he died in his sleep this morning.
“How do you feel, C.J.?”
How should I feel? I meant every word I said to him; I am not going to shed one tear for him…
Moons & Stars Poof is sitting on stage at a black piano with a microphone in front of his face. There is a spotlight on him. Poof is dressed in a black suit, with white gloves, and a black top hat with ace of spade card wedged in the white band of his hat. His face is covered in black paint with white outlines around his lips. He began to play the piano.
Somewhere above the stars Where our love floats by Somewhere beyond the moons The destruction of our trust floats by Somewhere above it all The ashes of which we were Sprinkles onto the universe Desolated on the moon is where I stand. Somewhere in your heart is an abyss collapsing Somewhere out there Somewhere in the atmosphere Somewhere you’re there when you need to be here
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The Great American Negro
The last time I was bullied was at the age of eight, I was in the third grade. I went to some all white, racist school in the Northeast section ofPhiladelphia. I was the only Black kid in my school and believe me, I felt and knew that I was the only Black kid in my school. Rose, I was called nigger so many times in my schooling days it felt like my precursor name to Poof. When one of those White kids dared to call me a nigger I’d fire a joke their way. Of course there was that one dick that didn’t know how to take a joke. Ricky Davis, some big Irish, mick; this kid was on steroids at eight. His face was a fucking muscle, true story; I witnessed him flexing a face muscles once. He was the jock of the school and a future homosexual if you ask me. “Hehehehehehe” Stop laughing at me, I am serious, this is a true matter here. Really, listen to this, so we were in English class and Ms…Ms…? *Snap, snap* Fuck it! I forgot her name but anyway, she asked what does the word filiopietistic means to the class. “Is that a rea—?”
Yes, Rose, that’s a real word but stop interrupting me. Like a screaming retard on a small yellow bus Ricky blurts out, “It means eye surgery with a laser pin!” That kid was a fucking monkey humanoid; I swear he should have been a fucking caveman. I could only imagine the look on my face while he was screaming out the wrong answer. That kid used to rub in the wrong way. He could’ve killed God in front of the principal and he’d get an MVP trophy for that, therefore I called him on his shit. So. I turned around toward him, he sat a few rows behind me, in a disgusted tone I said to him, “No it doesn’t.” I turned back to the front of the class where Ms. “whatever her name was” was standing by the board and with a snarky tone I replied, “Filiopietistic means, of or pertaining to reverence of forebears or tradition, especially if carried to excess.” “Wha—?” Wait, it gets better, I turned to Ricky and said to him in a condescending tone, “It’s an adjective by the way.” He yelled out, “Ha-ray, for the amazing coon!” I looked him right into his eyes to show him that I was not joking, or playing his games. I said to him, “Ya mom was yelling the same thing last night, I guess you must’ve over heard us.” I shouldn’t have taken my eyes off that doucher because as soon as I turned my head he hurled a fucking text book at my head. Yeah, that shit hurt like hell. I was escorted to the principal’s office while Ricky was welcomed by high fives from his idiot friends. I stopped asking why I am the only one who’s getting in trouble; I just took it on the chin like a champ. I didn’t get suspended because I was suspended two weeks prior for an incident instead I got detention. Yup, poor old me got a week of detention. After detention that’s when the real fireworks begun. Ricky met me out in the schoolyard and beat the mighty shit out of me. Busted my lips, nose, and blackened my eye. He chuckled as she stand over me victorious as he looked down at me and uttered, “You look like a real coon now, nigger.” I rode home on the bus defeated, ashamed because my brother was such a tough guy in my neighborhood and I was a witty punching bag. Whenever I get home dinner was on the stove or in the oven because my mother workednine to fiveand then six to twelve at nights. She worked so hard to keep us comfortable and me going to that awful private school. “What about your brother, C.J.?” Well, he was in school at the time also a brilliant student but his passion was making money over anything. Alexander was a big time drug dealer in South Philly at seventeen. He kept it from our mom because she was always working but the backpacks of money he used to bring home and hide was insane. He never brought his work home and always turned off his phone once he stepped into the house. Every day he used to come by to check on me every hour, and helped me with my homework every night. The day I got beat up he was searching for me all over the house and he found me in our mom’s room. I was sitting on the floor in the corner of the room with my knees at my chest and my arms wrapped around my knees as I sobbed in the dark. Alex opens the door to our mother’s room; the light shines directly in onto me sitting in the corner. He yells at me and says, “You heard me callin’ you? Why the fuck didn’t you say somethi—?” The look on his face went from anger to concern, like a droopy dog. He stumbled over his words as he cautiously walks toward me, “Wh-What the fuck hap-happened, kid?” I replied to him,
“Nothing, just got into another fight today.” Alex sat on our mother’s bed and smirks as he looks down at me. He says to me, “You sure you was fightin’ or just got your ass woop’d? What happened?” I kept my gaze low because I was ashamed to come home bloody and bruised. Honestly, I was ashamed to look Alex in the eyes because I felt as if I failed him. I whispered to him, “It was Ricky.” He replied, “What boy?! Speak up; put some bass in your voice. I can’t hear you.” I begun to speak but he interrupted me, “Look at me when you’re talkin’ to me. You always look a man in his eyes to show him you mean business, show there is no bitch in your heart.” I took a long pause and right before I begun to reply to Alex I inhaled deeply and took a big gulp. “I got into a fight with Ricky Davis.” My brother’s face frowned up and then he blurted out, “What the fuck did I teach you? I taught you how to fight, how the fuck are you still gettin’ beat up by some cracker?” My head was lowed in shame, but I slowly raised my gaze toward my brother. I replied back to him, “He’s bigger than me.” He rudely interrupted me with his deep voice with tones of anger behind it, “So the fuck what! You pick up something and knock his ass the fuck out. Do you wanna die on your knees or on your feet? If you fight this boy back one good time he will fuckin’ respect you!” I finally raised my head and stared him right and his eyes and break his heart by saying, “I am not like you. I am just some geek that is lucky enough to go to a good school. At the end of the day, I am called nigger, coon, monkey, and everything else in the book by moronic White kids. When I come home I am forced to stay in the house because when I go outside I am picked with for being smart. So my own friends call me an Oreo, Uncle Tom, uppity nigger, etc. How do you think that makes me feel? I have no wins across the broad. I just want to be like you, feared, respected, and loved. Everyone in the neighborhood knows your name and is friendly toward you. The corner boys doesn’t pick with me because they know I am your brother but I hear the things they say about me when I walk away. I just want people to respect me as C.J. not because they fear your wrath. I just want to be like you, Alex. The look in his eyes was disappointment, his eyes almost begun to water but he would never let me see him cry. There was a long, cold pause between the two of us. He cleared his throat and reached behind him and pulled out a gun and then placed it on our mother’s night table next to her bed. His face became enraged with fury and anger. He sternly said to me, “Here is why niggas fear me ‘cause they don’t wanna feel this heat on their ass. People do not fear or respect me because of my line of work, fuck no! They fear me because I will kill ‘em, point blank. This gun doesn’t make me a man; honestly, I am more of a bitch with it. I carry it ‘cause I fear the worst happenin’ to me. To be real with you, I respect that you’re yourself; you do not try to be anything else but you. You’re a smart kid lookin’ to do big things with your life and that’s respectable. If people can’t respect you for you, fuck ‘em. Baggin’ up rock and standin’ on the corner rain, sleet, or snow isn’t fun but goin’ to college, gettin’ outta the hood to never look back at it in your rearview is everything. I do what I do so you and mom can have a little extra money to keep the lights on, to keep you in school, and so you can continue to be you, NOT ME! I never want you to be me ‘cause at the end of the day you’re the brave one between me and you. I am just another bitch ass nigga who likes to rampage through the streets demandin’ respect. Respect is earned, those niggas out there might not have my respect but you have all my respect, little man. The moment you dare to pick up a gun and use it, my respect is gone for you. You be another bitch nigga with a gun wantin’ respect. So I am going to leave you
with this gun, if you wanna walk down my path, into my world feel free. Do know this, once you pull that trigger there is no turnin’ back. The choice is yours.” He then got up off of our mother’s bed and walked out of the room, never looking back at me once. I continue to sit in the dark until I fell asleep. I awoke the next morning in my bedroom, dreading attending school because I knew Ricky was going to be there. I opened my bag just before I was ready to leave and my brother’s gun was in my bag. I took it out and hid it in my room. So I went to school as usual and I got off the bus and bam, Ricky and his crew were a few feet in front of me. Of course this a little miserable shit approached me like yesterday wasn’t enough of an ass kicking. Ricky jumped in my face with his funky ass breath and said, “Hey, tar baby. I am surprised you showed your face around here.” I replied to him, “I do have to go to school still, can’t let one gingered hair inbred stop the show.” He shoved me really hard, I fell to the ground. I had enough, so when I rise from the ground I rise with a might uppercut to his fat faced chin. He fell to the ground and I begun to pounce on him. I was hitting him so hard he begun to cry. His boys pulled me off of him as I begun to kick him as they dragged me away. A teacher came over to us in the schoolyard and asked if everything was okay. Ricky quietly sobbed and lowly uttered, “Everything is fine, we were just playin’. From that moment on I was never bullied again. After school I went home to do homework as usual and my brother came in the house. He looked me in my eyes and gave me a lite smirk and sighed, “Hm.” He then asked me, “You wanna go get something to eat, little man.” I looked up at him and replied, “Sure.” At that moment I knew I had gained Alex’s respect and no matter what he was doing in the street I knew my brother will always be the only man I will ever look up to…
The Great American Nigga “I hear you talk about how you looked up to your brother, how was he as a person overall?” Rose asks as she sits across from C.J. at his dining room table.
“Here is the story about my brother through my eyes… He was a strong, fun, funny, smart, cunning, passionate, at times dark, cold, and a depressing young man. He was the first person to teach me the other meaning of life.”
Rose interjects, “The other meanin’? Elaborate please.”
“Shit, I was until you rudely interrupted me.”
Rose utters with a whisper, “Sorry.”
“See, you’re doing it again! I kid, I kid but we digress.”
“Alexander taught me about the other things in life, the things we never learned in school. Things like heartbreak, women, and the barbaric ways of humanity. He once told me there are people in this world who are beyond selfish or self-centered. In his line of work he witnessed and encountered those types of people every day. I actually watched someone’s mother give her last few dollars for a hit. After Alex sold her some drugs she left her newborn on the corner just to shoot up. She left her newborn on a cold, dark, dirty, steamy corner. He kind of introduced me to a reality I was sheltered from. I will never forget the lessons I’ve learned from him. I use some of those sprinkles of dark spots in humanity in many of our skits. He was a parody of the world he lived in. I never understood, but I would never question why he did the things he did, he was a brilliant kid. He graduated high school at the top of his class. There were at least five ofAmerica’s best universities ready to pay his way through college. I do know one of those schools was Ivy League. Insane, right? Alex felt as if college would be a false representation of who he really was. He didn’t go to college; I don’t think he was ever looking to attend college. Funny, he had the world in his palm, but he wanted to stay in the hood for some street dreams. He thought he could make it in the streets, “The American Way” of becoming a millionaire. In actuality, he could have changed the game because he was a genius, book smart, street smart, and had common sense. Ha, funny huh? It’s funny at some point in my life I actually saw myself running a “family business” with my brother, like Nino Brown and G-Money. Movies, they have a powerful impact on young, impressionable minds. Well, one day Alex— Wait, give me a second, I need a sip of water. My throat is parched from talking.” *Long sip* “Aaaaah. Well, I was about nine or ten years old, all my homework was done I was bored in the house. Alex came home with two duffle bags full of money, he ran upstairs to put his stuff up. He ran back down the steps at full speed, he stopped at the entrance of the living room and glared over at me and said,”
“What cha doin’?” I replied, “Nothin, I am done with homework.” He then smirked and replied with a sense of pride, “You wanna take a ride with me?” I replied, “Sure.”
“I ran to the front door in excitement to hang with my big brother. He was already sitting in this black ’97 Mercedes Benz with shiny silver rims. The rims always stuck out to me, because it was like holograms would come out of them when the sun hits them right, beautiful car, Rose. We rode around together with the sun roof open and windows down, music blasting in the middle of the spring. It was a beautiful day; everybody was outside, just watching us roll by. Rose, I was happy to be with Alex, in this dope ass car. We rode around to several corners, young guys would approach the car and drop backpacks of God knows what in the back seat. They would pretend to talk to my brother about some bullshit and drop a backpack in the back seat. I never
asked questions because I was so happy to be with my big brother. We passed corners and people would shout out his name as if he was a neighborhood superstar. There were mostly women who shouted his name. So we pulled up on the corner of twentieth and Dickerson and Alex just bolted out of the car toward this guy name Cheese. Cheese was this tall, bony, pale, light skinned guy. Cheese and Alex exchanged words, mostly Alex. Alex calmly said,“Where is my money, Cheese?” Cheese’s voice quivered as he stumbled over his words, “Ri-Right H-Here, Alex. I waz ‘bout to cum look fo’ you.” Alex replied with a calm, dark voice, “Is that a fact? When?” Cheese begun to sweat as he lowered his gaze, “To-To-Today. But ya kno’, the block was busy.” Alex closed his eyes and took a deep breath and uttered, “Please give me my money, Tyree.”
Cheese went to the stash area and came back with a brown paper bag full of money. He handed the bag to Alex. Alex turned away from Cheese to walk back to the car and Cheese had to say something, he could have done with out anymore words but noooo Cheese had to run his big fucking mouth by saying,
“We cool, Al?”
Alex turned around and shot Cheese in both of his hips. The gun shots rang out so loud people in earshot ran for cover including myself. The shots were on point, one shot for each side. Cheese released a roar of sobbing and screams as he lied on the ground holding his hips. Alex slowly walked back over to Cheese with a stone, blank look on his face. He leaned over to Cheese on the ground and lowly uttered,
“We cool now, nigga?”
Alex smoothly walked back over to the car, calmly entered the car, put the paper bag of crumbled, dirty, and faded dollars into the back seat. He started to drive and he then looked over at me and said,
“Ya cool, little man?” I franticly nodded my head and quickly replied,
“Yeah, yeah.”
He gazed at me out of the corner of his eye and replied back to my frantic movement,
“Ya know that was just business. He owed me money for weeks. Sometimes you have to keep ya enemies close. Hm, sometimes ya enemies are ya friend. Ya kno’ what I mean? No need to be scared, little man. Ya my nigga. C’mon let’s go have some fun.”
Then he took me to some big ass house inMountAiry. I don’t know how he exactly knew those people but for sure, everyone knew him. We entered the house and there were half naked women every where, people smoking, drinking, and other things; drugs and madness. He yelled out at whoever was doing drugs, drinking, or sexing; it all stopped in my presence. We played some video games and talked shit to one another. When my brother stepped out the room, women were coming up to me telling me how cute I was and guys were telling me how much my brother talked about me. One guy told me my brother once called me “The ticket out of the hood. The Savior” My brother has a lot on me and in the guy’s words exactly, “Don’t fuck it up, young baw.” It was getting late so we headed home to a big surprise of our mother home early. Maaaaaan, she was furious at Alex. She made me go to my room as she yelled at Alex about taking me around the things he’s into. Mind you, I can hear every thing they’re saying, mainly my mother doing the yelling. She yelled at Alex that she didn’t want him to fuck me up or corrupt me with his ways. They argued for almost an hour until shit got really real. My mom blurted out in rage at Alex, “You’re as fucked up as your father!”
Alex snapped, I have never heard him yell in my entire life until that day. Chills raced up my spine from the anger in his voice. Alex yelled, “Are you fuckin’ serious?! You didn’t have any problem when it’s helpin you out! It helps you to keep the lights on! It helps you to keep food in the fridge. What I do helps you to keep C.J. in that nice ass school. You dare to take my money when you know what the fuck I do but you also want to turn a blind eye. BULLSHIT!”
My mom yelled back, “BOY, don’t talk to me like that in MY house! My name is on the bills, YOU live under my fuckin’ roof! You’re still a child! I can give you as quick as I can take from you! Watch your mouth, boy!”
Alex replies, “You’re such a hypocrite, it’s okay to sacrifice your eldest son to the wolves but your baby is too precious to chum up with Black kids in his own neighborhood. What do you want to do, give up on me or help me? Do you even know? Where I am standing at you’re no better than daddy, another deadbeat parent.”
I think at that moment my mother slapped Alex across his face and then I heard a lot of thumping. I ran to the top of the steps and my mother was beating on Alex with her fist, a bat, plates, and whatever else she could get her hands on as tears raced down her face. She yelled over and over like a broken record, “GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!”
I ran to the bottom of the stairs and yelled, “Mom, Alex, stop! Please!”
My mom turned back to me and yelled, “Go back to your room, C.J.!”
At that moment I broke down in tears and Alex looked over at me and yelled with a deep roar, “Oooooooooookay! I will leave but remember, you done this to me, mommy! Just let me get my things, please.”
She yelled back, “YES! Please get your shit, your drugs, and damn drug money out of my god damn house!”
Alex walked pass me going upstairs, he returned a few minutes later with seven duffle bags. He kneeled down to me as I sat at the bottom of the steps. He looked me in my eyes and said, “Nothing is gonna change, I will still help you with your homework. Come check in on you; make sure you go to bed on time, and talk to you each and everyday. Nothing will ever change between me and you. Ya my little man, I love you to my last breath. Ya hear me?”
I quickly nodded my head yes as tears raced down my face. I grabbed him tightly around his neck and whispered into his ear, “I love you too, Alex. Please don’t go.”
He stood high and tall over me, he smirked, placed his hand on my shoulder, and uttered,
“It’s for the best, little man. You’ll be ‘ight, trust me. Don’t let anything change in school, continue to give them hell.”
He turned around, and as he walked toward the door he attempted to give mother a peck on the cheek, but she turned her face away in disgust. Alex smirked and said, “I love you too, mommy.”
My mother and I stood in the doorway and watched Alex load his bags in his car. Before he got in he looked up at us with a smile and waved. I waved back to him; my mother folded her arms across her chest in anger. Alex started the engine and rode off. I never asked Alex where he stayed that night. That night our lives changed, especially Alex’s. From that day forward he was a bit more grim, bitter, and melancholy. That’s all I have to say about my brother at this moment…”
The Last American Nigga “So, what ever happened to Alex?” How long did it take for you to ask me that?
“What are you talkin’ ‘bout? It just popped into my mind, ya know?”
You see this blank stare? Stop lying to me, please. Wait, real quick, I hate the saying “ya know.” What the hell does it even mean? Are you asking me a question or telling me something? That phrase is too confusing for me. I don’t like it.
“Are you done wit’ your mini rant?”
Wait…Now I am done.
“Honestly, I have heard rumors ‘bout your brother livin’ inFloridaor bein’ Kobe Bryant.”
What?!Kobe? Why him? That guy is a fucking tool! I met him like twice, whole douche bag including the douche solution. Ha, that’s funny that my brother has rumors about him.
Well, in my tenth year of schooling…
“You couldn’t just say tenth grade?”
Okay! When I was in tenth grade Alex and I hung out heavily. By now he had his own place in theGermantownsection ofPhiladelphiaand commuted to South Philly. He still helped me with my homework even after the fallout between him and our mother. He still left money for our mother daily. She never spent it because she felt it was dirty instead she put it in the bank. One particular Friday night, Alex dropped me off after we hung out at Dave and Busters…
“What’s Dave and Busters?”
A restaurant/game house, it’s an awesome place. Next time we visit my mom in Philly I am taking you and the guys. By the way, Rose, stop interrupting me! Alex dropped me off right in front of the door of my mother’s house. He would pull off once I opened the door. As soon as I
stepped one foot into the house a loud crashing of metal and glass roared. Less than a few seconds later loud shots rang out. I stood in place for a few seconds, not fully in the house but not fully outside. My heart turned completely cold, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and my hands begun to shake uncontrollably. I stepped back outside to find my brother’s black Lexus crashed into a light pole, pumped full of holes, and still smoking. I ran to the corner as fast as I could. I could actually smell the stench of gunpowder, leaking gasoline, and blood. I slowly approached Alex’s car on the driver’s side, the glass was shattered and the doors were covered in holes. I finally approached the driver’s door to find Alex slouched down in his seat. Smoke was venting from the bullet holes in his chest, and his jaw, and through his chin and above his eye. Blood gushed from his face. He slowly turned his head toward me; his voice was cold, deep, dark, and I could tell he was trying to hide the fact his voice was about to crack from the death shock. He uttered,
“G-Go Ho-Home.”
He just stared at me with his eyes wide open as the life seeped from his body. Then his head just rolled, following the slumping of his body. I stood there quivering with chills through my body. Out of the silent death of the night I heard a loud scream a few feet from me calling out,
“ALEEEEEEEX! NOOOOOOOOOO!”
My mother rushed to the still smoking car to open the door so she could get Alex out. She opened the door and Alex’s body fell out of the car, my mother caught his body before it hit the ground. She sat on the ground crying holding Alex’s lifeless, bloody body until the police came. I just stood in the same place looking on in horror and shock.
“Wow, I am so sorry to hear that.”
It’s cool, the days after Alexander’s death were rough. My mother called our father to tell him that Alex was murdered. I could hear her screaming from my bedroom where I just sat and studied, quietly. She was screaming at my father on the phone. All I could understand and piece together was her saying,
“What the fuck do you mean that’s not your problem, James? “…” “I-I didn’t do this alone, I know you’re not worth much but I really need your support! I can’t do this alone!” “…” “This is not my fault! I tried! I tried to keep him outta the streets! What did you do?!” “…” “Of course make excuses, you walked out on your boys for some fuckin’ young tail! Now you’re such a perfect father with your new family! We were your family first!” “…” “I don’t ask for support for C.J., the least you could do is be a shoulder for me! I need you, C.J. needs you!” “…” “What the fuck is your problem?! You son just was murdered!” “…” “What?! What?! Fuck you and your family!” I entered the kitchen to watch my mother slam the phone down on the hook with frustration, anger, and grief. She dropped to the kitchen floor in a rage of tears and screams. I rushed over to console her with a big, loving hug. I whispered in her ear,
“Don’t worry mommy, I am here. I will never let anyone or anything hurt you again. I will take care of you…”
“Are you okay, C.J.?”
Yeah, I am fine, I haven’t thought about these memories in a really long time. A few days later was Alex’s funeral, it was on a Saturday, it was rainy, cold, and gloomy. Pieces of that day have
been expunged from my memory. There are bits and pieces of Alex’s funeral I remember. Like the fact that my father actually showed up, or my mother screaming and jumping on the coffin because the funeral was a closed casket ceremony. At some point my mother screamed at my father who was standing in the back of the funeral home.
“This is your fault! You should have been here for your boys! You should have been here, you selfish bastard!”
I was there to witness his death, I didn’t cry. I was there to see my mother breakdown, I didn’t cry. I ran my hand across the cold coffin, nope, not one tear. The moment I had to give Alex’s eulogy I stepped up to the podium to face a packed funeral home. I cleared my throat, closed my eyes, and begun to speak,
“My brother Alexander David Johnson was…was…wwwww—”
That was it, I broke down in front of hundreds of people who came to pay their respects to my brother. At that moment I realized he really was gone, no more fun rides, no more help with homework, and no more looking up to Alex. He was gone and never coming back, it hit me like a speeding train. I released a roar of screams and cries, at that moment the thought of my brother being gone from my life drove me insane. My cousins and aunts helped to escort me off the stage back to my seat. Once I got to my seat I buried my face into my mother’s arms. I didn’t want to be there anymore. I didn’t want to see or hear anyone. When it was time to carry Alex’s coffin to the hearse my uncle Andrew asked my father if he wanted to help, when he said,
“Naw, I’m good; that’s not really my place, Andrew.”
My uncle almost punched my father in his face but his brother/my uncle Mike restrained Andrew, I yelled out,
“I will help! I will help to carry Alex.”
Everyone looked over at me. My uncle Richie asked me,
“Ya sure, little man? We can get some else to help out.”
I replied with my voice cracking,
“Ye-Yeah.”
My father strolled over toward me as I stood next to the coffin; he was cool, smooth, charming, and laid back. He looked down at me and said to me,
“I’m proud of ya, boy. Alexander would be proud of ya too.”
He handed me a fifty dollar bill and smiled
“That’s fo’ you, big man, fo’ bein’ brave and steppin’ up when the fam needed ya ta be there.”
He patted me on my back and then strolled down the isle of the empty funeral home, out onto the crowded street. I watched him drive off from inside of the funeral home; I watched through the doors as my father drove away in my time of need. At that moment I learned hatred; I’d never wanted to kill a man until I watched him drive off. I didn’t cry, but I’ve always remembered, I took it in stride and it’s fueled my ambition. I focused on carrying Alex’s coffin and putting it into the hearse. My three uncles and two cousins helped me to carry the coffin. The moment we lifted the coffin my knees knocked together, I don’t know if it was from grief or nervousness but I do know that coffin was heavy. I thought my arm was going to rip out of my shoulder blade from the first lift. When we extended it over our shoulders my legs buckled from the weight. I thought the isle was never going to end, the street felt so far away. Once we exited the funeral home there were three times more people than there were at the service. I don’t know if the neighborhood loved Alex, feared him, or a combination of both. At that moment, Rose, all I could do is be proud that Alex was my brother and that this many people came to pay their
respects. He was a great man. He was a great brother. I will always love him, until my last breath.
“Did the police ever find his killer?”
Do you remember the story I told you about Cheese? Well, the streets talk and they knew he either killed or set my brother up, but the police could never pin him for the crime. I heard karma caught up to Cheese and someone killed him execution style. I guess it happened about a year ago, one bullet to the back of his head at the tip of his spine on the corner of seventeenth and Johnson.
“Do you know who killed him?”
No. I wouldn’t have the slightest clue…
The Great American Negro Performer “Hey, C.J. I heard what happened last night. Are you okay?”
I am still a little agitated but I am good, Rose.
“Did you tell ya mom?”
Why the hell would I do that? This isn’t her concern. Do you have any cigarettes?
“You don’t have to look at me like that, since when you start smokin’?”
Since last night, that shit was fucking crazy.
“C.J., sit down, talk to me; I am here for you. Talk to me, papi. Wazzzup?”
Well, my father stopped by our show last night.
“Oh my, what did he say to you?”
Some bullshit, nothing but nonsense. I really don’t want to talk about him.
“Wait, wait, wait. C.J. STOP! Talk. To. Me. I am here for you, I love you. Let’s go sit in the livin’ room.”
After the performance before last I came back to my dressing room and low and behold he was there holding a bouquet of red roses, sitting in my chair, with a big goofy grin on his face… as if he missed me or something.
“That’s why when you closed wit’ Moons and Stars and you were a little off key.”
Really, with the interruptions? C’mon son!
“My B. Continue.”
Shit, more like start. Can I start interruption free, Rose? Thank you.
I entered the dressing room in disbelief, not because my father is there, because he’s sitting in my chair with roses like Ike from What’s Love Got to Do with It. He stood up from the chair, reeking of cheap knock off cologne, wearing a grey suit that looked like a hand me down. My father looked skinny and sickly. I have always known him to be a strong, charming, great looking man, but what I saw last night was a shard of the man he once was. I was fresh off of stage, still in my costume and makeup. His eyes were wide and bright like a deer in headlights; he smiled and said,
“Hello boy, ya look good.”
I scanned him from head to toe with a look of anger, and disgust. I replied,
“Why are you here? What do you want?”
The goofy smile left his bony face. I walked over to my fridge to get some water and he followed behind me like a lost puppy still holding onto the roses. He looked over my shoulder and said,
“My throat is kinda dry, I want a water or something ta drink, boy.”
I gazed over my shoulder with a stare of hatred and replied,
“You have air and spit, enjoy that. What’s with the roses?”
He shifted his weight nervously as he released an uncomfortable chuckled. He replied,
“They’re fo’ you, ya…ya kno’ cuz of ya good performance. Ya funny, always was funny.”
I walked toward him as he extended his arms to hand me the roses, I walked around him to my chair and sat right down. After I sat down his back was still toward me, his shoulders slumped in defeat or embarrassment; I really didn’t give a fuck. He lowered his head and took a deep breath before he turned around. He turned toward me and uttered the dumbest sentence he could utter,
“How is ya mom, boy?”
I stared straight in his face, and slowly took a sip of water. I stared him right in his eyes, the same way Alex would stare at me when I had done wrong. He lowered his gazed like an little boy in trouble, looking pathetic with the roses in his arms. I slowly swallowed a mouth full of water never taking my stare off of him. I know he could feel it all, my disappointments, my rage, my anger, and my hatred all for him. I replied,
“You have her number, call her yourself. Wait; is this the part you make up an excuse why you can’t call my mother because your wife is stopping you or you’re too busy at work? Come on, old man, give me something.”
He looked down on himself, rubbed the back of his head with his right hand, and smirked. He dared to utter,
“Hm, maybe this was a mistake. Why do ya gonna treat me like this, boy? I made a mistake, I am sor—”
I snapped at the sound of his pathetic words, his smug attitude, and his arrogance; I just couldn’t take it anymore. I just jumped out of my seat and threw my water at him and he threw down the roses and we got up in one another’s face. Before he could utter one word I screamed at him,
“YOU DO NOT HAVE THAT FUCKING RIGHT! You’re not going to march in here and just say “sorry” and then expect shit to be cool. You don’t know me, I don’t know YOU! Who are you! Don’t give me that sorry shit. Where the fuck were you when I needed to learn how to fight? Where were you when I needed to learn about sex? Where were you when Alex was killed?! All you could do is pat me on my back and leave me! You left a boy to bear the burden of a man! You stroll back in here when I got a little something? Now I am your son? You’re so proud of me? Fuck you!”
His face flinched in anger as if he was trying to contain his rage. He simply said,
“Watch ya mouth, boy. I came ta make peace not start war but I will bury ya ass if ya keep talkin’ ta me like that, boy.”
I gritted my teeth together and begun to make a fist. I screamed,
“My name is Christopher James, not “boy,” not “sonny,” and not “C.J.” You call me “Mr. Johnson.” Truthfully at Alex’s funeral I wished it was you in the casket not Alex. I wish you would die each da—.
He shoved me into my vanity and I jumped up, charged him, and wrapped my hands around his throat. I blacked out; all I remember are moments of my white gloves around his frail neck. I squeezed so tight. I still stared right in his eyes, and watched hope drain from his limp body and life drained from his eyes, just as I had watched Alex slip into lifelessness. I felt his body begin
to give up on struggling. At that moment security rushed into the dressing room and pulled me off of him. He was grasping for air as I was screaming trying to break away from securities’ hold. Security helped him up and then asked me if they wanted me to throw him out. I replied,
“He can find his way out.”
He dragged himself away with one hand around his neck. At the doorway he turned around with his red, watery eyes. He barely uttered,
“I came ta make peace, bo—.”
I interrupted,
“Fuck your peace.”
He took big breaths as he broke down in tears and said,
“I am your father! I kno’ I fucked up but I am tryin’! I am tryin’ ta make it up ta you and Alex. Ya so fuckin’ blind and stupid, ya rather dress up and chuckle and jive fo’ tho’ crackers out there, but you greet me wit’ war. That black paint on ya face, boy, isn’t makeup, that’s really who ya are; The Amazin’ Poof. ‘Nother Uncle Tom! Ya keep actin’ like ya don’t need anybody; ya gonna die alone. I was honestly ashamed ta tell or know that ya my son but at this point it’s not ‘bout my feelin’ or yours. It’s ‘bout a new beginin’. If I can accept you fo’ bein’ the “most famous Minstrel” then you can accept me fo’ my past mistakes.”
The room became silent, pain was in the air. I stared him in his eyes with my face frowned up and blurted out,
“Get the fuck out! Don’t come near me again.”
He looked directly in my eyes, searching for compassion in my heart. As tear were racing down his face he said,
“I have cancer, Christopher. I don’t wanna die wit’ ya hatin’ me. I don’t wanna die not knowin’ my last son. I don’t have long ta go. I am sorry, son.”
He reached his hand out to me. I walked away from him to lean. The moment I glanced away, I saw in the mirror a person I would never want to see again; a man of hatred and rage. My paint was running down my face with my brown skin peeking through themidnightoil, black face paint. I looked back at him and said,
“So? That’s not my problem. Send me a postcard from hell. Get out.”
He sighed as he wiped the tears from his eyes. He pointed to the flowers on the floor and said to me,
“Ya can keep ‘em. Good luck.”
He turned away from me and walked away in defeat and embarrassment. I continued the show as you know and I just got a call from his wife and my mother telling me he died in his sleep this morning.
“How do you feel, C.J.?”
How should I feel? I meant every word I said to him; I am not going to shed one tear for him…
Moons & Stars Poof is sitting on stage at a black piano with a microphone in front of his face. There is a spotlight on him. Poof is dressed in a black suit, with white gloves, and a black top hat with ace of spade card wedged in the white band of his hat. His face is covered in black paint with white outlines around his lips. He began to play the piano.
Somewhere above the stars Where our love floats by Somewhere beyond the moons The destruction of our trust floats by Somewhere above it all The ashes of which we were Sprinkles onto the universe Desolated on the moon is where I stand. Somewhere in your heart is an abyss collapsing Somewhere out there Somewhere in the atmosphere Somewhere you’re there when you need to be here
