Wayne hops his knight from E-8 to F-6. “Check.”
The guys moves his king to F-8. Probably doesn’t want to block his rook again.
That did it! He fell for the okey-doke. This was the mistake Wayne was waiting on him to make. A mistake Wayne saw ten moves ago. Wayne moves the black bishop to D-6. Finally he holds his head up. He looks the guy right in the eye. With a smile on his face, Wayne nods and says, “Checkmate.”
The dude stands up from the table. Before he can say anything, Lil Chris swings up and hammers him with a strong right. The guy hits the floor and folds up.
The C’ster doesn’t say a word. He just commences to kickin’ him, stompin’ his face. The guy bleeds all over the concrete floor.
Eventually, PowwWoww gets his attention. Signals. Lil Chris steps over the guy’s prone body and tracks his blood to the door. He walks out of the dormitory like nothing ever happened.
By the time Major Brooks and five other officers catch up with Lil Chris, he’s already packed and ready to ride out.
The guy he touched up told the authorities that he didn’t know why Christopher Darell struck out at him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
People say one thing
And mean another
… If we could
take a chance with each other
But, we can’t, though,
Can we?
And so we play the game
Actin’ all strange
Everything changes
Now, we can’t take it
Nothing is the same.
And so our bond breaks
Forever didn’t last
For always.
THEY SIT AT THE TABLE staring at each other.
She’s wearing light brown felt jeans that hug her phat apple bottom, flat tummy, and ample hips. The summery red blouse, cut low to show off her girlish bosom, undermines his resolve. Been seducing him since she walked into the visitation shed. Some matching red and brown, open-toed wedges complete the outfit. Adds to her height and overall erotic mojo. She’s sexy and curvy, but not what you would consider a brick house. Her mystique is not that insistent. Or provocative. Her beauty, style, and appeal are more subtle. Delicate. Sensual. Her skin is peaches-and-cream, with a coffee-brown sprinkle of freckles. Her hair is long, rich black, French braided to the back with red highlights. And, her eyes—this girl’s eyes are a deep, sparkling hazel. Breathtakingly gorgeous. Without question. Gorgeous.
Shonda.
He is as he always is. Not really conservative. Just him. His everyday-everyday. White t-shirt, loose fitting blue jeans, blue and white Adidas shelltoes. But there is so much going on in Rise’s mind right now. He’s strategizing. Refiguring. Analyzing the ills of life. Considering damage control. Dissecting the characters that surround him. Gauging their capabilities. Grading their initiative. Choosing where best to invest effort.
He looks at her and wonders how he could think of anything else in her presence. Life is way too hectic. Too complicated to allow even one moment to pass without careful scrutiny. So much of his life has just … passed by. So much of this existence has been dictated to him. Someone else was always making the decisions in times past. Someone else has always had the power, his power, in their hands. His having been swept up in a world that wouldn’t even wait for him to grow up.
Shonda reaches out and takes Rise’s hand. “Oschuwon. What’s up with you, boo? It always seems like you’re somewhere else. Sometimes I wonder if you even want to see me. Do you miss me at all when I’m gone?”
“Shh. You know that’s nonsense,” Rise reassures her. “I miss you from the moment you leave till the time you return.”
“Then, why are you always so distracted?” Shonda is plaintive. “I don’t just visit this place for you. I come ’cause I need to get away from the—”
“Well, I can’t get away.” Rise cuts her off. His words cut into her. “I’m fightin’ to live in here. I—” He considers what he’s doing, what he’s about to say. “I’m sorry, love.” He sees the hurt and frustration in her eyes. “I apologize, baby. I didn’t mean to take it—”
“No.” Now, Shonda interrupts him. “That, too. I’m here for that, too. I’m trying to help you, Oschuwon. But I need you to understand me. I need to understand you. Stop drifting away from me. Tell me. What’s going on?”
Shonda looks to Rise for some kind of confirmation that she’s gotten through to him. He purses his lips to suppress the impulse to speak. She hates when he does that.
She looks around the visitation shed. At all of the little kids running and hopping and jumping. At all the security personnel walking through the building. All constant reminders that her Oschuwon can’t come back home with her when she leaves. At the many families, mostly minorities from all over the state, and even some from out of state, who have travelled way back here in the woods. For no other reason than to see their brother, their daddy, their son. Determined to maintain family ties, even under the extremely uncomfortable conditions they have to endure just to make it to the very tables they sit at now. So much spite. So much emotional exhaustion. Then, the very people that they come to see are often so aggravated that they don’t make for good company at all.
So many obstacles to happiness.
In a fit of frustrated defiance, Shonda shifts in her chair. Moving toward Rise, she says, “Forget it, then. Uh, Rise, look.” She grabs his arm and pulls it around her. “Just hold me, baby.”
Rise feels Shonda’s soft warmth as she leans on him and wiggles until she’s comfortable. Smells her scent. Sweet, sweet recourse. “That’s all you wanted, anyway,” Rise laughs. “Ya lil freaky tail.”
He looks down on her head. Sees her the way he did at 11, so many long years ago. He barely noticed her at first. She used to hang out with his sister, Shonetta. Both of ’em used to wear them wild unruly ponytails and get off into everything.
Shonda and Shonetta were both at the house when the incident happened. They were in the back room playing when they heard pots and pans crashing and clanging. Sounded like they were falling to the floor or being thrown around the kitchen. The small house was little more than a wood frame lifted off the ground on cement blocks. The standard home in the hood.
Rise was out back, fixing up a blue and chrome Mongoose bicycle. He had just got the flat tire repaired when Shonda and Shonetta ran out the back door crying.
“What’s wrong wit y’all?”
Neither of the girls could speak past a mumbled word or two.
“Oh … Ricky done made it home, huh,” Rise said, totally understanding what was going on. “Y’all go on aroun’ to Shonda’s house and stay inside.”
Rise, who everyone still called Won back then, watched as the two girls ran out of the backyard and through the trail that led to Shonda’s. He was in no rush. He didn’t understand why his moms always allowed Ricky back, considering the way they fought, and after she went through so much to put him out. It had been years now. His moms and Ricky fought so much that it no longer evoked a sense of urgency in him. He used to get jittery. Afraid he would be next. But his moms never let that happen. She wasn’t Ricky’s punching bag; she was a worthy, sometimes active opponent in these confrontations. Although most often she came out the worst for it.
Rise got so angry after these episodes. That anger gave way to a feeling of being powerless and helpless. And helplessness to desperation, at times. He was desperate to stop what was happening to his moms. As a former Black Panther, she had taught him so much about self-worth and confidence and social responsibility. She had made him feel he was exceptional. Not only that, she nurtured a sense of belonging in him, made him feel part of a golden lineage, impressed upon him the notion that his life had purpose. That he was obligated to discover and fulfill his design. To see her in a relationship that was the very opposite of everything she taught him to be cut him deep. Of course, at his age, he did not understand enough to fully comprehend this contradiction. He felt it, thou
gh. He wanted it to stop. He was desperate for it to stop.
Rise stirs. Shonda picks lint or something off his shirt. She feels so good leaning on him. Right now, though, he’s too distracted to entertain her. Even after all these years, his mind is still aflame with memories.
“You okay, baby?” Shonda asks.
“Yeah I’m cool, shorty.”
Her head is nestled in his chest. His arm rests protectively around her. Enfolds her. They sit in silence watching the goings-on in the visiting shed.
Delayed effect. “I’m not short!” She pouts as she playfully punches him in the stomach. His chest rumbles under her as he snickers, but his mind is in turmoil.
He pictures himself all those years ago, matter-of-factly walking up the steps and opening the rear screen door. He almost feels the weight of the stainless steel, vise-grip pliers in his hand, the ones he’d been using on the bike. He was so intent on seeing about his moms, he’d thoughtlessly carried the tool into the house with him.
Everything happened so fast. He merely reacted.
When he stepped inside, it was as though he could feel them scuffling. It spoke to him through the plank board floor moving beneath his feet. As he turned out of the washroom into the dark main hallway, he caught sight of Ricky dragging his moms by her foot through their bedroom doorway. At first, all he could do was stand there watching the rug bunch up beneath her. She kicked at him with her free foot, trying to break free.
She was half-dressed. She still had on her tan work pants, stockings, and her black belt, but her blouse was gone. Only a black bra, and one of its straps had popped.
Rise was a real skinny kid at 15. Tall and lanky. When Ricky looked up and saw him standing in the hallway, he reached down to grab at his moms’s arms. She swiped at his hands, scratching him as she spit in his face. Ricky started kicking her and punching her, like he was fighting a man. Right in front of Rise.
His moms never screamed. She gritted her teeth, grunted, and continued to struggle.
He called out, “Ma!”
Through the tussling, she managed to say, “Won, get out o’ here!”
Rise didn’t retreat. For some reason, he couldn’t. He took measure of the scene. Saw his mother on her back, refusing to lie still. Scuffling. Swinging back as best she could. He felt the weight of the steel tool in his hand. But he also felt so powerless.
Then he heard the solid thud of Ricky’s licks finding their mark, flush in the center of his moms’s bosom. The impact of the blows pushed an uncharacteristic sound from her lips. Sharp, high-pitched. A whimper. A distressed whimper had escaped her lips. A subtle sound, but it struck Rise like a scream. Desperation gave way to resolution. Rise began to move. It is said that the journey of a thousand miles starts with one first step. Movement is the dividing line between what could have been and what is. Rise moved.
He walked over to where they were getting at each other. He tried exactly one time to pull Ricky away from his moms.
Ricky swung wildly, knocked Rise into the wall. The sheetrock caved in behind him. That’s when Rise wigged out. He commenced to beating on Ricky’s head with those stainless steel vise grips.
Ricky grabbed Rise. Started choking him. Rise took his time and got a better grip on the handle of the wrench. He struggled to stay conscious. Ricky had both hands around his neck, pressing in on his throat. Rise gagged, panicked. He raised the vise grips and swung, and kept swinging. He didn’t stop until he couldn’t lift his arm anymore. That’s when he finally heard her ruined voice. His moms had been screaming so loud, and for so long, she had gone hoarse.
“Fried fish and grits,” she says.
“Fried fish and grits?!”
“Yeah! What’s wrong with that?” she asks. So demure and innocent.
“I’m cool with that if that’s your thang.”
“Well, yeah, it is my thing,” she rushes to answer. “Or, excuse me, my thaaang. Y’so country. This whole state is country.” She feels like playing. So sassy.
“Man …”
“‘Man?’ Where yo ‘man’ at?” She corrects him. Smiles.
“I’m sayin’, you ain’t went and got pregnant on me, huh?”
She gasps. His question has caught her totally off guard. He sees her hold her head down for a moment as if she is suddenly aware of all the people standing around them. The white-top counter where they’re standing, waiting to order something to eat, is waist-high. She plays with the little salt-and-pepper baggies that are in the pan in front of her, sitting next to the toothpick dispenser. He watches as the heated feelings wash over her, ignited by the implications of his question.
When she musters enough courage to look up at Rise, her eyes are searching, but he turns to talk to some guys. He feels her studying his face, but he’s masked. No emotion. Suddenly, he glances down protectively to where she’s standing at his side.
He tries to smile, reassuring her, but his cheeks and lips only clench. The expression can’t break past his stonegrill. No emotion, except for his eyes, straining to tell her he’s waiting on her answer. He turns back to the people he’s talking to. She smiles.
After a moment, the crowd Rise consults with disperses and he embraces the last guy to leave. She’s close enough to hear their parting exchange: “To touch without feeling is the ultimate sin,” the guy says. “Far worse than blasphemy,” Rise replies.
With that, the last guy leaves. This isn’t the first time she has heard this exchange.
Just as she is about to ask what they mean by it, the concession worker walks up to her and asks, “What are you having?”
“Fried fish and grits.”
He knows he confuses her. He aggravates her. He knows she’s passionately in love with him.
She notices things about Rise that have been getting by her. Not just the physical features that signal aging and maturation. But also his demeanor. This dispassionate approach to almost everything.
He remembers the terrible crush she’s had on him since she was nine years old. She wanted so much to be his one and only. His wife. Even back then. She and Shonetta have been friends for as long as either of them can remember. Rise, being four years older, has always been fiercely protective of them both. Still, she’s always had her own designs concerning what type of relationship she and her Oschuwon would eventually have.
When she was ten, she hung up on other girls’ faces whenever they called for him.
“Won ain’t here!” That’s if they got that much.
Oh, and it wasn’t a secret. She made her feelings known on several occasions. He never took advantage of them. He was careful not to embarrass her. When she threw tantrums for all her frustration, he would placate her.
She was Shonetta’s company, but somehow she was always on hand to offer any assistance her Oschuwon might need. It was in her bedroom that Rise hid out for three days after he served his momma’s boyfriend.
That day, she’d had a bad feeling. A foreboding. When he came running up through the trail, she stepped out into the opening to meet him. Later, it was her phone he used to call his momma. When he found that his moms was still twisted about the whole situation, Shonda walked behind him, even though he repeatedly told her to go home. She followed him all the way to the police station the night he turned himself in.
Oh, she was a little soul-jah. She wouldn’t let him see her shed a tear. But afterward, she was broken. She cried for days, Shonetta told him.
She’s been with him ever since, through the highs and lows. The system claimed them both. Him, and her because of him. She was in the stands when the juvenile court gave him juvenile life, meaning until he turned 21. She was also at the first visit to the boy’s home and reform school, when he and his momma reconciled after three years. That was when they shared their first kiss. She pecked Rise on the cheek. She was 14.
They began to write to each other after that. She recognized early on that the place was hardening him. She rode with his moms and Shonetta when they vis
ited. Sometimes he just sat up and frowned the whole visit. He did this so much that she ended up bugging up on him. She tagged him twice in the face before his momma managed to pull her off him. He never swung back or defended himself. He just sat there like a statue and withstood the onslaught of her frustration.
This really gassed her up. She couldn’t calm herself down. Eventually, the guards stopped the visit. She was lucky they didn’t pull her off his visiting list. Shonetta and his momma knew she was in love with him. They let it go unsaid.
In a letter she received from him three days later, he opened up to her. He had written and mailed it the night after he’d seen her. He wrote about the corruption inside the facility. About how the guards invented all types of techniques to torture the young prisoners at their whim. About the way the whole set-up fostered conflict and enmity between the juveniles. How it was nothing for two of them to be pitted against each other like young gladiators while the guards stood and watched.
Rise was forced to grow up in this environment. At 18, because of his stature and prowess as a fighter, he was looked up to by most of the youngsters locked up with him. The facility checked all the letters he mailed, leaving the envelopes Scotch-taped but unsealed. This made it easy for his momma to read all his letters to Shonda before passing them on. Shonda knew this, but since his momma never brought it up, neither did she.
Still, Shonda noticed during their visits that his momma renewed her conversations with him about what manhood meant, its strange rites of passage for Black boys. She and Shonetta sat silently at the table for hours listening to these exchanges. She saw that Rise responded enthusiastically to this uptick in the attention he was getting from his momma.
His momma sent him literature from all kinds of enlightening authors. He was intensely drawn to his momma. His sense of self-confidence grew. He became so respectful. So protective of them all. He wanted to know everything that was going on with them. He began to speak of the streets and freedom again. Everything looked as if it were going to be all right.
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