by Odie Hawkins
Back to the madness. Yeahhh, that’s what it is. Chester L. Simmons had run it down to him a number of times, in a series of lectures.
“America is a mad place, Bop, ’specially for a black person. Think about it; we’ve been the best Americans America ever had; we’ve been better Americans than the Native Americans even. But the place is so mad, so Euro crazed, they’ve never wanted to give us our righteous credits. Thus making us into schizophrenic types who go off and fight America’s wars, do most of the dirty work, pay taxes, and try not to fall between the cracks.
“It’s hard to say why the place is mad, but it is. Maybe it’s got something to do with that original strain of VD them funky chumps from Europe brought over here.”
Bop went in and out of a nod, a little high from an afternoon of sipping and strolling, trying to fix his focus on what he had to do when he made it back.
Why not go into journalism? All you got to do is know how to spell pretty good. Yeah, why not? No need to make a liar out of myself by telling Uncle David and Aunt Lu I’m going back to school and then copping out.
6:30 P.M. Time to do a last-minute check. Ticket, passport, money. He laid fifty thousand cedis on the bedside table. Fred, here’s some beer money.
Fred was still ranting and raving at Helene; the other guests had dropped out. “Now you gonna tell me that these niggers over here is better than them niggers over there! Bullshit!”
“That’s not what I said, sweetheart.”
“What the fuck did you say?!”
They both seemed startled by Bop’s reappearance with his trio of suitcases. “Hate to interrupt you guys but I think it’s time for me to hit the road.”
Fred blinked and hit a sober note. He could do that whenever he wanted to, it seemed. “Yeahhh, guess we better start pulling it together. Check your stuff in and everything.”
“I was thinking that I could take a taxi.”
“What? And pay somebody twenty thousand cedis? Lemme finish this glass and we can go.”
“Uhh, Fred, you’re not driving, right?”
“Nawwww, I’m drunk and fucked up. Helene is driving.”
Complex man, full of twists and turns. They placed his bags in the boot of the car and fifteen minutes down the road Fred was dead asleep. Helene lit a cigarette and drove silently. They pulled into the airport parking lot a few minutes after seven. Fred was snoring.
“Uhhh, Helene, you want to wake Fred up? I’d like to say good-bye to him.”
“You can’t wake him up now.”
Yeahh, you’re right, lady; he’s gone for awhile. Porters snatched his bags and raced through the terminal. Chasing the cedi.
“Will he be OK?”
Helene gave a dry little laugh, “You think someone is going to steal him?”
7:33 P.M. The efficient British Airways crew was ready and loading them on. Bop turned to Helene, undecided as to whether he should hug her and plant a fake kiss on her cheek or.…
She reached her hand out for a handshake and spoke in a low, solemn voice, “He wasn’t always like this. We used to have a lot of fun together.” And joined a crowd filing out of the terminal.
“Good evening, sah, welcome aboard. You’re in seat 24A, a window seat. Enjoy your flight.… Good evening, sah, welcome aboard.…”
Well, we’re back to this again. Bop took his seat and peered out at the Africans going back and forth on the group.
Bye y’all; see you next time.
Next time. When will next time be? Will I have to go back to jail before there’s a next time? A cold sweat erupted under his armpits.
No, no more jail for the brother. Nothing you can do in there but rot. No more jail. The plane was taxiing for a take-off.
Bye, y’all; bye, Elena, with your fine ass. When my cheeks start caving in and I find out I’m dying, you’ll be the first to know. Bye, Patience; don’t work too hard. Bye, Dew Drop. Bye, Betty in the Shalizar. Bye, Osu.…
The plane was thundering off the ground suddenly and, moments later, circling Accra for its flight north.
“I say, d’you have the time? My watch seems to be on the blink.”
Bop looked at the pale-faced man with the freckles who was speaking to him across the aisle. He held his wrist up to study the face of the watch, Ghanaian style, and announced, “My watch must be on the blink too; it says midnight.”
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Originally published by Holloway House Publishing Company
Copyright © 1995, 2011 by Odie Hawkins
Front cover photo by Zola Salena-Hawkins,
www.flickr.com/photos/32886903@N02
ISBN: 978-1-5040-3575-0
Distributed in 2016 by Open Road Distribution
180 Maiden Lane
New York, NY 10038
www.openroadmedia.com