Black Buck
Page 36
When I bring my own hand to my ear, she smiles, but there are some days when I don’t—when I just sit there for as long as I can, staring at her in her scrubs, thinking about how much better a man she makes me, how she is my rock, my foundation, my everything, even though I don’t deserve her after all the shit I’ve done. But on the days I do reciprocate, and we speak with our hands to our ears, do you know what she says? Do you know how she starts our conversations?
She says the two words that translate into opportunity, that mean the possibility of a better life is calling you, and that you better pick up before it’s too late. Two words that, like a rooster crowing, the sun rising, or coffee brewing, signal the beginning of a new day.
Two words that, if you pay close attention, can open doors that will make you never, ever feel less than again.
Ring ring.
Acknowledgments
Ayo! We’re here! As J. Cole said in “Note to Self,” which I’m paraphrasing, for legal reasons (you see that, Cole?!): acknowledgments are like movie credits. If you’re not down to sit through them, get your ass up and leave the theater! Truth. Picture this acknowledgments section as a freestyle—pure stream of consciousness. If you’re reading this, you’re a real one, and I want to start off by thanking you for purchasing my book, consuming it, and taking the time to let it digest. But whether it gives you energy or indigestion isn’t on me!
Aside from you, the reader, the first person I need to thank is my agent, Tina Pohlman. Tina, we did it! Whew. Feels like just yesterday when we first spoke. I knew from our first conversation that you were the one. Seriously. When you said, “This sounds like a sales manual,” I was knocked flat on my ass because someone other than me understood what I was doing. Thank you for being my confidante, my therapist, and for being a true partner I can always rely on.
Pilar Garcia-Brown. Pilar! Missing my flight in San Francisco and taking my call with you in a dingy hotel room was one of the best decisions of my life. This book would not be what it is without you, and I am indebted to you for your calming manner, how patient you are, and for how you’ve helped me become a better writer and literary citizen. Thank you, Pilar.
Other folks at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt I’ve relied on—Taryn Roeder, Lori Glazer, Michael Dudding, Matt Schweitzer, Jenny Freilach, and everyone else working to get Black Buck into as many hands as possible—thank you, thank you, thank you. Shout out to the sales team, too. It’s an honor and a privilege to publish my debut novel with HMH.
Shout out to David Hough, who copyedited the hell out of this! David, whether you know it or not, you helped me become a better writer through your encouraging edits. For real.
Pat Mulcahy and Matt Sharpe, two of my early readers whose notes helped this book puff its chest out and gain some good mass, I thank you. Same to Julio Saenz and Gow Mosby, two close friends who read early drafts and let me know I was on the right path.
Again, stream of consciousness, so let me express my deep, really bottomless, love for my family. Words won’t do this justice. But, Mom, Sonia Askaripour, I love you so much. I have tears in my eyes as I write this. You always believed in me, even when I was lost, and I wouldn’t be here without you. Pops, Aziz Askaripour, same to you. You taught me what it means to work hard and never let up, no matter the obstacles, and I will never be able to thank you enough. Doostet daram, baba.
My brothers—Darius, Dave, Khalik, and Andrew—you four have been my greatest teachers, supporters, and friends. I know that when everyone and everything else in the world fades away, you will always be there for me, and I will always be there for you. Sometimes it feels like the earth is getting ready to split when we’re together, and I’m grateful for that feeling. When the five of us are aligned, nothing can stop us. I love you with all that I am.
To my aunts, uncles, and cousins—from the United States to Jamaica to Iran to Canada to England and everywhere else we are—thank you. I feel your love and send you my own. RIP to Uncle Dicky and Aunt Sheri.
Grandma Clarine Emily Case and Grandpa William Rochester Case, I am proud to have your blood running through my veins. The blood of enslaved people, yes, and so much more. The blood of teachers, of politicians, of dedicated community members who uplifted the lives of so, so many. Thank you for teaching me how to read, Grandma. Thank you for teaching me how to lead, Grandpa. I hope that you both are proud.
Johania Dinora Ramos. My first love. My Soraya. My first reader. Thank you for allowing me to read you new chapters every night, as well as for your candor in what you liked and didn’t. Thank you for our history. Thank you for still being in my life. I hope everything has been worth it.
Quemuel Arroyo. YO! We did it, Q! Damn, man. I truly understand the limitations of language when I try to express how I feel about someone like you. You’ve held me down from day one. Whether it was introducing me to Moet and ice cream from Trader Joe’s, letting me indefinitely cohabitate with you, or just being there for my manic ups and downs, yo, I love you, man. I don’t need many people in this world, but I do need you. Thank you for always leaving the door open . . . except that first time.
Geetanjali Toronto and Adam Vinson: two homies who have been there for me and supported this book from way back when. I thank you. Same to Michael Esposito. A real one.
Thank you to Delaney Poon and the whole Poon gang for your support when everything—getting an agent, a book deal, selling the film/TV rights—was popping off. The time we spent together was meaningful, and I am glad to have met when we did.
Grovo. Grovo. Grovo. I know, all of this is crazy. I can’t wait to hear what you think of this book. I don’t know what to say. Working with you all was one of the best times of my life. Also, one of the craziest. Thank you for allowing me to lead, as well as for forgiving me, at times, for my inability to do so—I, too, was just trying to figure it all out as best as I could. Special shout outs to Nick Narodny, for being there for me after I left and remaining a true friend; to Jeb Pierce, for making sure we kept in touch, even when I fell out of it with so many others; to Ben Contillo, yes, you, Ben Contillo, for always saying I was your #1 draft pick; to Dan Levine, for helping to edit a book manuscript that will never see the light of day, and for doing so with an open heart and enthusiasm; to the SDRs, the other founders, for giving me an opportunity; and everyone else who made Grovo one of the “best places to work in NYC tech.”
Big ups to the team at MACRO. They are not only a pleasure to work with, but also committed to creating works by and for people of color—thank you all for your hard work. And thank you, Anna DeRoy, my film/TV agent! Black Buck couldn’t have a better shepherd in Hollywood. Also shout out to Jay Ellis, who has become a real friend and source of guidance. Thank you for entering my life, brother.
Speaking of people who enter your life, yo, the biggest of shout outs to the Rhode Island Writers Colony. I can say with the surest conviction: the road to publication would have been so much lonelier and more difficult without all of you. You were the writing family I needed but didn’t know it. Jason Reynolds, bro, thank you for all of the game you’ve dispensed and continue to pass to me. Miss Dianne, I love you so much. John and Mary, thank you for always making Warren feel as welcoming as possible. My 2018 cohort—Lena, Carla, Qurratulayn—I am so happy to know you. All of the other RIWC fam, especially those who allow me to vent like a madman, Candice Iloh and Irvin Weathersby, I thank you. RIP to Brook Stephenson. Your spirit lives on, brother.
A couple of people in the literary community who helped me out when I truly had no idea what I was doing, whether through meeting up, sharing information, or just giving me kind words of encouragement: Jess Mowry, Danya Kukafka, Viet Thanh Nguyen, Kris Jansma, and Arvin Ahmadi. Morgan Jerkins, too, who gave me my first opportunity to have an essay published, which set off many more. Same to Joe Keohane, from Medium, who extended help when he didn’t need to. And shout out to Corinne Segal, from LitHub, with whom I published many of my favorite essays.
Also, Ja
ke Dunlap, from Skaled, for helping me to avoid being a starving artist as I wrote this book—thank you, man. Startup consulting was a godsend. Thank you to Tanya Fadlallah and Rahman Berrada who double-checked my Arabic. Shukran jazeelan! And to Thomas Mailey, from the now thankfully closed down Lincoln Correctional Facility, who answered some of my questions. As well as to Sally Wofford-Girand, who is working to sell Black Buck overseas as I type this—thank you, Sally!
This is roll credits, man. If you’re still reading, I love you. I do. I want to extend the highest gratitude to some of my biggest inspirations, many of whom are no longer alive: Nina Simone, Malcolm X, Gordon Parks, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Fred Hampton, Frederick Douglass, Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Richard Pryor, Maya Angelou, Dave Chappelle, Oprah Winfrey, Nat Turner. I would look at your photos every day before writing Black Buck. Thank you for the lives you led, and lead (talking to you, Ms. Winfrey and Mr. Chappelle).
Some know that I would watch two to three hours of music videos and movie trailers every day before writing Black Buck, and while I can’t list all of the artists whose videos I watched, a few that stick out: Nipsey Hussle (RIP, King), Boogie, Buddy, Kendrick Lamar, J. Cole, Aminé, Jessie Reyez, Joey Bada$$, Teyana Taylor, Kanye West, Tai Cheeba, Chance the Rapper, Towkio, Kid Cudi, Dave, Stormzy, KOTA the Friend, Sinéad Harnett, ScHoolboy Q, Childish Gambino, Tyler, the Creator, Jay Rock, Kyle, Russ, Drake, YBN Cordae, Megan Thee Stallion, Nas, Wu-Tang Clan, Capital STEEZ, Radamiz, Snoh Aalegra, Dot Demo, Anderson .Paak, Meek Mill, Pusha T, Black Thought, slowthai, Vince Staples, Big Sean, Mac Miller, Duckwrth, The Game, Mereba, and ODIE.
Man, this could go on forever. I didn’t even touch on composers, TV shows, films, or other writers (go read some John A. Williams, Toni Morrison, Chester Himes, Iceberg Slim, Percival Everett, Paul Beatty, Colson Whitehead, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Nafissa Thompson-Spires, Brit Bennett, and Mitchell S. Jackson, though). I just wanted to pay homage to only a small number of the people who helped me write this book. I was alone in a room, you know. No coach over my shoulder saying, “Write that shit, son! Yeah, yeah, keep going!” So these people and their incredible artistry, as well as my brothers, parents, and close friends, were my coaches. But a writer writes alone—no one is going to put your fingers to the keys or pen and guide them for you, unless you believe in otherworldly guidance, which I often do. Point is, you need to draw inspiration in any way possible, and above are some of my mine.
Shout out to a few teachers from Bellport High School who saw me as a human and not a burden, and who built me and others up instead of tearing us down: Mr. Boes, Mrs. Budd, and Mrs. Bavosa.
That’s it. The next book I publish won’t be anything like this one, and I hope you still support. But in case I don’t see you, “good afternoon, good evening, and good night!”
About the Author
© Andrew “Fifthgod” Askaripour
Mateo Askaripour’s work aims to empower people of color to seize opportunities for advancement, no matter the obstacle. He was a 2018 Rhode Island Writers Colony writer-in-residence, and his writing has appeared in Entrepreneur, LitHub, Catapult, The Rumpus, Medium, and elsewhere. Black Buck is his debut novel. He lives in Brooklyn.
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Contents
Title Page
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Author’s Note
Prospecting 1
2
3
4
Qualifying 5
6
7
8
9
10
11
Discovery 12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
Demonstration 20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
Close 28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Connect with HMH
Landmarks
Cover