Tag Archives: short story
“They been hurtin’ for some months now, doc.” He said talking outside of himself the way that folks can sometimes do when pain and time force us to be away from our bodies. Red didn’t like this- none of it- not the pain, not the possible problem, not the god awful lights that seemed to burn away any conviction held, not the doctor and her cold tongue. That’s why he smoked before coming.
“Is that what’s back here? I never knew where they was or what they did for real. I just knew that they was somewhere in myself- doing something.” He smiled out of nervousness. In the past it had been a ticket to bliss- someone’s bedroom, a cheat out of penalties, a free pass to lie- something, but now it was a plea for mercy. I spell he wish to cast over reality and make what he desired happen. He wanted to be free of the constant problems.
“Your kidneys help to clean out the waste in your system, like a filter.” The doctor continued almost unmoved by whatever Red was attempting. “If we are experiencing pain or problems there it could mean several things, including stones or failure, which is important to monitor because of the vital work that they do. A lot of times disease or poison can sit for years and finally appear, very suddenly, attacking both kidneys and their capacity to help your body. “
He heard about all of half of the warning and tried repeating it to himself while he pissed in a cup the doctor gave. Red hoped this didn’t end in more pills. Something particular did flash back brightly in his head- something bout how men in the United States had higher rates of kidney failure than almost anyone else and how African American men who were on medication were likely to suffer this problem more that most because of the fact that pills taken over time actually weakened kidney strength.
“People under constant medication have to be very conscious of their kidneys. Meds taken over long periods of time may cause kidney stones or failure. Black men taking HIV medication are especially vulnerable which is why I as you to pee in this cup every time we have a check up. I want to make sure you’re doing alright in there.”
“shit” he sighed while holding his softening sex. He held onto the wall and exhaled the stress once more. In these moments, bad memories, from all over, found theyselves flooding all over and his body felt pulled down by its own heaviness. Parts of his fleshy self began to fall off shelves he put them for safe keepin’ – he was loosin’ it. And he cried.
When Anthony was here he at least had another pot to put his misery in – another to blame for the infinite wrongs happening. And part of him knew that wasn’t right, but it felt nice- to just for a small bit of time loose any personal accountability in the matter. Blame and notions of bein’ a victim washed over him and found all the feelin’s that was hurt and stepped on or left for dead on the stand next to unused condoms.
His throat closed up, as it did before and he shook all over. Red saw mortality and the thousands of lives he hadn’t a chance to live. He rolled through sheets and stood at the mouth of Golgotha. You must come in at the door. There were witches living on sad times and doctors casting death with their instruments. He’d been infected and used. It all fell away- all the innocence held in high places and he felt used- pulling himself back into his pants, and collecting what could be .
Only when there was a knock at the door did he realize how much time had passed.
“Give me a sec.” he called, not even listening for a response, over the sound of flushing water and moving paper.
The quiet came in more new and menacing than it ever had. He saw his mother standing over an empty bed and she was crying and carrying a Bible. He has made a home for me over there. Jesus has prepared for me a home over there. She sang something blue for them and Red knew what she meant. So he went to her- his hands like the very cup of trembling.
“I tried mama. So hard.” he spoke low into her breast.
“Dance with me please, Emmanuel.”
Their hands held one another, one over another, for the first time in a long while. Music played and it was as if the river welling inside of him was held at the gates of his eyes. There was another knock.
“She ain’t really here, Emmanuel. Its just us, lets finish this dance. You and me like when you was small.”
“shhh. Step up on the stool.”
He was small again- in a suit and standing on the stool mama used to let him climb when she taught him how to move. And there was warmth.
Like when you was small.
And there was a low hum that brought him round to himself in that cramped room of beginnings.
“You are a child of God. Just like me and all other moving things. He make the sun move on us and blesses us with its kisses. At night when the moon makes out to see the world, he holds us close and sings something sweet to us. Sometimes I can feel you doubt that. But please know this now, more than anything else that was ever true. I love you.”
The final knock ejected imagination and Red stood in front of his wet face in the washroom mirror again- this time smiling.
And we get up bit slower and lot more deadly.
“ was he was a faggot?!”
“I think so, I’m saying the nigga was walking over on Southern Avenue in a dress and shit.”
“That don’t make him a faggot, Cliff.”
“Yea? When you ever seen niggas in dresses and they ain’t gay? I ain’t never known a regular man to come out dressed like that.”
“Shut up, Cliff.”
“I’m just saying…”
“It coulda been a woman, dummy!”
“Brenda! Where you come from?! I’m over here talking to Roy. Don’t laugh Roy that broad ain’t funny.”
“She telling the truth though, you know you old. Coulda been a woman. People used to say the same thing about Martha. That she looked like some man cause she was big as all get out, but you still messed with her.”
“What that got to do with anything? I’m not talking about her. Im talking about these crackers coming up on Southern Avenue in them new condos and taking over all the space. You never seen that shit before.”
“Yea, you only seen niggas in dresses and Matha.”
“Shut up Brenda. Goddammit, for the last time, mind your business. And the shit ain’t funny, Roy!”
“She right, Cliff.”
“I know she is but none of them never got too far without the police stopping them. You know them punks was all walkin’ round- trickin’. The crackers is all over. NO POLICE.”
“That’s cause they is the police. They just in orange vests and what not.”
“Yeah, they come in once that television says a place is bout to be worth a cent…”
“Or when the downtown crooks fix up one of these ole’ holes in the wall and make it into a fancy spot to drink. Or even before then they come in when its still crooked looking sometimes cause they want to be seen in someplace they figure is interesting or dangerous. Them crackers sure do love it when they feel like they wading in some water they ain’t all the way allowed to swim in. Then they want to control it- start with this damn neighborhood watch thing. Man, I remember I was coming off the bus to my house and I sat a spell on some porch to rest. All of a sudden I’m seeing five or six of these fools- with the orange vest talking this none-sense about robberies and asking if I stayed near.”
“like they ain’t robbing us out of our space…”
“Amen, and when I told them to walk off into Hell, they called the police. And here I am, a 56 year old man explainin’ to the police about how I grew up here-in these streets. We used to be able to just sit.”
“And when an old man such as yo-self sit down, it used to be respected.”
“There you go, talking like she just was. Talking two statements at the same time- at once agreeing and knocking my age. Can I finish please?”
“hahaha. You brought up your age but go head Cliff, finish.”
“I brought it up cause I was making a point. I was here when King was shot and this whole thing went up in smoke. I was here when we had to build it back with no help- not that we asked but still. It was our hands which made them bricks pile and it was us who sang spirit back into them stores By ourselves we did that and when it went south again with the crack and the young folk guns … hell, I hope’d to be here to fix that but it don’t look like there’s gonna be anymore fixin’ to happen.”
“Well, they fixin’ it alright.”
“Mhmm. Like we was never here. They coming in like a cavalry for something they never cared to save and causin’ all kinds of hell. And that don’t sit right with me. I’m a man …”
“and I’m a woman!”
“Don’t look like that Cliff, you know she was going to throw herself in. She live here too. Ain’t just men who been fixin’”
“ … yea, we is folk. Good folk. We came here, built us something. Gave taxes, ate, laughed, got fucked up, and made life in this city. This here is our space. We ain’t got much more than this…”
“ and we made it special too. They wouldn’t be so pressed to come over here if there wasn’t good enough reason to. We gave this place something. All these clubs and stores they so quick to run into, they was ours.”
“yep, and I told em’ that after the police left me there. I said ‘ya’ll would do good to remember who this place belongs to.”
“Alright Cliff, you bout to be another nigga in jail. You know them folk don’t like to be talked to like that.”
“Well I don’t care no more. They bout to move me out anyway and someone should say it.”
“You right. As the day is long, you right. ”
We stepping out over here. In an effort to strengthen the politics of this Blog we’re starting a new one that is deidcated to art and creative writing.
We’ve got one posting over at http://thirdsermon.wordpress.com/ . This is a short story written over a year ago. More to come, follow us over there as well as keeping it up over here.