tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-321577672011-04-21T21:15:45.995-07:00Come along with an emerging writer as he deals with the challenges all artists face as they attempt to create meaningful art. As Tony chronicles his journey, you’ll get to read excerpts of his fiction and get an insider’s view into his creative process. “Perhaps by looking over my shoulder you can discover something fresh about your own art.”Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.comBlogger201100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1167851688460021602007-01-03T11:03:00.000-08:002007-01-03T11:14:48.470-08:00Hello Family,<br /><br />I hope 2007 has been kind to you so far. I pray that this new year hold treasures and miracles for all of you. Below you'll find my latest story "Peppermint and Gunpowder". I hope you enjoy it.<br /><br />I know it's been quite a while since I've posted, but believe me I think the time spent was worth it. Basically, it was the end of the Fall semester at Columbia and your boy was being pulled and stretched like never before. By the time I graduate I'll be ten times the writer I was when I started.<br /><br />Over the next year many of the stories you've read, I'll be submitting them to different publications. This is big because I have never published my work before (The blog doesn't really count) so keep me in your prayers. I really believe that 2007 is a time when dreams will become real. What dream have you been holding on to? Isn't it about time to take the first step to achieving that dream? Come on, we can walk this thing together. Let's make 2007 the year of dreams!<br /><br />-be easy<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-116785168846002160?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1167850849429039872007-01-03T10:51:00.000-08:002007-01-03T11:00:49.446-08:00I gripped the pistol loosely. <br /><br /> "Hold the damn gun right!" My father snapped. "Don't make me look bad." <br />The laughter and taunts of his friends grew. They were three fools known as the Drunk Brothers. And that's what they were; all the time.<br /> <br />"No way he gone hit that can." Drunk Brother Number Two slurred.<br />It was 2 am New Years Day and my father had betted the brothers that I could drink four shots of liquor and still hit a trashcan from our back porch on the third floor with his twenty-two automatic. Fifty dollars of my father's money was on the line. The Drunk Brothers didn't say what type of liquor, so my father poured four shots of peppermint schnapps all lined up in a row. At first they protested, saying schnapps was like candy.<br /><br />"A little girl could drink a whole bottle schnapps and not feel it." said Drunk Brother Number Three. But my father cussed them out till they gave in. I paused to see if my mother would come and snatch me away. She didn't, so I took each shot straight to the head. They didn't even burn my throat much.<br /> I imagined my mother behind the door being worried about me, but too afraid to do anything. I guess I couldn't blame her. It was times like this when I saw the worse of my father.<br /><br /><br /> "Steady yourself. Squeeze the trigger and hit that damn can." I looked at him and saw tornados in his eyes.<br /> I had seen the gun in action a few times before and each time those same tornados whirled. The twenty-two had spit silver flame at a few fools and had once caught a kid in the thigh that cheated my father at craps. That kid was only a few years older than me, maybe even in high school, but no older. I was afraid of the pistol. But I was afraid of my father more. He looked at me impatiently, and I tightened my grip on the handle. <br /> The only light in the alley was right over the trashcan. It was bathed in yellow like some treasure on display in a museum. I closed my left eye, took aim and concentrated. The babblings of the Drunk Brothers fell away and echoed like I had descended into some sort of tunnel. I licked my lips and tasted the slick residue of the schnapps and I pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot slapped the night sky as the gun tried to jump from my hand. The bullet hit the can dead center as it fell on its side and rolled. The Drunk Brothers fell over in disgust.<br /><br /> "Now pay me my money! I knew I was gonna send you fools home broke!"<br />They handed my father lumps of bills and cussed bitterly.<br /> As my father counted his money, I felt a rush of hot air wrap around me. My skin felt like the bottom of a steam iron left on too long.<br /><br /><br />I squeezed the trigger and lit up the air around us like I was holding a torch. I felt like I was about to go up in flames and it was as if emptying that clip was the only thing that could cool me down. When a bullet hit the trashcan, it jumped, flipped and danced like the tail of a kite in a stiff breeze. Some bullets struck the ground and some hit the Johnson's garage. I kept squeezing until the gun went silent. <br />I felt my father's hand over mine and it squeezed firmly. I eased off the trigger. His lips moved but I couldn't hear him. The gun smoke hung heavy in the air as the brothers coughed. They stared like I was crazy. Drunk Brother Number One flapped his arms wildly and spit out some words. My father took the gun and pushed me inside. The Drunk Brothers left out the front door. My father pointed to my bedroom. I didn't see him for two days after that. I laid in my bed with my head throbbing, still feeling the weight of the gun inside my palm. I waited for the door to open, for my mother to come see about me, but she never did. I drifted off to sleep as the sun rose with the sweetness of peppermint schnapps on my lips and the taste of gunpowder in my throat.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-116785084942903987?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1162398487507077342006-11-01T08:17:00.000-08:002006-11-01T08:28:07.516-08:00Hello Family,<br /><br />I know it has been a while since we last shared. But I believe the break was needed. Now, I didn't sit around doing nothing. I worked on the story below plus a few others. I have decided to take Artful Passages from a weekly update to a monthly. Why? Mainly to save my sanity, but also to ensure that I give you the best story I can. Quality is very important. I found that I was rushing to keep up and in that some of the needed quality was not there. For that I apologize. Even though all of the stories here are first drafts and rough, I still must exact excellence as much as I can in the crafting and presentation of each tale.<br /><br />So, I hope it works well for you all. I imagine it will. I understand most of you are super busy and the weekly posts were piling up because you had no time to read that frequently. I understand. I believe that one story a month will work best for all of us. For the unbelievable folks like my girl LC from Rhema Word, who would crave a new story every day if I could produce it, I apologize for the monthly thing.<br /><br />This months story is called "Blueprints in the Closet" let me know what you think by sending me your comments. Comments can be on the story and the new time frame. I really want to know.<br /><br />I love you all<br /><br />Be easy.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-116239848750707734?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1162397802027422512006-11-01T07:40:00.000-08:002006-11-01T08:16:42.053-08:00The last of the mourners had just left and the house was still vibrating from the celebration of sending Cyrus Sinclair home to be with the Lord. There had been laughing, drinking and stories that floated around about Cyrus and his exploits. Whether it had been the time he beat Old Wall-Eye Johnson at craps or when he out ran the entire fifth district police station when they thought he robbed the pool hall. People remembered fondly their own memories and remarked how quiet it was going to be now that Cyrus was gone.<br /><br /> While the party went on, Epiphany Sinclair buzzed around the apartment seeing to this and that, being helpful and attentive. Her friends tried to have her sit down and allow herself to be attended to, but she would have none of it. No matter what, if her name was attached to it, she wanted everything to be right even at her husband’s wake. To everyone in attendance she kept it all together very well. There was not so much of a glint of liquid in her eyes. <br /><br /><br />Her lack of outward sadness worried her son Josiah. He tried to coax her into letting her feelings out but Epiphany shooed him away like a fly at a picnic. But now that the crowd had moved on and she was alone, she started to come undone. She stood in her bedroom and stopped in mid step and stood frozen in front of her mirror like a statue.<br /> <br />She stayed that way for quiet a while. Then eventually she felt her limbs warm up. Slowly her left pinky flickered. Then her nose twitched. She cautiously shuffled her feet forward until she felt confident in their ability to move her. Finally gaining strength she left her room. She heard singing coming from the kitchen. She thought Josiah had gone home. She also heard running water and knew he had ignored her plea to leave the dishes, and went ahead washing them.<br /> The gesture warmed Epiphany.<br /> <br /> “That boy is just too sweet. Not sure how he turned out so well with me and Cyrus fighting all the time like we did.”<br /><br />As she entered the living room and saw the mess left by the partygoers, she stopped and listened to Josiah’s tenor sweep through the house. The voice was sweet but the lyrics chilled her. It was “Dock of the Bay” by Otis Redding. Whenever Cyrus would come home with bad news, like he lost all their money or the bookie was on his tail, he would be singing that song. She grew to hate it and Otis Redding for making it. She tried to make her way into the kitchen to distract Josiah from his singing, but felt the same heaviness she experienced just before she turned into a lead statue and froze in place. She couldn’t move any part of her body, but her mind was a blur of movement, shifting through scenes and images from her time with Cyrus, some good, some not so good and others just plain horrible. Then suddenly as if she were slammed into a brick wall, her mind hit upon a scene that caused her body to go limp. She thrust out her arm and caught the side of the sofa. She found some strength to stop her fall. She steadied herself as she remembered the day she stopped trusting her husband.<br /><br /> The room was washed in sunlight. It was already a bright yellow so it was hard not to squint.<br /> Epiphany, her body stiff and lips pulled back, was ready for round two. Cyrus was in front of her looking like a small animal facing a huge angry bear.<br /> <br /> “Why are you yelling at me? I ain’t done nothing.” <br /> “You were singing the Dock of the Bay Cyrus, stop lying.”<br /> “Huh! Um…what that mean, so what I’m singing? That’s just my favorite song.” Cyrus said as he cocked his confident stance.<br /> “Don’t play me Cyrus, Don’t even try. Everybody and their momma know whenever you sing that song, you done took a big hit at the gambling house. What was it tonight, Blackjack? Tunk? Bid? What little boys game you gave our money over to,” she said.<br /> “Our money? Last time I checked, you ain’t working in the mill?” Said Cyrus. Epiphany placed her hand on the kitchen cabinet to steady herself.<br /> “Don’t go there. We’re your family and you don’t give a care enough about us to bring home your check. Cyrus do you understand that I can’t keep borrowing money <br />from my momma no more? We’re grown,” she said as Cyrus looked down on his brown snake-skinned shoes.<br /><br /> “I mean, where is your pride,” she continued “My family never thought you were anything and here you are week after week proving them right. Don’t you wanna do right? Even to save face?”<br /> “Epiphany I’m my own man. I ain’t trying to impress your people. Besides, them fool uncles of yours be the first ones in line when I do hit the jackpot. So I’m not tripping about that. Look baby, I’m putting some things together for us and the boy. I’m going to get us a great big ol’ house up in Pill Hill. Then maybe if I live next to a doctor or a lawyer I’ll get the same respect they do from folk?” he said.<br /> “You talking about that house again. Come on Cyrus I know I’m a fool but don’t treat me like a damn fool. Besides, doctors and lawyers earn they money. What you do but play child’s games trying to get lucky? Anyhow, if you were to get some money you wouldn’t know what to do with it.”<br /> “What ya’ mean?” He said.<br /> “You and I both know you ain’t gonna do nothing but gamble whatever you got away. That’s why we ain’t never gonna have anything, cause you can’t control yourself. I’m getting real tired Cyrus.” <br /> “I’m trying to let you know it ain’t gonna always be like this. I’m gonna do right by you.”<br /> “O.K. well then, I need money for groceries.”<br /> “Um, I’m light right now.”<br /> “That’s right. You were singing Dock of the Bay. I shoulda’ known.” Epiphany said.<br /> “I gotcha a present,” he said.<br /> “A what?”<br /> “A present.”<br /> “What, you paid the rent?”<br /> “Paying rent ain’t no present. That’s what’s wrong with you. You’re too straight. Don’t know how to dream. You never did. But I figured I could work my magic and get you to see lifes fantastic side.”<br /> “Fantastic? I tell you what’s fantastic. A husband I can depend on.” She said as she began to cry. Her body shook as she whimpered loudly.<br /><br /> “I don’t understand why men don’t behave the way they supposed to. My daddy wasn’t no father to me. I grew up not knowing proper love from him, and now I’m damned to be mistreated and unloved by my own husband. I don’t understand?” <br /> Cyrus stood silently. Then he pulled out a brown paper bag from his pocket.<br /> “Epiphany. You know I love you. You know that. No matter what, please don’t doubt it. I’ll make it right baby, I will.”<br /> “I don’t want to hear that. You been saying that just to get me from leaving or throwing myself into traffic. I can’t hear I’m sorry no more, can’t hear ‘I’m gonna make it right’ My ears are like stone to that stuff now Cyrus.”<br /> Cyrus pulled a frosted bottle of perfume in the shape of a heart from the paper bag. <br /> “You at least want to try on the perfume?” Cyrus said.<br /> Epiphany took the bottle <br /> “When I was in the store I smelled it on the cashier. She told me the name and said it was on sale. It reminded me of the summer we met. Remember that? It was all hot and sticky. It was just something in the air. Things was tasting sweeter and leaving better impressions. Yeah, that perfume reminds me of the summer of ‘71,” he said.<br /> “Summer of ‘71?” she said in disbelief. “This ain’t nothing but ten dollars we don’t have. Ten dollars that could’ve bought groceries or could’ve gone to pay that damn bookie you sold our family to! This bottle ain’t nothing but another sham you trying to sell me!” <br /> “E, how could you say that? I love you,” he pleaded.<br /> “Then where is my house? You promised me a thousand and one things but for some reason I believed you on that one. I hate living in this apartment. All cramped and cooped up with all these other fools. I want some room and security and you can’t give it to me. I’m going to do it myself cause you ain’t worth a damn.” <br /> Cyrus turned away.<br /> “You said you was gonna build it with your own hands from the ground up. Said it would stand tall for all time, as a symbol of your love for me. Well, where it at Cyrus? Where is that symbol of love you been whispering about for twelve years?”<br /> “Once I get us squared away, right and proper like, ain’t <br />nothing but a matter of time,” he said plainly like a man reading a vow he no longer believed.<br /> “Don’t tell me that. I said I didn’t want to hear it no more.” She shrieked as she cocked her arm back and let the frosted glass heart fly. <br /> It tumbled through the air in slow motion and it slammed against the uneven yellow wall and the smell of 1971 filled the room.<br /> “E, what happened to us?” Cyrus surprised at the little woman’s outburst. His once proud and broad shoulders were now limp and shrunken. <br /> “We got lost in your dreams. And I can’t find my way out no more.”<br /> “Baby, don’t you believe in me? Don’t you know I would…”?<br /> “Stop it Cyrus. I’m tired of it all. Twelve years I put up with your dreams. And for twelve years I had faith in you to make them come true. No more. I remember your smile used to be enough to soothe me and take away the worry and doubt. But that ain’t enough no more.” <br /> The storm that raged inside of her rolled away leaving an eerie calm. She looked at her husband with dead eyes and turned and left the room. <br /><br />Josiah stood quietly washing the dishes. His singing was now over. <br /> “The things you said at the funeral were so beautiful,” Epiphany said as she entered the kitchen.<br /> Josiah turned and looked upon his mother. He went to her,<br /> “Momma you look exhausted, please sit down.” He begged.<br /> “You would be too if you fought against your own body just to take ten steps.”<br />Josiah placed her small frame into a chair next to the kitchen table.<br /> “What you mean?”<br /> “Nothing, I’m just trying to be funny.”<br />Josiah looked down at her with a puzzled look on his face.<br /> “I’m sorry Jo-Jo. I know I ain’t acting the way a person is supposed to act when they lose they husband. I’m just going through so many emotions right now. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel.”<br /> “It’s O.K Momma. You can feel sad or even happy. Just let it be real,” he said.<br /> “I love you Josiah. I know I didn’t tell you that enough as you were growing up. I know now that I was too wrapped up in my own struggles. I was so intent on being hateful to your father that I think I forgot to save a warm place for you. I said I wouldn’t let that happen but the spite I felt took me over until I was just a shell walking around. And I guess I feel afraid now that your father is gone, because what do I feel now? Do I hate the man as he lay in his grave? As much bitterness that I feel... that just don’t seem sane. Look at me. I’m doing it again. Talking about your daddy like that.”<br /> “It’s o.k. Momma, I’m glad you talking at all. I knew you and daddy didn’t always get along. I felt it. But momma, he had a good side.” <br /> Epiphany avoided eye contact with Josiah to keep from showing her disbelief. <br /> “I know he did,” she said reluctantly. “I guess we just built up so much that I can’t see anything clear.”<br /><br /> “What if I could show you something that would help you clear up some things?” he said. Epiphany shrugged her shoulders.<br /> “What are you talking about?” <br />Josiah crossed out of the room and went into the hall closet. He kneeled and fished around, rustling papers,moving things in search for something. Then the rustling stopped and he stood to his feet. He closed the closet door and entered the kitchen again with a set of long rolled sheets of paper. <br /> “Pull up to the table momma,” he said flatly. Epiphany slowly swung her body around and scooted her chair under the table. Josiah placed the roll on the dull table and unrolled them.<br /> “What is that Jo?”<br /> “Blueprints”. <br /> “Of what?”<br /> “Of the house daddy was going to build you.”<br /> “Stop lying.” Epiphany sighed<br /> “Momma I’m not lying. I found these last week when I was cleaning out the back closet.”<br /> “I thought I told you to throw all his trash out?”<br /> “I wasn’t going to do that. I moved everything to a storage unit. But when I came across these, I knew you needed to see them.” <br /> Epiphany leaned in for a closer look.<br /> It was huge. <br />It was a three story brick Victorian. It had a three-car garage and an immense front lawn. From what Epiphany could tell there were five bedrooms, four bathrooms, and a den. <br /> “Is that what I think it is?” she said. <br /> “Yes momma, it is. It’s the house daddy promised you. He drew these himself,” he whispered as he pointed to his father’s signature in the bottom right-hand corner. The masterpiece was dated fall 1999.<br /> “He was doing it momma. Daddy was building our house.” Epiphany wept silently. She was overcome with the warmth of redemption. <br /> Cyrus Sinclair had promised her a new house from the ground up. He said it would be the testament of his love and would prevail through the ages. As far as Epiphany knew, Cyrus never made that dream or any others real and she felt betrayed. Now, on the night of his home going she learned that her dream existed in a form that could be touched and handled. It was real. <br /> “When was he…when did he do this. How?” she whispered.<br /> “There was some architecture books and drafting equipment upstairs. I think he taught himself how to draw up these blueprints. That’s probably why it took so long. He wanted to do it all himself.”<br /> Epiphany’s heart locked up and she doubled over. Josiah kneeled to see about her. She let out a deep wail that came from the pit of her stomach. Josiah tried to hold her through it but she was inconsolable. She wailed until she lost her voice and feel into a deep sleep.<br /> Epiphany woke lying across her bed. The sun was already in its place in the sky. She sat up in the bed startled. Had it been a dream, she thought. But as she glanced around the room she saw the aged rolls of blue paper sitting on her dresser. She caught a scream in her throat and forced it down. It was true. Her husband was gone and she could not relive the lost days that were controlled by bitterness. She was sick due to the wave of emotions. There was a note stuck to the door. It was from Josiah.<br /><br /> ‘Momma I’m in the guest room. Don’t worry. We can get through this.’<br /> “I’m so shamed. Oh Cyrus. Why didn’t you tell me? Maybe I wouldn’t have treated you so bad. I shouldn’t have regardless.”<br /> Epiphany fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. She saw all the wasted years floating about out of reach. She wondered how all of their lives could have been different if there had been tolerance in her heart. She knew that all things could not be washed away by Josiah’s find but it proved to her that it could have been possible. But that chance to love Cyrus as she did when he was a boy had gotten away and for that she was sorry. She took the blueprints into her hands and unrolled the sheets. She traced the remarkable sight with her eyes and saw each room in 3-D detail.<br /><br /> “We’re going to build this house. I don’t know how but we are. It was your dream for us and it deserves to be real so everybody will know. She scanned the blueprints closer and saw her and Cyrus in every room. Loving each other and laughing. Being soft and open to one another. Josiah played in the yard and wailed in delight.<br /><br /> “Everybody got to see this, no matter what. So they know. They’ll know.”<br /> Epiphany sat and lived a whole new life in the house. The lives they lived were meant to be full of love and happiness regardless of the struggles. Eventually the rock in the pit of her stomach lessened in weight and was replaced by a light and airy feeling that caused her to feel high. Although she no longer had her husband, she had the memory he left her in the form of the house. She smiled as the airy feeling grew an enveloped her completely. She held the blueprints to her breast and allowed herself to feel fantastic.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-116239780202742251?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1160970170124155262006-10-15T20:28:00.000-07:002006-10-15T20:42:50.143-07:00'You know, I haven't heard from my father in a while. But you asking about him reminds me of something interesting I heard once. It was a saying. It went <em>The very best of a man is illustrated in his words</em>. That’s what a famous philosopher dude once said. Or that’s what I heard. It was at this school lecture. One of those ones where you just file into the assembly hall not knowing what’s about to jump off. I was sitting there and spitballs and ‘your momma’ jokes was flying back and forth like always and this tall stately looking old black dude came out onto the stage and just looked at us. Or maybe it’s better to say he regarded us. Cause it seemed he was taking mental notes on what we were made of. <br /><br />He was looking deep into us. It was kind of scary, cause nobody ever looked at me like that. It was like he locked eyes with me, made a quick check on this list in his head and moved on to the next kid. I think we all felt it, cause them kids that was cutting up didn’t say a word. It was silent. And you know silent is deeper than just plain old quiet. I mean like if it was nighttime you would have heard crickets. And then we started looking at him like he was looking at us. I wondered who he was cause I had never seen anybody really like him. Like I said he was an old dude, but not all broke down and decrepit like them folks at the retirement center off of Cottage and 83rd. <br /><br />Turned out he was a retired judge who stepped off the bench to motivate kids into doing something with themselves. He was tall and his back was straight and his chin stuck out like a ledge on a mountain. He reminded me of an old drawing of Frederick Douglass. Yeah, that’s who he reminded me of. Frederick Douglass. All class, muscle and dignity. Like every word that crossed his lips had enough juice to cause a stir in folks. He told us his name, but I just called him old Fred. <br /><br />So old Fred stared at us and us at him for like a whole minute. And then when it started to get really creepy; he spoke. And spoke; and spoke. For like an hour non-stop, about all kinds of things, from our heritage as black folks, civil rights, our personal responsibility and our futures. What was so amazing about the whole thing was that none of us, I mean none, made a sound louder than a sniffle. Not even a cough. No giggles or anything. It was amazing to me. And then old Fred hit us with that quote I told you about earlier ‘The very best of a man is illustrated in his words.’<br /><br />Yeah. That was deep to me to, cause so many people in my hood be talking crap. Like that’s all they do. Another reason it stuck with me cause it reminded me of my father. But not in a good way. Like, he would be on the negative end of that statement. Cause if you lined up his words you’d have a mile of cussing so foul you’d think he was from some foreign country where they didn’t speak no English and he came here and learned the language from listening to Richard Pryor or Eddie Murphy records. I mean, like cussing for no reason. You know how he do? He get all bug eyed and just start winging them out there. He get all excited and turn into some cussing tornado. Just ignorant.<br /><br /> Sometimes when my father would snap on me, calling me all kinds of M-f’s and F this and F that, I imagined old Fred, and I wished he could tell my father all that stuff he told us. Then maybe my dad could be silent like we were silent that day, and maybe that quote would shake my father up and get him to think about his words and how he uses them. But you know what, thinking about it now, my father would probable cut old Fred off and then cuss his old butt out like he was some nigger on the Ave. and not a retired judge trying to help somebody do something with themselves. That’s kind of sad ya know.<br /><br /> Old “Rip” was a trip. I never told you why they call him Rip? Well for all my life that’s all he’d allow me to call him. Not dad, or pop or anything that let on that he was actually responsible for raising me. Just Rip. That was his street name when he banged back in the day. He said they called him Rip cause he was quick to rip a fool off on payday. That always made me sad. To think that my father was that dude. You know. Every hood in America got one. A low down thief so hell-bent on causing misery that he would stick up a workingman who slaved all week for a check.<br /><br />I mean, that working dude could have been getting it rough from his boss and taking all kinds of crap just to support his family. That dude just happen to make the mistake of walking down the wrong block on payday and Rip or whatever they call him in your hood, just ups and sticks him. Whenever my father would brag about them days, I would imagine the face of that hard working man when he’d have to go home to his family with nothing in his pockets. And since that man was a black dude, you know he was all prideful, so he didn’t tell his old lady what really happened, about how he got stuck by some punk named Rip or whatever; so he would break bad with the lady to cover up the fact he been stuck. He would give her some crap about minding her business and bring up the fact she didn’t clean the crib right or something like that and cause a big fight to get out of telling the truth about how there ain’t no money. Of course being a sista’ she wouldn’t take it and she would tell the workingman how full of crap he was. And the dude, trying to save face, would cuss her and maybe go upside her head and then storm out. I imagined that woman’s face as she picked her shelf up off the ground and then cusses out the kids for just being around. She’s pissed too, she got a right to be, so who she gonna snap on but them? And then that lady go beg from her momma for some stamps so that she could feed them kids she just snapped on, and then old momma be disappointed in her daughter at the fact she put up with that man in the first place. The daughter get mad at her momma for judging her and storm out, after getting the stamps of course. And everybody just uptight and pissed off. All that hurt, bitterness and bad feelings cause of some nigger named Rip… or whatever they call him in your hood. That’s my father. And it makes me sad to say that. <br /><br />But out of all the things that make me sad about Rip, and there are a lot of them, nothing makes me sadder than when I stood at the mouth of this alley one day last week. The one half a block up from the corner of 79th and Cottage Grove. The left side with the Chinese restaurant. Yeah. With the red sign. That’s the one. I was walking home from this girl’s house. I was felling good you know what I’m saying? It was a regular day, nothing special. The sun was shining and the pigeons was walking around the sidewalk and people moved from here to over there just like the always do. Anyway. I come up on this alley and I just stop cause of what I was seeing. Wasn’t nothing special about the alley either. Just regular with normal alley activities going down. Well, at the far end was a garbage truck backing up getting ready to take on a few loads of trash. The men jumped off and started hooking up the first dumpster. A little further in was a couple of Mexicans going in and out of this warehouse, loading a van full of clothes on hangers. They were covered in white plastic so I couldn’t tell what they were, but I was sure that whatever they were, was gonna end up being sold out of some hustler’s trunk. Further in, there was a Chinese busboy out for a smoke just chilling when another chink comes out and says something in that ‘Ping-Pang’ language of theirs. <br /><br />Kind of sounded like he was cussing, cause he was waving his arms all wild as he was pinging and panging. The busboy just stood there and took the last drag off his cigarette and acted like he wasn’t paying the fussing dude no mind. Just regular. Even had the typical rat and bum nosing around the same dumpster looking for lunch. Except the bum in this alley, was Rip. <br /><br />It was him. I’m sure. Yeah. I know it was cause I stared at him for a real long time. I actually took a step back and used the corner of the building to block me. I didn’t want him to see it was me. So, I watched him. I saw how he shifted through the garbage, looking for God knows what. He had a Jewel’s shopping cart full of stuff. Mostly black garbage bags. Couldn’t see what was in them. But then I noticed he stopped shifting and lay hold of a Styrofoam container. Like the ones you get at take out joints. He opened it up and it was some old Chinese food. I saw half an egg roll and some chow mien noodles. He closed it and put it in the cart. There was a big clear bag of dandelions in the cart. Yeah, it had to have been about two or three hundred dandelions. I think he was going to make him some soup. I remember he said he used to make that all the time when he would run away from whatever foster home he was in back in the day. Dandelion soup and old Chinese food. That’s were Rip turned up after what? Like five years?<br /><br /> I remember that bad silk suit he had when I was like ten. It was bone white and he would rock it with some gray gators. Remember that. Man, he would be clean. To see him all bummy was too much. I mean, he had on a dirty old Bears sweater and filthy pants that looked like they was made out of a potato sack. I ain’t even gonna describe the rest of him because it’s too hard to deal with. I felt shame for him. I started to say something, but I didn’t. I think I wanted to, but then again I really didn’t. I mean, I saw in my mind, me stepping into that alley and saying something to him. I saw me taking him and hugging him. I wouldn’t even mention the five years. Nope, I would just take him to my crib and get him clean and fed. No Chinese food either. Chicken wings maybe. That’s what I saw in my mind. But that’s not what I did. I just stood frozen. I tried to make my feet work, but it was like they had a mind of they own. As if they remembered how they would run from our house trying to escape the hollering and cussing. Wasn’t no budging them now.<br /> <br />I tried to call out to him, but it was like my tongue had joined in on the revolt. I guess it remembered all them times I bit it to keep it from telling Rip how we really felt, and how hurt we were. And my heart wasn’t no help either. It had healed just fine over them five years and wasn’t trying to get broken up again messing with that fool. So it was just my brain screaming inside my head, but no other parts of my body would listen. Then against my will, my feet turned us around and walked us home. I guess I still got some healing to do. That was a week ago.<br /><br /> I went back to that alley yesterday and looked for him, but no go. I been all over the neighborhood and I couldn’t find him. <br />I don’t know what I would say, or even if the rest of me would go along with us meeting him. I guess I got to get over it huh? No matter if he don’t want to be called my daddy, he still is. And even if thinking about him makes me sad and brings up all the unhappy stuff from my past, he still my daddy. No matter what. <br />I guess we still got time. He ain’t that old. I think he got more years ahead of him than behind. Maybe we can get a new history going. Maybe. I mean, when I wash that dirt off him, maybe all that he was, will come off to? Maybe. Maybe when I wash his hair I can wash away all them bad dreams he used to have about being in them foster homes. Maybe that would cause him to regard life in a better light. Who knows? Some new clothes and shoes - maybe he would walk different. And if a man is walking right, maybe his talk will turn around too? Maybe Rip won’t cuss out everybody and tear everything down like he used to. And maybe he could be all stately and dignified like old Fred was? Who knows? And maybe by getting to know him, I mean really know him, that will help me deal with some of my issues. I mean I can be a better man if I’m tied to my daddy and he’s a good man. Maybe that all can really happen. What do you think? Yeah me to. <br /><br />I’m hungry. Let’s go down to 79th and Cottage Grove. Yeah, that Chinese joint. The one on the left hand side of the street, with the red sign.'<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-116097017012415526?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1160403732053860212006-10-09T07:07:00.000-07:002006-10-09T07:51:14.176-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2325/3509/1600/IMG_2597.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2325/3509/320/IMG_2597.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Good morning my people,<br /><br />Thanks for your patience on my last week off. Lots of different reason why there was no post last week. No need to go into them. Let's get on with a new story for this week. It's called "Ohio State." I wasn't sure about that title at first. It's a little obscure but it does mean something to one of the characters. Let me know what you think. If after reading the story if you have any ideas on what a better title would be let me know. It's no guarantee I'll change the title,but you never know.<br /><br />This piece is a departure from my usually style. I normally stick to writing in a "Third Person" but my Instructor for Grad school challenged me to try a few stories in "First Person". This is the first attempt. It was a little uneven at first but eventually I found a rhythm and I think the results are good. However the story for next week "The Red Pagoda" is probably my best First Person story ever. Get ready.<br /><br />That's a great thing to take on. Challenge yourself this week. Do something you've never done or something that is outside your comfort zone. I think it will do you well and perhaps get you jumpstarted on achieving your dreams and goals. The new year is coming fast so gear up on getting your dreams on!<br /><br />Once again send me your comments. And doesn't looking at this photo from Juba Williams make you want to explore Chicago all over again?<br /><br />-Be easy<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-116040373205386021?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1160370177298084482006-10-08T21:29:00.000-07:002006-10-08T22:02:57.323-07:00I felt as if I was coming undone, like I was breaking up into a million tiny pieces right then and there. I stood in my Mommas house, trying to get it together. I hoped I didn’t look as crazy as I felt. But the woman I thought I loved was standing there holding hands with my uncle.<br /><br />“So Danny, this is Tomeka, Steve’s girlfriend.” Momma said.<br />“Yeah nephew, I bet you ain’t got a woman this fine back in Chi-town.” Danny said as he turned to the beautiful woman. “Tomeka, Danny’s from Chicago to. Ya’ll know each other?<br />My mouth flapped open and I quickly closed it. I searched Steve’s eyes for a hint of accusation. He couldn’t know-could he?<br />Naw.<br />Impossible.<br />He’s just being Steve, half dumb and dead upstairs. What is she doing here? With him.<br />“Naw man. Chicago is a lot bigger than Columbus, Ohio.” I said.<br />“I know! I just figured two nerds like ya’ll would gravitate in the same intellectual circles.” He laughed. Tomeka rolled her eyes and gave a slanted smile.<br />“Nice to meet you,” she said as she offered me her hand. I watched it as it rose and hung in the air. I broke from my daze and grasped her hand softly.<br />“Nice to meet you as well.”<br />“Danny tell Steve, about your new car. Steve, Danny got one of those Lexus Sedans.”<br />“Aww, Momma, nobody wants to hear about that,” I said.<br />“Yeah Christine, I know I don’t want to hear about it.” Steve said as he draped his arm over Tomeka’s shoulders.<br />“Come on baby; let me introduce you to the rest of the family.”<br />The two walked into the living room where there were dozens of cousins, aunts, uncles, great aunts and everything else. Steve was as proud as a peacock to have Tomeka on his arm. She was by far the best looking and most dignified woman he had ever brought home. Now I have to be honest, I don’t hate my Uncle, but to say he gets on my nerves is an understatement. He is my momma’s baby brother and he is just three years older than me. The family treated us like brothers and he tormented me like all big brothers torment their younger brothers. I think it was something extra in what Steve dished out to me. You see, I was treated like the golden child and Steve was not. As a matter of fact, no one expected anything from him. I think it was mostly a curse he inherited from his father. See, Steve had a different daddy than my momma and the other brothers. Steve’s daddy was known as shiftless and dumb. I heard he couldn’t get a dollar without spending five. Everything everybody ever knew and believed about Steve’s daddy, they thought the same thing about Steve. And in a way he played into that.<br /><br /><br />But enough about him. I needed to know what she was doing at my momma’s house. Out of all the reunions I had blown off over the last five years, this is the one where I chose to reappear.<br />“Pretty isn’t she?” Momma said.<br />“Yeah, real pretty. How’d they meet?”<br />“Hmm. Steve said they met at the Ohio State.”<br />“What’s he doing at O-State? Or anyplace with books.”<br />“Danny, don’t be so mean. I know Steve’s bullied you over the years but that just comes with you all being so close in age. Besides he always had a dream of attending school there. I glad it’s happening for him.”<br />“Momma, bullying is not the word for what he put me through. That man made my life near hell, always making fun of me and just being a hater. Remember that time he hung that picture of me in my Underoos on my locker door. It took me the whole semester to live that down.”<br />“Look. You were a special child. Steve was just jealous cause he didn’t get as much attention. How would you feel if your younger nephew got all the praise and you were left out of the party? And it’s still a raw nerve today.” Momma said.<br />Her lips kept moving but I didn’t hear anything she was saying, all I could think about was Tomeka. I had only met her that one time in Chicago, but the moment we shared was right out of a book. It was so perfect. It felt like I feel asleep and God slipped one of my rib bones out and crafted a woman just for me. But how could it be that when she popped back into my life she’s with Steve? This is the same guy whose idea of a dinner date is showing up at the girl’s house with a bucket of chicken and a six pack. She was all style and grace and he was so… so… not either. I made up in my mind that I had to talk with her and see what the deal was. But I knew it was going to be a huge challenge. Since I hadn’t been at home in five years, everybody and their momma, literally, would want to talk with me. And my folks could talk. I guess you could tell that just how much my momma was running her mouth. Look at her mouth just moving and I ain’t paying her no attention. As I dialed back into my momma, she was still talking about Steve.<br /><br />“I probably shouldn’t have brought up your new car. Go easy on him. Especially since this you’re first time home in ten years.”<br />“It’s only been five Momma. I hear you. And for you-I’ll go easy on him. Now, what’s he doing at O-State?”<br />“He’s taking some classes. They opened up an Associates program and he went and signed up. I think things are turning around for him. College classes and that fine woman!”<br /><br />And it was that fine young woman that I spent the entire evening thinking about. Cousins and aunts engaged me in catch up conversation and all I could do was follow her with my eyes. She floated around the house freely as if she belonged there. But to me she was a foreigner. She didn’t fit. Everybody else was dull and mechanical while she was bright and shiny with an airy grace. I tried to work my way toward her; Steve had finally been pulled away by the basketball game. He had been hovering over her like somebody would come in a steal her; I guess he had every right to feel that way, cause that's what I planned to do.<br /><br /><br />She was alone. I tried to get over to her, but Grandma Sara cut me off.<br />“Oh my baby!” She cried. I cringed but quickly covered it up like I was overcome with emotion.<br />“Hey grandma.” I said as I gave her a hug, never taking my eyes of Tomeka. She looked at me with that slanted smile and walked into the kitchen.<br />“How has Grandma’s baby been?”<br />“Good Grandma. Real good.” I focused in on this small brown woman and came to myself. It had been so long since I saw her. My heart warmed up and we sat on the sofa. We talked about my job, and living in the big city and crime and her “stories” and what was really happening on General Hospital, and her new teeth and how much she missed grand dad. And in all that I didn’t feel anxious or want to rush through it. I was feeling at home, finally. I had almost forgotten about her. Tomeka. She didn’t look like a Tomeka. It sounds too common right? The woman I met six months ago was anything but common.<br /><br />She was a breathing bonfire. Energy contained and focused. Beautiful and elemental, no different than a star.<br />It was a lecture on the growing prison population in America. It was being held at the University of Chicago. She was a Grad student studying Political Science. I was there gathering info on a story I was working on for the paper. I noticed her right away. And I thought she was amazing. I could’ve cared less about those brothers getting locked up at that moment. For two hours I watched her hand glide back and forth over a yellow legal pad. She took copious notes. I thought I was falling in love. When she got up to ask a question. I didn’t even hear it. I just watched her mouth move up and down as I imagined what her voice would sound like.<br />I admit I was bugging out. Good thing I brought my tape recorder or all the good info for the story would've be gone. Afterwards there was a reception for the main speaker held in the hall of the lecture center. She stood alone at the refreshment table munching on shortbread cookies and drinking punch.<br /><br />I took a deep breath and walked over to the table. I reached for a cookie and tried not to pay her any attention. It was my way of being smooth, you know not sweating her. But then she threw me off when she stepped to me.<br />Softly she said, “So, what’s your name.” I stammered and nervously stuffed the cookie in my mouth.<br />I chewed and smiled and tried to force down the thick cookie so that I could answer. It wasn’t going down easy. She waited patiently and smiled that slanted smile. She handed me the cup she had been drinking from. I raised my eyebrows and she nodded.<br />I took a sip and swallowed the rest of the cookie. I gave a slight cough and handed her the cup.<br />“Go ahead and finish it.” She said. I did and my entire face flushed red. She giggled and brushed the hair from her eyes.<br />“My name is Daniel.” I said and blew an exasperated sigh at the small victory of saying my name.<br /><br />“Hi Daniel. How did you like the lecture?” she said. Having paid no attention to the lecture at all, I fixed my lips and lied through my teeth,<br />“Incredible. We have got to do something about all these black and brown brothers going upstate!” I said too passionately. She dipped her head and smiled at the floor. She knew I was full of crap. She looked up at me with gleaming eyes, her mouth a thin line and nodded.<br />“I’m Tomeka.” And from that moment I was sprung. We went and talked in the park not far from the University. It felt like we had known each other forever. It was so right. The next thing I knew the sun was coming up over the outstretched limbs of the trees.<br />“Is that the sun?” I said.<br />“Yeah it is.”<br />“I can’t believe we talked all night.”<br />“I can. You’re a pretty deep brother Danny.”<br />“Thank you; you put a few things in my head. Can I drive you home?”<br />“No. I live just around the corner.”<br /><br />“Oh, well let’s walk.” I said as we rose from the stone bench and cut through the park, stepping over the dew drop pearls in the grass. The birds sung their early morning hymns as we walked silently admiring the newborn day. As we reached her front door, she grabbed me by the shoulders and thrust me against the doorframe. She plunged into me. I opened up and we fell into a deep passionate kiss. I’m not sure how long it lasted but it wasn’t long enough. Before I could speak, she thrust a business card in my hand and was inside in the blink of an eye. I stood looking in; she turned and waved. And that was the last I saw her until that night at my momma’s house.<br /><br />“So baby, you gonna come back to see me in the morning? You know you don’t have to stay in that expensive hotel. We got your old room all ready.” Grandma Sara said.<br />“That’s O.K Grandma. Somebody else can have it. I’ll come by in the morning if you promise to fix me some of those blueberry pancakes.”<br /><br />“You know I will. Grand ma’s baby is back home. I’m gonna fix you the biggest breakfast ever. Help me up. Grand ma getting old sugar.”<br />“Naw, Grand ma you just as young as when I was a boy.”<br />“You were always a sweet boy. Not like Steve. That’s the laziest nigger ever born. I know, cause I birthed him. Just like his daddy. Wish he could have been like you.”<br />I just listened to her words. After listening to my momma, I felt for Steve. Grandma’s words cut at me. I never thought about what it must be like for him. To have everybody, your family, look down on you like you were nothing. I had it wrong all this time.<br />“And you know he trying to get his degree?”<br />“Yeah Momma told me. That’s good.”<br />“Ain’t gone make a difference. He still ain’t gone be nothing. Not like you. You were always special. And that girl of his seem like she be better off with you.” She said as she turned and walked toward the stairwell.<br /><br />“Good night sweetie, I’ll see you in the morning.” I watched Grandma Sara climb the stairs as she huffed and puffed all the way up. The rest of the family had taken the reunion into the basement. More than likely, there was a high stakes game of Bid Whist going on. Cards were being slammed on the table and people were being called out of their names. They always did the same thing, so I was sure that night was no different. Besides the ruckus in the basement the house was quiet. I walked to the kitchen and plunged my hand into a cooler and plucked out a bottle of beer. I leaned on the counter and stared at the refrigerator. It held assorted clips of stories I had written over the last few years. I thought of Steve and how he always got the short end of the stick. Especially when we were younger. He was only three years older than me but he was always three steps behind. They say I was potty trained before him and even talked before him. Grandma Sara and the rest of the family thought he was retarded for the first five years of his life and it seemed to me he had been battling from that standpoint ever since.<br /><br />I guess if I was him, I’d lash out at a little know-it-all that got all his mommas attention. Not that I deserved all the Indian burns and wedgies, but I could see how in his mind I was the source of his unhappiness. I took a deep sip of my beer and stepped out into the cool night air. I looked up at the stars and felt a peace come over me. I was home. When Momma called me and told me the date of the family reunion, I didn’t even bother with any of the ready excuses that she accepted over the years. I just said yes. I guess there was no reason why I was staying away other than I was just being selfish. I was glad I had come home.<br />“So. How’s it ride?”<br />I turned at the sound of her voice. Tomeka swung on the old swing set in my momma’s back yard, gliding smoothly through the air.<br />“Ride?”<br />“Earlier, your Momma said you had a new car.”<br />“Oh, yeah. Umm…” I trailed off as I fished for words to complete my thought, I stared at her in the swing, rising and falling, back and forth.<br /><br />Each time she swung into the sky her dress bloomed like a lily, her milky thighs gleamed in the silver tone of the moon. As she descended back towards earth, the glory of her was again hidden under her yellow sundress. I had a decision to make. I could let this go or I could find the words that would set things off.<br /><br />I continued, “…Umm, It rides well. It so good you feel guilty for the experience.” I said slyly as I licked my lips. I made my decision. Besides, what would Steve do with a woman like that?<br />“Really?” She said.<br />“Yeah.”<br />She brought the swing to a halt and just sat and smiled at me.<br />“Ok. Where should we really start?” She said. I nodded.<br />“What are you doing here?” I took a step towards her.<br />“I transferred to O-State. It was already in the works when I met you.”<br /><br />“Why didn’t you return any of my calls?” I took two more steps.<br />“I was feeling you, but Columbus is not around the corner. I didn’t want to get caught up over something that was temporary.”<br />“OK. How did you hook up with him?” I was right over her now. She stood slowly and looked up at me.<br />“I tutored him in English. He’s sweet.”<br />“That’s it. I would guess what we had that night was more than sweet.”<br />“Yeah, it was something extra alright. Look Danny. We really don’t know that much about each other. I can’t get into all right now, but let’s just say I need something simple right now. Something easy.”<br />“It won’t last.” I said. Then her pool like eyes froze over. She stepped back with her arms folded.<br /><br />“And why would you say that? Because he isn’t as smart as you? Doesn’t have a big time job? I’ve been here for six hours and I’ve seen everybody disregard him and treat him like a one-eyed stray. It’s sad. And I’m surprised at you.” She said.<br />I looked at her with a queasy feeling rumbling in my stomach. She was right. Because I wanted her so bad, I turned from the promise I had made to my Momma and myself just like that. Listening to her words, the words of an outsider made it all real to me. We did treat Steve like a one–eyed stray. I stepped back and said that I was sorry.<br />“Look all of this is just a big shock. I wasn’t sure how to react is all? I hope you and Steve have a long relationship.” I forced out those last words like they weighed a ton. She stepped up, right underneath me; her eyes were shimmering bodies of water again,<br />“You don’t mean that.” She whispered.<br />“So, what if I don’t?”<br />“Then you don’t and that’s it. I’m not going to tell you how you should feel. Just be right to your own blood.” I nodded and took in a deep breath of her perfume.<br /><br />“You can’t tell me you don’t feel that,” I said.<br />“I feel it. But ain’t nothing we can do about it now. I’m with Steve.”<br />I stammered and wanted to keep up the word play, to keep her in this space with me. It felt as if we were in a separate universe far away from anyone else. I knew that if I leaned in, that the exciting woman I meet that night in Chicago would welcome me. That’s what I wanted to believe anyway. But then I saw a vision of Steve when we were in grade school. He had dried tear tracks across his face. Grandma Sara had slapped him for stepping on my newly shined shoes. It was before my Martin Luther King “I Have a Dream Speech” down at the church. I remembered his eyes that day. Full of hurt and anger but also what I made out as disappointment. So much had been kept from him or snatched back, and I was not going to be the latest in line. As much as I wanted that woman, I could not take the sight of Steve with that hurt look of disappointment on his face. So I sacrificed my feelings. I couldn’t believe it but I did it for him.<br />I stepped back from Tomeka and nodded my head. I turned slowly although every muscle in my body fought against it. That pulling apart feeling came again, but I quickly pulled myself back together.<br />I left her outside in the moonlight. The two of us were never alone again that weekend.<br />I descended the stairs into the basement and the whole family was there playing Bid like I expected. They were really into it. They had four tables going and the laughter made the house shake. I caught Steve looking at me. He smiled and gave an upward nod.<br />“You wanna sit down with your Unc.” He said.<br />“Yeah, why not?”<br />“Cool. Alright me and Danny boy got next. You Negroes get prepared to lose all ya’ll money.” He bellowed. We had a great time together that weekend and I felt like I never left home. Tomeka and I caught glimpses of each other but it never went any further than that. I’m not sure how long they’re going to be together but Steve seemed happy. It was like Tomeka and those college classes were a bit of payback for the direction of the first quarter of his life. Who knows, maybe they’ll make it all the way and find some real happiness. Hmm, not sure how I’m going to make it through the next family reunion if she turns out to be my aunt.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-116037017729808448?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1159160627428120892006-09-24T21:54:00.000-07:002006-09-24T22:03:47.433-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2325/3509/1600/IMG_2584.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2325/3509/320/IMG_2584.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Good day my people!<br /><br />What are your dreams? Are you acting on them? Right now, whatever you desire you owe it to yourself to go after those dreams wholeheartedly. What are you waiting for? Seek God for direction and just plow ahead. No matter what. And if you find yourself without a dream, then it's time to get one. Do what you have to do, but it's time to set our eyes on things beyond the ordinary. Each one of you is special, let the manifestation of that specialness come out. Start today.<br /><br />-Be easy<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-115916062742812089?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1159158459502840072006-09-24T21:26:00.000-07:002006-09-24T21:54:09.606-07:00Percy was struck by the boldness of Jonas. He sat back with a thud and glared at the small man sitting across from him. Joe faded back knowing that something heavy was about to go down. Around the two there seemed to be a different atmosphere, like they were breathing different air. When Jonas began his story, it was as if they were drawn up onto a mountain, where the air was fresh and renewing. Joe felt it and stepped back into the hot stagnant air the rest of the club was taking in.<br />Percy rubbed his thumbs against his index fingers and his left eye twitched. Jonas launched right in.<br />“This is what went down Percy. It ain’t pretty but you got to know.”<br />“Why? I never wanted to know that side of you two. I knew about your lifestyle. You fools didn’t care who knew about your dope habit. Why I got to know any more than that,” Percy said.<br />“You need to know this because you made up your mind a long time ago that you was gonna hate me and Jimmy. And how you gonna hate your brothers and not somehow hate yourself.” Jonas said.<br /><br />He pulled his chair around closer to Percy and looked at him right in the eye.<br />“It was July 2005. We was at our lowest point…” Jonas said, as he shifted his focus from Percy to the center of the table. It was as if the scene was playing out for him there. Percy turned his head and focused in on the whiteness of the linen cloth and as the passionate tale unfurled from Jonas’ mouth, sepia images formed in front of Percy so that he could see as well. He saw Jimmy and Jonas, sitting on a curb looking like hobos. This is what he saw…<br /><br />It was their ratty time. A time of desperation so thick, they could taste it. It was cold and slick. That was about the only thing they were eating now-a-days. Besides heroin, they only thing Jonas and Jimmy digested were Twinkies and crap. The Twinkies they stole from Arab stores all over the low-end and the crap they fed to each other on a myriad of topics such as,<br /><br />‘I got some money coming in and I’m gone give you half.’<br />Or<br />‘I didn’t shoot the last of the stuff; for real.’<br /><br />And the biggest load yet<br /><br />‘One day, we gone get off this heron and get our band back together.’<br /><br />Neither of them believed any thing the other said anymore, but they just kept on talking because they were used to the sounds of each others voices.<br />“So how long we got to stand here?” Jimmy said.<br />“Till he come back. Why? Where you got to go?” Jonas said.<br />“What? You think I ain’t got places I can go? I’m Jimmy Johnson. Best damn horn player north of Orleans.”<br />“First off. No! You ain’t got no where else to go. How I know? Cause you been following behind me for the last two years and I knows everything about you. And two, you ain’t been that Jimmy Johnson since 96.”<br />“What you mean that Jimmy Johnson, I’m still me.”<br />“Naw. That Jimmy was important, had mayors calling him for private shows and had the best women with the fattest romps shaking it for him in every town, that Jimmy Johnson, had a stash of Coke and Heron so good that your mind be blown for days. You on the other hand is a different nigger all together. Ain’t nobody calling you cause you ain’t got a phone, no woman will have you except them crack heads and that’s only if they think you got five dollars, and we ain’t had no real good dope since that show we did in<br />St. Louis in 06. Matter of fact you should just change your name to something else, maybe Roy or something like that.” Jonas cackled. Jimmy put his hands on his hips and glared.<br />“I don’t know why I bother with you? You would have been dead if it wasn’t for me.” Jimmy said<br />“So why you stay? Just to keep the buzzards off my bones? Please, you here with me now because that fool gonna be brining that stuff in a minute. And you wants to get high cause you a junkie. Ain’t that nothing, from a high class trumpet player to just plain old high.”<br />“Don’t get to high and mighty. You was on the bandstand next to me with a sax in your hand all them years and now you on the corner of 43rd street still right next to me. What that say about you? Huh Jonas? You were in my shadow then and we had the world by the balls. And now we just dust and you still can’t measure up.” Jimmy said.<br /><br />Jonas stepped off the curb looking into the distance.<br />“Whatever man. I know when that fool come with my stuff you gonna be all on my jock, trying to get some. That there is the equalizer.”<br />“Yeah?” Jimmy said<br />“Yeah.”<br />Jimmy sat on the curb and was silent. He reached into the plastic shopping bag he carried and pulled out the torn brown leather case that held his trumpet. It was polished and clean like it was fresh from a store window. Jimmy raised it and pursed his lips.<br />“I know you ain’t getting ready to blow that damn horn?” Jonas said.<br />“I thought I might play a little something.”<br />“In the middle of the day, on a city corner and you ’bout to play a horn.”<br />“It was so quiet for a second; it just seemed like a perfect place to fit some music in. You just jealous.”<br />“Jealous? Of what!?” Jonas said.<br />“The fact I still got my horn. I ain’t pawn mine like you did.”<br />“So, you’re judging me? Ain’t that nothing? So I guess you forgot that I sold my horn cause you was sick and begging for a hit. You forgot that? We been friends since before we had teeth and you forget a sacrifice like that? That’s damn near Christ like.”<br />“You is a fool.”<br />“Why? You sensitive to Christ now? You feelin’ the spirit coming over ya?” Jonas said as he threw up his hands and rolled his eyes to the back of his head.<br />“Naw fool, because if the shoe was on the other foot, I would have let you stay sick before I sold my horn.”<br />“Hmm. That’s the difference between you and me Jimmy. I’m a just a giver. But you’ve insulted me so bad I might stop giving starting with this package that’s gonna be here real soon.” Jonas said<br />“Keep your package. Who knows? Maybe yesterday was my last time getting high,” said Jimmy.<br />“And how that gonna happen?”<br />Maybe I’ll play my horn, right on through this thang. Maybe I’ll play myself into tomorrow, you know with no heroin when I get there. Then I just keep on blowing down the days until years have gone by and the dope is just a memory, far away like.” Jimmy raised the horn to his lips. Jonas sat on the curb near his friend and was quiet for a few seconds.<br />“Jimmy? That sound pretty and all, but you and I both know that when the man get here, you gonna shoot that crap right into you vein like you always do. Ain’t no tomorrow for us man. Ain’t you figured it out yet? Once we got off that bandstand, tomorrow stopped coming. It’s only today. And today you a junkie, who needs to get high. Nothing more. Here they come now. Stand up and try not to look like a bum.”<br />“What’s up man?” Jonas said as the big black hulk of a truck pulled right up to the two. The rat-faced man who hung out the window glared at them.<br />“Look here. I just over here cause Bo sent me. I don’t believe in dealing with fiends.”<br />“Who a fiend? You act like you Sidney Poitier or something,” said Jimmy. Jonas quickly shoved his elbow into Jimmy’s side.<br />“Don’t pay him no mind, he getting a little sick and is out of his head.” Jonas violently through his head in the direction of a vacant lot. Jimmy sucked his teeth and slowly floated away from the SUV.<br />Jimmy walked halfway up the block and stood by a pay phone. He picked it up and was surprised that there was a dial tone. He listened to the small hum and stared at Jonas accepting a package from rat face. He had no clue what Jonas had done to get a freebie hand delivered by the dope man himself. He saw the rings on the hands of rat face and thought about the time he wore three large golden rings on his left hand. It made the women crazy when he would push them valves on the trumpet and the gold and diamonds would sparkle. How far they had come.<br />He fished around in his pocket until his fingers slipped around some change. He plucked out fifty cents and dropped the coins into the slot and listened for the click-click, he began to dial and took in a deep breath as the phone started to ring.<br />Rat face pulled off leaving Jonas in a cloud of dust.He turned and went over to Jimmy.<br />“Who you talking to?” Jimmy just stood and made no move to shush Jonas. Jonas started to speak when he noticed the granite mask of sadness on the face of his friend. He watched closely as Jimmy flinched and slightly bobbed his head as if he was dipping blows thrown by an opponent. Then Jonas felt his heart quiver as a tear rolled down Jimmy’s pock-marked face. Softly Jimmy hung up the phone and bowed his head.<br />“Jimmy?” Jonas whispered.<br />“Don’t worry about it. You got the stuff.”<br />“Who was that on the phone?”<br />“I said don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about nothing. Where’s my horn. I need to get high.”<br /><br />Back in the club, Jonas looked up from the space in the middle of the table. He and Percy stared at each other.<br />“I put it together later. It was you on the phone that day Percy. You remember that? You should. It was the last day you spoke to Jimmy. He called you and asked for your help. He wanted to come home. It was the first time since we dropped into hell that he asked for help. He knew how you felt and how he repulsed you. But he’d had enough. He wanted out but he didn’t know how to do it without you. He knew I wasn’t gonna be no help, we was both lost in the maze. But you tore him up. I couldn’t hear you but I know you and I saw his face. It was as if he was laid open and his insides lit up on fire. Later that day we was in an empty building getting ready to cook up some of the stuff. It was three days worth. I went to take a dump in the other room. When I finished my business and went back to get my share of the heron, that’s when I saw Jimmy with a whole syringe ready to shoot into his arm, way too much. He had cooked up the whole bag. It was enough to kill twenty niggers. I opened my mouth and nothing came out. I watched as Jimmy pushed down the plunger and shot two dozen highs into his vein. He rocked back and then slumped over. I ran over to him and I knew it wasn’t no good to ask him why. We had a real short time and I just grabbed him up and listened. He gasped for breath and said, how he had finished and that you would be proud of him.<br />Then the heron hit his brain like a sledge hammer. He dug his nails into my arm so deep that he drew blood. But I held on. I didn’t want him to fall off into the darkness with out feeling my warmth. The light that laid in his eyes, you remember it used to blaze all golden, especially when he played, that flashed for a moment and then it got dim like a sunset and then was gone. I can’t say I didn’t think about the dope and how I was gonna be sick as hell later on, but at least it wasn’t the most important thang as it had been. I called the police and that was that. You know the rest.”<br />The band was kicking into another number. It started with the high hat and then the bass drum. The piano started in and Percy slumped low and his eyes rolled back. The tears came in torrents. Jonas handed some torn and yellowing pages to Percy.<br />“Is that what I think it is?” Percy said.<br />“He wanted you to hear it. This is Jimmy’s last composition. He started it when we first started the ‘Cats’. I remember it was the finest music ever written, you were snapping like it was from God’s hand. But Jimmy never finished. Then the heron came and we all gave up on it. We went on doing some good stuff, but nothing had the promise of this.” Jonas said pointing at the pages.<br />“Can you believe that as we were living in the muck he finished something as beautiful as this? Damn, what we could have been.”<br />Percy took the pages without looking up. He sobbed and his tears fell hard like silver nickels upon the yellowed composition. As the band played on, Percy looked up toward the bandstand and they were in full swing. The crowd moved in unison and pressed against one another, forming one body.<br />Percy turned toward Jonas and placed his hand on his shoulder.<br />“Why?”<br />“Because Jimmy told me to. I read that music over and over again and each time it was like he spoke to me. Everything he was, was in those notes, the ups and downs, the movements, the rhythms, his laugh, his cry. He wanted you to know that what he had become was not all of who he was.”<br />Percy drew in a deep breath,<br />“You know I hated him, for what he did to himself. He was our shining star, man. And he threw it away. Ever since he was a baby, my family knew that he was special. So, it was my job to watch out for him. To protect him from an ugly world hell bent on killing anythang beautiful. God, when he blew that horn it was like I could dream that I was beautiful to. I think that what it was. In the wake of his music we could all dream we was better. I felt like a golden angel. And God loved me. He didn’t see my sin or smell my funk. Jimmy blew it away. So I needed him to play. We all did. And he threw it all away. And I hated him for it. So the day he called, I let him have all that hate and resentment full blast. Told him that he might as well have stuck a knife in his momma’s heart with how he turned out, that he spit in his daddy’s face. Said he wasn’t fit to have our name. I didn’t think about how I could have saved him. I just focused on his failure to save me.” Percy said.<br />“He didn’t blame you. He knew he had put you through so much. Lying, stealing. I think he half expected your reaction. But now is the time to let it go and to understand that salvation comes from a high throne and not from Jimmy’s horn. Forgive him and yourself and then maybe you can forgive me. I am so sorry Percy, for everything.”<br />Percy grabbed Jonas’ hand and held it tight. They held on to each other as the band played Jimmy’s song. It built into a voluminous height and the crowd cheered as the trumpet player hit Jimmy’s last note.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-115915845950284007?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1158557186441460852006-09-17T22:15:00.000-07:002006-09-17T22:26:26.443-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2325/3509/1600/IMG_2573.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2325/3509/320/IMG_2573.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Hello my people.<br /><br />It feels as if its been a long time since I've communicated with you. I may have to start posting more often. Below is part 1 of a new story called Jimmy's Last Note. It's a piece I had in mind for a few weeks but I didn't start until I started my Advanced Fiction class at Columbia. I feel good about where the story is going. Let me know your thoughts on it. This will help me in my creation of the second half.<br /><br />Here is a great shot from my boy Juba Williams, who in addition to being a great photographer is also a chef in training at Washburn. He is really one to go for his dreams. Have a great week and enjoy the story.<br /><br />-Be easy<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-115855718644146085?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1158556293749826442006-09-17T22:00:00.000-07:002006-09-17T22:28:23.026-07:00Big Percy Johnson stood outside the Tiger Lounge and took a deep sniff of the night air. It had been five years since he’d been back. Looking at the crowd of people standing, waiting to get inside, the memories of his early years in the music game came back to him in a rush. The Jazz Cats was the name of his group. They played all over the country and were building up a great following that only could have lead them to a record deal. He was Baritone sax and Jonas, his best friend, was Tenor. Bobby Stacks was on bass, Pete-Mo Billings was on drums and Percy’s little brother, Jimmy was on trumpet.<br /><br />Jimmy.<br />He was the star. His trumpet was unlike anything Percy had every heard then or since. He was special. It was like he could tap into what you were feeling and then blow some notes to soothe your soul.<br />For Percy, it was amazing to witness to Jimmy's brilliance and complete despair to watch his demise. Percy stopped playing after Jimmy died and went into the corporate side of the music biz. It was easier than he thought to walk away from writing and playing. It took heart and soul to play Jazz and when Jimmy passed, Percy lost most of his soul and all of his heart. Where his heart used to be was a smoldering sphere of black coal that would glow ruby red hot when he would get mad. His temper was always pretty short, even when they were kids, but Jimmy would play something sweet and soft and chill Percy down real quick. With Jimmy gone; ain’t nothing soft nor sweet in Percy's life.<br />He was bumped back from his memories by a loud woman with a shrill voice that cut into his ear drums like a serrated steak knife. The grimace on his face grew larger and he decided to get this over with. He maneuvered his way through the crowd toward the door. He stopped at the velvet rope and waited for the bouncer to allow him in. Percy looked up in to the night sky and sighed.<br />‘Why am I here?’ he thought. He brought his gaze back down to earth and locked eyes with the muscle bound bouncer.<br />“You gonna let me in or what?” Percy said<br />“Ain’t time yet,” The bouncer said dismissively.<br />“Well, brother, I ain’t on your time.”<br />The bouncer looked at Percy and saw the size of the man and the intensity in his eyes. Percy stood six–six and at least three hundred pounds. His hands were the size of catcher’s mitts. Percy took a deep breath and his chest expanded the size of a wooden barrel. Percy pursed his lips and sucked his left eyetooth.<br /><br />Tsk<br />“Who you supposed to be?” said the bouncer.<br />Percy took a step forward and before he could answer the bouncer someone did it for him.<br />“That’s Big Percy Johnson,” said a short round man in a bright purple suit with matching alligator-skin shoes.<br />Percy stood down and looked with a crooked smile.<br />“Joe? Joe Phillips? You still managing this dump for old man Sly?” Percy said as his temper cooled.<br />“Yeah, it’s me man. And no I ain’t the manager, I own it now.”<br />“What? You were fool enough to do that,” said Percy.<br />“It’s packed ain’t it? Shoot, the Tiger Lounge has been updated for the new millennium. Wait till you see it. Um, watch out Steve. Let the man in,” he said to the bouncer. Slowly the bouncer unhooked the rope and stepped aside. Percy stared him down as he stepped over. He sucked his left tooth as he did so,<br />Tsk<br />“Come on now Percy. Don’t know what went down, but don’t be sucking your teeth around here.”<br />“What are you talking about?”<br />“You know what I’m talking about.”<br />“No I don’t.”<br />“Every time you get to sucking them teeth of yours that means you done reached your point and somebody about to get popped.”<br />Percy started to object, but realized Joe was right.<br />The two walked through a short hallway and Joe nodded to the girl working the coat check.<br />“I heard you moved up at Jazz-Note records. A big record exec. Can’t come see your old friends no more huh?” Joe said.<br />“Been busy.”<br />“Busy? O.k. Percy. Tell me anything.”<br />Percy stopped and turned to Joe. “What you talking about Joe?”<br />“Well’ I know why you down here and it ain’t to get reacquainted with me.” Joe said as Percy rolled his eyes.<br />“So, is he going around telling everybody about this little meeting?”<br />“Naw, he ain’t. But he did come to me for advice. He really wants to make this right with you man. It was messed up what went down, but maybe it’s more to it than you know about.” Joe said. Percy threw his heard back and stared up at the ceiling as the crowd came in from the outside.<br />“Let’s go up to my office and talk.” Joe said as he opened a side door with a flight of stairs going up. Percy stepped into the small passage way and followed Joe to a dimly lit office that was full of plush, leather furniture. There was leather everywhere, even on the walls. There was a velvet painting of a naked woman as black as midnight with a huge afro and protruding brown nipples hanging on the wall above a thick cherry wood desk trimmed and topped with deep smoky leather. There was a huge plate glass window that over looked the inside of the club.<br />“You’ve come up. When’d you have all this built?” Percy said.<br />“Two days after the old man sold it to me. Had to put my stamp on it ya know?”<br />“Yeah, I feel you. So Joe, what you know about all this?”<br />“Just that your former best friend is hurting, bad.”<br />“He need to hurt. It’s because of him, Jimmy got hooked on that dope.” Percy said.<br />“How you know it wasn’t the other way ’round? I mean, Jimmy played like an angel, but he was anything but. Now God bless the dead and all Percy, but let’s be real.” Joe said. Percy turned from him and walked over to the window and stared down on the club as it slowly filled with willing participants ready for a night of revelry.<br />“That was my baby brother Joe and he dead. I think I have a right to be a little pissed about that.”<br />“Pissed? O.K. But for how long? And at who? Man look at you. You look like you about to blow. And I know it ain’t just cause of tonight. I heard about that producer you got rough with up in Philly,” Joe said.<br />“He was behind schedule and he was overcharging the company.” Percy said.<br />“So you hung him out a window until he begged like a little girl to be brought in. That sound normal to you?”<br />“What the hell is normal? I don’t play. And anybody that do play with me deserve what I give them.” Percy said as he turned around, eyes wide.<br />“O.K. Percy. I didn’t bring you up here to solve all your issues. Just to let you know that Jonas is hurting and has been since Jimmy died. It’s been five years, he just wants to talk with you is all.<br />“Oh, I’ll talk with him all right...” Percy said with Joe cutting him off.<br />“And I mean just talk. You damn near killed that boy at Jimmy’s funeral. Just listen to what he got to say. He tried to apologize that day but couldn’t get it out cause of your hands around his neck,” Joe said. Percy nodded his head slowly and looked at his old friend.<br />“O.K. You got it Joe. You was always the man. So. Where he at?<br />Joe pointed out the huge window, “Table over there in the far corner of the room. I believe this is gonna help both of you. Take it light brother,” Joe said as he gave Percy a big hug. Percy stood with his arms in mid-air and then slowly returned Joe’s embrace.<br /><br />When Percy stepped into the main area of the club, it was like he jumped into a wild scene during a Mardi gras vacation. People of all shapes, sizes and colors where dressed to the nines in the loudest fashions that all shouted ‘Look at me, honey!’<br />The beat was furious, it was a sticky groove that fused Zydeco and funk; there was a brother the size and height of a flag pole blowing the trombone like his life depended on it. He pumped that golden horn rapid fire style and laid down a few party goers. Percy felt his head bopping’. This was a way he had not experience music in years. Up until that point it had been through CD in his fiftieth story office, giving a thumb up or down to a group. But here now he was in the midst of creation. This place, with this music was it’s own universe that constantly expanded with each new note.<br />He danced through the crowd towards the table in the far corner. The dancing crowd parted for him. Percy had forgotten about the anxiety of the night and was enjoying the music, until he saw Jonas sitting alone, waiting.<br />As he stood a few feet from the table Percy looked down on him and Jonas looked up. They stared for a moment and Percy saw a speck of sadness, shaded behind a stillness that suggested peace. This caused Percy to boil. The anxiety was back. It was the peace that pissed him off. It had been so long since he had any peace himself and here was the man he held responsible for his brother’s death; steeped in peace.<br />“Percy. I’m glad you came brother. It’s been a long time,” Jonas said as he stood with his hand extended. Percy stood as still as a planted oak tree. Not daring to move an inch. Jonas left his hand there waiting.<br />“Might as well put your hand down.” Percy said finally as he grabbed a chair and dumped his large body in to it. Jonas shook his head as if to say he understood and sat also.<br />“You looking good man. Eating on an executives salary must be the life? What you putting down? Steak and lobster every night?” he said laughing. Percy just stared. Jonas cut off his laugh awkwardly and before he could speak again, Percy had signaled for the waitress.<br />“Yes sir? What can I get you?” the cocoa-brown girl said.<br />“Uh, let me get a Hennessey, straight, um, ya’ll got dessert?” He said.<br />“Yes, we have cheesecake, Tiramisu and...”<br />“Tiramisu, that’s it. Get me an extra big piece of that.”<br />“Tiramisu and Cognac? You don’t want any coffee or tea.” She said. Percy glared at her. Without another word, she was gone putting in his order. Percy reached into his jacket and pulled out a long cigar.<br />“Same old Percy. You always had some strange taste.”<br />“Look man what you want? My time is short.” He said as he lit up the cigar, making sure to blow the smoke in Jonas’ direction. Jonas took in the smoke and began to cough. He felt his body temperature go up ten degrees. Getting slapped up by Percy was on his mind, but that was not his biggest fear. Dealing with Jimmy’s death and speaking about the unspeakable. Jonas swallowed hard and tried to find the words. It seemed the more nervous he became, the more relaxed Percy was. There was still the smoldering intensity, but it was masked by a coolness that was even more unsettling. Jonas couldn’t wait any longer. He sat forward in his chair and opened his mouth,<br />“O.K., a slice a Tiramisu and a Hennessey,” said the cocoa-brown waitress. She placed the saucer of cake down on the white linen table cloth and then she sat down the glass of deep brown liquor. Jonas just looked at the table waiting for another chance. Percy peeled off two twentys and placed them on the waitresses serving tray.<br />“Keep the change.” He said without taking his eyes off Jonas.<br />“You was about to say something?” Percy said sarcastically.<br />Jonas sat up and looked at Percy and took in a deep breath. Percy slammed the fork into the mound of dessert and pulled out a big hunking piece and stuffed it in his mouth when Jonas said,<br />“Percy. I loved Jimmy and I am sorry for my part in everything. But I shouldn’t be the only one to carry this weight, man. You’re just as much to blame for Jimmy’s death as I am.”<br />Percy’s eyes widened like saucers and went blank. He froze in mid-chew with the fork hanging in the air. Slowly, Percy started to move again. His eyes were wild streams of fire. He gulped the remains of the Tiramisu that rested on the edge of his throat. The fork that hung harmlessly in the air was now gripped like a dagger. The shoe was now on the other foot. Although he was in more danger than before, Jonas rested in the fact that he did the right thing.<br />Percy sat forward so forcefully that he drove the small table into Jonas’ lap. The composure that Percy had<br />before was gone. He was in a rage. He shook and his eyes bulged. He threw his arms in the air and took on the posture of a gamecock ready to strike.<br />“What’s that?" He said in a voice two octaves higher than his usual tenor. “Come again.”<br />“You heard me Percy. I brought you down here to tell you the truth so that we could put this past us. I miss Jimmy just as much as you. But you blaming me, hating me and him is wrong,” said Jonas. Percy slammed his huge fist down on the table sending his drink sprawling. People who were nearby, turned and looked at the scene that was developing. Joe bounded over.<br />“Percy? Everything O.K?” He said nervously. Slowly and in a whisper Percy said,<br />“Joe. You may want to call the police. Cause I think I fight is about to break out.”<br />“Now … now… Percy. You ain’t been in my joint in five years. Don’t let your first time back be no brawl. Just keep it cool and hear the man out.” Joe said as he slowly stepped back like a man backing away from a case of unstable dynamite.<br />Jonas continued “I’m not blaming you for the drugs. Me and Jimmy put them needles in our arms. Nobody else. I take responsibility for my part. But you was family. All Jimmy had, and you turned your back on him. After he couldn’t play the horn no more, losing you was the last straw. It’s time you faced this Percy.”<br />“You must be ready to die tonight Jonas? You know I could have choked you to death at the funeral. But you obviously want me to finish the job.” Percy said.<br />Jonas waved his hand. “You ain’t gonna do nothing Percy. Cause you want to hear this. I know you been suffering for the last five years. I felt your pain. It linked up with mine and damn near killed me. I have been to the brink Percy and I ain’t scared no more. We all grew up together man, like brothers. I lost family too. He was my heart and every time I think about us having fun and getting high, its like a knife plunging into my chest. Everyday Percy! And I know you felt it too. I’m here to start the mourning process Percy. You and me. Because until we do, that knife is just gonna keep coming down killing us both slowly. So sit back Percy, I got a story to tell ya."<br /><br />To be continued<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-115855629374982644?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1157944766795532182006-09-10T19:53:00.000-07:002006-09-10T20:19:26.873-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2325/3509/1600/IMG_2580.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2325/3509/320/IMG_2580.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />First let me say that there won't be a new story today. I know... I'm just as disappointed as you are.<br /><br />I started back to school last week, and quite frankly, I was a bit rusty. Even though I write a lot already, starting back with classes after a full year lay-off took a toll on me. The words were there but the mental stamina to get them on the page was not with me. I expect this will be a short lived issue. It has to be or else I'll flunk my Advanced Fiction Class.<br /><br />There is a story floating around in my head, it's entitled "Jimmy's Last Note" It will be next week's story -- I promise.<br /><br />But I do have another Photo from Juba Williams. Take it in and enjoy.<br /><br />These are exciting times for me. And I want to thank all of you who have been faithful enough to stick with me the last few weeks. Artful Passages will be going up another level, so stay tuned. In the mean time, Don't just read my stories and then file the experience away. It is my hope that a seed is planted that prospers into a new way of being for you. That you discover the artist that is within you. That you learn to see the natural beauty of life, if you don't already.<br /><br />I wish you all the best this week. I have to go now, I have tons of homework to do.<br /><br />-Be easy<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-115794476679553218?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1157344178919740262006-09-03T21:17:00.000-07:002006-09-03T21:31:05.596-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2325/3509/1600/IMG_2568.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2325/3509/320/IMG_2568.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Happy Holidays<br /><br />The second installment of the story "White Tea and Ginger" is below. I hope the conclusion was worth the wait. If you haven't peeped the first half, just scroll down or click the link to your right.<br /><br />Featured in this post is a photo from a good friend of mine. It turns out that I've known this brother and never knew that he was a photographer. I mean a straight up artist with the camera. His name is Juba Williams. I was floored by his work and I will be sharing his shots with you over the upcoming weeks. Let me know what you think of his work plus any thoughts or comments about the story.<br /><br />Also, just a heads up. I'll be starting back to Grad school on Tuesday. So the stories may take on a different flavor. Since I'm in school for creative writing, they tend to have you try different styles and voices. So get ready, it should be fun. I love you all. Enjoy your holiday.<br /><br />-Be easy<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-115734417891974026?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1157342048646899342006-09-03T20:50:00.000-07:002006-09-03T21:59:39.913-07:00John Hamilton was a small man but it was as if he was carved from Cedar wood. His thin arms were covered in lean muscles and veins that always protruded no matter what he was doing. Even at the ripe age of sixty-four he could still arm wrestle with the youngsters and win.<br /><br />John was busy pulling weeds and he wore a pair of old beat up overalls with no shirt underneath. The sheen of sweat that covered his body was more like a badge of pride than anything. Hard work was something that Daddy Hamilton took very serious. He instilled that same thing in Donald.<br /><br />As Donald walked toward the gate, Daddy Hamilton looked up and a broad smile spread across his face.<br /><br />“Hey son! How you?” he asked slowly rising to greet his boy. Donald extended his hand and gave his father a limp shake that told his father an entire story.<br /><br />“You done got into it with Elise,” he said.<br />“How you know?” Donald said.<br />“Cause of that handshake. It was weak and unsure. It felt like you been beat down like a stray puppy.”<br />“Yeah, it feels like it. I think she cheatin’ on me pop.” Donald said.<br />“That’s dumb. Elise ain’t cheatin’ on you.”<br />“Yeah, well how you know?” Donald said.<br />“Cause I know her. Just like you know her. You know she ain’t stepping out on you?”<br />“Stepping in is more like it,” said Donald.<br />“What you mean,” said Daddy Hamilton.<br />“I think the man was the exterminator.”<br />“No. I don’t believe it. And neither do you. I can hear it in your voice. Tell me what’s really going on?” he said.<br /><br />Donald stepped inside the yard and followed his father to the iron patio set that stood under the old oak tree in his backyard.<br /><br />“You want something to drink. I got lemonade in the fridge.”<br /><br />Donald nodded yes and slumped into the chair as his father went into the backdoor of the house. Donald looked around the yard and swore he heard his momma singing. It had been seven years since she had passed.<br />Daddy Hamilton returned with two tall glasses of lemonade the color of the sun. He placed one in front of Donald and then he sat.<br /><br />“You don’t look good boy.”<br />“I don’t feel good... Daddy. My marriage may be over. And the sad thing is... I can’t tell you why,” he said.<br />Daddy Hamilton thought for a minute and then said,<br />“Your marriage ain’t ending and I know it.”<br />“How you know?” Donald said.<br />“Cause I’m old and wise.” Daddy Hamilton said laughing.<br />“Let me tell you a story…”<br /><br />“It was the end of the school year. It was 1955 and I had just finished up my junior year. We was all as happy as a gambler on payday. My friends and I ran out into the summer sun like our lives depended on it. Now down in Monroe County, Mississippi we had us a tradition. Ever school year the high school kids would gather up in the north section of Old man Tilden’s land for an end of year picnic. It was always a great time. Hmm, just talking about it now makes my eyes weep. Monroe County was always alive. More fully than any place I’ve ever been before. The colors were brighter, the sounds sharper and when you laughed, it seemed to be over the slightest thing and seemed to last forever. So there we were out in the field having a grand old time.<br /><br />Me and my buddies were munching on cold chicken and potato salad. There were kids everywhere. Their smiling brown faces were brighter than the sun. I saw your momma across the way sitting with some of her friends and old David Winston. He was the mayor’s son. All the young girls wanted him cause of what his daddy had and not who he was. That’s what I reckoned anyway. Well, your momma wasn’t no different. She sat there listening at him run his mouth like what he was saying was Holy Scripture. My boy Lelo pointed this out to me. I was acting like I wasn’t paying no attention. But of course I was. I told old Lelo, that didn’t phase me none. Beside me and your momma had only gone for ice cream down at the general store once. Wasn’t like we was going steady. But I had to admit my heart had a slight crack in it. I wanted to have more ice cream with Anna-Mae Scott.<br /><br />But as long as she was sitting in David Winston’s face, I knew I didn’t have a chance. I mean David looked the part. He looked like every little girl’s description of what her husband should be. He was tall and handsome and was the color of tan coffee. His family had money and more than likely he would be mayor like his daddy. How was I going to compete with that? Anyway as the day went on, folks was playing games and partnering up with potential sweet hearts, so when the stars came out they could have somebody to whisper them sweet nothings with. I was sour thinking about your momma and David Winston. I felt I needed to be with her under them stars, whispering her name.<br /><br />Just as I was getting lost in my daydream, a scream ripped through my ears and froze the whole crowd. Everybody looked around with wide eyes for the source of the horrifying bellow.<br />Lelo stood and pointed due north. I jumped up myself and was terrified of what I saw. It was Petey Thompson bearing down on the group and he was in a frenzy. He was drenched in sweat and his shirt lay off his shoulders as if something tried to rip it off. That something was right on his heels. Petey was being chased by Old man Simpson’s guard dog; Bear. They called him Bear not cause he looked like one, but because he was bigger than any grizzly God ever made. Old man Simpson was the meanest man in the county and he didn’t mind that Bear got out from time to time and terrorized everybody in town. Simpson was the biggest farmer and landowner so everyone was scared of him. That’s the only reason nobody had put a bullet into old Bear.<br /><br />By this time, everybody saw what was going on and man they all took off like a flash. You would have though them Negroes was part chimp the way they got up in them trees. Petey was able to get into an oak tree before Bear could get a hold of him. Bear took off toward the middle of the field just a barking and slobbering, nipping at the heels of those who were not fast climbers. Looking down on it all, I saw that everybody was safe.<br /><br />But just then coming from the edge of the woods was Anna-Mae and David Winston. They had gone for a walk down by the creek and missed the beginnings of the ruckus. I called out to warn them, but they didn’t hear me. But Bear did. He locked on to his new targets and rushed in ready to attack.<br /><br />David turned a pale white and screamed louder than a new born babe separated from his momma’s tit. Till this day I’ve never heard a man scream so high. In less than a second he was on the third branch of a nearby tree, leaving Anna-Mae all alone. She tried to run away but her fear made he legs heavy like concrete blocks.<br /><br />My heart slammed into the back of my throat. Bear would be on her in no time. Without another thought I was out of that tree running toward that big brown monster. I bent and picked up a stone. I took a mighty wind up and let that stone fly. It hit Bear right on the top of his head. He was literally on top of your momma. He turned and rushed at me. His eyes were full of fire. He was now coming for me. I could feel his hot breath in my face; I closed my eyes and called on God. That’s when I heard the shot. I fell back and Bear landed near me. I rolled to the right and looked up. It was Old man Tilden. He had shot Bear dead. I looked and saw his huge carcass laying not more than five feet from me. He lay on one side and his stomach moved real fast as he tried to catch his breath. Blood ran out the side of his mouth. Then he stopped. Bear was dead.<br /><br />Old man Tilden had made a dead eye shot from twenty feet away. I thanked God.<br />The rest of the kids started coming down from the trees. Old man Tilden sent every one home. The day was over.<br /><br />Lelo came over and shook my hand until my arm almost fell off. He was going on about how I was a hero and such, and darn if every other kid wasn’t lined up to shake my hand and congratulate me. I saw David Winston slink away through the woods, too ashamed to face the rest of us. Anna Mae stood near by also taking audience with the young ladies who wanted to hear about how afraid she was. After the last kid congratulated me, Lelo and I started for home. Just then Anna-Mae called out my name. She ran over just as dainty as she could muster and gave me a great big hug and called me her hero. Said I saved her. Lelo saw what was going on, and he walked home with some of the other kids. Anna-Mae and I walked alone, hand in hand.”<br /><br />“Man that was an awesome story Daddy. I never knew that.” Donald said.<br />“Hmm, I guess it was rolling around in my head waiting on the right time to come out. So what am I saying son?” Daddy Hamilton said. Donald squenched his eyes and tilted his head.<br />“I’m not sure. Was that supposed to help me?”<br />“Yes. You never had much of an imagination. I’ll make it plain. It was my destiny to love your momma. God said so. That day with old Bear, my destiny was in jeopardy. When I saw your momma in danger I knew I had to save her. I had to sacrifice myself for her. I was born to love her, son and when you realize that, you’ll do anything to keep your Elise safe and happy. You were born to love her. You two had that glow about you. But lately that glow is gone. What are you going to do to save her?”<br />Donald thought about that and shook his head.<br />“I don’t know Daddy. Things were perfect between us and then she just started pulling away.”<br />“When was this?” Daddy Hamilton said.<br />“Hmm, when I started the business about three years ago.” Donald said.<br />“That’s it.” Daddy Hamilton said.<br />“What?”<br />“You pulled away first and she’s just fed up is all,” Daddy Hamilton said as he winked at his son.<br />“Me starting my business ain’t have nothing to do with Elise pulling away from me. Especially with her cheating on me,” Donald said in an agitated tone.<br />“Son. You pulled away from everybody when you got your shop up and running. You was real cold. Not like you at all. So I can’t imagine what you was like with Elise. I’m sorry but it’s true. You turned into a cold fish. Got to worrying about this and that and forgot that you had a sweetheart to care about.”<br />“Now Daddy! I never stopped caring for her. I started the business for her,” he said as he jumped up from the seat.<br />“Sit down boy! Don’t jump up when I’m talking to you. Who you think you is?” Daddy Hamilton said. Donald slowly sat back down. He knew that even as an adult, Daddy Hamilton would still beat him to the ground.<br />“That’s better. All I’m saying is you stopped being sweet to her. Sure you paid the bills and worked hard, but when was the last time you did something sweet for her?” He said. Donald jumped up again, this time is victory.<br />“I got it. I fixed dinner today, and have been cooking for a while now. So see, I have been sweet to her,” he said as he sat back down with his chest pumped out in pride.<br />“Son. You been a little galloping gourmet since you were old enough to work a stove. I never seen a boy want to cook like you did. You’ve always been a cook and you always have done most of the cooking, so how is that special?” Donald’s victorious smile slipped away and a frown showed up.<br />“Look. Just go home and you two talk this thing out. Remember my story. You were born to love this woman. She’s your destiny. Find that thang that’s gonna get her sweet on you again,’ he said.<br />“How will I know when she sweet on me again?” Donald said.<br />“When she start doing what she used to do before you pissed her off,” he said.<br />“She used to put on this perfume, White Tea and Ginger before she pushed up on me, if you know what I mean,” Donald said winking his right eye.<br />“Oh I know what you mean. When was the last time she put it on.”<br />“Dang, it’s been about…um… six months,” Donald said ashamed.<br />“Six Months! Boy you mean to tell me you… I mean the two of you ain’t… you know… in six months! Look here, get on way from here and get home to your wife and do what you need to smell that White Tea perfume again.”<br />Donald stood up quickly knocking over his chair.<br />“Thanks Daddy. I mean it.”<br />“Don’t worry about it. What are fathers for? Oh and son. If nothing else works, try prayer.”<br />“Prayer?”<br />“Yeah, it’s hard to be mad at somebody that’s praying with you,” he said.<br />Donald was out the yard and in his car in three seconds. Daddy Hamilton nodded his head and went back to tending his garden.<br /><br />Donald crept into his house. He remembered about the exterminator as he was pulling up. He didn’t know what to expect. He was greeted with the smell of burnt cornbread and smoke.<br />Elise was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper.<br />“Well, where have you been?” she said not looking up.<br />“I went over to Daddy’s.”<br />“What for? I had to replace the exterminator for a fireman. This place was so full of smoke,” she said.<br />“Full of smoke? From the cornbread?” he said.<br />“No Donald from the dish rag you left on the stove near the burner. It caught on fire. I had to call the fire department.” What’s going on with you?”<br />“What’s going on with me? What’s going on with you?<br />Flirting with that guy. Who is he?” Donald said, his voice shaking slightly. Elise looked up and shook her head.<br />“Nobody. I swear. I never met him before today.” She took a deep sigh. She got up from the couch and crossed over to him. She looked him directly in the eye and said,<br />“Donald. I was just trying to get your attention. It was dumb and immature. But honey, I was desperate.”<br />“Why not just talk to me?” he said.<br />“Because you stop hearing me a long time ago. When we were dating it was like you could read my mind. You knew what I wanted, what I needed. It was like you were inside of me and you new each direction my heart turned. Then it just stopped. You started ignoring me. Once you opened your business, you just froze up on the inside.” She said. Her eyes were full of tears but she never turned her gaze from him.<br /><br />Donald looked at the floor ashamed. He thought for a moment and said.<br />“Baby… your right. And I’m sorry.” He paused and with a sigh, said “Will you pray with me?”<br /><br />Elise took a quick breath and almost choked on it. Donald was not a praying man. He took her hands and kissed her cheek softly. He looked into her eyes and remembered that she was his destiny. Not the business, or any amount of money. She was his mission in life. He knew he was born to love her.<br /><br />As he held her hands, he opened his heart and mouth and began to pray. He called down ministering angels to soften his heart for his wife. He asked the Lord for forgiveness for neglecting his first ministry. There was repentance in the throne room for them both. Donald sacrificed himself on the alter of God in hope of another chance to love her fully.<br />By the time he was done, Elise sobbed uncontrollably. The two embraced and together they cried away their pain. Then Elise turned and walked away without a word. Donald was left standing in the room, alone.<br /><br />‘I’ve failed’ he thought. ‘It didn’t work. The prayer didn’t work.’<br />With a lowered head he went and sat on the edge of the couch. His energy flowed from his body as a lump grew in his throat; he felt his heart coming apart at the seams. Just then, from upstairs, he heard soft music. He lifted his head and looked toward the staircase. The puzzled look on his face evaporated into a smile. His heart was whole again and his energy was replenished. The prayer had worked. He found a way to be sweet to her.<br /><br />He ran toward the steps and bounded to the top. As he entered their bedroom, the music was at a crescendo, and the smell of White Tea and Ginger filled the room.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-115734204864689934?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1156743090466407712006-08-27T22:13:00.000-07:002006-08-27T22:59:30.093-07:00Good morning my people,<br /><br />Below is this weeks story. It's entitled "White Tea and Ginger." And it is the first true excerpt that I have published. The other pieces I've posted were complete. This one started to take on a life of its own and got too big to finish within a week. So here is the first half, and God willing, I'll have the second half for you next Monday. Thanks in advance for your patience.<br /><br />Also, I saw a wonderful play this past Saturday at the ETA Theater. It was entitled "Home-The Musical." It was a great experience. If you've never been to the ETA, thenyou need to get down there. It's the perfect place to experience Black theater and art.<br /><br />What artistic works have you taken in lately? If you haven't been exposed to any art, then do yourself a favor and partake. Go to a play, an art exhibit, or a concert. It's easy to get inspired in such settings.<br /><br />I hope you enjoy the story.<br /><br />-be easy<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-115674309046640771?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1156741197630113332006-08-27T21:31:00.000-07:002006-09-03T21:09:19.766-07:00<div align="left"><br /><br />Listening to Elise’s beautiful voice used to illicit goose bumps of desire from Donald, but today he felt nothing but disgust. She twirled around the sun drenched room, like a daffodil being rolled by its stem on the finger-tips of a child. Donald bucked out his eyes and swallowed the rancid, milky residue of his anger. It had been so long since they had been happy. The sound of her joy perturbed him because he knew he had nothing to do with it.<br /><br />He tried to turn his attention away from her dance of joy and concentrate on the meal he was preparing. The house was full of smells of spices and roasting sweet potatoes. Donald checked the oven temperature by opening the door and placing his hand inside, it was the way his momma taught him to gauge how hot things really were. He wished it was that easy for his marriage. From one day to the next, he never knew what to expect. Either Elise was cold and stone-like, or she bounced and swooned like a school girl nearing her first dance. Donald shook his head at how far they had fallen off course.<br /><br />Donald thrust his small hands into a huge silver pot of slick string beans. He had let them marinate over night in chicken stock. He was excited about the flavor they were to bring. He quickly picked up a stem and snapped it in two and threw the pieces into a separate pot.<br /><br />‘I’m too good for her. That’s it. I’m too good. Thought I was marrying better. But I guess she’s just like the rest of them. What else does a man have to do for these women? I mean, I cook and I clean, I work and sweat- for her. All that and she don’t appreciate it. Look at me; preparing her favorite Sunday dinner on a Saturday. Now that’s love. And she treats me like trash. But do I give up? Naw! A lesser man would’ve left by now. She don’t know how good she really got it. Most men would have at least two other women on the side plus a group of outside kids. And she dancing around here like everything peachy keen, like my feelings ain’t been ripped and scattered all over this house,’ He thought.<br /><br />Donald went on snapping string beans. Even though his mind was working up some crazy thoughts, he still went about fixing the best dinner he could for her. No matter what, he couldn’t bring himself to mess up a meal. He went to the cupboard and grabbed the salt. He carefully sprinkled it over the pinkish white capon. Just as he was getting lost in the preparation, Elise hit another note.<br /><br />“Whoa-whoa, you got the best of my love-whoa, whoa,” She crooned.<br /><br />‘Best of my love? What is she singing about? What love she talking about? She ain’t gave me no love in God knows how long. So, if she giving her love away, who she giving it to? I’m here snapping two pounds of peas just for the pleasure of this woman and she singing and dancing about a love I ain’t felt in months. I can’t take much more of this.’ He thought.<br /><br />Donald huffed and puffed and placed the capon in the oven gently. Elise continued to sing proudly and she danced and swayed gaily like a sunflower in a stiff breeze. </div><div align="left"><br />He remembered the woman he married. Elise Johnson was the finest girl in the whole neighborhood. Every male wanted her, even little boys. They cried when they mommas didn’t hire Elise to be their babysitters. Elise had copper eyes and a complexion that was honey baked as if she was fresh from an oven. Her flowing hair was something Donald dreamed about. He saw himself twirling his fingers in her silky, sandy brown hair. He would get lost in his day dreams of her and thank God with a silent prayer that he had the chance to love her. She could’ve had any man she wanted, but she chose him. He remembered what she said when he asked her that very question.<br /><br />“Donald, what kind of question is that?”<br />“It’s a real question, and I would like to know, why me?” He said as he sat back against the wooden bench. She sighed deeply and brushed her hair from the left side of her face. She looked out on Lake Michigan as if the answer was bobbing amongst the waves.<br />“Is it that hard?” Donald said.<br />“No. It’s not that. It’s just that I thought you would know why I love you,” she said.<br />“I mean, Eric Moss was after you and he a big time doctor, got a house in Pill Hill, and I live at the crib with my momma. Don’t get me wrong baby, I don’t like knocking myself, but you're the angel men dream about. You represent a piece of heaven; a place they may never see. You're the handiwork of a God they may never know. You’re more than I ever expected and sometimes I just don’t feel worthy,” he said. </div><div align="left"><br />Elise turned her glance in from the water and looked deeply into his eyes.<br />“That’s why I love you. Right there. What you just said. It’s more than pretty words. It’s like you see another side of me, a side that speaks to my spirit and not just what I look like. You care for me and not just because you feel good cause I’m with you. You care about my heart Donald Hamilton. And since I’ve given it to you, I know you gonna protect it like it was the Hope diamond.” She said as she caressed his face. </div><div align="left">She leaned in and kissed him softly. His heart burst into flames as the world dropped away and it was just the two of them alone and together just as God intended it. </div><div align="left"><br />Donald proposed the very next day. Things were right out of a story book until three years ago.<br /><br />As Donald continued fixing Sunday/Saturday dinner, he thought about what brought on the change in his ‘Angel’ and the reason eluded him. He gave up and focused in on this dinner. He tried not to think bitterly when cooking. He was afraid the feeling would come out in his meal. But it was hard not to be bitter, he thought. Because this dinner, as with some many other things, where not done sacrificially, but as an attempt to win back his lost wife. This dinner like the last several, was an attempt to find what was lost and then try and repair it.<br />‘Maybe’ he thought ‘While she's munching on some good food, she would drop her guard long enough to let him try and love her again.<br /><br />Just then, the door bell rang. Before Donald could get to the back door, Elise bounded into the kitchen with a wide smile painted across her face. She gracefully performed a pirouette and proceeded to open the door.<br />Donald stood amazed at her agility. Even though she had gained quite a bit of weight over the years she was still the most graceful and gorgeous woman he had ever know. Suddenly his frustration sprouted wings and took flight all over again.<br /><br />“You joining the ballet soon?” he said. She tossed her head back and laughed like a second rate actress in a bad melodrama.<br />“Don, you’re so silly,” she said with a fake smile.<br />“Hmm, I’m silly alright. Ain’t you gonna ask who it is?”<br />“I know who it is?” She said.<br />“Really?”<br />Elise rolled her eyes and turned. She flung open the door like a prize awaited her on the other side.<br />“Well, hello!” she said grinning, flipping her hair over her shoulder.<br />Donald let out a small squeak at the sight of the six foot four, two hundred pound Adonis filling his doorway.<br />“Exterminator.” The Adonis said his voice deep and rich. Donald was amazed at the speaking statue. He coughed and attempted to sound bigger than he was.<br />“Exterminator! Who called an exterminator?”<br />“I did.” said Elise. “There’s a rat in this house. And what’s wrong with your voice, you got something caught in your throat?”<br />Donald deflated like an old punctured tire.<br />“Hmm! It smells good in here.” said the exterminator.<br />“Yeah, my husband is a good cook. Don! Maybe you can write down some of your recipes for the gentleman?”<br />Donald stood in his flowered apron and continued to shrink.<br />“Now, where would you like to start?” said Elise.<br />“The bathroom will do fine. Mind if I get some water before I get started?”<br />“No, not at all,” she said. The exterminator slowly placed his silver tackle-box on the floor. It hit with a thud as if it weighed a ton. Elise got a glass and poured the water from a plastic bottle slowly. Donald just watched them with his mouth open and a limp string bean stem in his hand. Elise stepped over to the exterminator and stood right under him and offered him the glass. He reached down and took the drink, his large, jet black hand completely enveloped hers. He looked down on her as if he was shelter protecting her from a rainstorm. </div><div align="left"><br />Donald felt a wave of shame ripple throughout his body.<br />‘I feel like a peeping Tom in my own home,’ he thought.<br />The exterminator took a long, slow swig from the glass. The massive gulps and movement of his Adam’s apple hypnotized Donald and he saw a vision of his wife in the arms of this man. He saw her give herself to him and he gladly took her in. Donald's very thoughts we're like straight razors cutting away at him, leaving him wounded and dying.<br /><br />“Thank you so much. I guess I'll get started now. Which way is the bathroom?” the exterminator said as he picked up the tackle-box. Elise walked him toward the back of the house. Neither of them said anything to Donald.<br />‘I can’t take this.’ He thought. He took off his apron and marched out the back door, leaving his Sunday/Saturday dinner to burn.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-115674119763011333?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1156139121060580342006-08-20T22:31:00.000-07:002006-08-20T22:45:21.116-07:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2325/3509/1600/lights%20001.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2325/3509/320/lights%20001.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />Good day to you my people. It's the third week of the "Artful Passages" blog, and it has been great. You all have made it worthwhile. When I started this, I wanted it to be a way to give something to the world. Be it the inspiration found in my stories or a new process of discovery for you. Basically by visiting this site maybe you could uncover the artist in you, so you could give some art to the world to help inspire someone else. So get ready, the next evolution of the site will be able to accept submissions from you. Not just fiction or poetry but art and photography and more. You can do it, I know you can. We all have something we can add. But we'll dig deeper into that a bit later. Two things.<br /><br />The latest story is in the post right under this one. It's entitled "The Bat Incident" It's pretty intense, but beauty and inspiration can be found in the most intense situations. So I hope you enjoy it. Please feel free to leave comments on anything. Also I've included a photo at the top of the page I took about a year ago. This is the perfect example of the artist living in all of us. I felt like capturing some beauty that day and I took my camera and just walked around snapping photos at whatever caught my eye. You can do the same thing or something completely different. Get ready, we're going to really grow into this thing. Enjoy your week.<br /><br />-be easy<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-115613912106058034?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1156137678186640432006-08-20T22:19:00.000-07:002006-09-03T21:10:44.913-07:00The house was as still as a stagnant puddle under a willow tree. My father held the bat in his hands waiting for some sign to explode the man’s head. I didn’t want my sudden movements to be that sign. This young man lay sleeping in a fetal position on our recliner, unaware that his life was nearing its end.<br /><br />Just a few moments before, I lay in my own bed, warm and comfortable. It was Saturday morning, and I was enjoying my ‘I get to sleep late’ slumber. That was until my father jarred me awake with a stabbing command.<br /><br />‘Get your bats!’<br /><br />I didn’t know what was going on. He pulled me from my bed and drug me across the floor. I tried to get my footing but could not; I felt the burn of the carpet on my knees. I looked up at my father and he was boiling.<br /><br />My father had built a reputation a long time back when he was an enforcer in the Four Corner Hustlers street gang. He was especially known for his knock out punch and his quick temper. It was said that he shot three men for laughing too loud at a bar. I never found out if that were true, but I had seen his temper flare up more than once.<br />My father was the kind that always made things worse. If it was a bar fight between two guys and everyone was cool to let it stay at that, my father would stick his nose in and suddenly everybody in the bar would be involved in a riot and the entire place would end up in flames.<br /><br />“Joe…what’s going on?” I said.<br />“Don’t ask no questions. I said get your bats! We could be dead by now with how long you taking! What I tell you about that? You got to be ready at all times. Now come on. There’s a thief in the front room.”<br /><br />The room started to spin. The wood paneling on the walls seemed to close in tighter on us. What had happened, and what were we going to do about it? A thief? Here? I remember once my father caught a kid trying to steal our hubcaps off our Impala. It made me wonder as I looked at my father bash the kid over and over again, how can a man I love be so cruel and ruthless? Now, here we were again close to the edge of violence, ready to jump in.<br /><br />I stood dazed and confused in my Spider-man Under-Roos and decided it was best to obey my father. So I went into the hall closet and retrieved my two thirty-ounce Louisville Sluggers. I played softball last summer and those babies had knocked home their share of runs. Now it was time for a different service.<br /><br />We ran into the front of the apartment, slow and sluggish, like we were underwater. We entered the room and my father pointed for me to position myself on the left side of the man. He stood on his right.<br />There he was; the thief.<br /><br />He slept rather soundly for a man who had just committed a crime.<br />I dared not breathe. The man hugged himself tightly on the brown fabric recliner. I thought about my momma and how she wouldn’t be able to get out all the blood once it hit that fabric. My bat was held down by my waist. My eyes darted back and forth from my father,<br />to the man,<br />to the bat,<br />to the man.<br /><br />“On the count of three- we gonna light this fool up.” My father whispered. “I’ll hit him in the head, you take out his knees. We don’t want him running away.<br />“We can’t do this.” I said.<br />“Why? He stole from me, from us.”<br />“If he stole then why is he still here sleeping? Maybe he didn’t do it.”<br />“I know he did.”<br />“How? You can’t be sure.”<br />“What cha’ mean? How the hell I don’t know. I had some money, and now it’s gone.”<br />“All of it?”<br />“Not all, but most. Three hundred is gone. And that fool did it!” He said pointing. The man stirred but did not wake. I wanted to yell, to scream for him to wake up and run, but I was afraid of my father. When he got like this I never knew what he would do?<br />“How you know you didn’t lose it?” I said trying to convince him to let the man live.<br />“What cha’ saying?”<br />“You was drunk last night, maybe you lost it?”<br />“I didn’t lose it! And where you get off telling me I was drunk?!” My father glared at me. And I knew what that meant. There would be no more talking. He was serious. He wanted to beat this man, maybe even to death, and he wanted me to help.<br />“Now on three…”<br />“Even if he did take it,” I said interrupting, “we still can’t do this. Ain’t he your friend?”<br />“My friends don’t take my money! Besides, how would it look, me letting him get away with this? Fool get out on the street and start running his mouth about how he done got me for a grip. Fools will laugh at me. Then they think they can get in on the act, ‘yeah let’s all line up and beat that fool Joe out his money.’ You want that? You want people laughing at your old man? Want them making fun of me?”<br />Right before my eyes my father turned into a small child. I looked down upon this boy who was my elder and I felt my heart breaking. I didn’t know what to say to convince him not to maim this poor drunk fool who had the misfortune to pass out in our living room.<br /><br />“I ain’t doing it,” I said.<br />“What!?” he said eyes bulging.<br />“I ain’t doing it. Even if he did take the money, I ain’t gonna beat a man in his sleep. It ain’t right.” I cried.<br />“Why you crying?! Stop that damn crying! Just like you momma. Never mind. I’ll do it myself. You stand back out the way, sissy!”<br />I stood back against the far wall and watched as my father raised his bat even higher, prepared to swing down like some giant pendulum. The look in his eyes was crazed and vacant; he was in that place between the rational and irrational. Light and dark. I had seen him like this before. And at those times he was not in control. It was as if darkness hops into the driver side of his heart and compels him to act out viciously. Our lives were about to change, forever. I began to tremble with anxiety. And then like a bright light shooting against a night sky; a thought came to me. It said, to pray.<br /><br />It had been a month since my momma drug me up to the front of the church so that we could join and get baptized. The preacher asked us if we were saved. My momma said she was, but that I was not. Slowly the sweaty preacher bent over to me and asked, ‘Young brother, would you liked to be saved?’<br />What was I supposed to say to that? Who didn’t want to be ‘saved?’ For all that my momma and I had endured; I would say I qualified for some saving. So I said yes. And he led me in my confession of faith. And salvation was mine. I learned in my Sunday school classes that God hears our prayers. That scared me. What do I say to the creator of everything? I hadn’t even tried to pray until this very moment. I wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen, but I needed help. My father rocked back on his heels to give himself more power in his swing. And just as he let the bat fly, I opened my heart and spoke to God for the first time.<br />I called on Jesus and imagined my father putting the bat down. I saw the hurt and darkness being ripped from him by an un-seen hand that repaired the holes left in my father’s chest. That same hand fed my father and gave him cool water to drink. I saw my father nourished on the Good Spirit and he was healed. I saw our family drawn together and loving each other out loud and authentically, not as a secret or a surprise, but as a family should.<br /><br />“Father, help us,” I whispered.<br />And just then, a click was heard as the door popped open, and my father stopped his swing in mid-flight.<br />In stepped my mother, huffing and puffing.<br />“We gotta get a first floor apartment… What’s going on here?” she said as she processed the scene, my father holding the bat at his side now.<br />“This punk stole three hundred dollars. Our money!! Now I’m gonna take it out of his butt.”<br />“Three hundred?” My momma said calmly, “Joe… I took the money. I had to pay for the groceries.” she said shaking her head.<br />“Why you taking money from my wallet?! He exploded. The sleeping man snorted loudly but still did not awake.<br />“What are you talking about? You were passed out just like this fool. Who the hell is this anyway?” She said.<br />“Pookie from 67th street.” He said.<br />“And if you think he’s capable of stealing from you, why you got him in our house.”<br />My father stared at my mother as if he were betrayed.<br />“Why you didn’t tell me you were taking the money?”<br />“I never tell you Joe, not until afterward. You know that. If you were sober then maybe I would say something.”<br />Suddenly her eyes got as large as soup bowls, “And what, you were going to beat him with that bat?” My mother said just getting the entire picture. She looked down and saw the second bat.<br />“No you weren’t gonna have Brian help you? What the hell is wrong with you? Why do we have to go through this every week?”<br />“I don’t beat people with bats every week,” he said.<br />“No, but you drink too much and you do something that could get you dead or in jail. I don’t know how much more of this I can take it...” she said before she was interrupted.<br />“Unhh! Mmm, hmm!” It was Pookie stirring from his drunken dreams. We all stared at him, stunned that he had slept through what could have been the end of his life.<br />“What’s up ya’ll! Yo, Joe can you whip up some eggs or somethin’. A brother hungrier than a mother,” he said scratching his head and wiping sleep from his left eye at the same time.<br />“Brian go on downstairs and bring those bags up,” my mom sighed.<br />My father didn’t utter another word. Pookie looked around yawning and stretching.<br />“What’s up with them bats? We getting ready to play some ball?”<br />I slowly descended the stairs and thought how lucky we all were.<br />It was exactly two weeks later, another Friday night and I was coming in from track practice. My father and a group of friends were gathered at the living room table drinking and laughing. Pookie was one of them. I waved at them and they all raised their glasses at me, some asked how school was and such, I gave the standard answer,<br />“It’s good. I should get all A’s.”<br />They nodded and went back to whatever street story they were in the middle of when I walked in. I went toward the back of the house toward my room. As I passed my parents room, my mother sat on the bed looking like a wilted rose. She looked up at me and there was an immediate recognition. I paused and started to speak, but I halted the words before they could become audible.<br /><br />I proceeded to my room. The bat incident happened on a Saturday morning, and this was my father’s first get together since then. I could only imagine what would happen in the morning. I closed my door and went to the edge of my bed and knelt down. I had prayed every day since that Saturday. God had answered my prayer. I guess my faith had started to grow. I wanted so much for our family. I wanted my mother’s happiness and my father’s peace to be written in stone so that they would last forever. My mind was full of things to say. I just closed my eyes and imagined us smiling. We smiled like we were in a month full of summer Saturday’s and all things were cool. I opened my heart and started,<br />“Dear God…”<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-115613767818664043?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1155529980343793872006-08-13T21:26:00.000-07:002006-08-13T22:19:27.666-07:00Good day to you my people,<br /><br />My story <strong>"Bo-Peep's Jab"</strong> is below. I've worked on this story for about a year.<br />Yes! I said a year.<br />It's gone through some big changes, but at the last minute (10:45 pm last night) I decided to go back to the original version. I made this decision because I read this piece to a live audience and they loved it. So why change it? So here it is in it's original form. Let me know what you think. Click on the comments link at the very bottom of the page.<br /><br />-be easy<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-115552998034379387?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32157767.post-1154908679892491222006-08-06T16:50:00.000-07:002006-08-07T21:53:19.050-07:00Hello,<br /><br />My name is Tony and I am a writer of fiction. I want to welcome you to my weblog entitled “Artful Passages.” This is my first posting, so thank you for visiting.<br /><br />So, you may be wondering, “what’s this brother’s deal?”<br /><br />We’ll, I got the unction to start this endeavor about two years ago. Basically, it boils down to me wanting to communicate hope and inspiration to the world.<br /><br />With all the things that were going on then and those things happening now; I felt the world needed a big hug.<br /><br />I believe that in these days and times, it’s the artists among us who will lead the charge to uplift the people of the world. If you are a painter, sculptor, writer, poet, musician or anything else, I believe your gift can be of great service to people and to yourself.<br /><br />So, I’ll put myself on the line by letting you into my creative process on a weekly basis and sharing with you excerpts on what it is I’m writing. Perhaps my process and writing will inspire you to create your own art, or if not, at least allow you to be hopeful and enlightened in these sometimes dark days we live in.<br /><br />Starting next Monday, I’ll post my first excerpt. It’s from a story entitled “Bo-Peep’s Jab.” This will be a work in progress. So come along for the ride. You’ll see my thoughts, learn why I made certain choices and find out about my struggles in the creation of this piece.<br /><br />Oh yeah! If you have comments about this blog, simply click the "comments" link below. After you type your comments, you'll have to go through a quick verification step. From there just click the "Login and Publish" button.<br /><br />Be easy<br /><br /><br />-Tony<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/32157767-115490867989249122?l=artfulpassages.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Tonyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13272949407933433215noreply@blogger.com4