Beyond Poetry

by Nathan Jarelle

  “Hold these ‘til I get back,” asked Senior. “I don’t want to creep her out. Not yet.”

  Ossie looked down at his brother’s toys and shook his head.

  “Damn, Leonard. Pussy got you already, huh?” he asked.

  At exactly eight o’clock, Senior returned to pick up Sandy. When he arrived, she was still there, waiting for him in the lobby. Senior opened her car door and placed her books onto his backseat as Sandy smiled at him.

  “So, where you live at?” he asked.

  “You can drop me off right there in front of that house with the green mailbox.”

  Senior pulled his car up to the green mailbox and opened Sandy’s car door. By then, the rain had eased up. At the door, Sandy’s mother, Miss Elizabeth was waiting for her. Not recognizing the brooding black man standing next to Sandy, she answered the door in a haste, asking questions.

  “Who is this strange man, Sandy?” she asked.

  “Yes ma’am,” he answered. “Leonard Robinson. From now on, I’m gonna be pickin’ up and droppin’ off your daughter to all her classes. What time should I come back tomorrow?”

  Sandy’s mother looked Senior up and down.

  “So, uh, is that your Cadillac parked in front of my mailbox, Leonard Robinson?”

  Senior looked back at his burgundy Caddy and smiled.

  “Yes ma’am.” He nodded, not taking his eye off Sandy’s mother. “Paid for with honest money. Ain’t a drug-sellin’, dope-pushin’ dollar used to buy that Cadillac, you see.”

  Sandy turned pink, chuckling at Senior before catching herself.

  “Girl, get your happy ass in this house!” Miss Elizabeth pulled her inside. “Alright, Leonard Robinson. You can pick up my daughter tomorrow evening at six – and you better not be late.”

  “No ma’am,” said Senior. “I’ll be here at quarter-to-six. That’s a promise.”

  The next evening, Senior returned to Sandy’s house at exactly 5:45 p.m. with the wheels to his Cadillac shining underneath the sun. He was dressed in a sleek turtleneck, bell-bottom slacks with spit-shined shoes, and a matching flat cap. A heavy smoker, he forewent his usual afternoon snack of Newport cigarettes in exchange for mint gum. Miss Elizabeth answered the door, surprised to see Senior standing there. Before she could greet him, Senior removed his hat.

  “Evenin’ Miss ‘Lizabeth,” said Senior.

  Soon after, Sandy pushed past her mother, grabbed Senior by the arm and whisked him down to his big Cadillac parked on the street.

  “Whoa! Bye Miss ‘Lizabeth!”

  That night, Sandy skipped school for a night on the town with Senior. They spent their evening cruising throughout the city, listening to Isaac Hayes and eating funnel cake topped with strawberries. Later, on a park bench, they sat gazing up at the moon as they held hands. Sandy couldn’t believe the size of Senior’s hands. Her tiny hand fit inside his palm like a ball in a catcher’s mitt. The two lovebirds talked for hours before kissing goodnight when Senior dropped her off.

  Sandy skipped class the next night and the night after. Before long, she gave up her ambitions of becoming a nurse altogether to be with Senior. Senior, in the meantime, was attempting to kick his old street habits to begin a new relationship with Sandy. She first became aware of his lifestyle months into their union when a man made a pass at Sandy down at a drive-in theatre, unaware she was with somebody. When Senior returned from getting popcorn and saw the man leaning onto the door of his ’66 Cadillac, he introduced the man’s head to the door jamb…several times. A month later, a guy tried his shot at Sandy and ended up with a concussion and two orbital fractures. A third ended up with a broken leg. Word spread quickly across North Philadelphia that Sandy Woods was now Leonard’s woman.

  Sandy found her boyfriend’s give-a-fuck attitude cute. Six months later, after Sandy’s eighteenth birthday, Senior proposed and she said yes. They wed inside a Philadelphia courthouse on September 20, 1972. Their cheap honeymoon was spent at a rundown motel in New Jersey, watching the second Ali-Patterson fight on a small black and white television.

  For nine years, the Robinsons struggled with fertility. Meanwhile, as Sandy grieved the passing of her mother, Miss Elizabeth, Senior returned to the streets. With Ossie cheering him on, Senior busted out a man’s teeth with the backside of his pump shotgun. In another heinous streak of street justice, Senior beat a man with a stick down at the pool hall for calling Ossie a clown – which he was. Ossie would start trouble just to hide behind Senior.

  In late November of 1980, Senior was on his way to help his brother shakedown a group of hoods when Sandy phoned him at Ossie’s apartment. By then, she had been a city mail carrier for five years with her dream of becoming a nurse far behind her.

  “I’m pregnant, Leonard,” she told him. “Don’t you think it’s ‘bout time you cut out all that street shit you been doin’? Sooner than later, it’s gonna catch up to you.” Sandy was right.

  Senior walked outside of Ossie’s apartment to the trunk of his car. He handed his brother his pump shotgun, baseball bat, and the keys to his beloved Cadillac, but kept his .38.

  “You’re gonna have to go on without me,” he said. “Sandy’s having my seed, and I wanna be there. It’s ‘bout time I stop all this shit, anyway.”

  “One more,” pleaded Ossie. “For me, brother. I won’t ask for nothin’ else.”

  “Nope,” said Senior. “Can’t do it. Just drop me off back at the ‘partment and leave me with the .38. You can have the rest.” Senior was thirty-one.

  So, Ossie did just as his brother asked. He kept Senior’s tools and Cadillac and dropped him off at his apartment with Sandy and his soon-to-be son and went to rage war against the vandals who disrespected their 14th Street posse. (Ossie would go on to carry on the family business until he was murdered the day after Christmas in 1982.) Later, when Senior arrived home, he placed his .38 revolver inside his nightstand and kissed his pregnant wife.

  “Where’s the Cadillac?” Sandy asked him.

  “I gave it to Oz,” he said. “I’ll get another ride. As much dirt as I’ve done in that thing, be my luck some damn fool roll up on me tryin’ to get even. Besides, I’m a father now.”

  Nine months later, Junior was born. Lawrence came three years later in April of ’84.

  The latitude of my gratitude is ocean wide.

  Atlantic. Indian. Arctic.

  But to be Pacific.

  I wish for my words

  to reach every corner of the world.

  Touch every heart of every walking soul.

  That is my goal.

  LEONARD G. ROBINSON JR.

  Taming the Devil

  When Junior returned to Medgar the day after Mrs. Hawkins smeared the inside of his journal in red, Casey handed him back his book; there was not a trace of red in sight. Casey had inscribed a short message for Junior toward the end of his book. “Keep going!” the message read, encircled by a huge blue heart. Junior turned through every page, looking for any sign of Mrs. Hawkins’s red pen. He looked up at Casey, wondering where she got her magic. Casey told Junior she used a white-out pen to carefully remove Mrs. Hawkins’s satanic markings from his journal. Junior placed his journal back into his bag, unsure of what to make of her unconditional support of him.

  For the second day in a row, Casey elected to walk Junior up to Mrs. Hawkins’s class on the fourth-floor. Along the way, Junior noticed the cutting eyes of staff members and his peers as they watched him and Casey move throughout the hall. Gossip chatter followed by snickering laughter pinched his ears as Junior turned. Suddenly, they were the center of attention and the talk of Medgar’s violent hallways. A staff member approached Junior and Casey as they approached Mrs. Hawkins’s classroom to forewarn them of the rumor mill surrounding the two. Casey, by all accounts, seemed just as confused by the environment as Junior.

  “You guys haven’t heard?” the teacher whispered. “Levy is so pissed!”

  “Pissed about what?” Casey asked, looki
ng down at Junior. “Why? What’s wrong?”

  Just as Casey began asking questions, Mr. Levy came marching up the hallway, charging toward both Junior and Casey. His porky neck was red with anger as he barked orders into Casey’s face, shaking his fat, scaley finger at her as if she was a child.

  “I warned you, Miss Haughton!” he barked, looking down at Junior and back at her. “This nonsense going on between you two is over!”

  “What nonsense, Levy? What in the world are you talking about?”

  “This inappropriate relationship you’ve been having with a student. You think I didn’t know you took him to Domino’s the other day? I watched you guys leave out on camera. It has to stop, Miss Haughton. From now on, you cannot walk Junior to class.”

  “But Casey didn’t do anything,” Junior chimed in.

  “You shut up! I’ll deal with you later. Hasn’t your mother taught you any better?”

  “Hey!” Casey raised her voice. “Don’t speak to him like that – he’s a kid! Junior, go to class.”

  Not willing to leave Casey on her own, Junior watched as students and staff members oohed and aahed as Mr. Levy dressed down Casey in the middle of the hallway. He called her incompetent and brought up things about Casey’s past in front of Junior. Mr. Levy called her an addict and accused of her doing so much coke that she had sniffed her brains out. He ripped Casey so badly in front of students and colleagues, she began to tear up. Down the hall, Junior looked to see a smile painted onto the wicked Mrs. Hawkins’s face. Humiliated, Casey covered her face and began to cry. Junior couldn’t believe the way Mr. Levy spoke to his secretary. As childish laughter filled the entire fourth-floor, Junior’s insides filled with fury. He looked into Casey’s hurt face and decided to defend her.

  “Man, fuck you!” Junior said to Mr. Levy, surprising himself as he shook with anger. “Casey is a good person and a good friend. And you ought to be ashamed of yourself for talking to her like that in front of all of these people!”

  His peers all roared as Mr. Levy turned redder than ever. Steam boiled from his ears.

  Removing her hands from her face, Casey tried to save Junior from himself.

  “Excuse me? What did you say?” asked Mr. Levy.

  “J., just let it go.” Casey shooed him off. “It’s OK. Go to class!”

  Junior looked throughout the hallway at his peers who were all stunned by his candor. He seldom defended himself when confronted with trouble.

  “You heard me!” said Junior as he shook. “Your mother should’ve swallowed you. Pork-sausage eatin’ son-of-a-bitch!”

  The hallway roared again as Mr. Levy showed his coffee-stained teeth at Junior. “Nobody talks to me like that at my school! Go to my office now! Both of you!”

  Downstairs in Levy’s office, Junior watched Mr. Levy scribe a whole book report of notes detailing his concerns about Junior and Casey’s unsubstantiated “inappropriate” relationship. He added that Junior had called him a “son-of-a-bitch” in a note home that had to be signed by Sandy before Junior could return to Medgar. In the paragraph below, he wrote that Casey had taken Junior to Domino’s during school hours, calling her “a major distraction to the faculty and learning environment of Medgar Evers Secondary School.” He went on to accuse her of manipulating Junior and wrote that his teacher, Mrs. Hawkins, had caught Junior writing inside of his journal during class time. Adding insult to injury, he phoned Sandy at her desk to notify her that a letter was being sent home regarding Junior’s behavior.

  For the rest of the school day, Junior sat sulking and defeated. Although he had won the battle earlier, he had lost the war. Later that afternoon, Junior bumped into Casey and the two slipped into a vacant classroom to talk about what had happened earlier.

  “Junior, you should’ve never shot back at Levy like that!” she whispered “Are you crazy?”

  “But you’re my big sissy,” he said. “I hated to see you like that. It did something to me.”

  That afternoon during lunch, Casey gave Junior the scoop from a trusted source on rumors swirling throughout Medgar about the two of them. The word on the street was that the two were having sex in the school during lunch and after school back at Casey’s apartment. Staff complained of nepotism between Junior and his new best friend, hoping to quell their uncanny friendship. Throughout the day at Medgar, Junior’s classmates teased him, accusing him of falling for a white girl. They called him names like “House Negro”, “Jungle Fever”, “Uncle Tom” and other bi-racial or sell-out epithets. The allegations were upsetting to both Junior and Casey as the two cried together inside a vacant classroom.

  “No matter how any of this bullshit plays out,” she told him. “I’m still your big sissy!”

  “Why’d Mr. Levy say those things about you earlier? What was all of that?” he asked.

  “Man, ain’t enough time in the world. Another day, OK?” she told Junior.

  Junior and Casey waited until the coast was clear before disappearing in opposite directions in the hallway. Back in Mrs. Hawkins’s class after lunch, Junior didn’t help his case. Resentful of Mrs. Hawkins and his peers, he spent all afternoon writing in his journal, unphased by the enveloped letter addressed to Sandy inside his bookbag.

  When Sandy arrived to pick up Junior later that afternoon, she gave him hell all the way from Medgar back to the house. She cussed from the second he opened her car door, through every traffic light, and into the living room where Senior was there waiting. She said the “F” word to Junior, certifying his eternal punishment.

  “Pork-sausage?! Boy, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Sandy wolfed at him. “You have lost all of your mind the way you been actin’ up at this new school, Junior. It ain’t even been a week!”

  Junior stood docile with his eyes looking down at the floor as veins bulged from his mother’s neck. Sandy was furious, shouting at Junior about the struggle of supporting him through his expulsion and finding him a new school. Her anger towards him was backed by Senior as he shoved Junior around the room, threatening to castrate him for upsetting his mother.

  As Sandy went on to read Junior’s note home from school, she inquired about Casey.

  “And who the fuck is this Miss Haughton person? Is she the lady that bought you the pizza a few days ago? Huh? Well, is she?!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Junior muttered.

  As Sandy continued to read through Junior’s note, he trembled under his daddy’s hot breath as he waited for sentencing. Soon after, she rendered her verdict.

  “I want that Nintendo, and I want the TV out of your room, and I want that library card because you ain’t goin’ nowhere no time soon until you learn how to behave. And when you go back to school tomorrow, you tell Miss Haughton that I said she is too goddamn grown to be your friend. You’re only fourteen years old. You’re a child. She’s an adult.”

  “C’mon, Ma,” Junior pleaded. “None of this me. Think about it. Mr. Levy is just an evil man trying to make things up, and y’all are falling for it. This is stupid.”

  WHAM! Down went Junior. Sandy then stood over top of him.

  “You are not so grown that I won’t knock you down on your ass!” she shouted. “Now, get off my floor and get out of my goddamn face before I slap you again. Go’on. Go!”

  With his face still burning, Junior rose to his feet and retreated upstairs to his bedroom for the night. In his room, he wrapped up his Nintendo console, small television, and library card and handed them to Senior as he waited outside his room door.

  Later in the bathroom mirror, Junior dabbed at the tender pink on his face from where Sandy had slapped him. Staring at his reflection, he exhaled, upset and angered. Most of the time when Junior got into trouble at home, Sandy would stop by before the night ended to educate him about his punishment. That night, however, neither Senior nor Sandy came to talk to him.

  Unable to sleep, Junior thought of Casey the entire night. Earlier, he had tried to write but was too upset to formulate a meaningful poem
. The thought of ending his friendship with Casey was overwhelming to him. He laid there, imagining his own heart breaking as he anticipated telling her the news that they could no longer be friends.

  The next morning, Sandy dropped Junior off at Medgar without a word the entire way. As Junior closed her car door, Sandy called him back over. With his hangdog expression, he stood there with his hands stuffed inside his pocket.

  “Aren’t you forgettin’ something, Junior?” she asked.

  With his arms flaccid and weak, he leaned in to embrace Sandy and pecked her on the cheek.

  “Thank you, sir,” she said. “Now, go’on inside and be the young man that your daddy and I raised you to be – and don’t forget what I said last night.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Junior murmured as he climbed the stairs into Medgar.

  On his way to class, Junior passed by the school’s main office and glanced through the window. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Casey’s cubicle was missing and thought the worst. Ignoring his mother’s conditions, he marched into Mr. Levy’s office and demanded to know what he had done with Casey. Mr. Levy looked up at Junior and smiled. He placed his two pig legs up onto his desk and leaned backward in his chair. The chair cried for mercy under Mr. Levy’s wide body.

  “You know something, Junior?” He folded his hands behind his head as he laughed. “You’re a goddamn genius! I figured out a way to take care of a little issue we’ve been having here at Medgar Evers. It came to me yesterday afternoon.”

  Believing Mr. Levy had fired Casey, Junior clenched his fists and tightened his jaw.

  “Relax, kid. Besides, you don’t have the balls to hit me. I’ll throw your ass out of Medgar so fast that your mommy’s head will spin. Then what would she say? So, anyway, between the little shithead, dope-pushing kids, and future jailhouse birds running around here at Medgar, I’ve finally found a solution. See, I’ve been looking for a new Director of Security here. So, who better to promote than Miss Haughton?”

  From a walkie-talkie next to his feet, Mr. Levy radioed for Casey to report to his office.