Concrete Island

by Anita Davis

  I could only smile recounting the past two years of getting to know my aunt. “Yeah, she’s fast become like a second mother to me. She’s taught me so much about my Jamaican heritage, which is why I’m glad everything came together with the city approving the Carnivale.

  “Immersing myself in the culture, I familiarized myself with the places that Jamaicans frequent here and it’s clear to see that we need even more representation in this melting pot, this concrete island of mine. This Carnivale is gonna bring the tradition and richness of the carnivals of the Caribbean and South America to Chicago. I just need to get folks to show up and learn about the Afro-Caribbean folks that live here and abroad.”

  *2*

  Chris

  “Brothers and sisters, we have a problem.” Judging from the wide-eyed stares and eerie silence in the room, my opening statement to those in attendance at the mid-week “town” meeting had made just the impact I’d wanted it to.

  I needed their undivided attention. The black population of the city of Chicago needed their undivided attention.

  “We are dying.” I knew my words were raw and unfiltered, but they were real.

  “You ain’t lying. My neighbor’s sixteen-year-old son was gunned down just last week.”

  I held my hands up in the air to ward off any other testimonials. “I’m sorry to hear that Mrs. Rutledge, and while those stories are rampant and sad across the city, I’m not talking about us literally dying. I’m talking about the black population in Chicago is dying.” I looked to see a few shoulders relax, some head nods and pursed lips mix in with the attentive stares of those around me.

  “Chicago, which once boasted the third largest black population in the states has fallen. We are experiencing a reverse migration. Many of your parents and grandparents came here to escape Jim Crow practices in the south and to take part in the booming steel and meat plants thriving in cities in the Midwest.

  “Because I have extensively studied our history here, I know that there went from being 40,000 of us at one point to 180,000 within a couple of years. Of course, those numbers continued to grow over the decades and put us at one million in 2000. But guess what the stats were for us the last time they did a soft census.”

  “50!” Mrs. Rutledge’s five-year-old grandson called out and garnered a few laughs across the room.

  “Hush, boy and play that game.” She popped his hand before crossing her arms again against her plump middle and then looked back up at me.

  I couldn’t help but grin at his estimation. At least he’d been paying enough attention to know that his number should’ve be lower than the one I had said. “Not that low, DeMarcus.” I rubbed my low and scruffy beard and briefly paced the front of the room before I stopped and looked at them. “Guys, we were numbered at a little under 800,000 in just 2017. Now tell me that ain’t a crime.”

  “It ain’t! The crime is all of this senseless killing going on. Rutledge talked about her neighbor’s son being killed, but I’ve had a thirty-year-old son, a ten-year-old niece, and a sixty-year-old cousin all killed by gun violence in the last three years. I’m sick of it. If I could, I would leave here too.” Mr. Kelly lamented and was followed by the chatter of several others around the room sharing their losses with those nearby them.

  I gave them a second to share their grief with their elbow partners before I called the meeting in the storefront alderman’s office back to attention. “Hello. Excuse me. Ladies and gentlemen, what I’m saying here is in no way meant to overshadow or diminish the loss you all have experienced due to senseless violence. I just want to take the time tonight to point out a big issue that is occurring for us in our hometown. Mr. Kelly, if it weren’t for the violence, would you still want to live in Chicago?”

  Before he could even speak up, Kesha, a thirty-year-old, stood up and said, “I know that question wasn’t directed at me, but I have something to say. I haven’t experienced losing a loved one, but there is nothing here for me. I was born and raised here, went away to school at Mississippi State and came back home wanting to start my career and family here, yet neither have been possible for me for the past seven years.”

  “But you’re college-educated, you should be able to get a job in your field here,” Mrs. Rutledge turned and blurted out at Kesha.

  “Exactly.” Kesha slapped her hands against her slim hips.

  Mrs. Rutledge snapped her head back to look at me. “Christopher, aren’t you single?”

  I was caught off guard by her question, but I answered her truthfully. “Yes, ma’am. I am.”

  She turned and looked at Kesha again. “Kesha, you just said that you want to start a family and you’ll need a man to do that. Why don’t you two hook up?” She pointed at Kesha and then at me. “I mean, look at Christopher, he’s tall enough, dark, and a very handsome young man. He’s always in shape since he’s a personal trainer too. His hair is too wild for my liking, not like the neat, big afros we used to wear in the 70s, but he always looks groomed. He’s educated. Got a degree in black studies.” She shifted in her seat and I could hear her mumble, “I didn’t know one needed to study how to be black, but that’s besides the point.”

  I chuckled a little but didn’t bother to interrupt her. She did this every year with trying to hook me up with one of the women my age that came to the meetings. Things never worked out with the women though. They weren’t much into social change and barely made it through three weekly meetings before I never saw them again.

  Mrs. Rutledge got back on her spiel. “You two could make some cute and smart babies. You might even have fun in the process.” She turned back to face me, crossed her hands over her fluffy waist, and smiled at me like her interruption was witty and hadn’t thrown off the important topic at hand.

  I was eager to redirect the audience, but I couldn’t help but to take in a blushing Kesha. I had to admit that she was cute with her long braids, fit physique, small stud in her nose, full lips, and bold round eyes, but I was more concerned about my activism in Chicago than settling down with a woman.

  Plus, I couldn’t just get with any woman. Many spent more time taking digs at me for being “woke” rather than following after the latest fashion trends and being abreast on all things pop culture. A lot of the women in the neighborhood didn’t even look my way because I didn’t wear skinny jeans, grab my crotch every chance I could, or call them out of their names as some twisted sign of affection.

  After a brief and hopefully subtle perusal of her physical features, my eyes landed on hers and I inwardly cursed at Mrs. Rutledge’s suggestion because there Kesha was, staring at me all googly-eyed and a small smile perching her lips. She was giving off that vibe that she would take me and Mrs. Rutledge up on the offer if I gave it to her.

  I had to get things back on track. “People, people, we need to bring the meeting back to its intended purpose. While you all cite the violence in the city as the main reason you want to leave, the reality is, it’s not as bad as you think it is. Given our population, Chicago is like number twenty-one of twenty-five in rankings of the most violent cities on many lists.”

  Eyes bulged after I stated those facts.

  “That can’t be true,” an attendee said.

  “But it is and you wanna know why?” I scanned the crowd and found them all focusing on me.

  “Yup,” DeMarcus shouted and nodded but never took his eyes off his game.

  I could only laugh at his intermittent attentiveness and hoped that by his grandmother always bringing him to neighborhood things, it would spark a fire in him to be an agent of change in the future.

  “Believe it or not, DeMarcus’ contributions to our conversation aren’t a distraction for me.”

  Mrs. Rutledge harrumphed.

  “They’re reminding me of what’s really at stake here and why I need you all onboard in this fight with me. The crime is not as rampant as we think it is here. That’s just the narrative the media allows to rotate. Again, anyone know why that is?”


  “Don’t give me a conspiracy theory, Christopher,” Mr. Kelly shot at me.

  “It’s not, sir. I have data to back up everything I’m saying to you all. They—”

  “Who is this ‘they’ you’re talking about?” Mr. Kelly asked. He was known to be stubborn and argumentative, no matter the subject matter. If you commented on how blue and clear the sky was, he would point to the faintest grey cloud and say, “It ain’t that clear out here.”

  “Don’t play dumb, Roy. You know the ‘they’ he’s referring to. Whitey,” Mrs. Rutledge said the last of her words through pursed lips.

  Mr. Kelly looked up at me as if to confirm what Mrs. Rutledge had said.

  “Well yes, whites hold a lot of power in this city, but it’s not just them, it’s equally about those with money that dictate and govern how things go in this city. Wu-Tang said it best, C.R.E.A.M.”

  Many of the older people in the room eyebrows furrowed, but I smiled at the ones in my age range as they nodded at me. They understood me. “I’m just saying that cash rules everything around us. That and false senses of superiority.. They are driving us out with the sensationalism that Chicago is too violent, and we need to flee it. Meanwhile, they come in our neighborhoods that they wouldn’t live in with us, buy the houses dirt cheap, and then when enough of us have left, they move in and create beautiful neighborhoods.”

  “But violence isn’t the only issue plaguing Chicago, jobs are scarce here too,” Kesha offered.

  “You’re right, the jobs that many of our sisters and brothers are qualified and legal to work are scarce, but there are other fields, jobs, and opportunities abundant here.”

  “Like what?” Kesha cocked her head to the side.

  “Check this out, how many black-owned beauty supply stores are there in this neighborhood?” I asked.

  No one answered.

  “Right, none. And yet the Asians have cornered that market. We are the number one customers, yet we don’t think to supply the demand. You wanna know why? Because by the time many of us get to the age where we wanna do something like own a business or get a high paying job, we have felonies and misdemeanors that prohibit us from getting the small business loans and even the start-up grants that they get to open a business.

  “They have always done everything they can to oppress us. I don’t know why they want to push us out of such a freezing cold place, but that’s their objective. We have to rally together, weaponize ourselves with the appropriate knowledge and resources to stop this forceful exodus of us from Chicago. Brothers and sisters, we have to act now.”

  “Act how? What can we do to get us to see that things aren’t as bad as they seem in Chicago and not to just up and move?” Kesha said with such passion in her voice that I couldn’t help but to stare at her a bit longer than I should have I guess. She had me looking at her differently just that quickly with her attentiveness to what I had been sharing.

  I pulled my thoughts away from her to address what she had asked, what others may have been thinking as well. “Guys, we have to educate ourselves and the generations coming under us about our history, disenfranchisement, the fact that we belong here just as much as the next race.

  “We have to go down to City Hall and tell them we know what they are doing and demand that they create more jobs for us, provide more funding for our schools, rather than investing millions into the rebuilding of neighborhoods once we’ve fled them. We have to make them invest in us and our neighborhoods now.”

  Mostly everyone in the room, except for Mr. Kelly, who was putting his hat on and walking towards the door, gave me their undivided attention. They soon were caught up in the detailed and more visual plans I shared with them via a PowerPoint presentation.

  Kesha even moved up to the front row and I appreciated her enthusiasm as I divulged what I had come up with thus far.

  *3*

  Starr

  “Rikia, I’m just not pleased with the amount of RSVP’s we’ve gotten on social media.” I walked into her office at the university without so much as a call or text to let her know I’d be showing up there. I figured it be okay given that I knew that she didn’t have another class until three pm that day. I used my best friend privileges and showed up unannounced.

  She didn’t even bother to look up from grading papers when she said, “Girl, people are gonna show up.”

  “But how can you guarantee they will if it doesn’t have the visibility I think that it should?” I took the seat in front of her desk, grabbed the bag of open, mixed nuts and poured myself a handful before I rejoined my seat.

  “Starr, I can’t guarantee it. You just have to have faith. But if you’re that pressed about it, do more to make it stand out.” She sipped water from a bottle nearby and replaced it on her desk without making eye contact with me.

  Her lack of looking at me didn’t bother me since I had infringed on her time. I knew that she was dedicated to grading during work hours and taking as little work home with her as possible.

  Me on the other hand, I didn’t mind grading papers at home. But grading schedules was not why I was there, so I leaned forward in my chair and said, “Do more?” My elevated voice warranted the eyebrow lifting stare she shot at me. I knew I was on edge so I quickly said, “Sorry for snapping on you.”

  “It’s cool. I’ll give you a little latitude on the matter since it’s something you value so much.” She gave me her full attention with those words.

  “Thanks. I just feel like everything I can do within my power and my natural resources has been done, but it’s not enough. I need help.”

  “What about the planners you gave the idea over to, isn’t marketing it their department?”

  “Yeah, I check in with her and her company from time to time. They try to assure me that it’ll be a great turnout, but I don’t hear the buzz that she claims the streets have.”

  “Maybe that’s because you don’t be in the streets.” Rikia laughed and pushed her big and naturally loose curls behind her ear. She wore her hair big and untamed just like mine. But hers went past her shoulders while mine was cropped above my shoulders.

  “Whaddya mean gyal? Mi out and about all de time. You know I’ve become a regular at Kingston on Friday nights and Reggie’s Lounge on Saturday nights.”

  “First off, didn’t we talk about you and that broken patois of yours.” Rikia couldn’t keep a straight face before her shoulders bounced as she chuckled.

  “The only way I’ll learn it is if I practice it. You better hush before I go visit my aunt for a whole summer again to practice it and miss your birthday celebration. I’ll definitely get better at it then.”

  “Miss my all-white party this year if you want to.”

  The razor-sharp glare Rikia cut my way let me know she wasn’t playing. I squeezed her hand, stopping her from grabbing her pen to get back to grading papers. “I was kidding, friend. I wouldn’t miss your party for the world. But seriously, you know my goal, so help me.”

  “I honestly don’t know how I can help you besides the old school way of hitting the pavement with some flyers...but, I know of a guy who’s actively involved in his community and known around town. He may be able to help you get the word out.”

  I smile wide but then frowned at her before I said, “So why didn’t you tell me about him the first time I brought this up to you?”

  “Because I didn’t think of him then, but better late than never.”

  “You’re right.”

  “I know.” She laughed, causing me to purse my lips at her. “We went to high school together. He’s great with organizing people, drawing attention to his causes, and community outreach. I’ll text you his info.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Is that all you need?” She barely looked up from the stack of papers on her desk.

  “Yes, because I’m certain that with the minimal amount of attention you’ve been giving me, you wouldn’t dare stop to help me plan my presentation to share with the crowd for th
e opening of the weekend.”

  “Hey, you came in on my planning period. I love you, but you know that I like to take care of business during business hours.”

  “I know.” I grinned. “I’ll leave you be, for now, but thanks for the connect with the guy.”

  “You’re welcome. And close the door after you.” Rikia laughed as she looked up at me.

  “Goodbye, darling.” I left my friend’s office excited for the connection she would hopefully helped me make.

  I was just excited for what was to come.

  *4*

  Chris

  “It’s so good to see so many returning faces as well as new ones.” I couldn’t help but to steal another glance at the deep brown-skinned beauty with the wild fro like mine, sitting at the back of the room. I had never seen her before, but my eyes were well pleased with her presence. “Mrs. Rutledge, DeMarcus, even you, Mr. Kelly and the rest of you all who came back a second time this week for a discussion lets me know that you got what I was saying the last time we were here.”

  Mr. Kelly grunted.

  “You all coming back tonight means you’re willing to journey with me.”

  “I’m just here for the donuts and orange juice,” Joe, the neighborhood homeless man, shouted from the refreshment table.

  “That’s okay Joe, you keep coming and you’ll learn something. Maybe even enough to change your situation,” Kesha offered.

  “From what, fit to fat eating these donuts? Because otherwise, ain’t nothing wrong with the way I live.” Joe snipped.

  Most of the neighborhood residents knew not to argue with Joe about his living conditions. Countless winters and summers of trying to get him checked into shelters proved that we could only offer him food and a few coins every now and then.

  “It’s alright Joe, eat as many donuts as you want.” I looked back at the crowd in front of me. “As I was saying on Tuesday, we’re experiencing us leaving Chicago in big numbers and for reasons that should not be the case.” I wanted to keep my focus on the points that I was about to dole out, but I couldn’t help but to sneak peeks at the newcomer. She seemed to be so in tune with what I was saying, and I hadn’t even begun my spiel.