Concrete Island

by Anita Davis

  I was a leg man and it was summertime in the Chi. She had come in rocking denim shorts that fell mid-thigh and a flowy orange spaghetti strap shirt. I didn’t make a habit of ogling women, out of respect of them being more than just eye candy, but her meaty thighs and the gloss she wore on her full, soft-looking lips kept my eyes busy stealing glances of her. And her untamed hair, big and in its natural glory? A win in my book.

  There was something about a black woman rocking her natural hair, free and loose that touched my soul. As if it were her unspoken declaration that she was unashamed of her heritage.

  I pulled my thoughts from her and back to my meeting thoughts. “How many of you all have experienced family members, friends, colleagues leaving this great city for what they consider better opportunities and living elsewhere in places like Atlanta, Dallas, and Houston? To name a few.”

  Majority of the room lifted their hands.

  “Because of what some are calling and I see for myself, strategic gentrification, we’re fleeing in droves.”

  “Strategic gentrification?” Mr. Kelly shouted.

  I knew that if he showed up, he would be one I would have to be thorough yet concise with my explanations. “Yes, Mr. Kelly, it’s when improvements are made to a neighborhood above what the current residents can afford. It’s an attempt to push them out and make the neighborhood more suitable for middle class and above social classes.”

  To that response, I got a hard headshake from him before he said, “Sounds like you’re saying that the city is driving us out.”

  “Yes, that’s what I’m getting at.”

  He waved me off and then stood. “No one else is our problem. We are our own problem. The ‘man’ didn’t shoot my son. A man that looked much like him did. We are killing ourselves, hurting our ownselves.”

  “Mr. Kelly, it’s not that simple. A lot of our behaviors result from systemic oppression and issues we as blacks have been facing since we touched down, unwillingly, in this country.”

  “I see you’re one of the fools that thinks what happened over four hundred years ago still has any bearing on us. Just dumb.” He shook his head as if he pitied me.

  “Roy.” Mrs. Rutledge shifted quickly in her seat to face Mr. Kelly. “Don’t be all up in here calling this young man dumb. He’s smart, obviously smarter than you. Now, if you don’t like what he’s saying, you can leave. But I won’t let you stand there and continue to insult him. Got something negative to say, direct it to me and see how far you’ll get with calling me dumb.”

  Mr. Kelly chuckled as he turned to look at Mrs. Rutledge. “Rutledge, I ain’t scared of you. I’d be to the door by the time you lifted from that not so sturdy seat of yours.”

  “Roy.” Mrs. Rutledge rocked back and forth trying to get up out of her seat, but the silent beauty’s voice from in the back rose above the ongoing chatter stirring the crowd.

  “He’s right.” She stood. “Gentrification is happening in a lot of the neighborhoods in Chicago. Look at what type of buildings and businesses have popped up near the United Center since the Henry Horner Homes were torn down. Those businesses wouldn’t dare have rooted themselves around there when those projects were there. Believe him or not, you can look at an apartment finder online and see how much a one-bedroom is priced in those neighborhoods. The area is no longer meant for those that once lived in those projects. He really is speaking the truth.” Smiling at me, she took her seat just as quickly as she had stood from it to come to my defense.

  I can’t even lie, she had more of my attention than she had from just the exceptional sight of her.

  No sooner than the nameless beauty sat down did Kesha jump up from her seat on the first row. “Yeah. Christopher is absolutely right.”

  The way she said my name caught me off guard a little. It dripped from her mouth like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever said and there were those googly eyes of hers again staring at me. Instead of directing her attention to the rest of the audience, she kept them trained on me like I was her prey and she continued speaking. “Everything he’s saying is right.”

  We waited for her to say more, but she only continued to stand and just stare at me. I wasn’t sure of it, but her coming into the alderman’s office every day after she got off work to “pick my brain” on my activism raised a concern for me. With the way she had been saying my name, always trying to be close to me, I realized that the “couple” seed that Mrs. Rutledge had planted in her had blossomed into a plausible reality for her in such a short time. I was going to have to figure out a way to let her down without hurting her feelings.

  “Thanks, Kesha.” I nodded at her, which must’ve given her clearance to sit down again because she did so. I put my attention back on my stream of thought before others joined in and led us away from the meeting’s agenda. “You’ll hear some people argue that it isn’t really gentrification since our low-income neighborhoods aren’t technically being replaced by whites but are just riddled with a lot of abandoned buildings.

  “The reality is, they won’t admit to what’s really going on. If we let them carry on as they have, we’ll look up one day to see that they all have touched down and set up residence in our neighborhoods and that none of us are no longer here.

  “It’s true that they haven’t replaced us yet in many of the desolate neighborhoods. But that’s because there are still too many of us living in them for their liking. They are eagerly buying up the vacant lots, foreclosed homes and businesses, and biding their time before they settle.

  “Minimal funding is occurring in our schools and community resources and all that matters to us in a strategic effort to move us out. Make no mistake that our mass exodus from Chicago is not just a coincidence. It is the strategic placements of policies and manipulative and repulsive practices enacted by city officials to push us out.”

  Kesha smiled at me as if I were Dr. Martin Luther King and had just closed his infamous “I Have A Dream” speech. She looked at me with such pride in her eyes that I thanked God I was getting ready to bring the meeting to a close and would put some distance between her and me.

  “There’s so much else I want to and will share with you all, but I know I can’t give it to you all at once. No one gets all of the nutrients they need at once. But rather when they eat balanced and nutritious meals all throughout a day do they properly feed and fuel their bodies. I’ve been feeding you with what I’ve been saying and these pamphlets that I’m about to pass out will be more nutrients. It’s fuel that will build you up and help you fight this fight with me.

  “We have to march, rally, pass out flyers, disrupt city hall with our presence and voices, support black businesses and less and less of theirs to get them to see that we see what they’re doing, that we mean business, and won’t be pushed out of this great city.” I held my fist up in the air because I honestly took pride in what I was saying. I took pride in us. “More of my thoughts and initial plans are in the pamphlets. Please read them as soon as possible. Let’s fight back.”

  No sooner than the last of my words had left my mouth did Kesha rush to me and take the pamphlets from my hand and began to pass them out.

  “Thank you.” I nodded at her.

  She blushed and walked away on her mission.

  I knew I had to keep the meetings short and measure out my thoughts to them, eating too much at one time was rarely ever good. I thought I had given them more than enough to digest during the meeting and hoped they would be fired up and even come back with suggestions of their own the next time we met.

  “People, please eat the rest of the donuts and juice.” I shook a few hands and said goodbyes to some of the residents mingling around the room before the deep brown-skinned goddess who had captured my attention during most of the meeting worked her way to me as I made my way to her.

  “Hello, I’m Christopher Combs. And you are?” I extended my arm to shake her hand.

  “Starr. Starr Night.”

  Her smile was bright, h
er eyes so deep and alluring, and her hands so soft that I didn’t want to let it go. I wanted to keep hold of her hand and simply gaze at her, but her smile widened, and she slipped her hand from mine.

  “I see you’re as powerful up close as your words and presence are from a distance.”

  I tilted my head a little. “Starr, are you macking me?”

  Her head fell back a bit and she didn’t hesitate to laugh loudly.

  “I’m serious.” She had me blushing like I was in fifth grade and she was my first crush. The distance between us during the meeting hadn’t afforded me the up-close opportunity to take her in.

  She wasn’t that much shorter than my five-ten stature, a plus for me because I wanted a woman to be my equal in many ways. She had these adorably cute and puffy cheeks and her eyelashes were so long. Made me want to stare in her eyes for an eternity, but she had finally composed herself from her laughter.

  “No. I’m not macking you, just honest and upfront enough to tell you that you speak with such conviction and are knowledgeable about the topic at hand. I can’t help but to deem you powerful and an agent of change. Present and future.”

  I covered my hand with my chest and swayed a little, showing her I was taken by what she had said. “I don’t care what you say, you’re trying to talk me out of my cargo pants.”

  “You are silly.” She giggled and lightly punched me in my arm with the comfort and ease of a person who had known me all of my life. “That is not why I’m here.”

  “Good, I wouldn’t let you take advantage of me like that so soon anyway. You’d at least have to take me on a date first.”

  Grinning, she shook her head. “Christopher, I came here because I was told you might be able to help me.”

  I couldn’t help but to take on a more serious demeanor with her declaration. I was ready to assist her in any way I could, especially if she was a business or a homeowner and someone was trying to push her out of either all in the name of gentrification.

  Yeah, I didn’t know her situation but had already plotted her problem. I guess that’s because I was interested in her and my head was already formulating a way to help her.

  “Get out of that head of yours. You’re scowling, but my dilemma isn’t that bad. It’s not a life or death matter.”

  I felt the tension ease in my face at her admission. It was crazy to me how I was so invested in this woman within such a short amount of time. I was all ears with Starr and wanted to give her my undivided attention but couldn’t help but to notice a matter out the corner of my left eye. Kesha lingered nearby, straightening chairs that were already perfectly aligned with one another.

  I put my attention back on pretty Ms. Starr.

  “Chris, can I call you Chris?”

  “Call me whatever you’d like.” I winked.

  “Chris…” She grinned. “To make a long story short, I campaigned to get the city to approve a Carnivale to be held down on Northerly Island to celebrate the Afro-Caribbeans in Chicago and our culture. Like I said, the Carnivale will celebrate but also educate and enlighten the residents of Chicago of the rich history of Africans dropped off in the Caribbean during the slave trade.”

  Her demeanor dampened a bit with the last of her words and I could only imagine why. What she had last referenced had been an unnecessary and tragic occurrence for our ancestors.

  “Wow, I’ve seen flyers around town and on social media for the Carnivale, but I never would’ve imagined that someone as beautiful as you would’ve been the brainchild behind it.”

  She smiled again, blushed actually and I was glad that I had lifted her mood again.

  “Thank you. I didn’t do it alone. I had the help of a lot of great people who saw my vision for what it was. But I’ve grown kind of nervous that not enough people know about it. In sharing my worry with my best friend, another professor over at DePaul University, she suggested that I come see if you could assist me. I need help getting the word out more about the Carnivale. She figured you were the best man for the job since you’re very active in the community, visible and vocal about our issues.”

  I paused a bit, mulling over my thoughts, looking to choose my words carefully because I didn’t want to alter the vibe I felt between us, but I just had to be me and honest in response to her request. “Starr… Forgive me for being so blunt, but I can’t rally behind your cause when I’m working tirelessly trying to get mine in the spotlight.”

  She pursed her lips and her forehead scrunched.

  “There is a greater work to be done in Chicago beyond pumping up what out of touch pop star will be on a stage for a weekend,” I added.

  She put distance between us by taking a step back.

  “But, but…” I wanted to get to know her more, so I rushed to say, “You can join forces with me. Residents of Chicago or anywhere on the globe for that matter can read about our rich and sordid history of the diaspora at any time, but if we don’t act now on this exodus, we won’t be able to afford to move back in once we’ve all left. Our forced departure from Chicago is where all of our attention should be.”

  She took a deep breath and looked to summon a fake, tight smile on her face as she simply said, “Have a good day, Christopher.”

  She walked away before I could get another word in. Our impasse of what was really important for our people seemed to ruin the moment between us. Her sudden departure irked me.

  Why couldn’t we have met under different circumstances?

  *5*

  Starr

  “So, how did it go the other day with that community activist I told you about? You refused to talk about it when I stopped by your office the next day,” Rikia asked as she stirred vanilla creamer in her coffee as we sat in the fairly empty café not too far from campus.

  I hope my poked-out lips conveyed my feelings about the meeting because I really didn’t want to talk about it.

  “And no, your sour face isn’t an answer enough for me. Spill the beans, Starr.”

  I slowly pulled my tangerine tea bag from my mug, placed it on the stack of napkins nearby, and carefully folded it into them in an attempt to avoid responding to her inquiry.

  “Starr!”

  “Okay. Okay.” I moaned. “In no way shape form or fashion did the convo turn out the way I thought it would. In addition to me thinking that I would’ve left out of the meeting with an ally to help promote Carnivale, I thought I would have left with us exchanging numbers. Why didn’t you tell me that he was so fine? So engaging?”

  “Because, I didn’t know that would be relevant to what you’re trying to accomplish,” Rikia said casually.

  “Um, ma’am, best friend, let’s not act brand new with each other. No matter the cause, you should always inform me of whether or not a man is fine before I meet him. I’m talking about it looked like he put lotion on every day.”

  “What?” Rikia laughed.

  “No, really. His skin looked so firm and not just from all of the muscles I could see from his broad shoulders to his meticulously sculpted calf muscles, but his deep, rich skin looked supple like he was into self-care.”

  “Alrighty then.” She lowered her head and rubbed her forehead like she was in disbelief of my assessment of him.

  “The defined curls in his big fro looked soft, his teeth were so white and pretty, his cute, Nubian nose, tantalizing dark brown eyes and his voice? It was deep and passionate. He commanded my attention with it.” I was so lost in recounting his looks but then a thought jumped out at me. “Wait, did you plan to keep him for yourself? If that’s the case, I’ll renounce my attraction to him and cast it into the sea of forgetfulness.”

  Deep creases were visible in her scrunched forehead. Rikia looked at me long and hard before she said, “I wasn’t looking to keep him for myself. And I’m glad you were attracted to him. It’s been a minute since you’ve had a constant guy in your life.”

  “As we discuss all of the time, it’s not that I don’t want a man, I just haven’t found o
ne that suits me. Until then, I’ll dabble here and there from time to time. And no need to worry, he won’t fit the bill to be a constant. He pretty much scoffed at my plight.”

  “Come on, it, he wasn’t that bad, was he?” She propped one of her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hand.

  “Let’s just say that the attraction bubbling between us fizzled down to water by the time I walked out of there.”

  “But water is still powerful.” Rikia laughed.

  “Whatever. It sucks. After you told me about him, I had really gotten my hopes up that Mr. Activism would be down to help me promote the Carnivale.”

  I didn’t make a habit of sulking, but I couldn’t help but to slump a little in my seat. “I mean, given his passionate talk of saving the black population in Chicago and how we were being disenfranchised in many facets, I just knew he would’ve been on board when I made mention of the diaspora. No matter where we ended up, we’ve all had our struggles and yet have beautiful traditions and ways of life that deserve to be highlighted and celebrated.”

  “You’re right,” Rikia offered me what I knew was heartfelt sympathy.

  I sat up and squared my shoulders. “While my attempt to team up with Chris to get the word out didn’t pan out, my resolve to make the Chi-Flavor Afro-Caribbean Carnivale its best is unyielding. I’m proud to have found out about my Jamaican roots, even if I was twenty-nine when I did so. As I’ve told you countless times before over the past few years—”

  Rikia nodded and I grinned at her.

  “Whatever.” I playfully rolled my eyes at her. “The Jamaican, Caribbean community for that matter is so vibrant and tight in the city and yet we don’t get the support and visibility we rightfully deserve. I’m proud of everything Auntie Zeporah has shared with me about my dad, my culture, and I want to share it with everyone I can. So back to the street, passing out flyers on my own it is.”