by Omar Tyree
“Who said that?” Troy quizzed, not believing it.
James laughed. “The national census,” he responded. “Yup, they said it’s the most livable.”
“How can this city be the most livable when y’all got all these hills and shit here?”
“I’on know, homes, but it is. And your city got the longest street in the world.”
“Yeah, Broad Street is kind of long.”
“My man Troy knew exactly what I was talking about,” James said.
“Hell, yeah. Broad Street runs through the whole city.”
Realizing what words he used, Troy began to smile. “Man, Bruce got me sayin’ that ‘hell, yeah’ shit. Now I forgot what I used to say. You know what I mean, cuz?”
James chuckled. “Your city got me sayin’, ‘You know what I mean,’ all the time, homes,” he said. “Yup, Troy, New York got the highest population of Black people, followed by Chicago and then, I think, Detroit, Philly, and Washington, D.C. They only got two Black areas here.”
Troy sat quietly, enjoying the ride as James continued to express himself. “Homes, this city is racist as shit, though,” he commented. “People that live here think it’s all interracial and shit, but the truth is ugly.
“Check this out, homes. The White politicians separate the two major Black areas and break their voting power by making them vote with White people. That’s their integration shit. That’s why Marsh County can forget about having a Black mayor. Matter of fact, they only have one Black politician in the whole town. Now, you know that’s fucked up.
“I grew up hating White people, homes, ’cause they would make you go to the White schools, where you’d be a minority. And them White boys be talking shit. I used to kick dere ass every day.”
James paused, debating if he should tell Troy what the was about to say. He decided that he would. I remember when I was five years old, and me and my mom went shopping at this White mall. My mom went to try on some clothes, while I waited for her outside the dressing room. This White boy tried to say she was stealing some dress. My mom told him that she didn’t have the dress and that it was someone else’s. He called my mom a ‘lying nigger bitch,’ and they started harassing her. They was pulling on her, and I was like,‘Get off my mom!’ —crying and shit, homes. But when we got home, my mom told my pop and uncles and shit, and they went and fucked dem White people up, homes, with bats.”
James fell deep into his story as his eyes watered. “I started hating White people ever since. And I’m glad I got outta here, ’cause they be actin’ like damn fools. These backward-ass niggas try hard as hell to be like brothers from New York, and yet they be hangin’ out with White people.”
They finally reached his aunt’s house, just in time for dinner. It was a five-room brick home with a large lawn and a green picket fence. After his aunt answered the door, James introduced Troy and turned the game on immediately. The first quarter had just started.
“Look at all dem White fuckers on that team, homes,” James said, stopping to set his plate on the floor. “Talk about being outnumbered; if their football team don’t even have that many Blacks, then that school is really White,” he added, referring to Brigham Young, who State University was playing in the Thursday night football game.
“It takes me out how all the Black athletes get used in these White, racist-ass schools, homes. It seems like them big, dumb football players don’t care about nothin’. They’re too stupid, I guess, to understand their situation. ’Cause if you don’t make the pros, it’s all over wit’.”
James stopped, only to swallow down some macaroni and ham before continuing. “We could of had this bad-ass Black quarterback at State U, but since he was Black, they asked him to play cornerback, and he left and shit. Troy, don’t you know that boy is doing work now at West Virginia. He’s only a sophomore now, ranked way higher than that garbage-ass White quarterback we got.” And Troy listened as James talked all night long about “those damn White people” this and “those damn White people” that.
That Friday after basketball practice, Troy went to hang out with Matthew. Each time he would go to Matthew’s room, he found Matthew studying at his desk. He would always take a break to chat.
“You study more than I do,” Troy said to him, walking in.
“No I don’t. We study about the same, ’cause I go jogging to release stress during the time that you’re practicing. But yo, how come you don’t hang out with them dudes on the basketball team, Troy?” Matthew asked, turning from his desk as usual.
“ ’Cause, man, all dey do is talk about girls and ball.
I’m a much deeper person than that.”
“I know what you mean. After a while, it all gets kind of redundant. But did you speak to Peter since you’ve been back from Thanksgiving?” Matthew asked, as if something was wrong.
“Naw. Why?” Troy asked. He hoped that nothing had happened to Peter.
Matthew cracked a large smile, observing Troy’s panic. “ ’Cause, man,” he said, shaking his head with a grin, “he came back after Thanksgiving talkin’ about he was saved.”
“Saved? Like, religiously?” Troy asked, breaking into his own grin.
Matthew began to laugh. “Yeah. So, like, I asked him what that shit meant, and he told me that he will serve his life for the Lord.”
Troy frowned. “Aw man, what the hell is going on with him, cuz? First he’s chasing around after all the girls in school. Now he wants to be religious.”
“Ay’, yo, he’s serious, too, man. But you know what? I never was into that kind of stuff. I always thought that religion was for weak-minded people,” Matthew commented.
“Yeah, that’s the same way I think of it,” Troy agreed.
Brrrloop brrrloop.
“Hello,” Troy said, answering the phone. “Ay’, yo, Mat, it’s Pete. He wants you to sign him in.”
“Word, now we can both ask him what’s going on,” Matthew responded, slipping on his shoes. He returned to the room shortly after with a happy-faced Peter. Troy wasted no time finding out what had changed his friend into a follower of Christ.
“Ay’, Peter, man, what’s going on with you, cuz?”
he asked as soon as Peter entered the room.
“Well, I was home thinking, and something just gripped me and took control of me, restricting me from moving,” he answered. “I felt real weird and started crying and all, and I began to pray. The Lord told me to follow his lead. I felt a great joy inside like I had been uplifted in happiness. I felt joy that you wouldn’t feel in a hundred years. It was a great relief. Then I told my folks. They sat down and spoke to me about it. And I suddenly felt the strength to conquer whatever I had in my path. I decided then to do God’s work.”
Troy and Matthew just stood there in a daze.
Matthew spoke up first. “What do you need strength for, man? And what does that mean, you’re going ‘to do God’s work’? You’re only eighteen. I mean, exactly how much can you do?”
“First of all, there will be no adultery, no cheating on tests, and no parties. I will have total discipline and self-evaluation to get my work done,” Peter answered happily. He appeared to be pleased to answer their questions.
“Come on now, Peter. Me and Troy do our work every day. Neither one of us is religious. It seems like you’re taking more away than you’re gaining, to me. I mean, is this to get you better grades, or what?” Matthew asked.
Troy sat and listened, trying to make sense out of it all. He still couldn’t believe it. How is this nigga gon’ just go home for a couple of days and come back saved? Troy wrangled to himself.
“Well, basically, it should help me to concentrate on what it is that I want to accomplish. At the same time, it should make me a better person in accordance to the Lord’s teachings,” Peter said to Matthew.
Troy finally decided to speak on it. “Peter, you were already the nicest, friendliest dude that anybody could know. You speak to everybody. Everyone likes you and c
an get along with you. I mean, to be truthful, man, I don’t see why you’re into this stuff.”
“Troy, my brother, it’s not just for me; the Lord wants all of his people to join him. You and Matthew should listen to me and hear my words.”
Matthew laughed and blew his nose. Peter’s lost his mind, he thought. “Look, fellas, I would love to finish this discussion, but I have a lot of work to do. So if y’all don’t mind,” Matthew said, still smiling. He stood up from his bed to show them out the door.
Peter and Troy left to continue their conversation in Troy’s room after riding the elevator. Simon sat studying at his desk. He spoke as soon as they entered.“Hey, Peter, how the hell are ya?” he shouted. Usually, Troy found entertainment in Simon’s vulgar tongue. In the present circumstance, however, he felt embarrassed. “Hey, Troy, man, some kid fuckin’ stole my ball up at the gym today, so I took someone else’s. Ta hell with that, man. I’m not leaving with nothin’. But this rotten-ass ball is a piece of shit compared to mine. I’ll steal a better one tomorrow.”
Troy laughed, forgetting how embarrassed he felt at first. “I didn’t know White boys stole shit.”
“Hell yeah! Nobody steals my ball and gets away with it. Somebody’s gotta pay the piper,” Simon said.
Troy thought, This White boy really is from Brooklyn.
Simon soon settled down, giving Peter a chance to speak. He looked at Simon with pity. “Well, like I was saying, my brother, I was weak to the trickery of the devil. Now I have the strength I need to fight him off and not fall into temptation,” Peter said to Troy.
Simon eavesdropped with a keen ear as Peter continued:
“The devil has a lot of trickery in this world. You have to see through that before you can know the light of the Lord.”
“How come the so-called Lord hasn’t called on me?” Troy asked seriously.
Peter smiled. “The devil has ways of blocking a person’s hearing while keeping you from the Lord, who is the truth of all mankind,” he answered.
Simon smiled to himself at his desk.
Peter said, “Well look, Troy, I have just begun, but as I learn more about the Lord and his words, I can be better equipped to help my confused brothers.” He left and went back to Matthew’s room to be signed out, leaving Troy alone with Simon.
“Ay’, Troy, Peter’s religious or something now?” Simon asked, as soon as Peter had left.
“Yeah, cuz, ain’t you?”
“Hell no! There ain’t no God. If there’s a God, tell him to come down here and speak to me then,” Simon said humorously.
Troy laughed hard. “Man, I thought all Jews were into that.”
“Yeah, everybody thinks that dumb shit. There are three kinds of Jews. There are Orthodox, whoare really into that shit, and Conservatives, who are a little bit. But I’m a Reformed Jew; that means I don’t really give a fuck. I’m more into money.
“Shit, I’m just like any other American! I just have Jewish heritage, that’s all.” Simon then dug into some of his books, searching desperately for some literature he wanted Troy to see. “Aw fuck, I can’t find it.”
“You can’t find what?” Troy asked him.
“A passage I had read about religious people,” Simon responded, still looking. “You know, Troy, I learned in philosophy that only weak people follow that shit,” he said, flipping through pages in his philosophy book. “Here it is. It says, ‘Individuals who do not believe strongly in themselves believe more in outside forces.’”
“Damn, cuz, that’s the same thing that me and Matthew said,” Troy told him. He grabbed Simon’s book to read the passage himself, before realizing something. “Yeah, but this is what some White person said. That would mean that most of my race is weak. I mean, what if there really is a God?” he wondered.
Simon tried to assure him. “Aw man, don’t start worrying yourself about what Peter said. He was always weak anyway. You remember when we would let him use our room, and he could never get any girls, when he lived with them three guys? And yeah, he was scared to tell them to stop having fuckin’ parties every night. He can’t play basketball for shit, ’cause I’ve seen him. I mean, Troy, let’s face it, he’s weak. He fits right in with that religious shit.”
Troy twisted and turned in his bed that night. The religious issue was getting to him. He felt that he was strong enough to lift his own cross. And what of his grandmother, the kindest woman in the neighborhood? Bessie Potter had always said, “I ain’t no religious woman, but I do a lot more forhumankind than most of them who are. ‘Cause some of themfollowers can be as stingy and evil as they wanna be.”
Why couldn’t God judge humans on their merit?
Curiosity pulled hard on Troy’s conscience. He could not seem to fall asleep. He wanted to find out, once and for all, what the truth was. If God wanted him to follow, why didn’t he receive any signs? “Give me a clue that could change me,” he asked the heavens.
It became an ultimate showdown between Troy and God. Troy could not sleep without knowing. His prayer was the first since he was seven years old and praying for a new bike on Christmas.
“Dear Lord, I don’t know if I’m right in not believing in you, but I really want to follow. And if there is any way that you can help me, please do.”
When he had prayed for the new bike, his dream had come true. But was that because his mother had already bought the bike?
There were no clues or signs that next morning when Troy awoke. The streets were still black, with yellow and white lines. His book bag was still green. He didn’t feel particularly special as he walked to class in the cool breeze. White students still found difficulty in allowing him a pathway to walk as he weaved through and around them. He still felt alienated in his classrooms. And he began to feel a spiritual emptiness as well. God had not answered his call.
There was no light after praying. Nothing had changed. Nothing was different today than it was yesterday. So he began to think that maybe God had rejected him. Therefore, there was no God.
“Ay’, yo, Mat, I prayed last night, man,” Troy said quietly. He and Matthew sat eating inside the cafeteria.
“You did?” Matthew asked, setting down his sandwich to listen.
Troy noticed, all of a sudden, that a majority of Black students sat down and prayed before eating. Was it his sign? He didn’t feel that it was big enough. Or maybe the sign was right in front of him all of the time and he had always ignored it. White students never prayed inside the cafeteria, though. And his Jewish roommate expressed a strong disbelief in God.
“You daydreaming or something, man?” Matthew asked, snapping Troy out of it.
“Oh, yeah, I was just thinkin’ about somethin’.”
“So you prayed last night, hunh?” Matthew repeated. “Well, what happened?”
“I couldn’t go to sleep. So I asked to let the truth be known, and nothin’ happened. But if you notice, a lot of Blacks are prayin’ before they eat here. And White people don’t, besides some of these Southerners.”
“Yeah, I know. They get that from their families. And maybe you just don’t see when White people pray,” Matthew said.
“Yeah, maybe so. But do you notice how religious people are all strict, and beat their kids’ asses all the time? Like Peter. You can tell his family used to whip his ass, giving him low self-esteem, which would make him weak and cause him to run to the ‘Holy Ghost’ to give him strength,” Troy said, philosophizing to validate his nonreligious position.
Matthew grinned. “Yeah, it does kind of seem like he came from one of those strict families that wouldn’t let him do shit,” he said. “I used to tell my mom that I was going out, and just leave. So I kind of had to build my own strength out in the streets.”
“I know, man. Me too. I used to fight every day, cuz. My mom never let me get too far out of hand, though,” Troy mentioned.
“Oh, naw, I’m not saying that I did everything, ’cause my mom used to catch me and warm my ass, too. She gave me
a lot of freedom, though,” Matthew retorted.
They chuckled as Matthew got up to leave. “I’ll see you later, man. I gotta go to my next class, all the way across campus.”
“Aw’ight, then, Mat, I’ll catch you later.”
When later had finally come, Troy had barber business to attend to. His floor’s R.A., Charles Davison, needed a haircut badly.
“So how do you want your hair cut?” Troy asked him. He had already cut both James’s and Doc’s heads as they watched inside his room.
“Just give me a regular cut. Even it up all the way around, and shape it up,” Charles said.
James began to laugh as he looked at his high-rounded, tapered haircut in the mirror. He felt it was comical for a person to want a plain, low haircut. Charles was funny-looking to him anyway.
“Ay’, yo, homes, you don’t get no tapers, hunh?” James asked with a smirk. Homes is a dickhead, he thought.
“No, I don’t get those hoodlum-type haircuts,” Charles answered.
James got hyper. “What, homes? Who said these were hoodlum haircuts? Man, I’ve been wearing my hair with a nice height since I was, like, seven years old. I don’t know what you’re talkin’ ’bout,” he snapped, peeking again at his hair. “Gon’ call this a hoodlum haircut?”
James looked at Doc, who was smiling. Doc also had a high haircut, displaying his curly black hair.
“Ay’, little brother, I’m tellin’ you now. When you go to Whitey for a job interview, they ain’t gon’ hire you looking like that, unless you got curly hair like my man here. ’Cause he can wear his hair high without them sayin’ shit,” Charles said, referring to Doc.
“What?Homes, you must be crazy out your mind, talkin’ ’bout what I gotta do for White people!” James shouted. “Why you gotta have curly hair to wear it high? You ain’t my brother, homes. I don’t wanna be a part of nobody who’s ashamed of being Black!”
James would go on and on about race matters. He never dropped the issue. He continued even after Charles Davison had left. “You hear that shit homes said, Troy, talkin’ ’bout I can’t wear my haircut because of these White motherfuckers? That makes me mad to hear a brother say some shit like that. He’s already given up the fight against White people.”
