by Tiana Laveen
This caused a special circumstance, one in which the man could cause a hostile situation for everyone not affiliated with him or his hate-filled, racist group. Aaron had been placed in isolation, and people were still carrying out his orders to the goddamn letter like a test was soon to follow. He wasn’t no damn toy and for anyone who thought otherwise, they soon realized he was the wrong fucker to try and wind up and play with. This is why the trickle down trick worked, and it went a little something like this…
Aaron must’ve told someone important, perhaps someone of equal ranking as he or even an employee with influence, about his circumstances. They told another, someone who could pull special strings, get the puppets movin’ and talkin’ – and so it went, every step built upon the back of a promise. After the orders were carried out, said promise would be granted. The King had placed a ransom on his head, with the best of intentions, simple as that. To sweeten the deal, Aaron could guarantee perks and monetary gifts; everyone knew that the crazy, built-like-a-boulder redneck wasn’t the least bit broke.
Matter of fact, he had some good coin under careful guardianship, and in some ways, that made him the kind of guy you’d want to shoulder up and rub elbows with, but Aaron wouldn’t allow no damn cuddle time, so, people simply offered to do whatever the fuck he asked to be done.
Aaron must’ve done what Marcus thought, for no one looked in his direction or dared bother a hair on his damn head. And now, Aaron’s final words to him all made sense…
“When people do me right, I do them right, too…”
“Goddamn!” Marcus yelled as he leapt up from his seat, grabbed the plastic bag bursting with trash from the ground covered in sparse, and marched back inside like a walking storm.
“It was Aaron.” He shook his head, feeling a bit silly he hadn’t figured out the shit sooner. Twenty minutes later, he finished cleaning up the place and returned outside to get some fresh air. He glared out at all the trash piled up high in the plastic cans, some appearing to be on the verge of toppling over. The smell of the barbecue lingered in the air – a sweet and sticky scent with just a kiss of smokiness. It made him feel a bit of peace as his thoughts continued to drift around inside his head like a hamster on a wheel.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the drawing of the fleeing fella. Looking down at the legs of the running man once more, he leaned against the wall of the house, crossing his ankles, and fell under a prison-memory-induced spell…
Aaron, you like this runnin’ man on this paper, ain’t you? You runnin’ from yourself, just like in this picture. Funny how I think about you from time to time, ’cause you a curiosity, like something in a sideshow, some shit a person don’t see every day. Yeah, I see racists every day. I’m a black man in a white world, can’t be helped or avoided, but I don’t see guys quite like you, man. I don’t want to look at you, or think about you, but I can’t help it. I gotta see it, gotta cure the itch. You popped into my mind tonight again at my own party…S’posed to be havin’ a good time, but I wondered how you was doin’. Then, I think about you again ’cause I see a piece of you in this picture, and figure out what the guard Curtis was talkin’ about now. It was YOU, man…
You told them mothafuckas to leave me alone, not make things hard for me… You paid for my peace. You the King, and you promised them something in return. I don’t know what you promised them, but I thank you for it all the same… I pray you can stop runnin’, Aaron; stop bein’ afraid of yourself, to find out who you really are and supposed to be. I pray you can do for you, just like you did for me. That’s my prayer for you, man… ’cause that’s what you need and I truly believe that’s what you want, too.
In yo’ mind, you might call me a nigger. You ain’t say that shit to my face for whatever reason; you kept it to yourself. Why don’t you try out a different word that begins with, ‘N’, Aaron? Why don’t you try giving yourself a NEW start? A NEW day and a NEW way of life? Yeah, try that word out, Aaron… and try out bein’ a NEW man, too.
AARON WORKED THE hard, sugary butterscotch candy around in his mouth until all that remained was a sliver of an orangey disc. The afternoon had been used as a disguise to appear aloof and uncaring. He soon discovered it wasn’t much of an act after all. He was on the case, observing people, keeping his lips sealed like the airtight lids of canned peaches as he tried to figure out who was internally responsible for his precarious predicament. In this quest, he’d never felt so alone in all of his life. Darryl had been placed so far away from him that he could only see him at chow and that was fleeting. The man may as well have been on the moon, and this put him at a serious disadvantage. Tony had been shipped away to another prison to complete his sentence. He only had Fred, and he could tell someone was working on him now, too.
“Aaron!” A guard called his name, a boxy, dark complexioned man he’d never seen before with eyebrows so thin, they barely were visible. “You’ve got mail.” He shuffled a bit closer and slid a pale yellow envelope in the slot.
Aaron got to his feet as fast as he could, almost stumbling forward in his haste. The distraction had come right on time, as if a little angel were hovering about, having a bit of mercy on him in his time of need. He snatched the envelope from the ground and made his way back to his bed, knowing immediately who it was from…
Melissa…
The all-too-familiar sweet perfume coated the thing, wafted about, making his groin twist and turn at the mere realization that his baby, in her own special way, had sent for him. He tore into the letter versus taking his usual time. No, he needed his medicine right away. He slipped it out from its confines, delighted that it was several pages long, something he could sink his teeth into. Leaning back to a more comfortable position, he slipped his hand behind his head and began to read:
Aaron,
Your last letter to me really made me think. I am quite proud of you for pushing yourself and telling me things that I’m certain you’ve never told anyone else, just as you stated. You spoke of traditions, of heritage, in your former letter, and how that closely tied into your own sense of self and purpose. I believe many people, even those of us born and bred in dysfunction, hold tight to certain cultural ideas that help define who we are. Even those of us that say we do not want labels and to be boxed in are actually lying. We applaud the ability to label ourselves things that are considered worthy and good by all. Things that feed our ego and make it grow. We say, ‘I don’t want a label for my sexuality…’ but we do want our lover to ‘label’ us a good kisser, a passionate person, perhaps the best. We say, ‘I don’t want a label for my race… I’m just an American.’ Yet, we do enjoy activities tied to our heritage, such as German festivals, Irish pubs, and Welsh celebrations. One of my favorite quotes about heritage was stated by a man by the name of Robert Hayden. He was an African American poet and educator. He said,
‘Some I love who are dead
were watchers of the moon
and knew its lore:
Pierced their ears
For gold hoop earrings
as the moon advised.’
Aaron, to me, those words have so many layers.
All races have given and received atrocities. However, we must admit, it appears that some people upon this Earth have had more uphill battles and the final destination still at times appears unknown. You are a white man, with privilege. It does not matter that you are incarcerated; that privilege exists from your birth, Aaron. You see, there are mainly white men running the United States government and of course, the judicial system. I know you believe that the white man is losing ground and power, but our laws, socioeconomics, and police policies are showing that that is not necessarily true.
People tend to relate to and are more friendly, welcoming, and lenient with people that look like them, or have similar backgrounds. You, essentially, are the extreme sense of proof of that theory. When there is no other person available to compare with in this manner, these people will turn on one another, for conflict is in
evitable. This is because, in conflict, one establishes dominance, power, and order. But as long as there is someone close by to compare, to feel better than, etc., then these similar groups of people will congregate and make decisions that are in their best interest, not in that of the person(s) who look nothing like them or share a similar culture and possible ideologies with. Another prime example of this, Aaron, is the tragedy in New York on September 11th, 2001.
After that tragedy, racist driven crimes in this country between African Americans and Caucasians went down significantly. Please take the time to verify all of my claims regarding this matter; I actually encourage you to. Membership in organizations such as yours dropped and people left these extremist groups. The reason why is because there was a new ‘enemy’ to focus on: terrorists.
Terrorists were identified as being majority Muslim and Middle Eastern, but not of the Jewish faith. Nor did they identify as Asian. They became the new boogeyman on the block.
They did not look like white Europeans. They did not like the majority of Africans and African Americans. We, as a country, had a face and a religion to blame. We had a new group of people to destroy. It did not matter that the majority of the people fitting that physical and religious-based description had no part in murdering our civilians and bombing our country and buildings. Since the beginning of time, we, as human beings, have sought to seek and destroy, in order to find and build our own selves up. We need a ‘label’, Aaron. A place to put our foundations on for that label is built off the back of others. Bases are hard and solid. We ‘name’ them, so that we know they are there and we can rely on them. Human beings desire a sense of safety more times than not. You of all people should know this; you make your living off such a desire. When one feels unsafe, they at times go through extreme measures to correct that imbalance and sense of fear.
Your life was built on the foundation of fear, my Love.
I cry as I write this, because I am seeing through your letters that you are transforming and growing so much! That’s all I wanted. It appears my prayers for you are being answered, and in this process, I’ve fallen in love with you even more. I will admit to you that was not my intention. Initially, I just wanted to help, and also, I was lonely, Aaron. Despite my wide circle of friends, all of my wonderful students, and a great family, I needed something that I wasn’t getting, and that was romantic love. I tried to deny it, but it was true, and if love is able to get inside us, we feel complete. I have told you that a teacher dating an inmate is not only unprofessional, but could be the kiss of death for my career… and yet I’m doing it all, to help you, and receive a real kiss one day from you, too…
I know I’m a good woman.
I know I’m a good teacher.
I’d like to be a good wife and mother, too.
Sometimes, in order to get a chance, we have to take a chance. My purpose on this planet is multi-tiered. I believe you and I were led to one another, Aaron. I believe this was truly our destiny. Please continue to keep me updated on your court case and progress. I do understand that you stated some things you cannot speak of because your letters are monitored, but any bit of information I can receive, I’d greatly appreciate.
I love you behind those bars and through those walls. They cannot keep me away from you. Love doesn’t see blockades and barriers; only people do, and love sometimes simply cannot be explained or labeled, but it does become its own foundation.
Love,
Mia
He’d been lulled into a soft, cozy daydream then shaken out of the thing as if a bolt of electricity had suddenly flowed through his body, setting his blood cells aflame. Three little letters… Three fucking letters had torn him up at that very second…
Mia… Mia? Her name is Mia?
He slowly rose from his bed, his hand shaking as he gripped the damn thing.
“Guaaaaaard!” he screamed out as he raced towards the prison bars and gripped them hard with both hands. “Guuuuuaaaard! I need to speak to Dr. Owens, NOW!”
Chapter Twenty
IT WAS AN unmistaken state of unnerving events. In his heated rage, Aaron had completely forgotten that Dr. Owens was out for the day – on holiday as the persnickety bastard had stated. The guard walked away from him, told him to settle down, and that was that…
I don’t know why the hell Dr. Owens speaks that way; he was born in the damn south… motherfucker spends a few years in England and then uses the word, ‘Bloody’ to curse! You’re one of us, you fucking prick! THE ONE TIME I NEED YOU, YOU AREN’T HERE! What good are you?!
He removed his treasure pile from beneath his bed and went through the letters in a state of damn near obsession. He read and re-read them, looking for anything he might have missed. Had she ever called herself Mia before? Maybe he’d missed it, but as far as he remembered, no… she hadn’t. She’d been careful, very careful…
He realized what had occurred. In her emotional outpouring, she’d slipped up, made a mistake. She was making sense, weaving logical thoughts together and sprinkling them with the flavor of heartfelt emotion. She knew just how he liked his shit served – in cohesive considerations, with hot, feminine touches. She had him pegged, understood how to tell him about himself in the sweetest of ways. Finally! Someone understood him.
Finally!
Someone knew who he truly was, because he sure as hell didn’t! He was trying… each day he tried, and she helped him. She helped him through that fantastic brain of hers – for he loved a woman he’d never laid eyes on. He loved the woman because she was fuckin’ smart and, dare he admit it, a bit manipulative, too. She was sexy and fluid in her thoughts and words… and she could write. The woman could put together a letter that made him feel as if he were sitting right by her side.
And now, betrayal lay on his lap…
But why would she lie about her name? Maybe it’s just a nickname? Hell! I might be gettin’ all upset about nothin’!
Calming himself down a bit, he tried to make sense of it all.
No… Mia is a real name. Why would it be a nickname? But it could be…
His gut told him differently. His gut told him the woman was a damn liar…
He looked at the time, then turned 360 degrees. His cell was a mess. He’d torn through her letters, her gifts… He’d kept everything the woman ever sent him, even the wrappers of the edible delights, for she’d touched them and somewhere on them remained her DNA, so he’d never even considered a discard of such materials. As he stood there for a moment or two, he debated tossing all the shit out, washing his hands of her.
No, that’s an emotional reaction. Get a hold of yourself…
Like a studious worker ant, he moved about, gathering his items and placing them back inside the box. Everything was tucked away, just as it should have been. Everything had gone back to normal, at least for now.
Dr. Owens gave the go-ahead for me to have a call with her tomorrow even though he won’t be here. Tomorrow is Friday… my time to talk with her on the phone. But who will I be speaking to?
MIA CHECKED HERSELF in the mirror once more. The frosted champagne colored gloss paired well with the peachy glow of her complexion. It felt a bit strange to get dolled up for the man, knowing he couldn’t see her. She’d even done her hair in a lazy updo, allowed a few strands to frame her face in a sexy sort of way. Sashaying in her short black, sheer robe, she made her way into her kitchen and reached for her strawberry wine cooler. She’d never been a big drinker, but tonight it seemed rather appropriate. Taking a small sip, she made her way back into her bedroom and got comfortable beneath the sheets.
Her pussy pulsed in sweet anticipation as just the thought of his voice soon to come on the other end of the line did wonders to her spirit. She looked at the time and nodded at the clock as if it were an old friend, then reached for her phone.
“Hello, this is Melissa Weber. I have a scheduled phone call with Aaron Pike in Dr. Owens’ office.”
“Yes, hold on, please…”
> She waited as the silence got to her. There were no bluesy, jazzy instrumentals or 1990s soft rock classics. And no Holman Correctional Facility announcements regarding visitation and protocol, either. No, only light static, like that of a television station gone off air or an old flip phone powered by analog. After a few moments, her damn body melted to butter…
“Hello…” came his deep, rich, dark, earthy voice. She never got tired of it… The man had a voice dipped in deep, Southern fried renaissance. It was a sure panty dropper and what made it all the more glorious was that his physical appearance harmonized with what rolled out from between his lips…
Damn. Simply majestic he was… damn near royal.
“Hi, Aaron… Hello baby.” She grinned into the phone as she turned on her side and curled her knees up towards her chest. “How are you?”
“I could be better, baby…”
“Oh?” Her brow rose and concern filled her as she sat back up, her jovial mood now hanging in suspense. “What’s wrong? Your case? The lawyer?”
“No, ain’t nothin’ to report regarding the case, nothing that I haven’t already told you. But somethin’ is wrong. Somethin’ is definitely wrong. I think you can fill in the blanks for me and make it right. Why don’t you go on ahead and start up?”
“I… I don’t understand what you mean, Aaron.”
“Oh, you definitely understand. I’m waiting…for…an answer…”
She sat up, her heart beating a bit faster.
“What are you talking about? Aaron, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Cut the shit!” the man screamed into the phone. Her damn eardrum rang as all of his angst poured out into those three words. “All the shit I told you! All the things we shared… I trusted you! You know all about me. I gave you front row tickets to my private thoughts! How could you do some shit like this, huh?! Who tha fuck are you?!! Mia! Do you hear me talkin’ to you?! Mia… Mia… Mia! Answer me!”
