by Tiana Laveen
Now he understood that silly saying…
Once you go black, you don’t go back.
He presumed he’d just been lucky, fortunate, blessed…
He’d had a taste, and now his mouth watered in anticipation as he craved that woman, jealous of his own memories of the time spent with her.
That Sunday morning before he’d left, they’d played strip poker. He made damn sure he won. Before he left her there, he made love to her one last time, slow and deep as they stared into each other’s eyes… He loved how her silky smooth skin rubbed against his own; the contrast in feel and appearance did something to him…
At various times, he grew fascinated with watching his thick, long, white cock disappear inside of her, then come back out. How absolutely surreal that was, a moment he’d never get over or soon forget. It didn’t feel obscene, disgusting or sinister. She didn’t look wicked as he did that to her; she looked simply in love. Their souls merged once and for all, and he felt compelled to promise her things, all sorts of things, and she promised him things, too…
In those thirty-six hours, they experienced a fair share of laughing to the point of tears as they swapped more stories with one another. He hadn’t laughed that hard in years. He was locked up but felt free as a damn bird with that woman.
In one of the memories he revisited time and again, she lay in his arms on the living room floor, his back against the leg of the couch, holding her close. The glow of the television cascaded across her face as old Barney Miller re-runs played on the screen. As her head rested against his chest, rising up and down with each breath he took, he stared down at her, then nestled his chin in the softness of her hair. He couldn’t believe how damn beautiful she was, what a good person she was, how caring, intelligent and loveable she was… and she was all his…
They shared things during their stay with one another—private moments, passionate moments, more and more secrets. And then, of course, more sex, plentiful lovemaking. He’d made love to Mia so much and so long, their limbs, down to the damn bones, felt sore and bruised. But he simply couldn’t get enough of her. He’d ravished her, showed her what she should expect when she became his wife… to be cherished, loved, and cared for like she had never been in her life. He played those moments over and over in his mind, determined to be free… determined to get out of that prison and be with her, to make a life with the woman he loved so completely.
Now here he stood, preparing for dinner in the chow hall, but the vibe had been all wrong. Even though the morning began beautifully, even offered a picturesque cloudless baby blue sky and bright, vibrant sun, something in the air wasn’t right. The Devil had whispered in a lunatic’s ear…
…Later that evening, dinnertime
LIKE A HUNTER in the dark, dank wilderness, senses were heightened, giving way to pure, instinctual survival skills. If one got quiet and still for just a second or two, they could hear, see, and feel things long before the prey made an appearance… and then, they’d be ready. He raised his invisible bow and arrow and continued down the way, his ochre colored tray in hand as he looked to his right, then to his left, checking the coast. He collected a ration of beef stew, a plastic cup of water, a roll, and an egg sandwich, then went to sit on the bleacher type seat.
“Damn it stinks in here,” he mumbled as he grabbed his spoon and scanned the space again.
A new scent had emerged, one that was certain to aid in a headache of epic proportions. The place smelled of sautéed onions and peppers, mingling in with the odors of the paint that created an even more grotesque mêlée of a fragrance that accosted his nasal passage.
I wish my nose wasn’t so goddamn sensitive…damn! Been this way since I was a kid…
Jamming his knuckle against the side of his left nostril, he gave it a hearty scratch, curing an itch. Then, he shoved himself back into the present, keeping his eyes and ears open as inmates moved about getting their dinner as well.
Clyde… you motherfucker, you…
He’d set the bait for Clyde, instigated and incited the man. It was certainly an easy task; the guy had been itching for a fight but had never had the guts when they stood face to face. Aaron also knew he had another golden egg in his basket: Clyde was a goddamn pussy. Being the emotional mess that he was, no doubt things would fall into place and sure enough, they were…
Aaron turned slowly to his left and spotted the army coming in…
A crowd of men approached from the distance, one by one, their shoulders straight and heads high. Like a perfectly formed lynch mob, they had their gaze fixed on him and… he simply stared back. Some noise behind him had him make a sharp turn. He rose to his feet, his fist balled and ready to go. Instead, he found Daryl, sweat-faced and gripping a cup. The man snatched his arm.
“Aaron, they’re comin’ for you! I tried to warn ya earlier today at breakfast, but I couldn’t get to you. Now look, I talked to some of ’em and it ain’t what you think! They are just playin’ along. Jason and even Jacob hate Clyde; they know about this and talked to the guys… We’re gonna jump ’em, Aaron! It’s on!”
Aaron nodded. “Listen, it looks like I have about sixty seconds to tell you this, so listen up, don’t interrupt me.”
Darryl indicated his understanding with a curt nod.
“You all do what you want, but I want out.”
Darryl looked at him in confusion.
“Clyde sent these boys, you already know that, but what you don’t know is that I set him up. These were my orders; he is just too stupid to know it. I’m tryna say goodbye, Darryl, and this is the most honorable way to go. No runnin’, connin’, or pussy footin’ around.”
“Aaron, what the fuck are you talkin’ about, man?! They will kill you!” Spit sprayed out of the man’s mouth, a few speckles landing in his bushy black beard.
“That’s the chance I have to take ’cause either way, I can’t run from it. They will come ’nd get me so I can do this now or later, and I’d prefer now, where it’s on neutral ground. I have to go, Darryl. I can’t do it anymore.” He raised his hands in surrender.
“Have you gone crazy? Why?”
Darryl looked as if he might be on the verge of a breakdown. Aaron felt mighty sorry about that, but he had to do what he had to do.
He looked back at the gathering crowd. The men had slowed, eyeing him, sizing him up. One of them winked, corroborating the news Darryl had shared. Some of the others simply glared. There was only one way out of that damn chow hall, and it was right past the janitorial corner… and he knew what was waiting for him when the time came. In a different day and time, he’d rumble, fight and pull out one of his crudely constructed shanks but this time… No. That simply wouldn’t do.
“I’ll tell you why. I love somebody, okay? I’m talkin’ I’d tear up this fuckin’ world, turn it inside out for her, Darryl. And she don’t take too kindly to this sort of thing we’re involved with… She don’t like it one bit.”
“Then she ain’t the woman for you.” Darryl’s eyes narrowed upon him as he crossed his thick, big arms over his barreled chest.
“Oh, she’s the woman for me, alright.” Aaron smirked. “She can’t get down with this. She has no choice. She has no alterative but to hate it, Daryl, because she’s black.”
His best friend’s eyes grew twice their damn size, and then he burst out laughing.
“I’m serious… I’m not jokin’ around, man. This is real.”
The man’s smile gradually faded away, and a look of sadness replaced it.
“You’re the only person I’ve told, okay? I don’t give uh shit about your judgments, about any bullshit you may have to say. Just know that I love ya. I always will…you’re my brother. You’ve had my back since day one, that’s why you’re standin’ here right now. You’re loyal and I will always look out for you too, but… I had to fix me, man! I chose love over hate.”
Darryl’s face must’ve turned five shades of red as Aaron glared at him. It reminded him of the r
ed of angry seas and bloody skies; the shade of hostility and blood pouring from a slowly beating heart…
He stood there as if he’d been stabbed and left to die. Oddly enough, he presumed Darryl may have felt that his words had in fact done just that.
“Aaron, look.” The man’s brows bunched. “They’re gonna drag your ass over to the janitorial area if you don’t walk over there your damn self and we all know there is only one fuckin’ way out of here. They’re going to put you in the closet and about three of ’em, the most that will fit, will beat the livin’ shit out of you, Aaron! They’re not goin’ for blood; they’re goin’ for tombstone!” The man’s voice trembled.
“Just promise you’ll visit my grave…”
“I’m tryin’ to save your life, you fucker! Aaron, we go back too fuckin’ far for me to just leave you like this but I tell you one thing,” he said, a stern look on his face. “I’m in here, in this fucked up place, ’cause of a goddamn woman! I’m in here because I’m a man, and I’m supposed to be protectin’ ’er, and I wouldn’t change a damn thing about what I’ve done! I don’t understand what the fuck has happened to you, can’t wrap my brain around it, but I still love you and your secret is safe… but you know… you know that I, uh…”
“Darryl.” Aaron put his hand on his shoulder and offered a sad smile. “You ain’t got to say another word, brother. I know and understand you. Now, let’s go.”
Aaron quickly grabbed his tray and navigated through the chairs and table as Darryl stayed a step ahead of him. He tossed his untouched dinner into the trash, and made his way around the bend. After dinner, they had twenty minutes of recreation. On the way to recreation was the janitorial closet… This time, Aaron would not be playing a quick game of ball or helping to clean up slop by grabbing the bucket filled with stinking, mildewed sponges. The place was also sublet to fuck, but he wasn’t about that life, either. No, someone had plans to mop the floor with him, and they wanted that shit spic and span…
He and Darryl’s steps grew quicker and harder until they were shoulder to shoulder. He didn’t slow his gait, blink, or bat an amber eye as they approached the small storeroom. When they got there, Darryl grabbed his shoulder and screamed out, “BE STRONG, MOTHERFUCKER!” as the door swung open and revealed three bastards who took hold of him like a trio of reapers out to collect their due.
Loud screaming, stomping, curses, and clapping ensued while Aaron was dragged into the depths of the dark, pitch black place…
Lost in the woods… the hunter was being hunted…
He lay there in that surreal place as they rained brutal blows to his ribs, hands, and face with fists and blunt weapons. They got him all along his body as he tried in vain to cover and protect his head.
“He’s still movin’! Watch out!”
Wetness began to trickle down his lips and out of one ear as boots and swift kicks turned him into a human game of kick the can. He could hear Darryl’s muffled screams out front as the violence escalated. He was undoubtedly being restrained during the mayhem.
“Fuck ’im up!” someone else shouted as an alarm started to ring. Guards would surely be on their way to break up the internal riot.
“Open that fuckin’ door!” someone else screamed as the brethren he’d known for so long got to fighting—some in his honor and others hoping for his demise. The mob of men had divided in a prison civil war—North and South—and they were fighting amongst themselves, ripping each other apart like the animals they were. Regardless, that door stayed locked and the banging grew so loud, his ears rang, including the bleeding one. But, he sat there, resisting the urge to fight back, to get into it, snap necks and crack heads.
I need to just stay here. I gotta get to her and my daughter… I gotta get out to them…
So, he fought his natural urges, sealed his fate, and took his lumps…
He got away from himself, flew away from his own body, thinking about good things, happy things, as he rocked back and forth, knowing for certain at least one of his ribs was broken.
I remember fishin’ as a little boy with Herschel. He taught me how to put the worm on the hook… I remember chasing Amy with that jar of worms later in the afternoon when I’d gone back home…
Good recollections… heartwarming remembrances… wonderful memories…
The sun and sky had been all too beautiful… They always are the day before it rains…
Blood dripped from deep rips in his flesh and he succumbed to moments of unconsciousness. Soon, the sharp blows from something that felt like the stick of a mop or broom hit him hard and heavy against every inch of his body. The pain sent his brain in a damn tizzy as it finally broke into pieces from the brutal impact. But…
He refused to scream.
He refused to cry out.
He refused to plead.
He refused to bribe.
He refused to hate.
He consented to love.
That’s all he had.
That’s all that mattered in the entire, big, wide, world.
He could almost feel his eyes swelling shut, and the darkness did devour the lost little boy in the woods…
He’d been swallowed by something bigger and badder than him but then, a new version of himself was released…
Something in the thick of the forest called him by name.
‘Aaron…’
It sounded like a melody—the delightful, orgasmic sighs of a woman enjoying the way he moved inside of her…
It smelled like sweet pea perfume with a touch of sage and rose…
It felt like full, thick lips pressing into his own…
It tasted like peach preserves prepared and served in a mason jar with a red and white checkerboard ribbon perfectly wrapped around the middle…
…And it looked like Mia…
She wasn’t there, but in her own way, she was… she most certainly was.
And in her own way, she held him close to her soft, caramel breasts. Her long, wavy black hair brushed against his bruises and pain, collected the blood and soaked it up, taking it all away. She wrapped him in a blanket of love, forgave his sins, loved him in spite of himself. At that moment, she truly did call his name, and his name was SOMEBODY…
’Cause he WAS somebody!
He was Aaron J. Pike.
The spawn of a son a bitch and womb donor…
The father of a flower who deserved the world on a silver platter…
Owner of a business set up to protect the country, one person, a household, or industry, wherever and whenever the need arose…
Lover and soon-to-be husband of a woman who knew him and loved him before he knew and loved himself…
…And he was another thing, too…
The wrong fucker to try and define, put in a box, and turn your back on. You could take the racism out of the man, but not the man out of racism. No, that scourge couldn’t live on its own.
Racism needed skin, plasma, and bones to thrive, and she’d get her pound of flesh, day in and day out. Someone was always there to supply it; someone in desperation, someone in need. The Devil made deals every damn day, and racism was a blood-written contract that proved hard to break.
But if a person ever got the opportunity to escape from the clutches of a life lived in reverse and burn the deed in a jumping flame of fire, he’d get to see the smoke rise and cleanse the earth from the hate. And in that smoke would be a new heart, a fresh face, an innovative way of life. In that smoke would also be the burnt remains of illogical aversion, creating an original spirit in time…
THE HOLLOWS OF his jaws sported bruises the color of blueberries that had rotted from the inside out. Dr. Owens stood there, his lips pursed as he ran a slightly shaky head over his head.
Aaron had been unconscious for over ten hours, and when he’d come to for a brief spell, he had no sense of time and space, and it sent his heart racing. Aaron could not tell anyone the year, his mother’s maiden name, or the state in which he resided. However, a
fter a few minutes, his memory reignited, and he no longer grew fussy over not knowing how many fingers the doctors held up. He was able to recite the alphabet, frontwards and backwards, and describe in detail a bowl of oatmeal he’d had the prior morning that had plentiful, sweet raisins and wasn’t lumpy…
He listened as the man described a little girl outside a church when he was being driven to prison in such detail, it was almost as if he were reciting word for word from a memorized poem. The doctor leaned in close to Aaron and asked him, “Do you know who Mia is?”
Aaron’s eyes narrowed, even the one that was bright red from a busted blood vessel, and his battered, puffy face cracked into a smile.
“Yeah… that’s my…my baby. My girlfriend…love her… love her so much…”
The man had to have been in excruciating pain, but like many men with Aaron’s strange mental checks and balances, he didn’t say anything or complain. The nurse had come in and pumped pain medication in him every few hours. That would have helped.
There the man was in the hospital, barely healed, and a date and time had already been assigned to him for his return back to Holman. It was a miracle that he’d lived in the first place. He’d suffered a serious concussion, two broken ribs, and a fractured kneecap. Also, splinters of yellow-painted wood had been deeply imbedded into his lower leg and the right side of his neck. An infection had set in, and he was quickly given another round of powerful antibiotics. All the while there was no certainty whether he’d be quite the same. But Aaron was a fighter, and it was obvious that, for him, this was not the end—it was the beginning.
