The following year, the cop-wannabe was brought to trial and was acquitted of all charges. Undoubtedly, the man was guilty. Many in the nation hurt, shouted, and marched as they had so many times before, and then things died down until the next injustice.
• • •
Many of the people who were involved in helping to rob justice for the family of the dead teen thought their life could move on without retribution.
Many lost hope and faith, and feared for their children’s safety. Children and parents lived in more fear than another time since the days of lynching black men. People with cold hearts, such as ultra-conservative gun-toting nutsos, politicians, and TV pundits mocked the teen’s death. Some people in power tried to pass even more laws that would encourage more offenses.
Recently, Velvet was out power-walking with her son near sundown, and a car of white teens drove by and yelled, “Hey, where’s your Skittles and hoodie? You’re gonna need them, black boy.”
Psalms and the crew rarely did a job without being requested, but this time they decided to see if they could change the national conversation and attitude through fear. They wanted to send a clear message: You can’t hide from real justice.
In the media, it became prominent news that the cop-wannabe disappeared, and an untraceable electronic message of information was released.
The information stated:
We found him, and we got him, and anyone can be found sooner or later if you play any part in the harming of a child, or taking an innocent life. If unfair laws are used to protect killers, wrongdoers will be found.
There was a juror who went on national TV in anonymity, and used racist-coded words that assured the murderer was going to get off no matter what. That juror lost their house in a fire bomb, and all assets electronically disappeared.
Another electronic message was released following that incident, that read:
We can find you sooner or later if you play any part in the harming of a child, take an innocent life, or profit from the loss of that life.
Others were dealt with in different forms. A few racist radio and TV loudmouths and overtly racist politicians, had petrifying fear injected into their…spines. More related information was sent to the media. The national conversation did change, and many who lacked scruples in making just laws have started committing to speaking of change. The crew did not set out to prevent people from having a difference of opinion, or to take away people’s rights to have conservative or liberal trains of thought. It was about bringing more honesty, with decreasing the immoral, hidden agendas and racist actions of people with power to influence or cause harm. It was a big undertaking, but the One Safe Place crew put the work in.
Psalms and the crew believed in justice, but not in a justice system set forth by laws put in place by so-called impartial men. Judges, lawyers, and the police had a motive different from what the people often needed. The One Safe Place crew understood that sometimes justice was to prevent avenging.
Then there were those other times…when one safe place may not have been found.
For Discussion
The themes of One Safe Place:
1 To those who attempt to rewrite history to attempt to profit and control the narrative of open dialog.
To those who attempt to rewrite history cannot hide the ugly truth behind their vanity and ego.
Your thoughts on that statement after reading One Safe Place?
2 A Cause must stand alone as a value.
You cannot be larger than the Cause.
Or the Cause will die…when you are no longer a value.
Your thoughts on that poetic statement after reading One Safe Place?
3 WE need less talk and more action, and less gossip and offer more sincerity.
WE need less doubt in each other, and more solidarity for good causes in honest support.
WE need less negative verbal responses to differences of opinions.
Let me say that again . . .
WE need less negative verbal responses to differences of opinions, and let the church say “Amen.”
WE need a whole lot less seeking weak people to do our biddings.
WE need less conning or using folks to get the hook-up or getting over on others at their expense We need less backroom arrangement, back-door deliveries, and behind-your-back transactions WE all lose in the end if we cheat honest dealings.
Let the church of One Safe Place, say, “Amen.”
Your thoughts on that poetic statement after reading One Safe Place?
4 We have dummied-down our ability to communicate. Because either, we take each other for granted, or we never had it, or lost our way when it comes to communication. In generations before, as a child, you were kept out of adult conversations until you were old enough to comprehend all that was said.
Households decades ago, as a whole you were allowed to mentally and physically mature to understand before you opened your mouth.
Now it may seem men and women, we speak less from the heart out of fear that the other person can spread our life out in the open in social media. Often when we do speak our minds in social media, we are meanly ridiculed, called names, bullied and or mocked in kind-a-like the small-town mentality of everyone knows your business, and you’re humiliated.
Have we become surface-level people making it harder to get to know others and trust asking questions or telling our stories. We want so much to open up and feel we have a safe place to let what is inside us out and not be judged for the thoughts we can have without borders. So we suppress and don’t share and we pass each other like strangers in the night while chit- chatting on our cell phones and social-media outlets to strangers.
Your thoughts on that statement after reading One Safe Place?
Praise for Alvin L.A. Horn:
“Lusty, heady, action-packed; is there a safe place to hide when mystery collides with betrayal, wealth and deception? Beautifully resurrected from Alvin Horn’s novel, Perfect Circle, Psalms Black and Tylowe Dandridge are enmeshed in adventure and scandal all in ‘One Safe Place.’ ”
—L’NORA, author
“A true storyteller that knows how to arouse your deepest emotions. Alvin L.A. Horn’s words are captivating, alluring, and heartfelt. His poetic flow is one that is undeniable.”
—NIYAH MOORE, Literary Artist/Author
“Simply put, Alvin L.A. Horn is of the elite of storytelling. He captures a vivid narrative of incredible surreal intense reality in novel writing that in my opinion, positions him amongst the best now and in the future.”
—FLAVA COFFEE NEWS BOOK REVIEWS
IF YOU LIKED “ONE SAFE PLACE,” BE SURE TO CHECK OUT
BY ALVIN L.A. HORN
AVAILABLE FROM STREBOR BOOKS
1
Playing the Blues
“Coach Sparks,” one of the trainers called out, “you have a phone call in your office.”
Ayman Sparks walked through the locker room, his top lip curled up in front of his nose. The funk and noise in the locker room was thick and loud. Locker doors slammed and reverberated. The young men were all talking loud, and cracking jokes. Someone called out, “Your mama smells like doo-doo.”
“Knock it off! I’ve told you guys that I won’t have that kind of shit on this team!” Ayman stood still, piercing his glare at any eyes that dared to look his way. “Look at what you guys just made me say.”
The young men laughed. They understood that the coach’s sternness came with humor.
“Coach, the phone is for you,” said a large, dumpy white male with a whiny voice.
“Okay, Meredith, do some extra footwork drills. Silly fouls are cutting into your playing time. I’ll be checking your weight. Do you hear me?”
“I understand, Coach. I’ll work harder.”
Coach Sparks did not understand why anybody would recruit Meredith; he didn’t. The former coach had made a commitment that Ayman had to keep.
Ayman headed to his office and kept thinking. Two hundred and
eighty pounds of no defense and can’t guard his own shadow. No wonder Bucket was a loser. Ayman chuckled to himself.
Coach Sparks made his way through the weight room while giving instructions to some and praise to others. His attention bounced between evaluating practice and replaying the nasty attitude his wife had displayed earlier that morning. What’s her trip? Last night she was a freak in bed, then this morning she’s the queen of the ice-asses. He reached his office and punched the flashing line on the phone.
“Coach Sparks here.”
“Ayman.” He heard Vanessa’s voice come through with sub-zero coldness. He knew right then he would stay at the gym and watch more game film.
“What?” His voice let her know he was annoyed.
“I’m going to the bank, and I’m going to take all the money out of the second account!”
“What?” Ayman’s voice slowly slid through his teeth. He repeated, “What?”
“I’m moving back to Oakland. The second account is mostly mine anyway!”
“Why, and how many times have you threatened to leave? As much as I love you, I really hate…” Ayman took a big breath.
Ayman Sparks and his wife, Vanessa, had been acting out a deteriorating marriage for years. Threatening each other was almost foreplay. Sometimes, it was foreplay.
Ayman felt the anger heating his bald head. He turned the air conditioner on in his office. “I’m really tired of this,” he said.
“You’re tired?” Vanessa screamed through the phone. “You don’t have time for me, and you know it! We’ve had this black cloud hanging over our heads, and you don’t even know it.”
“Black cloud? What the f—”
Vanessa quickly cut him off. “Don’t dare curse at me! I’m not one of them referees.”
“Then tell me what you’re talking about. Stop talking in code. If you have something to say, say it! Maybe we can work out whatever your problem is.”
“My problem, huh?” Vanessa made a sound that let him know she was disgusted.
Ayman spoke as if his nose was inches from hers. “Whatever it takes for you to stop all your trippin’ over yourself; you need to reevaluate what you’re doing.”
Sarcastic laughter filtered back through the phone. “You feel better now? That was like a halftime speech when you’re losing, right?”
Ayman grimaced. He was always out for the win. He didn’t know how to respond now. Vanessa had him off balance. “It sounds like the problem is money. Now, we both know I make plenty, but I have to work for it. If it’s about time, my coaching career is about being successful. That means I have to put in the long hours. That’s what a coach does. You’d rather I work in a straitjacket job. You know what? Most likely, I would come home and still hear you bitch.
“I never hear you bitching about the nice house you live in. I don’t hear you complaining about the gardener or the woman who cleans your house twice a week. Oh, you fly home to Oakland and everywhere else you want. You’re right, maybe it’s time for you to step. If you’re talking about my job and the money it puts into the bank for you to take out, I—”
“You egotistical son-of-a-bitch! Why do you think it’s all about you and your money? I carried your ass when you went back to school to be a teacher. I’ve moved around the world for your dreams.” She cursed. Ayman’s eyes blinked. The F-word was something she’d only said during sex. “You never spend any time with me.” Her voice lost strength.
Ayman was sitting on the edge of his desk, twisting and turning in one spot.
“We don’t spend time alone unless it’s alone in the bed, and I need more—more than sex.”
Ayman’s jaw clamped tight, as if something with long fangs had bit into his flesh. The pain of what she’d said dripped like venom, killing his ego. Silence over the phone let the emotional poison churn his stomach; he reached in his desk for some Tums.
“I’m sorry if it hurt, Ayman. Look, I need it as bad as you do, but having sex every night as our only connection has become hard on my soul. You got things going on that I didn’t sign up for, and now that I know you about—”
“About what? You think there’s another woman? Whatever. I’m not jumping off the Aurora Bridge for your insecurities.” His tone had no humor in it, but he snickered.
“Laugh, go ahead. You might be one of these fools here in Seattle who would jump if—” A minute-long silence ensued. “Ayman,” her voice cracked. He heard weeping. “Maybe you’ve forgotten all that I’ve done and been through with you.”
Ayman’s defense was loud. “No! You can’t let me forget it, not even for a week. You know, I don’t need this shit today! I’m on my job!” he shouted. “The same job that keeps your ass in Nordstrom and Macy’s.”
Ayman turned the air up higher. “Enough is enough! File for divorce. I’ll sign anything to stop the madness. I’m getting ready for the season, and I don’t need your bullsh—”
Ayman’s assistant coach and best friend, Sterlin, walked into the office. “Ayman!” Sterlin called out in a hushed voice, trying to stop Ayman from raising his voice any louder. “Man, chill!” Sterlin put his hand up to signal for him to calm down.
• • •
A long wavering note of a saxophone solo flowed into Ayman’s ears just as Sterlin reached across a table and tapped him. It was two years later. A lounge full of people came into view. They were not in a locker room and not in his office. Ayman had been daydreaming/nightmaring about the last episode of the breakup of his marriage.
The two coaches were in a jazz club in Lexington, Kentucky. They were drinking a little and listening to live entertainment. A sax player’s solo had charmed him into his past.
It was Wednesday night. The players from East Seattle City University were back at the hotel, on lockdown, resting for tomorrow’s game. The two coaches were taking a break trying to relax. Ayman needed to unwind before the game tomorrow against the University of Kentucky.
A vocalist started singing Stevie Wonder’s “Superwoman.”
Through the bitter winds love could not be found
Where were you when I needed you, last winter, my love?
The groove of the music was climbing up Ayman’s past and present mental walls. The club was alive with people swaying, and fingers popping. Tall, red brick walls lined with staircases led to different levels for seating. There was no room for dancing other than standing at your table. A few ladies were standing and grooving in place. The two coaches were on the main floor. Two tables away stood a caramel-colored, shapely sister. Her red-apple lips and close-set eyes had helped to put Ayman into his hypnotic state. Her long, raven-black hair to the flowing tightness of her black silk dress and her feet, clad in thin leather-strapped heels, locked him into tunnel vision. Ayman was lost in her display of sexiness.
The red stage lights silhouetted her groove. She was joyriding his attention; she knew he was watching. She reminded him of a body he used to know, and her image helped burn a hole into his past. He rode a bumpy ride into a sad rhythmic pulse. Angry noises from days gone by had drowned out the jazz blowing in his ears.
There were other noises going on in his life. As the head coach at East Seattle City University, he was facing losing a third consecutive game. The team was having pre-season difficulties. They had played two games against Top Ten teams and lost both. Their wins had not been impressive. Uneasiness grew like mold when people started asking questions of why, and how come, and when.
ESPN-TV had done a segment on East Seattle City University and its slow start. ESPN wondered if Coach Sparks’ last three Sweet Sixteen finishes in the NCAA tournament would be over-stating. “Coach Sparks, a preacher of defense, might have lost the attention of his congregation. The players might not be buying into his intense coaching style anymore.” In response, Coach Sparks told a local newspaper that he thought the article hinted of racism.
“How many white coaches are compared to preachers? In America, we seem to associate the Black men in different fo
rms of leadership as some type of preacher. As a coach, unless I am a preacher, there should be no comparison. I am a man who believes in God, but there is no connection to me being a preacher.
Coach Sparks was quoted in the local newspaper: “Dean Smith, who coaches North Carolina, is a deeply religious man. Was he ever compared to or called a preacher? Why am I? We know the Bobby Knight types and other white coaches, are intense coaches, and no one calls them preachers. Could it be white men are just called leaders? Can Black men of leadership only be related to being some type of minister? This is the subtle type of racism that Black Americans are tired of.”
Ayman felt strong about what he’d stated, and he would not back down. He told friends, colleagues, and other news media, “If I don’t speak up, I’m part of the problem.”
Shortly after arriving at the team hotel, he got a call from Coach Nolan Richardson, the former basketball coach at the University of Arkansas.
“Coach, you’re a winner in my book for telling it like it is. The work you’re doing is thankless,” Richardson commented.
“Thanks, Coach Richardson.”
“Call me Nolan. You know critics are snakes. They will build you up and tear you down. You must stand your ground as the man; let their crap roll off your back. Stay Black. You said what I wish others would say.” Coach Richardson continued, “Coach, at one time the white media hated Muhammad Ali and everything he stood for. Now they honor him for fighting against them. Life is a circle. Stay the course, my brother.”
“You’re right. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!” Both men laughed.
“I had a lot of success at Arkansas, but I knew sooner or later they’d come after me.” Coach Richardson laughed. “Now you’re playing the U. of Kentucky, and they aren’t going to let you come in there and get a win on their home floor. Remember you’re coach, first and last. Stay focused on your team and the game.”
Ayman reflected on the conversation while the crowd’s conversation mingled with cocktail glasses clinging. Sterlin was perplexed that Ayman was so despondent.
One Safe Place Page 34
