Jay C

Jay C slid into the front seat of his car, scorching his arm on the vinyl and his hands on the steering wheel. Cursing under his breath, he glanced back at the house worried Miss Sadie had heard. She never tolerated foul language and when combined with her supernatural ability to hear through solid steel walls, he knew he had risked a good chewing out. More than once he had earned her wrath after a few expletives escaped his mouth.

Sure enough, she stood at the front window; the curtains pulled back and a look on her face that could freeze a charging rhino dead in its tracks. She caught his eye then shook her head and let the curtain drop back into place. A wave of guilt washed over him, cooling and diverting his anger over the encounter with Morris. But that didn't surprise him. Given enough time, he was sure Miss Sadie could find a way to make the Pope feel guilty about something.

He sat for a moment trying to understand why she would get so bent out of shape about his language and yet be so tolerant of it from her racist neighbor, Morris. It just didn't make sense. In fact, it was plain stupid. More guilt hit him when he realized he was criticizing Miss Sadie, the closest thing to a saint this city had ever seen. But it galled him when he remembered the hate written across Morris' face and seeing the word "nigger" form on his lips.

He started the engine and pulled away from the curb, winding his way through the streets, driving aimlessly. The words of Morris continued to grate on him and he found himself grinding his teeth. He clenched his fist and realized he needed to pound something, to lash out and do damage. Every slight he had ever received at the hands of a white man came rushing back into his memory, further fueling his anger and turning it into a white hot rage.

He raked leaves, shoveled snow, collected bottles and cans, whatever it took to bring in a few cents, scraping together enough money to take his momma out to dinner on her birthday. Over the course of several months, he laboriously collected a tiny horde of cash, knowing exactly how he would spend it and anticipating the smile and hug Momma was sure to give him. She worked and worked to put food on the table and a roof over their heads, never taking a day off and never getting a break. He wanted nothing more than to have her be treated like a queen just for once, letting someone else do all the work so's all she'd have to do would be to sit back and relax. It would be a rare occasion-mostly because they never had two dimes to rub together--but Momma deserved it.

When the big day finally arrived, Momma had put on her only dress, one purchased at a garage sale several years earlier and he actually wore a necktie, a clip-on he had recovered at the church lost and found, then they drove out of town to the posh suburbs. They had pored over the television and newspaper advertisements for days, trying to choose just the right spot and making the reservation. When they pulled up in Momma's old beater, she noticed the sign indicating valet parking. "I better be parkin' this myself," she said. "I sure don't want those valets gettin' jealous of this fine automobile!" Jay C had to laugh and Momma laughed too. Jay C could tell it was a real laugh 'cause it went all the way up to her eyes.

Jay C held the door for Momma, proud as punch and as she entered, the décor took her breath away. "Whewee, child! I never thought I could be dinin' at a fine place like this." Jay C gave their name to the hostess who peered at them over her glasses. "Please have a seat, we'll see if your table is ready."

When over fifteen minutes had passed and several other diners had entered and been seated, Jay C approached the hostess, "Ma'am, is our table ready?" The woman wrinkled her nose and suddenly Jay C was aware the tie he wore was a clip-on and his shirt bore a stain that would never come out, no matter how Momma tried to clean it. "I'll check again young man, and let you know."

Another fifteen minutes had passed causing Jay C to get irritated. When another group of patrons were seated the pattern became clear--they were all white.

Seated eventually at a table right outside the restrooms after it became apparent they weren't simply going to go away, the meal was eaten in stony silence. The waiter was rude and treated them as though they belonged in the kitchen up to their elbows in greasy dishwater. Momma was never quite the same after that. She turned to drink and never seemed sober again. She was still able to work and Jay C figured she was what you'd call a functional drunk.

Come to think of it, he was never really the same either.

Jay C still let that day rankle him. It ruined his treat for Momma and gave him his first real taste of racism. The desire to strike out and hurt something continued to grow--something, anything. Like maybe a white man? That would feel so good! I'd love to see Morris down on the ground bleeding and begging for mercy.

He found himself parked in front of Grant Arms, the engine idling while some anonymous music played on in the background. By force of habit he glanced up and down the street, berating himself for arriving here without going through his usual precautions. Experience had taught him to be cautious and always on the lookout: from cops, dealers, gangs, or anybody out to score. It was a dangerous game he played, one where mistakes could cost dearly.

He and Lil'M were watching TV the day the police kicked in the door and slapped the handcuffs on them. "What'cha doin' to my baby?" said Momma with a glazed look on her face and a bottle in her hand. The cop pushed her aside and she fell to the floor. Jay C struggled to get to her and they threw him to the ground, holding him there with a boot across the back of his neck. He yelled and thrashed about in agony, further infuriating the police who retaliated by kicking him in the ribs. Lil'M stood against the wall, speechless and frightened beyond words. They both knew they were helpless, totally in the power of the men in uniform.

White men. In uniform.

Four hours later they were released when the real criminals were apprehended. There were no words of apology, no explanation, and certainly no sympathy. Instead, they were made to feel they had been picked up prematurely for a crime they would be sure to commit someday in the future.

Jay C slammed the door making sure to lock the doors. He hated the way he felt about himself when he remembered those times. The shame was bad enough, but the feeling of being completely powerless left him frustrated and angry. Almost every encounter with a white person had left him demeaned and hurting deep inside. But the thought of Morris suffering and bleeding became increasingly appealing, able to soothe his frayed and raw feelings just a bit.

Weeds and hedges untended for years surrounded the ancient building they called Grant Arms. Once an opulent apartment building, complete with marble tiles in the foyer and rich mahogany paneling, it now sat abandoned and neglected, one of many such buildings lining the streets of Gary. All the windows and doors were covered in planks, inaccessible to the casual observer. It was a much younger Jay C and Lil'M who discovered how to enter the rotting structure where they spent hours and days exploring and rooting thought the rubble. An occasional treasure would reveal itself during one of their excavations, something left behind from the glory days. For years, Grant Arms had been a secret between them, a place they could call their own and escape from the harsh and grinding reality of everyday life.

As the years passed with Lil'M spending more and more time on the basketball court and less and less time with Jay C, other friends found their way into Grant Arms. But to Jay C, the building belonged, and would always belong, to him and Lil'M. It was theirs. They had found it, explored it, and staked their claim. Even though others were now allowed to enter their domain, Jay C had never shared all the secrets Grant Arms had revealed.

He walked to the side of the building and pivoted aside a plank held only by one nail. Hidden on either side by overgrown bushes and scrub trees, the window he crawled through appeared as solidly boarded over as any of the others. Just inside the window he studiously stepped beyond the small board with an old light bulb underneath it; one that would surely be crushed should anyone enter unaware of its presence. Gently lifting the board and seeing the light bulb intact, Jay C had to smile: it was Lil'M who had thought of the way to detect any unauthorized entry into their building.

As he climbed the stairs to the second floor, the confrontation with Morris replayed in his mind, fueling his anger. His reaction to Morris had been one of shame. Shame and pain. Wait a minute--I got nothing' to be ashamed about! I done nothin' wrong. I am the victim here, and I'm tired of feelin' victimized.

He reached the second floor and startled a pair of pigeons who had found their way in through a hole in the roof. They took to the air in an explosion of feathers leaving behind an equally startled Jay C. Don't go gettin' jumpy, now. The payoff is too close and you've worked too long for this. Making his way through the dim building with the only light coming from what filtered in through the various cracks and holes, he entered apartment 2C.

In front of the boarded-over window sat an ancient wooden chair. Jay C sat down and put his eye to the small hole bored through to the outside and providing a view of the abandoned building next door. With patience that belied his youth, Jay C sat and watched for signs of life in the adjacent building.

Minutes ticked by but he refused to budge from his self-imposed security measures. I been lookin' at things all wrong. Every act of prejudice and racism against me is an outright attack. These white people have been attackin' me and beatin' me down my whole life. They're protectin' what they think is theirs and theirs alone, like this country ain't big and rich enough for them and a black man.

The roof of the building he was scrutinizing had long ago caved in, allowing light and rain to pour in, making this particular building ideal for his scheme. When satisfied no one was prowling about next door, he descended to the first floor, picking his way over to the empty elevator shaft and descending a rust covered ladder bolted to the side wall of the pit. At the debris covered bottom of the shaft and hidden in the wall behind a fallen section of wood was a small access panel, just big enough he had to stoop to walk through.

Jay C and Lil'M had years ago discovered this hidden door and the service tunnel behind it. What had really excited them was to explore and learn the tunnel led underground to the adjacent building. They figured it must have been built to allow service workers to move between buildings without dragging equipment or materials through the public areas. The tunnel also led to a large workroom but unless flashlights were brought, it was forever trapped in darkness.

Digging out a small penlight and taking a deep breath, Jay C started through the tunnel haunted by the familiar feeling of claustrophobia and his fear of creepy crawlie things beginning to work on him. It was a battle he faced every trip made through and it never got any more pleasant. The walls and ceiling seemed to close in and choke him while the damp, fetid air provided the right environment for his imagination to conjure up a host of nasty spiders and worm-like things living and breeding in the dark, growing to enormous and grotesque proportions. His biggest fear was to trip, knock himself unconscious and break his flashlight, only to wake hours later covered in cobwebs and gooey worms.

Already fired up about Morris, he made it through the tunnel without the typical rattling of his nerves. Even so, he breathed a sigh of relief when he pushed aside the ancient door leading to the twin of the elevator shaft in Grant Arms.

Brushing aside the cobwebs, he was able to listen for any noise that would give away the presence of anyone else in the building. An intruder would have been unlikely because he had personally reattached all the boards covering the lower windows and doors to ensure anybody attempting to enter would have tough time of it. Nevertheless, he hadn't gotten this far along in his plan by being careless, so he paused to listen before climbing the ladder.

Satisfied he was alone, Jay C climbed up and out onto the first floor. This building was a virtual twin to Grant Arms but remained nameless because the headstone over the front door was missing. It didn't matter, Jay C had given it his own name--The Garden--and for obvious reasons. For some time he had toyed around with calling it First Bank of Jay C, because it had turned into a virtual cash producing machine, but in the end The Garden seemed more fitting. At the top of the stairs to the second floor he was greeted by his own personal view of heaven: ten large plants swaying in the gentle breeze and soaking in the sunlight pouring through the roofless structure.

Each plant was about six feet tall, growing in individual pots filled with potting soil laboriously hauled through the tunnel, one bag at a time. Kinda felt like one of those old prisoner of war movies, where they hauled the dirt out scoop by scoop. Only I did it in reverse. When his initial seedlings had died from the lack of water in the sweltering heat exacerbated by the enclosed walls, he rigged a system of tarps that funneled rainwater into the old bathtubs. He had never been able to carry enough water through the tunnel to keep the plants from dying and it turned out this method worked without a hitch. It had taken several weeks to surreptitiously haul all the supplies into Grant Arms and through the tunnel, but it already had paid off. His first harvest netted him over a thousand dollars, the second had doubled that, and when this harvest was ready, he anticipated hauling in at least five grand.

He smiled at how easy it had been. He kept his distance from the distribution, remaining wholesale only and thereby keeping his risk at a minimum. And who in their right mind would ever think to look inside an old, run down building for weed growing? It was ingenious and all his. He was finally able to afford a few things to make his life easier and loved not having to depend on handouts. After his first sale, he was plagued by twinges of guilt when he realized some of the kids in his own neighborhood might be smoking some of his product, but he forced himself to look past that and focus on what was right for him. None of his gang had any notion of this operation; he figured if no one knew, no one could ever talk.

But the pressure of working alone ate at him and the constant stress of watching his back threatened to wear him down. He needed a partner, someone he could trust. And the only person he could ever really trust was Lil'M. With the recent loss of his scholarship, Lil'M was ripe for approaching. He needed something to do anyway; he certainly couldn't make a living slinging burgers. Nagging thoughts persisted that he was manipulating and using his friend. No way. We're brothers! We got each other covered. I got him and he got me. I can't help it he got kicked out of basketball.

There remained one small brick from the previous harvest weighing about three pounds, tightly wrapped in plastic and sealed with tape. Pulling a deli-style scale from a rickety cabinet left behind by whoever had once called this place home, he weighed the package and marked the amount on the wrapper. He was scrupulously accurate with weights and quality, never wanting to incur the wrath of an angry buyer and never wanting to give them a reason to doubt. With doubt came danger, something he worked too hard to avoid. This particular brick was destined for sale tomorrow and he hoped his buyer would continue to come through, hating the thought of locating and verifying a new one. Nobody in this business could be trusted and nobody told the truth. All he could rely on was his smarts. Well, his smarts and the pistol he had stashed in the glove compartment of his ride.

I oughta get me another piece to hide up here, just in case. There ain't no tellin' what may happen. The notion he was becoming paranoid occurred to him for a moment but he convinced himself it was just good business. Still, it was comforting to think of working with Lil'M, someone who would always be reliable and would take off some of the pressure.

He stood hefting the brick in his hand with the sun beating down and sweat forming in beads across his forehead. With cash finally pouring in and his system set up and apparently foolproof, he should have been thinking about ways to have some fun. Instead, all he could think about were ways to cause pain to that racist bigot living next door to Lil'M.

That man shouldn't be allowed to live.