Jay C

There was no answer at the door but Jay C continued to knock. He peeked through the glass in the front door hoping for some sign of movement before knocking again. Since the realization his life was off track and of his need to reconcile with Markus, he had been unable to connect with him and it was truly frustrating. He really didn't want to do it over the phone, especially in light of the circumstances of their last encounter. You don't apologize over the phone for pointing a gun in your friend's face, it leaves a little to be desired. He knew it had to be face to face to mean anything. The fact he had just left the shop where he had picked up his car, now loaded with more chrome, trim, and doodads than any other ten cars combined, was little more than an excuse to stop and see his friend. At least, he hoped he could still use the word "friend."

Giving up on the front door, Jay C wandered around to the back yard. The basketball goal and driveway sat idle under the late afternoon sun where he and Markus had spent countess hours shooting hoops and daydreaming about the future. It brought a smile to his face remembering. When they were both little kids, and on a hot day like today, they would set up the lawn sprinkler in the back yard to hoot and holler while darting through the streams of cold water. There, against the peeling wood of the fence separating the yard from the alley was the location they first experimented with firecrackers, expressly against the wishes of all adults. After the initial thrill wore off, they dared each other to hold a firecracker in a foolish game of "chicken." That game was great fun until one blew up in Markus's hand causing it to swell to baseball size and numbing it for over two hours.

Peering in and knocking on the back door produced nothing. Jay C sat on the concrete steps scratching his head and contemplating his next step. Abbie's car, just over the hedge caught his eye. It was too bad she was related to the biggest racist in the area, because she was a fine specimen of a woman and he always appreciated a fine woman, regardless of race. He considered himself an equal opportunity "appreciater." He had no idea what she had thought of him; well, take that back. After he pushed her father to the ground he decided he knew exactly what she thought of him, after all.

Without realizing, his teeth began to grind as he thought of his last run in with the white man. The man deserved payback, no question of it. And more than just being pushed to the ground! There oughta be a little blood. What gave him the right to say who he could talk to or not? What made him think he was better than anybody with black skin? Why should he and every other white man be allowed to think and act superior to everybody else? Someone needs to step up to the plate and take action. Someone needs to make an example of white trash like this.

He had risen from the steps and was pacing in the grass of the backyard, his fist pounding into the palm of his other hand with a look of intent and fury painted on his face. Speaking of examples, why shouldn't a black man rise up and let this country know we were sick and tired of this treatment, that we need a leader to show the way to break free of the bondage of the past and into the promise of a better tomorrow. A tomorrow where a black man could walk down the street without worrying about being harassed by the police or where a black family could walk into a restaurant and be treated just like everybody else.

He hopped the hedge into Crackerland, determined to have a showdown right here and now, hoping the man would dare do something so foolish as to take a swing, anything take would give Jay C the excuse he needed to beat the living daylights out of him.

He climbed the steps and knocked on the front door, his anger building as he waited. The man was probably inside, either sending a message by making a black man wait once again on a white, or maybe he was cowering in fear, hiding under the bed and scared to death of facing the righteous wrath of an oppressed man. The first option further fueled Jay C's rage, the second seemed to validate it. Either way, it was time for Cracker to pay.

When repeated knocking failed to elicit a response, out of sheer habit he tried the knob and was surprised to find the door unlocked. Is the man tryin' to set me up? If so, I'm gonna bring down a world of pain on him. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, simultaneously trying to look inside and out. He didn't want anyone to see him entering and at the same time didn't want to walk face first into an attack. He wasn't really scared. After all, he had knocked the guy over with all the effort it would have taken to push down a child. The fact Morris was injured had conveniently slipped his mind and filled him with added confidence.

Easing further into the front room, he saw a plain, yet neat and clean room--a living room--he supposed. Photos, both old and new, adorned almost every wall and table, some of them were of Cracker and others of his daughter. He walked into the adjoining kitchen, surprised to see the cabinets and countertops clean and the sink not filled with dirty dishes. The stove looked like it had just come from the store, not covered in spills and baked on goop like the one in his house. Wondering if the man ever even used the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator, smiling at the row of beer. I bet Cracker won't miss one, he thought as he grabbed a bottle and turned to look for an opener.

There, in the opening to the kitchen from the living room sat an old woman in a wheelchair. Her silent appearance so startled him, he dropped the bottle and stepped back with his heart racing. Hitting the tile floor, the bottle burst and sent a shower of liquid and glass everywhere.

"Shall I call the police or do you want to leave now?" asked the woman in a voice that quavered in fear.

"You oughta know better than to sneak up on a man like that," Jay C yelled. "Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm the person who lives here and the one who is going to call for help," she responded, wheeling away.

Jay C stood flummoxed. This wasn't supposed to happen. He lurched forward toward the woman, grabbing the handles of her chair and spun her around.

"Oh, no you don't. There ain't gonna be no callin' of the police, I can tell you that for sure."

The old woman squinted and turned to look into his face. "I know you. You're that young man who hangs around with the neighbor. What are you doing in my house?" A trace of anger had worked its way into her tone.

Infuriated he had been recognized, Jay C shoved the wheelchair forward sending it sailing across the room where it crashed into the side of a sofa. The oblique impact spun the chair and sent the old woman flying from her seat. She landed with a thud under an end table amidst a shower of broken glass from several framed pictures and a ceramic lamp. Her arm bent at an awkward and unnatural angle.

Well, this is just great! I come to teach the cracker a lesson and end up abusin' an old lady.

He walked to her and pulled the wheelchair and table aside. "Com'on lady. Get up." He even held out a hand to aide her.

There was no response. The woman remained quiet and motionless.

"Hey, com'on now. Quit messin' with me, get up." he nudged her with his foot but she did not respond. The notion that an elderly woman in a wheelchair might be fragile, more fragile than he had ever suspected, finally occurred to him. Maybe he had really hurt her, seriously hurt her. His mouth was dry and he wished he hadn't dropped the beer.

"Get up now," he commanded. "I ain't foolin' here."

He knelt beside her frail body and shook her by the shoulders. There was no response and he was sure she was not breathing. She's dead! I killed her! It was then the first traces of fear crept into his thoughts followed almost immediately by panic. I gotta get outa here! I get caught here like this and it ain't gonna be good.

He raced to the front door and peered out, looking for signs of anyone outside. An old Chevy rolled down the street and Jay C was sure the driver slowed, making eye contact with him through the glass. That's gotta be my imagination. Regardless, he hid behind the door waiting for it to pass. He glanced back at the woman to notice she had still not moved, but there might been a tiny smear of blood on her forehead he hadn't noticed before. Maybe it was a bruise. Either way, she shouldn't have snuck up behind him and then threatened to call the police. It was Cracker he was after, not her.

Another look at the street and with no one in sight, he slipped out the door and walked casually to his car. It took all his willpower to sit quietly for a moment and gather the resolve needed to drive normally and not race away like a maniac from the scene. The last thing he wanted was the Gary police pulling him over for reckless driving and then later connecting him to an assault on the old woman. While things hadn't been exactly going great for him of late, everything would be a lot worse from inside the Lake County jail trying to fend off the hard cases and habituals.

With calm, deliberate intention he pulled from the curb and eased the car down the deserted street, feeling a momentary burst of gratitude for the heat wave that had been keeping everyone indoors and off the street. It was almost as though it were meant to be. He furrowed his brows in thought. Normally you'd expect to find kids running around, a drunk or two staggering home after spending the night next to a dumpster somewhere, or somebody out doing something. But the complete lack of people was amazing!

A sense of empowerment filled Jay C, something he had never experienced and something he decided he liked. Maybe she deserved what she got. She was a roadblock in the path of racial progress and I simply removed her to advance a higher cause. When he couched it in those terms, he began to convince himself of the nobility of his actions and any guilt that might normally have crept in to bother him was swept away with the newfound broom of the racial crusader.

Yeah, he thought, she deserved it, but that ain't nothin' like what Cracker's gonna get.