Red White and Black

Chapter Ninteen

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.