Antebellum (56 page)
Authors: R. Kayeen Thomas
Phil looked around in a panic, knowing that I'd just cursed on live national television. He looked over at one of his producers, who gave him the signal to keep on going, and then quickly composed himself.
“Well, I don't know what you mean by saying you've lived your history, but we obviously see differently on many different things.”
“Yeah, we do, and that's cool. It's some stuff you jus' ain't gonna understand 'cause you ain't black. It is what it is, you know?”
“No I don't know, Mr. Jenkins. And according to you, I never will.”
“Exactly. Finally, we agree on something.”
“So...what are your plans for the future?”
“I'm jus' tryin' to reach as many people as I can. As many people who will listen.”
“And what's your message, if you could sum it up?”
I looked down at the floor and thought long and hard.
“To question your society is to question your reality.”
Phil turned and faced me. “That's it?”
“That's it, Phil.”
Phil stared at me, confused for a moment, and then turned his head toward the camera.
“There you have it...a man transformed from an ordinary rapper into something...well, something else. We're out of time tonight, but you can leave us your comments about the show on www.philwintersshow.com or email us at [email protected]. Tonight's interview has been eye-opening to say the least, and we'd love to hear from you about it. I'd like to thank our guest, Mr. Moses Jenkins, for being with us on today's show, and we'll see you all next time. Good night.”
“What happens now?”
The three of us, SaTia, Xavier, and myself, had all climbed into the black Escalade that was to take us back to the hotel. The rest of the security team was following in an SUV behind us. SaTia looked at me with a curious interest written all over her face. “The world knows what you're about now. What do you plan to do?”
I couldn't answer her immediately. Instead I looked out the
window at the passing cars and buildings, wondering if this world was real. I still vividly remembered my time on the Talbert plantation. It played over and over in my head like a repeated Blu-ray disc. The colors were bright, the sound was clear, and the pain sometimes woke me up at night.
SaTia had told me a while ago that sometimes I screamed out in my sleep. She could never wake me when I did, but took to singing “Ringin' Dem Bells” in my ear whenever it happened. Only then would the scars on my back stop burning, and I'd fall back into resting.
“Moses?”
“I heard you, baby.”
I turned away from the window and looked at her.
“Sorry. I got caught up in my thoughts.”
“That's okay.”
“She's right, you know.” Xavier took his shades off. “I overheard one of the producers on the way out. The show broke all kinds of records for viewership, national and international. The whole world really does know what you're about now. What's your plan?”
I shrugged my shoulders and looked back out the window.
“I guess I gotta change it.”
SaTia sat up.
“Change what? The world?”
“No doubt.”
SaTia looked at me, then at Xavier, before sitting back in her seat. Xavier slipped his shades on, and we rode off into the city's horizon.
“I heard you'll be on the
Phil Winters Show
next week.”
Dr. Bailey, who I'd called James since we sat down and talked after my defining press conference, made his way into the headquarters for Pride Roka, a three-story mansion right outside the city that'd we'd converted into a combination of offices, auditoriums, and outreach centers.
“With all that money you have, I figured you'd just rent out a couple floors downtown.”
“Naw...this here is more homelike, you know? I mean, you gotta travel to get here, but if you dedicated, then it ain't no problem. We pay for all the members to get back and forth anyways.”
“Sounds good. I hear you're trying to save lives out here.”
“That ain't what the papers is sayin'.”
“The papers are going to say what they want, Moses. You should know that by now.”
“I do. That don't mean I gotta like it.”
We made our way into the auditorium space, where Xavier was teaching a martial arts class to five guys in their twenties. He'd overseen the security specifications to the house when we had it overhauled, with a promise from me that money would not be an issue. In return, I got an estate that looked totally normal from the outside, but had windows that could stop sniper bullets, walls
reinforced so thick that a stick of C4 could explode in one room and leave the other rooms unaffected, and an information center in the basement that ran a background check on anyone who came through the front gate. This house, and my own home, which had very similar work done, were the only places he felt comfortable leaving my side.
“X, how's it going?”
Xavier waved at James, and then turned to his class and called them to attention. After bowing, he dismissed them, and then ran over to meet us.
“James, what brings you down here?”
“Wanted to talk to Moses about something.”
“James, would you mind if X came along?” I knew Xavier had some free time, and wanted him to stick around. If what James wanted to talk about was as important as he made it out to be, then I'd need someone to talk with afterward.
“Not at all. As a matter of fact, I was going to ask that he come.”
“Cool. Let's go to the back office.”
We made our way through the house, greeting all the guys as we passed them. When we got to the office in the back, each of us took a seat.
“So...James, what's so important that it brought you away from your job?”
“You ever heard of Nathan Freeman?”
“Naw...I never heard of him.”
“I have.” Xavier's eyes went dark as he looked sideways at James. “What do you know about Nathan Freeman?”
“Hold up, hold up...who is Nathan Freeman?” I interjected, beginning to feel left out.
Xavier looked at James for a few moments longer, and then turned to me.
“Nathan Freeman died a couple of years back. He was wanted for murder.”
“What's that got to do with me?”
“Xavier, how long ago did you start working with that contracting firm?”
“Why?”
“It was right after Freeman died, wasn't it?”
“How do you know about him?”
“Come on, man, y'all sound like some schoolgirls. What the hell is goin' on with this Nathan Freeman dude?”
Xavier stood as if he was getting ready to exit the room, and before any of us knew what was happening, he had his pistol out and pointed at James' head. James jumped back in his seat and screamed.
I didn't even know Xavier had a pistol on him.
“You've got five seconds to tell me how you know about Nathan Freeman, or so help me God, I'll kill you right here.”
“Whoa!” I jumped up out of my seat. “X, what the hell are you doin', man?”
“One...”
James sat frozen in his chair, mumbling over his words and not sure of how to react.
“Two...”
“X, put the goddamn gun down, man!”
“Three...”
“X!” I reached out to grab the gun, and Xavier's arm was a blur. I noticed that it wasn't pointed at James anymore at the same time I noticed it was pointed at me.
“Moses...you know I put my life on the line for you every day, and I count it an honor to do it. But you have got to stay out of this, please.”
Xavier's hands trembled as he spoke. I raised my hands with my palms up. He turned the weapon back on James and resumed his countdown.
“Four...”
“James, you better tell this man somethin'.”
“He sent me his blood, okay!”
Xavier lowered his gun slightly.
“What?”
“He sent me his blood! I met him once, when he was still teaching. Two days before he died, he sent me his blood. He asked me if I could see what was wrong with him.”
Xavier lowered his gun to his side.
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes, but I can't do anything with it in public labs. I was going to ask if Moses could fund my research. I've been putting together pieces of information on Nathan ever since he died. I know that you two knew each other, but I don't know how...”
“Why didn't you just say that in the beginning?”
“I thought if I worked you a little bit, I could get a little more information. I didn't know you'd pull a gun on me, for Chrissakes!”
Xavier sat down in his chair. His face was white and sweat leaked down from his forehead.
I'd always seen the craziness in Xavier's eyes but I'd learned to ignore it. Now that it had come out, I found myself just as scared as James.
“Yo...X, you...you pulled a gun on me, man! You had a damn gun pointed at my face!”
Xavier spoke with a voice that didn't sound like his. “I'm sorry.”
Everyone in the room regained their composure except me.
“Somebody better tell me what the hell is goin' on!” I screamed.
“Alright. I owe you that much.” Xavier looked at me with tears
in his eyes. “I...never told you this. Hell...I never told anyone this. And anyone who knows probably thinks I'm dead...but...I had a family. I had a wife and two children.”
“Damn!” I said while both James and I sat on the edge of our seats. “What...what happened, man?”
“I met Nathan Freeman...”
The wind rustled the trees as the sun began its descent, but neither James nor I noticed. Instead we sat captivated as Xavier poured his pain out inside the four walls surrounding us.
R. Kayeen Thomas is one of Washington, D.C.'s hottest writers. Having lived in the nation's capital since the age of three, he self-published his first book,
Light: Stories of Urban Resurrection
, during his junior year at Carleton College in Northfield, MN. Upon coming home to D.C. to market his first work, Thomas sold 1,000 copies of his book in the Washington metropolitan area before returning to college to finish his undergraduate studies. Now, at age 27, he is an author, poet, playwright, hip-hop artist, journalist, and social justice advocate. He resides in Southeast, D.C. with his wife and daughter.
I
F YOU ENJOYED
“A
NTEBELLUM,
”
BE SURE TO CHECK OUT
BY
R. K
AYEEN
T
HOMAS
C
OMING IN
S
PRING 2013 FROM
S
TREBOR
B
OOKS
Nathan and Xavier are black men from two different sides of the track. Nathan is a failed academic. Having written a book that that he believed would change the black community forever, he is crushed by the fact that it only gained a white readership and no black people seem to care about it. His marriage is slowly fading away, and his once-beloved son is now strung out and desolate.
Xavier is an ex-special forces commando who has given up war to be at home and raise a family. He loves his wife passionately and is adored by his children. His wife being an executive, he collects a check from the military and spends most of his time doing martial arts training at home, and pondering on how to be a better husband and father.
When a series of murders leave the lives of these two men shattered, they will find that their pain is the beginning of a perilous journey from which neither will emerge the same...
T
he night sky is peaceful, as if God himself had put everything to rest after the sun had set. The stars shined bright in their set places in the sky, as the wind hummed the nocturnal soundtrack that would continue to play until the slightest of light rays broke the through the darkness. The air up here is thin, like a strand of thread, and for a while it sits undisturbed in the peaceful dark, until first a sound, growing louder and louder, and then an object, pierces through it. Only something manmade could disturb such serenity.
The plane continues to make its way through the dark clouds, going several hundred miles an hour. The occupants of the plane are mysterious figures, with equipment hiding their faces as if they are ashamed of their purpose. The two pilots, sitting in the cockpit, direct their attention constantly from one gauge to another to another, making sure that all elements of the flight and the plane are conducive to the mission. The three men in the back sit still, clearing their minds of everything else except the task at hand. This is how they were trained; to ignore all else, and focus solely on the successful completion of the objective. Attached to their clothing is tactical weaponry, and these men have mastered the use of each one of them. They have trained for countless hours in every environment imaginable, enduring conditions that would have easily broken any lesser of men. But these three have survived, and have shown themselves worthy of the task set before them. Even their slow, steady breathing reflects the hours of training they have completed. They are weapons, human robots programmed over and over again with the same simple commandâcomplete the mission. Ask no questions, think no thoughts,
feel no emotions, just complete the mission. For now, they have no mothers, no fathers, no girlfriends, and no pets. They have no favorite movies or songs, no recreational hobbies, no favorite soft drink. For now, their lives only have one meaningâcompleting the objective. Successfully finishing the mission. This is how they were programmed. This is how they were trained.
