Life Without Hope (6 page)

joke.

The car was quiet, like too many thoughts being churned out

at the same time. I did the woman thing, and began to clean the

mess up that we made. I got out of the car with bags of chicken

bones. Somehow I felt that Life could use the solace of being alone

with whatever it was that was troubling his mind. The old bat in

the camper rolled her eyes at me. As I approached the trashcan a

mangy dog sat about three feet away licking his chops like he had

been expecting me. I tore open the bag and threw him a bone. He

just cocked his head sideways like maybe he was debating if I

could be an undercover lady dogcatcher. As I walked back to the

car, I noticed the chill in the air. Night was falling, turning the sky

a beautiful shade of blue.

When I got back to the car, Life was inhaling deeply on a

Newport cigarette. I don’t know what white folks are putting in

them smokes, but I swear sometimes people look like they are

making a television commercial when they are inhaling them.

Normally I don’t let people smoke in my car, and I have been

cursed out a lot for that, considering how ragedy my car is but

there is always that one exception.

*****

23

Chapter Thr

ee

Chapter Thr

ee

“
Flirting with Death”

–
Hope –

After about two hours of driving we were just about two hours

outside of Tallahassee. I don’t know why ever ything always looks

so spooky on the highway at night when you are traveling across

the country.

I was listening to my tunes. Anita Baker was crooning about

sweet love and the heat felt good on my feet. The whole time Life

was quiet, the way men are when they have something on their

mind. I cannot stand an overly sensitive man, but I did kind of

want his conversation. He showed me nothing less of that of a

gentleman. I still was not sleeping on him.

Betty suddenly started to show her ass. The car lost power, the

lights dimmed and the motor cut off. Life slammed his hand into

my dashboard, like he had lost his damn mind, scaring the shit out

of me. The car coasted. I sat up in my seat, eyes bulging out of

their sockets. Life got out, slamming the door behind him. It was

so dark outside I could barely see my hand in front of my face, and

once again I was thankful I was not alone.

Life got back in the car and tried to start the motor. Nothing.

“
We are going to have to let the engine cool off,” he said, frus-

trated. Still, I was happy to have him with me. And then he added,

“
If that doesn’t work, we’ll just have to walk.”

“
Walk?” I repeated like I was just learning to speak English.

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After an hour my feet were cold and I sat balled up in the car

shaking. Occasionally, Life would dash out of the car and try to

wave down a car for help, flailing his arms. After a while I was

beginning to think it was a waste of energy. A Black man at 10

o’clock at night, waving at cars, must have looked like a robbery

about to happen to white folks. I knew one thing for sure, every

time he opened the door, he let out the little warm air our bodies

produced. My feet felt like icicles.

“
I’m cold,” I said more to myself, as I changed positions from

one side of my buttocks to the other. “My feet are freezing.” I was

trying to give him a hint to keep the other door closed.

“
Give them here,” he said as he rubbed his hands together.

“
What?”

“
Give me your feet.”

I lingered on that thought a moment or two. I thought it was

a cute gesture, but it would be inappropriate with this brotha,

besides my ashy feet looked like I had been kickboxing with Bruce

Lee. To my utter surprise, this man reached over and grabbed my

feet. I figured what the hell, so I let him. He placed my feet on his

lap removing my sandals. His big hands were so gentle and warm,

they felt like hot butter caressing my skin. Skillfully he r ubbed the

arch of my foot carefully placing pressure at all the right points.

The feeling was completely tantalizing. I moaned out loud. I

swear to God it felt like he was massaging my clitoris. I closed my

eyes, “hmmmm yeah.” I went to thinking that this is feeling too

damn good, too intimate. I wiggled my toes.

“
Ok therapy man, where did you learn that?” I asked playful-

ly. He stopped and placed my feet under his shirt. This man was

really trying to keep my feet warm.

“
My stepmother, Brenda. She raised me after my mother died.

She taught me a lot.”

I learned there is always a Black woman in a man’s life some-

where at some time, even if it is only her prayers, and from the

smoldering look in Life’s eyes, I could tell this was the woman.

I wiggled my feet on his washboard abs. His belly rumbled in

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an attempt to suppress a laugh. I had to admit, homeboy got

major points for being a complete gentleman. Once again though,

I had the feeling he was treating me like his little sister, not a

woman. That was cool with me. After all, he was a thug.

We both fell asleep to the murmur of crickets and an occa-

sional passing car, the sounds of the night.

I awoke with a startle to the cataclysmic sound of what I

thought was an earthquake. I couldn’t get my bearings straight.

Lights blared in my face and the police had the car surrounded.

Someone was pounding on my window so hard I was sure they

would break it. This was it. My stupidity had caught up with me.

Everything I gained would be lost. Here I was about to go to

prison and possibly get shot in the process.

Oh-lawd!

I thought. I

had a loaded gun under the seat.

I watched as Life rolled down the window in what looked like

slow surreal motion. A gun was pointed at his head. On my side,

I could see little beady eyes staring at me. A face smeared the win-

dow with breaths of sinister fog, as a bright light continued to

shine in my face. I was shaking so bad I did not know what to do.

I heard a formidable voice bark out in a southern drawl.

“
Boy, wha ya think ya doing herah?”

I could smell the faint scent of alcohol. I knew at that moment

that something was drastically wrong! I peered out of my passen-

ger window. There were now two pairs of eyes, fiendishly staring

back at me.

“
Jimbo, derra niggrus in dis herah car,” the ominous voice

announced.

The faces on my side of the car hooted in a kind of laughter

that wasn’t filled with the pleasure of kindness. It made my flesh

crawl. I realized then that they couldn’t be the police. This was

worse, much worse!

“
Boy, yea know yous in Steam Hatch,” the redneck said, press-

ing the gun against Life’s temple. It was then that my vision

cleared and my brain snapped into overdrive. The lights that I

mistook for police lights were actually shinning from a large four-

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wheel truck that looked like it was two stories high. Its fog lights

shined bright like the morning sun.

Oh God! I felt Life’s hand trying to reach underneath my seat

for the gun. I was paralyzed with fear.

“
Boy, wha yea doin?”

“
N-N-N-Nothing sir,” Life stammered.

“
Place yo hands where I can see ‘em!”

“
Elmo, go to dah truck and get dah rope and crowbar, we’s

fixin to hav-ow-selfs some fun.”

I felt Life nudging me to pass him the gun. I did what white

people usually do in them scary movies, stand motionless when

they were in danger. I literally just sat there unable to move while

the white man had that gun to Life’s head.

“
Hope! Hope! Hope!” Life whispered my name like sips of a

dying man’s last breath. Lawd have mercy, I was afraid to move.

The car door flung open and a malodorous smell of unwashed

bodies and whisky filled the air. A glumy face with rotten teeth

and manes of dirty blond hair and blue eyes stared at me with the

look of the devil. The other face was hulkish, with a large bulbous

nose and a shaggy beard. Their lupine laughter echoed in the night

like crazed hyenas on a frenzy for the hunt about to kill. A white

man’s sport.

“
You sho’ll is purdy,” the white man with the blond hair said

as he tried to caress my hair. I moved my head.

“
Elmo, lookahera. She’s a purdy black gurl. Nah all we wanna

do missy is tie ya’ll up and have ourselves a lil fun,” he snickered

and scratched his privates.

Life’s hand was under the seat now and I really thought he was

going to be foolish and grab the gun.

“
Put yo hands up and get out da car. Jumbo, tie the gurl up

first.”

“
Hold up! I have money. Lots of it, just don’t hurt the girl.”

“
Huh?” The gunman peered closer to Life as if he were exam-

ining some fine specimen of a nigger. The word money had his

attention.

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As I looked on, to my horror in what looked like blazing

speed, Life grabbed the gun. A tussle ensued and the gun fired. I

screamed, shattering the lull of the night. Life hung onto the old

man with a death grip. The old white man must have been as

strong as a bear, because he pulled Life through the window like

he was a little rag doll. The other two men ran to the other side of

the car to help their partner. Vaguely, I thought I heard Life yell

for me to get the gun, but I was scared to death. I couldn’t move.

Though blinded by the high beam lights, I watched the sil-

houette of bodies ensconced in the throes of death’s struggle, as

Life Thugstin fought for his life. The other two men were now

pummeling him with blows and somehow, amazingly with the

brute strength of determination, he held on to the gun. I watched

as one of the white men drew back hitting Life with an iron crow-

bar. He cried out in pain. To me, at that moment, at that time, his

cries sounded like the vociferous shrieks of a million dying Black

men being tortured. They were going to kill Life, just as sure as I

sat there in the car doing nothing, just as sure as the moon and the

stars would bear witness once again to the senseless atrocities

waged against a human life.

In the torrid passion of insurmountable fears, something

loomed in me that I have never felt before, it seized my body,

pushing me forward. Rage! The kind of rage that made me lash

out without caring. I grabbed the gun from inside the glove com-

partment. It was heavy. I staggered out of the car into the dreary

night. Something possessed me. The white man that tried to