Newspaper Page Text
Page 8
Spelman Spotlight
May 14, 1982
Short Story Winners....
Music Man
con’t from page 7
what it means to be a nigger,
never havin to bend down on
weak knees and pick up scraps to
feed the dog wit. havin
everything come easy/ to be the
fantasy & have no limitations, the
dream stayed wit her until she
looked in the mirror & saw she
waz a dark skinned girl, white
waz a slavemaster a nazi general,
white, a copper of styles jazz the
blues a man in a sheet, white a
southern honkie afraid of
himself, the world, she looked n
da mirror & sae she waz blk. this
time it wouldn’t come off.
shoo-be-do-bee-doo
music man magic man can play
any tune make it dance, walk,
talk, breathe, can make it sing,
taste like tears, it only stops when
the world reverses & time ceases
to change, mystical, like when its
just musac & nothing else, no
one else, just notes & meters, the
blues spilled over from carlyles
horn, pulsating rhythms crawled
down the walls seemingly like a
river rapid & unsteady, it waz
only a melody from avenu to
boulevard, can’t fight the musac
or it will bring you down along
right wit it. he played as if it waz
the last time, nothing waz
around him. inside of him.
except the soul, which waz the
music, it got him thru/ over/
ahead so there waz no blood, so
he could not remember he came
from a place where dreams fell in
the sewer wit dog shit & cheap
wine, the be-bop it waz. such a
sweet thang.
luvyou
they touched when bein blk
waznt the thang. when the
streets were soiled wit dead men
& yesterdays trash reeked funky
smells, they dreamed of getting
somewhere & of destiny, they
dared to try to understand a
world in which blk & white waz
divided/ where cops shoot blk
boys in the street & call it
justifiable homicide, time crack
ed the edges of their spines, but
the day came when the high they
were floating on filtered down
onto the ground, the sun grabb
ed fake images/ shadows a shield
from their eyes forcing them to
look at one another, hard, they
saw things they didn’t really like,
she gave, he took, he gave, she
took, different snatches at
different times, somehow they
drifted, she needed him there
wit her all the time, he needed
her when he waz horny & life
had kicked him in the ass. she
needed him as a blanket to wrap
her tears, he needed her to
support his world, she talked
bout forever, he talked bout
tomorrow,
dust
it made him fly. the colors, the
musac. it waz a game in the
streets, no matter for the kid.
sometimes it waz wanting death
but not caring, trip baby trip,
fantasyland. a getaway, inhale
when things get too much too
deep too tuff, he hoped troubles
away, took the easy way out.
reality only gave time to loosely
wrapped faggots,
pregnant
and nowhere to go. shame it
happened to her. it waz wrong to
attach herself, carlyle wazn’t
going to marry her. in the back of
her head she knew there waz no
room for no baby, no place, no
milk, no crib, no clothes, no
money, no time, she cried as if
that would make it go away, only
one choice did she have,
death
life. time, spaces, hotair, dried
bones, fear, dreams, breathing
blood, pain, stiff, courage, ashes,
whispers life, choking on spit,
melodies, i think he loved me
days, roaches, it waz my body,
alive, funny whines, dead. pain,
splinters, no soul, tears, blues,
separate halves, rods, tables,
needles, it waz real, shivers,
melting wants, alone, drowning
seconds, he didnt call, scenarios,
smellin like lilacs, stained sheets,
emptiness, dead skin, fucked,
legs thrust, twogether. sweat,
pillow holding beads, one more
time. dead, babies, have no
names,
he found out
it didnt matter how or where or
who opened their mouth, he
knew she killed their child, his
eyes burned holes thru her skin,
why didnt you tell me he yelled,
we could have made it. on soup
& crackers she thought, he
talked bout how a trust waz
broken, nigger you dint wanna
talk bout trust when you waz
doingall that fuckin around, thats
different he said, i love you. they
dont mean nothing,
carlyle waz a man. he couldnt
understand what it waz like to
have something seize yr gut from
the inside, to be alive, play wit yr
intestines like they waz meant to
be turned around, he couldnt
understand the pain involved in
havin something that belonged
to you/ taken, a simple
procedure, franki waz a woman
that knew, she waz feelin the
agony/ humiliation/ sorrow as
days weaved by. carlyle could say
what he wanted, in the end he
didnt know,
space
a tunnel winding thru time, a
dream, ahead of the rest/ peek
ing shadows on opaque colored
walls, ample room to move
around in & keep yrself in tact,
the world, in front of curious
eyes/ arms outstretched,
everywhere & nowhere, a place
to go.
he told her he waz leaving for a
while, he needed time, thangs
just waznt right,
franki waznt pressed, maybe
time waz what they both need
ed. she waz tired, tired of his
fucking/ as if that would make
thangs awright. tired of his
excuses, tired of wanting him so
bad she waznt right witout him.
she waz tired of needing him.
needing in the middle of the
nite. needing before lunch &
after dinner, needing like a
junkie needs a fix. her weakness
exposed her soul to strangers,
weeks passed witout a word,
franki pretended not to care but
inside where the pantomime
didnt work/ she bled, months
came, nothing, not a cheap
postcard/ a small time letter/ a
call just to say he waz okay, she
cleaned him out of her pores, in
the fire went all the memories, or
so she believed,
dreams
of getting out & escaping, not
bein just another blk girl but
somebody’ special, freedom
dreams, giving cuz you feel like
it/ not cuz you gotta please him.
she wanted to say no wit a grin,
franki spun dreams, only
difference waz at nite she could
go back to these distnat places &
everything wd be cool, in
daylight though she had to carry
her gun for protection/
sometimes be a bitch/ & look
folk straight in the eye. nobody
cared if she ate cornbread for
dinner, it waz just her/ franki/ to
be/ in the world, either you
make it or you dont. long time
ago when she waz raped &
beaten/ she decided to live.
Wednesday
of the second month/ he came
wit flowers in one hand & a grin
wide as the grand canyon, five
months had passed, she looked
at him/ the feeling gone, anger
sat coldly on her face, he think
he can come back in here &
dazzle me wit gifts, ill show him
she thought.
he wanted to be forgiven, to be
told it waz awright to pass the
months away as if they waz dust,
franki didnt sing love songs
anymore, she forgot how they
went.
he talked quickly wit a style,
change he kept on repeating, ive
changed, franki looked down at
his fingers, they were large &
unassuming, part of a hand that
one august day threw her head
up against a wall, blood dribbled
on the carpet making patterns,
lonely finger touched her face
saying im sorry, it wont happen
again, im sorry, it wont happen
again, she went back to him
because she thought the feeling
waz the same, she believed he
loved her the same way she
loved him. now he waz talking
bout change his tongue prac
tically sitting in his ass. doubt had
indelibly replaced faith in her
mind, he couldnt tell her
nothing, you look nice today/
thank you/ you smell nice too
new perfume?/ no/ oh. (he
pauses) its been along time/
suprised you noticed/ i missed
you/ really/ (he moves closer) i
really did/ what did you miss
most?/ yr tenderness yr
gentleness/ you mean you miss
ed the smiles after good fuckin/
dont be upset wit me/ dont tell
me what emotion to use/ you
hate me/ deep down where my
limbs are connected i do/ why?/
you hurt me. when i lift a finger i
feel pain, thats where you use to
be. underneath me. youre gone
now. all that is left is hollow
shells, my sanity is important, it
makes it easier to despise you.
that way i dont get caught./ you
hurt me too you know/ (she says
nothing)/ you werent there
when i needed you/ bullshit/so
many times i waz alone/
everything you did i supported
you. you wanted to play the
horn, i came to the club every
nite to hear you. yr mother died,
i took off two weeks to go home
wit you so i would be there if you
needed me. you moved to dc. i
followed you there, dont be
talkin that shit, you were the one
who needed room to breathe, i
let you go/ it shouldnt be like
this/ like what?/ fighting/ what
do you want us to do. screw each
other till our brains fall into our
laps, wake up in the mornin to
find the only thing that has
changed is the new day/ i want to
kiss you. can i kiss you/ no/
why?/ i dont want you to kiss me.
i dont want you to hold me. i
dont want you to touch me. it is
not awright anymore, there waz
a time when it solved the problem
or at least you led me to believe it
would, i dont need you
anymore/ i need you/ (she says
nothing)/ really i do. i need you
next to me telling me i can when
everyone else says hell no you
blk nigger/ i cant'forget how you
dangled me on a string as if i was
some sort of part time deal, i
loved you. for some reason you
coldnt give me what i needed,
we were never friends, never
comrades, never partners, just
lovers on a rainy day. when its
too tough to get thru the
madness fall on yr back wit open
thighs/ that not how it waz/ tell
me about it/ it waz special,
something beautiful & rare, sure
we had moments but thats life,
we got thru them, (he pauses) i
want to make love to you/ (she
says nothing)/ right now in this
small cramped room, the shade
halfway drawn up so somebody
wit binoculars can get a peek, i
want to hold you in my arms,
make you believe how much i
love you. i want to smell the
sweet coconut that you spray in
yr hair, i want you to come right
now in this room wit me/ no./
(silence) i guess ill leave then,
these flowers are for you. i
remembered how much you likd
marigold.
***
con’t on page 6
3rd Place Short Story
First Impressions
I agree with a contemporary
Indian mystic that, “the purpose
of life is to become conscious...”
So far, the majority of my life has
been spent with a gradual ascen
sion from unconsciousness to
consciousness, with here and
there a drop into drunkenness
and sin. I believe the root of all
evil is ignorance.
Young children are so im
pressionable. They believe most
anything someone in the adult
world tells them. There were a
lot of things I once believed in,
but they were proven false with
the passage of time. The one
thing that seems to stick in my
mind, is my concept of Santa
Claus.
Santa Claus and I go way back.
To me, he was a guy that only
appeared once a year. He also
came down chimneys and left
loads of goodies for those
children who had behaved
themselves throughout the year.
It never dawned on me how he
got down those chimneys as big
as he was reported to be and I
hope that he was asleep that time
I spilled the sugar, or the time I
by Carla Thomas
went outside when I wasn't
supposed to, or the countless
other times I seemed to do
wrong. He must have been,
because I always got something
on Christmas Day.
I always waited for jolly ole St.
Nick with desperate anticipation.
Never was I able to stay up and
catch a glimpse of this do -
gooder. I wanted to stay up and
discuss with him why he always
gave me what I needed instead
of what I asked for. Who needs
five pair of socks? I only had two
legs. I always fell asleep waiting
for him or was rushed off to bed
before he came.
One year, when I was about
seven, I by chance ran across one
of the dolls my mother had
hidden in the closet. Why were
toys in the closet? Had Santa
come early? Was this an extra
present left for me by that
grandfatherly figure? I didn't
know what to think.
My all wise and knowing
brother set me straight.
Although he was only two years
older than I, he knew about
these things. He said matter -of-
factly, "There is no Santa Claus.
He is just a figment of parents
imagination to brainwash
children.” To say the least, I was
taken aback. I ran to my mother
and said “Say it isn’t so." She
looked at me with deep hurt in
her eyes and said. “It’s about
time you knew, there is no Santa
Claus." f
All those years I had been
deceived, What a fool I. had
been. I told my mother not to tell
anyone that I didn’t know there
was no Santa Claus, I couldn't
face those staring and inquiring
faces. Where does the Easter
Bunny stand?