?I said what the hell does he mean by that question? Do black people have the right? Do I have the right? Who is he to question me?? The anger rolling off Lowe's voice was like a gentle breeze across Socrates' face.
?I was talking about lawn furniture,? Veronica said icily.
?I don't care 'bout no damn furniture,? Chip said. ?What I wanna know is what he mean questioning me??
?He didn't say nobody in particular, Mr. Lowe,? Leon quailed. ?He just said black people.?
?And what the hell you think I am?? Lowe said.
?That's why I asked you, brother,? Socrates said. ?I asked you 'cause you the one know. If you don't know then who does? I mean you read the paper an' you got white people writin' about it. You got white people on the TV talkin', on the radio, they vote on it too. You got white people askin' black people but then they wanna argue wit' what those black people say. Everybody act like what we feel got to go to a white vote or TV or newspaper. I say fuck that. Fuck it. All that matters is what you'n me think. That's all. I don't care what Mr. Newscaster wanna report. All I wanna know is what we think right here in this room. Right here. Us. Just talkin'. It ain't goin' on the midnight report or the early edition or no shit like that.?
Silence followed Socrates' declaration. A police helicopter passed overhead but it could not have suspected the conversation unfolding below. And even if the policemen knew what was about to be said they wouldn't have wondered or worried about mere words.
?Wh-wh-what do you mean, Mr. Fortlow?? Nelson asked after the loud rush of the helicopter passed on. ?I mean we all know what's been done to us that's wrong. We all know what we got to do to make our lives better.?
?We do?? Socrates stared hard at the middle-class mortician. ?We don't all look the same. We don't all talk alike. We ain't related. The only things we got in common is what's on the TV an' in the papers. And ain't nuthin' like that made from black hands or minds.?
?But we know,? young Mr. Spellman said.
?What is it you know?? Cynthia Lott asked the boy.
?I know I'm a black man in a white world that had me as a slave; that keeps me from my history and my birthright.? Leon spoke proudly and loud.
Tiny Cynthia waggled her dangling feet angrily. ?First off you ain't a man you're a boy. You wasn't never a slave. And as far as any birthright you live wit' your momma and play at like you tryin' to go to school. As far as I see it you ain't got nuthin' to complain about at all. I mean if you cain't make somethin' outta yourself with all that you got then all they could blame is you.?
Cynthia sucked a tooth and looked away from the young man.
Leon was trying to think of something to say but he was trembling, too furious to put words together.
?But I didn't ask if he could blame somebody, Cyn,? Socrates said. ?I asked if we got the right to be mad. All of us is mad. Almost every black man, woman or child you meet is mad. Damn mad. Every day we talk about what some white man did or what some black man actin' like a white man did. Even if you blame Leon for his problems you still sayin' that there's somethin' wrong. Ain't you??
?Only thing wrong is that these here men you got today ain't worth shit.? Cynthia curled her lip, revealing a sharp white tooth. ?Black men puffin' up an' blamin' anybody they can. He say, ?I cain't get a job 'cause'a the white man,? or ?I cain't stay home 'cause Mr. Charlie on my butt.? But the woman is home. The woman got a job and a child and a pain in her heart that don't ever stop. I don't know why I wanna be mad at no white man when I got a black man willin' to burn me down to the ground and then stomp on my ashes.?
Cynthia's high-pitched voice always made Socrates wince. He swallowed once and then prepared to speak.
But before he could start Leon opened up again. ?I don't know why you wanna be like that, Miss Lott. Some man musta hurt you. But I'm doin' what I can. I am. I got a job?.?
?What kinda job you got?? Cynthia demanded.
?I work at the drugstore on Kinkaid on the weekends.?
?That's a child's job,? the tiny woman shrilled. ?Come talk to me when you doin' man's work.?
?Come on now, Cyn,? Veronica Ashanti chided. ?You know Leon's a good boy and he tryin'. And you know ain't no man start out perfect. No woman neither. I know a lotta black women out here mess up just as quick as a man. Quicker sometimes.?
?Yeah,? Chip Lowe said. ?Leave Leon alone. I got a job and a family. I live at home with my wife and my daughters. I work hard. Harder'n any white man do the same job. That's why I got the right to be mad. I come in early an' leave late and they still pass me over for some lazy motherfucker don't know how to tie his shoelaces.?
