so he could speak to me.
“Fool, my brother is lyin’ in the ground over there partially because of your Black ass and I haven’t turned my back on you so you damn sure better not turn your back on me again unless you want to be lyin’ right beside him! You hear me, muthafucka? If you want me to understand then you sit here and fight it out with me and make me understand, but don’t you dare walk away from me!”
I looked in his eyes and saw nothing I wanted to challenge.
“You’re right. You’re right, man. My fault, dog.”
I plopped down at the foot of a huge life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary. I sat with my chin on my chest, my elbows resting on my knees, and my hands dangling down between my legs. It was a posture of exhaustion and defeat. I remained in this position for several long seconds before I spoke. I never once looked at Huey who had sat down beside me and was waiting to hear what I had to say.
“You know I’ve thought about all this stuff before. I didn’t just start trippin’ off it when Tank died. It’s worried at me for as long as I can remember. I ain’t just tryin’ to take the blame off myself. I know what I am—what I do. And I know that even with all the cards stacked against me I still had a choice of what direction I could have taken. But knowing who I am could you honestly have seen me making any other choices? I mean, I could have stayed in school and gone to college. I could have gotten a real job. I could have just lived off welfare or my mom or something. But could you really see me doin’ any of that? I chose this and I regret it everyday, but I made these decisions because of who I am and if there’s a God then I did it because of what God made me. I regret it all, but what’s done is done now and there’s no going back. I guess come Judgment Day I’ll burn in hell with the rest of the sinners, but is that fair if I really didn’t have a choice in what I became, if I was damned from the moment I was created?”
“Come Judgment Day all Black men will ascend to heaven with Allah. It’s the White man that will burn.”
“Yeah, but right now the white man is in paradise compared to us. We’re the ones in hell. It seems to me that judgment has already been passed right here on earth and we’ve all been damned!”
“It’s just part of Allah’s plan. You have to have faith that he’ll make everything right in the end. Order will be restored. Believe that.”
“Freedom after we are dead, or after our parents are dead, or those first Africans who were snatched from the Motherland and thrown in chains, is too little too late. We shouldn’t have had to go through all this.”
“God had to test us to make sure we were worthy.”
“Brother, please! If God is all-knowin’ then what the fuck does he need to test us for? He already knows if we are going to pass or fail.”
“The Lord works in mysterious ways his miracles to perform.”
Like a tidal wave, my anger came crashing back down upon me. Huey was starting to sound like a mindless fanatic. I had always given him more credit than that.
“Fuck his plan! If one little innocent child has to suffer for him to bring about his plan when he’s supposed to be so damned powerful then his plan is bullshit. It’s an injustice! You mean to tell me an all-knowing all-powerful creator couldn’t get his plan off the ground without the suffering of Black folks? And how the fuck are we supposed to deal with all this suffering and still love his ass when we don’t even understand his plan? What kind of God would ask that of us, dog? God expects us to suffer in the name of some divine plan, but he doesn’t even bother to clue us in on what the fuck this plan is all about and why he can’t do it without our children starving, and getting poor educations, and shot down in the streets, thrown in jail, excluded from jobs, denied proper healthcare. What kind of shit is that?”
“That’s where faith comes in, my brother. We have to have faith in his wisdom.”
“Is that what Allah said? Or was that Yaweh or Jehovah? ’Cause that don’t sound like no Black God to me. That sounds like the totalitarian philosophy of a rich, white,
“Totali—what? Man, I don’t even know what the fuck you just said.”
“I’m sayin’, only a White God would view human beings not as thinking, feeling, individuals, with their own hopes and ambitions, but as pawns to be sacrificed in the name of some grand cause without even allowing us to have a say-so. God believes in free will, but how can there really be free will when we have no choice in whether or not we want to participate in his great plan and don’t even know what the fuck it is? As if our opinions were irrelevant. We would assassinate a President for some shit like that or impeach his ass at the very least. But you don’t turn against God because you’re afraid of going to hell. A loving God that rules through threats and intimidation? Go along with the program or suffer eternal torment? Does that sound right to you, bro? Is that what muthafuckas mean by God-fearing? Worship God and he’ll save you from the hell he created for those who do not worship him? That’s a fucking extortion racket! And niggas just bow down to that shit like the slaves we’ve been conditioned to be. Well, this nigga right here ain’t bowing for nobody no more. Not God. Not no White muthafuckas. Not no niggas. Nobody! Any muthafucka that wants to see me bow better have the balls to face me and the strength to put his boot on my neck and press my forehead to the floor ’cause I damned sure ain’t doin’ it willingly!”
“Then your ass should start by raisin’ up out of that Scratch situation. ’Cause whether you realize it or not, that devil’s got you on your knees and you’re takin’ it in both ends.”
“I’m done with that shit, dog.”
“Yeah? We’ll see.”
Sitting there watching the clouds swallow the moon and stars and the darkness congeal into a solid wall of blackness, a turbid veil that hung between us, I began to wonder how I was going to make this big change and if it was even possible. Tank hadn’t thought so. He was sure that we would die in this game and he had been right, at least about himself. But did that mean that I was doomed too?
Killing wasn’t just something I did. Like I was trying to tell Huey, a killer was what I was. A metamorphosis had taken place within me as I sat cocooned inside the violence and desperation of my neighborhood and I had emerged from that cocoon as a monstrous killing
Death was now a shadow that followed me wherever I went and that I animated with every gesture.
I sighed a long exasperated breath that emptied me of all my strength. The weight of my thoughts pulled my forehead earthward. I sprawled out on the ground and rested my head on the pillow made by my forearm and bicep.
Huey was so quiet that I wondered if he was still there. I had said a lot more than I had meant to say. I had attacked his faith like a mortal enemy. His faith would survive the beating though. The belief in a just and loving God isn’t based on any empirical evidence so no evidence can refute it. It doesn’t matter how many innocents suffer and die, the faithful will always believe in the love of God because it makes them feel safe and happy and the alternative is too horrible for them to contemplate. Better to be a happy fool than a suffering genius.
The marijuana and alcohol began to work their magic and spirit my consciousness away. Slowly Huey and I both succumbed to the somnolent effects of intoxication and passed out on the cool dewy grass, our heads resting on an unknown grave at the feet of the Virgin Mary.
As I snored and drooled on the freshly manicured lawn, I dreamt that I was lying in a casket. A light set in the bottom of the casket shone through the Swiss cheese hyper-profusion of bullet holes some overly enthusiastic assassin had put in my corpse. Huge sub-woofers thundered with rapid fire sound bites of various gangsta rap songs in a cacophonous stew of rumbling bass as if someone had entirely neglected to add treble to the mix. My casket vibrated and pulsed with the sound. Each truncated lyric seemed to be some commentary on the life I had lead. Every single one of them was about death.
Scores of Black faces crowded in to gawk and point at me. None of the faces seemed mournful. They all seemed to be having a great time celebrating my passing. I heard the voice of an usher, who sounded like a tour guide, tell the group of jubilant mourners to keep moving so the next group could file in. Someone who sounded like Malcolm X opened the casket and and placed my nine on my chest as he solemnly intoned:
