I love the way words spill from the mind of a writer creating literary pictures of people, places and objects. Every since I can remember I have had a love affair with words. Like music, they can transport, soothe, calm, enrage or conjure a kaleidoscope of emotions. I call this blog my writing gumbo, replete with a melting pot of the melancholy, remembrances, history, enlightenment and of course stories of love both unrequited and endearing. Buckle up and prepare for a belletristic journey through diverse stories that sometimes connect, but most often contain their own literary DNA.
*********************
MY BEST FRIEND
MY BEST FRIEND
BY DIANE CAMERON ELAM
My Spirit smiled at the thought of you today
I was remembering something you said many years ago..
We were in the park sipping cold tea
Planning our day and our future...
Life was just beginning for us
We were best friends
We collected rocks and...
Pretended they were diamonds
We made a pact
And promised to always remain close!
You moved away, then five years and two kids later
The calls and cards arrived less and less..
Different paths and different places
Your face became a memory
Still I never forgot your heart
Life is full of challenges
You made other friends
You gave them advice
They listened...
And promised to oblige
I can still feel the pain of hearing the news of your mom
After all…she was like a mother to me..
...It was on the front page
...It was on the front page
The news of her accident
Life wasn’t always easy for her
But she was your mom
I can still taste her good cooking...
I can still taste her good cooking...
Life never took away her smile
The whole neighborhood were her children..
She gave us all advice...
We listened and felt better.
You told me you were going to “become a star”..
You told me you were going to “become a star”..
I kept up with your career through the years
The first black female to do this and that..wow!
Sometimes though the tabloids weren’t so kind…
Reporting your divorces and such...
But you seemed so strong..
I never forgot your determination
Life never stripped you of your song
...All your classmates admired your beauty
We never cared about the media gossip
We read it...
But we didn’t care
I stopped reading them period!
I was standing in the kitchen..
Reading to my grandchildren
When the reporter announced your name
She said a singer died today
Just like that…and yet..
The news stung my ears like a bullet
Tears covered my face and I instantly regretted
All the calls I never made
At least the newspapers said you were an International Singer
The radio echoed the same accolade..
Damn that lady reporter…no respect..
My mind took me back to those times in the park
Where we planned our days and our future
I remembered your beauty and fearlessness
For you…the rocks did turn into diamonds
I promise…
I promise…
I will always cherish
The memory of my best friend...
The memory of my best friend...
**************************************
THE RED SCARF
BY DIANE CAMERON ELAM
It was the night of the holiday party....
A little more champagne than he usually drank
and closer to midnight than he was accustomed to being up.
Just a hair over excess depending on who you were to ask.
He was in the majority and would have easily been forgiven by a jury of his peers.
Midnight came, a toast, a prayer, a promise and a swear....
all would soon be forgotten.
All but that red chiffon scarf.
For it wrapped around one of the most gorgeous creatures he had ever laid eyes on
.Being quite handsome himself, he tried to appear as if he wasn't really noticing her....
it was to no avail.
He worked the room stopping to make small talk here and there
and like magnetism... his eyes couldn't stop watching this mysterious African princess.
Even though she seemed to not be aware of his presence
that did not deter him from continuing his stare.
She moved like a confident dancer...
...her beauty rivaled the actress Marpessa Dawn in the movie Black Orpheus.
The red scarf draped over her feminine perfection protectively...
and for the first time in his life he found himself jealous of a scarf...
It was tied to perfection and made of fabric that shouted femininity.
Must have been manufactured in Heaven...
surely no earthly fabric would qualify.
Midnight came, the click...click... click of glasses toasting reminded him of how late it was.
He went to the coat closet to retrieve his wrap.
As he was leaving, he looked around again for the Nubian angel and she was gone.
He thanked the party host and headed for his car...
After letting the engine warm for a minute he sped off for home...
Reaching into his pocket for his driving gloves he discovered.........
...the red scarf...there is a God....he thought...and she was one of his angels.
...the red scarf...there is a God....he thought...and she was one of his angels.
A card wrapped inside the scarf contained a phone number and message.
It read: Your Secret Admirer - Call me tomorrow....
Ruby.........
He smiled all the way home
********************************
LEGS
OF STEEL
Joe ended his phone call and sat silently
reliving the conversation of moments ago with Desiree. He was struggling
choosing a direction for their blossoming relationship. They talked regularly
by phone for nearly 8 weeks now. Theirs had been a chance meeting. A couple of
months ago Joe was exiting the local grocery store and noticed an ad on the
bulletin board. It read “medical insurance available for the self-employed and
listed a number to call for additional information. Joe was thrilled, he had
been trying for some time to find an agent and quickly jotted down the number.
Putting his groceries in the car he waited his turn to exit the parking lot. He
dialed the agent’s number and much to his surprise heard a phone ring in the
car across from his.
Looking over in the direction of the ring, Joe
was charmed to see an attractive lady who answered warmly “Hello?” “Well, hi”,
Joe returned, “I’m calling in response to your ad for insurance and..... I
think I am in the car next to you. Desiree looked up from the phone in Joe’s
direction. They both laughed realizing they were talking to each other by cell
phone. Pulling his car up next to hers they continued talking and concluded the
conversation with Desiree punching his number in her cell phone promising to
call him later in the evening with more information. Desiree called and gave
Joe all the information on the company, the rates and how he could find an
application online. The attraction was evident for they talked on for a while.
Desiree told him a lot about herself and Joe
liked all he heard. Joe learned Desiree worked as a dance instructor for the
local Community Theatre. She told Joe that because it was Community Theater the
stipend was very low and went on to say she supplemented her income with her
Insurance business. Desiree revealed to Joe that she came from a family of
performers and had taken ballet since the age of 2. Laughing she asked if he
had noticed that her license plates read “tippytoes2”. Joe smiled and confessed
he had not but that he would be sure to check it out. He mentally revisited
their conversation including her invitation to join her at the theater tonight.
She explained that a lot of folks from the neighborhood showed up for lessons
and the hot Latin music. Joe had paused for a while before he revealed he
wasn’t a very good dancer. “I’ve got Legs of Steel” he had replied. She laughed
exclaiming to Joe he would be in good company if he came because she had a lot
of beginners in her class. Desiree had appealed once again. Joe didn’t reply to
her query but shared that his materials and insurance card came in today's mail.
“Wonderful” she piped in before hanging up “Hopefully, I’ll see you in class?”
He wasn’t sure of how he should proceed with
this relationship. It had progressed past the casual friendship level. They
spent many evenings sharing their dreams and ambitions by phone eagerly looking
forward to the next time they would talk. Desiree was disappointed with his
reluctance to join her for dinner or other social outings. At one point she
asked him if he was married. Joe decided they had hit a crossroad, the
relationship had to either progress or end. It could be no middle ground with
this lady. She was attractive, creative and had a great sense of humor and
obviously very interested in him. He was unsure if he could open his heart and
risk another rejection. He didn’t know how to tell her he still woke up in the
middle of the night sweating and shaking from the memories. How could he
express to her the ten months spent recovering in the hospital? Would she
understand if he confessed that a robber, a stranger who set out to take his
wallet and credit cards that night almost took his life? How do you verbalize
to someone that normal human beings don’t shoot you in the back after they rob
you of your material goods? Joe could still hear and feel the piercing sound
and paralyzing stillness as the robber shot him and ran off with his wallet
containing $18.00 in cash.
There was nothing in the Americans with
Disabilities Handbook that addressed how to communicate to a beautiful dance
instructor with a childlike spirit that you will never be her star dance
student. Joe surmised he would talk to her tonight after her class. He had to
and prepared himself for the possibility that she would lose interest in him, he
would tell her the truth. At 9:00 the phone rang. Joe wheeled over to where his
cell phone was charging and answered. It was Desiree. “I am right outside your
door Joe, we had some extra enchilada salad left and I brought you some…run out
to my car and I’ll give it to you” Solemnly Joe replied, “Can you bring the
salad to the door?” Determined that once and for all he would get this over
with and go on with his life. He heard her car door shut and the click of her
heels against the sidewalk.
Finally, Desiree was outside. Rolling his chair
slowly toward the door made each square inch seem like a mile. Hesitantly he
turned the knob. "Come in" he said quietly. Desiree entered and
caught her breath; she looked down at Joe in his wheelchair and said nothing at
first. After a quiet pause Desiree took Joe's hand and scolded “Why did you
keep this from me Joe”? “I’m not some superficial party girl that you can’t
talk to? Is this why we have never gone anywhere together? “I’m sorry…Joe…. can
I come in?” “Yes” he said softly. He had prepared himself for quite a different
reaction from her. She reached out and held him for a long time. It was the
first time he heard someones heart beating. Gripping his hand tighter they began
to talk.... about everything. Desiree told Joe about her ex-husband’s battle
with Personality Disorder and how the destructiveness of his condition eroded
the marriage. She spoke fondly of her grandfather who had been a double amputee
from injuries sustained in an automobile accident.
Confessing it was Joe’s smile that captivated
her during their first meeting in the store parking lot, she continued to hold
his hand. He admitted he felt the same attraction but was afraid to even consider
a new friendship. His wife divorced him while he was still recovering, and he
vowed he would never be in a relationship again. Joe told Desiree about the
night he was coming back to his hotel after a seminar in Chicago and was robbed
and shot. Desiree cried when she heard this. He told her that at one point he
asked God to let him die.
The conversation lasted for hours and hours and
2:00 a.m., they were still talking. A hush and stillness took over the
conversation and Desiree drifted off to sleep on the couch. Joe took a long
look at her. She was beautiful and looked angelic with her dancing shoes curled
up under her on the couch. Joe laid a blanket over Desiree and left her resting
on the sofa. Joe prayed often, but this time he would pray a different prayer.
He told God that he knew there would be many challenges ahead but if he had truly
placed someone in his life to love and build a future with he would give it all
he had. Before he retired to his room he looked out of the window up at the
stars. “God”, he said, “I’ve got legs of steel…. but I’ve got a heart of flesh.
Thank you for sending me someone who could love them both.
*****************************
THE SILENT RIDE
Driving in the rain watching the oncoming glare
of headlights in the other lane was hypnotizing to Ann. She surmised that 3:00
in the morning had to be the darkest hour of a day. They had left Phoenix late
in the afternoon expecting to be in Dallas by morning. Reminiscing, she
remembered how easily their conversation flowed in the early days of their
relationship. The times when she couldn't tell which was more enjoyable,
looking at Sam or listening to him.
It pained her now that every word they spoke to
each other seemed strained and unnatural. Silence seems more deafening in the
dark and Ann wished for signs of daylight to make the ride more tolerable. It
was too much of a reminder of what they had become to each other. Sam broke
another patch of silence...."I sent change of addresses to all of my
contacts at Rudgefields....but if any of my mail comes to your house I hope you
won't mind sending it to me. "Not at all" said Ann, glad to break the
drought..."I'll make sure it’s forwarded to you. The silence continued...... They were both in
agreement that breaking up was best for all concerned. Too many angry words....
heated arguments.......too little offerings of apologies, a sure-fire formula
for what they had become.... a statistic.
Morning debuted a brilliant sunrise. Ann saw
this as a sign that no matter how dark the moments we live in..... daylight is
coming. In her heart, she wished the best for Sam thankful that they had both
made the best decision amicably. Arriving at their destination...Ann collected
her things and said goodbye to Sam. As he drove away she watched the car until
it was completely out of her view.... with mixed emotions she turned toward her
driveway and walked toward her new life.
One of the neighbors spotted her as she stood
on the porch searching through her bags for the keys.... "Hello Ann"
he yelled, "Haven't seen you for a while" "I know" she
shouted back, "just got in from Phoenix" "How was your
ride" he quipped. She thought for a moment and answered, "Very
quiet" and shut the door behind her."
**************************
TABLE 4
"I'll have a cup of coffee black" he ordered never
looking up. "Anything else for you?" she replied automatically.
"No.....that is all.... Hurriedly, she prepared a fresh pot of coffee
for her customer. Very rarely did someone come to the restaurant that wasn't a
regular. She had never seen this old man before. Seldom did she have time to
analyze her customers; usually it was all about getting them in and out with
the least amount of room for complaints against her to management. She brought
his coffee and set it down on the table. He reached for the cup right away
never looking in her direction. She thought "The least he could have said
was thank you!" but then people rarely do.
It was a slow Tuesday morning with few diners out. It was
also her birthday and she had the option to take the day off but decided
against it, the tips came in handy. She watched him drink his coffee and
quickly refreshed his cup when it got low. Again, he never looked up.... or
acknowledged her. This will be about a quarter tip she thought and generally
decided it was okay, something about this customer made her uncomfortable
although she couldn't say why. He wasn't rude or especially demanding. She noticed
the distant look on his face as he silently drank his coffee. In the absence of
other customers, she had time to intently study this gentleman. She watched him
reach inside his coat and pull out a pen and paper and began to write.
He remained at the table drinking coffee and writing for
over an hour. She was keenly aware that he had begun to watch her holding a
picture in his hand. She saw a tear roll down his deeply lined face. Trying not
to be obvious she hurried about the dining room filling empty coffee cups and
continued to study the man at table 4 getting a little agitated with him taking
up so much time in her station
Other customers were starting to arrive, but if he remained
at her section, the incoming guests were assigned to other waiters. An eerie
feeling came over her as she felt him staring at her.
She went in the kitchen to replenish the coffee returned in a few minutes. She peered over at table 4 and he was gone. She wondered if he had left her a tip. As she approached the now empty table looked down and saw an envelope. Reaching for the envelope and glancing toward the cashier to return the envelope to her mysterious customer. She was surprised to see her name on the envelope. It read "To Colleen" in shaky penmanship. Inside was a letter and Twenty-Six 100-dollar bills. It read: Dear Colleen: I finally found you through many years of searching. I won't go into the details of the relationship I had with your mother and received the news of her death almost 5 years after it occurred. How do you make up for a lifetime in a few minutes? You can't...... and I won't insult you by trying. I located your job after pleading with your aunt Phyllis for some information on you. She assured me your mother was very close to her and through Aunt Phil I have been able to reconstruct your life.
Phil told me of your struggles. Saying I'm sorry is sometimes insulting, if there is another word in the English language more remorseful, it still will not be enough to express to you the shame I feel in not being a part of your life. Here is your picture when you were 3 years old. I've kept it in my bible and each year on your birthday, I look at it and wonder about you. Your aunt Phyllis gave me the address here where you work. You are beautiful, and I am proud to have had a part in your entrance to this world.
She went in the kitchen to replenish the coffee returned in a few minutes. She peered over at table 4 and he was gone. She wondered if he had left her a tip. As she approached the now empty table looked down and saw an envelope. Reaching for the envelope and glancing toward the cashier to return the envelope to her mysterious customer. She was surprised to see her name on the envelope. It read "To Colleen" in shaky penmanship. Inside was a letter and Twenty-Six 100-dollar bills. It read: Dear Colleen: I finally found you through many years of searching. I won't go into the details of the relationship I had with your mother and received the news of her death almost 5 years after it occurred. How do you make up for a lifetime in a few minutes? You can't...... and I won't insult you by trying. I located your job after pleading with your aunt Phyllis for some information on you. She assured me your mother was very close to her and through Aunt Phil I have been able to reconstruct your life.
Phil told me of your struggles. Saying I'm sorry is sometimes insulting, if there is another word in the English language more remorseful, it still will not be enough to express to you the shame I feel in not being a part of your life. Here is your picture when you were 3 years old. I've kept it in my bible and each year on your birthday, I look at it and wonder about you. Your aunt Phyllis gave me the address here where you work. You are beautiful, and I am proud to have had a part in your entrance to this world.
This is a small token for you to use to help you, one
100-dollar bill for each year of absence. I have given Aunt Phil information on
your inheritance; she also knows how to reach me if you decide you want to contact
me again. If not, I understand.... I love you my beautiful child. Br the
way.... Colleen was my grandmother's name, I am not sure you knew that. Happy
Birthday, Your Father Shaking and crying Colleen asked to go home early, she
thought about the prayer she prayed for years, and remembered asking God for a
good Birthday this morning.... she composed herself as best she could and
picked up the phone to dial Aunt Phil.
****************
GRAFFITI
Graffiti is a play portraying the interaction between
diverse groups of people brought together in a living environment by
homelessness. It asks a very pointed question. What is the real definition of
success? Do the material things we acquire in life signal our success or is it
measured in other formula's. What about the youth who through no fault of their
own find themselves beneficiaries of the misfortunes of their families. Where
is their voice, who speaks for them…? Or are they too ashamed to speak at all?
Graffiti is several stories of people who started out on their way to Oz and took
a wrong turn along the way. Take Ruben, for him homelessness is a way of life.
He has accepted it and has no plans to leave the streets. He feels he has a
divine mission to be the unofficial caretaker for his community. They called
him the “Mayor” …The children called him “papa”. People floated in and out of
Tent City… Sometimes it was a man, but women were common as well, and sometimes
it was whole families. I remember one lady. She would set our good china for
the folks to use when the dinner wagon came around. She would set the china and
crystal out on those wooden crates just like a restaurant and invite people to
eat with her. It was a strange sight. She would wear these white gloves and you
got the feeling that she must have been a doctor’s wife down on her luck. Her
eyes told the story though; they were a sea of blackness, seemingly without
pupils. She would sit right over there every day sipping watered down orange
juice in those china cups never saying much, just absorbed in her own world.
Then, like clockwork, she would rinse the dishes and put them back in a pillow
case and hold that sack like she was holding a baby. Whatever her life was
before she arrived, those dishes were all she had left of it.
The Songbird, Sarah is her name probably around 13. The
young folks look up to her. She has
dreams of becoming a big star, always singing and humming. I think when she
sings. . . she prays. That angelic voice of hers goes straight to heaven and I
believe God is taking notes.
Over there is Rico, a real piece of work. Still wearing his
shiny shirts and phony gold chains. How do I know the gold chains aren’t real?
Because he still has them, and the pawn shop doesn’t. He came here to Tent City with a real
attitude. Arrogant and in denial. He had been a successful entertainer, but bad
investments and dishonest folk landed him right here. It was like Humpty
Dumpty, a great fall. Bitter and angry until Ruben befriended him but I don’t
want to give the story away, so I will just leave it there.
Look up here…. take a good long look. See now you can’t
drive past them with a sense of disgust rolling your window down to throw a
quarter in their direction without ever looking their way. Tonight, they have
your undivided attention. Tonight, they don’t want spare change, or to clean
your windshields with a gin bottle for a hand out. You see them, don’t ignore
or look the other way. The only thing they want from you for the next 2 hours
is your attention.
SARAH'S DIARY
Dear Diary: Late at
night… I love to look out the window up at the purple sky. I pretend I am on an exotic journey around the world and if I close my eyes very tight I can see stars…. Then……when I opened them
again, I’m disappointed to discover they are only pebbles. Oh yeah, I forgot to
mention, there’s this boy in my Science class that likes me. He is from the
Republic of Benin in West Africa. I asked him how it looked in Benin and he
told me the waters were so clear there and the shrimp were as big as birds. He
must be rich because a chauffeur brings him to school every day. I saw his mom once.
She was beautiful and looked like an African queen. She had on a gold necklace that looked like
it belonged in a museum. I wonder if I could ever go to Africa. I wonder if I
will ever go anywhere. My mom says this is just temporary, she said I should
just hold my head up high and trust God. I am so glad that when the school bus
comes in the morning, no one else is on the bus to see where I live. Anyway,
this boy asked me where I lived one day, and I lied to him. I told him I lived
in Cedar Hills where all the million-dollar homes are located, He kept asking
me where and I changed the subject. Dear diary I got to get ready for tomorrow.
Oh yeah, one more thing before I go…. I did get the part in the school play and
the lead past as well, so sometimes pebbles do turn into stars…
THE YELLOW ROSE
Elsa couldn’t remember when she saw it for the first time;
though it would always appear in the spring. Even years later closing her eyes
recalling the memory of its image, she could see it resting majestically like a
captured ray of sunshine in a vase on the dining room table. She reminisced of
the flower’s pungency; its perfume sweetened the air inside their home. In an
act that grew into a tradition her younger sister Greta would pick a yellow
rose for her from the family garden each spring. When the flower passed its
time of display Mrs. Johansson saved it for her “special day” in a handmade
cedar box. The cedar box preserved the color and the aroma of the rose. Elsa
was to receive the dried flowers to use as sachet and potpourri as a wedding gift
whenever that “special day” arrived. Greta was about 6 years old and not mature
enough to understand but she knew that a veil of mystery and sacredness hung
over this satin gift.
In 1944, Elsa and her family had to flee from their home in
Krakow, Poland. It became increasing dangerous for Jewish people all over
Europe. The Nazi’s were sending them to concentration camps by the order of
Hitler. Out of fear, The Johansson family sought refuge in a sympathizer’s home
in Poland for nearly 3 years. Years later, speaking in broken English, Mr.
Johansson would tremble retelling the story of hearing a knock on the door that
seemed to last forever, the discovery of his family’s hiding place and
subsequent orders of deportation to the concentration camp. It was November
1944 and despite a mounting offense by the Red Army the Nazi’s continued
their tirade of persecution against the Jewish people. With tears streaming
down the lines on his face Mr. Johansson spoke sorrowfully about how his family
disembarked from the train to Auschwitz from Poland clutching their papers and
each other adding that it was so cold their breath seemed to spell out the
letters when they told the officials their names.
At this point in the story Mr. Johansson began to have great
difficulty finishing. With long pauses he retold how his family remained
together for days upon arrival at the camp. He wept as he vividly related how
the officials came and took away his wife and Greta. Sadly, he and Elsa waited
and waited for them but never saw their precious faces again. Bravely they
waited for their similar fate when suddenly; the Red Army appeared in the camp
and set them all free. Though he searched and searched, it was a bittersweet
release because it meant leaving the camp without his beloved wife and Greta.
It was usually as this point that he could no longer go on. November 1944
played out daily in his mind he spent each day hurting and grieving over his
wife and Greta.
Elsa and her father immigrated to America and arrived on Ellis Island in New York in the fall of 1945. Elsa would remark later “It was as if her father’s body arrived on Ellis Island, but his soul remained in Auschwitz. Elsa learned to live without her father’s input in her life and did all she could to help him. Years later, Elsa still missed her mother and sister. Her father had managed to keep a small picture of her mother hidden from the officials which Elsa kept in a locket around her neck. She remembered Greta’s smile, it was this pleasant memory of her younger sister that she kept branded in her mind whenever Greta’s name would come up. If she focused on her smile the rest of the story didn’t hurt as much. She quickly adjusted to life in New York. She graduated from High School and went to work at the Long Island Journal in1954 at the age of 18. It was hard work and the hours were long, but she was grateful to have a job and felt ashamed whenever she thought of complaining.
Elsa and her father immigrated to America and arrived on Ellis Island in New York in the fall of 1945. Elsa would remark later “It was as if her father’s body arrived on Ellis Island, but his soul remained in Auschwitz. Elsa learned to live without her father’s input in her life and did all she could to help him. Years later, Elsa still missed her mother and sister. Her father had managed to keep a small picture of her mother hidden from the officials which Elsa kept in a locket around her neck. She remembered Greta’s smile, it was this pleasant memory of her younger sister that she kept branded in her mind whenever Greta’s name would come up. If she focused on her smile the rest of the story didn’t hurt as much. She quickly adjusted to life in New York. She graduated from High School and went to work at the Long Island Journal in1954 at the age of 18. It was hard work and the hours were long, but she was grateful to have a job and felt ashamed whenever she thought of complaining.
She had been working at the paper for a few months before
she met Stan, he was a machine inspector. At first, Elsa was too shy to look at
him when he would speak to her, but he was beginning to make a daily habit of
greeting her. In fact, Stan would go out of his way to speak to her. Elsa
wondered why he sought her out but found herself slowly beginning to look
forward to his daily visits. It was hard to hold a conversation at work because
the machines were so noisy, yet he never seemed undaunted by this fact. A
budding friendship grew, and she and Stan shared many conversations.
They took long walks together on the weekends and attended
synagogue together. Elsa found Stan was easy to talk to. She told him the story
of her life, about her mother, and Greta and her father. She talked about the
garden at her home in Poland, but she was not able to talk about the yellow rose.
Stan invited Elsa to dinner and a movie. Alfred Hitchcock was premiering “Rear
Window” and he wanted to see it. He had also arranged for a special dinner by
candlelight. Looking at him Elsa noticed how especially handsome he looked.
Stan gazed at Elsa admiringly as if he saw her for the first time. He reached
under the seat of the car and pulled out a yellow rose. Handing it to her he
whispered, “It’s almost as pretty as you are”. I’ve got a second gift to give
you at dinner holding a tiny square box in his hand. Looking away from Stan,
Elsa wiped away tears. She knew that this was a sign that she would make a life
with Stan. She looked up at heaven and whispered in her heart “Thank You” She
saw Greta’s eyes smiling and she squeezed her locket and felt her mother’s
approval. As she regained her composure she glanced down at the beautiful
flower in her lap. It was the most beautiful yellow rose she had ever seen.
Stan spoke “I hoped you would like it Elsa, a lady and a little girl were
selling them on Broadway. At first, I bought one, and then I thought that maybe
you would like to have a whole dozen, I turned around to make another purchase,
but it was too late. The lady and the little girl had already left.” Elsa moved
closer to Stan and held his hand. Stan’s car was filled with the aroma from the
rose she felt as though she was back at her childhood home in Poland in the
garden with Greta and her mother.
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FOLLOWING A DREAM
I recall the time my parents were discussing civil rights in the living room outlining a plethora of injustices suffered by Black folks in the push for freedom. Anytime the name of Martin Luther King was mentioned it invoked lengthy spirited conversation. It was in that dialogue that I heard about Martin Luther King. It was during that moment I learned he was coming to town and made up my mind when he did come, I would go see him. Back then, I was too young to understand the historical significance of the place or the prophetic inference of the moment. I will never forget being in Chicago's Soldiers Field that afternoon. Vividly as though it was yesterday, I remember the crowd following him and Valerie and I followed him in the crowd. The sun's rays blanketed over Soldier's Field especially resting on the man Martin Luther King as if it knew it was shining on black royalty. Like a golden umbrella it rained majestically on the man who would go down in history, whether you agreed with his ideology or not, as the father of the civil rights movement and no one since him has been as celebrated or controversial. His non-violent approach to social change was a new creed especially this "turn the other cheek" philosophy because it came at a time when most of us already had bruises on both cheeks.
There are myriads of factors influencing the choices, decisions and paths we take. Wisdom is the level of forbearing we parlay into the principles we are guided by. Fate is the path by which we are led devoid of deliberate prompting on our own. Whether I ended up in soldier’s field because of youthful foresight and wisdom, or delivered there by divine fate, I was keenly aware that whoever Martin Luther King was, 50,000 others were just as moved by him. The stadium at Chicago’s Soldier Field was bursting with the hopeful, the anxious, the brave, the militant, the tired and the curious. Years later, I still apperceive the excitement and awe that surrounded King. I remember his aides attending to him with such reverence and respect. He was following his dream; the crowd was following him and I followed him and the crowd. He was a true Soldier for certain in Soldiers Field that day, King....a proponent of peace, Martin...a disciple of Gandhi. Who could have known 2 years later an assassin’s bullet would attempt to silence the voice of the dream? It wasn't supposed to happen. There were many of us just beginning to dare to dream; just beginning to believe a change would come. That day of infamy, namely April 4th, 1968 at 7:05 the whole world woke-up prematurely from sleep. James Earl Ray woke us up. Hatred had attacked our dream. King was W. E. B. Dubois's "Negro Schoolmaster in the New South" sadly; this New South still had the old ways. An excerpt from this same writing by Dubois epitomizes Martin Luther King's life...it reads: "My journey was done, and behind me lay hill and dale, and Life and Death. How shall man measure Progress there where the dark-faced Josie lies? How many heartfuls of sorrow shall balance a bushel of wheat? How hard a thing is life to the lowly, and yet how human and real! And all this life and love and strife and failure, --is it the twilight of nightfall or the flush of some faint-dawning day?” As he continued in freedom's path Valerie and I continued in his path with the massive crowd behind us. Freedom however is not just a march, the passing of a law or standing in crowds singing victory songs. In order for the dream of freedom to survive it must embody truth, spirit and action. It must be a vision fortified with passion for liberty and fearlessness of the inevitability of sacrifice. It must have a bulletproof shield…. So, when the dream haters and those of its evil kindred fabric set out to destroy the dream they are rendered powerless, even when they succeed at removing the messenger, they fail at eliminating the message Bittersweet the reality, that day in Soldiers Field was the only time I saw King live. Maturing, I grew to discover my own dreams…. I purposed to be loyal and faithful to my destiny regardless of an applauding crowd and prayed to God for the courage to walk alone. We may not have a congregation of 50,000 cheering for us, there may not be 50 or even 5 but do not be disheartened, for the road to freedom is often a solitary trek. I would like to think that Martin Luther King briefly observed Valerie and I, two wiry young girls excited and innocently running trying to keep up with him and his entourage. I would love to presume that he was both amused, yet proud at our pacing's. Presumably, Martin would be pleased knowing his life bestowed upon mankind an inheritance of which every race is a beneficiary of his legacy of non-violence all the way to his final sacrifice.
