Toni Morrison
(African-American novelist and professor)
Image from Pinterest
Quotable – Toni Morrison
Writing
Quotable – W.E.B. Du Bois
William Edward Burghardt (W.E.B.) Du Bois (1868-1963) sociologist, historian, civil rights activist, editor, and author. Image from AAIHS.
“A little less complaint and whining, and a little more dogged work and manly striving, would do us more credit than a thousand civil rights bills.”
“The cost of liberty is less than the price of repression.”
“To be a poor man is hard, but to be a poor race in a land of dollars is the very bottom of hardships.”
Quotable – Langston Hughes 1902-1967
James Mercer Langston Hughes – an American poet, social activist, novelist, playwright, and columnist from Joplin, Missouri. He was one of the earliest innovators of the then-new literary art form called jazz poetry. Image from NYDailynews.
“I swear to the Lord I still can’t see why Democracy means Everybody but me.”
“An artist must be free to choose what he does, certainly, but he must also never be afraid to do what he might choose.”
“Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.”
“What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?… Or does it explode?”
“I have discovered in life that there are ways of getting almost anywhere you want to go, if you really want to go.”
Quotable ~ Maya Angelou ~1928 – 2014
The Toast (Calla)
This is another unedited excerpt of Calla, my 2017 Camp Nano project.
Time for her speech and toast.
Standing and walking over to Gibson, Calla pulled a face at the good-natured comments from the wedding guests.
“It’s your turn, Calla!”
“Girl, you’re the last one!”
“Marry me, Calla!”
Her poker face grew into a wide, warm grin. She looked around the room, seeing people who’d known her for a lifetime, knowing they only wanted her to be happy.
When Calla raised the mic to speak, Gibson, who was still at her side, pulled the mic in his direction.
“Don’t worry, Reedsville fam, I have plans for Miss Calla.”
Catcalls and whistles rose in the room again, with a noted deep growl from Birdy Ellison, the man who’d shouted, “Marry me, Calla” only moments before.
With a smile of pure innocence, Calla pulled the mic back to her mouth. “Don’t you have enough ex-wives, Gibby?”
Flinching, Gibson grabbed his chest, feigned a stumble and laughed all the way back to his seat as the crowd applauded Calla’s witty response.
Calla tried to control her own laughter as she raised her hands to quiet the room.
“I can’t remember a time in my life which didn’t include Tena Evers. We played with dolls together as little girls. When we got tired of the dolls, we forced the boys to let us play cowboys and Indians with them. We watched all the dance shows and practiced the latest steps. Once our moves were flawless, we’d go to the dances and make the boys dance with us.”
Peers yelled out in agreement. Members of older and younger generations nodded and commented on how nothing ever changes.
“Something happened in high school. Those same boys we’d bossed around as kids, we were now afraid to even speak to. But we would look. Oh, my lord, we would look. What I didn’t know at first was Tena was only looking at one boy we didn’t know well. She confessed to me after she and the boy met at their fathers’ company picnic.”
Calla turned to her best friend.
“That fall, we went to our school’s first football game. We bought programs like we always did, but could never find by the end of the game. Not this time. I didn’t realize it at the time, but Tena never rolled or folded her program. A few weeks later during a sleepover at Tena’s, of course, the conversation turned to boys. I teased her about Ronnie Calvert following her around all the time.”
Seated at a far table, Ronnie Calvert laughed out loud only to be smacked on the arm by his wife, Pam, a large, sober-faced woman with no sense of humor.
“Tena laughed and shook her head. She walked over to her dresser, took something out and turned around.”
Calla looked at the crowd and smiled.
“It was the program from the football game, without a wrinkle or tear. She held it with near reverence as she returned to sit on the bed. Opening it, she turned past all the ads and team photos, stopping at the individual player headshots. Handing me the open program, she said, ‘Ronnie’s a nice guy, but I’m going to marry him.’”
Calla looked back to the newlyweds.
“I took the program, and I was staring down into the face of Reedsville High’s star wide receiver, Lloyd Taylor.”
Thunderous applause erupted as wedding guests took to their feet in approval.
Lloyd caressed his new wife’s cheek, lost in her eyes.
Calla held up her hand once again to quiet the crowd.
“Whether you’re sixteen or sixty, you know when you’ve met the love of your life and two hearts bond. It’s a bond time and distance and other people cannot break. It’s the bond Tena and Lloyd share and which has brought them to this day.”
Calla raised her glass, joined by the wedding guests.
“To Mr. And Mrs. Taylor!”
Calla winked at Tena, grinned mischievously and said, “And they lived happily ever after!”
Tena roared with laughter. She should have known her best friend would go through with the dare.
Lloyd looked between Tena and Calla, puzzled.
Calla smirked and sipped her champagne.
Before Lloyd could question his bride, Neeri appeared to rush them to the center of the room for their first dance as man and wife.
While all eyes watched the happy couple dance and sing along to “Spend My Life with You” by Eric Benet and Tamia, Calla settled into her chair, grateful to be off her still-aching feet.
©Felicia Denise 2017
The Last Medal
Image from NCO Journal
Word prompt: ambush
She didn’t need a shrink to tell her she had PTSD.
Virgie Hudson knew of the price she’d paid for thirty-two years of military service – twenty-two of those years… on the front lines.
The day after passage and ratification of SB 1200 allowing women into combat, Virgie left behind ten years of desk and training duties. Like her father and brothers, she would now get to serve on the front lines.
As one of only four women who would lead combat forces, Virginia’s service was legendary. She had numerous medals and awards. She also had numerous scars… on her body and her mind. Virgie remembered all too well how and when she’d received each scar – physical and mental.
For every inch of ground taken, every hill won, every town liberated, there was a memory attached.
The good memories made Virginia smile.
The day her unit entered the town of Ras al-Ayn, the grateful Kurdish women’s militia cheered. After fighting ISIS forces for days, the exhausted women thanked the Americans’ for their help… and for some relief. With American support, ISIS guerrillas made a hasty retreat.
The memories of losing team members played on repeat in her mind often. Pfc. Jeff Ollenbeck – lost to a land mine. Pfc. David Jencks and LCpl. Donald Morgan – killed in an ambush attack. 2ndLt. Shelley Cooper – taken down by a sniper. There were more. So many more.
Why did she survive?
Virgie squeezed her eyes shut and yanked at her thick, black curls attempting to block out the faces of those who made the ultimate sacrifice.
She grabbed the tumbler of bourbon from the table in front of her, gulping it down in one breath. Even in those brief periods when fallen Marines didn’t cloud her thoughts, there was always the children.
The children Virgie couldn’t save.
It took several days to get into the small isolated town east of Mosul. When a ten-thousand member Iraqi counter-terrorism force arrived, militants soon scattered over the borders into the mountains of Turkey and Iran.
Villagers wept as Col. Virginia Holman Hudson’s team set up aid stations. It was obvious many of the town’s residents survived severe beatings and torture. Virgie knew one young woman wrapped in a thread-bare blanket and shielded by an older woman was a rape victim.
A silent signal to her senior officers was acknowledged only by their scattering to inspect the village. One of her team interpreters called out to Virgie.
“Col. Hudson, the children!”
“What about them, Lance Corporal?”
Accompanied by two female villagers, LCpl. Dirks approached her. “A man took the children yesterday morning.”
In rapid speech and dialect Virgie didn’t understand, she did recognize the word for ‘hill’. The woman gestured and pointed at something behind Virgie.
Virgie looked over her shoulder and saw a small, flat, mud-brick building sitting on a low hill about four hundred meters away. With one movement of her hand, the strike team fell into formation, heading for the building. Virgie led them until her second-in-command, 1st Lieutenant Reynolds pulled her back.
“Excuse me, Colonel, but you know I can’t let you do that.”
She nodded once. “Dammit, Rey… find those children!”
Led by Reynolds, the strike team moved forward up the small incline to the building. Virgie fell into step behind them.
They had traveled half the distance to the building when a man threw open the building’s only door. His maniacal laughter was rife with anger and madness.
“Hold fire!” Virgie held up her hand while glaring at the insurgent.
Stepping forward, Virgie questioned the man in flawless Arabic. “اين الاطفال?” Where are the children?
Not getting any response other than wild-eyed mania, Virgie switched to Kurdish. بچوں کی کہاں ہیں?
Recognition dawned in the mad man’s eyes. He lifted his arms and yelled, “کان کے بچے ہیں!” The children are mine!
Virgie recognized the small detonator in his hand, attached to a wire feeding into his sleeve. Before she could give the order to fall back, the crazed terrorist yelled out again, “Allah is great!”, and detonated the bomb.
What happened in the next few seconds was an eternity to Virginia Hudson.
The expression on the bomber’s face never changed as the impact of the explosion behind him ripped his body in half, each section set ablaze. Virgie lost sight of him when someone threw her to the ground, covering her body with their own. Except for the monstrous roar of the burning building, silence bathed the area.
Then sounds flooded the area.
Like a chorus, the wails of the villagers pierced the silence. Virgie pushed against the body holding her down, but stopped struggling and listened. She heard a different noise… coming from the burning building.
With one final shove, Virgie pushed the body off her enough to roll from under and to her feet. Reynolds lay a few feet away rubbing his chest from the impact of her blow. Virgie headed for the building but another team member grabbed her.
“Let go or you’re losing a stripe! I don’t care who it is!”
Anger rose inside of Virginia as she spun around and looked up into the face of Cpl. Lawrence.
“Col.… there’s nothing we can do for them.”
Her body sagged, already knowing the truth. The tears streaming down the big Marine’s face caused Virgie to look at the rest of her strike team. They all wept–male and female alike.
Donnelly watched out for Dirks, now on his knees, giving up the contents of his stomach.
Sanchez clutched the cross around his neck.
Though his face was wet with tears, Gilmore’s eyes flared with rage.
“Dirks? How many?”
Without raising his head, Dirks responded, the words causing him physical pain. “T-Thirty four, ma’am.”
Anger and grief warred inside Virgie. Anguish strangled her heart as bile rose in her throat. Closing her eyes, Virgie called upon the false sense of calm needed to do her job. Opening her eyes, Virgie spoke, knowing Reynolds was back at her side.
“Secure the perimeter, Lieutenant.”
Virgie gave the order almost as an afterthought, not moving from where she stood. Only after the cries for help stopped did she turn to look at the building crumbling in the fiery blaze.
Col. Virginia Holman Hudson knew her military career was over.
She’d had enough.
©2017 Felicia Denise, All Rights Reserved
The Back Forty #FlashFiction
(Flash Fiction – Word prompt: alley)
Camryn hated this part of her walk home.
She equally divided her attention between watching the shadowy alleyways and her footsteps. Used needles and condoms, broken liquor bottles, and random pieces of clothing carpeted the dangerous two-block section of 36th Street known as the Back Forty. Grown men avoided the area in mid-day. A woman walking alone just after six in the morning was asking for trouble.
But Camryn had to get home. She didn’t own a car and public transportation in this part of town started an hour later Sunday mornings.
Montgomery Clemens, spiteful, forty-six-year-old married father of five, knew this. Camryn had declined his offer of dinner and cocktails after work a month ago. Monty sought to punish her. As a human resource supervisor at Patterson Banking Systems, weekend scheduling fell into his lap every two weeks. It was a task he despised at first. Now, Monty saw it as a valuable tool he wielded to punish female employees who rejected him. Women like Camryn Evers.
Determined to beat Monty at his own game, Camryn said nothing and worked the bimonthly schedule changes in silence.
She didn’t have too. Camryn could have requested a hearing with the department manager and reported Clemens. However, Camryn was number three on the promotions list. It wouldn’t be long before Camryn was a member of management. When that happened, payback would be a bitch named Camryn Evers for Monty Clemens.
She could have bought a car. Camryn had more than enough money in either of her savings accounts for a car… and a home. But one of those accounts had been started long ago… when she was a different person. When her life revolved around the words of a man. Camryn trusted him. She loved him. And he’d lied and manipulated her. That would never happen again.
Camryn would buy a car when she was ready. Not because some horny, old fool at work didn’t like the word no.
Fortunately, except for the dreaded two-block section of 36th Street, the seven-block walk home wasn’t that bad. The route was well-lit most of the way, crossing through metropolitan and residential areas. Traveling the edge of the Back Forty, however, filled Camryn with dread. Law enforcement made infrequent passes through the area. The one alternate route would add six blocks and forty-five minutes to her journey home. Camryn pushed on.
As she neared the middle of the second block, Camryn’s steps quickened-the bright street lights of Perry Avenue in view.
“Cammie?”
She froze. No one had ever called her by that nickname except family… and her girlfriends from high school. Despite her better judgment telling her to go home, Camryn turned towards the voice in the shadows. A tall figure leaned against the edge of a dilapidated building.
Even though Camryn couldn’t see the face, she knew the owner of the voice. In all her thirty-four years, Camryn had only known one woman who stood well over six feet.
Belinda Glass.
“Lindy? Is that you?”
“Yeah, girl. What are you doing here?”
The former best friends each took two steps forward. Belinda was now under a street light, and Camryn was stunned at the woman’s appearance. Once a mocha beauty, member of the homecoming court, and a standout player and captain of the girls’ basketball team, the years had not been kind to Belinda.
In a stain-covered dress far too short to be considered decent, Belinda leaned against the street light pole. A matted faux-fur waist coat and cheap, spiky shoes completed her outfit. Camryn couldn’t tell if it was a wig or weave, but the long chestnut curls framing Belinda’s face were matted. Camryn could also see traces of lint through the hair even from where she stood. But it was the tall woman’s face which took her voice away.
A mixture of wrinkles, acne, and bruises covered Belinda’s face. Camryn didn’t see an inch that wasn’t marred. Camryn’s gut churned when she reached Belinda’s eyes. While glassed over, her eyes were also empty, flat… dead.
Camryn watched her friend grip the light pole for balance. She didn’t know if Belinda was high, drunk, or both, but she was on something.
“Cammie? Did you hear me? Why are you here… in the Back Forty?”
“I-I… I’m on my way home… from work.”
“Thought so.”
“What are you doing here, Lindy?”
The altered woman glanced upwards as though she was expecting… and dreading the question.
“This is where I… work.”
Camryn’s hand clutched at her abdomen, trying to calm the rising bile. Sadness washed over her when she realized what the stains on Belinda’s dress were.
“Lindy… why?”
“Life is just a bowl of shit, Cammie, and shit happens. But get that look off ‘a ya’ face now. I don’t need or want anybody’s pity.”
“But Lindy, tell me something! What happened? You left the country with Lawrence after we graduated. You both signed to play ball in-”
“Men lie, Cammie. They do it on purpose. Always needing to control women. They say whatever it takes.”
Belinda’s words hit home deep in Camryn’s soul.
“What about you and Raymond, Cammie? I knew you two would get the happily-ever-after.” Belinda didn’t miss the stricken look on Camryn’s face. “But if you were with him, you wouldn’t be out now walking alone, would you?”
Camryn smirked. “Like you said, Lindy, men lie.”
“I’m so sorry, Cammie. You deserved better. You always were the best of us.”
Camryn waved her off.
“I was no better or worse, Lindy. We were kids, trying to grow up. Raymond covered up his true nature for a long time. But once I found out, I walked away.”
“See? Strength of character. You always had it, Cammie. Even with all the lies Lawrence told, the choices were still mine. I knew he was a liar. I chose to believe him. I chose to stay with him.” Belinda glanced away. “Until he didn’t want me anymore.”
“But Lindy, why didn’t you let me know? Or Cyn or Tammie? We could have-”
“Pride, Cammie… pride. I may not have much left, but I have enough to not want my girls from back-in-the-day to know how far I’ve fallen.”
“Bullshit! That’s no ex-”
“Listen! Do not come this way again. Back Forty’s no place for someone like you.”
“Oh, Lindy, stop- “
“Bitch, we are not having a discussion!”
Camryn flinched at the woman’s tone.
Belinda stood to her full height and let go of the light pole. Though an imposing figure, her eyes softened.
“This is the third time I’ve seen you out here, Cammie. And, if I have… other people have too. People with black hearts and no souls who will do what it takes to get what they want.”
She motioned at Camryn with one hand.
“Look at you. Almost thirty-five but still with a school girl’s good looks. Thick, shoulder-length hair, perfect makeup, manicured nails. Morris is always giving me shit because I have no ass. Yours would have him salivating.”
“Lindy, let me hel-”
“Dammit! You always were stubborn! Go home, Camryn Nicole Evers… now! Never walk this way again… ever!”
“Belinda-”
“I said go! Damn!”
The large woman turned and walked unsteadily back to the alley. She paused after a few steps and looked back over her shoulder.
“Cammie… please. Nothing good happens in the Back Forty and I want nothing bad to happen to you. If you keep walking this way… it will.” With that, Belinda Glass disappeared down the darkened alley.
Camryn stood frozen where Belinda left her. Her heart ached for her childhood friend. They had shopped for prom dresses together, prank called boys, and stolen cigarettes from their parents. Camryn knew she could help her friend. It wasn’t too late.
The sound of trash cans overturning and someone crying out startled Camryn. She knew Belinda had fallen. Camryn wanted to go to her and get Belinda out of this nasty, rancid place.
But instead, she backed away shaking her head. Tears were pooling in her eyes when she turned and ran towards Perry Avenue, not stopping until she reached the corner traffic light. The pedestrian crossing sign lit up, and Camryn made her way across the large thoroughfare, thankful for providence.
Camryn leaned against the post to catch her breath. Only then did she look back across Perry Avenue… and down 36th Street. Despite the rising sun, the outskirts of the Back Forty remained blanketed in darkness, untouched by the light of day.
“Never walk this way again.” Belinda’s warning played on repeat in Camryn’s mind.
They were once close as sisters.
Their lives had taken two very different paths… both lain by the lies of men.
Belinda accepted her empty life fueled by drugs and alcohol. Yet she wanted better for a woman she once called friend.
Camryn wanted it too.
She took a few steps from the traffic light and turned right onto Perry Place. Not for the first time, Camryn marveled at the difference in her tiny tree-lined street and the desolate wasteland only a quarter of a mile away.
By the time she reached the door of her street-level cottage apartment, Camryn had made two decisions. First, when the HR office opened at nine, she was calling off work for the next two or three days. Hell, maybe even the whole week. It would serve them right. Camryn had not had an unscheduled day off in almost three years.
There were only six senior account analysts, and while two had more seniority, Camryn was the one with the knowledge and skill. A week of scrambling without her would make them appreciate her more and receptive to her complaint about Monty Clemens. Because she would demand a hearing.
So caught up in her own head to not be manipulated by Monty… or any man, Camryn had played herself. Instead of reporting Monty, she fretted over a job promotion. She had put her life at risk… for a job promotion.
Belinda’s eyes continued to haunt Camryn as she entered her apartment.
She bypassed the living room, tossed her bag and jacket into a corner chair, and turned on the shower. She had enough time to squeeze in a quick nap before calling her job. Then, she would see if any of the numbers she had for Cynthia Kelly and Tamara Alsworth were still good. Camryn wouldn’t tell them about Lindy, but she wanted to touch base with them. The years had passed too fast, making the distance of a few miles seem even greater.
The rest of her day would be spent binge watching the programs stored in her DVR while she scoured the Internet for deals. Tomorrow morning, she’d take on the second decision she’d made.
It was time to buy a car.
©2017 FeliciaDenise, All Rights Reserved
A Lil’ Crazy…
Felicia Denise, Author 