Black and White

By Rachel Anne Jones

Two high school boys from Mississippi meet at football camp and immediately there is racial conflict. Their actions force them into a situation in which they must work together to find a way out. Can the two boys help each other as they prepare for manhood; making wise decisions and building each other up; or will they continue to battle and be overcome by their own frustrations? Will they open their eyes and minds to the people they meet and look for solutions to their struggle, or will they continue to be stuck in their limited perception of life. Can they be willing to see a little of themselves in one another and resolve their differences, or will their trained mindset be too much of a barrier for them to cross.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543959109

Rachel Anne Jones

I’m a thankful wife of a wonderful and loving husband, and a blessed mom of three amazing children. I'm also a grateful nurse who has the privilege to work with some pretty great people every day.I live in the Flint Hills of Kansas. I enjoy reading and writing in my spare time. I love meandering through bookstores and libraries. I love traveling, especially to the ocean. I love meeting new people and experiencing new places. I love baking in a quiet kitchen.I enjoy watching romantic comedies and I’m a huge fan of “The Office.”I believe a good book is a great opportunity to welcome a new perspective.

Book preview

© RACHEL ANNE JONES 2019

Print ISBN: 978-1-54395-909-3

eBook ISBN: 978-1-54395-910-9

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For my Douglas, who has always believed in me;

For my eight hearts:

Isaac, Isabel, Abby, Owen, Oliver, Eva, Marvin, and Everett

For my cheerleaders, Sandy, Stacy, and Sabina-

And for my Beloved Sister, Mandy – the One who left us too Early-

Never give up on your dreams.

FAMILY TRAITS

May the words in this story reflect:

The compassion of my parents,

The mischief of Don,

The civic duty of Douglas,

The sincerity of Nathan,

The ever-imaginative Amanda,

The beautiful voice of Phyllis,

The bravery of Jewell,

The generosity of Lowell and Esther,

The work ethic of Connie,

The lyrical poeticism of Ward,

The patience of Robert,

The witticism of Irene,

The realism and practicality of Mary,

The creativity of Isaac,

The tenacity and persistence of Abby,

And the Dreams of Isabel.

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

SOCIAL SKILLS

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

EPILOGUE

SOCIAL ENRICHMENT

PROLOGUE

Somewhere in the South….1959

In the quiet evening air, the moment before the blackness of night sets in; this should be a moment of general peace and contentment. The Southern night air is heavy, wrapping its inhabitants in a humid, clingy cloak, lulling them to sleep. However, not all who are out on such a night are calm; down in the swamp there is tension in the air.

The ugliness of ignorance and hatred raises its head in the form of five boys, striving to become young men. They are standing in a half circle at the foot of an old oak tree; from which a body hangs. A few of the boys are looking down, but the shortest one is looking straight up, his eyes gleaming in triumph as he exclaims.. We did it! We lynched this dirty nigger! My ole man will be so proud!

The crowing boy is so excited he does not hear the rustling of the grass behind him until it is too late. One moment he is standing and the next he is in excruciating pain; sharp teeth go straight for the bone, grabbing him from behind, snapping the bone in his leg, dragging him on his belly toward the murky swamp waters. He cries out. Oh God! Somebody help me! The boys look on in horror and shock. In a panic, two boys run for their friend and grab him by the arms to struggle with the alligator in a tug-of-war. Another boy races to cut the dead boy’s body down from the rope hanging from the tree. With much effort, he heaves the lifeless body at the alligator. The alligator turns and accepts their offer. Its huge jaws release the flailing boy; snatching up the dead body, trading one boy for another. The alligator sinks below the murky waters, silently taking its prey below, leaving behind only bubbles. The other boy is left rolling around on the ground, bleeding and moaning.

Terrified; the four boys grab their wounded friend and pile into the borrowed car, driving off to get help.

The group does not realize it yet, but they have committed the perfect crime. No one will ever know what has transpired this night. No one will ever know that these young men took the life of another, just for having the wrong color of skin.

2009 Cleveland, Mississippi

An old warehouse

W hat am I supposed to do, Preacher? You keep callin’ me out in front of my boys. A man’s gotta have his proper respect. I can’t lose face with my crew. You Know This. Why you gotta keep preachin’ up in here? The preacher sighs. Get that gun outta my face. You KNOW me. I didn’t come here to confront; I came here to talk. You and I both know what goes on in those streets out there. Too many of our brothers are dyin’ in the streets; dyin’ because of drugs, dyin’ because of gangs. You Say people round here need protection, that this is YOUR hood; but YOU are the Problem. You’re takin’ Money from people so that You won’t be the one breathin’ down their neck and hasslin’ their business. THEY ARE PAYIN’ YOU FOR PROTECTION… FROM YOU!! How can you say they pay you for protection… when the biggest THREAT is YOU. These business owners just want to run their stores in peace. They don’t need you and your gang wars on their front doorstep. It’s time You leave them alone. You have got to stop sellin’ your drugs on ever’ corner in Cleveland. The people have just as much right as the next person to live in a clean, untroubled neighborhood.

The man with the gun chuckles. Stop sellin’, huh? It ain’t as easy as all that. How am I gonna feed my kids, how am I gonna take care my own? You think the government gives a shit if my ole granny has a roof over her head or enough food to eat? Nah. They don’t give a good goddamn and you know it. I gotta do what I gotta do to get by. And you’re gonna get out the way. I can’t have you preachin’ on my turf no more. You are bad for bizness... I’m tired of axin’ you nice. I ain’t axin’ no more. I’M TELLIN’ YOU. YOU BEST STAY OFF MY STREETS. The Preacher looks hard at the man with the gun in his hand.

And what if I can’t do that? What if I can’t stop preachin’? It’s what I have been called to do. What kind of MAN would I be if I just run in fear, like so many others you done run off? You think I could live with myself if I don’t try to change things? I’m a father too. I can’t stand by quietly and watch you do what you are doin’ in the community that I live in. I gotta do what I got to to make this neighborhood a place for my kids to grow up. These ain’t YOUR streets; this ain’t YOUR HOOD - no matter how many punks with guns you got walkin’ around. These streets belong to the people of Cleveland; the people who have real jobs, who make hard-earned, Honest money that they can be proud of. They don’t make the easy money that comes from sellin’ drugs that ruins young kids before they even know what they want or WHO they ARE. They don’t sell a product that people kill each other for. Don’t you know you are better than this? Don’t you want to do somethin’ you can be proud of, somethin’ honest and good? Do you really want your kids growin’ up knowin’ their father sold drugs on corners and was a gang leader -- and a killer? The gunman’s hand is shaking now. I ain’t never killed nobody, preacher! But that’s about to change! I TOLD you not to call me out. I warned you to leave me alone. You always think you are Right and I’m Wrong! You think there is only ONE WAY to live. That’s all Bullshit! THIS IS MY LIFE. I AM livin’ the life I was BORN TO. I ain’t gonna pretend to be somethin’ that I’m not! The preacher scoffs. WELL. I was waiting for it, and there it is. The I’m just a poor black nigga who don’t know no better card. I was born in the same neighborhood as you. We grew up on the same block. We went to the same schools, had the same teachers. Yeah, my ole man made an honest livin’. Your ole man came home drunk every night from the pool hall. It’s true we wasn’t raised in the same house - but we from the same neighborhood. And a man’s not a man who can’t own his own mistakes. So don’t go blamin’ your poor choices on your upbringin’. Your father didn’t make you who are today any more than my father made me. We make our own choices. Own your own life, if you’re a man."

Damn right I’m a man. I’m a Man who has had enough of you. You say there’s only one way to live; but there’s a Million ways to Die, and this is one of them! The man pulls the trigger and the bullet goes straight in the preacher’s chest. The preacher falls to the warehouse floor. The shooter drops the gun and walks out.

Do not be afraid of those who want to kill your body; they cannot touch your soul. Fear only God, who can destroy both soul and body in hell. – Matthew 10:28

CHAPTER 1

June 2014; Cleveland, Mississippi

SOLOMON

S olomon, come here. You have a letter. Solomon, I’m a tiret’ old woman; don’t make me holla at you again. I go to the kitchen to see my grandma. It’s the last summer before my senior year and I can’t wait to spend it at Jackson’s, playing Call of Duty. All. Day. Long. I pick up the letter. It’s from Martin Luther King Jr. Training Football Camp; a camp I used to try to get in when I cared about trying. Every year, for three years, since I was about 10 years old, I would fill out the application and write the essay about what going to the camp would mean to me (my dad) and mail it down to Atlanta, Georgia. Every year I would get rejected.

Then five years ago, my father was shot to death while he was out doing his street preaching, making peace between the gangs, fighting for civil rights, preaching the word of God, and teaching R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Preaching is what my father was most passionate about and preaching is what got him killed. Go figure. After that, I kind of lost interest in sports and in life altogether. I started hanging out at Jackson’s, a kid my dad told me to stay away from, but my father isn’t here anymore to tell me to do anything. So…

I open the letter, which makes me curious because I don’t recall filling out an application this year, and I see an Acceptance Letter? Get out. I check my name at the top again just to be sure they have the right person. Yes, it’s my name; Solomon Nathaniel Jones, DOB 7/9/97, address 1325 John Brown Ave. Apt. #13, Cleveland, Mississippi. I want to throw this letter away. I don’t dare hope that I will go. I haven’t even looked at the price of the camp, one I know we can’t afford. As I read further, I see that they have accepted me as a scholarship student. A small seed of hope has sprouted in my chest and though I want to squash it, I can’t help but feel a little excited. Grandma is standing at the stove, sneaking looks at me out of the corner of her eye.

I hand her the letter and I go to my room. What was I thinking? For a split second I was thinking I could go. How could I forget my little sister, Esther? Esther is 14, so technically she can stay home by herself by law; but we don’t live in the safest of neighborhoods. It’s just me and my grandma and Esther who live in our two-bedroom apartment. Esther shares a room with my grandma, which she handles with such contentment; her lack of irritation makes me irritated. Esther says she enjoys staying home with grandma, cooking with grandma, cleaning with grandma, listening to all of grandma’s stories that she tells over and over and over again. I keep waiting for Esther to show some sign of insincerity, but so far all I’ve seen is how much Esther enjoys spending time with our grandma.

We have a mother somewhere. She was a street junkie when my dad met her. He helped her get off the street and cleaned up. They fell in love. They got married. She had my sister and me. When I was 5 and my sister was 2, my mom took off again and went back to the streets. My dad was always more forgiving of my mother then the rest of us. My grandma never talks about my mother. I overheard my sister ask grandma once to tell her stories about our mother. My grandma just answered quietly, some stories is better left on the bookshelf.

I’m in my room thinking about life and that football letter. I look down where I am sitting on my room floor at my rug. When I feel overwhelmed, I like to sit on it. It’s a very colorful rug that has colored lines on it that go in circles that never end. There is something about the continuity of the lines that make me feel better. I tried to explain it to Esther once when she was feeling down. She just said I give my troubles to God. Esther is a very spiritual 14-year-old. I’ve decided she has enough faith for the both of us. My dad had more than one Bible, but he had his favorite that he carried everywhere on his preaching days, and now Esther carries that same Bible wherever she goes. It’s very worn, with many marked pages and high-lighted words. Sometimes when I look at that Bible, the feeling of my dad’s absence is overwhelming; and I have to go and sit on my rug and get lost in the lines. It doesn’t have the same effect on Esther. She says carrying that Bible around is like carrying around a piece of her father and it comforts her. I believe her; she even sleeps with it.

I feel a presence. I look up from the rug and see my grandma standing in the doorway. She has tears running down her cheeks, but she is smiling ear to ear. Solomon, you are goin’ to that football camp. Esther and I will make it just fine here without you. You just go on down there and show ‘em what you can do. It’s your one chance. I hear Esther come around the corner. Did he get in? I didn’t know Esther was in the house. How did she know about camp? Esther is jumping up and down in the hallway and clapping her hands. She blurts out; I FILLED OUT THE APPLICATION! I WROTE YOUR ESSAY! I PROBABLY SHOULDN’T HAVE BUT I KNEW YOU WOULDN’T! I JUST KNEW THIS WAS YOUR YEAR!! I HAVE BEEN PRAYING AND PRAYING EVER SINCE I SENT THAT LETTER IN! I TOLD YOU SOLOMON, GOD LISTENS! Now she’s twirling around in the hallway and giggling. I can’t help it; I am starting to feel hopeful. I don’t know what to think about what my sister just said but I don’t care. I am going to Football Camp; the football camp my friends used to make fun of me for for even applying, the football camp only the Elite rich kids from Private High Schools attend. Solomon Jones, a poor boy from the wrong side of Cleveland, is going to the only camp this side of the Mississippi River that has the highest percentage of football players who go on to play college ball.

I run over to my best friend, Jackson’s house to tell him my news. Jackson, you won’t believe it! I’m going to football camp at Martin Luther! WHAT? Ain’t that some crazy expensive football camp for crackers? Ain’t you a broke ass nigga’? Yes and Yes. But I got a scholarship!! Hey man, that’s cool. Guess I won’t see you around much down at Gaines on my slushee breaks then. Guess I’ll have ta find myself a girl to talk to while you’re gone. Yeah, right. You have been crushin’ on Eva for three years. Like this will be the year you start talking to her. Solly, you are prolly right. But a guy can dream. I will. You’ll see. It’s jus’ those big blues eyes and turned up nose of hers wanna knock me over – She’s So Intimidatin’! The girl ties me in knots! Now that you be out the way – I’ve no one to hide behind and no more excuses. I am GOIN’ to talk to Eva. Okay, Jackson, maybe. Good luck with that. I gotta get back to the house to start packin’. I leave for camp in three days! Solly, take my brother’s lucky cleats. He only wore em’ two years. They still in good shape. He won the state championship game wearin’ ‘em.

I take the shoes and go back to my apartment. I get out a notebook I haven’t seen in quite some time. I write.

CHANCES

Don’t be a coward

My father said

He lived by these words

And now he’s dead

Life’s about the chances we get

Making the right choice

Having no regrets

Knowing my own voice

Trying to stand tall

being sure of my decisions

In a place where many fall

From pressure and derision.

RHETT

R hett! Get your football gear together! I hear my father yellin’ at me. We’re leavin’ in an hour for MILK football camp! If you don’t have your butt in that truck soon, I’ll leave your sorry ass at home. This is my fourth year at MILK football camp. I made the mistake once of sayin’ the full name out loud in front of my grandfather who was visitin’; who like to come unglued. Rhett! Don’t you say that peace-lovin’ nigger name out loud. Just call it camp MILK. I still remember my first day at camp MILK. I’d just turned 13. I was terrified. My dad had talked my ear off all the way to camp MILK about what a privilege it was for me to go to this camp, and I’d better not let him down; I was fourth generation of Barbens to go. Accordin’ to my father; my great grandfather, my grandfather, and my father were all Baylor runnin’ back material and I had better live up to that same gold standard.

Football is a sacred word in our house. One of my earliest memories is from when I was about five years old. My mom and dad were arguin’ and my mom was cryin’ in the kitchen. Stuart, my daddy was Catholic, his father was Catholic, I’m Catholic! Betsy, if our boy is goin’ to play football, we need to find a church that fits the Football Schedule. As far as I can tell, the Unitarian church is the only church ‘round that has online services and allows online attendance records. And, they have a great tax write-off program. So, we became Unitarians by default, convenience, and the love of football…Once a month we eat crackers and drink grape juice in shot glasses in the kitchen for communion.

What I Absolutely love besides football is Ridin’ Bulls (and a senior girl from my highschool named Shania who has not yet become aware of my existence on this planet). There is nothin’ like the thrill of bull ridin’. It is the only thing in my life that my dad can’t control. My dad controls a lot of things - but he ain’t able to tame no 2000-pound bull. Lucky for me, my mother loves rodeos as much as my father loves football. I have been Ridin’ Bulls since I was 10 years old. Every weekend we pack up our trailer, Trusty, (I have a thing for namin’ things) and my annoyin’ sister, Scarlet; and we travel miles and miles to whatever rodeo is in the Tri-state area. My sister Scarlet is 14 and I am 17. If you haven’t noticed yet, my mother is a typical Southern belle and a HUGE fan of Gone With the Wind. I swear she could recite that entire movie in her sleep. I once asked my dad how he could allow my mother to name the BOTH of us after movie characters. He just smiled and said when a woman makes up her mind….

I hope I see my three best friends at football camp. I’m excited about this bein’ our Senior Year. There’s a group of us four guys and we do everythin’ together; we’re the Four Musketeers; Scotty, Trace, Ruger, and me.

I’ve kept this crush I have on Shania to myself. I like to hold my cards close to my vest so to speak. Plus, Ruger has a way with the ladies and a mean streak. If he knew I liked Shania, he might chase her just to see me squirm.

I run out to the truck to go to camp and see my three buddies sittin’ in the King Cab. My dad is standin’ in the driveway holdin’ the keys and grinnin’. What an Awesome surprise! Well, Rhett. Seein’ how it is your senior year and all, I figger you boys can find MILK camp without my help. Don’t get in too much trouble, now. I hop in the King Cab and tear out of the driveway before my dad changes his mind. It’s a long 420 miles to MILK camp from Cleveland. We usually stop about halfway in Tuscaloosa at Taco Mama. My dad may not care much for Mexicans but he sure likes their food. We are almost outta Cleveland and Ruger starts ribbin’ me. Hey Rhett. What’re we gonna do to make this a memorable trip? We gotta do somethin’ to make it EPIC. Let’s think of somethin’ to do in a town where no one knows us. I’m searchin’ my mind trying to think of something that is crazy but not illegal. We could go through a Drive-Thru and order a bunch of food and drive off I say. Yeah, maybe. I’ll keep thinkin’, I can usually think of somethin’,.. says Ruger. We could graffitti somethin’ but if we get caught then its vandalism -- and I’m still doin’ community service for my last act of stupidity says Trace, who is too easily talked into lots of things by his crazy cousin from Waco, TX. I had almost forgotten that Trace and his cousin Trigg had gotten caught shop-liftin’ 30 pounds of pork chops from the local grocery store. I know! I got it! We could hop on a movin’ train! I’ve always wanted to catch a movin’ train! I just want to know if I can catch one says Scotty. Seriously, Scotty? If you get on the train where you gonna get off? We gotta be in Atlanta, GA, by registration time tomorrow and we don’t have a lotta extra time in between I say. Scotty knocks himself in the head. Oh, yeah. Sorry guys.

I got it! Once we’re in the next county, let’s go skinny dippin’! We can find a pond on the highway and pull off the road and get buck nekkid! This comes from Ruger who has no qualms about showin’ people his naked body. I decide I can live with this and it will be a thrill that technically is not breakin’ any laws. Alright! Skinny Dippin’ it is. We’re all excited now, we’ve got a plan. We cruise along, listenin’ to the radio. An hour goes by and we have the radio cranked as loud as we can stand it. All of a sudden Ruger yells, Pond! There’s a pond! I pull the truck over in a small grass driveway by a barbwire fence. We find a spot to squeeze under. We take off, sprintin’ for the pond, strippin’ as we go. We’re all hollerin’ and laughin’. This is the best senior year moment yet. We race to the lukewarm water. We feel the muddy pond bottom squish between our toes. We run around, splashin’ and hollerin’. We do this for about 20 minutes. Then we hear what sounds like thunder. We stop and start lookin’ around. It’s a deep thunderin’ sound that gets louder as it gets closer. The ground starts to feel like it is shakin’. We look past the pond up the little hill and see a bunch of buffalo racin’ over the hill. Stampede! Stampede! Get outta the pond! I yell. We all start headin’ for the shore, jumpin’ out and onto the land, gatherin’ our clothes as we run towards the fence. Suddenly the fence seems a lot farther away as the sound gets louder and louder. I am in full panic mode. We race to the same spot in the fence and squeeze under, our skin scratchin’ and tearin’ against the fence and the ground. We all get to the other side. We pull on our jeans and run towards the truck. We turn and look. The buffalo are now lined up along the far side of the pond. Shiiiitttt. All that for nothin says Ruger but he’s still grinnin’. We all look at each other, turnin’ each other around and admirin’ each other’s new battle scars. Then we all bust up laughin’. We hop in the truck and head for Tuscaloosa.

CHAPTER 2

SOLOMON

It’s the night before football camp and I should be in bed asleep. Instead, I’m out running. I’ve been running for about 20 minutes now and I realize I am on AJ’s street. I can’t really explain why I hang out with AJ sometimes; knowing what he sells and that he is a highschool drop out, knowing that he’s probably friends with some of the gang members who shot my father. And yet, I find myself coming over to his place anyway. I’m standing in the street, thinking about these things when I look