Clash

By O. R. van Holten

A young black man tries to escape his life in the north and decides to live with his estranged father in Mississippi. It’s not long before he is prompted with serious questions about his new situation and the stakes that are at play. The transition to Jackson proves to be more challenging than he had initially thought and he finds out there is no escaping himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Legend Press
• Release date: Aug 30, 2019
• ISBN: 9781789557336

Book preview

hardship

C.W.

Real heroes don’t save kittens from a tree. They continually try to do the right thing without having the right example.

Booooring!

The English teacher held up the palm of her hand to the boy who yelled. You hush, young man.

A sparse asynchronous wave of clapping followed the conclusion of a presentation given by a student who was in front of the full classroom.

Thank you, Imani. That was very nice, I see you have—

Obnoxious fumbling with the classroom door distracted the teacher and made her halt her praise. She focused her eyes on the door and flinched when it opened with considerable force.

A young black man entered the room, clumsily tangling his feet around a power cord belonging to the radio that stood in the corner next to the door. The boy watched in dismay when his leg swept the radio from the table, causing it to clatter on the floor with a dry, loud thud. The teacher followed the parts that broke off with her vigilant gaze as they awkwardly slid over the waxed vinyl, coming to a standstill between a pair of dangling feet.

After a brief moment of silent astonishment, the entire class burst out in uncontrollable laughter.

That just ain’t right! someone cried in the back, wiping away tears of joy. A troublemaker sitting next to the boy who yelled saw an opportunity to stir things up further and instigated a flurry of chaos when he climbed on his desk and started dancing. Others followed his lead by doing the same, throwing in a bunch of animal-like sound effects for good measure.

The teenage boy put his shabby backpack on the floor and started to collect bits and pieces of the broken device. The English professor crossed her arms and waited for the circus to calm down. It didn’t take long. Her upright stance and direct body language enforced serious authority.

Young man. I don’t see smoke, she spoke after the ringleaders had worn themselves out with their boyish foolishness. And I don’t smell anything, but I’m gonna ask you anyway: is the building on fire? She had a snappy tone of voice and a distinct southern accent carried her words. Grave but charismatic, it was in accordance with her physical appearance.

No, ma’am, the boy muttered. I’m sorry that—

—that you smashed my radio on the floor? the teacher interrupted. She had a stern gaze and didn’t blink once. I bet you are. Let me just go ahead and point out that I got it as a present from my husband last Christmas.

Glances shot back and forth across the classroom, and a quiet murmur indicated that at least a few students were noticeably amused.

I’m assuming you’re the student Mr. Wesley informed me about?

Aw, yeah, that’s me I guess, the boy cleared his throat. I’m real sorry, ma’am… I… the door was stuck, you see.

The English teacher sat motionless on her desk at the front of the classroom with her arms still folded. What’s your name, sweetheart?

The boy looked around for a bit. The damp, hot classroom made him perspire. It was as if everyone present waited in great, curious anticipation to hear his name. As if they expected him to have the most unusual name known to man.

They call me C.W.

The teacher closed her eyes for a moment and quietly breathed trough her nose, compelling the boy to clarify his response.

Back in Philly, I mean.

There was a short chuckle and the silence that followed completed a sense of tangible embarrassment. Crickets buzzed outside the open classroom window. The only thing missing was the cry of a feral vulture, circling its fresh kill, and perhaps a random patch of rolling tumbleweed.

Baby, the teacher said with a queer tenderness. Take a look outside. She spoke calm and not unaffectionate, putting emphasis on each word. Does… it… look… like… we’re… in Philadelphia?

The class sniggered.

No, ma’am, the boy said. He fiddled with his short braids and cleared his throat again, drops of sweat seeped down his temples.

My name’s Cedric.

All right, Mr. Cedric. I am Miss Greene, in case you didn’t know already. And the W stands for what?

Err, Williams, the boy muttered.

"Well… I am delighted to meet you Cedric Williams, and Imma let this here… incident, slide. I take it you’re just a little clumsy, and that’s all right. Being clumsy is not a crime. Being late however is, so see to it that you’re on time from now on."

Cedric sighed in relief when the bell rang. Today didn’t go his way. He had wanted to make a strong first impression; how could he have made such a fool of himself the first day? He walked through the hall, fully conscious of the fact that other the students gossiped about him. He sighed and wondered what they thought of him. He walked past the empty bleachers that surrounded the school sports field, and tried to see if his father had already come to pick him up: No one in sight.

Save from a clique of rowdy students hanging around a shiny white pickup truck with tinted windows, the parking lot was vacant. Fierce sun glare reflected on the pickup and shortly blinded him, the outline of the gleaming sphere burning on his retinas when he blinked his eyes. First day at school was a bust. He couldn’t get over it. Did he really have to break that woman’s radio? The first day? C’mon! And it was her husband’s too? Naw, that ain’t right. An audible chuckle escaped his lips. Okay, maybe it was also kind of funny. The sound it made when it cracked on the floor, just when that girl was ending her speech. Oh Lord, that was priceless!

Next time, try to push the door a little forward before you turn the handle.

Cedric started. It was that girl who had given the presentation. He hadn’t seen her sneaking up on him; hopefully she didn’t catch him laughing all by himself – that sure would be weird.

Thanks, he mumbled.

I’m Imani, the girl said cheerfully.

Cedric looked at the girl from the corner of his eyes, her chatty ways made him slightly suspicious of her intentions. He didn’t know her but might as well go along with the flow; he was going to need friends if he planned on staying here.

Two ardent circles appeared when he blinked a few times, the sun firmly imprinted on his eyes.

So you’re the new guy? Imani went on.

Seems like it.

So cool that you’re from Philly! I got an uncle there. He lives around the Sharswood area.

Aw… Say, did M’Greene really get that radio from her husband?

The radio? Not a chance, Imani smiled. I don’t believe she even has a husband. She winked at him. See you around, Cee.

Cedric took a deep breath, the scent of freshly mown grass smelled too good. It instilled an overall sense of peace and wellbeing in him. Imani disappeared in the distance. He watched her and noticed how she had side-parted her hair, using a blue ribbon for her lengthy ponytail. It looked good on her, a bit old school maybe, but yeah, she looked kind of fly.

"Darn it, son, are you disabled? I can call your mom to pick you up, if you want to. Got her on speed dial… Just lettin’ you know!" Cedric turned around to look at the football field, but he was too far away to see who was yelling so hotly. Probably one of the coaches plagued by a sunstroke. Man, that dude needed to chill out; people could hear him all the way in Yazoo City.

Still no Frank. Cedric sat on the sidewalk and decided to wait another five minutes before he would start walking to Frank’s house. The cars that swished by on the back road behind the parking lot invoked a casual interest, but none of them slowed down and came for him. At least he didn’t have to deal with Brian today.

He hated the way his stepfather acted as if he was a white man, with his ironed polo neatly tucked into a pair of Dickies pants. And for what? Respect? Ain’t no man going to respect you if you act like something you’re not, black or white. Acting all civilized and courteous. People didn’t know his true colors that shone behind closed doors. A heavy drinker, abusive, playing vicious mind games to make you hate yourself, that’s who Brian really was.

Cedric sighed. He tried to dismiss the thoughts of his life in Philly. Things were different now, there was no need to think about Brian, or Philly. He didn’t have a reason to think about his mom, but he couldn’t help himself. If his mind wasn’t preoccupied, he automatically thought of them. His mom was weak. Weak for letting Brian dominate her. It was easy for her to let Brian deny his happiness. Easy to let Brian take away the basic comfort of a safe environment, an essential need that would allow him to flourish and to grow. Being a mother came with responsibilities. Responsibilities his mother consciously chose to ignore. She sat in the living room sobbing when Frank came to pick him up, she pleaded with him to stay, begged him, but those crocodile tears didn’t affect him one bit. Hell naw, it had only made him angry. He needed to go, go far away, to start over. A clean slate type of thing.

Ten minutes had passed, Frank didn’t show. Cedric crossed the street and looked around to see which way he had to go. Everything felt unfamiliar. Crap, he should have paid better attention when Frank drove him to school that morning. He stood in the sun on the corner outside campus, not yet able to bank on a route and looked around for a visual cue. A faded Coca-Cola sign covered the side of a derelict building further up the road. That way, he mumbled to himself, intently blinking a few times. The circles were fading, thank God. What day was it again? Oh yeah, Tuesday. Funny, the move had his days all mixed up. He sauntered on, things still looking unfamiliar, maybe he hadn’t seen that building before, and his mind was playing tricks on him. Luckily, Frank didn’t live too far from college; if he did get lost he could backtrack and try another direction.

A dog’s lonesome howl cut through the dense humid air, dark voids behind busted windows trailed Cedric’s movements as he passed a cluster of abandoned buildings that rose unfriendly in coarse pasture. He kicked an empty bottle and sent it flying before it shattered on the ground a few feet away. A stray dog answered by barking. This definitely wasn’t the way he had driven to college that morning. Whatever, he wasn’t in a hurry. The hot sun and calm sound of cars whirring by on the dried-out, cracked asphalt made him feel strangely lazy. Heat warped the sky and there was no sound, save that of rattling cans that rolled casually in the wind and a siren that wailed faraway, in another world. He walked past a meadow that seemed to go along forever and smelled the vague scent of burning cedar wood. Solitary howling in the distance deeply reflected his own mood and an abstract sensation gripped him, almost crippled him; he felt nostalgic for the present moment. He tried to blot it out, get rid of it. It was a well-known feeling; he had felt it before many times. Sometimes it felt good when he allowed himself to submerse in it, and sometimes it made him feel tense and uneasy.

The sun had finally vanished from his retinas. He looked around and crossed a street where the buildings were occupied again. A high-rise towered in the distance; Frank’s house wasn’t far off now. The worn straps on his backpack sanded his shoulders; he couldn’t wait to be released from the weight of his schoolbooks and chill his behind in a lawn chair on Frank’s balcony. A drink – he desperately needed that too. Cedric licked his dry lips and swallowed. Bombay lemonade, Sweet Lord! He would pay ten bucks for it if he could get it right now and had the money for it. Wait, two large glasses of lemonade, filled with crushed ice; one for his thirst and one for the taste. Yes, sir!

A simple electronic melody chimed when Cedric opened the front door. He kicked off his shoes and tossed his old backpack in the nearest corner of the hall with great satisfaction. Drink, bathroom, drink, eat, sleep; he had his plans for the rest of the day figured out.

Voices and excitement came from the kitchen. The first floor of Frank’s spacious redbrick house was an exotic gift shop – maybe Frank had customers.

The man of the hour! Frank hollered with a hint of pride as Cedric stepped into the kitchen. The room was crowded with unfamiliar faces. Cedric recognized the heavyset bald man sitting in the back as Uncle Derrick whom he had last seen about two years ago. The boy who sat next to his uncle, and struck a resemblance to him, must have been his cousin, Marquis. They were about the same age. Another man and three other women were engaged in fierce conversation, but he hadn’t seen them before.

Uncle Derrick shoved his chair back and slowly rose, like a giant bear awakening from hibernation.

C.W., my man!

What’s up, Uncle D!

It’s good to see you, son. Finally came back to your roots, hunh?

Uncle Derrick began snapping his fingers and made a little dance.

"The prodigal son, returning to The City with Soul! he sang with a smooth, deep voice, probably trying his best to sound sexy to impress the women in the kitchen. I always knew you’d come back! It’s mighty good to see you, son. Come sit and have a drink with us."

Cedric grabbed an old wicker chair and slouched down – it felt good to rest his sore feet on the floor. One of the women got up to turn on the radio.

Hey Pop, what’s that you’re drinkin’? Cedric asked vibrantly, switched on by Uncle Derrick’s enthusiasm.

Frank sharply looked at him while he sipped from a highball glass.

You don’t need to be concerning yourself with that, boy. This here is a grown man’s drink. There’s some lemonade in the fridge. If you’re lucky.

The women shrieked with laughter.

What were those stupid bimbos laughing about? Cedric raised his eyebrows and walked over to the faded red Smeg, glancing at his cousin who was drinking a beer. Uncle Derrick tapped his side when he opened the fridge.

It’s okay, Cedric. You can have a beer too, he said with a low-pitched voice.

Frank raised his glass.

Let’s have a toast! he didn’t seem to notice that his drink spilled all over the table and floor. To my son being home where he belongs. I just hope there won’t be any trouble. I mean, we’ve had some clashes in the past, haven’t we, son?

Cedric said nothing but he knew what Frank meant. It wasn’t something he wanted to ponder about now.

Well, Cedric, did your dad tell you? Marquis is joining the army.

I didn’t want to, Marquis mumbled with a toneless whisper. I got booted from college.

I’m still proud of you, son, Uncle Derrick said