Afrocentric

By Garry A. Johnson

Afrocentric is a novel by Garry A Johnson. It continues
the authors stroll through the urban environment telling the
stories of a neglected and disenfranchised people who peacefully /
invisibly are the building blocks of the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479774692

Garry A. Johnson

Garry A Johnson is a author of whimsical talent. He tells the stories of the people you don’t hear about in the hood. By mixing Politics and Social order with possibly a fanciful twist, Garry A Johnson is a author who paints tales of life. “Bridges to Cross” is the author’s fifth novel. He also has published a collection of short stories.

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Copyright © 2013 by Garry A. Johnson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

127076

Contents

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Dedication

"The truth of the situation is crazier

than this fiction but we all must move on.

To those who have given us the strength to get here.

To Tomorrow."

-1-

It was a Miles Davis vibe. The signs were all over. The hip folks were strolling in from their late nights. Facing the walk of shame they hustled down the streets holding their coats tight to give extra insulation against the cold. Somebody was whistling and the sounds of glass breaking or some exotic car horn, made the sounds of sleigh bells ringing. Hands were clapping trying to bring warmth to cold limbs. The beats were in different times but they repeated themselves bringing a harmony to sporadic happenings.

It was a cold morning. The sky was a mixture of steel gray moving clouds which supported the brisk air, it brought a chill to the bones. Waymon Jenkins was busy keeping his schedule.

It was not something he veered from generally, only heavy rains or back breaking snow storms kept him from patrolling the streets.

In the present world those who needed titles or reassurance of their worth would designate themselves sanitation or recycling engineers. He needed no titles.

Waymon collected mostly aluminum cans but also all metals.

Collecting recyclable materials such as plastics and glass also brought him income.

Times had changed.

There was a time when he was pushing a cart.

There was a time when the pickings were greater.

The reality was that he had carved himself out a pretty lucrative business; even though the city and private trash collection companies were also collecting the same items he was searching for, he still made a good living.

Nowadays, he was able to afford an old beat up Chevy S-10 pickup truck.

Two eighty gallon trash cans, held in place by bungee cords sat in the cargo bay.

A Red, Black and Green flag flew from the radio antenna.

The same Red, Black and Green flag of African liberation was decaled on the cargo bay door.

This morning, Waymon, worn a black skullcap over his abundant grey and black speckled hair.

He wore a hooded sweat jacket representing the Philadelphia Eagles, It was one of his few indulgences.

He did not believe in promoting the business pursuits of extravagantly wealthy athletes or recording stars.

The jean overalls along with the tattered and stained boots said the most about him, he was a working man. A Hustler and go-getter.

Waymon was an independent.

He supported himself financially and reveled in his heritage, socially and spiritually.

The community knew him as Brother-man.

He represented the spirit of the community, a proud Black man trapped by the racism used against him within a system which consistently failed and tried to humiliate him.

Brother-man was fond of analysis and condemnation.

There was very little in life that he was not either mad about or had an issue with.

Today Brother-man traveled with ‘Black’.

Black was fidgeting in his seat. He eyed the people on the street with an intense and puzzling glare.

Black was a five foot, nine inch male of mixed heritage; his mother was African-American and his father was a Caucasian of Irish background.

Black had been born in New York city, his father was an abusive drunk who drove his mother mad and put Black out of the house when he was seventeen years old.

He lived with others, at first; then in his own apartment, later in abandoned houses and eventually underground.

Black lived for almost ten years underground the New York city streets. He created for himself a comfortable existence below the concrete where millions mingled enjoying the sun and technology of the modern world up above.

Deep within the underground subway tunnels he had found a small cubbyhole once used for maintenance of electrical systems which had been rerouted and steam pipes whose use had been discontinued.

There he supplied himself with all the conveniences he missed above ground. He had a small screen television which only received one channel. He had a large comfortable mattress which served as a sofa and a bed. He had a small refrigerator and several insulated coolers where he stored a wide variety of foods and liquids.

From 2000 to 2005, the New York city government in an effort to deter criminal and terrorist elements systematically tried to eliminate the inhabitants of the underground.

Travel back and forth to his hidden residence in the pitch black of the New York tunnel system started to become difficult and very problematic. Several Social Services and humanitarian agencies constantly combed the tunnels and watched the entrances.

The push was on to eliminate underground dwellers.

After several attempts to make a ‘go’ of it, above ground in New York city, Black; who was born as Webster Day, moved to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

-2-

You check the cans out here on the street, while I go and see what Reed may have! Put your gloves on!

Brother-man issued his orders to Black, literally shoving him out of the trunk so he could drive further down the street to the neighborhood convenience store on the corner.

Black, jumped out of the trunk grabbing his pair of gloves off the floor while unfolding his collection bag.

Otis Reed had owned the corner store for nearly thirty years.

This was one of many of Brother-man’s community resources.

Brother-man had established good relationships with several neighborhood stores and even local fast food establishments where he was given first opportunity to collect recyclable materials.

Good Morning Otis.

Brother-man.

The two man exchanged cordial greetings.

Brother-man was fifty-one years old and Otis Reed was seventyfive.

Otis appreciated Brother-man’s entrepreneurial spirit. The two men had spent time together talking about the world. Community and world politics were their main subjects. They had both seen such changes in the world, yet they agreed that so many things remained basically the same.

Brother-man idolized Otis’s ability to constantly work in such a changing environment, while serving a ever increasingly violent and thieving public.

The men often philosophized about the lack of upbringing from which many children suffered. Young people made increasingly ineffectual parents. In many of the single parent families, which existed in the African American communities, the children suffered because their parent figures where always unavailable.

In many of the two parent families the children were placated with consumer items to buy the parents independence.

Reality shows and celebrity fantasies occupied the minds and ambitions of most young people.

Otis had opened the store after twenty years of being an independent plumber in the area. He had raised three boys and two had graduated college.

Otis lived above the store, where he and his wife had created a palatial existence. There they lived on two floors with five bedrooms and three bathrooms.

Otis’s wife, Clarisse, wanted to move to the suburbs. Their sons, Felton and Leroy, had moved away after they completed their studies at college. Felton had moved away to New York, gotten married and was working on Wall street as an analyst.

Leroy moved to the center city area and worked as a production assistance manager for a local cable network.

Tyrone, the middle son, had not attended college and he worked side by side with his father for the last twenty-some odd years.

Tyrone was hoping to re-energize the family store and take over for his father who increasingly talked about retiring and traveling across America.

I see you got the new workspace finished

Brother-man was eluding to the new refrigerated food counter and display where Tyrone was planning to offer readily prepared sandwiches and salads.

Yeah, answered Otis, Tyrone is almost ready to get started back there.

Have anything for me, Brother-man was basically all business.

He had other places to visit and today he was tiring of Black’s company.

Out back, I placed the empty soda cans from the vending machine along with the old stand-up freezer that we used to use for some items.

Does the freezer still work?

Marginally, it could use a new compressor if you’re going to keep it.

I’ll drive around the back and see if I have enough room on my truck to pick it up now, Brother-man motioned towards the front door.

Tyrone is out back, he can help you, replied Otis.

I’ve got Black with me.

Whatever, said Otis standing up straight stretching his arms to the ceiling, I promised Clarisse that I would change some of the plumbing fixtures upstairs, see you later.

-3-

Tyrone Reed was out back of the store overlooking the new iron grated bars which extended across the rear wall of the first floor.

Brother-man and Black pulled up in the truck and stepped out.

New?, inquired Black.

Of course its new!! Brother-man answered his question with an insulting scowl on his face.

Tyrone looked back and forth from man to man.

Yeah, he answered, there have been more burglary’s in the neighborhood. I figured we have to protect our investments.

Not to mention your lives, Brother-man blurted out.

Tyrone Reed was a twenty-eight year old man who had the face of a high school student.

He didn’t like Brother-man ; to him, Brother-man was always rude and obnoxious. He was the type of man who knew it all.

Brother-man was inspecting the freezer which sat next to a open trash can filled with aluminum cans.

Have you and your dad had much trouble with theft?, asked Black.

Why you want to know? said Brother-man.

Tyrone once again looked at both men.

They were an odd pair, how Black worked with Brother-man was a mystery to him.

There are always people shoplifting, we had to install the camera’s in the store and even out here ; he motioned to a metal box situated just below a second floor window on the back wall.

Black, get out of his business, dump the cans into the trash bins on the truck and then help me with this freezer!

Black had been, for the past few years, trying to adjust to living above ground and among what everyone told him were normal people.

He struggled with most all relations. He had developed certain insecurities and habits living among those that lived underground.

Different forms of mental illness and suspect behavior was normal for living beneath the streets. He had been trying to dialogue with more people. He was trying to face people and look at them when he spoke. Living underground was lonely but Black had gotten used to it. He had always felt as an outsider. He had gotten that trait from his father. He had inherited so many things from his father.

The nickname ‘Black’ was first used by his father.

When his father first saw him, his caramel tone, he commented It’s a Black Day!

Maybe he meant it as a joke. Maybe it meant it as a curse or a omen but as Webster grew older it stuck.

Ian Day, Black’s father, also was an outsider.

He loved Black’s mother to a tragic fault. He just couldn’t make the world understand.

He loved being a ‘White Man’, he could move around in life and hang out wherever he wanted until he had to consider his family.

Ian’s white friends had very little compassion or understanding of African Americans. Typical conversation amongst them concerning ‘BLACKS’ was very uncomplimentary.

Ian echoed those sentiments.

The problem was his love for Webster’s mother.

Ian drank to forget. He drank to overcome his racial ignorance and fear. He was an outsider.

He never had friends over their house.

He was a asshole whenever his wife had ‘Black’ friends around.

He hated and loved in the same breath.

He beat his wife, to soothe his pain; then he died inside as he killed their relationship.

He couldn’t stand to see his son with his ebony tones and long silky black hair on his head.

He may have beat Webster to death had he not left home.

He may have felt the shame of creating a life as an outsider for his son as he had endured.

Webster used his nickname even among those who knew nothing of his upbringing. He had adopted the name as a description of who he was. Living underground only solidified his association with the dark, the unseen, the forgotten.

He hustled to gather the aluminum cans from Reed’s trash can and transfer them to the cans on the truck.

There were other items in the cargo bay which he tried to rearrange to make room for the freezer.

Brother-man eyed Black’s motions with an increasing irritation.

He faced Tyrone, Tell your father that I will return later to collect this freezer. I have a few more stops to make and then I will unload and return to pick this freezer up.

Do what you have to do, said Tyrone, it will be right here waiting for you.

Brother-man shook his head and motioned with his hands for Black to stop what he was doing.

"Remember though, said Tyrone, there are other scavenger hunters out