Never Trust a Stranger

By Robert T. Floyd Jr.

Rosetta Parker is a young black girl who grows up in West Philadelphias Mantua section. Living with her mother and older brother, Rosetta uncovers dark family secrets that lead her on a mission of discovery. When the Federal Bureau of Investigation reveals a connection between Rosetta and a radical black organization, she is offered an escape hatch by turning government witness. While attending college in Ohio, Rosetta becomes involved in an affair with a professor, who steers her into a job that ultimately changes her life. An assignment to Paris, France, reveals she is a mere pawn in a much larger scheme, which points to the fact that one should never trust a stranger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 2, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543461763

Robert T. Floyd Jr.

Robert T. Floyd is an Air Force veteran of the Vietnam War. He returned to serve as a Police Officer in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Subsequently he served as a Correctional Officer with the Federal Bureau of Prisons in Washington, DC Englewood, Colorado, and New York, NY. He has completed college work at Villanova University and Temple University. He resides in Colwyn, Pennsylvania.

Book preview

(1)

ROSETTA PARKER

I grew-up in the Mantua section of west Philadelphia. Living here, I know the agony of going without many important things in life. The first being a lack of love and affection flowing from Betty, my mother. This left me with low self-esteem, dubiety, skepticism and dispute. My father was a man who never should have started a family in the first place. When I was two years old, he abandoned his job as a day laborer and vanished. Charles, my brother, could do no wrong in Betty’s sight. My mother showered him with the fondness I longed for and craved.

When I reached thirteen years of age, I attempted to ask my mother to teach me how to cook. Prior to that time, Betty refused to allow me in the kitchen except for chores like washing dishes and scrubbing the floor on my hands and knees. Betty was too proud to accept government hand-outs like cheese and surplus can goods. We had little to eat on many occasions. The so called black bottom meant poverty and hard times for most of its residents in the early 70’s.

My grades at school were better than average. Betty illustrated a lack of concern when I presented my report card. Mother said black girls had nothing to look forward to except being maids or housewives. I began withholding my report cards and forging mother’s signature before returning them to school. Mother raved over Charles’ progress reports, saying he would someday become a doctor or lawyer.

I despised Charles for the trust, confidence, and love he received from mother. While simultaneously, Betty continued to be critical of everything pertaining to me. For example, my hairstyle, time spent in the bathroom, and the way I made-up my bed. The old run-down houses along Aspen street is the place we called home. On some Sunday’s, we went to church in the neighborhood. There are no shortage of churches in our community. We also visited the Philadelphia Zoo, which is within walking distance. Mother rarely left the neighborhood except for work as a domestic in Wynnefield. On one occasion I began making dinner, since mother would be tired when she returned from work.

What do you think you’re doing? mother asked.

I’m helping prepare dinner, cause you’re tired when you get home mom.

Don’t tell me I’m tired…get out of my kitchen. You’re messing everything up. You’re just like that worthless father of yours, Betty replied as I ran to my room.

The Indian summer days of October keep the neighborhood children along Aspen street out on the sidewalks enjoying the last few days of warm temperatures. Charles and his friends play half-ball or touch football, while the girls enjoy hop-scotch, jacks, or double-dutch. When Betty appears at the front door of the house, calling her children for dinner, everything stops. Following the meal, Charles hurriedly places his soiled utensils into the kitchen zinc, then rushes to rejoin the game in progress. My return to my friends is accomplished with the washing of all the dinner dishes.

Why do I always have to do the dishes? Rosetta asks.

Because you’re a girl, mom replies.

Charles is a boy, he can wash them too…sometimes.

That’s it…you’ve gone too far with your disrespect, Betty replies taking an old leather belt from a drawer. Betty takes hold of Rosetta’s arm, striking her several times on her legs and butt. Rosetta’s conviction regarding the unfairness of Betty’s act causes her to refrain from the usual weeping.

Why aren’t you crying? Betty asks, pausing from the punishment. Rosetta does not respond, yet her glowing brown eyes cast the iniquity she feels. From that time forward, Rosetta’s mother never gave her another whipping. Charles seemingly took pity after Rosetta explains what had occurred, by taking her to see a movie. Leaving the theatre on Lancaster avenue, the siblings walk across the Spring Garden street bridge to visit the art museum. Rosetta felt a bonding and the feeling of having a family member she could trust.

Things began to change following Charles’ graduation from high school. Betty had attended the commencement feeling proud, yet Charles stated his decision to join the army. We had no money for Charles to attend college, and the army recruiter assured Charles he’d be able to attend college after joining the service. Betty was upset, and I still had two years of high school to complete. I found it difficult to co-exist in the house with mother, who claimed I had the eyes of deception.

The graduation ceremony at my high school was a memorable event. My major disappointment was that Betty did not attend. Mother could not afford to miss her day work domestic job. At home, mother continued to find fault with everything I touched. It seemed the harder I tried to please her, the further into a dark hole I fell. Eventually mother said I would have to move out of the house. When I packed a bag to run-away, she changed her mind stating I could stay.

The army sent Charles to Vietnam. All I knew about Vietnam was what I had learned on TV regarding Asian rice farmers fighting to save their land from rebels called Viet Cong. I was fighting to save my own life right here on Aspen street. Turning eighteen, I had grown to 5’8" in height with long black hair. A company on Market street hired me as a clerk typist. The job did not pay well, but it gave me a sense of self-worth. Mother and I began getting along better too, since I was paying my way and helping with the bills.

One of the stock workers asked me to have lunch with him. Nate Brown seemed like a cool guy from the neighborhood. He talked about sports, the Eagles and 76er’s were his favorites. I subsequently learned that Nate had a secret agenda. He was a member of a black liberation movement. The BLM consisted of college students and community activists according to Nate. The organization operated out of an old store front on Girard avenue near 40th street. Nate said the BLM sought racial justice by any means necessary. He urged me to attend one of their meetings. The BLM was the onset to my political awakening. My eyes were about to be opened to my family, my community, and the world.

(2)

INDOCTRINATION

Nathan Brown was born in Jamaica. His family immigrated to Philadelphia when he was seven years of age. Nate’s memories of the island nation are joyful for the most part. The family relocation had been difficult for the youngster, leaving school mates and friends behind. Nate dropped out of a community college following two years, taking his present job as stock clerk.

Why did your family leave the island? Rosetta asks as they sit in her living-room.

My dad lost his job at one of the tourist hotels, and the government changed.

What does that mean…government changed?

When Prime Minister Michael Manley was elected, all the big resorts began closing. Tourists from your country stopped coming to Jamaica and guns began appearing on the streets of Kingston. People were being shot…my father decided to move to America, Nate explains.

I don’t understand…you mean the election of a Prime Minister caused that?

Yeah, Manley was elected by the people who loved him, but he was a socialist and your government thought Jamaica would become another Cuba.

I see…so you think the United States had something to do with the problems?

The guns that were killing people were all American made.

Well things seem to be all right now, cause people are taking vacations to Jamaica.

That’s because Manley is out of office and the capitalist power structure is back in control.

That’s really something! Rosetta says.

The BLM wants to free black people in Philadelphia, as well as those in my country.

I never understood these kinds of things when I was growing-up. Aspen street and west Philly was my entire world, Rosetta replies.

Growing-up in a ghetto, you become psychologically conditioned to racism and learn nothing of your history.

Are you angry about what happened in Jamaica? Rosetta asks.

Yes…but there is no group or individual to blame, it’s an entire system that allowed the killings to occur. The BLM addresses these issues here at home and in the third world.

How can the BLM change the system?

What we are dealing with is class struggle, using race as a guise. There must be a social revolution because America is deeply racist, flawed economically and socially, Nate explains.

How old are you Nate?

Twenty-five…does it matter?

Well you’re much older than I, and you know a lot about the world.

Through the organization I can teach you how to survive, Nate replies leaning forward to kiss her. Rosetta rests her head on his shoulder, while he glazes his palm over the otter garment covering her breast.

We can’t fool around, my mother will be home soon, Rosetta says.

Nate disregards the remark while his busy hand begins unfastening buttons on her clothing.

I’m a virgin, I’ve never been with a man, Rosetta says.

Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle, Nate replies.

Rosetta raises her skirt, removing her panties. Nate lowers his pants, revealing his stiff shaft. A key is heard against the front door lock. Rosetta and Nate frantically reassemble their clothing and composure as Betty enters the living-room.

Mother this is Nate…he’s one of my co-workers. Nate this is my mom, Rosetta says.

Nate stands, extending his hand, yet Betty does not shake it while looking into his eyes.

You have a lovely daughter Ms. Parker, Nate says.

I’m aware of that young man, and I intend to keep her that way, Mom replies. Nate quickly concludes it’s time to depart the residence.

I’ll see you at the job, he tells Rosetta.

Entering the BLM meeting hall on Saturday evening, Rosetta is greeted by Nate, who introduces her to a woman named Peaches.

Peaches will be your sister in the organization, Nate explains while they take seats. Following a brief discussion, four men emerge from the rear of the store-front meeting hall which has ten to fifteen others seated inside the building.

The organization needs funds to continue the struggle for the liberation of our people, one of the men says. As the second man approaches the podium, those assembled give him their attention.

"I want to talk about the condition of African Americans and render my solution for a problem that has persisted for four-hundred years. Human history’s greatest crime is the traffic in black flesh, by white men who plundered Africa by murder and kidnap of our ancestors, then transported them in chains in the hulls of their ships on a horrible journey to America. Millions of our ancestors suffered this horror. For every one-hundred who survived, four-hundred perished. We didn’t understand the language, and the slave trafficker didn’t understand us. They took away the drum and gave us the cross. Under Christianity and captivity our lives and families were blasted asunder. We were divided and ruled. We became the earth’s only race without an identity. In one generation, the black woman had been raped by the slave trafficker until there began to emerge a brainwashed race that was no longer true to itself, and no longer knew its family name. The trafficker forced his name upon this rape-mixed race which the trafficker called niggers.

These people were taught to worship an alien god with blond hair and blue eyes. Christianity taught the black people to always turn the other cheek, grin and be humble. Sing hymns and pray while taking whatever the trafficker gave them. But today, four-hundred years later, a new black man is on the scene in the Black Liberation Movement. Our solution to the problem is complete and total separation.

In a thousand ways every day, the white man is telling you, blacks can’t live here, can’t enter here, can’t eat here, can’t play here, can’t study here. The black writer James Baldwin, born in Harlem, had a close friend Eugene Worth. Eugene committed suicide by jumping off the George Washington bridge. Baldwin had seen enough. He left and went to France. Baldwin said: I had no idea what might happen to me in France, but I was very clear as to what would happen if I remain in New York. I would go under like Eugene.

College costs that you cannot afford equal less opportunity, less participation in a free enterprise economy equal a life of misery in a ghetto. Haven’t you seen enough to know he has no plan to unite with you? The land of the free and