Love Under the K Street Bridge

By Maurice A. Butler

People often say that homelessness can happen to anybody. It is virtually only two missed paychecks away. “Love Under the K Street Bridge” follows the journey of Jason Powell, an immensely popular high school band director, and Alexis Gordon, an internationally renowned business woman as they become successful in society, fall on hard times, and lose everything. They both become homeless and subsequently are scorned by the society that once adored them. They find each other and develop a romantic bond as they try to traverse the evils of life on the street.
This fictional story highlights the fact that anybody can be just two paychecks, or one medical crisis, away from homelessness. This story is also about the power of love and how love enables man to survive anything. The struggle is real. Love is real. This is a story of the human condition.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798369412169

Maurice A. Butler

Dr. Maurice A. Butler is a gifted story teller who captures the intrigue and dilemmas found in everyday life. He is a graduate of Cardozo High School (Washington, DC) and Bowdoin College (Brunswick, ME). He has a Ph.D. in Educational Leadership and Policy. He serves as a DC Public School teacher, coach, and administrator for 36 years.

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Copyright © 2023 by Maurice A. Butler.

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.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 12/04/2023

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgement

Preface

BOOK 1

Chapter 1 Introduction

Chapter 2 Rivers of My Fathers

Chapter 3 It Takes A Village

Chapter 4 A Love Connection

Chapter 5 And The Beat Goes On

Chapter 6 Getting to Know You

Chapter 7 God Must Have Sent You

Chapter 8 Touch Me In The Morning

Chapter 9 The Awakening

Chapter 10 Daylight and Darkness

Chapter 11 A New Beginning

Chapter 12 Expectations

BOOK 2

Chapter 13 A Different World

Chapter 14 Climbing the Corporate Ladder

Chapter 15 If You Build It…

Chapter 16 …They Will Come

Chapter 17 Soul Mates

Chapter 18 Dark Clouds on the Horizon

Chapter 19 Things Fall Apart

BOOK 3

Chapter 20 You’re Not in Kansas Anymore

Chapter 21 The Beast Comes Out at Night

Chapter 22 Everybody’s Got A Story To Tell

Chapter 23 One More Chance

Chapter 24 I’m Gonna Love You Through It

Chapter 25 Epilogue

About the Author

Other Books by Maurice A. Butler

This book is dedicated to the countless people in America who are impacted by homelessness. It is for the people who are struggling to survive on the street or in homeless shelters, as well as the numerous people and organizations that are trying their best to support the homeless. Thank you for allowing me to get a glimpse of your world.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Though this is a fictional tale, this book would not have been possible without the support and contribution of numerous people.

Readers/Editors

CYNTHIA BELTON, my longtime friend. We have known each other since Powell Elementary School. I am eternally grateful for your expertise, as well as your friendship. Your knowledge of the English language, with all of its nuances, kept me in line and helped me to stay focused. Your encouragement kept me going.

PATRICIA BUTLER, my soul mate, my wife and best friend. You have the uncanny ability to finish my thoughts even before I do. We are kindred spirits. Without you, there is no me.

MARY DONATELLI, my teammate on the DC Water Wizards Swim team, and my good friend. Thank you so much for always supporting me. Your help was invaluable.

JOYCE HARRIS, my classmate from Cardozo High School. Your wisdom and sharp eye for detail helped me transform my ideas into reality.

Poet Extraordinaire

TIFFANY THORNTON, your poetic genius always astounds me, and makes me hopeful that one day I can be as good as you. I am looking forward to reading your book of poetry.

Contributors

I would like to thank all the people I spoke with who allowed me to make sense of the world of business and enter the world of homelessness.

The Unfortunate

By Tiffany Thornton

It is the warm smell of food in the kitchen

The frantic mess left behind when running late for work

The lazy days of TV shows and blankets on the couch

Routines, predictability, same place, different times

Hot baths, sleep-ins, and peace

Give it to me!

Your hope, your future, I want it all

I’ve been around since the dawn of time

Everyone knows me, sees me

A few try to stop me but most let me run rampant, wild, and, free

I am the Grinch who stole Christmas

The nightmare on Elm Street

I am the boogie man of those dreams stolen

I am the bottom to their peaks

Souls break in my palms

I am their tribulations

Casting shadows to those rainbows without gold

I am damnation

Suffer for me!

Pain brings me great joy

True natures dance in my presence

I exist because greed does

I am able because humans refuse

A child of misfortune and misery

No luck and lost hope

I have no values, no morals, no shame

The Yin of life’s Yang

Abusive

Brutal

Relentless

I am trauma, unseen

Smelly, desperate, and unclean

Helpless, hopeless

No solutions, I only bring problems

I am the boots that trample

Never letting flowers blossom

I am anger incarnate

An existence that shouldn’t be

I have burned down and kicked out

Taken homes and made flee

The creation of victims made on purpose

Made me

So, who am I?

Just look around

Under bridges and bus stops

Inside of abandoned buildings

On the streets and in parks

I am

EVERYWHERE

But how many of you notice

I have always been in the picture

But just never been the focus

Too big for one name

Forever a problem but always impermanent

I am the epidemic of homelessness

But in the eyes of the blessed

They call me

The unfortunate

PREFACE

I was motivated to write this book after reading a poem from one of my former students, Tiffany Thornton. She entitled her poem The Unfortunate and it poignantly addressed the issue of homelessness. She took a different approach by personifying homelessness itself. The lines, A few try to stop me but most let me run rampant, wild, and, free; I am the Grinch who stole Christmas, the nightmare on Elm Street; I am the boogie man of those dreams stolen… really resonated with me. The poem left me with the image of old men rummaging through trash cans for food, sleeping at the bus stop or on pieces of cardboard, and begging for money on the street corner. Those images made me want to closely investigate the issue of homelessness.

Unfortunately, another one of my former students, who was one of the best writers I have had the opportunity to work with, ended up homeless herself. Her story saddened me, and gave me even more incentive to investigate the world of the homeless in America; to strip it of its stereotypes, misconceptions, and stigmas.

What I found was that the image of old men living on the street is lacking. I found that women, families, black people, white people, poor people and wealthy people are touched by homelessness. Homelessness is an equal opportunity oppressor. Its tentacles are far reaching. It impacts people regardless of age, race, gender, ethnicity, or economic status. One person I interviewed told me that homeless people don’t come from the middle class. Homeless people come from the poverty class. The Great Recession of 2007-08, which started as a result of the bursting of the U.S. housing bubble, captured people from all economic groups off guard, and introduced many to the streets or to homeless shelters.

This fictional story highlights the fact that anybody can be just two paychecks, or one medical crisis, away from homelessness. This story is also about the power of love and how love enables man to survive anything. The struggle is real. Love is real. This is a story of the human condition.

BOOK 1

CHAPTER 1

Introduction

DO YOU REMEMBER THE TIME

As the sun fell from the sky, robbing people of its warmth and safety, it was replaced by the evils of darkness, where the sounds of the hustle and bustle of daily life were whisked away by the howling winds of depression, loneliness, and uncertainty. Like everything and everybody else in her life, sleep had abandoned her. She dreaded closing her eyes for she knew that the images of turmoil would come to haunt her, making her ask the same question she asked every day, What the hell happened?

This had to be one of the coldest nights in the history of Washington, D.C., or at least it seemed that way to Alexis Gordon. She had strategically placed her tent in the middle of the block under the K Street Bridge so that the other tents would block the rippling effect of the arctic air as it blew through her paper-thin home. Though the bridge provided protection from the rain and snow, it provided very little relief from the cold. In fact, the bridge acted like a wind tunnel forcing the air to rip through the flimsy tents like a hot knife cutting through butter.

Her six hundred and fifty dollar pair of Gucci gloves, though cute and fashionable, did absolutely nothing to keep her freezing hands warm. She probably could have sold them for a small price, or even traded them for a cup of hot coffee or a clean tampon, but she had refused to part with them. They were not only a fond reminder of another lifetime - a period in her life when she lived in a comfortable split level home with a garage in Ft. Washington, Maryland and when her main struggle was for recognition, acceptance, and advancement, instead of food, protection, shelter, and dignity. She once stood at the apex of fame and fortune, the queen bee so to speak, adept at innovative problem-solving… but now her fall from grace was complete. She had fallen into the depths of degradation, abandonment, and despair, while becoming invisible - a cancer to society, or an insignificant piece of trash in the eyes of many local politicians and passersby.

Alexis lay huddled under her blankets desperately trying to warm her fingers on the light bulb of her tiny flashlight. She knew that if she were going to survive in this weather she needed to find some way to get a sleeping bag so that she could at least stay warm enough to think this situation through. The small light enabled her to see her breath emanating from her chapped lips. She knew she needed to find some place she could go to get warm as well as to relieve herself, but there was absolutely no way she was going back to that shelter, no matter how cold it got. Something had to give because this just wasn’t working.

It seemed as if time had stood still and the warmth of the morning sunlight would never materialize. Pleasant thoughts desperately tried to creep into her head in order to take her mind off the cold. Thoughts of lying in a warm bed next to her significant other who was trying to light the embers of love or lust in her bosom danced through her head. His stumbling efforts, though sincere, didn’t seem to be getting the job done, and she knew that she needed to give him a helping hand in order to take her to the place she desperately needed to go. If he didn’t hurry up, she was going to have to get rid of him and find her a new man – someone who could get her going at the drop of a hat. She began dreaming about what this new man would look like. He would be at least six feet tall, handsome, bronzed skin with a chest that looked like a Nubian prince, with a smile that would warm any sized room and long, soft dreads flowing from his head. His manhood would not be too big, but big enough.

The pleasant thoughts made her smile as sleep began to ease its way into her tent. Suddenly, a car passed by with its lights illuminating the entire tunnel. The light exposed the silhouette of an imposing figure standing directly outside the front of her tent, or so she thought. She became horrified when, through the fog of her dreams, she realized that the figure was actually inside her tent, standing directly above her. The figure stood silent and motionless for what seemed like hours. She could smell the stench of urine-stained, dusty clothes, body funk, and rot gut whiskey. Terror gripped Alexis even more when her tiny flashlight showed the reflection of a six-inch knife blade he held firmly in his hand. She kept a small knife for her protection, but before she could reach for it, the figure pounced on her with the swiftness of a mountain lion hunting its prey. He put the knife on her neck, telling her that if she made a sound he was going to slit her throat. She was repulsed by the odor of his breath, the scratching of her face by the stubble of his beard, and the smell of whiskey seeping through his pores. She was further repulsed when he licked her face from bottom to top. It was all she could do to keep from throwing up. She just closed her eyes and tried to think of something else. Maybe he should slit her throat and end this madness.

The attack was over quickly. The cold air quickly replaced the numbness in her soul. This act was just another reminder of how far she had fallen. She was vastly independent, prideful, and had always refused to be controlled by any man. As she lay in her own filth crying silent tears, she decided that she would never be a victim again.

BEEFIN’

This week was probably one of the most important weeks in Jason Powell’s professional life. He was the band director of John J. Cardozo Senior High School’s famous Marching 100 high-stepping band. The band was so popular that they were invited to perform in the parade that preceded the Orange Bowl game in Miami, Florida. They turned the parade out! Spectators danced with delight at the urban, go-go sounds of the band and cheered at their showmanship. College coaches began coming to Washington, D.C. to recruit the kids from Cardozo’s band and offer them scholarships. This week, however, was extra special because not only was the band performing at the City Championship football game that was being played at the infamous RFK Stadium, but Jason was also a target of the recruiters. Schools like North Carolina A&T University, Florida A&M University, and Clark Atlanta University had sent recruiters to D.C. to check out the halftime show, but the rumor was that Florida A&M was looking for a new band director and Jason was high on their list.

Practice this week was extra grueling. As cars and pedestrians made their way up and down the 13th Street hill which bordered the football field where the band rehearsed, they couldn’t see anything on the field, but could definitely hear the sounds of vibrant band activity: tubas, trumpets and trombones blasting, drum cadences echoing a funky beat, whistles blowing, directions being shouted, and the lively sounds of rhythmic music reverberating off the walls of the apartment buildings of Clifton Terrace. Jason pushed his kids to the point of exhaustion. Do it over, he shouted. Not loud enough, he bellowed. Keep your lines straight! Anybody seen Isaac, JJ, or Greg?

Isaac Clark, Johnny Jenkins and Gregory Carter were the main leaders of the band - seniors who college scouts were looking at. For them not to be in practice was strange because they never missed practice, but for them to miss practice this week was a mortal sin. Isaac was the drum major and student leader of the band. He could play almost any instrument and was like a second band director on the field. JJ was a talented first trumpeter and Greg was the leader of the drum section. This was definitely not the week to start messing up. When practice finally ended, Jason hopped on the phone to call the homes of his three missing leaders. Their parents all thought they were at practice and became a little concerned that they weren’t there. Isaac’s mom was surprised, but didn’t seem upset at all.

When Jason arrived at his classroom door the next morning, his AWOL leaders were sitting on the floor in the hallway waiting for him.

Mr. Powell, can we holla at you? Isaac quietly asked."

Sure Isaac. What are you guys doing here at 7:30 in the morning, and where were you yesterday?

We got a problem. Can we talk inside your room?

What seems to be the problem fellas?

Last Saturday night we got shot at! We were coming out of a party and Mike-Mike was coming down the street. When he saw us, he pulled out his 9 and started busting off. We took off running, but he shouted that he was gonna see us later.

Ok, what the hell is going on? There’s more to this story that you’re not telling me!

Well, last week Mike-Mike and Geoffrey got into a beef during school. It had something to do with a girl, I think. They were arguing when we walked up on them. Mike-Mike had a few of his boys with him and it looked like they were going to jump Geoffrey. We really don’t hang with Geoffrey all that much, but we’ve known him since elementary school so we weren’t gonna let them jump him. Long story short, it seems that sometime later, Geoffrey got a gun and went looking for Mike-Mike and took a shot at him. He missed, but some of the bullets messed up Mike-Mike’s front door. Of course Mike-Mike wasn’t gonna let that go, so now they beefin’ for real. Since we stood up for him at school, Mike-Mike is looking for us too.

Damn, that’s not good. We need to nip this in the bud now! All right, the first thing we need to do is inform the principal about this since this started in school. Then, we need to contact the police.

Hold on now, JJ interjected. We can talk to the principal, but I’m not dealing with the police. The principal is not in our world, even though he thinks he is, so he’s cool. But the police are definitely in our world and not always in a good way. Mike-Mike is a part of the W-Street gang. We can’t have those guys thinking we’re snitches. We’d all be dead.

Well, we’ve got to squash this thing like right now. You guys have come too far and worked too hard to lose everything now because of some petty bullshit. Back in the day, if we had a beef with someone we’d go with the hands and the best man won. Even if you lost, you would have your life and respect, especially if you put up a good fight. Now days, you youngins got to start shooting and shit. I’ll tell you what, I’ll swing by W Street and talk to…who runs the W-Street crew?

I think his name is Kevin, Greg said. They call him K-9.

That afternoon, the band had another grueling practice, but with Isaac, JJ and Greg in attendance this time. However, there were a few new spectators sitting conspicuously in the stands. These guys didn’t look like the normal students who would usually watch band practice or students waiting for practice to end so they could walk their boyfriend or girlfriend home. They looked like they were up to no good. It seemed like they were pointing at Isaac, JJ, and Greg. Jason got a little nervous and decided to end practice early to the surprise of everyone. After the band was released, he told Isaac, JJ, and Greg to go straight home and then hopped in his car. He drove over to 14th and W Streets.

When he drove pass the apartment building where K-9 was supposed to have lived, he saw about twenty guys standing in front of the apartment building. As Jason slowly drove pass the building everyone’s head whipped around and stared in his direction. Jason could feel his heart beating a mile a minute and instead of stopping, he kept on driving. His first thought was, "What the hell am I doing? There is no fucking way I’m going in there!"

Yet, if he didn’t try to do something to squash this beef, he would have never forgiven himself. Jason collected himself and decided to circle around the block. He swung around the apartment again and could see some of the guys put their hands in their belts where they usually carried their guns. Jason decided to park down the street and walk up to them so they could see who he was. He knew he didn’t have much clout in their world, but hopefully somebody in the crowd followed the Cardozo band and would know who he was. He had on his Cardozo shirt with his name and Band Director stitched on the front. When he got to the gang of boys, one of the boys got in his face and asked, What the fuck do you want?

I’m looking for K-9. I need to holla at him for a second. A scary dude looked him dead in the face and said, What you need man?

My name is….

Oh, I know who you are, K-9 said. My little brother is learning to play the drums. He always talks about the Cardozo Band and wants to be a part of it when he gets to high school. What you need?

Can we talk?

K-9 led Jason into one of the apartments and introduced him to his little brother who had just come in from school and had a look on his face like he had just seen a movie star. K-9 smiled and then asked Jason to have a seat.

One of your guys, I think they call him Mike-Mike, took a shot at three very important members of my band last weekend and I was hoping we could settle this without anyone getting killed. It turns out that Mike-Mike was beefin’ with another guy at school and my guys thought that Mike-Mike and his boys were going to jump the kid so they stepped up to support him. They just wanted it to be a fair fight since they knew the other kid. They are musicians. They didn’t have anything to do with this gun activity that took place. I was hoping we could all come together and talk this thing out. Maybe Mike-Mike and this other guy can go toe-to-toe with their hands instead of trying to kill each other.

K-9 called Mike-Mike into the apartment and suggested that they settle this issue with their hands. Mike-Mike said, But he took a shot at me, so he got to get got!

You can beat that little bitches’ ass if you want. I think I’d like to see that anyway. You ain’t scared of that nigga are you?

Hell nah! That’s what I was gonna do in the first place. Bring it on.

Cool, but them band dudes ain’t in this. Leave them alone. Band director here is gonna set things up.

Mr. Powell shook K-9’s hand and rubbed his little brother on the top of his head telling him to practice hard and he would be looking for him when he got to Cardozo. He then drove over and picked Isaac up so they could go over to set things up with Geoffrey. When Geoffrey heard about the arrangement to fight Mike-Mike one-on-one, he immediately rejected the idea.

Nah, I’m not gonna fight that nigga. I’m gonna kill him, Geoffrey boasted.

Unable to change Geoffrey’s mind, Mr. Powell and Isaac just shook their heads and got up to leave.

And this is the guy you are risking your life for? Jason asked Isaac when they got to the car. He won’t even fight for himself."

The next day, Jason went to the principal to tell him what happened and that the police probably needed to be involved. The principal stated that he had called Geoffrey’s parents to inform them of what was going on. They told him that Geoffrey had been withdrawn from school and sent to live with his aunt in North Carolina.

On Thursday, the band put on a halftime show at the championship game that had the stands rocking. Isaac got a full scholarship to Clark Atlanta University, while JJ and Greg got scholarships to Howard University. Jason didn’t get the job offer from Florida A&M. That hurt a little, but it wasn’t as big a disappointment as he thought it would be. After they got back to school to put up their instruments, Isaac, JJ, and Greg went up to Jason and gave him some dap, a nod and a look that said thank you, then simply walked away. No words were spoken.

The whole gun episode helped Jason realize how important he was to the kids he was working with. It gave him a sense of satisfaction that he was doing a service for his community. A year later, Geoffrey came back to D.C. thinking that the issue was over. He was on the playground basketball court one summer night when someone walked up behind him and shot him in the head. The killer has never been found.

CHAPTER 2

Rivers of My Fathers

"Y’all gonna make me lose my mind,

Up in here, up in here!

Y’all gonna make me go all out,

Up in here, up in here."

The lyrics to the DMX song Party Up blasted through the air on the commons at Virginia State University (VSU), serenading the large crowd of freshmen, sophomores and faculty members as they gathered during the first social of the 1999-2000 school year. Alexis Winston sat on the professionally manicured lawn near the freshman dorm (Quad 1) basking in the wonderful fall sun while overlooking the gorgeous men who had gathered and began wondering which one she should entice.

I know they’re not putting that song on blast, not with all of that cursing in it, she thought. These old folks are gonna have a fit when they hear the lyrics! That is so disrespectful. I mean, I like the song and everything, but damn, we ain’t in the club. This ain’t the time or the place.

"Y’all gonna make me act a fool,

Up in here, up in here.

Y’all gonna make me lose my cool,

Up in here, up in here."

Today was a special day, as was every Wednesday on campus, because this was Chicken Wednesday. One of the traditions at VSU, as well as at other Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs), was to set aside a day where black culture and black community are celebrated, and where students are given a short break from the normal routine of campus life. On this day, fried chicken, along with other soul food servings, is the main feature at lunch. Students could wear whatever clothing they chose on any other day, but on Chicken Wednesday students would dress up in their Sunday best. Professors, alumni who lived nearby, coaches and other staff members would dine with students, intermingle, and have meaningful conversations about life in general, current events, and future plans. Directly after lunch, students and staff would participate in a colloquy where issues that affected the black community were discussed in a more formal setting. Classes were scheduled in a way to allow students and staff to participate in this campus-wide gathering.

Alexis was no stranger to HBCUs, or campus life for that matter, because both of her parents went to an HBCU - North Carolina Central University (NCCU) and Howard University (HU). She was also raised on a college campus. Her mother had her when she was a student at NCCU. Her mother paid other students to baby-sit Alexis. When Alexis was old enough to walk, she followed her mother to classes and sat in the back of the room coloring in her coloring books, or doing some activity her mother developed for her to keep her occupied during class-time. Alexis and her mother, Thelma Harrison, were the subjects of an on-campus news article once. Alexis gave her first published interview when she was only two years old.

As Alexis was growing up, her parents talked about their HBCU experiences constantly, sharing stories about tough professors, tough times, life lessons, and homecoming activities. When it was time for Alexis to choose a college, her parents were adamant about where she should go. Even though she was accepted at several predominantly white schools like Duke University, Syracuse University, and the University of Wyoming, she knew her real choices where between Howard University, NCCU and VSU.

Her father would always say, At a predominately white school it is ‘sink or swim.’ You either make it or you don’t. Nobody, however, will take care of you like an HBCU. These HBCUs will be tough on you, but will nurture you and make sure you are good. They just won’t let you get by, or let you turn in stuff when you want to. They will hold you to the fire, but at the same time care more about you as a person and about your success in this world. They want you to survive, succeed and represent yourself and the university, well. You will have the rest of your life to be a minority, so why not go somewhere where you can be in the majority, still have diversity, learn more about your culture and be a part of that culture!

Alexis sat alone, looking over the VSU crowd with great interest. She was amazed at the stunning collection of black men who came in all different shades and sizes, some hard to look at, while others very attractive. She chuckled with delight as she observed the men trying hard to give their best rap to the young girls, singling out who they thought was the weakest so they could take them back to their rooms and have their way with them. It was like a pride of lions preying on a herd of deer. She had seen this dance many times before though in a very different venue. Navigating a party in D.C., figuring out which brothers were real and which ones were bullshit, was an art she had skillfully developed as a youth.

With her keen sense of hearing, she was fascinated by the sounds of the different accents, dialects, and inflections in their voices. It was like a symphony to her musically-trained ears. She pulled out a pen and started jotting down words to a poem, stimulated by what she was observing and hearing:

You walk around campus

Carrying the weight of a people

On your shoulders

Minds filled with dreams

Hearts filled with passion

Souls filled with sadness

Of loved ones remembered

You reflect the colors of the rainbow

Deep rich chocolate

Golden brown

Creamy tan

Like a god in the sky

You are magnificent

You are the most sensual being on the planet

The giver of life and inspiration

Smiles so bright

Abs so tight

Lips so perfect

Inviting eyes allow me to see your soul

Can I touch you?

That golden voice

Provides the sweet sounds of home

New York, New York

Louisiana and Georgia

That urban street

That Caribbean beat

That New England sound

I’m DC bound

Mother Africa

You are my father, my brother

My husband and my son

I LOVE YOU BLACK MAN

From time to time a young man would come over to her and try to strike up a conversation. If she was interested, she would flash a bright smile and entertain his approach. If she was not interested, she would quickly dismiss him with the flip of a hand, a look of disdain that indicated he should move on to his next prey or she would merely bury her head in her notebook and continue writing. They got the message. There was one guy, however, that caught her eye. He looked a little older and much more mature. He had light brown eyes, creamy caramel skin and a pencil mustache that accentuated his luscious thick lips. When he looked in her direction, she flashed an enticing smile which seemed to say, Come and get me. I’m yours. He flashed a radiant smile back, nodded his head, but kept on walking without stopping to say hello. When he didn’t stop, her curiosity peeked even more.

*     *     *

The music was quickly shut down as the gathering crowd started heading over to the cafeteria. Alexis fixed her plate and sat down with Erica and Amanda, her new roommates. They were having a polite conversation when three older men walked up to their table and asked if they could join them for lunch. The young man who caught Alexis’ eye was among them so she replied, Why of course. We would be honored. One guy introduced himself as Joseph Ross, a graduate student who was studying anthropology. The second guy introduced himself as Charles Young, who worked in the financial aid office. The guy that caught Alexis’ eye introduced himself as Darius Gordon, an adjunct professor of history. That bit of news shocked Alexis. Wait a minute! What? A professor, you’ve got to be kidding me, she thought. He looks too young to be a professor! But he is cute though.

The conversation during lunch was light and friendly, but once everyone had eaten, the conversation took a turn. It started to sound more like an interview as the men asked probing questions about the girls’ backgrounds and reasons they chose VSU to go to school. Professor Gordan explained that one of the things the college wanted to do was to provide opportunities where students could develop their communication skills as well as their reasoning skills. He then asked each girl to tell him a story. The story was supposed to detail who they thought they were as a person and how their character was influenced by their ancestors, particularly their male ancestors. Each student was to take a minimum of fifteen minutes to tell their story.

Amanda volunteered to go first. She started talking about how her father was in the military and how the family moved from place to place, following him to his assigned bases. She talked about never being able to get over the feeling of not belonging anywhere; never having true friends because once they got settled, they had to move. She went on to say that she does not know her family history or her own culture. She seemed to be lost and desperately searching for an identity. Erica, on the other hand, started talking about the fact that she never knew her father because he was never around. She talked about being raised by a single mother who had to be the mommy and the daddy. She talked about not needing a man for anything. Alexis really wasn’t listening closely because she began thinking about and organizing her own story. Her story was quite different.

My name is Alexis Winston, she blurted out when it was her turn to share. "I was named after my granddad whose name was Alexander Winston. His friends and family fondly called him Alex. I never knew my granddad, but from what I’m told, I am just like him. He was fiercely independent and refused to let anybody control him. I guess that attitude was passed down to me. I heard that my granddad was a proud black man who owned acres of farmland in Oxford, North Carolina. He didn’t take lip from anybody. Rumor has it that one day a white man called him a nigger and my granddad put a whipping on that man so bad that it was the talk of the town for weeks. Of course, this didn’t sit well with the Ku Klux Klan, who began to hassle my granddad whenever they got the opportunity. No one approached him while he was on his land, however, because he kept a cachet of guns and wasn’t afraid to use them. When I was small, a girl called me a bitch. I walked up to her, two-pieced her, knocking her to the ground and proceeded to beat the stuffing out of her. Like I said, I am just like my granddad.

"There was another situation when members of the Klan were rumored to have stolen one of my granddad’s prized cows. He found out that his cow was on the property of the sheriff’s son and in the darkness of night went and stole the cow right back. My granddad was arrested, tried, and to the surprise of everyone, won his case in court. The euphoria of the court victory was short lived, however. His house mysteriously caught fire and everything inside burned. Granddaddy risked his life running back and forth into the house to rescue his children. He took whatever money he had in the bank and sent his wife and children to stay with relatives in Washington, D.C. He stayed in Oxford, moving in with his relatives until