21st Century Problems: The Surrogate Father (#8) (Louis Toliver Jr)

“The problem is that I work too much,” I vented to FishEater2013 while playing PS3 online. “Yeah that’s some bullshit,” the 12 year-old responded. “I know what you mean. My mom always wants me to take out the trash.” I didn’t really think taking out the trash was comparable to having 5 jobs but the kid was making an effort to connect. It was progress. “If you had to quit one of my jobs, which one would you let go…..” it dawned on me I still didn’t know this kid’s name. I asked, “What’s your real name?” “Ben,” He replied. “Well, Ben…I’m Trey. Now, which job would you get rid of?” I asked again. “The disaster relief job sounds the worse…but teaching does too. Can you quit two?” I could hear him chewing gum in a way that normally would annoy me. But we bonded so I could tolerate him doing it. Some time passed and it was getting close to my bedtime but not Ben’s because I don’t think his parents paid him much attention. “I’m getting tired, buddy,” I yawned. “Hey Trey?” there was a certain tone of vulnerability in Ben’s voice I had never heard before. “Yeah?” I was curious. “We’re supposed to invite a parent to school for parent appreciation. I figured since we were friends you could go. I don’t want to ask my Dad. He won’t go anyway.” I was completely taken back by the fact this boy wanted me to go to his school for parents’ day. “Uh, Ben, we’ve only know each other for a month or so playing online video games and I’ve never met you and it’d probably be against the law if I did.” There was a long silence. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I just figured I’d asked.” I could tell Ben was a lonely boy. I could tell his feelings were hurt. “Alright, bud, be ready for another round of games tomorrow, okay?” It was the best I could do to calm the awkwardness. “Okay,” Ben replied and then we were disconnected from game play. I thought about this for a long time restless in bed as I finished some yogurt I brought home from YoguLand.

Comments

Come Hither (Annette Redmond Walters - Lafayette, LA)

I meant it not this way but the tears just flow and my makeup smearing all the more, leaving behind that familiar filthy residue. I may have begun to drive myself away, dragging you down as well. But it's done, I've flipped the switch and now it's dark once more. How painful is the music to my ears, I can't stand to be alone in it, yet here I am again. I pray you fly back and safely and warmly to me, though I fear I've dug the grave too deeply. As the dirt shifts within my soul, I choke on those loving words I'd meant for you. All the fragments of light I see becoming smaller and I wish to be near you in your embrace that might make me feel the warmth I'm missing. And in reality, I doubt I'd breathe another breath without you. So come hither and quickly soothe my dying heart, you are the only cure I know. I cry and cry again, come hither to heal and love me. Come hither and help me dry my tears.

Let That Fucker Burn (John Chenvert - Napoleonville, LA)

Let that fucker burn. Let the fire crackle like the whips once did— like bone meeting leather, like screams swallowed by the trees. Let the white columns crumble to ash. Not as tragedy— but as truth, unearthing itself from beneath generations of silence. Nottoway is not a mansion. It’s a mausoleum. A lie carved in stone to honor the hands that held the whip, not the backs that bore it. They called it the “White Castle.” A place of beauty. A place for weddings, for photo ops, for pretending that horror can be made elegant if the curtains match the guilt. But no paint can cover what happened there. Blood doesn’t wash out with white linens. And pain doesn’t forget just because you renamed it history. I’m not Black. And I won’t pretend to carry that weight. But I also won’t ignore it. My people—the Guanches—were taken too. Our language silenced. Our land stolen. Our names nearly erased. So yes, I know colonization. Yes, I know what it means to be disappeared. But I also know this— my skin ...

Lunatic (Lily Lechler - New Orleans, LA)

“Lunacy” comes from the moon, Who cycles through brilliance and darkness Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed Opposites not so well harnessed Who cycles through brilliance and darkness? The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Opposites. Not so well harnessed As she thought, her brain gives reason the slip The girl who sits in bed, wrestling with Her body, depressed, her thoughts manic. As she thought, her brain gave reason the slip And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic. Her body depressed her thoughts. Manic Lunacy comes from the moon And gives the gift of life in a dreamlike panic Bipolarity’s patterns are not so easily assumed

Search This Blog