The Barn

I approach the massive doors.
 The lumber has become grey, warped,and brittle.
 The old timber still houses the scent of the livestock that once occupied this space, the earthy pleasant aroma wafts through the cracks and spaces, as my sweaty hands fumble with the key.
The chain holding the door, is ancient and I realize I should have gotten some oil, or spray lubricant to resurrect it.
 Orange flakes of oxidation, fall to the pungent black earth.
Splinters of microscopic metal particulates force their way into my fingertips, white blood cells rush to the offenders and  begin the process of eviction.
 The padlock has to be twisted back and forth to expose the key hole. It's rusty also, so rusty that the taste of metal overwhelms me and I am forced to spit the fine grain of invisible metal out.
 I am second guessing my decision now. The prehistoric padlock, doesn't unlock, so much as it surrenders, It's job complete, the contraption falls into separate pieces. The door hesitates, it has been closed so long that it has forgotten it's function. I grunt as I push the door to its furthest point.
The interior of the old barn is anticlimactic, just hay bales with mushrooms growing at their base, ceilings so high that it would appear that the barn was made for creatures far more massive than bovine, equine or swine. The last vestiges of an apple harvest line one wall, the thing that used to be a basket has merged with what once were apples and lived and died here. I hear the rustle of leathery wings,  right before the disturbed colony of bats take flight.
My eyes follow the nocturnal creatures as they flow through the door. Yeah, this is perfect. I am glad I bought this old barn. I am going to create my masterpiece here.

Comfort Zone

The Toyota Prius looked out of place besides the prison guards 4X4's, and customized Impalas. Tonya Morningside and Yolanda Fielding are both nervous as they walk into the penitentiary. 
They have come to The Parchman Penitentiary Farm to interview Mr. Claude "Smiley" Jenkins. His refusal of a Governor’s pardon should have been big news and one of the experienced reporters should have taken this story. However two terrorist attacks, and more Presidential shenanigans by the newly elected alcoholic in D.C. have all the top reporters occupied.
However this is a piece the papers owners want covered so the junior reporters are on their way.  The electronic buzzing, the slamming of metal bars, and the constant screaming and catcalls grate both women’s nerves as they are lead to the interview room.
Smiley is earning his nickname as the two young women are lead into the room.
He stands and the knit hat with a faded M.D.O.C. is snatched off and folded into his hands behind his back. “Hello ladies, how y’all doing today? It’s a hot un anit it? Y’all forgive me if I am running on I anit had no company in a while.”
It’s an understatement Tonya knows from doing her research that Smiley has not had a visit in 7 years.
His dentures fit badly and the older man tries desperately to keep them intact.  Smiley’s sense of pride and concern with his appearance is evident from his gleaming state issued boots, and the defined crease in his uniform. Claude could easily pass a military inspection.
“I reckon y’all is here cause I turnt down the governor’s pardon?” The inexperienced pair simply nod, and Smiley has to remind them to turn on their recorder.
“Listen it seem to me like y’all gals is new ta this reporting thang, I am gone help ya stead y’all axing me questions I’m tell you my story?”
The old man doesn’t wait for a further prompt. He begins his tale.
Nineteen hundred and 69 I was bout 24 or 25. I had worked all day hauling pulpwood. We had managed to get 6 loads that day and I was getting drunk. All a sudden like this gal I had been courting comes up to the café, now I weren’t the jealous type and I always reckoned my woman could handle her own scandal, if’n it get mo than she can handle then she ought call me. Well this ole pretty boy fella he keeps sniffing after my gal and like I say I’m just seeing how she gone handle thangs. Well I see this fella go to man handle Nadine. That was her name Nadine Whiterspoon and she was finer then young mosquito’s mustache. Well this fella I anit know his name till we came to court, but this fella he grabbed her by her lady parts and well I sliced him up pretty bad with my razor.
I kilt again in here these two fella’s thought that I might make a good substitute for a woman, I kilt both them sum bitches with a shank I had made outta broke mop handle. They gave me another life sentence for that.  My son Claude Junior was made right over yonder in the tunk houses. I got his momma pregnant on a conjugal visit. When he was 20 he came here. We was in camp together a few years ago. He is on lock down now, he kilt somebody during visitation for calling his sister a bitch. She anit wanna see me without him so when she come up here she normally only visit him. I promise you honey I’m getting to the point.
The point is I’m bout to be 65 years old. I don’t have nothing or nobody in the free world. I am like everybody daddy in here. I am respected and I know what to expect. Take for instance today Friday. We gone play dominoes till supper and supper is gone be baked chicken with rice and greens and cornbread. Lockdown is later tonight so the youngins gone be singing and rapping and then in the morning it’s Pancake Day.  If I go out in that free world what I’m supposed to do? I anit got no money my people anit got no money and who gone hire a 65 year old with three bodies under his belt. I’ll tell you who No and Body. Nah. I’m fine right where in the hell I’m at. If they want me out of here they gone have to force me out.
The State decided to do just that force Smiley out of the penitentiary.
Smiley now has four bodies under his belt.

Wrong Place Wrong Time

She had gotten tired of the dreadlocks that her mother had cultivated since before her first period. Shaquana, hadn't realized just how much of her hair would have to be cut in order to rid herself of the distinct style. She had wanted to be less conspicuous and definitively African-American. 

Shaquana, hated her name and insisted that people call her by her last name, London. It sounded more Anglo to her ear, and less likely to reveal her ethnicity. Of course the short nappy afro that replaced the magnificent locks, was still a dead giveaway. 

Shaquana, was a reformed thot. She had been wild in college and had the tramp stamp tattoo to prove it. After another failed relationship, and having to raise a special needs son alone, she was angry. Her anger was reflected in all of her dealings. 

Shaquana, believed that she had found a Niche in corporate America. She believed that her job as director of operations, was the door to her dreams. No matter who she offended stepped on or terminated she was determined to make this opportunity work. 

At the office she was firm and fair, in her mind. Her people described her as petty, spiteful, and vengeful. Her professionalism wasn't nearly as apparent, as London liked to believe. Any man placed in her department soon found himself transferred or unemployed.  London's immediate supervisor stood between her and the scrutiny of the Human Resources dept. 

John Johnson, had just gotten placed on London's team and the cramped fit was instantly clear. Johnson was the type of employee who read the handbook from cover to cover, that overdressed every day, and who required minimal direction. 

Outline Mr. Johnson’s duties and he would perform them admirably. Not only did John not require much direction, he could not thrive with an excess of it. He had been fortunate enough to be hired while London was at a management retreat and then on a two-week vacation. He had only had to deal with her for a single day. 

London’s vacation brought its own brand of stress. She wasn't able to afford the getaways that her coworkers enjoyed. She had even overheard her “underlings” talk about the exotic destinations they went to. She had adopted the “underlings” phrase from O'Toole her supervisor. 

O'Toole was the type of gay man one expected to be in a position of authority.  He wasn't over the top and flaunting of his sexuality. He realized that if you want to be treated as an equal, then the same behavioral expectations must apply. 

A straight man who paraded around the office making sure everyone knew he was heterosexual would be reprimanded and he believed that a gay person who drew attention to their sexuality should be treated the same. 

So it came as a surprise when O'Toole acted like her girlfriend on the retreat.  The retreat had been the best part of the entire three weeks. The company had paid for the management staff's accommodation. Other management employees complained about the tawdry round “bungalows” with the thatched roofs, London found it magical.  

The free drinks and seafood from the grill were awesome and London allowed herself to relax a little bit.  O'Toole relaxed a lot. He got really drunk and loose lipped, and he made London his confidant. They both slept with peers from different areas.

London spent the next two weeks at her mother’s house in Savannah, Georgia and was reminded of why she had left.

 Her return to the job was actually welcomed after the week with her mother. 

London strutted into her office space.  Her sister Shequisha had braided extensions into her hair. She was feeling herself more than ever. London had poured over her department's progress the night before and noted that her new employee had broken her productivity record and then broken his own. 

 She wasn't impressed, despite the fact that it was making her money London was upset.

It didn't help that she suspected that she had developed a UTI.  She needed to establish the pecking order and let this John Johnson know where the buck stopped. Normally she would walk over to her “underlings” desks just to stand over them as she spoke to them. 

She decided to have Mr. Johnson come to her. His line was busy. “He wants to play!” London, buzzed another subordinate the one that sat in the cubicle next to John's. “Please inform Mr. Johnson that I need to see him in my office!” 

It was a full hour later, London was seething. She hadn't made a single collection call. Johnson still had not come to her “Office” the largest cubicle, on the 6th floor.

The cubicle that Johnson had chosen wasn't in the direct line of sight of hers. However each time she buzzed him his line was busy.

London, was quickly becoming Shaquana. She was angry that this Man who was attractive, articulate and obviously good at his job, was still out of reach. Mr. Johnson was married and he seemed to be the loyal type. On top of that he was defying her.

 Her underlings were supposed to jump whenever, wherever, however and as high as she demanded. Shaquana expected a certain amount of respect. This Johnson fellow was getting too big for his britches.  

Shaquana, quit calling, she signaled the worker next to Johnson and cancelled her request. She used her access to look at the time sheets for the two weeks she'd been gone. Nothing. “Maybe, I can write him up for clocking in too early” 

London realized that she couldn't do that.  She did send an email to the entire dept.

”Hello team y'all are clocking in a little early you are expected to clock in no more than 5 minutes before your shift. In the future this will be cause for a write up. Thank you for all that you do.

Sincerely Shaquana London” 

John Johnson’s phone remained busy. He was having an awesome day. His productivity was off the charts. John had noticed that the entire office temperature had changed as Ms. London returned. He didn't care, he was only there to perform his job. The email bothered John when it arrived. 

 It was directed to him, and in direct violation of company policy. The policy dictated a smooth hand off of the phone system. The policy stated that an employee was “Expected to arrive 15 minutes prior to their assigned shift to assure that no incoming calls are missed." 

John, replied to the email that London had sent. He copied and pasted the company policy into his email and continued to make collection calls as he composed and sent the brief reply.

Angrier than ever, London decided to go confront him. "Mr. Johnson!" London, was prepared to start an entire speech, when the offending underling held up his hand to silence her.  "Yes sir I understand that, but how much are you going to be paying today?" The question was part of the script that London's employer had been using since before she started but she had never heard it asked with such sincerity and feeling. Part of her screamed, "This dude is doing the job, leave him alone!" But the irritation in her genitals, and the fact that this was her department made her continue. "PARDON ME MR. JOHNSON!"

John tried to keep the irritation off of his face as he asked the customer he was speaking to, to please hold. Even as he said it he knew that the man he had bullied into grabbing his card would hang up before he could return to the line.

"Ms. London, this better be important I just lost commission that was going to benefit both of us." Even as he said it the light that indicated that he had a call on hold switched back to green indicating that the prospective bill payer had disconnected.

"Oh no he didn't!"  Shaquana, thought as she arranged her thoughts. "I wanted to discuss my email!" John breathed deeply before responding.

"Yes ma'am, I responded to that email...via email. I am trying to collect another $3000 before the day's end. Is there something other than a clear violation of company guidelines to discuss?" 

The man's bored tone coupled with the discomfort in her thong, were more than Shaquana could take. "First of all I will decide what company policy is and what isn't! Secondly why did you feel the need to address that email to the entire department? Third, how can you be so busy that you can't respond to your BOSS?"

John Johnson's face was incredulous. He thought about what he was going to say before he said it and was unapologetic. "You are not my boss, company policy is clearly lined out, and I simply responded to the email you sent. I don't have the time or the inclination to deal with childish ego games, I am here to make money."

Unable to obtain the upper hand London returned to her desk seething.

The next three weeks Shaquana’s other employees had it easy. All she could focus on was causing John Johnson to fail.

She had no legitimate reason for wanting the man to fail. His success was key to her making money as well.

John knew that Ms. London was trying to make his life difficult. He didn’t know why. He needed to make money bills were piling up and Child support was threatening to take his driver’s license. John was putting up astronomical numbers because he couldn’t afford to do anything else.

London had changed John’s schedule and he still made money. She cut his hours, changed his call sheets, and gave him the most difficult collections John made the most of it.

Everything came to a disastrous head one Wednesday afternoon. If he hadn’t just spoken to his ex-wife who had kidnapped their son and moved him across the country, it might not have happened. If his current wife had not sent the angry text message it might not have pushed him to the edge.

If traffic hadn’t sucked, if coffee hadn’t spilled on his tie, if his underwear weren’t tight, a million small irritants had converged to make it the perfect storm.

For her part London’s UTI had gotten worse and was causing her to have an unpleasant aroma, her obsessive behavior towards Mr. Johnson was affecting her productivity and were it not for John Johnson her pay would have been suffering.

Shaquana was supposed to be leaving for a Dr.’s appointment.

John was coming into the job. He swears to himself even now as he is serving time for it. Promises he didn’t intend to push her off the cross walk. It was an accident he is sure, just his large shoulder brushing against her and causing her to fall the 6 inch heels couldn’t have helped either.

He simply spun around as she started yelling and was too close to her, he tried to catch her as she back pedaled off the bridge spanning their building and its nearest neighbor. 
Just the wrong place at the wrong time.

Kissing Cousins

Growing up in a small town you have limited options on a lot of things.
It might be different in this age of smartphones and apps for everything from love to drugs.
When I was a kid in the 80's growing up in small town Mississippi not only was there not much to do but also no one to date.
 My Father's parents were rare in that they got a divorce in a time when divorce was really frowned upon.
 My Grandfather, who was a narcissist remarried twice more and had 11 more children, which we know about, the youngest is about 28 right now. His first wife my Dad's mother remarried and she and her husband had 15 more children. 
My late mother had 13 legitimate brothers and sisters and at least 4 illegitimate siblings that we know.
I understand that I'm throwing a lot of numbers at you, but there is a reason for it.
I was well aware of my dating restrictions and was generally very careful I knew who my relatives were and I had no problem asking my elders if I was unsure. People in places other than the Southern Region of the United States believe that we are all running around rutting with our sisters, aunties, and the cattle but it is not so.
Despite being extremely cautious I must admit that I got caught up. Twice. I will tell you both tales one of them is also the story of the only time I was called a racial slur in Mississippi. So hold on to something, tightly.
School, the worst and best of times. I had asked my father about a long list of girls from my school only to be informed that all of them were at least 2nd or 3rd cousins of mine. I even found out that there was such a thing as "Double Kin" meaning that I was related to that person through both my mother and my Father. I told you to hold on tight right?
It was frustrating. Dating is very important to a twelve year old.
As I told you I asked the questions, I would find out who the girls Momma, Daddy, Aunties, Uncles, grandparents, etc. It was important to me that I not date anyone who was kin to me. I know what you want to ask, but don't, you should never ask questions you don't really want the answer to.
When I met Daphne, oh boy I was happy. Here was somebody whose ancestry I didn't have investigate I KNEW definitely that we were not family. I didn't have to check because there was no way we could be. She was Caucasian, so there was no reason to query.
One day I was walking with her in the mall happy as could be. When I heard her father calling for her.
He caught up with us in front of a store called TG&Y.  I didn’t understand why he was angry. “Gal why is you walking with this nigger?” I remember looking around for this nigger, I didn’t know what a nigger was but it sounded dangerous. I took a step forward when he slapped her and he said “Anit you Demas and Birdie lee son? You hit me and I am going to tell your daddy.” Unfortunately I had already developed a reputation for not minding to resort to violence.
I walked away confused. First of all he had called me whatever that N word was and he had mispronounced my mother’s name white people usually didn’t call her Birdie lee.
When I saw my parents I told them everything. I just knew that my Dad was going to straighten that dude out. Instead I got the talk about black people passing for white and discovered that the Nigger caller was actually my freaking cousin as well.
I soon discovered that I had cousins on the Choctaw Indian reservation, and I was beginning to believe that I’d never find someone for me. 
I told you I was like 12 everything was overly dramatic.

A couple of years later, and I am getting dressed for the county fair.
 The fair was a really big deal mostly because you could finally find somebody that you were not related to.
I was an apex predator. My fade was tight. My line up superb. I flittered from girl to girl like a worker bee collecting pollen.
I met this girl, from Quitman which is about 3 counties and 6 towns away. I took my shot and lo and behold “He shoots he scores!”
I got her number and we talked I liked her. 
She was pretty and she had a big butt.
Those were my only requirements at the time.
A few weeks later we hooked up, yes in the modern interpretation.
I drove the 60 or so miles to drop her off at home and she insisted that I meet her “Big Mama”
Big Mama was cool, if a little touchy feely she was a space violator but she was old, and a lady what can you do?
“OH Wee you sho is a pretty child!” Big Mama’s voice was big and she leaned in to touch my hair. “Baby who ya people Is?”
I had heard that particular query before and I began my spiel. “My Daddy is Demas and my momma is Birdia.” She knew my mother and went on and on about how my mother’s father was a “Sho Nuff Pretty man.” I don’t know why men weren’t handsome in Quitman, Ms. but that’s what it was.  She commented on how fine my Uncles Willie and Frank were.
I thought I had escaped the family bonds.
“Who you said ya daddy was?”  I felt obligated to say his entire name. “Willie Demas Ma’am.”
She looked thunder struck. “Red Cole’s grandson?” I smiled before I answered I loved it when people knew my Papa.
“Yes Ma’am. I’m his great-grandson!” I said it with pride and I’m certain my chest poked out further.
“Awe, baby y’all can’t cote y’all kin.” She said scaring me and feeling me with guilt. “Close Kin.” She said driving the point further home. I could only respond. “Oh well. It’s too late  now."