Promised Land, page 4
“I’m fine,” I snapped.
Although she was trying to come off as friendly, her smile made me uneasy. It kind of reminded me of the way a viper would stare a person down right before they were ready to strike. She cut her eyes at my husband.
Marcel frowned at her then barked, “Mind your business.”
She chuckled low while holding a bible clutched to her chest; a small purse hung from the crease of her elbow. “Well, I would, but you’ve gone and made your family spat everyone’s business.”
I grabbed Adam’s hand then pulled India next to me when three white men walked up behind that old white woman. The men looked as if they ate whole hogs for breakfast. They were thick and stout with beards that looked unkempt. They were dressed in white button-down dress shirts, black ties and black slacks. Combat boots were on their feet.
Marcel visibly bristled then took a defensive stance. “We got a problem?” he asked through gritted teeth and snarled lips.
Marcel was crazy like that. He didn’t care about the numbers not being in his favor, he’d still fight. While he and I had our issues, I didn’t want any more trouble in front of our kids. We had already caused them enough pain.
“Marcel, it’s fine. Let’s just go,” I said.
The woman turned her creepy smile to me. “You should really do a better job of who you pick to have children with. Most black men aren’t worth the effort you put into making more of them,” she said, before turning her eyes to my son.
The way she did that sent chills up and down my spine. I’d have smacked that bitch had my children not been with me. I didn’t like any adult taking too much interest in my children.
“Yo, fuck you, bitch,” Marcel said, causing the men behind the woman to move in.
She held up her hand. “Now, now, Benny, boys, calm down. In due time,” she said to the men, but kept her eyes on Marcel before turning them back to me. “In due time,” she said again. “Beautiful children. Keep an eye on them.”
She turned to the three white men who were still staring down Marcel. She snapped her fingers and they parted like the Red Sea. She sashayed on down the aisle with the three men flanking her, leaving me to wonder what the hell had just happened and where that woman had come from.
After I got home that night—after Marcel and I argued and I’d dropped him off at his hotel—I sat in the dark and cried my eyes out. I suffered in silence when it came to the pain I felt behind my family being broken apart. I hated that I’d become a single mother by default, especially since all the ills of the black community were blamed on those of us who were single mothers.
I’d always thought most of the black community was full of shit. Yes, even those of us who considered ourselves revolutionary and socially conscious. Slavery and the conditioning that had come with the rise of white supremacy had really screwed us over. Internally, the black community fought about everything from colorism to homosexuality to who had good hair.
I was disgusted with us, especially with black men. After Korryn Gaines was killed by the police, I realized that black men would never value and protect the black woman like we did them. And after everything I’d suffered at the hands of black men, I hung up my superwoman cape. I no longer gave a damn about black men or their plight in the racist world. Unless I knew a man personally and knew for certain that he was worth the fight, I didn’t give a damn what happened to them. Sure I sounded bitter, but whatever.
Once I got myself together, I pulled out my laptop. I scrolled down my Facebook timeline while my children slept. I kept seeing these news stories about black men and boys being gunned down by cops. That was nothing new. There was a time when that would have bothered me, but I’d turn that need to cape for black men off. Yes, it was alarming. Yes, I was fed up with it, but there was no way I could keep putting being black before being a woman. So I kept scrolling.
Came across a news story where whole families had gone missing. They just vanished into thin air. More stories about black girls in New York coming up missing at alarming rates, black men in California were coming up missing in large numbers. I got an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach. Why wasn’t anyone doing something?
I clicked on a few of the news links and shook my head. People didn’t just vanish into thin air. Someone, somewhere, knew something. That shit was depressing. More so because I felt helpless. What could I do about it? I didn’t have any money to travel. I didn’t have the power to change the laws or anything for that matter. I figured I could share the news articles and vent about them. I mean, regardless of what others thought, word of mouth could light a fire under the rest of the world and get them to pay attention to what was going on.
After about an hour of posting links and engaging others about all the black people coming up missing, I went to check on my children. Adam and India were my pride and joy. Sometimes, most nights, I watched them sleep with tears in my eyes. I never expected to end up a married, yet single mother. I didn’t even understand how that shit made sense, but it was my reality.
I turned the light back off in their room and then went to the kitchen. I did a little cleaning then logged on to my online classroom to do some homework. I got bored and decided to get back on Facebook instead. I saw a post about a local pro-black organization asking people to come out and voice their opinions about what they wanted to see change in the community that would benefit black people. The caption claimed that this meeting would be the single most important thing we could attend.
I liked the post but kept scrolling. I was too tired to go do anything. Being a single mother exhausted me on most days and dealing with my husband had taken the rest of what little energy I had. Sometimes, I felt like a walking zombie, so going to sit in on a meeting where people just talked didn’t appeal to me. I saw another post calling for black people to legally arm themselves. Some damn conspiracy theorist was talking about how all of the black folk coming up missing was a sign of a war to come.
“Damn idiot,” I mumbled as I kept scrolling.
I was all for fighting for equality, but some shit was just too farfetched. Still, curiosity grabbed me. I clicked on the comments to see what was being said.
Nigga, you stupid.
Shut up, dumb ass. Won’t be no race war. America is the greatest place on earth. Ya’ll let the last election spook you.
You guys are the ones stupid! All these black celebrities leaving the country for a reason. Something’s going down. All these black folk ain’t coming up missing for nothing. Raheem is right! Get’cha weight up. Get some damn guns and fortify your homes. Some shit is going the fuck down.
You niggers. Hahaha! All the guns in the world won’t help your stupid asses.
I just want everyone to stand for our flag. To not do so is utterly disrespectful.
Bitch, screw you and that flag! When you stand for black women and men, let’s talk!
The more I read, the more I was convinced that some people on the internet were daft as hell. People talking about race wars and fortifying houses like we’re about to be on the Walking Dead or something. I sighed and shook my head.
Then I scrolled down to a news article that said more black people had bought guns since the election. I quirked a brow then clicked on the comment section. As always it was a mess. I didn’t even know why I bothered to look, knowing I’d be triggered by the hateful bigots and racists. Almost thirty minutes later, I was still arguing with some white man who wanted me to know the blacks’ days were numbered.
Just you wait and see, you nigger bitch. Go find your babies daddies and get a higher IQ and get off welfare, he had typed.
I laughed at his ignorance, but was genuinely annoyed. White men loved to sit behind their computers to talk shit. I didn’t have time for that bull crap. I logged out then made my way to the shower. I closed my eyes that night with a nagging feeling that maybe I should have gone to that community meeting, and for some reason, I kept seeing that smiling white woman’s face.
The next day, things were calm between Marcel and me. We managed to get through India’s whole party without incident. I was happy about that because my children were happy. Their smiles and laughter warmed my heart.
Once the party was over, I was anxious to get home and for him to get back to New York. On the way to take Marcel back to his hotel, he’d asked me to stop at a store. I didn’t want to, since it was on a side street—certain stores always creeped me out. But because he was with me and the children, I felt safe.
While he was in the store, the kids and I sat in the car. Adam asked me to get his tablet from the trunk so he and India could watch something on it. I saw a truck with a Confederate flag hitched to it ride by. The white men inside stared me down too hard for my liking, but we were in Georgia so I should have been used to such things. I got chills and looked toward the store, wishing Marcel would hurry up. I popped the trunk then got Adam’s tablet. I slammed the trunk shut, before walking back to the driver’s side of the car so I could get in.
It all happened so quickly that I didn’t have time to think. If it hadn’t been for the screams and yells of my children, I probably wouldn’t have fought back so viciously. But my children were afraid, and to bring fear to my children set me off in ways that couldn’t be imagined. A cloth-like bag was thrown over my face as someone grabbed me from behind. I screamed or, at least, I tried to.
My shoes kicked up gravel from the parking lot as heavy breathing and grunts rented the air. I bucked and kicked my legs, trying to get away from whoever had grabbed me. I didn’t know what to think and really had no clue what to do.
“Marcel!” I yelled to the top of my lungs.
No, he and I didn’t really get along, but I was terrified that those men would get inside of my car and get to my children. I heard India and Adam screaming for me. I threw my hand backwards and grabbed a handful of a man’s dick. I tried to twist and turn until his manhood came off in my hand. His aggravated yells of agony blasted against my eardrums. The move forced him to drop me. My hands and knees hit the ground first. I felt the little pebbles and rocks cut into my palms.
I ripped the bag from over my head then tried to catch my breath. It took me a minute to get my bearings about me.
“Mommy,” India and Adam cried out. “Mommy!”
I rushed up to my feet. With frantic breathing, I raced back to the car. I felt someone behind me. I glanced over my shoulder and saw one man on the ground and two more had jumped from a van. I moved faster, screaming out for Marcel who was still inside of the store. As soon as I made it to the driver’s side door, the man on the ground grabbed my ankle, yanking my feet from underneath me. I hit the side of my head on the door as I went down. I screamed out, turned over and kicked the man in the face.
At that moment, I could see he was a young white male. He didn’t look to be any older than twenty. It didn’t matter. I tried to cave his face in. I made sure each kick was harder than the last. My heart was racing; mind was all over the place. Who were these people? What did they want? I grabbed a hold of the car door for more leverage. The more I kicked, the more aggressive and angry the man became.
“Get off of me!” I yelled out.
With gritted teeth, I pulled my leg back and put every ounce of strength I had into that last kick. The man’s head went flying back as his blood painted his shirt. I got up, a little less lucid than I was before because of the bang to the head. I was dizzy, head spinning as I got into my car. Just as I went to close the door, one of the other men stopped me. I tried to hold on to anything within reaching distance. I grabbed at cups, the passenger seat, steering wheel, anything I could. His big hand reached into the car and snatched me back out by my hair. The cup I’d grabbed and a few other items fell out the car with me.
It felt as if I went spinning as he slung me to the ground. He was much bigger than the first man who had grabbed me. I tried to get back up, but a punch to the face sent me crashing back down to earth. I was discombobulated, but that man was too close to my children. As he turned back to the car, I mustered all the strength I could. I ran and jumped onto his back, my nails digging into his eyes. I tried to rip them from their sockets.
Even though the man grunted loudly and yelped out, I was really no match for his strength. He flipped me over his head, sending me crashing back to the ground. Where the fuck was Marcel?
“Hey!” I heard him yell in the distance.
I looked up and saw Marcel running toward us.
“Get that nigger,” I heard the man who had thrown me to the ground order. “You,” he said to the first man who had grabbed me. “Get her. Hold her still while we get the male.”
I moaned out. My ribs on fire and my arm bloody red because the pavement had ripped my skin off. I cried. Hurting. But I was still determined. I glanced around, looking for anything I could use as a weapon. In the distance I heard Marcel fighting with the other men. On the ground, I saw the QuikTrip cup I had coffee in that morning, a phone charger, some papers, and a pen. I snatched the pen up just as the man who I had kicked in the face earlier grabbed me from the ground.
“When I get your black ass to the Promised Land, I’mma show you how a nigger bitch should behave when her master comes calling. You hear me, gal?” he growled against my ear.
The Promised Land? Master? Panic had already taken residence within me, but now outright fear took root. This man was talking like he had been tapped to play an unsub on an episode of Criminal Minds. I had no plans to be his next victim. And neither would my children. I had to drown out their frightened cries in order to function. The man spun me around then fisted my hair from behind. His hold was so tight that it intensified the headache I already had.
“Now watch as your black ass baby daddy get a lickin’,” he quipped.
With blurry vision, because of the tears running down my face, I watched in horror as Marcel was jumped by the other two white men. Even with him being outnumbered, he fought vigorously. For every kick and punch they gave him, he sent blows back just as hard. But when the biggest man pulled out a club and sent it crashing down on Marcel’s face, I knew it was over.
Marcel went down. Hard. In that moment, for a brief time, all the things that he had done to me, all that he’d put me through, took a backseat.
“Marcel! Get up!” I yelled, afraid that they had killed him and I’d be left to try to keep our children safe, alone.
“Shut up, you black bitch. That nigger down just like you. Pretty nigger kids you got. We gone take real, real good care of’em. Break’em in real nice.”
My heart seemed to slow its pace. I knew what his words insinuated. Bile rose in my throat, and before I knew it, I brought the pen around and stabbed the man in his right eye. His groans and yelps reminded me of a wounded animal as I raced to my car. I didn’t make it though. A shot of something that felt like pure electricity shot up my spine. My body stiffened, limbs went numb as my back, awkwardly, arched backwards. My teeth chattered then grinded together.
“I told you boys this one would give us trouble. Had y’all listened to me, we’d be on the bus by now.”
I knew that voice. It was the voice of the woman we’d seen the day before inside of Walmart. She stood, glaring down at me.
“Ben ain’t gon’ like what you did to his boy,” she said then looked toward the other two men. “Get this gal to the van and then come back for the children and the male,” she ordered. “Hurry up so we can get Mathias to a doctor.”
Even if I’d wanted to fight, I couldn’t. That zap with the Taser took all the fight out of me. I was helpless as they dragged me to the van and tossed me in. I lay there as I was hogtied. Next they brought in the man who I’d stabbed in the eye. His groans filled the small space. I laid there, staring out of the opened door as the woman carried my son to the van. The other two men stood, leering at me as they stood behind her.
“I think I’m gon’ have this one in the big house with me,” she said once she tossed him into the van beside me. My son crawled over to me and tried to shield me from the woman. “Look how protective the little nigger is of his mammy. I’m gon’ do you a favor, gal. I’mma keep him in the house until I get tired of him. At least I can spare him what they do to break the nigger boys in back in the Promised Land. Thank me, you ungrateful bitch,” she taunted.
I mustered up what strength I had left and hocked a wad of spit in her face. Her head jerked back like she had been slapped. She pulled a handkerchief from her purse then wiped her face. Once she was done, she drew her bible back and brought it down on my face. Adam screamed as he tried to shield me while kicking at the woman.
“Leave her alone,” he yelled. “Leave my mommy alone!”
He picked up the woman’s bible and tossed it at her. For his affront, she backhanded him so hard he went flying back into me. He cried out, shocked that the woman had hit him.
“Little bastard has no manners. I changed my mind. He can go to the breeders with the rest of those little thugs,” she snapped. “Your daughter is a darkie, but she has nice hair so maybe I can make something of her and put her in the house.”
If I hadn’t been hogtied, I’d have fought that woman. I’d have tried to kill her. As soon as the thought crossed my mind, she smiled that wicked smile like she’d known exactly what I was thinking. She’d fixed her mouth to say something, but before she could, the slamming of a car door captured our attention.
“He’s getting away with the little girl, Maryann,” one of the men yelled.
“Get to the truck. Get that nigger and his little spawn, too,” she said coolly then turned back to me. “Isn’t it just like a nigger male to leave his wife and children to fend for themselves? Well, wait, at least he took the little girl.”
Tears filled my eyes as my heart swelled in my chest. Pain like I’d never felt took residence inside of me. He was leaving us. He was leaving me and my son.
“Oh that hurts you doesn’t it? I can tell,” Maryann said. “You ain’t seen nothing yet,” she warned and she slid the van door closed.
