Unsteady
By Ashaliegh Carrington
Every Sunday Natalia Jones and Delia Hughes sat on their porch. They discussed the news that happened in their neighborhood. They would rock back and forth in their chairs, listening to the sounds that the street had to offer. The smell of freshly baked goods always lingered after the two ladies cooked supper for their families, but right now it was five o'clock and the two needed to talk. No one in their right mind bothered them.
"Nat," Delia said with a slick smile.
"What?"
"Did you hear about baby Michael?"
"What, did he get high or shot?" Natalia chuckled before taking a sip of her ice tea.
"He didn't get high nor did he get shot! Where’d your hope go?”
"Gone, like my husband’s hairline," Natalia slapped her knee.
"He got a girl pregnant; Babies having babies." Delia sighed.
“You know this ain't new! People are having babies left and right."
"That doesn’t make it right!"
The two sat in silence. Natalia looked off to the side. A group of boys were walking down the street. One of the boys was Tré, whom everybody expected to go to college he could speak so that you’d think he might become an activist. The only problem was he acted like one.
"You see him! He ain't going to have no damn babies! He's gonna be somethin’! He'll be somethin’ special!" Natalie yelled at Delia.
"It ain't gonna happen. You got a better chance of bringing Michael Jackson back from the dead than successfully bringing up a child in a village of idiots."
"He'll make it. He's gotta." Delia adjusted herself in her wooden chair. She took a deep breath and then exhaled.
"We live in a prison cell made by a white man; no one of our color gets out. That's how it is."
Delia got up, got her cigarettes, and lit one. Natalia handed her a lighter from her pocket. The flame came up with the flick of her thumb; she pressed it against the white piece of the tip and let the smoke grow.
"You know, smoking bad for you?" Natalia said grabbing her lighter.
"So is living here, but we managed."
Delia laughed and so did Natalia. They laughed for so long they didn't even remember the joke. They laughed because it was too hard to realize that what they were both saying was true. The truth hurt so much sometimes all you can do is laugh. A gun shot echoed through each house everyone could hear the noise yet no one seemed to move or even flinch. A gun shot was just like an alarm clock, it told people when it was their time to wake up.
"You think that was Tré and his friends?" Delia's voice was full of concern.
"Most likely. These kids are so trigger happy all I hear is shots. One in the morning, Two in the afternoon, Three at night."
"When we were kids the only shots you heard were from the police not from each other." Natalia coughed. "D, if you don't stop spreading your cancer!"
She threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped on it. "There! All of my damn cancer is gone now."
"Thank you. Speaking of cancer you know who's got it?"
"Who?"
"That Trump boy, he's got to have a tumor in his skull for speaking like that."
"We had a president like that, Richard Nixon."
Natalia grunted at the sound of his name.
"On that note goodnight, I'll see you next Sunday."
At night it was even harder for people to be optimistic. At night you could hear everything because everyone was asleep. You could hear news even if you didn’t want to. When good news is heard people often don't listen but when bad news hits everybody talks. Still, talking was better than fighting; something African Americans hadn't been able to conquer. They fought to stay alive for four hundred years ago and they just didn't know when to stop fighting.
Natalia walked up the three squeaky wooden steps. Her cane stomped onto it alerting Delia. Delia came out of the kitchen grabbed her ice tea and sat in her rocking chair. Natalia pulled her chair next to Delia's and sat down.
"You know what?"
Delia smiled," What do I need to know?"
“My granddaughter got straight A's on her report card."
"Really?"
"Yup. She's gonna be a scholar." Natalia chuckled.
"Maybe she will make it out of here."
"I know she will. I know she will.”
By Ashaliegh Carrington
Every Sunday Natalia Jones and Delia Hughes sat on their porch. They discussed the news that happened in their neighborhood. They would rock back and forth in their chairs, listening to the sounds that the street had to offer. The smell of freshly baked goods always lingered after the two ladies cooked supper for their families, but right now it was five o'clock and the two needed to talk. No one in their right mind bothered them.
"Nat," Delia said with a slick smile.
"What?"
"Did you hear about baby Michael?"
"What, did he get high or shot?" Natalia chuckled before taking a sip of her ice tea.
"He didn't get high nor did he get shot! Where’d your hope go?”
"Gone, like my husband’s hairline," Natalia slapped her knee.
"He got a girl pregnant; Babies having babies." Delia sighed.
“You know this ain't new! People are having babies left and right."
"That doesn’t make it right!"
The two sat in silence. Natalia looked off to the side. A group of boys were walking down the street. One of the boys was Tré, whom everybody expected to go to college he could speak so that you’d think he might become an activist. The only problem was he acted like one.
"You see him! He ain't going to have no damn babies! He's gonna be somethin’! He'll be somethin’ special!" Natalie yelled at Delia.
"It ain't gonna happen. You got a better chance of bringing Michael Jackson back from the dead than successfully bringing up a child in a village of idiots."
"He'll make it. He's gotta." Delia adjusted herself in her wooden chair. She took a deep breath and then exhaled.
"We live in a prison cell made by a white man; no one of our color gets out. That's how it is."
Delia got up, got her cigarettes, and lit one. Natalia handed her a lighter from her pocket. The flame came up with the flick of her thumb; she pressed it against the white piece of the tip and let the smoke grow.
"You know, smoking bad for you?" Natalia said grabbing her lighter.
"So is living here, but we managed."
Delia laughed and so did Natalia. They laughed for so long they didn't even remember the joke. They laughed because it was too hard to realize that what they were both saying was true. The truth hurt so much sometimes all you can do is laugh. A gun shot echoed through each house everyone could hear the noise yet no one seemed to move or even flinch. A gun shot was just like an alarm clock, it told people when it was their time to wake up.
"You think that was Tré and his friends?" Delia's voice was full of concern.
"Most likely. These kids are so trigger happy all I hear is shots. One in the morning, Two in the afternoon, Three at night."
"When we were kids the only shots you heard were from the police not from each other." Natalia coughed. "D, if you don't stop spreading your cancer!"
She threw the cigarette on the ground and stomped on it. "There! All of my damn cancer is gone now."
"Thank you. Speaking of cancer you know who's got it?"
"Who?"
"That Trump boy, he's got to have a tumor in his skull for speaking like that."
"We had a president like that, Richard Nixon."
Natalia grunted at the sound of his name.
"On that note goodnight, I'll see you next Sunday."
At night it was even harder for people to be optimistic. At night you could hear everything because everyone was asleep. You could hear news even if you didn’t want to. When good news is heard people often don't listen but when bad news hits everybody talks. Still, talking was better than fighting; something African Americans hadn't been able to conquer. They fought to stay alive for four hundred years ago and they just didn't know when to stop fighting.
Natalia walked up the three squeaky wooden steps. Her cane stomped onto it alerting Delia. Delia came out of the kitchen grabbed her ice tea and sat in her rocking chair. Natalia pulled her chair next to Delia's and sat down.
"You know what?"
Delia smiled," What do I need to know?"
“My granddaughter got straight A's on her report card."
"Really?"
"Yup. She's gonna be a scholar." Natalia chuckled.
"Maybe she will make it out of here."
"I know she will. I know she will.”