Standing in No Man's Land

Hello, readers! So, if you didn't know this, I'll inform you. One of my aspirations is to become an author. I love fiction, but always draw inspiration from my personal real life experiences. The story below I wrote my sophomore year in college for a Fiction Writing Class. My professor really pushed me because he thought the story was good( I hope you all think so as well).

Now I'll give some brief background history. These experiences set the foundation for the story's inspiration. First, the majority of my close cousins are mixed (half black-half white). Because of this, I have gotten a glimpse of both sides of the African American community. The two sides I'm discussing are the lighter African American and the darker African Americans. There is this tension between the two groups and my story will focus on an example of this tension. As I wrote this story, I thought of my baby cousin whose image is placed above. It's a fact that he may have to go through similar issues as my character when he enter's school. All I can say is that I hope it makes him stronger in the end.

                                                         Standing in No Man’s Land

                                                             By Natasha D. Lane

            “Amon, wake up! Mom’s calling you.” Abdel shook me awake. I opened my eyes and starred at him, still asleep. “Come on, Oreo.” He pulled my hair and I wrestled away from his grasp. He smiled down at me, his white teeth in sharp shining contrast to his black skin. “I don’t want to come in here again,” he said and left the room, slamming the door behind him. He always hated waking me up for school, but Mom made him.

I stumbled out of bed and found my way to the light switch. The room became illuminated and I could see the small space I shared with my older brother. Mom had told us we wouldn’t be here long; that Daddy was going to come back for us and we could live with him. She said he was lost. He had not found his way back yet.

I pulled my stepping stool from behind the door and placed it in front of the dresser. I reached into the top drawer and pulled out my school clothes. I had seen my brother wear these clothes so many times when he was in middle school, but then he grew too big and had to get new clothes. Mom wasn’t happy about that, but she passed them down to me so it saved us a little money.

“Amon, baby, are you awake?” I could hear her began to lightly pit patter across the apartment.

“I’m awake,” I called and put my clothes on before brushing my teeth. The buttons always slowed me down. I would always end up with one side of the shirt being longer than the other.

 I sat down for breakfast. Abdel had already left. I turned to my mother, “Is he not walking me to school, again?”

She patted my head and placed a small piece of chocolate beside my cereal bowl. She put both hands on my face and smiled. “Do not worry about that grouch. You are a big boy. You don’t need him. And so handsome, my precious baby with such curly hair and pretty eyes.” I tried to smile. My mother would give me the same speech every day. Abdel hated it. I think he would always leave early just to avoid hearing her. What neither he nor my mother realized was that I didn’t want to be special. My curly fro was like a sore thumb on the playground. It stuck out.

“When will I be old enough to get a haircut like Abdel, Mom?” She shook her head and went into the kitchen. “Why would you need a haircut? You do not have nappy hair like your brother.”

“But all the older boys get haircuts?” I pleaded.

“And none of the older boys are like you. You don’t need it, Amon. Now eat your breakfast before you’re late for school.” I could hear the faucet turn on and the chemical smell of cheap dish soap filled our apartment. My mother worked as a maid, but even when she was home she looked like a maid. She never dressed up in any flower dresses, wore make up or put on those colorful hats like the other neighborhood ladies did on Sundays. But I still loved her. She told me I was what made her beautiful.

My palms were sweaty and my stomach was tight as I walked to school. I watched as the city came to life. People opened up their shops, scurried to work and the smell of breakfast was everywhere. I inhaled. Bacon and eggs. The thought made my mouth water and my stomach suddenly felt empty. Fruit loops couldn’t hit the spot the way bacon and eggs did.

“Hey, how ya doin there, poof ball?” Toni, the owner of the neighborhood deli, rubbed my hair as I walked by. I smiled and waved, but inside I grimaced. I hated that name. Poof ball. What was that supposed to mean anyway? No one called Abdel “poofball.”

I felt my hair. It was silky like a white person’s. I guess that would make me white, but my Mom was black so how could I be white? Abdel was my brother and he was black, so I had to be black, too, right? I mean my hair was curly and black people had curly hair. So, I was black...maybe.

 The sun had just peaked, but already the school yard was full of children. I stepped into the concrete jungle, kept my head low and hurried over to the last bench down the court yard, but there was still too much time until the bell would ring.

“Hey, halfie.” Brandon approached me. He was a fat white boy with blonde hair and blue eyes. His clothes were too tight for him and always had food stains on them, but somehow he managed to have a following at school. “What did you pack for lunch today?” he asked me. I ignored him. He shrugged and snatched my book bag off of my back. I grabbed for my bag but he was a grade older than me and much taller.

“Let’s see here,” he dumped my items onto the ground but managed to find the brown paper bag in the mass of sheets. He examined my lunch and scoffed, “I hate peanut butter and jelly. What else you got?” I momentarily diverted my eyes and looked past him to my brother who was hanging on the other side of the yard. Brandon stepped into my line of vision.

“Those niggers aren’t going to help you,” he said. “You’re not black enough for them.”

I tried to look past him and for a moment I made eye contact with Abdel. He looked away. A knot formed in my throat. It hadn’t always been like that.

“You listening, halfie?” Brandon was still towering over me like some giant snowman.

I tried to gather my things, but he pushed me to the ground and stood over me. “You’re a dirty mud boy like my Daddy says. That’s why you wear old clothes.”

The bell rang and children begin to stampede into the building. Brandon gave me one last look before storming off. I watched as my brother and his friends headed into the building as well. They would never play with me.

 Brandon was right about one thing. I wasn’t black enough for my brother and his friends, but I wasn’t white enough for Brandon either. Not that I cared about what Brandon thought. I didn’t want to be friends with a pudge boy like him anyway. Plus, I was white enough for Toni and he was my friend.

I gathered my things into my book bag and ran for the school doors. My day had officially begun.

“In the South, the rule was that if you had one drop of black blood in you, you were considered black.”

The bell rang interrupting Mrs. Lola’s speech. I jumped from my seat with my things before anyone else could even stand. The halls had begun to fill. I ducked under and squeezed between the giants of the school avoiding loose hanging book bags on the way. I burst through the school doors. The sidewalk was only a few yards away.

“Hey, yo!” Someone grabbed me by the back of my shirt and held me in the air. I struggled in their grasp, but they didn’t let go.

“Whatsup, Skunk. You was tryna get out before I could say goodbye,” said Tyrone, his voice too familiar to my ears.

“I gotta go home,” I said trying to think of a better excuse for him to leave me alone.

“Okay,” he dropped me to the ground. “I’ll let you go, but you have to answer a question for me and my friends before you leave?” He turned to the gang of boys behind him and smiled. They all smiled down at me, but I could not smile back.

“What are you?” Tyrone stepped towards me and I scooted back. “You damn sure ain’t black, but you ain’t light enough to be a white boy either.”

My knees were shaking. I didn’t know the answer. I wasn’t sure I would. “I don’t know,” I said.

One of Tyrone’s friends laughed and stepped forward. “How you not know what you are? I’m a nigger and I know that. Ain’t ya Mama ever tell you?”

I shook my head. A shadow appeared over me. I looked up and saw Abdel standing by my side. For a moment I was hopeful.

“He’s a halfie.” His voice was full of contempt and anger. He loomed over me and a shadow crossed his face making him look like a monster. “That’s all he’s ever going to be.”

“Halfie, halfie, halfie,” they all begin to chant. I covered my ears not wanting to hear the word, not wanting to accept that I did not belong.

They circled around me and that circle became tighter. I ran for it, still trying to drown out the sound of their voices calling after me. They followed not too far behind me. My short legs could not make wide enough strides to keep ahead of them long. I felt a rock hit my head and I knew they were too close for comfort.

I turned the corner and ran into the first building I saw. I could hear the other children behind me, but they grew silent at the doors. I hid under a long bench until their voices faded. My heart was still racing. I jumped as I heard a loud booming sound echo throughout the building. I covered my ears and peeked from under the bench. A woman looked down at me, but she did not smile. I crawled from under the bench.

Above me I could see nothing but darkness. Columns on the side of the building stacked up, but disappeared into this darkness as if there was no ceiling. The woman remained motionless and continued to stare at me. I touched her. Her skin was cold and smooth and as I looked into her eyes I realized she was not alive.

Around me there were many more like her. All still and silent in the shadows. I backed away from these figures as they grew closer to me. There was a patch of light at the far end of the building, away from the doors I had come through. I continued backed away from the figures until I stood under the light. They stopped their march towards me. I felt immensely better.

Behind me were two planks of wood placed over one another, one plank hung long ways and the other came across. I wondered who lived in this place or was it home to the motionless figures only.

“What are you doing in here, young man?” I spun around. A tall old man with black skin approached me. He wore a long robe with a white collar and a golden necklace. It looked just like the planks of wood on the wall.

“Are you deaf, son?” he asked. “I said ‘what are you doing here?’”

I looked past him to the door. They had to be gone by now. “I was running.”

“From what?” he asked me, crossing his hands behind his back.

“Kids at my school. They were chasing me. I didn’t know this was your house.”

“I see,” said the old man. “Well, this is everyone’s home so you are welcomed here anytime, my son. Why were these children chasing you?”

I looked down at my shoes. “They were mad at me,” I mumbled.

The man chuckled, “Now, what could a little fellow like you do to make a group so mad?”

“I couldn’t answer a question, so they chased me.”

“What did they ask you?”

“They asked me what I was.”

“What you are?” He raised a brow. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Like if I was black or white, but I don’t know. My brother is black, but he’s only my half-brother so…I don’t know what I am. My Mom’s black, too, but my skin doesn’t look like hers.” I looked up at the old man. Maybe it had taken a while for his eyes to adjust, but now I was sure he could see me well enough. The recognition set in on his face. He knew I was a halfie.

He walked closer to me. I covered my head, but he did not touch me. I removed my arms and looked around to realize he had actually walked past me.

“Come here, son,” he said. “I want to show you something.” I followed him. He pulled on a long cloth that came falling to the floor. Behind it was a picture of a man with bronze eyes and brown skin.

“Do you know who this is?” he asked me.

I squinted my eyes. “My Mom used to have a picture of him hanging on our kitchen wall, but she said it wasn’t brining her any luck so she took it down. She called him Jesus.”

The old man nodded, “Yes and do you know who Jesus is?” I shook my head. “He is our lord and savior. Our God. He died so that we all could live.”

I looked from the priest to the picture. “So, I guess he’s important, then?”

The old man laughed, placed his hands behind his back and shook his head as he walked across the room. He pulled down another cloth and it was the same picture, but this time the man was white with blue eyes. I didn’t understand.

“So, Jesus, is white?” I asked. He shook his head. “He is black?” He shook his head. “Then, what is he? Is he a halfie like me?”

“My son,” the old man said clasping his hands together, “he is both black and white, but he is also not black or white. You see young boy, it does not matter what color he is because he is still Jesus despite. What people see during the day is just an outer layer of color our savior has placed on us, but this color does not change who we are.”

“Don’t you have to be one or the other?” I asked.

“Before you are anything you must be yourself,” he said. “What is your name?”

“Amon.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder and starred into my eyes. “So, you are…” He starred at me.

“Amon?” I said. unsure if this was the right answer.

“Yes,” the old man squeezed my shoulder, “You are not black. You are not white. You are…” He eyed me again.

“I am,” I looked up from the floor into his eyes, “Amon.”

A bell rung and the loud ring echoed through the building, but I was not afraid.

“What does that bell mean?” I asked.

The old man patted my shoulder. “It means it is time for young boys to go home. I am sure your mother is worried about you. Come on, now.”

He placed his hand on my back and guided me to the doors. I waved goodbye and begin to walk home. The sun had begun to set and my shadow appeared in the slithers of light left. I starred at my shadow. It stretched all the way down the sidewalk like a giant and yet I was no more than four feet tall. My shadow was dark, but my skin was still light. So, I was black and I was white. Like the old man said this color I wore was only what people saw during the day. But now that the sun had begun to sink another color of me was showing. Another side of me was stepping out to say hello. My shadow.

Jesus must have had a shadow, too. So, he could be both black and white. Hide one side while showing the other.

This thought stayed planted in my mind. I picked at the mac and cheese with bacon bits my mother had served me. The bacon bits were mixed all up in the mac and cheese. Maybe, I wasn’t like Jesus. Maybe, I didn’t have his power to be both while at the same time being neither. Maybe, I was just like the bacon bits and mac and cheese. All mixed up into a mushy mess.

“Honey,” my mother brushed my hair down with her hands. “You, okay? I made your favorite and you ain’t even touched it yet.”

I shook my head. “I’m just not hungry, Mom.”

She frowned. “Try the fired chicken or collard greens. Maybe, you’ll like those. Handsome boys like you gotta eat.”

I shook my head again. “I can’t. I have things on my mind.”

The lines stretched from my mother’s mouth and disappeared into her cheeks. She threw her head back and laughed. I had never seen her laugh like that. It was pure, made of nothing, but sheer joy. I couldn’t help, but smile a little myself. I liked seeing her happy.

She patted the table and took in a deep breath as her laughter died down. Her eyes were full of happy tears. “You got things on your mind?” She repeated my words. “Not even twelve and you already got things on your mind. A typical man, aren’t you? Tell, Mama what things you got on your mind.”

Abdel was frozen at the end of the table. He had cleared his plate, but had stayed to watch me and Mom. I could see the lines form on his forehead. He didn’t want me to ask her, but she was the only one who could tell me. Daddy was still lost. I needed someone to let me know. If I knew what I was the kids at school would leave me alone, I could make friends and Abdel would want to hang out with me after everyone else accepted me. I didn’t blame him for not wanting to be seen with a halfie. He could be my brother again and things would be like they use to be.

“What am I, Mom?”

She frowned. “You’re a little boy, Amon.”

I scratched my head, hating the silky feeling of my curls. “But, I don’t look like you and Abdel.”

She stopped eating. “What are you saying, Amon?”

“I just…I’m not black like you and Abdel, but I’m not white either. So, I don’t know what I am. I need to know, Mom.”

She looked around the table and took a deep breath before meeting my eyes. “Look, honey. Your Daddy was white and I’m black. So, you’re mixed.”

                                                             To Be Continued

Please, give me any feedback and comments. The story is a little long so, I will post the rest tomorrow. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you!