Fighting for a Warm Brush of Air

A cold brush of wind blew against the shell of my dark ear. I fell to my knees and did not care as they hit the light wood with a slam. All I could care about was that my father had been shot by a man. I just wanted to run. To run away from that man who didn’t have any guilt on his face and to run away from my father’s gentle face that was now constricted into fear and humiliation.

And that I did. I ran away from that moment that would forever be engraved in my mind for months to come. I remembered it during his funeral in which no one but my mother and I knew the truth. I remembered that moment when the police department informed us that they didn’t know what truly happened and that they couldn’t arrest anyone since they didn’t have proof. I remembered it all through those seven months of misery and guilt. Guilt that I didn’t tell anyone but my mother who used to be kind.

I always had a photographic memory; that was why my name, Darnell Abioye, was always on rosters of the gifted classes and upon a multitude of certificates. I wanted to please my father and my mother, but with all the desperation for peace, to truly know that my father is at justice, I was kept awake and distant from the real world. The real world where my black father died.

“Darnell, what are you doing?” he asked me. He studied me carefully swaying his skinny legs backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards… again and again like my thoughts.

“Nothing,” I lied. I clicked another link to where other black kids like me had lost their parents because of racism. I had my screen angled away from him.

“You know, Darnell, you can’t keep whatever you are thinking to yourself forever. Ever since I met you just six months ago, you have always seemed scared and worried. You need to let your emotions out and tell someone.”

“I did, okay. I told my mother, but-” I stopped. He looked at me with eyes that daunted me. His eyes always looked like my fathers. “I’ll tell you.”

“It was a Saturday. Really nice and happy. It was sunny and hot. My father liked the feel of a warm brush of wind against his ear. That day I decided to go visit him. After all you do know that his workplace is only a couple of blocks from here.”

He looked down, shyly. I continued, “I walked into his office. No, I didn’t do that. I only just barely opened the door when I heard shouting. Shouting about how my father had gotten a promotion that the other man wanted. The man took a gun out, and the rest is history. Not being able to bare that moment, I ran away scared. I told my mom that I could serve as proof. Proof that my father didn’t do sucide, and that the man, who ran away, was the murderer. She didn’t like that idea, though. She didn’t think that anyone would listen to us, and they would all think that I was crazy or she was.”

I sat there sullenly. He was just about to say something when I heard rattling. My mom opened the door forcefully and she looked as if she was about to cry. I quickly turned off my computer when she stated, “Darnell William Abioye. I don’t understand why you can’t tell that they won’t believe a word you are saying. Who are you talking to? Darnell, you can’t do anything about his death. You can’t and you won’t. They won’t listen. They won’t listen, and that pain of going through those failed attempts of trying to get justice for your father won’t be pretty.”

“Mama, I-”

“No, Darnell. Stop talking to yourself about your dreams and accept the fact that you are just a kid.”

And with that, I grabbed my book bag and stormed out of my house. Ignoring the pleading voices of my mom to come back, I set off into the busy streets. I decided to go to the cafe just past my house.The cafe was run by a sweet, old, white lady. She won’t be able to understand, but her words comfort me.

He came out of nowhere as I set off towards my decided destination. “You wanna talk?”

“More than I already did?”

“I know you want to.”

I sighed. “I don’t understand why we can’t have justice. Why they can’t accept words from a young black kid. It’s not that I hate white people or the police force, but some of them don’t understand how tough it is for us. For us to be treated wrong and unfairly because of our skin.”

“I know, I know. But who’s ‘we’ and ‘us’?”

“I was searching up people who also lost their loved ones and their lives because of their skin.”

He nodded looking down at his shoes. He did that quite a bit. I bet it was his way of thinking or he just liked looking at his shoes.

I was about to walk past the cafe, holding on tight to my book bag’s handles, when he disappeared out of nowhere. Why did he just walk into a random building? That’s when I realized that the building was the cafe. I thought he didn’t ever come here before? I excused my thoughts and followed him inside.

Immediately, the pure and nostalgic air and ambience of the cafe filled my lungs and my soul. I smiled looking at the other people. Some Asians and some Russians filled the right side of the cafe and smiled sweetly. I waved back now looking at some other distinct people on the left side. I then noticed he was already up at the counter, so I hurried to situate onto the seat next to him.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep a look out for him,” the owner of the cafe, Ms. Miller, whispered sweetly. She put the old-styled telephone back and as she turned around to look at us, she gasped and jumped backwards. “Oh, Darnell! I was just calling your mom! She said that you ran out again, and, oh… have a muffin!” She gave me a huge warm muffin with extra chocolate chips while she dialed my mother again to report my location.

“Do you want some of this muffin?”

“Nah, I’m fine. I know you want all of that,” he stated, easily. I smiled while breaking a piece off and passing it to him. He shook his head, passed it back to me, and murmured, “Besides, there’s a reason why I don’t get one.”

We sat there in silence while the clock went “tik tok, tik tok, tik tok,” slowly and very carefully. Ms. Miller, when done, leaned against the counter and followed my eyes to the clock. “Oh, it’s a very pretty clock, isn’t it?”

I nodded, and she continued with, “Darnell, honey, it’s going to be alright. Whatever is going on with your mama and you is going to turn out alright.”

I nodded once again unable to find words. “I’m going to turn on the television, and you can choose what gets to be played!”

“Sure, Ms. Miller. Go ahead.” And so she turned on the beautiful vintage television, and as I stated to turn to another one, I came across the news. It was something about protests going on in America due to racism. Ms. Miller innocently passed through it, and I quickly blurted, “Ms. Miller! Is it alright if you go back?”

“Sure, Darnell,” she said softly clicking one button on the remote. On that screen read words I thought only I kept to myself. Only I found relatable and important.

He and I looked at each other quickly and then to Ms. Miller. Could this be? Ms. Miller saw the hope and excitement in our faces, so she said, “A lot of precious people like you are dying, and of course people aren’t happy about that because it’s all because of racism. I stand with them, and there is actually a protest like the one onscreen going on here in 5 days.”

She looked very sad saying that, so I waited a couple of seconds before replying with, “Ms. Miller, are you going to that protest?” …”And what do you do there?”

“Yes, dear. I want to be there with my community. To fight for my community which holds so many beautiful souls. You go there and demand equality. Fighting for justice. Not literally, however. ...Hopefully. I believe you can share your stories and fight for justice of innocent black people that have died due to murder.”

I looked at him quickly before turning back replying with, “Ms. Miller? Can I go with you?”

She looked astounded. “Oh, dear, of course you can come if you want! You have to make sure it’s alright with your mother, first.”

“Oh, thank you very much! I think I’ll leave now!” I stammered, quickly reaching for three dollars and leaving it on the counter. The last thing I saw before leaving the beautiful pinkish and warm ambience was the smiling face of Ms. Miller.

I was smiling all the way back to my house. “Darnell, you can finally find justice for your father! He shouldn’t have died!” But then my smile fell. He seemed to notice and then asked, “But will your mom allow it?”

“She’ll have to.”

-The Next Day -

“Mama, I wanted to ask you something?”

She sat at the kitchen table reading the daily newspaper with her reading glasses. “Mhm?”

“Um, mama, I know you want justice for my dad just as much as I do.” And I stopped there. I didn’t plan out what I was going to say, and I really did think that she would interrupt me and declare to go to the protests to demand equality.

He looked between me and my mom quickly before proclaiming, “Mrs. Abioye, you really need to go to the protests. Without you being there, we can’t fight together as a community because you, someone that actually felt pain and suffering due to your personal experience, will not be there. Please do it for your husband.”

And that did it, for my mom looked straight at me without blinking, “I do. Let’s go to the protests tomorrow. I’m sure you already know about it.” And me and him smiled like never before.

-The Day of the Protest-

These four days have been composed of us trying to reach people and inform them of the protest and how they can play a role in revolutionizing our history and our lives. We were all a community; we all shared one belief and one goal. One goal that impacted all of our lives, and one goal that we all believed in. We all had a connection interpersonally and that was that we were all together. Together as a community. We stood together to help and eliminate inequality, injustice, and racism.

We got quite a few people together, my mama and I. Ms. Miller and he also helped quite a bit. When we stepped out together into the vast road in which we didn’t know what was going to happen, we realized that there was noise. There were hundreds or maybe thousands of people that I knew chanting, “Black lives matter,” and, “No peace, no justice.” It was excruciatingly beautiful, for everyone I knew, despite all of our differences, were all here. Fighting for the equal rights together. As a community.

Many people waved and smiled as we stepped into the huge crowd all cheering for humanity. Black history. After a bit, people started saying speeches. Trying to explain to those people how hard it was for us. How painful it was for innocent people that had dreams, lives, and beautiful souls to die. So easily. So recklessly. You should be kind recklessly. Not kill recklessly just because your eyes aren’t pleased with your thoughts.

I got a chance to say something. Something that expressed everything that I concealed these past seven months. “I am Darnell William Abioye. But, this isn't about me. This is about us as a community and as humans. We belong here. We have a sense of belonging, and why wipe out our figure because of the amount of melanin in our skin?”

“My father was killed by a man. That man was, nonetheless, racist. He didn’t think that blacks, like my father and I, were necessary. He didn’t believe that they deserved anything they had regardless if they worked for it. He thought that he was more superior than my father.”

A plethora of eyes stared at me. Not vacant, but full of concern. Like they sympathized with me. That they wanted to feel and share my pain. So I continued. “I saw it happen. I was going to visit my father in his office. He had earned a promotion the day before, and I wanted to surprise him. That man killed my dad. I saw it happen, but I ran. I was scared for my life. I didn’t want to die. I ran away, and that man did as well. I wanted to tell people. I’m sure all of you know that my dad died. After all we are a community. Not really acting like one back then during that time, for everyone was broken and apprehensive towards us thinking that my father really did suicide. But he didn’t. I was scared no one was going to believe me. I want justice for my dad who died because of a racist. I want to share the details of the murder scene, and I want to encourage others to demand justice for their loved ones. No one deserves this. No innocent person deserves this.”

And with that, I stopped. There was a pause, but after that, people applauded. A nice healthy applaud nothing like the empty and sullen ones after people at school would do hearing peoples’ projects. I smiled and left the podium. I felt a wisp of warm air against the shell of my ear. The kind of breeze that my father would love.

My friend, he, pulled me to the side away from the crowd. “I’m proud of you. You have finally beaten me.”

“Beaten you?”

“Yes, you will get peace. You will get justice. Your father and mother are very proud of you. And so am I. I will have to go. You have been very brave, and I’m pleased to say that you are …sane!” He said saluting me and then hitting his chest two times. 

I smiled and nodded. “Thank you. Thank you very much for being with me.”

He nodded that sweet smile. That angelic smile that kept me partially warm for six months and then faded away. That hallucination that I used for comfort and advice, my true friend, faded away. I smiled attempting to recreate that comforting smile when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I jumped around, when my mom hugged me.

“Darnell William Abioye, you don’t know how proud of you I am. I really don’t want you growing up in a place where you can die any minute because of your skin, so I am very happy that you knocked me out of my apprehensive state and fought for the greater cause.”

“No problem, mama. Everyone deserves happiness and full complete lives.”

“Yes, baby, indeed. Black lives matter, and I will fight for those who have suffered because of their skin.”

“We,” I whispered, trying to hold back tears. “We will fight for those who have suffered because of their skin.”

Be held each other looking up at the sky in which all of us humans live under, and after a bit, we returned back to the rally awaiting the signal in which humanity all learns to live as a community again. A community where no blacks are killed and tortured and a community where every human being on this Earth is treated fairly and lovingly. A community where there is peace and where we all fight for the same cause. For the greater cause.

Where we all fight for everyone in our community, a huge global community, to enjoy a warm brush of air against the shell of our dark to light ears, peacefully. A warm brush of air which reminds us of equality, liberty, and justice for all.