The 13th Colony

He hadn’t seen this corridor since the last time they let him free, and that had been months. The concrete hall that separated the free world from him and the rest of society had been the levee that never broke around him. A wall to protect the public from him, or considering how hard the world can be on a Black man, to protect him from it. Either way, Kanarie Bates would be seeing it once again, even if only for a few hours. They say time flies when you’re doing time, but whoever said that foolishness had never done a wink of it. For Kanarie and the enslaved serving with him, it drifted by slowly. Like an hourglass with a clog that only releases a grain of sand at a time — time was something he knew all too well.

Back before a Supreme Court ruling eliminated unions and Congress made it illegal to be unemployed, Kanarie led a different life. Not one of luxury but a quiet hope of getting by. Like most folks, especially people of color, there was still a sense that, despite your upbringing and financial standing, one could still achieve a piece of the American pie.

Now, the price has gone up, and the ingredients that once made that pie a delicacy worth saving for have now turned into a shell of what it once was. It’s not homemade anymore, but made in a factory by the same people who can’t afford even a crumb.

Kanarie continues down the assembly line of incarceration with other inmates into a nondescript room, standing naked and bare with his arms extended out like he is reaching for the gray walls that surround him. As his turn down the meat line slowly comes up, a Black female guard orders Kanarie forward, inspecting him with her eyes from a short distance as if he were an art project on display in some fancy uptown gallery. THE BLACK MAN BROKEN would be his exhibit’s name. The creator of the project, AMERICAN SOCIETY.

He’s what the Black male body looked like if he was torn of all decency. All the self-respect and confidence that make a human, human. For what is left now is nothing more than a mere shadow of what his mother gave birth to. All the hopes and dreams, potential ambitions, and job descriptions with a small family in the suburbs to match.

That was long gone, only the struggle remained and that offered no hope for him as he stepped forward for his turn of cavity inspection.

“Hiding anything in that body of yours?” the guard asked with a devilish smirk.

“Just my organs”, Kanarie replies in a flirtatious routine that seems rehearsed.

“We’ll see about that. Cough and spread ‘em”, she says while watching Kanarie obey her command. For her, this is fourplay. For him, this is survival.

Dressed in the street clothes he last entered with, Kanarie struts out into the parking lot like a happy model on a runway of a makeshift fashion show. Though there are no fashion bloggers, celebs, or photographers documenting his every move. No, the beauty waiting for him is the rock that’s been holding him down since his incarceration. The foundation that life is built on. The love of a good woman. A Black woman.

As Kanarie finally gets within a foot of beauty, she welcomes him with literal open arms. Wrapping her ebony limbs around his torso in a manner he doesn’t let anyone else do. He takes in her smell as she takes in his.

Kanarie pulls back after the healthy embrace and meets her lips in a manner as if they were the flavor of his favorite food. Ronda -beauty languishes in his effort.

“I smelled your scent from inside”, Kanarie offers.

“Is that right?” Ronda flirts back.

“Yep. I’ve been smelling you since I woke up”.

“Well, I hope not cause I had a lot of gas this morning”.

Kanarie playfully pulls back from her, smacking his lips at the same time.

“I’m just playing.” Ronda playfully teases. “You know I always gotta ruin the mood”.

“Think you could avoid that for the next few hours?”

“I’ll try. Come on”, Ronda says as she leads the way back to her car. Kanarie, watching her every step until her silhouette escapes into the awaiting vehicle.

In the car, Kanarie stares out the window as they ride down the boulevard of streets he hasn’t seen in weeks.

“I don’t recognize anything anymore.”

“Not like this is our neck of the woods anyway,” Ronda offers. “So, how have you been holding up? You sounded a little down the last time we spoke on the phone.”

“What do you expect?” he says.

“I guess you’re right”.

Noticing his comment didn’t help elevate the mood, Kanarie takes a deep breath before redeeming himself with a proper response.“I’m making it. Guards still ain’t shit.” Kanarie says with a smirk as he continues to gaze through the window like a kid on his first safari. “How’s everybody?”

“Good. They send they’re regards.”

Kanarie snorts in response. “That’s about all they’re sending”.

“Did you need something? I thought I got everything in the last care package?”

“You did it’s…it seems like folks just forget about you once you step away from their eye sight.”

“I’m sure they don’t mean it. It’s just life gets so busy. You know your family means well. But ain’t nothing changed with their problems as well.”

“Guess they’re tired of my BS at this point anyway”.

“Kanarie, you act like you been robbing banks or something. This country doing this shit to everybody. It’s just hitting us Black and Brown folks a lot harder. As usual”.

“ Facts. I just wish I weren’t so far away. Hate you have to make all these long trips.”

“You’re worth it. Besides, you only got four more months to go.”

“This time.” Kanarie says with a heavy amount of pessimism.

“Don’t say that. You’ll find a job once you get back. A good one.” Ronda says with the hopeful authority only a good spouse could deliver. “But even if it’s not the job of your dreams, you still need to stay there. For the both of us.”

“You say it like I wasn’t trying the last time,” Kanarie says with heightened emotion.

“I know you were trying, Kanarie. I’m just saying you can’t just up and quit just cause somebody offends you. That’s exactly what they want you to do. They put all this in place for a reason. You can’t keep falling for it.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“I make it sound necessary.”

There’s a brief pause in their conversation as they both let the heat of emotions dissipate.

“So, where we going this time?” Kanarie says.

“Hotel Emma. It’s a couple miles away. “

“Is it nice?”

“Yeah they got room service. Figured you could use something different.”

“Well I guess this just isn’t some conjugal visit then.” Kanaire says with a manish smirk.

Ronda glares at Kanarie with a mischievous smile. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m still on the menu”. Her words, satisfying Kanarie as he grins out the window, delightfully imagining the events that are shortly to come.

Undressed but under the covers, Kanrie and Ronda stare silently at the ceiling. Seemingly lost in the space of their cookie-cutter decorated surroundings.

On the nightstands to their sides lay plates with remnants from their recent meal.

“This is the nicest thing I’ve seen in two months. I wish I could come home more often, but…”

“It’s okay. Like I said, you’ll be home soon. I know I already asked but, are you making it alright in there?”

“It’s not exactly Mai Tais and Yahtzee but…” Kanarie chuckles. “But I’m getting through it”.

Ronda turns over to face Kanarie, caressing his face as she does. “Remember those walls can only hold your body.”

“Yeah, I hear you Malcolm.”

Ronda playfully slaps his chest.

Kanarie holds her closer in response. “I just feel like a drone in there sometimes. And I can’t shake the thought I let everybody down. Especially you.” Kanarie says.

“You did the best you could with what you were given. That’s all anyone can ask of you.”

“I guess so…”

Ronda grabs his chin, pointing his face towards hers. “Hey, you’re a king. Always remember that. You hear me, Kanarie Bates?

“Yes ma’am. Loud and clear”. They both embrace each other, sparking round two of the rendezvous.

Back at the work camp, Kanarie is draped in an orange jumpsuit along with other men of different ages and creeds in a large warehouse. Stocking boxes next to him is an older Black gentleman aptly named Mister Johnson.

“So how’d everything go with the old lady, youngblood?”

“Bout as smooth as butter. I’ll be seeing her again in a few”.

“You’re a lucky man, most of these fellas haven’t seen a woman since they came in here.”

“Sometimes I get paranoid thinking she got somebody else but…nothing I can do about it otherwise”.

“You can’t and don’t do no good worrying about it either. If she loves you, she’ll be there for you regardless when you get out again”.

Kanarie looks at Mister Johnson with a cynical smile. “That ‘again’ part”.

“Sorry, didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Nah, you didn’t do nothing wrong. I’m the one who got myself in here”.

“How’d it happen with you?”

“Got caught in between jobs while on probation. Left the one I was at over some racist shit. Shoulda let it slide but…I didn’t, so I’m back here. Is what it is. I can’t undo it. At least not right now.”

“Don’t mean you gotta come back though”.

“I hear you old school. So how’d you get up in here? Heard you used to be some kind of radical and shit. I know you’ve been in here since the Shawshank.”

Mister Johnson lets out a reserved chuckle in good sport. “That’s a good one. I used to belong to the Local 66. We were one of the last unions left on the East Coast. Always had to fight for what was ours. Of course, that usually just meant picket signs and strikes. Wasn’t until they outlawed us that some of us took to the streets. Literally…

“Heard y’all lost a few.”

“We lost it all, young blood. In the end…” Mister Johnson

“See that’s exactly why I don’t vote anymore. Well, I ain’t like I can right now anyway”.

“See but that’s what they want. For you to get discouraged. And then when you rebel, they take away your rights. It’s all part of their design. But you can’t let ‘em win”.

“You sound like my girl right now.”

“Sounds like she got a good head on her shoulders. She educated?”

“Yes sir, just finished her MBA. Just don’t know what she wants to do with it yet”.

“That’s alright youngblood, that’s alright. You hold onto that woman. Might be the only thing to keep you afloat. You see, they know if they can keep the man down the woman have no way to create. Effectively ending a people altogether.”

“Thought the whole point of all this was to keep as many people enlaved as possible?”

“That’s what they want you to think. But they’re just keeping us for the meantime. Pretty soon, an algorithm hooked up to a piece of metal will do the whole thing. Rending the entire populace obsolete. Or at least the ones they don’t want to keep around. Just wait and see.”

Mister Johnson takes a box and makes his way to another part of the warehouse, leaving Kanarie to reflect on his prophetic vision for America. Seemingly lost in his grim reality, Kanarie takes a long look at his surroundings. Fixated on the collage of orange suits moving like worker bees in the penal-created hive, Kanarie looks as if he’s drowning in a wave of emotions until — a loud buzzer goes off. Followed by a guard clicking on a bullhorn, “Chow time!”.