The New Union

I laid in bed for what seemed like forever. Smoking the rest of the cigarettes I had left, and thinking. Thinking about everything. Thinking about the video. Thinking about how bad it smells when you burn a man at the scrotum to seal a wound. Thinking about what happened to the redneck sons of bitches we dumped out in the middle of nowhere, but most of all, I'm thinking about the words Marta just spoke before leaving me to drown in this ocean of doubt.

There was no going back at this point. Once you sever a man's testicles and put it on the internet for all to see, you've made a commitment. In nine months or so, I'd be a father, and now I was just thinking of what kind of father I was going to be. I was never worried about going to prison or anything like that before all of this. You can't raise a child from prison, especially when every white supremacist asshole in existence will be in there waiting for the day when they can string you up by your cock and pull your teeth out one by one until you're begging for them to kill you.

You can't raise a child when you're dead. You can't raise a child when you're trying to start a social revolution. You can't raise a child if you're me. You just can't.

After hours of staring at the ceiling and memorizing the wrinkles, I finally came to the conclusion I needed help. I needed a second opinion, and I knew exactly who to ask for it. So I made my way downstairs, where I knew he'd be. Still up and putting the final touches on our night's work. Making sure every detail was perfect. This was his life's purpose just like it was mine. I took a seat next to him as he worked and took a deep breath.

Tyrone Swift. I've known him since elementary school. If there was one person I could trust for advice, it was him. We started this thing together. We would end it together. That's just how it was. Sometimes its crazy to think about how he and I got mixed up in this mess in the first place. How we went from kids playing Nintendo to revolution seeking, redneck torturing, men. It all started when we were in high school, and Tyrone fell in love.

Tyrone Swift was at one point in his life, the greatest basketball player on the face of the planet. Now, I can say that and some people will say “Yea right,” but I assure you it was true. It was like him and the basketball were made for one another. When Tyrone Swift touched a ball, it was like Van Gogh with a brush. A true artist at work. He did the unthinkable. The unimaginable. He was a god among men. When Tyrone Swift was on the court, it was a religious experience.

Tyrone was what you would call a big fish in a small pond. He wasn't just the best basketball player in school, he was the only black kid in school. Believe me, he received plenty of attention for it. There were plenty of kids who didn't want him around. It seemed like once a week he'd get some sort of note in his locker. Most of them just said “Nigger!” with a big burning cross, or a crudely drawn black guy hanging from a tree. Racists aren't usually your smartest or most creative members of society.

It never bothered Tyrone. He usually just thought it was funny. None of his harassers were brave enough to say these things to his face. He would walk the school, talking shit as loud as he could. It was cracker this and cracker that. You would think it was the white people in the school who were out numbered. You would think by the way he talked, that they were the minority.

Tyrone and I became friends the day I met him. Even in elementary school, he towered over everyone. He was as tall as most of the teachers by fifth grade. By the seventh grade, they were all looking up at him. The first day we met, I was seconds away from getting my ass kicked.

There was this fat kid, his name was Ruben. Ruben Dearborn. He was your stereotypical schoolyard bully. Pushing girls down. Stealing lunch money. Anything juvenile delinquents do to get themselves noticed in the second grade Ruben did. Ruben was jealous of me. He was jealous of the fact that I had a girlfriend and he didn't. I was quite the ladies man in the second grade.

Ruben found me, and my female companion at the time on the playground, and made it instantly clear he disapproved. He punched her in the ribs, so hard a trickle of blood came out of her mouth. She screamed at the sight of it as Ruben started to back me down. I knew there was nothing I could do. I had to fight him, despite the odds. This is right around the time when Tyrone stepped in.

“Why would you hit a girl!?” he shouted, drawing Ruben's attention. Tyrone didn't waste any time. He instantly started in on an ass whipping that I guarantee Ruben never forgot. The teachers ended up having to pull Tyrone off of Ruben. We all got in trouble for it. Me, Tyrone, and Ruben all got suspended for the fight. Tyrone and I got to know each other in the principle's office, while Ruben's parents were called. We were virtually inseparable afterwards.

I remember walking the halls of the school, Tyrone talking as loud as one could possible talk without shouting. I was his one and only ally, which sometimes made me quite the target as well. When Tyrone got a “Nigger” note in his locker, you could bank on it that I had one that said, “Nigger lover.” This was basically a weekly occurrence. It didn't matter. Tyrone practically ran the school. He was the reason they had been state basketball champs three years straight.

You know you're good at something when the athletic board starts to make rules around you. They tried their best to slow him down, but it never worked. Tyrone would just adapt and make them look even worse every time. It was truly a thing of beauty. My favorite rule they incorporated was the “No bouncing the ball of the limbs of opposing players,” rule. This was after sealing a victory by twenty or more points, Tyrone would make every member on the opposing team his personal bitch. He would bounce the ball off their heads, their feet, their back, anywhere he could think up. You almost felt bad for the poor sap sent to guard him.

They tried double teaming him. Triple teaming him. Fouling him hard. None of it ever worked. He was either too fast, or too clever for any strategy a coach could think up to take effect. The games when he'd have three people on him, Tyrone would leave the game with at least ten assists. He averaged thirty-five points a game, in high school. The time limit in high school is maybe half of what it was in the pros. There was simply no stopping the kid when he was on the court.

However, every great hero, has a weakness. Tyrone's Achilles heel, was undoubtedly his love for white women, and it was this very weakness, that brought him down to mortal status. Tyrone fell in love with a girl named Laura. Laura Waterston.

Laura Waterston was a cheerleader. Petite, blond, blue eyes, the valley girl voice. She had everything most guys fell to their knees for. The smile, the legs, the tits, the hair, the skin, it was almost too perfect. Laura Waterston was practically a goddess among women. That being said, I never found her my type. Tyrone on the other hand, had to have her.

Laura was dating Garrett Miles at the time. The quarterback of the football team. If he weren't being upstaged by a godlike black man, I would say he was the most popular kid in school. The day Tyrone came to me with her number, I knew it was going to end badly. The day he said they were going on a date, I knew it was going to get ugly. The day he said he fucked her in the back of her dad's Chrysler, I knew it was over. When Tyrone told me he was in love, I was sure of it.

It wasn't long before Garrett found out about Laura and Tyrone's little love affair. It was one thing to steal their attention, but it was something else entirely to steal their women. The population of racist raised kids in that town would be out for blood. That night, Garrett gathered a posse, like they do in cheesy westerns, and headed to catch Tyrone and Laura in the act. This posse included a full grown Ruben Dearborn, and the rest of the defensive line on the football team. He even got Laura's dad in on the hunt, who was furious when he heard his daughter was dating a black man. Nigger would have been the word he used.

They found Tyrone and Laura in the middle of the act, outside of a theater about a half hour outside of town. They dragged Tyrone out of the car as he desperately tried to pull his pants back up. They dished out a beating in the parking lot as Laura's dad scolded her about her vial acts against God. Tyrone was almost dead from the pounding he took, but they weren't done yet. After knocking him unconscious, they threw him in Garrett's trunk, while Laura gets a firm slap across the face, and a ride home.

When Tyrone comes too, he's tied to a chair. His right foot is strapped to another chair. Garrett and his posse are all gathered around, laughing and joking. Ruben is armed with a sledgehammer. Despite all of this, Tyrone is still cussing them out. Still making jokes. Still talking shit. Laughing at them. He knows what's coming, and figures he might as well get a few good words in beforehand.

The sledgehammer goes through Tyrone's leg like butter. The bone goes through the bottom of his leg. Tyrone doesn't even scream, he laughs. He laughs like somebody just told him the greatest joke ever. The posse runs away before someone finds them there. They know they won't get in any trouble for it, Garrett's dad is the head of the police force. Tyrone keeps laughing until someone finds him, it was the school librarian, Mrs. Winters. They broke his leg in the weight room. Shattered his knee cap in too many pieces to count. The fact that he can even walk today is a miracle.

Tyrone Swift, a god among men at one point in his life. Now he's nothing. He's nobody. He never tells this story. Not to anyone. Ask him how he broke his leg, and he just laughs. You'll never get the story. You'll only hear him laugh. This is what bonds us. This is why Tyrone is here. This is why this is his life.

“What's up pimpin'? Sleep good?” he asked.

“No... I slept like total shit,” I replied.

“Shit, can't get all that crazy bull shit you seen out of your head?”

“Ha! Something like that... I need your help.”

“Aight, what chu need man?”

“Okay... Marta... Marta is pregnant.”

“Oh shit! Well congratulations pimp! You came at me like that was bad news! Had me all worried and shit!”

“It is bad news! We just cut the balls off of four men Tyrone! What if we get caught!? I didn't give a shit before!...”

“Chill homey! Chill! Its all good man! Ain't shit gonna happen. I got this. You just don't want yo kid to grow up like you did. Its all good man. I got this shit... Shit man, I'm bout to roll and get something to drink right quick, you tryin' to roll with me?”

“Sure. Why not? I need cigarettes anyways. I smoked all of mine.”

“That's what's up. I'll tell you why its all good on the way man. You ain't got shit to worry about man... Oh and you can run in and get my drink, cause I ain't really tryin to get up out that shit.”

Tyrone and I leave the house, and into the van. I let him drive, seeing as the store is just down the street. During the ride, Tyrone explains how its all set up. I start to tune it out, but Tyrone assures me I have nothing to worry about. I choose to believe him, seeing as he can out talk me and win any argument.

More doubts start circling in my head. Marta is the only person in the house with a real job. We don't have the money to support a child. I haven't had a job in years. Tyrone is on disability, but that gives him just enough to support himself. Lita and Craig work, but they barely make anything. Minimum wage barely pays the bills for either of them. Besides, I would hate asking for help. I got myself into this, I'll get myself out.

An idea pops into my head as we pull onto the street the convenient store is on. What if I combined my motives? What if I got paid to start this revolution? Be like a Robin Hood of sorts? Rob from the dicks, and give to myself. There's plenty of rich white people out there. I'm sure there's more than a few of them with extra cash they don't need. We could support ourselves, and take our operation up a notch. We'd have funding from all the right places.

I bring this up to Tyrone, who agrees its a good plan. I don't mention its also to help myself support a child. I just make him think its to help us take things to the next level. The more I talk, the more he likes it. Tyrone pulled into the store and parked the van. I got out and looked around, taking a deep breath. Maybe this could work. Maybe you could raise a child if you were me.