familiar Echo’s
fragmented
By
Evan Hawkins
©2009 Evan Hawkins. All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-1912-6 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4389-7488-0 (hc)
For My Family
“There are NO FACTS only INTERPRETATIONS.”
--friedrich Nietzsche
Lovingly Dedicated To
John Vernon Staton PhD
“Because You Loved Me”
Celine Dion, Falling into you, Sony Records 1996
You compassionately and faithfully reminded Echo of her natural ability; that she had the determination, “to be” --encouraging her to remember and to embrace her life’s story. You held her hand as you both walked through “The Indigo” of repressed terror and pain. You convinced her to keep journals while you both trekked along the shadowed path of the journey of recollection. A lifetime of “Thanks” you are the one that convinced her that “I AM!” You are also the man that helped Echo to gather the scattered crumbs and convinced her that she is a survivor; that she had a poignant story to share.
“I Believe I Can Fly!” R Kelly, 1996, Space Jam Sound Track;
Special Thanks,
JJC Professors, (Eng) Jenkins, (Psych, Socio, & Anthrop-logy) professor Charles Reid, Dombroski, D. Rose, Susan Keiser & Gerri Casey
Who enjoyed analysis, interpretation and composition as much as I—For teaching me how to properly WRITE a concise and poignant story; teaching me how to process the imagery and stirring feelings in my soul. And finally how to transfer the imagery of a sequence of events from memories into literary composition —creating a timeless piece of work that could touch other souls.
Always the BEST 4 last—Everlasting Love and THANKS straight from my heart!
Heartfelt regards and eternal love for my mother, father and brother RIP. I feel blessed for the ever present thin line between love and hate: PASSION! With that written--I am blessed to have a husband that has wanted to stick by me during my impulsive times (escapes) from our marriage. Thank you for the expensive trinkets. I’ve been the imperfect partner of an imperfect man that has shared their life experience; he was there during the birth of our children (Justin & Jordan); Standing tall and silently accepting my children by acquisition Poppy, Keem, Najee, PVT Dash, Junior, Troy, Tasha, Xavier, Nate & Dre. Blessed with the love of my birth sisters—Janet & Melissa. Sisters by acquisition Gerri, Effie, Georgiana, Sylvine & Sumiko; special love for my nieces--Coco, Shake, Kheles, Kia, Enayshia, Kira, Dwa, Q, Breezy, Ramona, Naaleigha, April —all yawl and nephews--Reesy, Charlie, Buzzborn, Major & more. I will always remember that Julia and my Auntie were my surrogate mom; acknowledging my last living uncle who is eighty six years old. In remembrance of Mr. & Mrs. G, RIP my husband’s parents and my children’s grandparents; graciously bowing to my most ardent fans Clordia, Keke & lil Ke. In
remembrance of BFF Gale [RIP], Gloria [RIP] and Mom Mag [RIP]; thanks to Warren & Robin for blessing me with their friendship. Acknowledging Keem for being my nemesis; my other family Denise, Nelly & Vicky; Greg T. Williams magician!--Thank you for your personal and tech support! My brother-in-law and tech support Dwayne. M. Blocker my inspiration B. Burns, You Saved My Life, (Patty LaBelle); you reminded me how to live; you were my personal cheerleader, coach and a special friend that showed me how I should be given love exponentially; Jody Sachs for always being the WONDERFUL YOU; for the well-timed smiles during my darkest days--(YOU KNOW THAT I’ll always LOVE YOU, Curls!); Dr. Kai Neve, Ferris Forsythe & Vice President of JJC Student Affairs Saulnier thank you for everything—for frequently giving positive feedback; Maria Volpe Director of Dispute Resolution; JJC Dept. of Anthropology~ G. Casey–You Are Magnificent! You reintroduced me to Freud’s “Civilizations”—and I have a dynamic anthropological understanding of Durkheim, Marx & Freud. And to all of the special souls that touched my soul—The teachings from the Holy Bible, every ounce of strength that I received from the Buddhist faith; The Joy of Sects a collection of spiritual writers, Maya Angelou—I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings (I also know)—Phenomenal Woman! And Still I Rise! Wouldn’t Take Nothing for My Journey Now, Iyanla Vanzant-One Day My Soul Just Opened Up! Yesterday I Cried; Acts of Faith, Just For Today, In the Meantime and more. Susan Taylor-In the Spirit; Pamela Reeves, Faith Is, Kathleen A. Brehony, Ordinary Grace, Langston Hughes [RIP]— Deferred Dream, Not Without Laughter, The Weary Blues & more; Angel Kyodo Williams being black & Zen; Robert Mark Alter, It’s (MOSTLY) HIS FAULT: For Women Who Are Fed Up and the Men Who Love Them, 2006—Your father raised a witty, wonderful and loving man! E.B White’s Charlotte’s Web the first book to capture my imagination (I was eight years old!). [RIP] Donald Goines (t’ween years), Pat Conroy’s Prince of Tides; J. Grisholm’s-The Last Juror and so many more expressive writers who I’ve Networked with and been inspired by over these past years—
Last but not least all of my intimate family and friends that I may have not remembered to mention but they are always in my heart; without these souls who am I?
Remain Blessed!
vi
vii
“Acceptance is a form of initiation.
It is a rite of passage. You are passing from the fantasy you have created in your own mind, for your own protection, into the real world of truth and facts.”
-Iyanla Vanzant
One Day My Soul Just Opened Up, Pg. 90
"Consider it pure Joy; count it all joy when you fall into various trials knowing that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing. "
JAMES 1:2, 3, 4
Buddhist Meditation
“A wonderful painting is the result of the feeling in your fingers. If you have the feeling of the thickness of the ink in your brush, the painting is already there before you paint. When you dip your brush into the ink you already know the result of your drawing, or else you cannot paint. So before you do something, "being" is there, the result is there. Even though you look as if you were sitting quietly, all your activity, past and present, is included, and the result of your sitting is also already there.” –
D.T. Suzuki ~
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“Go to the Awakened Masters - and leave all your baggage behind.”
- Ask the Awakened by Wei Wu Wei
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“We as Black folk have lived so long with so much fear deep within us that we may not be able to tell if we do not move forward because we cannot or because we will not.”
Angel Kyodo Williams, 2000 –being black, ZEN AND THE ART OF living with FEARLESSNESS AND GRACE; pg. 167
Living From Within
“Our inner world is the architect of our external world. We don’t lose faith in the goodness of life because we are angry and depressed. Rather, we become angry and depressed because we lose faith in the goodness of life. We aren’t happy because we aren’t healthy; we’re healthy because we are happy.”
Susan L. Taylor
In the Spirit: Inspirational writings of Susan L. Taylor
"The winds of grace are always blowing, but you have to raise your sails."
~Ramakrishna~~
**ONE PAGE**
Introduction
In Greek Mythology “Echo” was a Goddess that fell deeply in love with Narcissus; unfortunately Narcissus could only love himself--Echo ached and pined for Narcissus for so long that an echo was all that was left of her being. When the third child of Ellen and Everett was born—her father looked at his baby girl, she still had not been named but as she laid in her bassinet wailing—her dad didn’t know why she cried so loud and strong; her dad filled with a swelling of pride as he told his wife about the small baby’s echoing cries. He said, “Maybe we should name her Echo?” They both were tired from the long wait for this stubborn child—her dad hadn’t named the first born twin children but this child would be named Echo. When he held her and looked into her tiny bright eyes, he peeked into his little girl’s soul and whispered Echo Ellen (her mother’s middle name) Hixson. Echo’s mom knew that this little girl had managed to seize Everett’ s heart; she was happy; no one recognized that the little girl shared the soul of her mom and daddy—folks would meet the small child and comment how much she was like her dad—“She looks just like him or she has his personality.” Ellen thought that her child was capable of loving unconditionally; intelligent, creative, autonomous, rebellious and stubborn. Subtly filled with pride Ellen and creative Echo would vaguely damage each other’s ego as they’d clash during power struggles in the days of Echo’s youth. An old friend of the family, Julia would tell tales of how Ellen and eight years old Echo challenged each other; she said that if Ellen tapped Echo on the shoulder; Echo would pass by Ellen and just touch the hem of Ellen’s skirt; with an expression of engagement, pleasure and finality on her tiny face. However, no one ever saw or mentioned how welcoming Echo, was—she was trusting, charming and inquisitive; she was proud of her southern heritage—even if she’d only spent three months in the south; these qualities resembled her mother—maybe Ellen saw and rejected her own image;
As Echo grew into the strong spirited child that her dad imagined she’d become; he didn’t know about Greek Mythology--he simply felt confident that his child could carry an unusual name and find regularity in the definition of the name that he’d chosen for her when she was born. He’d heard beautiful echoes as she wailed for her mom. He wasn’t well-read or sophisticated; he was a simple man that knew about challenges and adjustments in his life. He believed that the eye’s held secrets of each individual soul--How many eyes have we truly looked into? Look deep enough into someone’s eyes and there is a soul behind those brown, gray, blue and green dansing eyes. Sometimes we may encounter a damaged soul or maybe a healthy, happy thriving soul. Echo believes that each of our soul’s danse to different tunes; based upon our experiences, people, places and actions which have a great deal to do with the way that we danse (participate in life). There is a story—a journey behind each soul we encounter; although we all share this common space and time with each other she believes that each soul has its own path. Some souls can have a unique flavor or a common taste—the more common the story the less interested we may become. How many moments in a lifetime are significant moments of an individual’s life? How do these moments interlace with other lives? Impacting the rhythm of life so much so, that it actually creates another tune?
Another tune so unfamiliar that the danse must be rehearsed—leaving the danser off step. To learn the danse, we must have passion and stamina. Soul Life has
an elaborate echoing which mingles with other living forces; exchanges of desire pleasure or pain; we can affect each other’s life with a single exchange, such as sharing a smile, sharing a comforting thought or spending a moment in time with each other. As the Eighteenth Century Romantic Savage wrote, “Man is born free and everywhere there are chains (slavery).” “Chains,” as we have witnessed; or as we have lived and learned that: everyday interaction with each other is another chain. Imagine the familiar sound of the rattling, swooshing airborne song of linked chains, as we step to the danse of experiencing a sudden attack of breath-taking love or an undeniable burning of rage--the interaction involved in the phenomenal transition of birth, life and death; are intriguingly described by Echo as tattoos. The birth of a child, witnessing the life of loved one’s—experiencing each of our own lives; the death of a child or the death of a truly beloved parent these are tattoos that can be found on so many of our hearts; they are painfully indelible engraved tattoos, that dictate one’s (danse) lifestyle throughout their lifetime. These indelibly engraved tattoos of the sudden or expected death of loved ones--These chains always leave the link marks tattooed someplace in or on one’s heart. That sudden impact of joy or pain---causes ecstasy or anguish with a vastness of emotion leaving yet another link marked tattoo.
We all have the potential to give love and to receive love. At birth, each person is blessed (unless one happens to be born disabled) with a primal, instinctive responsiveness of endless potential—that primal instinct must be nurtured as an important step in the danse. Echo had witnessed a severely retarded individual, through the perseverance of nurturing, faith, love and charity rise above what could have been a life shortened by distance and disregard—flourish into an awareness of “being” beyond what any professional had believed possible; she has lived way past any mortality rate set for any such person—through genuine love and patience; she has lived a life better than some more fortunate (?). Echo’s story will reveal the people that have passed through her life, leaving tattoos on her heart--people with great passion & faith--people seeking passion & faith; and those people who operate without any idea of the gift. It is said that if the truly courageous falls down, they’d find some way to get up and keep going--Faith is the way, and yet it is easier to pull one’s self together when there is a partner a companion nearby supporting the fallen for as long as necessary for the other to RISE—“Two are better than one; they have a good return for their labor. For if either of them falls; the one will lift up his companion but woe to the one who falls when there is not another to lift him up.” Ecclesiastes 4:9-10
Leap!
Dream
In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken hearted
Ah what is a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?
That holy dream—that holy dream
While all the world were chiding
Hath cheered me a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding
What though that light thro’ storm and night
So trembled from afar—
What could there be more purely bright
in truths day-star?
Edgar Allen Poe
1-19-1809 – 10-07-1849
This work is public domain world wide because it was written more than one hundred years ago
Chapter One
“And God said let there be light; and there was light.
And God saw the light that it was good; and God divided the light from the darkness.”
GENESIS 1: 3, 4 KJV
Echoing Soul—
“In this bright future we cannot forget our past.” --Bob Marley
Nostalgic Eyes
“There’s a lot of plastic faces in every part and as you walk around the stage of life don’t it kinda make you feel fine”
~ Dells
It was an uncomfortable sultry early August morning; the air felt still; it was as if the heat surrounded the entire atmosphere; reclaiming every aspect of the previously comfortable warm misty summer night. The night before the trees in the back yard swayed as if they were dancing to a beautiful sexy song. This morning she peeked through the drawn window shades the sun was intense, it wasn’t an ordinary early summer morning sun--the sky was radiant white and the trees in the yard were motionless. The intense heat was heavy, yet the heat swooped down and across the city. Echo thought to herself, “This is that ugly weather.” She smiled remembering where she’d first heard of ugly weather. Echo closed her eyes as she recalled how she had become acquainted with the expression from a group of animated young women—she took flight on her imagination--she was recalling a long past day, when she sat listening to a group of young women talking about, “Ugly weatha.”
Echo always felt that her memories were scattered and fragmented—there were complete years of memories that she couldn’t recall. However, her adolescence and teenaged years are somewhat clearer than the years when she was much younger. There are flashes of fragmented days in her life. The memories that she did retain were stored away in her mind and heart; the ones that she used as a point of reference in her life; the one’s that made it possible for her to tell her story; in her mind eye she carefully lifts her treasure chest open—beneath silky and sticky webs and dust. She hadn’t gone to her memory chest for a while. Echo imagined pulling away more of the sticky, silky webbing which kept her memories from fading away; kept her vibrant memories in place despite the fact that they were pulled out and put away over and over again. Echo goes deeper, removing the silky webbing as she begins to flow hypnotically into a splendid nostalgic echoing of memories concerning the occasion spent in her Harlem neighborhood sitting near of a mature group of animated sister-women on a day just like today—a setting with a comparable steamy climate. She smiled at the memory of how she was educated about “Ugly,”-- unpleasant weather, unsightly people and naughty events. The memory was so vivid—the echoing sounds of soulful music and laughter wafting meticulously through the circle of friends; the heat lingering from the afternoon’s radiant sun, which had washed over the smooth stone of the tenement steps. The steps were now shadowed by the south-west looming tall side by side buildings. Making the stoop an invitingly pleasant seat for Echo; the sun heated smooth stone seat caressed her young firm brown body beneath the thin bright summer material that she wore.
Echo was always considered an attractive young girl—she was thirteen years old she had a petite agile frame somewhat different from the average early-teen; her vibrant brown skin tone had a reddish hue of cinnamon and cayenne; her hair was a natural medium dark brown with natural highlights of sandy-auburn; her hands were exactly like her mothers, (she found that out later in life); beautiful hands with natural long slender fingers and finger nails that young ladies would later in life pay for. Echo had her dad’s brilliant seductive smile which complimented the impish twinkle in her brown occasionally sad distant eyes. She had tiny firm youthful breast with seductive budding nipples that mostly embarrassed her, as they’d shift from soft and full--to taut nipples the size of a pencil eraser which caused her humiliation; she’d try to cover each nipple with band aids and a bra. She had full shapely strong athletic legs, a cute pear shaped torso with a round firm bottom. Echo was not athletic but she was thirty-five percent tomboy; with a reputation for taking on her and baby Mel’s foes; however, there was no doubt that she could be a tiny young lady just waiting for a reason to refine the tomboy.
Echo enjoyed the diversity of having the respect that boys somehow inherited, by the virtue of birth; and having the eminent attraction of a young woman/girl by the guys that she had the pleasure of defeating at some of their games.
Young guys were always trying to connect with her. Echo was selective and she made the choice of which guy she “liked,” for a little while Echo had a crush on her friend Gale’s brother, Weston. He was fourteen, tall, slim, handsome and funny. As a matter of fact all of the brothers and sisters were nearly carbon copies. Gale and Weston had similar personalities to Echo’s; they enjoyed most of the same things in life and Echo felt as if there was an out of the ordinary kinship; crushing the crush and Echo became fond of Weston in a different light. Weston was always a lot of fun and kind of a standup comedian when they were all bored--before they all cried with laughter at Richard Pryor and his loquacious wit, they laughed (screamed) with Weston and Daniel. Later Echo learned that both Daniel, Echo’s natural brother and Weston also seem to shared a kindred heart and their soul’s survival depended on screaming through a mask of laughter as opposed to tears—Daniel’s humor was animated, sometime dangerous or weird things that he’d pick up on during the day; he made everyone laugh sometimes through fear of how far he’d go to let loose and sometimes until tears of joy would roll down everyone’s face. Although when adult’s weren’t around, Echo and her sisters would become confused and wondered where the humor was during some of Daniel’s darker performances; Echo lived on the fifth floor, Daniel would step outside of the front window and cross over to their mom’ bedroom window. His sisters told him that he was a jerk and that he lived on the edge—Daniel would say, “Living on the ledge,” laughing wildly.
Echo imagined herself reaching out and almost touching the younger version of herself. Youthful Echo was leaning back into the stairs, resting her bottom, lower back, arms and elbows; anticipating the sensual caressing sensation of a gentle summer breeze. The breezes were produced by the backflow of air, mixed with the assortment of scents coming from some of the opened apartment doors of the family’s that lived throughout the building. A complex design of four apartments on each of the six levels—familiarity within the complex was common based on the fact that there wasn’t much room for privacy for the families within. The structure wasn’t built for privacy it was built to house as many people possible. Most of the wafting air was produced by the opened back door under the stairs, which lead to the back alley and the nearby opened ground floor back window. The ground floor window was the equivalent of a window bench seat. A spot of beauty to the kids that dwelled within; the window was made of frosted glass, it was opposite a brick wall of medium width, about thirty eight inches and the height was approximately nine feet from the ceiling to approximately two feet above the floor; the seat of the window was almost at the same level of the third step--it was made of a smooth slat of stone. Echo remembers being able to stand or sit inside with another person. The window was always a “cool,” spot in the building; the added attraction was a reserved secret by the youngsters that lingered there after an escort home—after sitting together on the stoop or arriving home from some event. Echo had her first dare to kiss a boy while being amused by a small group of friends in this spot with Reese; neither of them knew what they were doing—Lover’s Lane.
Echo continues to randomly snatch memories from her nostalgic slideshow leading to how she learned about ugly weather. She finds herself back in her beloved neighborhood cradled in the heart of Harlem. Echo’s first friend (outside of her family)
in the new uptown neighborhood was Gale, (she’d spell her name, until whomever she was telling her name would understand that when referring to her, they should know that, “I am, G-a-l-e like the stormy winds.” Echo’s running pal was a very sweet girl; she was three years older than Echo, a couple of months older Echo’s Brother Daniel. Gale and Daniel hooked up for a good little while as boyfriend and girl friend. Gale had a memory like a hard drive of a computer that superseded some folk’s imagination. Gale’s memory, intelligence and warmth were awesome—she’d do extremely well in anything that required memory. Her most amazingly ardent gift was remembering people, their birthdates, their entire family birthdates, and little nuances that would ordinarily go unnoticed--she’d send birthday greetings in the ‘70’s—as the years progressed in technology she’d call folks that she’d have the smallest interest in and sing, “Happy Birthday to You!”
It really made someone feel important on their day. Echo knew how important it made others feel because she’d fine tune her memory and also, call people on their birthday. Echo has built parts of her personality from snatches, bits and pieces from the lives of characters that she admired along the way on her journey through life. Sometimes it would be the only recognition that they’d receive for that day—they’d say, “No one else remembered except you.” In later years, Gale would answer her telephone on her birthday, “It’s my birthday, it’s my birthday come on and party!” Gale and Echo also loved numbers in reference to commonalities with dates of occurrences. Gale always took plenty of pictures and kept these pictures very carefully in photo albums; never loaning them out to anyone that would find a picture that she had taken of them and wanted to “borrow” the pictures. She was a visionary; she kept anything memorable about people in photographs. Way before anyone knew about such careers Gale was a historian—a natural sociologist. She studied and loved almost everything about the people around her. As Gale and Echo aged they’d surprise friends and family with other personality perks; the idiosyncrasy that they shared made them “Homies for Life.” Gale captured so many memories of almost everyone she met through photographs. Gale’s grandma, aunt and cousins lived in the same apartment building as Echo. They’d been living there for a longtime; first generation was the grandma-everyone lovingly knew her as, “Mom-May.” The second generation which consisted of Mom-May’s two daughter’s Ellie and her younger sister Grace; and most of the third generation, of which Gale (she would say) was born in, “Old Harlem Hospital.”
Harlem hospital was rebuilt in the late sixties early seventies; it was a beautiful new building in Harlem; however, some of the services were lacking yet they had an outstanding trauma center—gun and knife wounds were handled with precision. Other folks chose to seek medical assistance elsewhere. The old Harlem hospital building remained standing behind the new facility it offered limited services—the mentally ill patients were locked behind heavy doors. Whenever anyone would visit one of the patients they were locked behind the heavy closed doors. Once when Echo went along with a friend to visit his sister; Echo’s friend was one of the boys who left their homes and came to live with Echo’s family. There were a number of rumors suspecting incest in his home. Once when Echo went along with her friend Porter, to visit his sister locked behind those very heavy doors with other insane people and Sophia was truly insane—while Echo was there with her friend visiting his older sister who was heavily medicated, she’d snuggle up close to her brother flirtatiously giggling and seductively whispering something into his ear as she caressed his shoulders, biceps
and back; Porter was fifteen, he was handsome and he was built like a man. He seemed ashamed but familiar with the interaction between he and his sister—she never once acknowledged that Echo was even in the day room. Echo wasn’t certain if Porter’ Sister was born insane or driven insane by so called humanity. Porter was one of the young men that the older girls were attracted too; like the one’s giggling about, “Ugly Weatha” in Echo’s flash back.
Porter, Daniel and Marshal were best friends and they were also “lucky” with the twenty-something group of ladies –these ladies are now referred to as “Cougars.” Porter was the fourth son of another large family whose father lived at home drank heavily and seemed extremely strange. He had a strange manner about himself; he’d make inaudible comments but his behavior screamed inappropriate to Echo and he’d look at her as if he could see through her clothing; he’d drink liquor straight out of the pint bottle that it came in. He really was creepy; the children that remained at home after several others were removed from the home and place somewhere upstate with foster parents was Porter, his younger brother Michael and the strange sister Sophia whenever she wasn’t lock away at the hospital. Their mother was there but rarely seen; she was absolutely stunning but she also seemed to be a rare bird.
Mid autumn in 1972 Sofia “Jumped” (how she fell from the window was never definitively revealed) out of a fifth floor apartment window; Echo remembers that evening well; Porter, Echo, Daniel and many other teenagers were sitting outside on the stoop; when they noticed something falling from a window several buildings away and across the street from where they sat. At first it seemed like clothing tumbling from the fifth floor window—she didn’t scream, everything seem to stand still in silence until it was clear what had happen—chaos, for some odd reason Echo looked up and across the street at Porters’ fifth floor window. The bright golden street light two floors below their front window, cast off just enough light so that Echo saw a silhouette in the darken room behind the window as the window curtains danced outside of the window—it was a silhouette of Porters’ mother—the sister didn’t die immediately as everyone stood around watching Porter—he had taken off his blue jean jacket cradled her bloody head and broken body in his arms as he quietly wept —Daniel and Marshall stood between the crowd of gathering people; asking for privacy and respect. Almost everyone in the neighborhood called for the ambulance and police; again and again people from the neighborhood rang 911 after what seemed like a lifetime the police finally came. Sophia had stopped gurgling through the blood in her mouth—the same cooing sounds that she’d done while Echo and Porter visited her; although the blood in her mouth caused the familiar cooing to sound like gurgling. Through her bloody eyes she gazed into her brother’s eyes he just held onto her and rocked her gently. She laid still after she softly blew out her last breath.
Porter wanted the ambulance attendants to help his sister; they picked her up put her into the back of the truck of the ambulance and drove away. The next time that Echo saw the body that housed Sophia’s severed spirit was dressed in a pink flowing night gown; inside of a coffin that was fully opened; soft pink ballet type slippers were on her small feet; the inside of the coffin bed was a ample bedding of satin white ruffled material that flowed outside of the coffin laying against the pink coffin that would be her final resting place. As her body ceremoniously lay in that coffin, Echo couldn’t help thinking of the fairy tale of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Her body laid upon the satin bedding appearing as though she was peacefully sleeping; she had
so much hair on her head and she was as beautiful as her mother (who wasn’t there). There was no sign of the fact that she had tumbled to her death striking her head against the pavement with an awful thud that had a weird sound of a pineapple or coconut hitting the ground after being thrown from a window. Most if not all of the sisters and brothers were there; Echo can remember thinking how beautiful and elegant they were. They weren’t like anyone that Echo knew—they sat quietly and seemed unapproachable. They were quietly sitting in the funeral home with their sister-- accompanied by their Caucasian foster parents—who seemed to care deeply for them and who later adopted them.
As the memory fades into indigo and as the indigo begins to twinkle into a tiny growing light; where Echo would find herself back in the sensation of being near the building that she’d spent her adolescent years; where Gale’s mom, Grace married, moved to Brooklyn, NY and began her family legacy one which would prove to be truly impressive. While Ellie remained in the building in her own apartment with her vibrant family—all females with personalities that dared to be remarkable! Echo’s family moved into this building on a mid-morning one early summer day in 1969. Echo was excited on moving day—her favorite aunt, uncle and family had already moved to this same building a few blocks* north of 125th several months earlier. Her uncle’s family now lived on the third floor on the same line of apartments as Gale’s family. Echo’s aunt and family had moved up a couple of months from the old downtown neighborhood in Harlem, which was just under a mile south of 125th Street between Seventh and Eighth Avenues. Echo’s aunt was a young woman that married Echo’s uncle; she was eighteen years older than Echo; fifteen years older than Emmy & Daniel; she was fourteen years older than her eldest daughter. Echo’s mom was twenty-eight-years older than Echo and most of Echo’s classmates/peers mothers were so much younger; for a while Echo didn’t understand just how fortunate she was to have her wise old mom. There was only one other girl (Iris) whose parents were at least fifty! She was treated off handedly by the kids whose mom was 27 - 30 years old (later known as ghetto bait—pregnant by the time they were thirteen- fifteen). Echo just made it under the bar because her parents were still in their early forties. She usually hung out with her auntie and her cousins; she felt as if her auntie was way cool—she’d do things with the kids that Mary Ellen wouldn’t even consider. During the long hot summer her auntie taught her how to jump double-dutch and auntie rode the wild rides at Coney Island. Echo continued mesmerized by her strange reflective journey.
In retrospect she realizes that in her youth she felt as if every year seemed more like three to four years and every summer felt like the equivalent of the same amount of full seasons; every treasured moment lingered long enough to burn into her memory the wonders of her life as a youth. Echo wasn’t exactly sure when she realized that summer was less than one hundred wonderful days. During the long summer’s cool air flowed through the dimly lit, long and narrow entrance hallway; which expelled gentle breezes through the opened entrance door passing by where Echo made sure that she was sitting; close enough to hear the sisters outside on a summer early evening; the sister-women all flawlessly dressed in brilliant summer fashion; their hair was assorted lengths, colors and natural unprocessed hair-styles— glistening perfectly like fresh dew on the morning grass they said “Ugly weatha’ -brang out ugly peoples; ugly weatha is humid hot weather with special places to catch a gentle breeze. Ugly People are the folks that come outside underdressed, with unnecessary flesh hanging out; drinking
alcoholic beverages excessively or folks that behaved poorly (such as loud cussing and fighting) in public especially on ugly weather days.”
The sisters went on to say what they personally liked about ugly weather—the petite (5’2) beautiful dark complexion sister (with a faultless year long glow) had a very short hair cut, the shortest cut which looked as if it felt like the fuzz on a peach—she had on large thin golden hoop earrings and hanging on her beautifully structured collar (neck) on a delicate diamond cut gold chain that sparkled with her every seductive movement—she was known for her unbridle sexuality she said, “Hot sexy screwing with sweat dripping “airywhere”—and leaving the hot sexy screwing scent on my body for the whole day …reliving the way he swaggers towards me—ramming his coconut flavored ice tongue into my mouth, cooling my mouth and holding my face in his big manicured smooth hands; caressing my cheek with his thumb, tracing my lips with his (index) finger before slipping the tip into my mouth while he looks deep into my eyes letting me know that he is teasing my mouth for what he wants to put into it later; it still makes me tingle”--(She squealed with delight). The youngest of the sisters was of average height approximately 5’5 very pale light complexion in the winter but beautifully tanned by the summer’s sun; a sister with grayish green eyes and a perfectly full, round shaped medium auburn afro that had a natural curly pattern and kind of dropped down around her face lightly lying on her full womanly shoulders; it also glistened (probably from a sheen spray)--she slowly licked the chocolate ice cream off of a stick from the truck that had made the final pass for the evening. She said, that “I just had a bath before coming out and fifteen year old Porter happens to knock on the door looking for Michael (her brother)—I can’t think right in this weather; I had just stepped into my cool bath--that boy eyes got big I asked him to “cum,” (A verb that she emphasized)—into the bathroom and shut the door; I tole him that I needed someone to wash my back; meanwhile I’m teasing him so much, until I just had to let him wash my cooled and scented upper thighs; I’m sitting in a cool rose scented tub of water and I became so excited by his touch; as I relaxed my thighs, I softly touched his hand, ran my tongue across my drying lips, closed my eyes and waited until he pushed the washcloth between my legs and I softly moaned … and later, I stuck my tongue so deep into his throat until he groaned and his entire body sort of went limp; I tole’ him that if he tole’ anyone he’d never get that close or closer again.” --All of the sisters squealed laughing and someone said, “Gurl you gonna go to jail!” they laughed and slapped each other five. The ladies would have that certain squeal of laughter that ladies used when talking about sex. There were three other sisters in the group telling everyone that they’d all burn in hell and they all squealed again. Two of the sisters with average sized dark semi curly dry twisted hair that also shined; one sister Georgie (shorten for Georgiana), had a pair of sixties retro styled round framed golden wire sunglasses resting on top of her head with golden yellow tinted lens—they both had on gold tone very thin hoop earrings; too many silver bracelets among the bracelets on each of their arms there were ones with the fist of the Black Power sign. They had rings on their fingers and both had on flat brilliant multi-colored soft leather sandals with straps across the top and laces of leather wrapped around their ankles accenting their softly polished and shapely brown legs—they locked into the hottest exaggerated kiss and grind—later saying, “It’s already hot as hell!”
They claimed to all that cared to know, that they were lesbians and “a man would have to pay to see how they strut,” the sisters claiming to be lesbians squealed,
‘’all yawls think we’re going to hell anyways.” They declared that, “If our final destination is damnation—then we’ll have a hell of time on our earthly journey.”—And this is how Echo learned about ugly weather and several other nice/naughty things; Echo never forgot this conversation. The conversations held by the sister/women were shameless, exciting and was just one of many conversations that Echo always knew how to get a good seat for their performances—she didn’t want to miss one word! Echo spent most of many long hot summer days and evenings on the stoop enjoying or fearing sights and sounds that she’d remember for the rest of her life.
Wildflower~ New Birth
“Let the rain fall down upon her--She’s a free a gentle flower blowing wild—be careful how you touch her for she will awaken and sleep is the only freedom that she knows.”
******
Her family lived on the fifth floor of the six floor walk up. They lived in the front line large apartment; between her friends grandma’s apartment and Flossie’s family—Echo shared a front fire escape with Flossie. Echo’ friend’s family was on the back line, where weeds and wildflowers grew as tall as trees. The fire escapes on the front of the building had an open center for the stairs that led down to each half cage of iron strips approximately one and a half inches apart constructed and resembled an extra small terrace which was bolted to the bricks of the building. Sitting or lying on a fire escape high up in the soothing night air was how most nights ended. Standing on the fire escape gave a better view of almost everything; Echo would go out onto the fire escape and as soon as she stepped out into the opened perched space of the fire escape she’d feel her stomach flip and her head swirl; yet she’d stand firm on the fire escape proving that she wasn’t afraid. She’d have many restless nightmares about standing on the fire escape as it rigorously shook—causing the bolts in the bricks to loosen as the cage (fire escape) fell apart.
Echo continued her magnificent journey to a time when everything was changing; quickly passing backwards towards youthful memories of the uptown neighborhood—as, she imagined pulling away another strand of sticky webbing she caught another glance of a youthful Echo traveling on trains and buses; growing up Echo gave little thought about the precise geography of her neighborhood. Echo always knew that there was something delightfully special about where she lived. She always felt the rhythmic pulse which was the heartbeat of the stimulating city—in the heart of the small exotic island of Manhattan, NY. Echo loved living in the valley of Harlem, forever a home to Echo; similar to a fetus cradled in its mother’s womb. Sensing the sweetest constant lullaby and forever feeling attached to a source strong enough to sustain life. Whenever Echo rode the train into Brooklyn or the bus to the Bronx (where her auntie and family later moved) she’d stared past the body of water from her window seat as a distraction; her thoughts would be about the destination, not the journey and she didn’t care to look at the other travelers. One day she learned that the surrounding bodies of water supported the islands that had afforded her such a pleasurable life. It took sometime before Echo connected to the concept of being a valley girl, a prickly slum-flower, and a native living in the heart of a valley on an exotic island.
Echo strays randomly into another memory—she remembered not really feeling anything different about the sister’s from her neighborhood who claimed to be lesbians. It wasn’t until Easter Day 1975 when Echo was fifteen years old (she’d turn sixteen in
two–three weeks) she became afraid of one butch lesbian—this woman was the sister to a cousin’s boyfriend in the Bronx project. She dressed like a man; she reminded Echo of the so called pimps in the movie “Superfly”—which was one of the so called, “Black Xploitation movies,”—sure it was a movie that glorified street hustling, further dehumanization of Black women; and the ignorant (in degrees) yet, urban industrious businessmen and women inside of the Black Experience. When she was younger it was exciting to simply see a larger than life screen filled with beautiful Black women and men. The simplicity of a child; the ability to see beyond the politics and herald the fact that the Black race was moving up! However disgracing it may have been for the educated, intelligent and distracted Black folks; who only found fault in the “vehicles.” Personally, Echo thought that the movies depicted a more vibrant Black person; as opposed to the household maid, chauffeur and shuffling “yas sir, no sir tap dancer.”
Echo and her friends Gale, Victoria, Sugar and Marshal were also hooked on reading Donald Goines paperback books about pimps, whores, prison and glamorizing the life of such characters—“Eldorado Red” was said to be about part of Goines’ life. They’d rush through one of his books and ran back to 125th’s Rainbow Book Store for his next exciting book. When Echo read his books she felt as if she were actually in his world experiencing the good and the bad times of the characters. Echo and her friends sat out front on the stoop with their heads buried into each book that they acquired. Once they read the books they’d pass it on to anyone that didn’t buy the book. It seemed as soon as they’d finish one the next one was released. Donald Goines was so prolific; he wrote from his prison cell and from life experience. Although Donald Goines had been the child of a middle class Michigan family he had become a drug addict, hustler and prisoner before his untimely death—in 1974 someone shot and killed Donald Goines and his wife. Echo realized that she had strayed away from a thought; she’d often skipped around inside of her head for pieces of memories that she had a difficult time recovering—she was processing the vision of the woman wearing a man’s suit with two women in tow during the early part of the mid-seventies—she was astounded but she wasn’t harshly judgmental. Not until the woman wearing the man’s suit and hat became aggressive with her! This woman targeted Echo and insisted to Echo that, she, “would have Echo before the day was over!”
Echo was so afraid; she ran to her auntie (whose home she was visiting when she tagged along with her cousin to her boyfriend’s apartment) and told her of the happenings across the yard from her apartment. Her Auntie just smiled, sort of chuckled and told Echo that, “You had no business in that woman apartment.” Echo had nightmares about that event for days. It turns out that Echo’s Auntie knew of the events in that apartment across the yard from hers. The Mother had given birth to a baseball team with one player on the bench—AND it was rumored that more than half of the kids were gay, bi-sexual or lesbian. There’s probably a story behind that house of terror but Echo would know about only three of the existing kids. The son Johnny, married Echo’s cousin Abby and he turned out to be the Eighties version of the Twenty-first-Century, “DLB—Down low brother, those men who have a man on the side.” He died in the early ‘90’s from the serial killer of the late 1980 early 1990’s—Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. AIDS in the beginning was a devastating storm; seemingly once diagnosed—like cancer in the late 1960’s, 1970’s and 1980’s—it took only a few months to a couple of years before the patient was dead. Echo’s cousin Abby died about three years after her husband—no one ever said if she actually died of AIDS.
Abby’s story is just one of the billions of stories of a life less than ordinary—She, in 1970, at the tender age of ten years old witnessed her mother’s boyfriend push her mother out of a fourth floor window to her death. That is how Abigail and her four year old sister, Emma came to live with Echo’s aunt and uncle. Abby and Emma were the daughters of Echo’s Auntie’s older only sister (The sister that was murdered). Abigail had two other siblings—both boys, Isaac and Rubin they went to live with their father. The other son of the quiet woman (the boy on the bench) from the “across the yard family,” became famous for about (the clichéd) fifteen minutes—he really turned out to be a baseball player! He was a skilled player that played in the major leagues for about four years. He dominated his game and is in the World Record books with a nod from his society; sadly, he had very little guidance with a load of cash that he mismanaged. The oldest brother still lives in the mother’s Bronx NYC Housing Projects apartment. He has an enormous amount of children in his life which, to Echo seems to prove that life truly does go on and on. Echo met so many people through her auntie’s experience—because Mary was either working or taking some courses on medical practices for Geriatric or New born patients.
Mary was more often than not tired from work and school. Echo and her sibling’s survived life from the teachings of their mom; they were taught to care for each other while she, a single parent kept her children in a decent home setting. Sure Mary made mistakes along the way but mistakes are the way that folks learn; Emari the most mature (unhappy) teenager was the alternate head of the house hold when their mother was away. Mary gave each of her children their weekly allowance; Echo spent a good deal of time away from home—often in someone else’s home. She enjoyed the liveliness of large families. Echo continues on the nostalgic journey to a time in her life —she finds that she has curiously wandered into a memory of endings and beginning; an influential time of life when she becomes a child that could safely develop memories of her new single parent household--a time that Echo’s safety net helps her to leap into clear concise memories of the events in her family’s life.
Chapter Two
Change
“Better is the end of a thing than the beginning; the patient in spirit is better than the proud thereof. I applied my heart to know and to search, and to seek out wisdom, and the reason of things, and to know the wickedness of folly, even of foolishness and madness.”
ECCLESIASTES 7:8, 25 KJV
Wise Eye’s
“Seasons know exactly when to change”
–S. Wonder~
It’s Thanksgiving Day 1965, a valid place for Echo to continue her strange nostalgic journey backwards seeking something she hadn’t yet tapped into. This was the day that changed the structure of Echo’s family--one of the many days in her life which would be a day of life altering endings and new beginnings. Six year old Echo happily moves away from her home with her mom, brother and sisters; it is at this junction that, Echo begins to slightly open up to recalling and storing memories. Yet a lot of her life is still a mystery—seemingly free of memories. This ending actually bestowed her with many, “first time memories;” such as the first and final time that time she would live with her mother and father together; the first time that she felt free and out of harm's way—there are still times during the transition at the end of 1965 and a segment of 1966 she continues to shut out whatever she was afraid of in life. She seemed afraid when there was chaos; yet she remembers that she walk to school by herself; she could also go alone to the public library which, was right down the street; the first time that she’d really see and remember that the world was a dangerous place; a place filled with hypocrisy and humiliation. It would be the first time that she would realize and remember how people could hurt each other and really kill the spirit of those they claim to love—and so many more, “Endings and new beginning,” memories—far too many to reflect on but stored never-the-less.
Echo’s mom had finally taken her children from a budding emotionally abusive home—moving away from her husband and her children’s father, Everett; he had become increasingly frustrated with life—he became verbally and emotionally abusive at home. Echo’s dad would drink alcohol on weekends; at first Echo, romantically remembers him as the ex-military weekend warrior filled with the black man’s rage; after working as a truck driver during the week and having to pretend to be, “content,” with society’s displacement for people of color—especially men of color. She remembered an incidence earlier that year in 1965, February 21st the day after her daddy’s birthday--her daddy came home annoyed and emotional. She remembered her daddy saying someone that tried to make a difference was “assassinated.” She didn’t understand his pain because she didn’t know anything about assassinations; she was too young to know who Malcolm X was or what he stood for; however the seed was planted in her memory about an important incident in 1965—other than the big beginning of Mary and her children. She just knew that her daddy was upset and that made her sad—and afraid. She wouldn’t remember the months that followed in the year of 1965 until Thanks giving eve; when her mommy was preparing sweet potato pies and others goodies for a day that seemed to have some significance.
The apartment was aromatic, warm, and everyone was in high spirits. —Everyone seemed happy Echo’s mommy’s brother came by the apartment bringing her packages of groceries--something festive was going to happen the next day; she and her siblings went to bed snuggled in the warmth and scent of the apartment. This would be the last time that Echo would sleep through the night in her home with her mom and dad. The straw that broke Echo’s mothers back was on that ominous Thanksgiving Day of 1965. The children and mom were at home waiting for daddy to come home for dinner; they had a decorative turkey dinner set upon the table; as the hours passed and the daylight dwindled; Ellen gave her small children snacks and continued to wait until seven in the evening—when Echo’s mom became frustrated, she fed her children, bathe and put them to bed. Echo’s mom could become a tiny (5’1, 105 lbs wet) hurricane—enter Echo’s daddy sometime after eleven o’clock, drunk and disorderly. Echo’s parents
passionately argue. Echo’s dad always seemed to personally (verbally) attack his wife—he complained that her meal was probably dry and distasteful. He attacked the children emotionally—he’d insist that the children remain quiet; even while watching an episode of the children’s cartoon Popeye together alongside of him; the children weren’t allowed to laugh until their father laughed and then only as long as he laughed. He had a certain stare for the children that indicated, “Stop!” Much later in life Echo saw her dad stare at his dog in the same manner; the dog whimpered, laid down, shut up and lowered his eyes. She also saw his live in girlfriend (who was older than he was by five years) behave as if she were afraid of her dad; the girlfriend, Leigh, tiptoed around Echo’s dad for years with her eyes lowered. She’d always seemed to sing Echo’s father name when she called out to him—in good times or bad. She had a babyish air-headed manner-she also seemed profoundly sad; she had the eyes and mood of many women that Echo had an occasion to be around; Echo can imagine hearing her softly sing out his name, “Evvverrreeettt!”
Her dad wasn’t able to train Ellen—he wasn’t able to take away her, “Basic rights.” Echo remembered that her tiny mom would look Everett directly in his eyes—she’d raise her head high during each confrontation. So instead he went about trying to control her through embarrassment. Daniel also challenged his dad by acting out—refusing to sit still just to be near his dad. He’d do many things disruptive and it was at this time that, “Sonny Boy,” became Sonny Boy in the “Shit house.” Everett’s form of punishment for his disobedient son was for Daniel to go to the bathroom also known as shit house, supposedly giving young Daniel a time out to think about his behavior and adjust it. Daniel never seemed bothered by the punishment—he’d usually complete his sentence in less than ten minutes. He’d leave the bathroom and smile victoriously as if he were saying defiantly, “NOW--piece of cake!” Daniel spent a couple of times on weekends in punishment mode—so much so that the father would merely have to look or point at the bathroom door when the son became unruly. Everett wasn’t always an uncompromising, complicated and stoic man. He could be easy to love—he simply needed to destroy the walls of defense that he’d built to feel secure in his insecure world. During his inconsistent mode he showered his two youngest girls with love and fatherly affection. And if anyone looked closely into his eyes they’d see the love and pride for his distant, guarded, independent wife and twins; he had a difficult time showing affection for his distant family members—they were as guarded as he was. Much later in life Echo would finally identify the reasons why Emari and Daniel were so guarded—she thought that it had something to do with the current interaction between their dad, mom and themselves but nothing is ever as simple as that.