She left school early intending to go straight home by herself. She had planned to study on the train. Read the assigned book. She was on the honor roll. She was doing well in school. She had just the right amount of friends. She was the teacher’s favorite. She knew how to weave in and out of the crowd. Everyone loved her.

And him? He left school early also, intending to go straight home by himself. He had planned to study on the train. Read the assigned book. He was on the honor roll. He was doing real well in school. He had just the right amount of friends. He knew how to deal with peer pressure. He was the teacher’s example. He knew how to weave in and out of the crowd. Everyone loved him.

On the way home. Things happen.

One thing lead to another.

She went to the all girls school. He went to the all boys school. Their parents were both working class parents. His home was broken. Her’s wasn’t. She knew her dad and mom alike. He only knew his dad. They both were loved. Very much. By their parents.

But on the way home, boy met girl and girl met boy.

They both left school early intending to meet each other. They had planned to meet on the train in the second car. Perhaps read to one another. They both were on the honor roll, doing very well in school. They had the right amount of friends. But thought they needed each other. They said they will just be friends on the way home. Be the example. Continue to be the favorite.

They loved on the way home.

-Surely I saw his face somewhere.

-Yeah, whatever. You always seem to know someone.

-No, I’m serious! I think I really saw his face before. Somewhere. I just can’t put my finger on it.

My sister and I was at the 125th train station downstairs underground at the newspaper stand waiting for the number 6 train. We were passing time looking at the front cover of the magazines and newspapers. The main picture of most of the newspapers was of an African American young man. He was marked as a suspect of a crime.

-Oh, look! It says he grew up in our neighborhood!

-So, maybe you did see him. I guess it is possible with us living in the same city.

-Yeah. I guess.

When we got home to the new neighborhood we had just moved into, we saw shrine set up around the neighborhood and already the artist started putting up pictures of the guy who was shot by the guy in the picture in newspaper. I knew I saw the young suspect before but I just could not put my finger on it.

That night after dinner, we watch the news and apparently, the suspect, whose name is Joseph Mountain, who is only 20 is a drug dealer. In broad day light, went after someone who owed him money. He got the person who owed him money but also shot innocent bystanders. A child from a school across the street, a homeless lady, and a guy collecting cans.

That night I went to bed trying to remember, where did I see Joseph Mountain face.

The children of Slaves are dying. If not already dead.

The country America is changing. If not already Changed.

The children of Slaves are dying. If not already dead.

The history of America is going. If not already gone.

The children of Slaves are dying if not already dead.

The authenticity of  America is leaving, if not left already.

The children of American Slaves are dying if not already dead they died while creating the country already created died while bulding the country aldreay built by white men trying.

The children of American slaves are dying if not already dead.

Inspired by book:  Sugar of the Crop: My Journey to find the Children of Slaves by Sana Butler.