Landy F. Thompson / Jr. Reflections of Landy F. Thompson, Jr.

1. Auflage 2013
ISBN: 978-1-62675-297-9
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 118 Seiten

These stories are my personal reflections. As you travel with me throughout time, I hope that you laugh, cry, and are held at awe. I know my style is different, it is truly what you have been missing. This book of short stories, will force you do a double take within your own paralleles; experience emotions that make you look back at yourself. The times of life are never forgotten; they should tickle you for ever. I am a writer, and now you will feel my voice. Welcome to The Reflections of Landy F.Thompson, Jr. I have done, as the saying goes, just do you. The soul purpose of a writer visiting his reflections is to influence you in some way through his work. My daughter Malanni Thompson this is my gift to you the stories I wrote to share our families history with you I love you Boo.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Landy F. Thompson, Jr.

Jr.,

Leseproben

NUMBERS
Games of chance always end with losers and winners, hut only faith knows your outcome. NUMBERS. Street numbers have gone on for years in every ghetto and hood throughout the Black community. I can remember Jitter Bug*, who made his rounds through our area. He was smooth, soft-spoken, sharply dressed, and kept a banger with him at all times. This I knew because out of the 10,000 times he came to our house, I saw it every time he was there. When he sat down to write numbers, he’d take his burner and place it right in front of him on the table. Next, he would pull out a wad ‘of money, cross his legs, wet both his thumb and pointer finger, and placed his new collection on the top. Usually, the house courtesy was to offer him a drink or a beer. He would accept, and sip his drink. Not much talking went on. That led me to believe he was a man of few words. When there was conversation, it was about the business at hand.’ I remember one day my mom told me, “I forgot to play my own numbers worrying about everybody else’s shit! Junior, look outside and see if you see Jitter Bug." I stood on the porch and looked down the block. I saw him crossing the street over to *Mrs. Robert’s house. So I told my mother; she gave me the slips and said, “Hurry boy before he drives off now!” I walked down the street headed to Mrs. Robert’s house. While en route, I wondered if her daughter Karen was home. Boy, was Karen cute. The only thing though, I had a so-called girlfriend, Lita. Lita stayed with here grandmother, who lived right across the street from her. When I knocked on the door, who would answer but Karen. “Choo-Choo, what’s up she asked?” “Is Jitter Bug here?” “He sure is Choo-Choo, you want to come in?” “Yeah Karen, I’ve got to give him something.” As I walked in, she told me to have a seat and that he was in the back with her mother. I sat in the living room, and before I knew any better, I had my tongue all down her throat. After a few minutes of kissing, I asked for something to drink. She was so into this that she dehydrated my mouth; it was like she was dying to kiss. It was so passionate I had to take a break to recuperate. While she went to get my drink, I got up and went to the bathroom. While there, I heard a lot of slurping sounds from the backroom area. When I walked out the bathroom, Karen handed me the soda, grabbed me by the hand, and led my back to the couch. As we sat, I heard a door unlock and out came Jitter Bug. Karen’s mom went into the bathroom to brush her teeth and gargle with mouthwash. “Choo-Choo, what you want to play?" he asked. I proceeded to give Jitter Bug my mom’s numbers. “Jitter Bug, can I play a number?” I asked as we exited “7-4-2,50 cent straight." “I’m going to put $10 dollars on it myself, Choo-Choo. What’s so special about that number?” he asked. I told him that that was how long he was in back with Karen’s mom “How you know that?” I told him the clock was right in front of me and I couldn’t help but see it. Besides, it only took a minute to kiss Karen. “little Choo, it only took her mom a few more minutes to kiss Buster the Bald Headed Champ." “Who is Buster?” He just laughed and walked to his ‘73 Cadillac; took out his piece, placed it in the glove compartment, waved good bye and he was out. Later that evening, my mother asked my dad if he saw the numbers. My father told her it was 7-4-2. When I heard that, my heart was racing. I saw Jitter Bug the next day, and he hit me off with $250 dollars. I was like damn! I told my mother and she asked for some money. I gladly gave her half. Jitter Bug hit for $5,000 and every time after that, my mom asked me, “What number you like today, Choo-Choo?” MS. BLANCH. My mom dealt with several number writers, one in particular was *Ms. Blanch. Ms. Blanch was so dark in completion that my mother use to call, her Black-Ass-Woman on the phone, and she wouldn’t even trip. My mom would give me the evening numbers, which were to be turned in by 7:45 PM—let’s not say exactly though. There were many times when my mom phoned her at like five minutes before eight, and she took the numbers herself, hoping that you would lose. And this was her main purpose for taking them late. I use to walk out the back door, into the alley, then cross Holmead Place through New Holmes’ Baptist Church side walkway to wait in the alley for this woman. It was just like Ms. Blanch. She always had to make an entrance; you’d hear the doors, fifty locks being undone, the banging of her opening it, then dragging on the ground was this big metal door. Once it was cracked, she would push it so hard that it would crash into the wall with the force and sound of thunder. Then, I’d run over, hand her the numbers, she would check the sheets and the money then look at me and say “bye!” Then she would grab the door and slam it closed. Once she slammed it so hard that the streetlight in the alley blew. For a month straight, I had to meet this lady in a pitch' black alley behind the church. One night I was in the basement of our house entertaining company—I had my girlfriend over. My mom yelled into the basement, “Junior! Time to go!" Tanya asked, “Is she taking about me?” “No. I got to make a run. Just hold tight for a minute, I’ll be right back.” My mother yelled, “Come on, boy! Now we ain’t got much time!” As I came upstairs, she was on the phone calling Ms. Blanch to alert her to the fact that I was on my way. When I ran out the back door, I was out back of her building in just seconds. I was now in this pitch'black alley, waiting on Ms. Blanch. The only thing I saw was a firefly and the steam from the laundry area of her building. It was at least five minutes to eight, and no Ms. Blanch. With nothing else to do, I started throwing rocks, like all kids do when they are in alleyways. I thought to myself, damn she’s taking a long time; maybe she doesn’t know I’m out of here So, I picked up a rock and threw it at the basement door. “BOOM!” it sounded. A voice in the dark yelled, “Dammit, boy! Stop throwing them damn rocks before you hit me in the damn eye!” Much to my surprise, out of the darkness steps Ms. Blanch; in black and black. “Junior, didn’t you see me standing here smoking my cigarette?” she asked. “No, Ms. Blanch, I didn’t.” “Dumb ass, you mean to tell me you didn’t see me over there all that time?" I finally said, “Ms. Blanch, I’m serious, I didn’t.” “Boy, give me the damn slips, you damn fool!" “Ms. Blanch, I’ll have to talk to my mama about you.’’ “Boy, get your ass out this alley! I’ll see you tomorrow.” SHOES. Now the numbers man, Shoes, was a whole other personality. Most times you would see him, he was riding his bike through the neighborhood; no matter where I saw this bike, I knew someone was playing the street numbers. I saw it at the bank, in front of the Giant Food store, at the hardware store, outside of apartment buildings. One time late at night, I saw that bike outside of the strip club. I doubt if any numbers were being played, but what I did know is that damn bike got around. The local storefront was headquarters for the operation, and at night, the side of the building is where they had caskets stored. That’s what it seemed like anyway. But for some reason, I thought they were renting caskets to people. They always took the same one in and out through the side door. It was always coming from out of town. All the number writers played this spot; at least twice a day. No runners, just writers. These individuals always came to my mom’s card parties. They would be dancing, drinking and just carrying on into the wee hours of the morning. It seemed as though when my dad’s friend Lloyd Price* came through town, our house was the spot, and it was jammed with people. One time I remember Shoes calling him out to sing, and boy were the people partying down, yelling, shouting and just having a good time. Trust me, I was viewing all this from the stairs because this was a grown-up affair. I remember one time my dad’s friend was in town, I heard this lady in my sister’s bedroom just a having a ball with Iioyd Price. After all, my sister was in camp for a week. I don’t know what that lady was talking about but she sure did tell the truth because all I kept hearing her say was, “Yeah baby, yeah!” I wondered what he was asking her at that time. Shoes looked like Frankie Beverly—tall, slender, and just cool. Mom always told me if he took a number it wouldn’t be until sundown die next day before you were paid—if you hit. And when you asked him about it, he’d be like, “you hit.” But, in my eyes, to see this was better than the lottery. The only difference was that it came to you; the lottery, you went to it, and at that time, you played in liquor stores. My dad used to drive out Maryland to play his numbers; what difference would that honesdy make? I looked at it like this: if it were meant for you, the number would come in the street, or by legal drawing. Well, to each his own I guess.... The man who moves mountains begins by carrying away small stones. And once he moved it, he looked for a new challenge. Unknown Soldier SEE NO EVIL, HEAR NO EVIL, SPEAK NO EVIL
This is the code of the street. And to this day, if more people minded there own damn business, the world would be a better place! I remembered going to the comer store to buy a soda and some chips. While there, two men in stocking masks came in carrying a pistol and a sawed-off...