Keyshia and Clyde (14 page)

Chapter 24
_______________

The notorious Sing Sing state prison in Ossining, New York, was huge and intimidating. Clyde's mouth went dry and his palms started to sweat as he and Keyshia waited for his name to be called for his twenty-five-minute visit. Keyshia held him close to absorb as much of his pain as she could, for her man would soon come face-to-face with a man he knew so little about yet who had caused him so much pain.

Finally, he heard his name called: “Clyde Barker.”

Electricity shot through his body as he stood to face the inevitable. Keyshia stood up with him and grasped his hand. She looked him in the eye and assured him that everything would be all right and that she would be there for him upon his return. They hugged each other as if their lives depended on it, until Clyde finally had the courage to break free, nodding to Keyshia that he was okay.

Inside the bowels of Sing Sing, Clyde sat and waited at the table and stool that was in the visitor/inmate area. Sweat drenched his body and clothes. Then he heard the echo of an opening mechanical door, causing excitement among the visitors as they stood up from their metal chairs, peeking and peering about. Easy, he continued to repeat to himself, be easy. Suddenly, the first line of men appeared, all looking around the room and beaming. All the men wore the standard prisoner visiting garb of bright orange jumpsuits and shower flip-flops. Each guard pointed to where each prisoner's guest was sitting. One by one, the prisoners rushed over to their loved ones in joyous fashion, and all hugged and kissed as if they hadn't seen one another in years. Some hadn't, Clyde thought, but he was sure that this prisoner would not be greeted as such.

Clyde searched each face, unsure of how his father looked, until one face appeared awfully familiar—the spitting image of his oldest brother, Ceasar. Clyde's heart skipped when the CO pointed over in his direction. Tunnel vision set in as he watched this man walk toward him. Clyde stood up, not wanting the man to think for a second that he was superior to him. Clyde's insides were a raging storm; he wanted to scream, yell, curse, but he couldn't, so he braced himself for anything. The man had all the elements of a Barker male: smooth, almond brown skin, muscular broad shoulders, thick, powerfully sculptured arms, and deep, discerning eyes. Face-to-face now, Clyde stood in equal height to this man who was obviously his father.

Neither knew what to say or what to do. Finally, the senior Barker managed to utter the first uncomfortable words: “Hello, son.”

Clyde refused to answer him, or maybe he was unable to respond. His father seemed to understand and sat down. Clyde remained standing and eyed this man who was his father, who tried to make small talk and smiled. “I always thought that Ceasar or Sonny would be the first one to visit me, but I'm just as happy to see you, Clyde.” He beamed in admiration at his last-born son. “You know, your mama named you after her grandfather, who was once a great blues singer from New Orleans, Clyde Waters.” He lost his bluster when he saw that Clyde was not the least interested in his banal short talk. He knew Clyde was there for answers.

“I know how hard this must be for you, son, and I understand if you don't know what to say.” The senior Barker rubbed his hand over his eyes and continued, “Whatever the reason you came here to see me, it took a lot of courage to do so, so what I'll do is relieve you of having to ask certain things which I'm sure you may want answered.” Clyde remained silent and allowed him to speak. “I knew this day would someday come, and I thought about it a million times, and even to this point I still don't know what to say.” He turned and stared off for a moment to gather his thoughts. “Son, I love your mother more than life itself and would never, ever lay one finger on her pretty head.” Clyde turned toward him and gave him an icy glare. “We never even had so much as a argument, much less me putting my hands on her. Your mother was strong, strongest woman I've ever known, and she would never tolerate any form of abuse on her or you boys.” His father's face flushed. “The day everything happened, I was so stoned and drunk that I honestly don't remember anything about that evening. The only thing I remember was making love to your mother, and the next thing you know I hear screaming and woke up with my gun in my hand and your—” He couldn't finish and became too emotionally overwhelmed to go on. Clyde sat down finally and watched his body language. He was at least happy to know that he wasn't the bastard without feeling Martha had told them he was. Clyde watched his father's face become drenched in tears and got stronger each time he squirmed in pain, but for some reason, he began to feel sorry for him as well.

Finally Clyde spoke. “If you loved my mother so much as you say, just answer this question: Why did you shoot her?”

His father kept shaking his head over and over again, unable get a single word out of his mouth. “Son, I don't know, I really don't know.” He cried, “I fell to my knees when I saw her on the floor. I cried out to God for Him to take me and to spare her life.” Through bloodshot eyes he spoke in utter despair. “And then I took that same pistol and put it to my head and I pulled the trigger! I cried even more because there were no bullets in the chamber to put me out of the misery that I was feeling at that moment. I searched the room for some bullets and found them, but by then . . . by then, you and your brothers were standing in the doorway and I just couldn't do it. I didn't want to do it in front of my boys so y'all didn't have to go through any more mental damage!” He strained as he looked at his son. “The only reason I'm still living right now is to see the day one of you come looking for some answers so I could tell you the truth, the God's honest truth!”

Clyde stared somberly at the graying older man. He dismissed the idea of giving him an ultimatum of putting himself out of his misery. To call his bluff, he said coldly, “Now that you told one of your boys the truth, you no longer have a reason to go on living, do you?”

The older man shook like a wet, timid puppy as he listened to his son's cold, disparaging words. He wiped the snot and tears from his face and shook his head. “If that's what you want and if that's what it would take for me to have redemption, so be it. I have nothing but you and your brothers and the beautiful memories of your mother.” He began to smile and thought back in time to when he was with his wife and said, “Nobody on this earth could love you more than me, and no one ever will!” Those words echoed in Clyde's ears, because they were the same words Martha said she and his mother used to say to each other.

“What did you say?” asked Clyde.

“Oh, that is something me and your mother used to say to each other. That was our personal saying we had between us. Why'd you ask, son?”

Clyde only stared at him and shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Clyde,” his father said softly, “can I ask a favor of you?” Clyde shrugged, and his father continued timidly, “Can you tell me a little something about you and your brothers? You know, that's if you up to it, of course.”

Clyde figured since the man agreed to put himself out of his misery, he could at least give him insight on what he'd missed out on. “Well, Ceasar works as a bank manager.” His father beamed with admiration on hearing about the success of his elder son. “He's been working in the same bank on a Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street since he was in high school. He's shorter than me and Sonny and looks almost exactly like you. He's real neat and clean and did a good job at raising us.” They talked for the remainder of their time, and Clyde could see that he was enjoying everything he was telling him from the way he smiled.

He offered Clyde a bit of advice. “Son, I don't know how you feel about Martha, but I have to tell you that that woman is sneaky and no good. I appreciate how she took you boys in and kept y'all together and all, but she ain't never wanted to see me and your mother together. All I'm saying is don't put too much trust in the woman. I'm only telling you that 'cause I love you.”

As soon as he said that, the correctional staff made an announcement that visiting time was over. They sat and stared at each other until the prisoners were asked to stand. Clyde stood with him, and his father said, “Son, I'm gonna keep my word on what I promised you, and when it's over I want you to take my ultimate sacrifice as a gesture of the truth.” When Clyde nodded, he stared at his son, who seemed rigid and cold, and offered, “Clyde, I spent many years in these prisons and I saw a lot of things, and if there's one thing I could give you to carry out of here, it would be this.” Clyde folded his arms and listened. “Holding resentment towards somebody is like taking poison and expecting them to die!” Clyde pondered the words deeply and stored them to memory.

His father turned and watched the families hugging and got desperate. “Son, since this is the last time I'm going to see you, do you think I could . . . have one hug from my son?”

Clyde's mind said no, but his body craved differently. His lack of response prompted his father to walk toward him, and he put his arms around his son for the first time in nearly fifteen years and began breaking down and hugging him tighter. Clyde suddenly felt remorseful for the pitiful, tear-ridden man and slowly hugged him back as tears began to fall from his eyes as well. They pulled apart and each wiped the tears from their eyes and nodded. Clyde watched his father's back as he walked away for the last time and was overwhelmed with feeling.

Just as his father was about to round the corner, Clyde yelled at the top of his lungs, “Daddy!”

His father stopped in his tracks and turned around. “Yes, son, I'm here!”

“Don't do it, we need you!”

As if a million pounds had been removed from his shoulders, his father nodded. “I'll be here, son. I'll be here!”

•                  •                  •

When Clyde walked back into the waiting area, Keyshia was already standing by the door. When he spotted her, he could no longer hold back the tears and ran straight into her arms and hugged her as tight as he possibly could, not ever wanting to let her go.

Chapter 25
_______________

Clyde and Keyshia drove along 95 South in silence. Clyde's head was in a whirl as he thought about the visit with his father. Forgiving the man he'd hated and feared throughout most of his short lifetime lifted a heavy burden from his heart. Something in his father's voice, something in his eyes, caused him to believe that his father really loved his mother. Clyde was able to understand the undying love a man could have for a woman because he felt it in his heart for Keyshia. Clyde would kill himself at a moment's notice if he somehow caused Keyshia any harm. Something about the night his mother was shot just didn't add up, and everything pointed toward Martha, who might have some answers—he was sure of it.

Keyshia didn't ask Clyde any questions about what went on between him and his father. She knew it must have been tough for him to look his own father in the eye and say, “Either you kill yourself, or I'll kill you later.” She knew that whatever happened, Clyde was a different man from the one who had entered the prison only a few hours ago, and she was even more eager to settle up with the preacher.

Clyde drove for nearly seven hours, and Keyshia stayed awake with him the entire time. When she noticed his eyes getting droopy, she told him it was time to rest and get a good night's sleep. Clyde declined and said that he could manage, but Keyshia put her foot down and said, “Clyde, you had an extremely rough and stressful day, and it's okay to rest properly and proceed in the morning.”

Clyde looked at Keyshia and said, “Why you sounding different?”

Keyshia blushed and said, “What do you mean?”

He looked at her knowingly. “You sounding all proper and stuff, that's what I'm talking about.”

“You got me. I'm just preparing so when I get down south I'm gonna show everybody that they done made a mistake in sending me off and I come back a success, despite all the things they said and did to me.”

“It sounds like you got something to prove to somebody.”

“You damn right I got something to prove, Clyde. I got something to prove to my mama, my brothers, my sisters, and that whole sorry-ass town. I want revenge!”

“Keysh, listen: The only person you got something to prove to is yourself, nobody else. You don't really know the whole truth if you only get half the information. The only way you can get the other half is from the horse's mouth, and when you do, you can come to your own determination.”

Keyshia persisted, “I understand what you are saying, and I hope you understand why I hold a deep resentment towards my family, especially my mother.”

Clyde nodded. “I understand how you feel, and until recently I would have agreed with you, but I want you to listen to this and never forget it: Holding resentment towards somebody is like taking poison and expecting the other person to die. You only be hurting yourself and yourself only, so you got to learn to let go if you want to move on.”

Keyshia stared at Clyde because the words really hit home and made sense. “Where did you learn that from?” she asked.

Clyde looked at her and said proudly, “I learned a thing or two from some people.”

Clyde finally stopped in Washington, D.C., so they could rest their heads. The next morning after checking out of the hotel, Keyshia reminded Clyde of his promise to take her to see the Washington Monument. Clyde got lost in downtown D.C. and ended up in front of George Washington Hospital at Foggy Bottom. He pulled over to get directions and got out of the car to ask one of the street vendors. Keyshia got out of the car and spotted a hot dog vendor and told Clyde she was getting them something to eat and drink. He nodded.

Clyde walked over to a gentleman who was selling books in front of the hospital to ask him directions to the memorial.

“Excuse me, brother, can you tell me how I get to the Washington Monument?”

With a welcoming smile, the tall, slim man said, “Sure, soldier.” After he told him the direction, he asked Clyde where he was coming from.

“New York,” Clyde responded.

The man smiled with a perfect set of white teeth and said, “New York, huh? I got a lot of people up there that I know from Harlem.”

Clyde smiled and said, “That's where me and my girl are from.” He pointed toward where Keyshia was at the hot dog stand.

“I was up in New York last year for a book signing for Terri Woods at Justin's, P. Diddy's restaurant.”

Clyde nodded.

“I also got a couple of homeboys. They're writers from Harlem named Treasure E. Blue, Kwan, and Hickson. You heard of them?”

Clyde shook his head. “Naw, I don't read too much.”

The vendor frowned and said, “Black man, the only way you ever gonna grow is if you read. Years ago they used to string a black person up by the neck and hang them if they even picked up a book!” The vendor suddenly turned into a fireball as his voice dripped with passion. “Do you know why they didn't want us to learn how to read?”

By then Keyshia had joined them.

“Because they knew power lay between words. If you don't know any words, then you have no voice, and to have no voice means you have no power.” The book man asked them both, “Name any famous black man or black woman that you know of.”

Clyde shrugged and answered, “Malcolm X.”

The book man immediately responded, “Was he a powerful speaker?”

They both nodded.

“Give me another one, young lady.”

Keyshia thought and quickly said, “Martin Luther King.”

The book man nodded and said, “Jesse Jackson, Angela Davis, Marcus Garvey, the Honorable Elijah Muhammad, Louis Farrakhan, and many others. But one thing they all had in common was they were all well-read, and it wasn't a coincidence that they all rose to prominence and became powerful leaders. So remember this, you have a choice of staying in the dark for the rest of your life or being in the light. Where would you two rather be? Many of these young'uns are in the dark. That's why Washington, D.C., is the murder capital of the world. Here they all walk around carrying these nine-millimeters and thinking that gives them the power.” He shook his head in pity. “But your mind, your mind is a million times more powerful than any weapon man can make. So always let your mind be your nine!”

Keyshia and Clyde were so overwhelmed by his powerful words that they were struck silent. They had never heard anyone put reading to them in that way. The man seemed to grow taller as he explained to them their history, but then he suddenly returned to his joyous, bright, smiling self and extended his hand to them both. “They call me the Bookman, and I got something for you both.” He turned around and searched his table and picked up two books. “This one, soldier, is for you.”

Clyde accepted it and read the title on the cover:
The Autobiography of Malcolm X.

The Bookman smiled and said, “That is a powerful book written by Alex Haley, and it's about change. That book will save your life, soldier.” He turned to Keyshia and handed her a book. “Sister, for some reason I can look in your eyes and see a lot of pain that people inflicted upon you.” Keyshia looked at him as if he were reading her mind. “But don't you worry about none of that. Don't allow your past to carry into your future because someday you are going be a powerful speaker, a savior to somebody who's going to need you, who believes in you, so you got to prepare yourself for when that time comes.” He seemed to stare right through into Keyshia's soul.

“I want you to read that book, and you will get some understanding of the evil that some men and women do, so you can live and become the person that you are destined to become.” He smiled and said, “That book is by a good brother of mine from the same place you're from. His name is Treasure, and he wrote that book about you; it's called
Harlem Girl Lost.
”

Keyshia and Clyde were genuinely appreciative and thanked him and offered to pay for the books.

“You can pay me back by reading those books and living righteously.”

They nodded and said that they would and shook hands.

After they walked around the Washington Monument, they took a short break and sat on one of the benches. Keyshia still had the book in her purse and decided to look through it. After a couple of minutes of reading it, she turned the first page and on to the next and so on, until she got to a part that hit her. “Clyde,” she said with excitement, “listen to this:

Keyshia looked up at Clyde and he said, “Damn, Bookman was right, that sounds just like you.”

Keyshia agreed. “He seemed like he could see right through me, Clyde, all by just looking in my eyes.”

Clyde nodded. “I guess if you read a lot and get to meet so many people in your life, you kinda get the sense of what they been through. Pops can do the same thing. He was the one who taught me about a person's body language, so I guess he was right. And that thing the Bookman said about the mind is more powerful than any weapon, damn, that shit fucked me up!”

Keyshia added, “Your mind is your nine.”

Clyde smiled and repeated, “Your mind is your nine.”

As they continued their journey down south, Keyshia stayed stuck into the book the entire time, reading certain passages from the novel that she thought Clyde should hear. She was so enthralled by the book that Clyde caught her shedding a tear or two because the novel had hit so close to home.

It was turning to dusk when Keyshia and Clyde finally made it into the state of South Carolina and pulled into a Motel 8 in Charleston. They figured that they could get a shower and a good night's sleep and head out to see the bad preacher first thing that morning and take care of the business.

Lying in bed after they'd both showered and eaten, Keyshia still had her head in the book, unable to put it down. She began to yell, “That's right, Silver, tell her ass off!”

Surprised, Clyde asked her, “What was that all about?” Amped up, Keyshia quickly explained, “See, this girl named Silver was raised by her mean grandmother, who used to beat her 'cause she reminded her so much of her mother. Silver was an A student and everything, and her grandmother didn't let her go to her own prom, but she went anyway.” Clyde smiled as he watched her explain without even taking a breath.

“So,” Keyshia continued, “her grandmother wind up busting her at her prom and marched her home to beat her, and then when they got home her grandmother began cursing her out and told her to get out of her dress and bring her the extension cord to beat her with. Now just as she about to beat her, she had enough and said she wasn't gonna let her beat her no more and took it out of her hand. Her grandmother got mad and told her to get out, and when she walked out the house she started yelling that her mother was a no-good ho and that she was happy she was dead and that she was gonna turn out like her. That was it! Silver ran up on her, real, real mad, and guess what she did?”

Surprisingly interested, Clyde said, “What? She beat her down?”

Keyshia smiled and said, “Nope, she kissed her on her cheek.”

Clyde frowned and said, “Hold up, her grandmother beat her for years, talked about her mother like a dog to her face, kicked her out of the house, and called her everything but a child of God, and all she does is kiss her on the cheek?”

Keyshia nodded and explained, “Yep, that was the point. She told her . . .” And she began reading from the book:

“And then she walked away, leaving her grandmother fucked up!”

Clyde shook his head and reflected on the powerful words that she had read to him. “That shit is deep. I could understand what she was saying.”

Keyshia looked at him, incensed. “Get the fuck out of here! I would have fucked that bitch up, and you would have, too, Clyde.”

Clyde shrugged. “I don't know, maybe before, but—”

Keyshia cut him off. “But what, Clyde? You think you could forgive a motherfucka just like that if they did fucked-up shit to you for years? What do you think we doing now? Paying mother-fuckas back.”

Clyde sat up and paused for a moment before he spoke. “I don't know, it's just that maybe things ain't always what they seem.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I'm saying I didn't give my father the pills. I forgave him.”

Keyshia stared at him, astonished.

Clyde explained, “All these years I had nothing but hate for this man, nothing but hate for what he did to my mother. I had in my mind even as a child that when I got big enough and strong enough I was going to kill him. But when I was waiting to see him I began to get scared, Keyshia, real scared.” Clyde's eyes pleaded for her to understand. “And when I saw him for the first time, he didn't look like the monster I had imagined he was, he looked just like Ceasar.” Clyde put his head down. “He went on to explain everything that happened. How he woke up and saw my mother shot and how he loved her so much that he put the gun to his own head 'cause he didn't want to live any further.”

Clyde stood up. “I still didn't give a damn what he was saying and even went as far as to tell him that I still wanted him to die. Keyshia, he looked at me and said that if that's what it takes to prove that he was telling the truth, he would do it. I could see in his eyes that he was telling the truth. He said something that him and my mother used to say between them, something like ‘Nobody loves you more than me and nobody ever will!' ”