I Can See Clearly Now by Frederick K Foote

When I was six or seven and attending a segregated Black school in Virginia, I had a crush on the smartest girl in our class.  Gloria was not only smart but cute and friendly to everyone.

One of the few things I still remember from that time was that Gloria made her first mistake in class ever. That confused a lot of us. Gloria was always right. In another first, I understood what Gloria misunderstood. After class, I explained to Gloria where she went wrong. I saw the light go on in her eyes. She understood, thanked me, and gave me a quick hug.

I was through the roof. That was the best day of my life. I thought Gloria and I would be tight forever and ever.

However, on the next school day, Gloria seemed to avoid and ignore me. I was shocked and confused. When I tried to catch her eye, she looked away. When I tried to talk to her, she turned away. I was devastated. That was the worst day of my school career.

I was in tears when I tried to walk with her after school, and she yelled at me to leave her alone.

When I got home, my grandma saw how distraught I was and asked me what was wrong.

I tried to explain what had happened.

Grandma said. “Sometimes, when you see people in an embarrassing situation, it is better to pretend that you don’t see it. Because if you try to help, you are making the situation worse just by paying attention to it.”

“But, Grandma, everybody saw it. The whole class saw it.”

“Louis, did the whole class try to correct her, or was that just you?”

I thought about what my grandma had said for a long time. I tried to look at the situation from my side, Gloria’s side, and the other students’ viewpoints. I concluded that I was the biggest dummy in the class. Everyone knew how to handle the situation better than I did.

“Grandma, why am I so dumb? All my classmates knew better than to talk with Gloria about her mistake. Was what I did evil and stupid?”

“Don’t assume what other people know or don’t know. Most people are probably thinking about their own problems. You cared about that girl, and you tried to help her. That’s not evil.”

I thought about that for a minute.

“Thanks, Grandma.”

Grandma reached out and pulled me closer.

“Louis, sometimes the best intentions can have the worst results. That’s just the way the world is.”

“Okay. I guess. Grandma, how can I fix it with Gloria?”

Grandma sighed. “You probably can’t. If she wants to fix it, she will. Louis, you should leave her alone, understand?”

I nodded in agreement as I started to walk away.

Grandma said, “I don’t think we ever see those we care the most about as clearly as we should. Go do your homework. You’re going to be just fine, Louis.”

***

Seven years later, I was living with my Ma (Cathy) and two half-sisters (Roya and Nina), and stepfather (Abner) in the Ralph Bunche Public Housing (the RB) in San Juan, California.

On my first day in my first class at A. Philip Randolph Junior High, our English teacher, Mr. Sanchez, asked for a volunteer to get the semester started with a story. This skinny, very black girl, one row in front of me and one seat to my left, raised her hand.

Mr. Sanchez said, “Thank you, Bebe. Hit us with your best shot.”

And Bebe knocked it out of the park with this crazy story about trying to go from her home in the RB to the bodega, three blocks away, to get a half-gallon of milk for her mother. Man, she had us in stitches. And when she finished, she got a foot-stomping, building-rocking standing ovation. I laughed so hard I was crying.

When the celebration finally stopped, and Bebe had taken her bows, Mr. Sanchez asked for one more story. Of course, no one was going to try and follow Bebe, but after a minute or so, I raised my hand and told a story about a ghost in my closet back in Virginia.

The kids were pretty rowdy when I started, but it was deathly quiet by the time I finished and hit them with the punch line. My applause started slowly but got louder and louder and seemed to go on forever.

Bebe was clapping the loudest and the longest, and she gave me two thumbs up.

After class, we introduced ourselves and walked to our next class together. It was like we had been friends forever. It was my best first day of school ever.

But when I got home, Roya rushed to tell Ma and my stepfather that I was hanging with Bebe Zenaga, the gangster girl, and her brother (Otis), the deadliest nigger in the projects, was hunting for me and was probably going to kill me and our whole family for messing with his sister.

Ma was mad as hell. My stepfather was shaking with anger.

Nina shook her head in disgust, went to her room, and slammed the door.

Roya was as happy as a pig in shit for all the trouble she had stirred up. Her smile could probably be seen from the moon.

My stepfather whipped off his belt and started for me. I started backing toward the door.

Impossible as it may seem, Roya’s smile got even broader and brighter.

I didn’t know where I was going to run to, but I sure wasn’t going to stay there and take a beating from a stranger.

Our door rocked with a police knock like the knocker means business, bone-busting, bad business.

Roya squeaked, “Oh, shit!” and dashed into her bedroom.

Ma jumped behind my stepfather.

Abner pushed her down and headed toward the window and the fire escape.

The next knock made me jump.

Ma was following Abner out the window.

“Shit!” I opened the door. I didn’t know what else to do.

The bearded brother blocking the doorway had to duck to enter the apartment.

He snarled, “You carrin,’ nigger?”

I shook my head and tried not to cry.

The big man stepped aside, and there was this taller, older version of Bebe. They were definitely related. Except this nigger had the coldest, blackest eyes I had ever seen.

He pointed to the couch.

I went and sat on the couch.

He sat beside me.

I was starting to shake a little. I couldn’t help it.

He was looking out the open window Abner, and my mother had used.

“Little man, do you know who I am?”

I said, “You Bebe’s brother. You, the CNIC.”

“What did you call me?”

“You, the Chief Nigger In Charge. My grandpa was in the Army and—”

“I like that. He exchanged looks with his giant friend, and they both roared with laughter.

“CNIC. I like that little man. Where you from? You talk like slow like old people fuck.”

“Virginia.”

“You messing with my sister?”

“No, sir. We just friends—we—”

“Good. I like that. She needs friends. And you need to keep being her friend, you understand.”

“Yes, sir.”

“CNIC, that’s some good shit. Little man, you the CNIC in charge of being Bebe’s friend, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, hey, like anybody mess with you, you let Boston know.” He nodded toward the big man. “Okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

At the door, the CNIC said. “You keep this meeting between us, Okay.”

“Yes, Sir.”

They left.

I got the shakes bad for a few minutes, but I recovered.

Roya ran up on me. “Nigger, you almost got us killed.

Nina followed in her sister’s footsteps.

“Louis, you should have stayed your Black ass in Virginia, for sure.”

Before they could continue, the front door opened, and Ma was helping Abner into the house.

Abner looked like he ran into a grizzly bear. His nose was out of joint. His lips were split and swollen, his right eye was swollen shut, and he moved like his ribs hurt.

When he snarled at me, I saw he had two missing front teeth.

He muttered, “You little motherfucker! I’ll get you. I’ll get you.”

He collapsed on the couch.

Ma looked at me with pure hatred. “I wish you had never been born. Get out of my sight. Go!”

I grabbed my jacket and split.

I walked and walked until the streetlights came on.

I finally got back to our building and fell asleep on the filthy couch in the lobby.

About one in the morning, Nina was shaking me awake.

Ma and Abner were at the emergency room, and Nina wanted me to come upstairs because they were scared to stay alone.

Nina believed that no one would mess with us because I was with the sister of the baddest nigger in town. Ain’t that some nerve?

Three years later, Bebe and I were friends and lovers and about to be first-time parents.

I went around smiling all the time.

Bebe and I had our own apartment in the RB with all new appliances and furniture.

I haven’t talked to the CNIC except to nod in passing.

The CNIC took over the Joaquin Miller Plaza public housing and expanded his territory to include the whole West side.

Abner left us or disappeared. The drunk fool was talking about getting back at the Zenagas for the beating he took. He had the good sense to keep his raving and ranting in our apartment most of the time.

But one day, he didn’t come home from work. Ma never heard from him again. She was a basket case for months.

I got a part-time job at the bodega Bebe wrote about.

And Roya worked two or three jobs all through high school. She surprised the shit out of me. But she got a full-time job working for the County Housing Authority about the same time Abner disappeared. That didn’t surprise me at all.

Nina picked up Ma’s drug habit and was on the streets or in jail most of the time.

The biggest surprise was Ma. She got over all her blues and shit and went to work at the San Juan City Department of Utilities and did real good. None of us understood that, but we were all grateful for it. And she didn’t find an Abner replacement either.

Plus, she rescued Nina and let Nina stay with her. I think Ma did some heroic shit.

All was good with me until I jerked awake around two in the morning to see Bebe sitting in our big chair in our bedroom, holding a 9-millimeter with a silencer.

“Louis, have you been with me for the last three years because my brother threatened you? Is all this love you talk about just a lie?”

It took me a moment to understand what she was saying.

“Bebe, baby, are you going to shoot me? Am I dreaming or what?”

“Did my brother threaten you to make you pretend to like me? Yes or no.”

“Fuck you, Bebe. Fuck you all to hell. I was your friend, two sentences into your story. Fuck you!”

“Louis, last time. Did my brother and Boston threaten you? Yes or no.”

She pointed the pistol at my head.

“Fuck you! He did threaten me, but I was already your friend. You know that. Right?”

“So, why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Fuck! If you don’t believe me and you can’t see how much I love you, you can blow me the fuck away.”

I regretted those words the moment they were out of my mouth.

Jesus, Bebe’s eyes were almost as black as her brothers’.  I never noticed that.

Those black eyes just stared at me so long that I started shaking.

Bebe told me to get out and never come back.

I got out as fast as I could.

Bebe went to the CNIC’s apartment and put two bullets in the back of her brother’s head and two more in the front of Boston’s.

She took over the family business and expanded fast and furious until she was the undisputed city crime boss.

I have seen our son on the street, but I have never spoken to him. I’ve tried, and I suffered for the effort.

For a minute, I wondered how Bebe found out about my CNIC meeting. But Roya disappeared the day before Bebe went off on me. I don’t know if she left or was disappeared. I hope it was the latter.

Now I can clearly see relationships ain’t for me. I’m as blind as a bat when it comes to the women I care about. I wish Grandma had told me that straight out.

Frederick K Foote

Banner Image: School corridor with lockers – pixabay.com

Image: Pencil drawing by Evelyn McAdams