Using Television to Break the Cycle

By

Eddrick

*Warning, this story contains explicit language!*

Henry John Bledsoe peered out of his peephole. A knot the size of a peach was loged in his stomach. On cue, a car pulled up in front of his house, right next to his driveway, and knocked over his garbage can.

Henry strained his right eye viewing the action on the street. A young brotha, probably Trixie’s boy, walked briskly to the window of the car. An exchange is made. Henry can see white teeth flashing in the dark car. The car eases down the street. The boy walks back in the house next to Henry’s with defiant alacrity.

Henry’s shoulders sagged a bit as he left the peephole and returned to his fatigued couch. It had been three months since the family next door moved in. At first, Henry felt comfortable with their presence. He felt good about having life next door to him. It was Trixie, her two boys Raquan, fourteen, and Dimante, seventeen, and her daughter Tyshay, nineteen.

Things changed six weeks after they moved in. Trixie worked in Fremont. Her commute from Richmond took ninety minutes. Every morning she’d leave at seven and return by six that night. Henry noticed that a black buick began showing up every day at about seven fifteen. It was Big Rob, Tyshay’s close friend.

Henry didn’t care about Big Rob at first. "Trixie’ll discover soon enough when she’s a grandmother." He thought. But soon the parade of cars started. At least three an hour, from seven thirty to five thirty. Henry wanted to do something about it. He’d quietly talked to some of his neighbors about the situation. "Someone should call the Police," said one neighbor, "Ain’t Miss So and So the block captain? Can’t she do something?" Asked another. "Naw," said the third neighbor, "she probably wants a cut."

One day Henry got up the courage to call the police. A squad car pulled up two hours later. The Officer, young, black, and college educated, walked up to Henry’s door and rang the door bell.

Henry told the Officer what’d he’d seen over the last couple of weeks. The Officer wrote detailed notes in a black leather notebook. He told Henry to write down license plate numbers and fax them to his squad car whenever he observed suspicious activity. He thanked Henry and left. He hadn’t bothered to ask if Henry had a fax machine.

The gaudy light and magic motion of the tv mesmerized Henry. The television was his fundamental connection to the outside world. He had no family, no spare butter, and he’d never agonized over a default browser. All he had was a nice color television. A ballgame or six, thanks to cable, helped him pass away most of his time. Some days he sat transfixed, his eyes on the screen, his mind on the enterprise next door.

What happens when a man has had enough? Does he stand up and take action against a dreaded foe? Real or imaginary? Should he use cunning and guile for a long and ruthless victory? NO! He should do something crazy. Period. He should do something that rocks the core of his enemy.

Early the next morning, around 6:15, Henry opened his garage door. His neighbor across the street was itchin to confront Henry, again, about "mowing your lawn at 6 in the G%# D#^@ morning!". The neighbor was relieved when no lawn more emerged from Henry’s garage. A puzzled look came across his face when he saw Henry stretching a long orange extension cord across his driveway.

Henry was already sweatin by the time he returned to the garage. He marched his sixty-six year old body back and forth the way he was taught in the Army. He was workin’. Moving with a purpose. On this beautiful and warm April morning he had a mission. Henry was up all night devising his plan and it was sound, feasible, and made good sense. The most important aspect, as he wisely knew, would be in it’s execution.

The Sun was invigorating on his back. Reminded him of his early days in Arkansas. Henry looked around his street at the all the faces of the Houses. That one used to be the Monroe’s. The one just up the block used to be Marvin and Ruby Taylor’s. Henry was the only one left on his block from the original owners "Damn," He thought, "that was forty-five years ago."

Henry brought out a spray can of white paint. At the edge of his driveway he painted a line out to the street. The line extended the imaginary boundary line that separated his property from Trixies’. He drew it right across the sidewalk.

He had to move quickly. His calculations gave him a short window of time to be in position. Trixie was soon to depart for work. "Time, is to be embraced, and consoled." Henry thought. He wasn’t sure what that meant. A black minister spoke those words to Henry and the rest of his men before a mission in WWII. Henry had remembered that quote at least once a day for the last fifty plus years. His pace quickened.

There was one wrinkle in his plan. But like all good things, it took care of itself. He timed it perfectly. As soon as Trixie came out of the house Henry greeted her. His voice startled her, but she really liked Henry.

"Good Morning Ms.Trixie!"

"Good Morning Henry." She said. "What you doin out this early? You ‘bout to mow your lawn."

They both laughed. Henry allocated two minutes for chit chat in his plan. Deep in his mind he wondered if she knew what was happening in her home. As soon as she drove off Henry pulled a pair of wire cutters out of his back pocket and walked quickly down between their houses. He entered Trixie’s backyard through the gate. Weeks earlier he’d seen the cable man disconnect her cable. With a quick snip here, and a quick snip there, the wrinkle smooooved out nicely for Henry.

Now he had fifteen minutes before Big Rob’s arrival. Most of his arsenal was in place. His chair, some breakfast munchings, and his wonderful television.

Henry sat down and felt that something was missing. THE REMOTE! Henry bolted out of the chair and ran towards his front door. His legs were the legs of thirty years ago. Muscle memory kicked in and he ran with a slightly pidgeon toed gait, and his arms were in rhythmn with his legs. Not only was Henry running, he was running "cool".

The neighbor watched from across the street. "What is this fool up to now?" He thought.

Henry opened his door, dashed to the coffee table, seized the remote, and jogged out of the house back to his chair. After three or four very deep breaths, he turned the tv on.

Da da da, Da da da

The theme from Sportscenter blared out of the tv. Henry relaxed in his chair as Stuart Scott began describing a nasty Vince Carter dunk. He was shaken out of his sports haze by the sound of Big Rob’s car approaching from his left. The car turned into Trixie’s driveway. Rob got out and gave Henry an evil look.

"What the hell you doin?" Rob asked casually.

"It’s a sunny day, so I thought I’d get some sun."

"Well," Rob ruminated, hand on chin, "you better enjoy it. You never know when it’ll be your last one."

With that he walked up the walkway and straight into Trixie’s house. He didn’t bother to knock. Henry John’s heart tightened, he clutched his chest, swore just a taste, and then relaxed. He inhaled courage and exhaled fear. After sixty six trips around the sun, American sun at that, Henry John welled up every thing inside of his heart, and he let it go. Gone was the pain of losing Viola three years earlier. Tossed aside was the hurt of being laid off, while still being a highly effective worker. The lost promise of a dignified retirement enveloped him with gloomy feelings of self worth. In his mind he was no better off than an old slave. But, as we all know, an old slave knows where the road to freedom is.

Henry eased back in the chair and basked in the sunshine. He pulled out some of his munchies and marveled at the glorious Springtime atmosphere, all while keeping at least one eye glued to tv. After about forty five minutes of bliss Dimante came out of the house and cautiously looked at Henry.

"Good Mornin Dimante. You off to school?"

Dimante slowly smiled revealing four gold upper teeth.

"Naw man, I just came out here to say wazzup."

Dimante was average height, slim, and prone to sporting top shelf basket ball shoes.

Silence flew down on the two of them.

"You don’t go to school?" Henry asked earnestly.

"Nope. And I don’t want to talk about it. I want to talk about you. Can I ask you a question?" Dimante’s voice was a soft drawl. West Coast rap influenced his speech pattern as well as his frame of reference for everything else.

"Sure. You can ask me anything."

‘Would you please go in the house? Man, Rob is ‘bout to bug out. He looney tunes in the head. You don’t need that. Lemme’ do this for you. Here, take this."

Dimante pulled out a wad of twenty dollar bills. He thumbed a quarter inch stack off the top and handed it to Henry. Temptation has a tendency to sneak up on unsuspecting souls. It can wreak havoc on the best laid plans. The money felt good in Henry’s hand. Dimante, silently praying that Henry go back in the house, turned and walked back into Trixie’s house.

Henry put the money in his pocket. He had every intention of keeping it. But he wasn’t going back inside the house. Period.

Six minutes later Tyshay exited the house. Raquan ran out behind her.

"Hey Mr. Bledsoe!" He called out while running up the street. A poptart was in his hand.

"Hey Ra-Ra! You off to school?"

"Yeah. We play Kennedy High tonight."

Raquan was a player of note in the high school circuits. He was the starting varsity shortstop at fourteen. He and Henry had struck up a nice friendship over the backyard fence. Baseball being their uniter.

"Mr. Bledsoe, what are you doin? You tryin to get yourself killed?"

Tyshay was a beautiful young lady. Her friends called her "Cousin Beyonce" because she favored the leader of Destiny’s Child.

"No mam," Henry answered. "I’m just reclaimin my land. I been here forty five years. And I’ll be damned if that hoodlum boyfriend of yours is going to ruin my last days here."

"Boyfriend? He ain’t my boyfriend."

"He ain’t?"

"No. Fool, he do my hair and my nails. Fo’ free." Tyshay had her hands on her hips. She was rather intelligent. Just like all of Trixie’s kids.

"He ain’t you boyfriend, and you look like that? Damn, he must be,"

"Must be what old man?" Rob had joined them unexpectantly.

Henry stiffened in his chair. He was old school.

"Come inside Tyshay."

Tyshay looked at Henry. The sun was reflectin’ off bare spots on his cotton haired dome. She looked at Rob. He frowned. Quietly, she began to go inside. But she stopped, spun around, and got up in Rob’s face. Just as she was about to speak a car pulled up next to the curb.

"Dimante!" Rob yelled, "Get out here!"

Dimante trotted out of the house, slapped five with the fella on the passenger side, and trotted back inside. The car purred away from the curb. Twenty-two seconds flat.

They left Henry alone in his chair. About an hour later another car pulled up to the curb. One of it’s front tires stopped perfectly on Henry’s line of demarcation.

The passenger was an aging Hip Hopper. He rolled down the window.

"Whuzzup Fred Sanford?" He asked jovially. "Where’s D. ?"

"He inside the house." Henry answered. "What you want?"

All three fellas in the car burst out laughing.

"You look mighty comfortable, Mudbone." The dude said. "Can I try the chair?"

They laughed again. Henry threw them a curveball.

"Yeah. You can try the chair. Fo’ twenty dollars."

Dimante came out the house. The first cat got of the car. He whipped out a crisp fifty dollar bill and handed it to Henry. Henry shot up out of the chair and slipped the money in his shirt pocket. Dude sat down in the chair.

"This shit is comfortable. When I retire I want to finish up just like this."

"The only thing missing for me," Henry added recklessly, "is your momma sitting out here on my lap."

The street went silent. No birds chirping. No distant sounds. Stone silence. Henry had gone where few dare to tread. He talked about another man’s mother.

The two fellas who remained in the car looked at each other for a second. Then they laughed harder than they’d laughed in weeks. They slapped hands, they hooted, and they made Henry feel alive. Dimante slowly grinned, the sun beamed off his teeth. The first guy wanted to bust Henry in the mouth, but he realized that he meant no harm. He got back in the car and they drove off with dangerous mirth.

Henry became comfortable in his role as social commentator. Car after car received a verbal poke from Henry, always unsolicited. He offered haberdashery advice to a well dressed young latino man. He counseled two sistas who were having a lover’s spat. And he boldly told a young fella in a nice car that his choice of interior color was putrid.

That afternoon, after a much needed nap in the sun, Henry was roused by Big Rob.

"Hey. I just want to let you know that my customers are raving about you. You’ve helped my business. Here, take this." Rob handed Henry a phat wad of bills. "You’ve earned it."

Rob went back inside the house. The neighbor across the street had watched the show all day. He was shocked to see the transfer of cash. He thought of Henry and his lawn mower, and he called the Police.

They arrived with two cars. The cop who Henry had complained to was now in his face.

"Decided to join them huh?" He asked hurtfully.

"No, no." Henry blurted, "It’s not what you think."

The cop patted him down and found two phat wads of cash. Henry was cuffed. His chair was overturned and damaged in a search for "stuff". The tv was confiscated. The next night the cop came to check on Henry in jail. Upon learning the real story the cop bailed him out the following day. Henry went to his empty house, with no tv, and no comfortable chair. Henry rejoiced. Big Rob’s operation was out of business. Mission accomplished.

copyright 2006

All rights reserved