"Man Talk"

Juanita was putting a stack of her favorite 45 records together when the doorbell rang.  Edna dried her hands on a dishtowel and walked toward the front door.

“Barry! Put on a shirt and come say hello to your uncle.”  She yanked open the big door and pushed  the screen door outward to let Leo inside.

“Hey, Leo.  What you know good?” They gave each other a hug.

“Aw, ain’t nothing shaking, Edna.  How are you?”

“I’m making it.”  She glanced out to where his car was parked in the driveway.  She could see the tops of two pig-tailed hairstyles.

“Is that Leslie and Sukie in the car? You could have brought them inside.”

“Aw....I....I figured Juanita would be ready.  Anyway, they got their pajamas on.”

Edna smiled.  “Juanita!  Leo’s waiting on you.”

“I’m coming....I just wanted to get my records.”

Edna turned to Leo with a smirk, “Everything is music and records, and records and music.”

“Yeah, I guess....”

By now, Barry was ambling into the foyer, grinning.  

“Hey Uncle Leo.”

“Hey, Youngblood! How’s it going?”  Leo grabbed the boy around his neck in a mock head lock.  Barry allowed himself to be held in this semblance of a hug.  He really liked Uncle Leo, the closest thing he had to his own father, who he hadn’t seen in four years.

“Everything alright?” Leo asked, pretending to tighten his grip on Barry’s head.

“Yeah!”

Edna decided to slip away to see what was taking Juanita so long.  Without letting go of Barry’s head, Leo said “What’d you say?”

“I said:  everything’s alright.”  Barry tried to disentangle himself.

“You sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know you can tell me if things ain’t alright.”

“Yes sir.”

“We got an understanding?”

Barry could feel a lump rising inexplicably in his throat.  He swallowed hard and tried to push Leo away.  “Let me go, Uncle Leo.”  But Leo held on, causing both of them to grunt as they each tried to gain balanced footing.  Barry swung one of his arms ups to punch his uncle on the back of his shoulder.  He could not name the feeling that made him want to tussle and fight, and he wasn’t sure that Leo was the one he wanted to hurt.  An ache coiled upward from his chest and into his throat.  He gritted his teeth and pushed hard against his uncle.  

Hearing the sound of their shoes dancing without rhythm interspersed with small gasps made Edna crane her neck out from the kitchen where she had been wrapping-up a few slices of homemade pound cake in cellophane.  “What’s going on out there?”  Leo looked over his shoulder.  “Oh, nothing.  I’m just having a talk with my buddy.”  He let go of his nephew’s neck.  Flustered, Barry backed-away, unfolding his lanky body and panting. His nostrils flared.  “Yeah, Ma.  I’m just talking to Uncle Leo.”

“I don’t hear much talking...”  Edna sounded skeptical. but resumed packing the brown paper bag which she handed to Juanita.  “You can let the girls have a a piece of pound cake and some milk before they go to bed.”

Juanita looked at her mother, trying to decide how she felt towards her.  Baby-sitting her young cousins was not something she was opposed to doing.  It was just that Edna had given her permission to go over her friend, Diane’s, house....and then-wham!-all it took was one phone call from Aunt Melvina to make her plans defunct.  How fair was that?        

"The Drive to Greenacres"

Leo shook his head at Reggie’s youth but still reciprocated with his own Black Power salute, and smiled into his neck.  “Daddy? Was that for Black Power?” Leslie asked, watching her father’s fist fall from her eyesight.

“What?”  Leo was distracted.  Just last year Detroit was a-blaze with anger; with smoke and fire and tanks.  This year Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., had been murdered in cold blood; and after him, Senator Robert F. Kennedy.  A lot of days Leo felt like he was walking around with a heavy mourning stone inside his chest.

“This is Black Power.”  Leslie turned to Sukie to demonstrate the gesture.  Holding her fist close to her mouth, she squeezed her eyes shut to emphasize her sincerity.

“Mmhmm.”  Sukie balled-up her fist, looked at it appreciatively, and then poked two fingers out.

“This one is for Peace.” she said.

Leslie nodded her head.  “Daddy?”  she tried for Leo’s attention, again.  “Daddy do you know UNH, UNGAWA?”

When Leo didn’t respond she turned back to her sister.  

UNH, UNGAWA!

We got that soul pow-ah

UNH, UNGAWA!

We’re the people of the ow-ah!

Sukie was definitely digging the sound of this rhyme and bobbed her head in time.  She tried to lip-sync with Leslie and they repeated it a few times, clapping their hands and alternating Black Power and Peace Sign salutes to each other.

“Can you see us Daddy?” Leslie tried to catch Leo’s eye in the rear view mirror.  He glanced but didn’t comment.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?”

“Can’t you see I’m driving?”

Leslie shrugged her shoulders at Sukie and leaned back on the black vinyl seat.  Sukie leaned back and looked out of the window as the tops of buildings and trees flashed in a blur.  She was too small to see Northern High School, the public library, the brand new florist shop, or the large homes on Arden Park, Atkinson, and the Boston-Edison district.  She couldn’t see the fried fish hut or the gas station or the party stores.  She was too small to see where parts of Detroit resembled the way a person looks when they get hit in the eye with a left-hook and then a right uppercut to the chin. 

They were driving northbound from their home in the North End down Woodward Avenue, where Highland Park was tucked into Detroit’s breast pocket. Behind them traffic faded downtown---some of it veering onto Lafayette and Jefferson streets, and melting into early evening shades of purple and orange.  The sky glowed in golden tones from beyond where Windsor, Ontario sat in Canada on the other side of the Detroit River.  The western sky was brightest; its air still crackling with youthful games being played at sundown in October.  

The family’s Plymouth cruised past the old Ford Motor plant on the eastern side of Woodward, and Sears & Roebuck on the western side.  The girls loved it when Leo bought small bags of warm salted spanish peanuts, there, because it made an ordinary day seem special.  But he didn’t stop at Sears, today.  

Just north of McNichols, Woodward widened, becoming more airy to accommodate the last two miles before Eight Mile Road separated Detroit from its northern suburbs.  Past the woodsy trails, the duck pond, and Good Humor Ice Cream truck parked at Palmer Park---there were residential neighborhoods, two cemeteries, the Michigan State Fairgrounds, and a bar called The Last Chance.  

Edna and her kids lived in a small community called Greenacres on the Detroit side.  Their home was average in size and newer.  The front and back yards were larger than the one’s at Leo and Melvina’s house. Unlike the North End, there were no neighborhood corner stores, shoe repair shops, or barbeque take-out joints.

Detecting a change in the quality of atmospheric energy, Sukie and Leslie sat up on their knees to look out of the car windows.  They saw a boy with a fresh haircut and two girls with ponytails spinning the pedals of an upturned tricycle; they were playing “ice cream truck”.  A man who wore pants with suspenders was setting fire to a pile of leaves he had raked to the curb.      An adult brother and sister stood and plainly stared without smiling at Leo, Leslie, and Sukie, as they drove by.  After a while, Leslie had to ask:

“Daddy? Where’s the black people at?”