Michelle Coles - Black Was the Ink

C ock-a-doodle-doo!

It was still dark outside when the roosters crow jarred Malcolm from his sleep. A few seconds later, an engine roared. He pulled a pillow over his head to block out the noise, but it didnt help. He reached for his phone and checked the time: 5:57 a.m. He put the phone down and pulled the pillow back over his head. No way was he getting up this early, especially after that crazy dream with a train, a pig, and some man with a weird mustache. He was more tired now than when he went to bed last night, but his curiosity got the best of him.

Malcolm sat up in the twin bed against the wall and peered out through the window blinds. A pink haze was emerging on the horizon. Hed arrived at his familys farm late the night before, making this the first time hed seen the property in years. It was bigger than he remembered. Green pastures adorned with giant pecan trees stretched out for acres. Behind the farmhouse was a wide-open backyard that led to a short red metal barn. A couple of small fenced-off areas for different farm animalsgoats, cows, and a horsemarked the path between the house and the barn.

This farm had been in Malcolms family forever. His grandma Evelyn and her sister, Carol, had grown up there, raised by their mother, who everyone called Mama Lucille. Malcolm was too young when Mama Lucille died to remember her, but hed seen a picture of her cradling him in her arms when he was a baby. Now Grandma Evelyn was also gone. That was six years ago. He knew Aunt Carol missed her. He missed her too.

Malcolm spotted Uncle Leroy, Aunt Carols husband, sitting on a tractor near the barn chewing on a piece of straw. Even from this distance, Malcolm noticed how Uncle Leroys imposing stature stood out with his tall, lean frame, square jaw, and neatly trimmed beard. Malcolm chuckled. It may have been six years since he had last visited the farm, but Uncle Leroy still looked the samelike he lived in a country music video, complete with a ten-gallon hat, cowboy boots, and overalls. Uncle Leroy glanced up at the window, but Malcolm quickly ducked down to avoid being seen. No way was he helping this early. He sincerely doubted that he could survive an entire summer working a farm. He buried his head back under the pillow, determined to get more sleep.

Malcolm woke a few hours later feeling better, grateful for a dreamless slumber, and checked his phone again: 10:00 a.m. Finally, a respectable time to get up, he thought, and stretched his arms out toward the walls, recoiling when his hand grazed a poster. If he didnt know better, he could have easily been back home in his own room in D.C. The same iconic pictures hung on his bedroom walls: Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X shaking hands in a friendly embrace, Muhammad Ali issuing a knockout punch, and runners Tommie Smith and John Carlos raising their fists in the air while accepting their 1968 Olympic medals. But Malcolm wasnt in D.C. He was in his dads old room at the family farm in Natchez, Mississippia room his aunt Carol had obsessively kept in pristine condition like a museum for the past sixteen years, even leaving an extra twin bed on the other side of the room that his dad must have had for when friends slept over.

Malcolm kept his eyes off the posters. They reminded him of why he was there. He still couldnt believe his mom had exiled him to the boonies for the summer. Aunt Carol didnt even have Wi-Fi. He checked his phone again. Zero bars. How was he supposed to survive a summer without the Gram? So what if he had gotten into a fight at school or a few. People were always testing him. And maybe he couldve tried harder in his classes, but why should he if his fate was sealed? Nobody he knew ended up doing anything dope anyway.

The final straw had come when some guys shot up the basketball court where he and his best friend, Damian, had been playing hoops to celebrate the final day of their sophomore year of high school. The dudes had fled, and for no reason, he and Damian were arrested as suspects.

When his mom had arrived to pick him up at the police station, she was shaking. She had squeezed him tight and said she didnt know if she was more afraid that she had come so close to losing him or relieved that he was still alive. Malcolm, on the other hand, was just pissed. Only a few minutes after ducking the bullets of some fools trying to settle a beef that didnt concern him, hed found himself on the wrong side of a cops pistol pleading for his life.