Chapter 25
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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:

It’s not your fault if you were molested like I was, beaten like I was, or homeless and abandoned like I was! And it’s definitely not your fault if you developed some dreadful disease or addiction. Whether it’s an addiction to drugs or alcohol, sex or crime, it really doesn’t matter, because it’s not wholly your fault—and believe that!”

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:

“My mother used to say, ‘For your worst enemy you don’t have to do or wish them any harm that they aren’t already putting on themselves.’ She told me that instead of hating your enemy, love them, and that would kill them quicker than any bullet ever would.

“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!’ ”

Keyshia shook her head and said, “So?”

“Every time Martha used to tell us stories about her and my mother in they younger days, she said that that’s what they used to say to each other.”

“So, you saying this to say what?”

“I’m saying that my father said that Martha never liked them together and that we shouldn’t trust her because she was sneaky and no good.”

“And you believe him?”

“Keyshia, she is sneaky and no good—that’s the point. Ceasar said that about her, like he knew something we didn’t.”

Keyshia nodded. “Baby, I understand, but I’m still gonna do what I have to do.”