Hasan was a beautiful black man. Strong arms and hands. Brown sun-kissed skin, deep and rich like an Ethiopian. Hard worker no doubt, with a heart full of ambition. The type really didn’t matter. Deep waves perfectly tapered, making his fly look so easy and effortless. He was free. Smiling. Always smiling, no matter the circumstance. He had one of those smiles that commanded attention. A smile that spoke, I am someone. I loved that smile—it gave me hope. I’d see it and whisper to myself, “I, too, am someone.” This knowledge of self made us instant kin. Love was inevitable. His creation seemed to fit the Queen in me perfectly. Friends first we were. Lust naturally, but love….
Our love was an evolution that led us into a revolution
Dying to self to become us
Letting go, to receive the gift of companionship
Trusting
Supporting
Listening
Covering
Being patient with each other’s process and thanking Jesus daily that He keeps us growing together at a steady, even pace. Knowing how to fall back and give each other space when it’s needed.
Patient friend.
Somehow, he still managed to keep that smile in spite of a hundred-year prison sentence. He was charged with the murder of a young King, an unknown brother sharing a similar struggle as Hasan, no doubt. Unknown brothers, street lines made them known enemies. Oakland war zones, where cement separates could-be comrades and predecessors. Hasan proclaimed his innocence and, as any loyal love, I stood by his side, never wavering. My young heart prepared to go the distance, as I planted seeds of hope from the good book into this young king. I watered them with time, support, and patience. While the world coined him a murderer, all I saw was his smile. The love, strength, and courage that radiated from it. The whisper that reminded me I am somebody. I was seventeen then. Hasan told me it was time to go. He cut the cord, setting me free to become. I didn’t understand then, but my respect for him increased that day, no doubt.
I can’t explain what he was saying with that action, but it was more powerful than any words that could have been spoken back then. It was like the day we were going to finally “do it.” We were in his “aunties” house with a group of our friends. We went into the bathroom, kissing and hormones ragging. We both wanted to, but my conscience wouldn’t let me go through with it. Hasan loved that. He smiled. He kissed me, and nodded his head with a look of approval in his eyes. We made each other stand up, to want to stand up. I would wait for his letters on my front porch, so my grandparents wouldn’t see them. On Valentine’s Day, he would make me cards, draw pictures. He’d listen to me talk about life, and guide me through Oakland politics. he would teach me who to stay away from, and the signs I could look for regarding people I could trust. I would teach him scripture, how to pray, and how to listen for God’s voice. I’d read him poems about the things I saw on the outside. I’d sing him songs and push him to dream. We would dream together. Until one day he told me the dream was over. We had to wake up. He said he wanted the best for me, and for me to fly free. I cried. I was alone again.