Part 1: North Minneapolis: Bloody Puddles | Black Fiction

The murder scene of Tabyis Paskins (8.3.16). Photo: fightthepowerjournal.com

On Wednesday, August 3, 2016 a 19-year-old named Tabyis Paskins was gunned down on his bike in a senseless but common act of youth violence in north Minneapolis. As his mother grieved for her son at a vigil late Wednesday of Penn Avenue North and 25^th, I wondered about Tabyis and the life he might have. I dedicated to all of the children who have lost their life in Minneapolis’ White Lie. This piece is written as if Tabyis is talking to us…

Fiction by Don Allen

…It was supposed to be an nice summer morning; the buses running down Penn, the fine ladies heading to work downtown, and us waiting for the liquor store to open  – hanging out with my boys, hitting the blunt and riding around the neighborhood. Ain’t none of us got no jobs, that’s why we’s got to hustle. Mom’s moved us up here from Peoria, Ill. She said we needed a fresh start – away from all the bullshit in Peoria. I wasn’t going to school anyway – that shit is whack; them white teachers don’t care about no niggers. In the “Mini,” was all about hanging with my boys around here and in the “Paul,” - the ones who got my back, not them turncoats who can’t smoke the African bush, or puff the Ace…Mok gets too high and was pushing up on Clyde’s sister in the basement. Pop’s came down and Mok tried to fight him…we can’t hang there anymore.

Wednesday morning should have been easy; we were going after this mark. It was an easy score; Mok, Clyde and me could make some quick loot.

It’s not that hard for things to go wrong; it happens a lot over north. Last week my boys got shot at by a bunch of different niggas. Didn’t none of them die, but damn, they shot at them right in front of they mom’s crib; that’s ratchet cuz. If you got heat with one of your boys, you ain’t ‘pose to try and shot him and his mom’s.

Coming up - Part 2: My Environment 

So Tired of You...

...Indeed. 

"In 2015 I decided I would take the high road and focus on problem solving in my community. There are many who I needed to leave in 2014 because of what I allege are their ill-gotten gains off the backs of their fellow-poor black people. Maybe someday my people will wake up, organize and send these folks back to the suburbs they live in." ~ Don Allen

So tired of you…

In 2015 I will not use my blog to put you on blast for fucking up money that should have went to the black community.  You’ve been on blast for too long and everyone already knows. Your ticket has been punched; the jig is up. You are in short-timer status…

So tired of you.

In 2015, I will promote solutions with cordial and diplomatic relationships – I don’t care what you say about me. It could be a fake as the bitch that told you.

So tired of you.

I tell you what might be missing and you tell me to “do it yourself” and we will support you. When I do, you say, “Good luck, have a nice day.” It seems only what you produce off the backs of other black people are the only thing you are interested in…Fuck You.

So tired of you.

Just to let you know, you have never successfully rented any time in my head. When I look at you I feel pity. You could have been a great man or woman, but choose to be just another nigger trying to make a name for themselves.

So tired of you.

Every year since I’ve known you, there is nothing but hustles to get money in your pocket. It is unfortunate you use your own black people to keep food on the table, drive a nice car and take expensive vacations. Maybe one day, somebody in our community will wake up.

So tired of you.

I realize who I am and what I have. This scares you to death. You marginalize me, dismiss me and I completely understand your position. I understand fear. I ‘ve been afraid before – but never afraid of you. You know this.

So tired of you.

In 2015, you are but pebble on the road; a spot on my glasses; a puddle I can easily walk over in 2015. I know this because I left you in 2014…

So tired of you.

The Barbers and the Young Boy

By Don Allen

Who knew a belt might change the world? 

…On last Saturday, I needed a haircut - so did my son. My usual barber was on a well-deserved vacation. I went over to West Broadway and found a barbershop open at 8:15 in the morning. The brothers who worked there are in the middle of a war zone with

Drugs,

Crime,

Hunger,

Poverty and

Blight on West Broadway. The barbers stand firm on their beliefs.

One barber a tall, robust fella with a quick wit and knew all the names of the players in the ‘hood.  The other barber, in his early thirties, was a mild mannered, soft-spoken black man who stood about six-foot two at two hundred and fifty pounds. Needless to say, in that neighborhood, the meaning of "the right men for the right job" was key their longevity in that location. 

The reason why I tell this story is because a young boy walked into the barbershop, he was 17 or 18 years old. His pants were sagging, way down below his butt, exposing his underwear. He was thin with very dry skin and his hair looked as if he spent the night in the corner of vacant lent factory. In his conversation he wanted to be like the drug dealers and rappers on the street – not understanding this is Minnesota, not New York – the chances of you emulating 50 Cent in Minneapolis will probably only get you fifty-cents.  The two barbers told him, "To be in this shop, you have to pull up your pants." Without hesitation, the young boy pulled up his pants. “I’m from Chicago, this is they way we roll,” the young boy told the barbers.

One barber asked the young boy, “Do you know how sagging pants got started?” The young boy said, “No.” The barber explained, he did not always own a business and made mistakes when he was young, which lead to some time in prison. The barber told the boy, “When I was in prison, sagging pants was a signal given off by the homosexuals in prison to alert others they were available for sex.”

The boys eyes widened, he had a look of question on his face as he held tightly to his pants – around his waist. The barber went on to explain, “There is nothing sexy about letting your ass hang out in public, unless you want someone who has been in prison and formed some bad behaviors to be attracted to you for sex.” 

The barber looked at the other barber and said, “We should start a belt campaign on the corner of Bryant Avenue North and West Broadway. Every young buck that walks by with his pants sagging below his butt, we’ll give him a brand new belt and tell him the origin of saggy pants.”

The one barber turned and looked at the other barber and said, “But what if a female walks down the street with her pants sagging?” The barber said, “If I ever see that, we are lost for real.”

It’s funny how when you don’t expect an education, you learn in the strangest places.