From: Angry Man
I stare at cigarettes like I am receiving the world’s greatest blow, but instead of buying them this homeless guy stole them. ‘Hey, watch where you are going.’ I followed the man. He stood in line, waiting for food. My hand felt the back of my jeans. I buy them from Macy’s. Sean Johns, I feel rich wearing them; 100 dollar jeans. Wallet missing; legs walking and brain thinking. I stand in line waiting my turn, ‘rice or soup’? It was my turn, ‘rice or soup’? I replied, ‘my wallet.’ Everyone looked at me; I didn’t know ‘wallet’ was equal to the word ‘bomb’ on an airplane.
To: Angry Man
I wake up everyday, today my leg decided to shake uncontrollably. Pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters rolled from my socks onto floor faster then Jennifer Lopez. I walked into a store before breakfast. My torn pants, dirty and infected shirt plead ‘help’. I bumped into a man; he was bothered. ‘Hey, watch where you are going.’ I woke up on a park bench and now I am a ‘menace to society’.
To: Hungry Man
From: Angry Man
He walks like a penguin. The homeless man starts to look around. I walked behind him; point my finger into his spine. ‘Scream, I shoot. Give me back my wallet.’ He was patient. ‘I am not scared. My name is Black Moon. I am what your people call a ‘Native American’. You are one of the White Men.’
To: Angry Man
From: Black Moon
We are best friends. Today is our anniversary. He is 6ft 3 inches, White skin. Long Black hair, dark eyes. Strong heart, never afraid. My back feels the indent of his finger. We eat and drink, ‘you remember soup or wallet’? I chuckle, ‘you were a mad man.’ His name is White Hawk.
To: Black Moon
From: White Hawk
He is homeless. I am homeless. Not sure how it started I am mad. I am alive. I love eating. I love Black Moon. ‘You know, I wanted to kill you.’ My wallet speaks, ‘empty is free and free is content.’
To: Angry Man & Hungry Man
From: White Hawk & Black Moon
I am not angry. Today, we drive. Our forehead wide, we dig burial grounds. ‘Moon, if you could go back in time’, would you?’ ‘Hawk, if you reversed your stupidity, would it help?’
Several Years Later
I find letters in the attic. Black Moon visits our home. After he was diagnosed with cancer, it was all over. He became a metaphor without the filling, like an Oreo without the filling. He became dark, his skin embarked on suicide missions. My father, all he could talk about was Black Moon.
I remember watching them interact with one another. Black Moon would bring the Native American equivalent to marijuana. My father would sit alongside of him, feet resting on a hard-carved footrest. I sat massaging both of their feet. Sometimes seeking advice, listening, or learning. My father old, skin crackling in the midst of a kindled fire. His eyes speak dark skies raining moonlight.
“Golden flower, how was school?’
‘Father, it was okay.’
Black Moon asked like so many times before,
‘Did you kick any @ss?’
My father never corrected his mentor, never crossed a line that could never be fixed.
‘No, I didn’t.’
All I ever wanted to know was if I had a mother?
‘Father, today was Mother’s Day at school.’ My father smirked, Black Moon’s hand rose. I sat between my father and his mate. My father looked into the distance. Ever-lasting acres of land; corn, pigs, horses, and multiple shadows growing beneath the sun and the earth.
Black Moon never lied. Beneath my shirt were the letters I found. Black Moon read my mind, ‘you are a child of the Creator. A child of this land.’ I did not doubt but I needed more. I took the letters out from beneath my shirt, ‘I found the letters you wrote to one another. No mention of my mother in them.’ My father’s teeth shined, I could see his molars. Two weeks later Black Moon died, I never saw my father’s molars again.