“…please blame it on the Son of the Morning”
– Jay-Z
Afonso stole the motorcycle that he rode into Ladoga, North Carolina in the early 1950s. He cruised into the Bottoms with a leather jacket, black bomber helmet, and dark shades, and everyone on the street watched him with wonder, like he was a visiting alien in full space gear and riding a vehicle that was otherworldly. Some had seen motorcycles before, but very few had seen one in person and people started to line the side of the road that Afonso cruised down like an impromptu parade. He turned onto G— Drive and parked in the front lawn of a modest, one-story house made of bricks and painted white with a tinge of yellow. A crowd of young children stood on the street, gawking at the motorcycle as Afonso kicked down the stand, took off his helmet and shades, and sauntered over to the front door of the house. His skin was light brown, almost yellow in the bright light of the summer sun, and his rough hair was brown and sun bleached on the top of his head. He was beautiful, like a golden statue in leather.
Before he could knock, the door flung open and a woman stared out at him. Her arms were crossed at her chest and she wore a solid red house dress that hung down to her feet. Her hair was shoulder-length and curly and she cocked her head to one side. The light through the windows of the living room illuminated the space behind her, and her ebony skin was smooth as stone and seemed to reflect light. Her face was pleasant, even with the look of aggravation.
They stood there, like two models posing for a picture and the humid air stirred the woman’s red house dress. Afonso forced a smile.
“Well…” she said finally.
“I’m home, Tap” Afonso said. “You ain’t glad to see me after so long?” He turned a little and nodded his head in the direction of the motorcycle. “See what I got?”
Tap didn’t move.
“How my little man doing? I was hoping to give him a ride.” Afonso asked, trying to look past Tap and into the house. It looked the same as the last time he’d been there almost five years prior. There was a couch in the middle of the room and a large throw rug on the gray concrete floor.
She shook her head slowly and looked away from him. “You don’t have to act with me, Fonso. I ain’t stupid. I know you don’t give a damn about that boy, he almost thirteen now and I can count on one hand how many times you done seen him.”
She walked onto the porch, practically pushing Afonso to the side, but never taking her arms from across her chest. She stood and glared at the motorcycle.
“I know he would love to ride around on that thing. You always do shit like this, disappear for as long as you want to, to God knows where, and then show up like you doing everybody a favor. And can’t nobody be mad at you ’cause you always got stories to tell and nice stuff to show off. I wish I had yo luck, Afonso Timarius Barnes. I wish I could just go off exploring the world, but I got responsibilities. I got people who depend on me.”
Afonso stood quietly next to Tap and he noticed the group of boys admiring his motorcycle. They were as impressed as he’d hoped Tap would be, but he understood that she was bitter. They’d been friends their entire lives growing up in Ladoga and he got her pregnant before they graduated from highschool. Even though he was the father, every adult saw Afonso as incapable of the responsibility of raising a child, but they expected Tap to rise to the occasion. He gave her money when he could, before he turned eighteen and left home to join a traveling circus. That had been almost ten years ago, though he’d been back to Ladoga a few times over that period.
“He out there,” Tap said and tilted her chin in the direction of the group of boys. “I bet you don’t even know which one he is.”
Afonso was embarrassed as he looked over the group of boys. None of them were the little boy he remembered who looked just like Afonso imagined he looked at that age, but with his slightly darker skin and rough black hair. His nose wasn’t as wide as his mother’s, and his eyes were very expressive and big, just like Afonso’s.
“Come on over here Junior!” Tap called and waved a hand. A boy emerged from the crowd slowly, shyly. He walked over to the porch and looked down at the concrete when he wasn’t looking at his mother; he seemed afraid to make eye contact with Afonso.
“Boy, ain’t you big?” Afonso said proudly. “You look just like me, I swear. It’s good to see you. I want to hear all about what’s been going on with you, but I was hoping to take you around the block on my motorcycle. You wanna do that?”
“Where you get that thing from?” Tap asked skeptically. “The circus paying you like that? If that’s true, you can be doing more for your son, and the other chaps you got running around the Bottoms. You know Janet ain’t been right for a long time, them girls you had by her be coming over here just to eat most days.”
“I plan to stop over her mama house while I’m here,” Afonso said, never taking his eyes from his son.
“You passing out money too while you here? Or you still broke, probably stole that motorcycle.”
“I ain’t gotta steal nothing,” Afonso lied. He didn’t make much money in the circus minstrel show dressing like an African King from the kingdom of Kongo and giving lectures of the exciting life of the glory days of his kingdom. He made enough to eat, but what he liked most was riding the train all around the United States of America, and occasionally Canada, and seeing all the sights. The descrimination he endured as a black man in the 1950s was easy to bear as he became familiar with cities that people from his hometown couldn’t dream of knowing first hand. He’d gotten the job when he was attending a circus in Charlotte, North Carolina with his classmates and someone approached him because of his very distinct look. He made very little money, but he had a bed on the train and was guaranteed two meals a day. He would have to save a long time to afford a motorcycle.
“Come on, Junior, let me take you for a ride,” Afonso said and the two rode through the streets lined with curious onlookers.
When they were back at Tap’s house, they all sat in the living room, Tap and Afonso on either end of the couch and Junior on the rug on the floor. It was hot and there was a faint breeze through the open window that moved the light blue curtains.
“You come back to parade around the neighborhood?” Tap asked.
“I was nearby and got some time off,” Afonso said. “Thought y’all would be happy to see me. No wonder a man don’t come around so much, when he do, all he get is derision.”
“Derision,” Tap parroted mockingly. “Ohh boy, you so fancy now, out here playing dress up and talking like a dignified negro. That’s all good and well, pretty boy, but it’s about time you shine your light on the people that need it. Stop traveling around the country spreading joy and happiness and shine down on your own for a while.”
If only his time with the circus had been as bright as she perceived. Of course Afonso had found a way to prosper, to shine, but he had to step on a lot of heads to get ahead, and even then, he was only treading water.
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