Me & Mrs. Jones (& robert frost)

“Two roads diverged in a forest past traveled them both to say the least but seldom found myself on the road traveled least where the grass less trampled and the path narrower and neat This road I traveled least But often took the road traveled most where the paths are worn and beaten over by those who traveled the road not traveled least with disappointed feet from this road of defeat we travail at the road traveled least.”

To say you just worked as a house cleaner, would be the least of what I recall. And what I remember most about this period, is my fifteenth birthday and the struggle of those years as we be both became adults. The book for my birthday was now as I recall, a nice gesture really. I liked to read and this was a book about a man who lived under the subway in ….and now thought of himself as invisible because life had given him some tragic experiences, alone. Something had be broken at the start of our last summer together. It had taken place where you worked, and I was the blame. I heard it in your voice and saw it in your eyes. It was like a “dream deferred.” It had taken you by surprise. Like a moving train that had no whistle, it plowed us both over; and what was then very broken, could not be repaired.

And I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a time before Hip Hop. A time when there were no multi-millionaires like today’s Black super-rich. Most blacks back then thought success was a 30 year job, a piece of house, and a broken-down GM car. It is this back drop that makes up the puke in the stomach of this story. Never mind we still rode on the back of the bus.

Our fifteenth summer together had begun and we both were about to learn about life and its most meaningful moments. The Dumones were nothing but kind to us. But I had messed up badly and had gotten you fired. The look on your face that day had said it all. Why was I even born? I’m sure you questioned the very reason for it that day I had gotten you fired.


















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