The Red People

By Kenneth Campbell

"What's he doing here? Oh shit, I'll be right back." The air was hot, muggy, dark, gray, and desolate. What was I doing in the New York City subway, much less my wife, on a sunny August afternoon. Those thoughts all pale in comparison to the figure now walking toward me. "Where are you going, Ben?" My wife shouts at me. "That man over there, he's my father."

An old gold mohair suit, a little baggy in the leg, just like the one he always wore for best, a solid gold watch his only adornment. As he strode purposefully through the dark cavern of my subterranean nightmare, our eyes locked, of this I'm sure. I want to laugh, scream, embrace. One billion emotions in a single tearing flood. I need some air to clear my lungs. My dad, you see, has been dead for fifteen years.

He doesn't even see me. I must touch him to get his attention. I reach for him, then freeze. Coming down the platform behind him are my three sisters and their children, all following the ghost of my long forgotten pain.

As I stare at my lost siblings, he speaks to me. "What are you doing here, Huey? I wonder why you're losing your hair. That looks like a new shirt you've got on. Those are new pants and that chain around your neck - that's sterling. Look at your sisters Huey, look at their kids. Look where they're living. I see you have a wife and two kids. All of you went to Europe last year. Have you no decency Huey, no shame."

"Daddy you look great. Just the way I remember you. There's so many things I want to say to you Daddy that a fifteen year old boy just couldn't fathom. I want to thank you for raising four kids in New York City with no help. You had no wife, no family, no education, not even a high-paying, strike-busting union job. Hell, you didn't even have any citizenship until the last few years of your life. Not bad for an illegal "alien", from the planet Jamaica.

"You gave us a home, sent the girls to college, while all the while instilling in us values devoid of any hatred and bitterness. You are the greatest human being I will ever know. I will always love you. Please, let me finish Daddy."

"Huey I wonder why you're losing your hair again. When you were thirteen it started falling out, remember? This time the red people can even notice. I'll try to save it again. I see you have a bad foot just like me. I guess the acorn didn't fall far from the tree after all. You're older now, Huey, you've made so many mistakes. I see you married one of the red people. Now you have half-red children. Your sisters really need me Huey. That's why I'm back Huey, not to help you."

"Daddy please let me finish, here comes our train. Here's my wife Shelley, and your grandsons, Mark and Benjamin Nicholas. That's right, Dad, I named him after you." "Delighted" he said to Shelley while hugging Mark and ignoring Benny. All my life he was always delighted, and I never knew why.

Trailing behind venomous eyes, still not happy, even though daddy had come back, my three long lost sisters who had long ago written me off as a casualty of the red people, Diane, Eileen and Ramona, blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh. They'd all love to see some of mine spilled today. Diane's two children, Shawnee and Diedre, and Ramona's brood, Andrew and Terese looked their tired, dirty selves. All the children did seem possessed of some deep inner glow. It shone on their foreheads while illuminating the station. No muggers dared to come near us for fear of fire and brimstone.

Our train roared into the station, we forced it to a blinding stop. My father of the shining light was taking his children home. Twelve lost souls on a journey out of the depths.

I had so many questions, so much confusion. I somehow started breathing again. Why were Ramona's kids here? The city had taken them away years ago. Legally they used abuse and neglect for starters. There were more charges if needed. The boy Andrew had been adopted by his paternal grandparents. Andrew's younger sister Terese, not quite as lucky, finally made it to a foster family who were presently seeking her adoption approval after helping to restore her physiologically impaired speech. Of course, the city never considered granting poor mixed-up, spaced-out, never-worked-a-day in her life Ramona any visitation rights. As far as I could tell, neither child would ever miss their biological "mother." So what were they doing here?

"Diane you win again. You still have your two. You don't know they exist. As far as I can tell neither do either of their fathers. No grandparents to speak of (until now). Just one evil, selfish, vain, cosmetological clothes-horse, disco-queen "mother," supported by sorry, barren Auntie Eileen who never had the chance to witness or experience motherhood firsthand (until now)."

"That's right Eileen, if I had any pity left to give, you'd have it all. If you'd been named Gloria then we'd all live in a perfect world. I think they got your number. Give a bum your last dime Eileen. It's bad enough you let welfare-Ramona soak you like a sponge, but then you let the most egocentric person the world has ever known move her ready-made family in and stick you with half of their bills!"

"Daddy, you've seen all this, what can I do? I've tried to bring us together, I've tried to lead by example, help them find jobs, husbands, philosophies, but never religion. They hate me for it. You see Daddy they're more religious than I. They come by it naturally. You never forced us to the pulpit, yet we all think we have a foundation. They always go on Easter Sunday. I never go. Only when the boys were christened did you find me in a pew. I drink beer, wine, and spirits. When I was younger I did drugs. The girls don't drink, only occasionally, when hanging out with their girl friends. Daddy, I'm afraid I'm the black sheep. I look after my family and obey the law. I believe in God and try to lead a moral life.

"Daddy, I guess I'm the dog because I don't live in a ghetto. I don't look up old friends out on parole. I don't walk through rat-infested hallways filled with crack dealers and addicts lining the walls, just to pay my sisters a visit. As soon as I'd leave they'd get on the phone to their friends to tell them all how no good I am.

"I live in a suburb Daddy, where the grass is green and my children can play as we once played. We were happy and free.

"Then you died Daddy and left us on our own. We had maternal grandparents then who were going to help us. They split us in two's, then ripped off our insurance money. This is how I became an adult. The girls were all grown. It was only me, left to graduate high school to legitimize our dying family. Before that could happen, I signed up for the service. Then I graduated, joined the Air Force, Diane had her baby, then Ramona got pregnant. Life seemed to say we must all go our own way. That's what we all did.

"Now your daughters all live together again. One works, one procreates, and one pays the bills. What can I do to end their misery?"

The train has stopped. This is the last stop. We're home. We're back in Hayward, in our big green house. Our lovely yard is just as we left it. Friendly neighbors, clean streets, and lots of kids to play with.

"Huey, I've tried to set a good example. I know what you feel. I feel it too. I brought the girls into this world. I feel their hurt as I feel yours. I will help them. You must save yourself. You don't know what you want. You were the brightest kid, but far too lazy. How did I know? Take one guess. I thought I would be the next Chuck Berry. I wish you'd kept my guitar. Anyway, when you were in the third grade you told me you wanted to be a writer. I saw myself Huey. No matter the cost, I could not let you envision such a hopeless dream. You had the brain of a doctor, the will of a lawyer. That is what you should be, a lawyer. Had I been there to guide you, you'd be practicing now. Why didn't I let you go to either of those fancy boarding schools you'd won scholarships to? I was human, Huey. I knew even then you wanted to get away from your sisters. I needed you Huey. I wanted my only son to myself. For whether you like it or not Huey, you are still the hope of the family.

"I only have two things to say to you. Every boy needs his mother Huey. The gentle touch you never had. You worship my memory, but I pity your poor wife. You cringe for your mother who died before you knew her. You want to know her Huey, there is only one way. Your sisters are it Huey. Once they go she is gone. Her spirit shall live on with the children, as mine will, but our essence will be lost forever. Try forgiveness and compassion and don't try to judge.

"The last thing I'll say, Huey, is I'm sorry. I played my music, it helped keep me sane. I was never Chuck Berry, just a decent musician. So you write Huey. Write of joy and of pain. Write of our family, as we look at our house, it's a fine house and roomy with a solid foundation. Oh, and Benjamin Hugh, I know all about Benjamin Nicholas, I sent

him for you."

The Red People

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