I step, throw down the trunk bat and tell them I don't need a bat to fuck them. My fists are balled up and the only thing I want in the world is to swing back over and over again. Shonda feels the same, i think. She's right in the mix, yelling, crying, fighting as best she can. After security and a dean break up the mess, the frats go back to receiving their new pledges and Shonda and I go to work at Ton-o-fun in our dirty blue shirts. On our first break at work, we decide that we should call a local news station so the rest of Jackson can see what's happening at Millsaps on a saturday morning. We meet the camera crew at school. Some of boys go after the reporter and cameraman. The camera gets a few students in Afros, black face and Confederate capes.
On the way there, shonda picks up essay a glass bottle out of the trash. I tell her to wait outside the room. I open the bottom drawer and look at the hoodies balled up on the top of my gun. I pick up my gun and think about my Grandma. I think not only about what she'd feel if I went back out there with a gun. I think about how if Grandma walked out of that room with a gun in hand, she'd use. I am her grandson. I throw the gun back on top of the clothes, close the drawer, go in my closet and pick up a wooden T-ball bat. Some of the ka's and Sigs keep calling us names as we approach them.
The shirts of the other boy workers at Ton-o-fun fit them better than mine. My shirt is tight in the wrong places and slightly less royal blue. I like to add a taste of bleach so i don't stank. As we walk out to the parking lot of my dorm, the kappa Alpha and Kappa sigma fraternities are in front of our dorm receiving their new members. They've been up drinking all night. Some of them have on black face and others have on Afro wigs and Confederate capes. We get close to Shonda's Saturn and one of the men says, "Kiese, write about this!" Then another voice calls me a "Nigger" and Shonda, a "Nigger bitch." I think and feel a lot but mostly i feel that I can't do anything to make.
Animal Rights, essay
The letter states that the "key essay in question was written by kiese laymon, a controversial writer who consistently editorializes on race issues.". After the President's letter goes out, my life kinda hurts. I receive a sweet letter in the mail with the burnt up ashes of my essays. The letter says that if I don't stop writing and give myself "over to right my life would end up like the ashes of my writing. The tires of my mama's car are slashed when her car was left hiragana on campus.
I'm given a single room after the dean of Students thinks it's too dangerous for me to have a roommate. Finally, greg Miller, an English Professor, writes an essay about how and why a student in his Liberal Studies class says, "Kiese should be killed for what he's writing." I feel a lot when I read those words, but mainly i wonder what's wrong with. It's bid day at Millsaps. Shonda and i are headed to our jobs at Ton-o-fun, a fake ass Chuck. Cheese behind Northpark mall. We're wearing royal blue shirts with a strange smiling animal and Ton-o-fun on the left titty.
The boy places his gun on my chest and keeps looking back and forth to the car. I feel a strange calm, an uncanny resolve. I don't know what's wrong with. He's patting me down for money that I don't have since we hadn't gotten our work-study checks yet and I just spent my last little money on two veggie subs from Subway and two of those large Chocolate Chip cookies. The young brother keeps looking back to the car, unsure what he's supposed.
Shonda and her friends are screaming when he takes the gun off my chest and trots goofily back to the car. I don't know what's wrong with him but a few months later, i have a gun. A partner of mine hooks me up with a partner of his who lets me hold something. I get the gun not only to defend myself from goofy brothers in red Corollas trying to rob folks for work-study money. I guess I'm working on becoming a black writer in Mississippi and some folks around Millsaps College don't like the essays I'm writing in the school newspaper. A few weeks earlier, george harmon, the President of Millsaps, shuts down the campus paper in response to a satirical essay i wrote on communal masturbation and sends a letter to over 12,000 overwhelmingly white millsaps students, friends and alumnae.
Writing an essay about dance
16 months later, i'm 18, three years older than Edward evans will be when he is shot in the head behind an abandoned home in Jackson. Shonda and i are walking from Subway back to millsaps College with two mattress of her white friends. We turn off of North State Street and walk halfway past the cemetery when a red Corolla filled with brothers stops in front. All of the brothers have blue rags covering their noses and mouths. One of the brothers, a kid at least two years younger than me with the birdest of bird chests, gets out of the car clutching a shiny silver gun. He comes towards Shonda and. "me i say to him. Me." I hold my hands up encouraging him to do whatever he needs. If he shoots me, well, i guess bullets enter and hopefully exit my chest, but if the young Nigga thinks I'm getting pistol whupped in front of a cemetery and my girlfriend off of State Street, i'm convinced I'm going to take the gun and.
My lips still smell like filet-o-fish. "Only you he says. "you going to wallpaper jail tonight." he's got the gun to my chest. "Fuck you i tell him and suck my teeth. "i ain't going nowhere." I don't know what's wrong with. Cleta is up front trying to reason with the man through her window when all of a sudden, in a scene straight out. Boyz n the hood, a black cop approaches the car and accuses us of doing something wrong. Minutes later, a white cop tells us that John deere has been drinking too much and he lets.
out of John deere. I can't think of any other way of making him feel what we felt. Troy drives into his apartment complex and parks his Mama's long Lincoln under some kind of shed. Everyone in the car is slumped down at this point. Around 20 seconds after we park, here comes the red, white and blue of the siren. We hear a car door slam, then a loud knock on the back window. John deere has a gun in one hand and a badge in the other. He's telling me to get out of the car.
"Thanks, partner he says. A few minutes later, we're driving down I-55 when John deere drives up and rolls his window down. I figure that he wants to say something funny since we'd had a cordial essays moment at McDonald's. As soon as I roll my window down, the man screams, "Nigger lovers!" and speeds off. On I-55, we pull up beside john deere and I'm throwing finger-signs, calling John deere all kinds of clever "motherfuckers." The dude slows down and gets behind. I turn around, hoping he pulls over. John deere pulls out a police siren and places it on top of his car.
Attention getter for an essay about yourself
Gawker published the essay, "How to Slowly kill yourself and Others in America" last year, three weeks after george zimmerman told sean Hannity that the shooting of Trayvon Martin "was all God's plan." As the jury deliberates in the State. George zimmerman case, we are rerunning. I've had guns pulled on me by four people under Central Mississippi skies — once by a white undercover cop, once by a young brother trying to rob me for the leftovers of a weak work-study check, once by my mother and twice by myself. Not sure how or if i've helped many folks say yes to life but i've definitely aided in few folks dying slowly in America, all without the aid of a gun. i'm 17, five years younger than rekia boyd will be when she is shot in the head by an off duty police officer in Chicago. It's the summer after I graduated high school and my teammate, troy, is back in Jackson, mississippi. Troy, who plays college ball in Florida, asks me if I want to go to McDonald's on I-55. As Troy, cleta, leighton and I walk out of McDonald's, that Filet-o-fish grease straight cradling my lips, i hold the door open for a tiny, scruffy-faced white man with a green advantages John deere hat.