Five years later, 1928, in Harlem, New York City…
The breathing of my father’s breath matched the beating rain drops outside against the room’s window pane. His eyes remained closed. But I knew that he was aware that I was here, sitting beside him...watching...waiting. The stillness of his body resembled the stillness of the room. My mother decided to keep it simple with blue and a touch of gray throughout their bedroom. The huge iron-framed bed sat in the middle with a couple of photos of my parents and family members on the walls. A vase nearby filled with daffodils provided the most wonderful fragrant scent that danced with my own spirit, making me more calmer, more at home, and more in love with my father, mother…and Harlem.
After college down in Atlanta, I spent the pass year in Europe with Nate and his band. Touring many venues with the raising acts from the States making a name for myself. When it happen, right there on stage, I was singing my heart out when I saw him in the corner. Tony. The news still hit me hard, but Tony like always comforted me as I headed back to Harlem. The reality of my father's stress due to his on-going mission for black folks' rights finally came home to my father. His stroke brought him to his knees, in order for him to slow down. And with all the crisis of preserving Marcus Garvey mission, in which, led my father to send his children far away from his headquarters base and far away from Harlem...widen the gap of our relationship.
“How long are you going to stare at him?” My mother said as the door creaked open even more allowing the outside light to slip underneath my chair and stand in front of me. My reflection of my body frame was hovering over my father like an angel.
“Soon.” I said not turning around, instead, I continue to watch the rhythm of life be release in and out from my father’s nostrils.
“How about now, it has been several weeks and we have not as of yet gotten the chance to really sit down and talk, since you gotten back.”
I knew she would not take no for an answer. I slowly stood up to put on my lavender sweater that matched my dress. I then leaned over my father to pull the the blanket up close to my father's chin. He moan a peaceful tone of contentment. It made me feel much better for leaving him, if only for a moment. I faced the door and walked towards my mother, her face beamed with satisfaction for knowing soon she would be able to pry into my private life, that I had managed to keep my family out of it for over a year.
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