Farewell, Amethystine

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“Naw, naw, man. Shit no. They wanna kick her outta that school because she a Black woman want the Constitution to practice what it preach. All kindsa white revolutionaries and, and, and activist teachers up there at UCLA and they don’t make a peep about them.”

“But, Raymond,” Tinsford “Whisper” Natley rumbled, “they say she’s a Marxist, a communist.”

“So? It’s a free country, ain’t it?” my friend challenged.

Raymond Alexander, Saul Lynx, Whisper, and I were sitting around the conference table in my office at the back of WRENS-L Detective Agency.

Mostly on Monday mornings we got together to discuss events in the news. Monday was a good day because the rest of the week you couldn’t trust that we’d all be around. At the top of the week around 9:30, 10:00, my partners would migrate back with paper cups of bitter coffee in hand.

For the past couple of months, Ray, also known as Mouse, had shown up for this informal meeting every other week or so.

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