MARTIN'S DREAM -- Journey Onto the Promised Land

Chapter 1 – Martin’s dream … or nightmare? Cars were being turned over or set on fire all around. People were running aimlessly, occasionally clashing with police officers in riot gears. Glass storefronts were shattered by rocks and cocktail Molotov’s as flames devoured some of the business houses around. Martin Winfred was racing desperately to get away from the commotion, but he just could not run fast enough. For a track athlete who has won many trophies and made his school and family proud, he was astoundingly slow, and his legs felt as heavy as lead. He turned the corner of the block where he lived, moving with great difficulty, hoping he was not being pursued. His home was within sight, but he was unable to reach it, as if his residence and he were moving in two separate parallel reference frames. Time stopped briefly while he thought of what to do next. Mentally, he seemed to have some level of control. However, while his mind was racing, his body was not fully cooperating. Just then, two cops materialized on the scene. He could not distinctly discern their faces, but he could tell, from deeply within himself, that they were Caucasian. He thought he heard the shorter one, a bulky and muscular officer, shout at him as he pulled his gun, “Stop, boy! Police!” He could feel a chill running down his spine. He hit the ground as fast as he could, even before he was ordered to do so, feeling powerless. He could not tell if he were angry or scared. His heart was bouncing against the walls of his thoracic cage. Cold sweats were running down his forehead. He was so close to the safety of his home, and yet safety seemed elusive. A gradually rising buzzing sound was slowly altering his state of semi-consciousness. Emergency flashing lights were paling in his mind. He was seeing some red and pink flashes through his squinted vision. It took Martin a few seconds to realize he was in bed. His right arm was extended off the bed, and the book he had been reading the night before was open, face down and pages fanning, on the floor. The radio alarm clock on his nightstand was still buzzing, and the red flashing emergency light was still gyrating inside its hard transparent plastic casing, a gift from his father’s uncle, Thomas Winfred. Uncle Thomas’s gift to Martin was an old federal system firebeam light, which he had acquired when he worked, as a volunteer, for the fire department. His sixteen-year-old, high-school junior, nephew turned it into an alarm. Using his rudimentary knowledge of Physics from an electrical technology course, Martin wired the light so that the clock’s alarm sound wave would turn on the power that fed it. The young man was endowed with a fit and healthy body, as well as an inquisitive mind. Among the many interests to which his keen intellect was attracted, the study of light and its effects stood as his main fascination. To him, light was the science of the future, perhaps even the next source of alternative energy. He reached up to the nightstand to turn the alarms off. It was time to get up and get ready for school. The aroma of his mother’s bacon and eggs reached his nostrils all the way into the shower. He hurried to get ready, so he could join them at the breakfast table. As part of cutting down on the amount of fat her family had in its diet, Mrs. Winfred had bacon perhaps only four times in the entire year – a remarkable feat for this southern belle whose own family grew up on that delicacy, and today was one of those rare times. Ava Marie Winfred, born Leafee, was quite a disciplined woman, who was adamant about making sure that her family was healthy. However, she had a special weakness for the taste and smell of bacon. Two years ago, she turned forty; but she refused to age beyond the thirty-nine-year-old mark. Her beautician was skilled at maintaining her youthful appearance by concealing her gray under a hair dye that matched very closely her natural hair color. It was aptly applied in areas where the gray was more prominent, especially by the temple area and the forehead, so that her entire hair would not have to be dyed. She walked gracefully, and was satisfied with a beautiful and athletic figure that she spent years keeping in shape through good nutrition, consistent cardiovascular exercises, and daily walks through the neighborhood. Even before they had set their minds on moving out of New York City a few months ago, her husband John Calvin Winfred and she had set their eyes on this mostly white neighborhood, because of the lower crime rate and the better school system it enjoyed. She thought John was irrationally more reticent to move, but given that the environment was what she wanted, there was no way John, or anyone else, would convince her of the oddity of an African American family moving to an all-white, elite, upper middle-classed neighborhood. They moved in, being the only African American family on their block, or blocks around them. For three months now, they had enjoyed the company of their closest neighbors, the O’Katells and the Bevains. Jonathan and Angela Bevains had walked over to meet them, and congratulated them on the day they closed the purchase of the property, which was a foreclosure deal. The Bevains had asked them about their professional lives, but only waved, or occasionally smiled at them afterwards, to the exception of the elder Bevain who must be either both hard of hearing and visually impaired, or he deliberately chose to ignore their greetings. He was that peculiar old man who was never introduced to them with the rest of the family. The O’Katell had been more engaging. Rachel O’Katell had baked them some homemade cookies the very first day they came to meet them. The O’Katell children, Anna and Jason, were polite and friendly, and they had helped Martin feel gradually more comfortable in this strange place. To Martin, having moved from an apartment in a boisterous cosmopolitan city, life in this quiet and calm community triggered quite a culture shock, but he was adapting quickly. Anna and Jason were kind enough to introduce him to some of their peers in the neighborhood, and Martin appeared to have had no problem fitting in so far. John was mostly silent at the breakfast table. He had outgrown his concern of being the only African-American husband, or father, in their immediate vicinity. He was frantically browsing through his inbox, his laptop on the breakfast table – something of which Ava was not fond. He respected most of her wishes, but he was expecting an email from a very valuable prospective client, and it had arrived. He mentally scanned it, as he degusted some omelet and toast. Then he addressed his wife. “Honey, I may be running late today. I have to meet with a new client.” “I will try to keep your dinner warm for you.” Ava said in her most sensual voice. “Oops! I had to meet her over for dinner.” “Her?...In this case, you meet her for lunch, and leave dinner for me.” Ava retorted setting herself apart from her husband’s obstructing female future client. “Come on honey. The entire team will be present. OK? How about we cut the meeting off early, so I’ll be home in time for dinner?” “That’s more like it.” “Deal?” “No deal. You just made me a promise. All you have to do is to keep it.” Ava rectified. “Alright. I promise.” After seventeen years of marriage, Ava had learned to provide a comeback for her husband’s subtle teases. She was a secure woman. John never cheated on her; neither did he ever show any inclination for that type of behavior. He was a respectable man who has earned a reputation of having integrity in all his dealings. John was six-foot tall and muscular, with young Denzel’s features. He appeared much younger than his forty-seven years of age. From the time he met Ava, he had begun a rigorous regimen of exercises, designed to providing him with the dual benefit of great physical fitness and increased mental health – something very coveted in these times of widespread economic downturns. The most recent recessions had taken a toll on many businesses, and John’s was not exempt. A larger firm swallowed up the small bank he was working for, and he had to settle for a severance package and leave. When his wife had set her mind on moving to Georgia, because of the proximity to relatives, John seriously considered the possibilities that he was presented with. He could look for a job as a newcomer in a place that topped the list of states with the most failed banks, or he could join the strand of entrepreneurs who were using their skills to create new opportunities in an economy where innovation was the key to success. He chose the latter. He got into investment banking seven years ago. Prior to being an investment banker, he had taught Mathematics for thirteen years at the high school level, but he was disillusioned with teaching. He decided to switch careers and do something he really had passion for, and investment was it. He was hired by a small bank, and was enjoying a successful career transition until the global recession hit. John was now happy to have started his own business. He has put together an investment consulting team of four people who provided services to some small corporations and financial businesses, so they could make sensible decisions and stay afloat. He was able to secure a few accounts, and he was aggressively seeking and meeting potential clients, believing he could use his experience to assist them in making sounder and wiser financial decisions. His conviction in the resilience of the American economy has allowed him to be a source of encouragement to the few clients he had. Ana and he met in college while he was finishing his graduate studies, and she was just a freshman finishing her first year of college. They were married five years later. John had always thought that Ana has been God’s gift to him. “You were made from one of my ribs,” he would often say half-jokingly. Their marriage was very rocky at the beginning: John was actively involved in church-related activities, and devoted very little time to nurturing his relationship to his wife. It took him a few marriage seminars, and stepping back from ministry-related activities, to come to terms with his new wife’s needs for security and closeness – something she let him know in no uncertain terms, when she threatened to leave the marriage if he did not change his ways. He abhorred the threatening tone, but he had the good disposition to change, and their marriage had been flourishing since. He was working on plans for his next team meeting with his three-worker crew when his son’s voice slowly brought him back to his home reality, but he only caught the word “dad.” “What did you say, son?” John asked. “I need to stay after school to rehearse for the school production in honor of Black History Month.” “Why don’t you wait for Austin then?” “I can’t ride with him.” “Why not?” “Well… He has a basketball game. Besides, he’s not taking part in the production. Either you or Mom will have to pick me up. Unless one of you will let me borrow your car…” That was out of the question. Martin had just acquired his driver’s license, and he was trusted to be a safe though inexperienced driver, but neither Ava nor John could spare their car. Ava taught Junior High School, which was dismissed forty-five minutes after High School. Moreover, there was a faculty meeting scheduled this afternoon, and she had all that grading that she might have to complete after the meeting, as she has had SST’s and IEP’s to schedule during her planning period. As far as John was concerned, his own schedule could get quite unpredictable. Martin had gotten in the habit of riding with his neighbor Austin Bevain who was a senior at the same high school. The Bevains had bought their eldest child a car in his senior year, and occasionally, Martin rode with him to and from school. However, Austin would have to leave school early since Males High was playing today’s basketball game away. “Call me on my cell. I’ll pick you up then.” John said. “Did you get everything you need for the day?” Ava asked, as they were leaving. “Oops! I forgot my English paper in the printer. Ms. Pratts would have killed me.” “I’ve got to meet that teacher who would kill you for not submitting your assignment on time,” Ava said, hardly concealing a smile. “You’re kidding me? This woman is a grade slasher. You breathe too loud in the classroom, and she takes points off your grade.” Martin said jokingly as he ran to the printer. Mrs. Pratts held her students to the highest academic standards, and she inspired much respect and admiration from her colleagues and students alike. However, there were horror stories about her from students who failed her AP English class, which she taught. Martin had heard those stories, and he had no intention of being a character in any of them, willingly or by accident. Being their only son, the Winfreds have tried their best to teach Martin good notions about responsibility, work ethics, and the value of a good education. He enrolled in five AP courses, was taking some technology courses at the college level, acting as the secretary for the student body, and he was on the track team. It was 7:15 AM. The school was fifteen minutes from their home. Ava just had enough time to drop her son off to school and get to her job, five minutes away, not figuring in the traffic factor. They quickly got in the car. Martin was overexcited about going to school today. He had acquired a major part in his school’s theatrical production for the black history month this year. He had been reading much on the civil rights movement the day before in preparation for his part, and the last pictures he had on his mind before he fell asleep last night were those of the riots in Harlem soon after the announcement of the death of the civil rights leader, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Martin was as equally proud of his part as he was of his first name, given him by his father, an avid admirer of the famous civil rights leader. Martin was lost in his thoughts. He barely heard his mother saying “good bye,” as he got out of the car to walk toward the school’s entrance door.