The Writer (an ohshc ff)

Foreword

Foreword

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"Lightning makes no sound until it strikes" - Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

That is my grandfathers favorite quote and one that I despise. Don't get me wrong, the quote itself isn't loathsome, in fact, it is a most pleasurable form of genius, but me not being able to go twelve minutes without hearing the voice of Reginald Pressman in the back of my mind uttering that sentence is quite contemptible.

The saying had been branded to the pink of my brain by my grandfather when I was four years old, and at seventeen I still feel the harsh burn.

I mean, that old man would bother me all the time.

I'd be too shy to read a book report for class. He'd say it.

I'd tell him how a kid tripped me at recess. He'd say it.

I would be minding my own damn business, and he would say it.

"Remember, Solomon. Lightning don't make no sound until it strikes!" he'd bellow while sliding on his shoes to clock in at the local post office.

"Alright, Papa," I'd say before going back to watching Power Rangers.

As smart of a kid I was, I could never figure out why that man would pester me with those words every second of the day. Hell, for a while I thought it was simply an old people thing and his mind was slowly going. However, I began to grow curious (as well as annoyed), but whenever I would ask why he was doing it, he would only glance at me and say,

"You'll understand when you're older,"

Which was one of the most disrespectful things that could be said to a child.

Like any other kid, I would get pissed off. It didn't matter how intelligent or "grown" I thought I was; the reaction was just stemmed from my innate immaturity.

How could I, a boy reading five grades above his lexile, not possibly comprehend the simple reasoning behind his grandfather saying the same thing to him every day?

But, it took me years finally to grasp some version of an understanding.

Black boy in Japan, is the story of, well, a black boy in Japan. I, a poor boy with a negro nose, who grew up in a place with crime rates as high as it's temperatures, somehow managed to attend one of the most prestigious schools in the northern hemisphere. A horrific pink facility that smelled of roses and lacked a serious amount diversity in the student body. This autobiography is the telling of my experience, one so unforgettable that I can still recall every vivid detail, from the audacious color of the school, to the extremely minor differences between a certain pair of twins that were deemed completely identical.

This work is something personal, so it may not get published, or it may, I have yet to decide. I consider it as something quite therapeutic, a diary almost, where I can talk about my experiences in the most unfiltered and rawest ways possible, to help cope with the pain of never seeing my newfound friends again, along with my potential first love.

Don't worry, I will dive further into that later in the story; yes, story, as this won't be a boring piece of literature that you'd read in you AP english class, but a story, told through the eyes of the author, engaging his readers into his experiences as though he were reliving them. Like I said, i'm not sure if i will publish this sometime in the future, but I have always enjoyed story telling, so—

Hello my reader, whomever you may be, existent or non existent, I sincerely hope you enjoy my story, one filled with ups and downs, pride and prejudice, racial injustice, friendships and "foeships", a pair of twins who don't know how to mind their own business, and a relationship that was destined to fail.

Black Boy in Japan.

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