SLAP!

I was ready for the upcoming revolution. It was going to be a complete mindset and more importantly, a lifestyle change. Every move I made from this moment on would be carefully planned and focused. The absent minded, spontaneous fog that covered my eyes was now gone. I saw clearer and acted with intent.

I was determined to be on the right side of history, they would share my story of bravery and intuition. No matter how many I affected it would be for glory and progress, freedom and truth, dominance over weak.

I have a son that I not only wanted to protect but uplift in every way possible. My son needs the information along with an example of a strong, focused, and determined leader. I’m his mother and I won’t be the meek and mild-mannered type any longer. His father is weak minded and an inactionable waste of space. A mistake I never want to make again. Choosing a man who will bend over for money and just “get-by” with no purpose for anything greater. Not my son. My son will be a modern-day warrior.

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The video popped up as they always do, following the algorithm. Words on banners and photos of protests.

2025 is about change - action - help - help those who need it, in your community. In OUR community. People of color. Brown. Black. The Blaacks. How annoying.

They always found some way to be racist. They couldn’t help themselves. Aggression on aggression. Pressure building and mounting day by day to the point I want to scream at the top of my lungs and also curl into a ball and cry after ripping one of their heads off.

Help.

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My thoughts were interrupted by mother. She is always NOT asking for help. Her last message hinted that she was scared of the alarming number of HIS supporters residing in her senior living community. Mother wanted to be a part of the movement by not spending her black dollars at the places that didn’t want us. Her travel van was reliant, however, on the community requests and they still only travel to those same stores that disrespected and undervalued minorities.

Help. The words echoing in my mind.

She most likely isn’t the only one in that community who wants to resist spending their money in certain places. I battled the pros and cons but overwhelming initiative took over. After pushing my own needs to the forefront for the last few years, being selfish and engrossed in my own family needs, I ignored Mother’s constant need for assistance aside…and I did it.

Helped.

It was going incredibly. I loved seeing and hearing those matured kings and queens share their appreciation of being able to contribute in dismantling this disgusting system we were apart of. Hearing the past stories of similar struggles, and fights they had been a part of.  To the present day of sharing in the joy of not letting their dollars contribute to oligarch control and the demolition of our democracy. We didn’t have to let them win. We could fight back, even if it’s not with official legislation or a gun.

Helper.

Then, I saw her do it.

Her friend of caucus descent approached.

She gave them rations from our bounty. My bounty.

It’s her Christian nature - she explained.

I saw only a weak minded, self-centered, people pleasing, uppity poor wannabe white woman. Oh…Mother would never change.

Help.

I had to help her.

I kneeled in front of her. As she kneeled facing the pale skinned woman, I met Mother’s gaze and spoke clearly but softly.

“This is NO time for sharing. For they did not think of us when we were down. When they voted for HIM”.

I stood, “They grew up seeing the segregation and knew exactly what they were voting for”. My eyes darted around the community space around me and raised my voice higher since they seemed to want a show, “Let them starve as they wished upon us. Let them burn as they did us. Let them hang by the last fabric of their choices and pray they view our ancestors strung up, burned unto their eyelids for an eternity. Let them pray that we do not get a chance to do the same to their selfish, pale, ignorant, slovenly, degenerate, children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren.”

She was still on her knees, where she seemed to enjoy being. I had different goals. I thought again of her lifting MY supplies, for MY people, MY provisions bought with MY money, and she offers it to the very people who put us into this position in the first place.

SLAP!

I struck her black cheek.

With the full force of my open palm, barely lasting a second but the sound could crack a bell. I could feel her hot cheek and the ghost of the vibration still shaking my hand.

I looked to the ugly, thin lipped, varicose veined, splotchy red pock marked, thinning haired white woman holding my consignments. I wanted to take a photo of her.

She released my purchases immediately and took a step back.

I struck Mother for her ignorance. She needed help, help getting up. Help to stand with me.

I would do far more to this white stranger if she uttered a single sound in my presence.

The sheer terror in her eyes made flowers bloom in my stomach, I felt my cheeks redden with a bashful pride and a smile began to twitch on the corners of my lips.

I would love to put her petrified eyes in a large frame above my mantle. It was art.

She was most likely someone’s mother as well. I would love to send them this masterpiece of her.

That would help.