The Little Black Book On Noble Street

$20,000 and a little black book. It isn’t too hard to imagine how all these things came to be. A little black book was all that was given to me. A little black book, bound in leather, a little black book, lighter than a feather. Little did I know the joy that would come over me, just holding that little black book opened endless possibilities.

Curiosity was the name of the game that came over me; and my curiosity fortunately led me to the little bookstore on Noble Street, owned by the man who lost both his feet to the war on drugs that lives in the streets.

This man sold dope to make ends meet. Everyone who knew him said his product was sweet. He made a lot of money selling highs on the street. But street life will always come get you one day. And one day this man was unable to pay.

The gun-toting mobsters who wanted their rent went after the man and everything he had. Once they took that, unsatisfied, they emptied a clip into his body and he nearly died. Losing blood, his body riddled with bullet holes, the doctor’s only choice was to remove his shin folds. Delicately, with a knife, they sliced off his feet. The evidence of life: the blood on the sheets.

But it was his lucky day. He wasn’t scheduled to die. They cauterized his wound, and he was alive. They tried to take his life, but instead they took his feet. They tried to take his power, and the man they left was meek.

Defeated, and tossed out of the game, beaten down and maimed, his lost feet were a part of his fame. The man decided he would not lay down in defeat. Even without his feet, he would still hit the streets. So, he opened a bookstore on Noble Street.

This is the part of the story where I come in.

On a winter’s day, cold and bleak, I went by the store to take a peek. It was a small little place, broken down on the outside. The sign said OPEN, but it hung to one side. Not even the snow- covered railings could make it look shiny.

Ominous and foreboding, I wondered what secrets it was hiding. Like a thief in the night, I breezed through the door. The sound of a ringing bell let me know my presence was known. No worries. I looked around; it seemed as if I were alone. A cold breeze rustled the pages of books as I came in. A swirl of dust was stirred up by the wind. Only silence greeted me therein.

I took to the floor, reading the book covers. I walked around the store, trying not to hover. Then I got to see such titles as, “Their Eyes Were Watching God,” by Zora Neale Hurston and “Beloved” by Toni Morrison.

Maya Angelou’s name showed up on several of the books. Surprisingly, so did Obama and Oprah, the longer I looked. I was not familiar with all the names of authors I’d seen, but I knew they all were black like me.

There were Amiri Baraka and Octavia Butler, and a graphic novel for a series called “Model Behavior.” Langston Hughes, Alex Haley and Richard Wright showed up. I really couldn’t believe my luck -- that a girl like me in this cold weather, could stumble across such a wonderful treasure.

My fingers tingled as I slid them across the spines of books I haven’t read or seen. I fell into a trance, almost, a fit of pleasure, trying to decide which book I wanted to read at leisure. Then a touch on my shoulder nearly startled me out of my skin. I was so lost in the books and the stories they carried within. I let out a shout and quickly began to spin. A strong hand steadied me, and kind brown eyes showed me we were kin.

“Why hello there,” the stranger said with a smile. “No one has been in here for quite a long while.”

I took a gasp of air as I stifled my scream. My knees nearly buckled, I was so relieved, that this big black man was the one who had startled me. He towered over me. He was nearly six foot three, and I a mere little girl, but that didn’t bother me.

"Y- y-, yo, you scared me!” I started to stutter.

“I apologize,” is all that he uttered. We looked at each other for a moment in silence. The moment grew longer and awkward, seeming timeless. The man cleared his throat and then he smiled.

“Here, maybe I can give you some guidance. Follow me to my desk and I’ll show you what for. I’ll give you a notebook that will help you explore. You can write down all the titles of authors and books you adore.”

I followed him to a round desk in the middle of the store. The desk was cluttered with books and papers galore. The man bent down and opened a drawer. He pulled out a small black leather notebook and pen. The name of the book on the front read “Moleskine.”

"Here, you can take this as a present. A notebook like this is useful for every adolescent.”

“Thank you.” I hardly knew what to say, I knew I did not have the money to pay for even one of the books I had seen in the store, especially this one with blank pages that would become my favorite by far.

"Mr., I just have to ask,” I said. “What made you, or rather, what lead, to your opening a bookstore in the middle of the hood?”

“I’m glad you asked,” he said. “I figured you would.”

“Why did I open a bookstore in the middle of the hood? I suppose you could say it’s because no one else would. You see, little one, things were not always as they are today. When I was a boy, blacks and whites were not allowed to play together in the streets, in the mall, or in schools.

“We lived as two separate societies with two different rules. Whether or not you were right or wrong, really depended on whether you were black or white. And so, I was determined to fight the racial boundaries that society had placed on me.

“Yes, I began my journey by selling weed in the streets. I even started a gang so my father would be pleased. But being in a gang lead to gang violence, and I lost both my feet without even trying.”

I nodded my head. I understood what he meant. Sometimes you have to break the rules just to pay rent.

“I kept seeing our people get locked up unjustly and I wondered to myself,” he said: “What could I do to help unify our community?”

“I began going to schools to share my story. I knew the answer to our problems was in our history. Inspired by my loss, but more so by my change in heart, the leaders of the community decided to give me a grant, $20,000 in all, to help me start this bookstore on Noble Street.

“It gives me a living wage, but also helps meet the need for affordable knowledge outside of college. You see, if you want to gain wisdom and learn, pick up a book, it’s sure- fire you’ll earn every degree. You can achieve if you learn how to read and stay out of the streets,” he said.

“You know, it’s February 24, 2021, and it’s been almost eight years since Obama won the presidency. Now, we all wear masks and practice social distancing. The Coronavirus is a plague wreaking havoc on the world; but it’s tragic that with everything going on racism is still the number one reason black people in America can’t get a job,” he said.

I nodded my head, I didn’t know what to say at that point in time.

I needed time to think, to ponder on his lines. I went to my home and laid on my bed. I opened the little black book and wrote down these dope rhymes instead.