This excerpt is from a short story about a guy who hosted unofficial card parties at his home every week for years. The entire short details how the narrator became a part of the card crew, and how a sudden turn of events ended their weekly ritual.
Lee’s Place By Jameela Shabazz
I go to Lee’s place once a week. Each time I pull up, I only really look at the doorway down the path and up the stairs. Sometimes he had the door closed, but he usually has the doors propped open.
Either way, he’d always rush to the door and wave us, his card
game guests, into his family room, otherwise known as my championship grounds. One day, I pulled up to Lee’s place, waiting to play and eventually gloat about my ninth spades tournament championship. I flashed a little sly grin and did my usual three raps on the horn as I remembered telling Lee he wouldn’t ever touch the weekly, eight ounce championship cup from the dollar store, I just so happened to win the last eight weeks in a row. After repeating the three rap horn code two more times, I decided to pay closer attention to the surroundings. I looked in the lot next door where most of the other players parked their cars and noticed it was empty. Then I looked back at the door and all around. My car was the only sign of life on the block. For the first time, I actually looked down, full of confusion because there were always several people around. Then a yellow flap that was blowing in the wind caught my peripheral. It turned out to be more than just a flap. Lee’s gate was covered in a whirl-a-round yellow ribbon with bold, capital letters: POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS.
This excerpt is from a short story about a young woman’s yearning to experience freedom and independence. The entire short details how the narrator’s parents find a creative way to grant her wishes, and the biggest reasons why they had to proceed in the ways they chose.
Dog, or Dad and I? By Jameela Shabazz Having Kujo around made my dad feel comfortable enough to allow me to walk a mile and a half around the oh-so-infamous North Lawndale neighborhood. I was fearless and knew no danger, but my dad who was older and wiser, had a totally different take. Before taking care of Kujo became my responsibility, I felt caged. Having Kujo around made me feel as though I was raising a child to which I hadn’t given birth. I couldn’t go anywhere or hang out with others without him, and I’d complain to my parents that I was losing friends because of my new four-legged shadow. I felt my cries to my parents were swept away by the wind. The good thing about having Kujo to bond with was this obvious fact of us experiencing our freedom together. I’m sure Kujo didn’t share my same stigmas, but he definitely knew what it was like to be caged. Ironically, we both got our calculated freedoms at the same time, in the same way, with our walks in the neighborhood, both on either end of a leash.
In a recent conversation, my dad told me the dogs were more symbolic. He explained how he kept a tight leash on us because I had an older sister who was abducted and killed about eight or nine years before my birth. My dad’s brutal honesty revealed how losing a child actually made him fearful of letting us out of his sight. He said that the dogs were sort of a chance for redemption. Having Kujo gave my dad the opportunity to practice giving me space and freedom.