Black Curly Hair

Her name is Marquita.

She came to our small town several years ago to attend our small college. One day, on campus, we meet and exchange our names and other pleasantries.

Marquita is beautiful. She is small, petite, just about 5'3". I am a giant standing next to her at 6'3". 

The moment our eyes met, I wanted to hold her in my arms and protect her from all harm, any harm, anything at all that would hurt her in anyway. I was very gentle with her and through our ensuing conversations over the next several months, we acknowledged that there was a mutual attraction.

She did very well in school. As for myself, I barely graduated high school, but that didn't seem to bother her in any way. Her gentle loving spirit, never debased me or put me down.

Our town has got to be one of the most smallest towns in the world. We are proud of our coal industry and our one campus, our one College. Interestingly enough, people from all over the world attend this college in the middle of nowhere. They make lasting friendships that lead far beyond the college setting. Many of them make friends with the locals at the stores, supermarkets, movie theaters and barbershops and of course at the sports games.

Over the next several months after meeting Marquita I seemed to be so distracted that I barely was able to pay attention to my own affairs. My affairs definitely required that I pay attention to them, or else I would suffer financially. My mother lived across town with my younger siblings and she was very dependent on me taking care of my financial affairs so as to help her provide for the family. She didn't know exactly what I did, in fact, I did not tell her for a reason. I also did not tell Marquita. I took care of my financial affairs in a black curly wig. It was deep black and shiny and I always kept it in my pocket or very close by, concealed.

I never told Marquita about the wig. We had gotten married and she decided to settle down in our little town. It was an honor to have her in our midst as she was so beautiful, gentle and caring that everyone loved her and loved to be in her presence.

One day the authorities came to the door. We lived in a split level home, all rooms on one floor. The children are increasing in number and they are very active and very, very noisy. But I didn't mind because I knew they were having fun. Marquita would often attempt to quiet them down particularly if I was asleep during the daylight hours. Sometimes my financial affairs would have me out or up all night. I never told Marquita what I was doing financially. We didn't live with all the modern conveniences but we always had enough and everyone was content.

This day was a surprise to her, as she had never had to be questioned by the authorities. In fact, they all knew her well and were quite pleasant.

They asked; "Is your husband at home?"

"Yes" she responded, "but he is in the back room sleeping. He worked all night. Do you want me to wake him?"

"No, we just want to ask you a question. We have been doing some investigations on some incidences that have been happening in the community and we wondered had you heard of any of this?"

She responds: "No, I haven't. I am pretty busy, taking care of my husband, my home and my children. Is there something I should know about these incidences?"

"Well, we want to ask you if your husband has black curly hair?"

This brought on laughter so loud I could hear her in the back room.

"Black curly hair?? My husband is bald. He's been bald since the day we met on campus years ago."

"Okay, ma'am don't worry, we just were curious if he may have black curly hair."

To this she laughed again and then the children started dancing around her laughing to and saying, "Daddy is bald, daddy is bald" in a sing song tone.

"Okay ma'am, we are looking for a tall African American man who has black curly hair. We have initiated surveillance cameras at some of our stores and gas stations and it seems this man is in the videos we analyze."

"Well that surely ain't my husband. He probably wishes he had black curly hair!!!" She is laughing almost uncontrollably by now.

I become a bit tense. Hearing that they have surveillance cameras where I take care of my financial affairs, was a bit unsettling. While I do wear my black curly wig, I also wear a hat that covers my eyes.

The men leave and she comes to the back room where I am no longer sleeping but had been listening intently to the exchange.

"Did you hear that? They asked if you had black curly hair!" She is still quite tickled by the idea. Not noticing my tenseness or nervousness she goes back to care for the children and start dinner.

More years pass, and no more knocks at the door. We are now at four children, 3 girls and one boy. Nicely apart in age, they range from 10 to 2 years of age. I love my children, I love my wife, I love my family and I still take care of my mother whenever she needs me, as her requests have lessoned because the siblings have grown up and are on their own. My focus is totally family, and I believe, I am the best father any child could have. My children love me, my wife loves me, my family loves me. And I am still the main source of income for my family. We are not doing well but we don't do without, and the love we share keeps us most content.

Then it happened. Quite unexpectedly it happened. I was not prepared in any way for this or the consequences of what happened that day.

This time the authorities broke into my house, and into the back room where I slept. I didn't know what to say, I was so shocked. They seemed to lie in wait for me to return home. Stealthily, they were in my room looking and waiting till I got back there. When I got back there they literally pounced on me, searching me and taking everything out of my pockets. They found the curly black hair. The wig I wore while taking care of my financial affairs. They had followed me home. I was in a state of panic, I had never ever told Marquita about the nature of my financial affairs, she did not need to know.

It all happened so quickly I can barely remember the details. Marquita was outraged that anyone would burst into our home in the manner in which they did.

"Ma'am, we have reason to believe that your husband has been involved in a series of crimes, from robbery, to drug selling and we are here to arrest him."

Marquita's knees buckled under her, "Arrest him? What did he do? How do you know it was him?"

"Ma'am, we have been watching your husband for some time, and didn't get a serious lead till today. So, we followed him home. We needed to do this in order to determine if he had black curly hair."

"I would laugh at you, if this wasn't so horrifying. I told you before, my husband is bald!"

"Well, Ma'am, we have evidence that he has been wearing a wig, and through this string of crimes he has hidden his identity. Today, we got another report of seeing a tall African American man with curly black hair. When we heard this report we went to the gas station just in time to see him leave. We followed him here to this residence, Ma'am. If your husband is bald, then he must be wearing a wig or some type of hairpiece, ma'am. Sorry about that, but we have to arrest him."

It was as if they were asking her permission to arrest me. She looked at me in total disbelief and then her face changed to stone. She grabbed each of the children and walked out of the door. I never saw her again, and I have no idea where she is. She only took herself and the 4 children, no luggage, no furniture, no nothing. She simply walked out of the door.

Maybe she went to a friend's house, I will never know. Maybe she came back to get some belongings, I will never know. It's been ten years and I have not seen her, or my children since that moment. I can still see her little shapely body, walking away from me. She was beautiful and even after all those children she kept her beautiful figure.

The room froze over in that moment.

Her heart froze over in that moment

My tears of regret flowed like a river in that moment.

But there was no reprise, no turning back and no hope for reconciliation. Her trust was destroyed, broken into tiny irreparable pieces and she was gone, forever.

It's been ten years and I remember that day as if it just happened. They kept me in the county jail for several weeks, then released me to a community service program, where I could not have any contact with anyone I knew before I was incarcerated. Small towns have their ways, and they do somehow look out for their own, even if one of their own is a Tall African American Man with a curly black wig.