They had spent the whole day arguing over the menu and then cooking the chosen items (a fairly simple list, to be sure: spaghetti with a slightly-spicy meat sauce which in itself was the most challenging item, homemade garlic bread, a spinach salad and one of Caitlyn's pans of patented brownies for dessert), and while the dinner was a success, they still felt nothing but weariness when they dropped into bed.On Saturday, they slept in late but rose without their customary morning lovemaking, which Caitlyn was already beginning to miss if it didn't happen. She ended up devoting most of Saturday to harp practice, since she had barely touched the thing all week except to help move it to their new apartment. Moving it on Sunday would be nigh-impossible with only the tiny Celica on their side, but a quick phone call to Jon's parents fixed that problem. Jon had spent most of the day on the computer, trolling Craigslist, calling in favors and trying to get a feel for the job market. He. Yet we still had a long way to go. Jordan had strong opinions about that. He felt that the black community ought to unite. Send more black men and black women to college instead of prison. He was quite emotional during this sharing session. I smiled, looking at this brilliant, and quite misunderstood young brother. Jordan was an okay guy when you got to know him. Seriously. Like many young black men, he felt that the world was hostile to him. Not just white men and white women but his fellow African-Americans as well. Such is the experience of the black male in America. Jordan was a smart guy from a fairly interesting background. His father, Luther Simmons, was a state trooper back in New York. His mother Beatrice Jamestown Simmons was a schoolteacher. From what Jordan told me, Beatrice was not exactly mommy dearest. She was a mean-spirited gal who mistreated her husband and her son. It eventually led to the breakup of a family. Jordan’s father divorced her a few months before he.
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