Speaking on Our Thoughts...

last night was a bit of a booger. and who wants even a bit of a booger, because it takes every bit as much effort to eradicate as a full-blown one. you still have to dig deep, contain and eliminate it, and even after it's gone, you can't shake the feeling that it's still with you, especially when you encounter someone else.

so yeah, last night was indeed, just like that. there wasn't a monsoon by far, or for that matter, an extra-torrential downpour; there was, however, a stiff and driving rain, exacerbated by a wind, made more complicated the fact that i was up on top of a tree-less roof, dead in the middle of the flow of air, inside a tent that could not be staked deep into the ground.

boogerish enough?

i was cool at first. there had been sporadic showers, but i had figured out, by late evening, how to pack and move inside in record time, sealing the door enough behind me to keep my electricity (which i have piped in through an industrial grounded cord) intact and the tent dry. well, relatively dry. last night was the true test of its ability to withstand the storm. with a few exceptions, it rose to the occasion. those exceptions, were small boogers.

i learned that tents are pretty waterproof, but that waterproofing is relative. being able to repel a shower is a little different from being able to emerged from total immersion in water and be barely moist. this tent got wet, and it let me know it.

to start off, i'm 6 feet and about a couple inches. i'm not sure, but i think the tent's floor is just larger than that, which means when i stretch out, the arch of the tent going to the floor is just over my head and feet. i have space now--for a temporary dwelling, this bad boy is nice--but it's definitely a short-term shelter. i was reminded of that, not as i was listening blissfully (see my facebook pic) to the light patter of raindrops on the ceiling of my pro tem housing, but when that patter turned to smatter and dribbling turned to drum, as the thunder came.

and with it, the lightning.

i respect lightning. i shut my mouth and breathed deep and recalled that my mother and father used to always say, when rain came, "go somewhere and sit down and be quiet son; The Lord is working." so i took the age-old advice and lay back, with my mouth sealed. i'd been Skyping with my wife and i noticed that all was quiet at home. resolutely, i closed the laptop and stored it in the plastic bin i brought up to shelter my prized technology in. i sat back and braced myself. then i remembered something:

the ladder. i hadn't brought it up.

sure, that wouldn't have been a problem under some circumstances; i wasn't worried about anyone climbing up the ladder--that would take bravery. i was more concerned with theft--that only takes cowardice. and it wouldn't be my neighborhood folks; they know me and they know the theater. we look out for each other. like in most cases, it would be the predatory types that wander through the 'hood, looking for easy pickings. and a brothah with a wife 3 weeks from term on a new baby cannot afford to be left stranded on the roof without an out.

so i sat up and wondered if i could take a chance, throw on my shoes, and pull the ladder up during the downpour; a bolt of lightning that illuminated most of the tent answered that question instantaneously. i instantly had a vision of me, on the back of the roof, metal ladder in hand, having my skeleton illuminated by a thread of lightning that would leave me either deceased, grossly deformed, or, at the least, wondering who my family and friends are.

Lord, protect my ladder. you know my heart, Lord. you know it's not really my ladder, but one that one of your other children lent to me. bind it in your love and protection, Lord; stand Angels at it to guard it from all harm and disappearance. keep it ever in my care, oh Lord. hear my prayer. Amen.

and i stretched back out. the rain beat down and the thunder rolled, and the water came, and some of it got in, and i dabbed it up, and wiped it down. i saw some movie once, years ago, where some kids were out camping during a rainstorm. one kid told the other that he heard that if you touched a spot in a tent with your finger, it would leak. they made a bet and both touched the roof of the tent. it leaked, almost pouring water. i was fascinated--for one second-with that concept, and i stretched my finger toward the tent ceiling.

nah. i ain't chancing it.

i twisted, i turned, and i longed for the confines of my home and bed, to feel the rounded stomach of my wife against the small of my back, pressing ever closer until my yet-to-be-born child finds it uncomfortable enough to kick against me through the womb, giving me that sense that there is something there that makes the world larger than me. yea, important.

the mound of comforter does not replace that feeling; nothing could. the marveling at the miracle of life is an endless mental pursuit that sends one off into the land of blessed dreams, even as it spins the minds' wheels at millions of miles per hour. there i lay with my comforter and my wind and my rain, alone, but not...lonely.

i was not lonely; i was not afraid. i was resolved. resolved to stay on this battlefield, even as there are surely those around who could not understand what could drive a black man to a rooftop in the middle of the 'hood.

as one donor who came by and left what he could said today, "A white man ain't got to get up on a roof to raise no money; He just got to pick up the phone. So i'm giving what i can to let you know that we got you."

he was right on some levels. for some, it's odd to see a black man on the roof--that's something we "just don't do" in urban folklore. debates on how to raise money will continue through the end of time in the non-profit sector. what that cat said that struck me was the last sentence. he wanted to let me know "we got you."

he's right about that. and i remembered that when i was laying in that bed of storm on last night: that i'm actively engaged in a massive test of faith. this is when the rubber of faith meets the road of communal action. we got you is all around me.

* it's around me when a 93 year old Queen Mother named Burnece Brunson can suffer a fall, but on her way to the doctor, make time to stop by to see me climb the ladder on my first day and to hand me our first donated dollar, only to follow that up today with $500 more.

* it's around me when the disabled man from up the block tells me he "saw me on tv" and gives me what's left of his grocery money on a return trip from the store.

* it's around me when an Odie Blackmon takes the time to make a donation, then drive over to the theater under the auspices of "talking me down from the roof," only to offer to buy me breakfast and to pat me on the back and give me encouragement that i'm on the right path.

*it's around me when i take a break from writing, as i just did, to receive a gift from the lady who lives in the section 8 unit across the street, who has decided to fulfill her promise to my wife to "look out for me" by bringing me a cold drink and a bag of potato chips each night at sundown.

and, doggone it, it's around me when a student--a student for crying out loud--leaves a five dollar donation on the website with a message that they wish they could do more, but they wanted us to know they believe in what we're doing.

that is the essence of We Got You.

ART needs this money, but more than that, we all need to experience the feeling of we got you.

the sun has gone down, and the son of Cathy and the late Haywood now has to check the fund-raising page, see the vision, and remember that this is a bigger thing than a man living on a roof in a tent.

i know that now; i just need to get more people to feel what i'm feeling. and that is why i'm here and i cannot leave. come hell or high water, i have people who depend on me to help their dreams become a reality; so i stay, a renewed fortitude, so i can let them know that through it all, when all others have forgotten about them, they are are not alone. ART will exist beyond us all, and let all who come and experience our know one thing: in the end, when no one else may care...

we got you.