Mr Joe…

The 55 year old Mr. Joe hobbled to his open garage as the glass sunk into his bloody bare feet. Standing outside his home finishing up his weekly beer with Martin the only colored neighbor who spoke to him on their long divided street. As they laugh about the big loss one of their opposing baseball teams proceeding to head to his garage and workshop. Two trucks pull up on the men with a groups of 7 young men throwing glass bottles on the ground. “Nigger lover that’s what you are Joe”. Is what one of the men yelled while the others threw the last of the bottles on the ground, one landing right in front of Mr. Joe’s feet. “Get the hell outta here, this is my street and who I talk to his my business”. Yelled Mr. Joe as he motioned Martin to go back to his side. The truck did a U turn when one of the men threw one last bottle at Martin, hitting him in the back of his head. “Get your ass in the house boy”. Yelled the men as they drove down the street into the darkness. Martin ignored their demands walking over to assist his bloody barefoot friend. “No Martin, get in the house, those assholes lyle be back and do worse…I’ll be fine, you go now”. said Mr. Joe as he hobbled to his garage grunting with each step he took. Joe being a widower living alone sat on his wooden bench nursing his bloody left foot picking slivers of glass out of of skin using a pair of needle nose pliers, Linda was Joe’s only true love of his life who laid in that hospital bed fighting for her life while in labor with their son. On the verge of dying while giving birth to there son she asked him to “Please raise there son right. To love the whole world, such as they did”. Joe promised her holding her hand as she took her last breath. Three days later the same rare infection his wife died of took the life their infant son. The next 10 years Joe stays to himself. Working at a utility company and going home, listening to just about every ball game that came across the radio not to mention going to watch his nephew’s little league games. As Joe head to his kitchen to collect bandages from under his kitchen sink his phone rang. His only brother on the line catching up with him about the latest family news and gossip while holding the phone on his shoulder bandaging his cut feet. “Listen Joe”. says his brother Donald. “Irene and me are looking into joining the other activists march for the that Parks woman.” said Donald. “Do you have fever? You mean to tell me the both of you are bringing Bobby in the mist of that chaos?” asks Joe as he tosses a bloody kleenex in the wastebasket. “No no of course not and that’s where you come in Joe.” Joe sits up and listens carefully. “We can’t bring Bobby with us.” says Donald taking a deep breath. “Then why the hell are you going?” asks Joe while reaching for his cigar case. “Listen Joe, what Irene and myself want to do is be apart of a good cause, we want to fight with everything we have for my son to see a better future for whites and coloreds to come together.” Joe took a deep breath. “What if your life is threatened ? You know lots of people have lost their lives Donald, fighting for such causes that seem not ever gonna happen.” Donald grunts.. “Joe it’s happened with you and Martin. I mean he was very reluctant to even wave to you when he collected your trash but the point is he did and now the two of you are practically best friends but Joe getting to the main reason why I called you is I really need your help Joe…..I need you to take Bobby in while we are away.”