It was almost twenty years ago today that I walked a Level Four yard with an old-head named Stone Bone. And although he answered to that name, he insisted that I not use it. He said that unless I came from back there (wherever back there was), that I should call him Michael. To me, it was neither here nor there, so I agreed. That day the old-head gifted me with something I still find useful; it was his spill on a pair of “dirty hands.”
He said that there was nothing unique about a pair of “dirty hands.” That the best and worst amongst us had them, and that even he owned a pair! Said he had been tried and sat-down for 1st degree murder, and that he came in with 80-to-life. The old-head went on to say that he was thirty six years old with seven children, one of whom he had yet to hold. He also said that he had recently tried to sum up his existence but couldn’t get it to weigh out, and that made him look at his hands.
I remember listening attentively as he spoke, his language as well as mannerisms seemed almost familiar. Said he used to write, and that he was once “decent” on the mic, but all that was before the trial.
I shared that I too wrote, and that I was working on my memoir and that was when he posed his question. He said, “In that book of yours, the one that you are writing, who are you?” Now, I cannot say in all honesty whether I took too long to answer or that his question was rhetorical. I only know that he began again. He said, “What I mean to say is, in that book of yours, are you the symptom, the cause, or the cure?” He waited intensively as I pondered his question, and when he was satisfied that I had no answer, he gave me his “spill.”
I was out on the streets fourteen years before I shot and killed my victim. Fourteen years of thinking that I had changed my behavior because I no longer stole, or sold dope, or frequented the County Jail. That was my truth, but what was truer? I was just hanging out in the lobby of life, a wreck waiting to happen! Once I took a good look at the life I was living, I was able to see that my hands carried no real benefit. That up until recently they were useless! Something was missing, but what? I didn’t understand that refraining from an act is not the same as addressing it. Refrain is but a component of growth, it does not constitute change. Real change begins from within, from having internal inquiries with yourself. It’s not “why” one begins smoking, but “how” they can stop? So, if you really are into storytelling, begin from within. The focus should not be on the situation because sometimes situations do not change. In cases like that, it will always boil down to “how” one relates…SYMPTOM…CAUSE…OR CURE?
After that, the old-head fell silent, and when he did speak again it was on something else. It would take me some years before I could put the old-head’s wisdom to work, but eventually I did!
Today I still write. Although because of what he shared, I now relate to writing differently. I now know that words are medicinal, and that they carry with them healing properties, and so every day I try to use them in that light.
In the end, I guess our exchange was merely a formality. A final plea from my subconscious to get me to purge myself of my filth. My name is Michael LaRue Thomas Sr., and I am the proud owner of a CLEANER PAIR OF HANDS!
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