Harlem Renaissance (short story)

The Harlem Renaissance

             A boy stares morosely into the crowd in front of him, his back resting against a fire hydrant,  his clothes a size too small, yet still somewhat maintained. He gazes into the sea of faces, observing the spirit of Harlem at work. The dirty streets and weathered-looking people do nothing to hide the happy spirit hidden  underneath. Couples dance in clubs, neighbors sit on stairs, gossiping, giggling teenage girls walk out of church, accompanied by their somber guardians, and children stick their heads out of windows, trying to catch a hint of the cool breeze which sweeps through the hot, muggy streets of Harlem. The faintest sound of a jazz band reaches the ears of the boy sitting against the fire hydrant. The sound flows and settles over him, bringing a relaxed and smooth sound with the instruments. He smiles faintly. Harlem is a place for all, everyone from the people who live in the moment, to the deep thinkers who truly see and understand the meaning of Harlem’s spirit, but the boy has yet to find his place in the rat race which is Harlem.

            The boy suddenly stands, his face breaking into a wider smile. The new theatre, Lincoln Theatre, was finally open, and was hosting the first showing of Eugene O'Neil's Emperor Jones. The boy shoves his hands into his pockets and meanders towards the theatre, slipping through the throng of people at the entrance, his face the epitome of nonchalance. He carefully selects his target, a man, bickering with his family. The boy gently slips his hand into the man’s pockets, where he sees the light yellow ticket. He retracts his hand, along with the ticket and makes his way to the front of the line. “Here ya go, mister”, he proclaims proudly, waving his ticket under the collector’s nose. The collector grumbles something and snatches the ticket. “Go on in, then”, he says gruffly, handing the boy his seat number. The boy beams and slips through the door, his smile growing as a man shouts,”Hey! Where’s my ticket?”

            As he reaches the seating area, the boy glances at his seat. His jaw drops. His seat was in…..the front row! He chuckles and sends a quick thank you prayer to God for his luck. He looks around and realizes he is supremely underdressed. Where he is wearing his slightly clean small clothes, others are dressed quite formally. Woman dressed in wide hats garlanded with flowers, modest veils, silk stockings that were held up by garters, open-toed slippers, and low-slung dresses, a trendy beret hat with stand-up or egret feather. The men wore zoot suits which were wide-legged, high-waisted, pegged trousers, and a long coat with wide padded shoulders and lapels. The boy gazed around self-consciously, and shrugged. He made his way to his seat as the lights began to dim. Although he was young, the boy loved plays, the acting, the grandeur, the costumes, the deep implications, everything. As the play progressed, the boy became more engrossed, listening and watching the scenes depicted by the pulsing drums, gunshots, and the dramatic jungle setting.  Faintly, he heard a voice behind him, but was too unaware to notice. “There!” Came a cry. “There’s the rascal that stole my front row ticket! Arrest him! Arrest him I say!”  The boy looked behind him, and saw the man from whom he had stolen the ticket. He was shocked, but recovered almost immediately and leapt from his seat, running towards the opposite direction, where he saw several guards appear. He skidded to a stop, and made an abrupt decision. He raced to the stairs which led to the stage, and began to scale them quickly. He reached the stage and hid behind a jungle prop. The audience continued watching obliviously, thinking the entire farce was part of the play. The guards reached the stage, and were halted by the head of the acting group, Anita Bush. “Wait,” she commanded “What are you doing?” she asked, “Why are you chasing the boy?” The guards shuffled nervously, until one stepped forth bravely proclaiming, “He stole the ticket of a gentleman here, to gain access to the play, and also interrupted the said play.” His bout of courage over, the man stepped back. The woman, Anita Bush, seemed to swell twice in size. “Well of course he did,” she said sarcastically, “My son is a thief, a hooligan, and yet somehow he seemed fine until you crazy folks chased him.” Another guard stepped forward. “Your son? But madam,” he protested, “He is clearly guilty of stealing the ticket; he did run when he saw us.” At such a seemingly obvious statement, the woman rolled her eyes. “Well any sane person would run at the sight of a couple of stranger chasing them, this hardly proves my son stole the ticket.”   The guards looked at each other in askance.  The gentleman threw up his hands, and walked away muttering swear words known only to sailors. “Give up,” he said to the guards,” I shall buy another ticket later, hopefully at a lower price for all the trouble the boy has caused.” Anita Bush’s personality changed immediately. “But of course,” she said sweetly. Turning to the audience, she loudly announced,” We reach our intermission. Thank you!”. The crowd cheered as the curtain closed. The woman did an about turn and faced the boy, a frown now decorating her face. “And you! What were you thinking? If I had not covered for you, where would you be now? Why did you steal the ticket?” The boy hung his head in shame and muttered an apology. “An apology is nice, but what good will an apology do in terms of punishment? No. An apology  will not do. From today onwards, you are an official member of the troupe.” The boy stared at her in amazement, an unasked question in his eyes. “Why?” said the woman,” Simply because you really do remind me of my son, from a long time ago. I believe the theatre will be the perfect place for you, my boy.” And thus, a tear rolled down the boy’s face, for he had finally found a place where he belonged.