It was Grandpop who taught me to drink my coffee black. That’s what growin’ boys like me ought to do. It’s important for me to get used to a little bitterness. Ain’t everything in life is sweet.

    ‘Course Grandpop’s dead now. Might as well be, at least, with the condition he’s in. I don’t visit him much any more. I’ve gotten sick of that beeping noise his heart monitor makes every second – in the mornings it’s twice a second – a habit he must’ve learned from the many mornings he lived before his heart attack.

    I just started my first first year of college, so I can’t visit him often anyway, which is probably why that beeping noise is starting to cross my mind less and less. I had already grieved Grandpop when he first fell into his coma, so part of me felt like he was already dead and gone. But the other part of me was still stuck at that Baker’s Kitchen Diner, sittin’ ‘round one of those cherry wood tables with Louie and Grandpop, Ma off I don’t know where, with mine and Grandpop’s fingers wrapped around a mug of black coffee.

    I respected Grandpop. It was somethin’ ‘bout the way he hunched over when he walked that made me trust him, his hands routinely intertwined behind his back, with the same newsboy cap slouched over his harshly wrinkled forehead. Somethin’ ‘bout the way Grandpop carried himself proved he had experience. He knew life for what it was. So I listened to him when he told me that black and pipin’ hot was the only way that coffee was worth drinkin’. Every time we had breakfast at the Baker’s Kitchen, Grandpop downed cup after cup of black coffee, so I did the same.

    Louie never spoke up much when I impersonated Grandpop like that, but I always saw the corner of his mouth skew and his eyes shift downward, like he was worried ‘bout somethin’ happenin’. Louie won’t much on black coffee, he always took cream and sugar. Grandpop used to rag on him for it.

    “Go’n and drink your sugar juice, sugar boy. Me and my son over here are gonna drink the real thing.”

    I called Louie sugar boy rather than Dad because that’s what Grandpop taught me to do, and I respected Grandpop. Louie never said nothin’ ‘bout it anyway, and Ma ain’t never been around much in the first place, so it won’t no discipline for me to fear.

    They never clued me in as to why Ma stopped comin’ ‘round as much. Growin’ up it was me and Ma and Louie in the same house everyday, and then it turned to Louie on weekdays and Ma on some weekends. Grandpop was weird when it came to Ma. There I was goin’ on ten years old and Grandpop was still talkin’ ‘bout Ma like she was some kinda legend, almost like she had died. I still saw Ma sometimes, but it won’t as much, and when I did see her it felt like she ain’t even want me around.

    I missed Ma a lot of the time, and I think Grandpop did too. Grandpop seemed to have some sort of strange affection for Ma. It won’t in front of me, but I remember hearin’ Grandpop and Louie arguin’ downstairs one night after they thought I’d gone to bed.

    “That girl was the only damn thing you ever had to your name and you ruined it over some shit that God ain’t intend for you. Whatchu challengin’ God for?”

    Louie ain’t say nothin’ back. Louie never said much of anything back to Grandpop. Louie might’ve challenged God, but he ain’t challenge Grandpop. Grandpop told Louie what to do and Louie did it, ‘cept Grandpop won’t ever happy when Louie did what he was told. It was almost like it made Grandpop angry when Louie listened to him.

    According to Grandpop, Louie always been like that and Ma was the only thing in his life that earned him any pride. I ain’t know what happened between Louie and Ma but from the way Louie acted when I was growin’ up I believed what Grandpop said was true.

    Louie won’t the same kinda man that Grandpop was. Louie ain’t carry big shoulders and walk around with his head high, Louie ain’t go huntin’ or fishin’ or talk about women we saw on the street like Grandpop did. Louie ain’t even talk to me nearly as much as Grandpop did. Louie was always a background character in my life growing up, like he won’t even my real Dad. Grandpop was my Dad and Louie my older cousin.

    I lived with Louie, but we was always over at Grandpop’s because Grandpop was tryin’ to teach me somethin’, like how to chop wood or use a knife or shoot squirrels with a BB gun. I picked up on the fact that Grandpop ain’t like leavin’ me alone with Louie. I think he felt like doin’ so would turn me into some kinda sugar boy, and he needed to be around so he could keep my coffee black.

    Anyway, I loved Grandpop. Everything I knew I learned straight from him and the good book. Grandpop used to take me to the church he grew up goin’ to every Sunday, the same way he used to do with Louie. Louie ain’t usually come with us to church though, and Grandpop said it’s ‘cause there’s somethin’ wrong with him. He said Louie ain’t care about makin’ it to heaven no more and that’s why Ma stopped comin’ ‘round.

    When I was young I knew that when I died I wanted to go to heaven because that’s where Grandpop would be. I ain’t care much ‘bout seein’ Louie when I was dead.

    The only time I remember Louie comin’ with us to church was one morning when we planned to stop by the Baker’s Kitchen afterward, and I guess Louie wanted to make sure my coffee didn’t get too hot or too black. Grandpop went to a church that won’t real friendly to outsiders. A couple of people I seen Grandpop talk to before stared at Louie when we first entered the service, some of ‘em turnin’ to each other and whisperin’.

    Grandpop held my hand and pulled me ahead of Louie, almost like he wanted to make it seem like Louie won’t a part of our group even though everyone already knew he was. Louie followed behind us with his head hung low like it always was, draggin’ his feet like he always did.

    The service began with Pastor Paul talkin’ to us about men. Men are supposed to be leaders, providers, and Godly examples for women ‘n’ children ‘cause it says so in the bible. That was why what happened to Abigail Thompson was such a tragedy. Abigail was a fifteen year old girl, and fifteen was real old to my ten-year-old self.

    She was close to Grandpop’s community and had recently been raped by a sixteen-year-old black boy. I won’t shocked when Pastor Paul told the story ‘cause I already seen it all over the news. Everyone had. It happened right under the bleachers by the track at a school just outside of my district.

    Rape already won’t somethin’ that sat well with folks in southern Alabama but the fact that he was black only made matters worse for Devon, even I knew that much. Devon was gettin’ twenty in the slammer, but he won’t gon’ make it out of jail alive anyhow.

    They showed a mugshot of Devon on the TV and he looked real scary, firstly because he did what he did but secondly because I knew he ain’t feel bad about it. They let a clip of his testimony run for a second before Louie changed the channel, he said the only thing he regretted was getting caught.