Playing Hard To Get

Tamia wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt and turned to look at the door, praying, hoping this was one of those miraculous moments in any book she’d read or movie she’d watched when the long-lost witness walks into the room at the last minute. She looked and looked, but there was nothing. The door was closed and through the glass panes she could see that no one was outside. He wasn’t coming.

“Counselor,” Judge Tanner called to Tamia, “is your client present?”

“Your honor,” Tamia answered slowly.

“Counselor Dinkins, you know I don’t have time to waste in my courtroom. Is your client present?”

Lehman was grinning again. He was squirming around in his seat looking like he wanted to announce Malik’s absence himself.

“He’s—”

“Counselor?” The judge removed her glasses and looked at the bailiff. She was about to issue the order of arrest.

Tamia felt the weight dragging her to the floor.

“Your Honor, I—” She tried but there was nothing to say. Then there was something. Something she knew. A smell. A spice. Frankincense. Myrrh.

“Wait,” she hollered so loud the judge stopped speaking.

And then Tamia turned to the doors and the back of the courtroom where she’d seen so many miracles happen. The doors opened and in walked a brown brother in a sharp blue suit. Her hope was lost. It wasn’t Malik. It couldn’t be. The man had a short cut. No jewelry.

Everyone, even the judge, seemed upset when Tamia turned back around.

“Bailiff,” the judge began her order again.

“Your honor,” someone called and Tamia turned to see it was the man in blue. “I’m here,” he added and the closer he got, Tamia saw that it was who she thought it wasn’t.

Malik, looking like a different man, a new man, walked past the railing and toward Tamia.

“I’m here,” he said again, peering into Tamia’s eyes. “I’m here.”

“Well, thank you for joining us,” the judge said sarcastically.

“You cut your hair?” Tamia whispered, her eyes wide on Malik as the district attorney addressed the court with the charges. “I can’t believe you did that. Why? I mean, you didn’t—”

“This is war,” Malik said. “And if this is the strategy I need to play to save my people, I’ll do it.”

Tamia smiled and grabbed Malik’s hand.

“Counselor?” the judge called and it was clear she was repeating herself. “Are you deaf today? Or am I mute?”

“No, no, no,” Tamia answered, standing up. “I was just conferring with my client.”

“Isn’t that wonderful. Now how does he plead to the charges?”

Tamia looked at Malik and he stood up beside her.

“Not guilty,” he said. “I’m not guilty.”

?

The outside of the Kings County courthouse looked like a poetry reading at the Royal Ankh. Dreads were everywhere. Dashikis lined the steps. Babatunde had his drum. In the middle of a small circle of folks, Kali had taken off her shoes and was doing a dance beneath the sun. Even Tasha stepped into the circle and was doing a little two-step—in her red devils.

While not much happened in the courtroom—Malik was only able to enter his plea and the judge set a court date—they celebrated the fact that the case was moving along. That Lehman saw, when Malik walked into the courtroom, that this wasn’t actually going to be an open-and-shut case. The opposition was ready to fight, and they weren’t giving in.

When Tamia and Malik emerged, everyone cheered and held their fists in the air.

“No justice! No peace!” someone yelled and then they chanted in celebration.