One Dead Lawyer by Tony Lindsay

table; he couldn’t.
    â€œMr. Price, do you know what I thought about this morning?”
    â€œUh-uh, Stanley. Tell me.”
    I had a mouth full of grits and a fork full of eggs waiting to go in, and to my surprise Daphne’s hand had gone under my shorts. She was maneuvering for a hand full on my jones. I flinched, but I didn’t get out of the chair.
    There was no doubt in my mind about the inappropriateness of what was going on. Daphne was Regina’s friend. Regina was my ex-wife. Her friend’s hand should not have been on my jones, but I did nothing to correct the inappropriate behavior because four months was a long time without the needed touch of a woman.
    â€œThat little treasure chest you made me when I was a shorty. You know I still got it. I use it for a jewelry box.”
    â€œYou kidding me, Stanley, you still got that box?”
    She was stroking me now and her touch was ever so soft. My jones responded respectively but I didn’t stop eating. When I looked over at her she nodded her head yes and smiled.
    â€œYes sir, I do, but like I said, I don’t keep nails and bones and stuff in it now. Mostly I use it for my gold and silver chains.”
    â€œYou wear a lot of chains?”
    â€œWell, you know I got a little bling bling,” he said, grinning. A portion of last night’s wannabe thug was starting to show.
    â€œI don’t wear chains anymore, Stanley. Would you like to know why?”
    â€œSure.” He humped his shoulders slightly.
    I put the fork down, drained my glass of red Kool-Aid and began. “I had a dream—no it wasn’t a dream, it was more like a thought. I wondered what our slave ancestors would think if they came back and saw so many African American people in chains. Would they think we were still burdened? Would they think that the white man still has us bound? Would they understand that the chains they died to have removed, we choose to wear? How could I explain to an ancestor that might have died in chains that I wanted a chain around my neck? Our ancestors chopped off limbs not to be chained. I don’t even chain down my dogs, but I was wearing a chain around my neck. Think about that, young brother. I did.”
    Daphne’s hand went from my jones to the gold chain around her neck. Now that wasn’t my intention when I decided to spread a little knowledge. I was trying to put some fat on the boy’s head, not stop his mama’s hand from playing with my other head.
    â€œThat’s deep, D. I never thought about my chains that way.”
    I picked my fork up and went back to eating. Without really planning to I nudged Daphne’s thigh with mine.
    She giggled and said, “You are full of surprises. We are really going to have to get to know one another. I would have never guessed you where such a conscious brother.”
    I don’t believe sharing one thought qualified me as a conscious bother, but I do enjoy sharing my revelations. She placed her hand back on my jones and I was pleased.
    â€œMr. Price, I try to run a couple of miles every morning. I don’t know if you know it, but I’m an all-state distance runner.” He looked to me to see if I approved. I beamed him a smile.
    â€œI’ve been running on a team since sixth grade. I kinda want to go for a run this morning, but . . . um you know... I ain’t never been down this way without a ride. I mean I know a couple of guys, but just to be out running, I don’t know . . . what do you think?”
    â€œAre you asking me if it’s safe for you to go running?”
    â€œIt ain’t like I’m scared or nothing. I just don’t know.”
    He was a wannabe gangster the night before, but by the morning light he was a cautious state runner.
    â€œYes, Stanley, it would be fine to run. There is a park four blocks up. You’ll see a lot of folks out running. I suggest you leave that long chain, though. No sense in