Written with racial tensions as a core element, this story tells so much about the way I see my homeland. Religion, superstition, class, gender roles and history are all major topics of interest. Tomorrow, Please God, an excerpt.

Tomorrow, Please God
By M. James Cooper

I had a dream the other night. One in which life as we know it took a turn for the worse. The next morning, as always, things seemed as it should; except for the clouds. The villagers went on with their day: oblivious to my dream of course. I mean, it was rainy season. Ms, Mary was rubbing her leg in anticipation; the local weather vane she was. "Mornin' neighbor!", she said "Right'o Mother Mary, mornin'!" I responded to the old woman, and moved on. Head to the sky looking for God knows what, my mind was attempting to find the missing pieces of the dream. That is, until Mayan started looking all up in my face. Lupe was standing right behind him, adjusting her hemline and such. "What happen to you boy?" I stared blankly in his direction, then back to Lupe, still primping. She decided her hair was better let down instead of pinned up. Looking at me she said: " Ah want to be free. From all restraints." Answering my unasked question with a slight smirk on her face. The girl knew what she was doing. I hear Mayan talking to meh but, clearly I was not giving him all my attention. I was transfixed by Lupe's beauty. She knew her power. She was the only one who could get into my head and push my dream sideways like a sliding glass door. Keen, she knew, that going to work at the factory required less, not more. Long flowing hair and a peasant skirt was hardly proper attire or even safe. "Boy come before we n'up late!" My friend, curiosity spread across his face. "Yeah man, ah comin'. Leh meh just full up this canteen first." The two walking ahead of me, slowly, steady looking back at me as if they thought I would disappear from existence, if they went too far too fast. At the standpipe, I filled my canteen with cold early morning water. Reluctantly, I allowed my dreams to enter my head again. The day went on as usual.
Work was work, long, monotonous and filled with dread. Talk about lay offs and how them damn coolies taking ova the place continued to fill the space around me. Things was changing and like most men I felt hopeless. "Mr. Boss-man say 'not to worry' wid he lyin ass! Ah doh believe that shit! All they want to do is placate my ass wid ch'upid talk." The other men nodded, some disagreed, some were unsure. "But Larry wuh we go do? Strike? Hope the union go back we up? If they don't want we here no more I say we take the money and leave the wok!" One of the men said. Larry looked at Mayan and nodded. Mr. Boss-man was turning the corner wid he crew. Here he come with that stupid grin on he face. As if to say we were to trust him or something. "Ay, fellas. What good today?" Nobody say nothin' to him. Every man head down in he lunch pail or sippin' from a thermos. Only Mayan and Larry eyeballin' him. "Oh, ok. I see how it is. When all yuh ready to talk come see meh nah..." The bell to return to work sounded. Backs turned, feet shuffled and lunch pails snapped shut. Mr. Boss Man' s voice and presence were no longer a concern to any of the men, it seemed.
That evening I returned home having made a decision. I was going to quit the factory, and take the package offer with partial pension. Sylvia, would never know why. I myself wasn't a hundred percent sure. Motivated by fear and superstition I put extra money in her hands, hoping to assuage my wife with the purchase of new curtains and church clothes for Easter. Sylvia and I never had any children, the house was ours and we both had skills to bring in money aside from my job. But we both knew this was less about us and more about everyone else. How would the town survive the inevitable. Racial tension was on the rise. "They" were taking our place. Government was on their side. Or was it that blacks had lost focus. Either way, Mayan and Larry were planning to retaliate against the threat of change.