Victor

Chapter One

November, 1992

It was a warm night when Ethiopian professor of African literature, Michael Jackson, arrived off the ship into the United States. With his suitcase in hand, the middle-aged sage tilted his white hat and began to walk to the nearest hotel. He looked around to find someone whom would be kind enough and go out of their way to give him a ride (that really would not take long by vehicle), but no Samaritan would let their anti-Semitic ways go leave their souls. There was not a taxi cab or service of that kind in that nature, so he kept his eyes peeled and his mouth closed.

      Michael was scheduled and appointed to speak to the Department of Literature at a certain HBCU, but at this rate, he'd never mke it there on time if he couldn't find a place. This would determine if he would get a teaching position in Minnesota at all. While wandering the roads for a hotel, he came across a big, mansion-like house in front of a nearby deli and laundromat. Surprised and happy with his choice of luck, he smiled and walked up the steps to the porch. He knocked on the door and pressed the circular button no larger than a zero, and counted to ten as he patiently waited on the owner of the marvelous abode to answer their front door. When he got to six, the door slowly opened, and a soft voice like silk answered.

       "Yes?" And it was a woman. A woman that had to be the same age as him. The woman stuck her head out of the door, and from there, Michael saw the most attractive woman in all of Minnesota. The whole world, even. "Yes, Mister? Is there something you wanted, because I really have to get back to my son now," she stressed, but politely. That took him from his trance and made him clear his throat, causing the woman to raise an eyebrow.

      "Ma'am, I'm sorry to bother you at such a late time, but I need a place to reside before I can find a hotel of some sort tomorrow," he explained. The woman raised an eyebrow before stepping out of the door all the way and closing it behind her back with one hand, the other resting on her hip. He could sense she was getting hostile, but who wouldn't? A complete stranger coming to your door in the middle of the night, asking for a place to stay did sound controversial. He cleared his throat once more. "Allow me to introduce myself, Miss..." he trailed off, unaware of what to name the beauty before him.

      "Nelson," she said, nodding her head a single time.

      "Yes, Miss Nelson. As I was stating before, Miss Nelson, my name is Michael Jackson, African literature professor from East Africa; Ethiopia, to be exact. You see, I've just arrived in the United States not too long ago, and my journey here has been very tiring, physically and emotionally. I haven't seemed to find a hotel around these parts, but when I found your home, I thought it'd be the perfect place. All I need is one night, Ma'am, and I'll be on my way."

      "I--" she started, but was interrupted.

      "If there isn't any room, I will leave now and leave you alone, but if there is, would you find it in your heart to allow me to rent a room here? One night is all I ask," he said.

      Before she could answer, the door behind her opened, and a boy that had to be no older than sixteen or seventeen came to it. "Mom, who's at," he looked at Michael and allowed his words to get lost in the warm air, gaping at the older man in front of him and his mother, "...the...door...?" He slowly looked Michael over and felt an instant attraction in his heart. He opened his mouth and looked between his mother and Michael. "Uh, hello, Sir. I...uh..." he stopped his eyes at his mother. "Mom, who is this?" he asked, restricting his eyes to look t one person and one person only: his mother. If he had so dared to take another glance at Michael, his eyes may fall out of their sockets.