It was hard to grasp the reality of his situation. Dante was dealing with something deeper than what he's used to, as he sat in his new room. He was privileged enough to forgo critical thinking and self reflection. The idea of analyzing yourself was hard for a young man who only thought of basketball and pussy since he was a teenager. Maybe that's the problem. He talked to Rose that day, and she could see right through him. Dante remembered the words.
Guys like you don't usually remember stuff like that.
Guys like him? He understood the reality of what jocks do to women. He thought the correct choice that night was to attack the potential rapists. But why? Because rape is bad? That woman deserved autonomy and consent? Dante has never raped anyone. But the scariest part was he could see himself in those men that night. That nurse at the party. He didn't even know her name. He didn't care about her. The reasoning in his drunken mind was that she understood what guys like him did. So what made him better than Dean and Vince?
What made him better? Maybe in a few years, he would've done the same.
It twisted Dante's stomach into knots. The life he lived. He was horrible to women. He turned a blind eye to their pain. He caused pain. He would use them like toys and cast them aside like he was a spoiled brat. He was two degrees away from those jocks. That's the reality. And he needed to change. Looking at Rose, this could be his way to change. He didn't want to fuck. He liked how quiet and cute she was. He liked how closed off she was. It was different. He wanted to know more. That woman was running his mind. He was on a mission. He wanted to hold her hand. Little did he know, he was barking up the wrong tree. Alas, ignorance is bliss. Love is blind.
Meanwhile, Roy was at the church, getting ready for another meeting. He had plans. He told Dante his ideas in passing, but he felt it in the air. Change was coming, and he needed to ride the wave in order for his people to survive. He stepped out, wearing an old worn red beret. He stood at his usual spot, eyes scanning the men and women in the room. Black, white, Asian, all shapes and sizes looked upon Black Moses, waiting for his guidance. He leaned in, and began talking.
"Sisters, brothers, all my people, hear my words, and hear them clearly. Let me tell you a story. I was twenty. I took a pilgrimage to Zora, to hear my people's words. I was a lost young man. I had fallen into a life of crime, and no path laid bare in front of me. I was aimless. Broken by the system. All of you know. In New York, you rap, sell dope, or go to the league. But Albain showed me the way." He pulled out the old book. "He told me 'Friend, I know what the white man can do to the community. You need Révolution.' Y'all know what that means?"
The crowd looked at each other, nodding.
"Revolution! Albain wrote to me not too long ago. He too old for phones. He told me I can do what he did here. And I believe it. He gave me this," Roy points at the beret. "As a token of good luck. I sense it. Change is coming! Do y'all want it to pass us by?"
The crowd chanted. "No!"
Roy pounded his fist. "I am sick and tired of being sick and tired! The police hounding us, the mayor would rather see me hang than thrive. You know why? He scared. He scared a (Friend) like me can gather like minded people and show them what it looks like when change happens! It's time we go on the OFFENSIVE. Arm ourselves, and prepare. So I ask you, do you want a revolution?"
"Yes!" The crowd yelled.
"Do you want a revolution?!"
"Yes!!"
Roy's fist went in the air, the rest followed. "Defend yourself!"
"By any means!"
Roy smirks. "Black power!"
"Fuck the pigs!"
"Black power!"
"Fuck the feds!"
"Black power!"
"Fuck the system!"
"I will not stop until my people are free!"
With a chant and holler, the people are ready. They will die for freedom. They will die for Black Moses.