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Daniel Abbott Books

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Wounds

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The Concrete

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“The gunshots became louder after Joey died. Isaac’s been hearing them on the southeast side for years, but before Joey was murdered they were nothing more than loud snaps in the night. Now they are real. Bullets that hit something. A car door. A window. A ball. A child playing with her Lincoln Logs in the living room. But most times they hit nothing. Nothing according to the news. All these guns and all these bullets—only occasionally someone shot or killed. Imagine this place if the shooters had aim.”

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Book:The Concrete
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“Cesar knew better. He did. And love. Love just makes a man weak. A woman, a child—doesn’t matter what face the love has, love makes you stupid, it takes you out of your character, twists you, folds you, it drags you out into deep waters and drowns you. Love has you thinking about all the things you buried. All the things you left behind. It has you thinking about your mother, who was a nurse once, wearing scrubs and coming home late, before all the fighting, before the vodka, before the heroin, before Cesar found her in the bathtub sleeping in her own blood. Love has you crying on the couch while you’re feeding your baby. Not even a month old and you’re leaving him. Not because you want to, but because of love. Because you love him and you know he’s better off with somebody else. Because it’s the right thing to do. But righteousness doesn’t take the edge of the sting. Because it hurts. Because he’s looking up at you. His eyes wide in awe like you’re God herself. Your son cannot understand a word that you’re saying. He doesn’t understand that you’re saying goodbye.”

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Book:The Concrete
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“Back then and even now, my black friends and family members often tell me they don't consider me white. I don't think that's what they really mean. What they mean is that they feel safe with me. They mean they don't fear the noose in my presence. Their face being pressed to the concrete. My knee being pressed against their neck. My weight bearing down. When they say they don't consider me white, what they mean is that I see them. That I'm with them. That I won't stand for the little white genocides they're subjected to one podium speech at a time.”

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Book:Wounds
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“Cars slowed down as they passed. White drivers with white passengers. White parents with white children, watching. Not seeing, I imagine, three innocent black boys being harassed by racist police officers. Seeing three black criminals being brought to justice. Young minds being shaped into wrong thinking. Generational ignorance being reinforced through misconstrued observation.”

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Book:Wounds
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“Let's make America great. We have not been Great, white people. We have chosen to live in our bubbles. White people have chosen to be angry in silence, at our dinner tables, in conversations with people we know and trust. Our black brothers and sisters, our fellow Americans, need allies. They scream and are not heard. They protest for their basic human rights and they are called thugs. Our black brothers and sisters have been losing this fight alone. We have watched the innocent die. We have mourned them with silence.”

Black Lives MatterRacism In AmericaRacial Inequality
Book:Wounds
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