He couldn’t see past my skin colour, he was so sure I was one of them. He was blind and couldn’t see me anymore. Even though I loved him, admired him! Adored him! Every emotion within my soul moved for him. He was the wind to my emotional sea. Yet his words attacked my soul savagely, he spoke against people who shared my skin colour. They are like me, and I am like them. I couldn’t deny my past, I couldn’t deny my whiteness, I couldn’t deny who I am!
I loved Malcolm, yet I hated his words. His words resembled the passion, the obsession that ignited within his soul. The words he spoke could do so much change. He was a threat. This love and hate for Malcolm needed to stop, it needed to end… There was no other way...
I watched him grow over the years, I watched him accumulate strength with every follower. They were like ants; black, hardworking and together they were peerless. I watched from a distance without him knowing. It has been 13 years without his presence in my white life, 13 years and I’ve felt the need to know what happened of him now… I missed him; I missed the face, the hands, the charm, intelligence… The list is endless… though I felt over-shadowed by his over-powering persona; he was certainly the only man I ever loved truthfully…
When Malcolm spoke they froze, they listened, and I saw their spirits waking, their throats clearing and their voices rising. They broke their own chains just by realising their true identity and value. They dropped the heavy shackles as they streamed on a road to freedom and equity. Men or woman, young or old, Malcolm woke them up. He dusted their past away, the same way you dust dark mahogany.
I saw it the same way any other white man did; he was one man with too much power but he wasn’t white. So no pedal stool was placed below him, and no one raised him up to victory. He did the hard yards and climbed his own Everest.
I planned to kill him. I planned to plant 20 bullets in his heart, to express my love and animosity. I had my mind set and my gun polished, but I wasn’t going to do it myself. It had to be one of them, and I was to pay him the price he asked. Killing Malcolm X was no easy mission. It was hard; it was hard to kill such a cultured and sophisticated man. It was almost, like crushing a diamond into many, many pieces.
He wasn’t the only one we were crushing though… You see Malcolm wasn’t the wind to my sea only; he was the hurricane to those angry black spirits that followed him. He controlled their movement, how fast, how slow, the depth and length. He controlled it all; even the enemies who loved him yet despised him at the same time.
The street boy I once knew was no street boy now… He was untouchable to me and that I couldn’t abide, all I ever wanted was to be in his divine presence…
“Malcolm” I said with a loud staunch tone, I thought I’d surprise him.
“Ella? Is that you?” He was almost scared, not scared of me. But the memories he might relive when he sees me.
“Yes, it’s me Malcolm. It’s Ella. I’ve missed you.” He knew that it meant I hate you for leaving me all those years. I didn’t have to say it; it was said by my angry tears that invaded my withered face. He looked youthful as always, not much about him has changed physically.
He looked at me like a guilty child, like someone who expected compassion, something I wasn’t going to give this time. I wanted to hold him though.
“I… I… I’m sorry Ella, I really am.” I know those words meant nothing, I knew he still thought of me as the naïve little woman that once showered him with affection and respect.
“It’s okay Malcolm” he stepped towards me; I was still much smaller than him. He looked me in the eye as he stroked my cheek. At that very moment I knew I was ready to let go.
The two men I hired knew exactly when to fire.
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