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286 ˜ A Work of Hospitality, 1982–2002
Not much. Amid the broken glass lay a bottle of vodka with a corner in it.
Curtis spilled it. “What the hell Juice is easier to come by than bread in these
godforsaken streets.” Curtis wanted to scream, but his voice got stuck deep in
his esophagus. He spit. “Oh, god, I hate to eat out of garbage cans,” he hoped.
Curtis turned and walked toward the sidewalk. His eyes were swollen, and
dried blood stiffened his facial hairs. Bending his head into the position of
prayer released the pressure behind his eyes and slackened the throbbing pain inside
his skull. The tiny corner of vodka had not helped. Hunger now flared in
his belly and began to shout mercilessly, “Feed me! Feed me! Feed me!” The
noise became more than Curtis could bear.
“Help me. Help me,” he yelped to the voice that was screaming at him for
food. He slipped on a crooked cobblestone and stumbled into the street. A drift
of cool air bathed his face like a gentle balm. In the instant that his feet spun toward
heaven he dreamed of grits and eggs and steaming coffee. The violent cries
hushed as a joyous vision of a thankful breakfast table filled the slits of his
swollen eye sockets. Someone called, “Curtis, Curtis, you come on now, son.
Your breakfast is getting cold. . . . You hear me Come on, now. Let’s eat. You’ve
got a lot to do today.”
Almost instantaneously Curtis smashed headlong into the street. Before the
driver could raise her right foot for the brake pedal, the MARTA bus crushed
his skull flat as a delicious blueberry pancake.
LeBron Walton: Just Surviving,
by Elizabeth Dede with LeBron Walton
F e b r u a r y / M a r c h 1 9 9 7
In the winter of 1996, LeBron Walton hobbled into our lives after a night
when temperatures dipped into the low teens. Since he had been caught in the
rain the day before, his clothes were frozen to his body. The long, bushy beard
he wore at that time was white with frost. LeBron couldn’t put his shoes on because
they were frozen, and his feet were frostbitten.
Now, a year later, LeBron Walton has walked with fierce pride out of our
lives. He wanted to work at a paying job, to have money, to “be a man,” as our
culture defines man.
We miss LeBron, because in the year that we shared we were challenged by