Although it never got big, the story of Simmons’ acquittal and of Edmund’s outburst was reported in national venues, and it got significant airtime locally. After watching and reading just a few of the reports, Edmund vowed never to touch one of them again. One coffee mug broken after being flung across the kitchen was enough. He didn’t want the next thing to be a TV or computer.
The dexterity with which these con men could manipulate the story amazed him. Darryl Simmons had shot dead a five year old boy for no reason. Or at least nothing anyone else could make sense of. Edmund had said one word. Yet somehow, they consistently managed to make Edmund come out as the villain, as an unhinged monster, and Darryl as a poor, persecuted victim. It was like some kind of dark magic.
Although mainstream outlets lost interest, the story was still talked about online in certain communities, both black and, definitely not-black internet communities talked about it.
Edmund started getting messages in mid-September. He immediately set Facebook, Twitter and LinkedIn to private, but some determined individuals still managed to find a way to contact him.
At first, he didn’t know which he found more disturbing, the people attacking him or those supporting him.
“Your dum kid was probly a racist just like you. Glad he’s ded.”
“Justice won’t truly be served until slavers like you hang. You should’ve been on trial.”
“I’m sorry you had to learn close up what n****rs are like. Stay strong, white brother.”
“I heard about what the pavement ape and the kike in court did to your family. You’re not alone. We must secure a future for white children.”
“They really are just orcs, huh? Don’t worry. The time to fight back is soon. Not now, but soon.”
And then, slowly, something truly disturbing started to happen. Much as he tried to avoid them, Edmund still occasionally read one of those messages, and they said things not just about him and his son, but about blacks and whites in America generally. He wanted to ignore them, to dismiss them. But he couldn’t help himself, and he started checking things out on his own.
And over the next several months, he came to the painful conclusion that almost everything he’d been told about this growing up…was completely false.
And he started learning names, names that both haunted and, strangely, comforted him: Channon Christian and Christopher Newsom, Jake Robel, Amy and Bryor Gibbins, and many, many more.
These searches always took place at home, after Jennifer and Cassie were asleep. And he never talked about them with anybody. How could he talk about these ideas?
The Mayor of Christ Mountain 
Leave a comment