A Dream House
A pistachio green house with a cornflower blue front door sits in the middle of a gated community in Topanga, California. The house is quite large in comparison to houses back where Jamal grew up, but in the community it was the smallest house on the block. Many of Jamal’s neighbors judge his “small” pistachio green house with the cornflower blue front door because they know he could afford so much more, for his humor makes him a lot of money. Jamal does not want a whole lot more, for he believes this is all that he could ever need. Maybe it’s because he was raised in the projects, or maybe it’s because his mama taught him better. It’s probably just a little bit of both.
When Jamal left the projects to start pursing a career of comedy, he told his mama that “entertainment is a necessity in people’s lives. I’m just getting overpaid for it.” His mama did not stop him from leaving, for she knew that he would be successful.
The first thing you see when you enter Jamal’s house is the grand staircase that twists at the top and unwinds and the bottom. Jamal never wanted a grand staircase but his mama insisted, since she was going to live with him. So when Jamal started construction on the house, he put in a grand stair case that was pastel pink for his mama.
If you turn a little bit to the right you walk into Jamal’s office. It is covered in awards and magazine articles about him and critic reviews praising his name. Jamal is not one to brag, but his mama is. His mama spent two hours hanging everything up and building a shelf to put his achievements on it. The only thing on the shelf that is not from comedy is an old picture of him learning to ride his ruby red bicycle with a grin from ear to ear on his face.
“Remember where you came from” she told her son, “That way when you do reach the top, you’ll stay humble because you were once at the bottom looking upwards.” Though basketball has nothing to do with comedy, it is still a great message to convey to your then twenty four year old son.
If you walk out of the office and go past the grand staircase, you enter the kitchen and living room. The kitchen has been empty for a very long time, as Jamal does not like to cook, so it used as a writing center. There is papers upon papers being held with clips and rubber bands trying to hold together a story. Jamal never writes comedy stories for enjoyment, for it is his profession, not his passion. His passion is to make people happy through his writing. It’s his superpower, to make people smile when they have a bad day at work. Or when they break up with their boyfriend or girlfriend. Or when their parents pass away. It is the reason that he was put on the face of the earth. Everyone else can see it, but he can not seem to shake past the possibility of failure.
Jamal writes whenever he has time or has an idea in his head. He does not like to spend his hours watching movies or hanging out with friends or going for a run. Writing is always number one in his heart. Jamal has only had one story published titled “The fourth year” and it was well received by critiques, but it did not sell well. The publisher had decided to cancel a follow up novel but Jamal is still writing it.
When you leave the kitchen and living room and you walk up the grand staircase their is a room with two doors on your left and a one door room on your right. In the two door room is where Jamal’s mama slept. When Jamal was building his home for the two of them, his mama wanted double doors to her bedroom and velvet walls and a big California king size bed in the center. Jamal’s mama tells her son that “Money is not the root of all evil, not having any is. You have money now, use it. ” Jamal does not want to believe her but he knows it’s true because his childhood consisted of having no money. Still, the fear of losing all of his new found worldly possessions controls him.
Every room in the house has three locks on the doors encase someone tries to steal everything. It happened all the time in the hood as safety and security was an illusion there. No matter how many times they hid their money and prized possessions, locked the door, and secured it with a broom, it was always gone when they came back home.
Even though Jamal lives in a safe community, he does not trust anybody. When Jamal lived in the ghetto his dad was never in the picture and his mama never taught him how to trust people. You can’t trust people in the ghetto, as proven by the fact that his ruby red bicycle was stolen one day after his picture was taken. You never know when they are going to hold you at gun point for crack or money or a bicycle. “Life is like poker.” Jamal’s mama would tell him “It’s about how you play the hand you’re dealt.”
Jamal’s life in the ghetto was better than most. His mama was around and tried to work as much as possible. He rarely went hungry. He never was abused by his mama. Home wasn’t good, but Jamal could look at his fellow classmates and see that it could be a lot worse. Also the cops never suspected him to do anything due to his lighter complexion. Still it’s the projects no matter how you look at it. The only good thing that came out of living there is that he can joke about it for a living.
Jamal created his own house for his mama because he wants her to have everything that she ever wanted. His mama has only ever known the projects and for her to be able to live in a dream home that Jamal had provided is the best thing a man could ever know. It is better than finding love, or your favorite football team winning the Superbowl, or making a crowd laugh at your jokes. Making your mama happy and proud is the best feeling in the world.
Across from the double door bedroom is a single, lonely, one door bedroom. In it lies a scrawny man who just received the news that his new book, “Watts Wrong with Society” had been shot down by the fiftieth publishing company this month. In his lap is his laptop, the new mac book air which he bought with some of the money he earned from the show in San Diego. He closes out of the email and opens up a document and begins to write. For inspiration, he looks around the room and sees his favorite toy from his childhood. Times got really tough in the ghetto when Jamal was in the third grade. His mama could not afford to give him real toys for Christmas so she took some sticks and the maple sap on the trees and created a superhero just for him.
“What superhero is it mama?”
“It’s you. You are the superhero JJ.”
“How am I superhero? I don’t have any powers.”
“Of course you do. You make me laugh even when I have the worst of days. That makes you the most super of superheros.” Over time the action figure had begun to fall apart so he took tape, sticky tack, and rubber bands to tie it all together. Jamal picks it up and sets it right on top of his handcrafted dresser made from the finest rosewood. He stares at his toy for quite some time before he knows what to write.
“I am not a superhero. Sure I make people laugh, but that is not what a superhero does. A superhero saves people from danger, they don’t make jokes. They don’t laugh at their living conditions from when they were a child, they save people from ending up in those situations. I made you laugh once and you called me a superhero. Anyone can make anyone laugh. Are you happy? On a scale from one to ten, mother, are you happy? Please I need an answer. I couldn’t save your life, how am I a superhero? Money couldn’t even save you, though you thought it could. The toy superhero was enough, mother, the toy superhero was enough. ”
