2:11 PM, DETROIT, MICHIGAN, USA

Lucas Blakes, 87, lay quietly in his bed at Detroit Receiving. He was very tired, but was able to turn his head enough to get a glimpse of Lenora, his daughter, snoring softly in the leather armchair by the window. Cool winter clouds obscured the sky, but let a kind of grey light into the room. Reflecting off of her smooth brown face, the light made her look almost white. Lucas remembered the white girl he had a crush on when he was little. Her name was… Ruth, Ruthie he thinks. Back in ’28, he wasn’t even supposed to look at a girl like that. But she was so pretty with her white-blond hair with those red ribbons in it. She always wore the finest dresses, and was very careful not to get her shoes dirty on the old county road. At that time his father, Dwight Blakes Jr. had been the Sunquist family’s housekeeper, and had been given a small bedroom in the unused North wing of their massive estate. Lucas had spent his days helping with household chores, then, his father gave him that soft look of sympathy, the one he knew meant he was about to be released to go play, and he ran into the woods behind the house to go and battle indians on the frontier, or join the buffalo soldiers on a march. He had learned about indian fighters and buffalo soldiers from his father, who taught him every evening from three old textbooks; one grammar, one history of the west, and one primer on greek. Dwight Blakes hadn’t been a particularly educated man, but he knew how to read, and he worked very hard to make sure that his son had the best he could provide. Unfortunately, the times being what they were, it wasn’t really very much. Then again, he had a bed to sleep in, a couple of books that he was learning to read, and they ate meat once a week. And occasionally, he was able to sit in the fancy garden in the center of the roundabout driveway in the house and stare at the Sundquist’s beautiful Buick. It was a scintillating shade of turqoise, with a brass front grill and shiny silver bumpers. He had snuck up to it once and stood on the running boards to peek into the interior, but Mr. Sundquist had caught him before he could get a good look, and he received a belt whipping that he never forgot. Still, it had almost been worth it, if he could have just glimpsed the interior of that incredible car.
Things were different now. Cars didn’t have the kind of mystique they once did; everyone had a car it seemed, and no one took as much pride in it as the Sunquists had of their new Buick. Lucas coughed roughly, and felt the pressure in his chest. He turned his head back and looked at the ceiling, closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. He knew it wouldn’t be long now. He thought of Ruthie, and wondered what ever had become of her. He and his father had moved to Detroit when he was seven, and he’d never seen her again. He never really understood the move, but the moment they arrived in Detroit he had been entranced by the city’s spirited enthusiasm for baseball. He had even gotten to see a game at Tiger stadium. They had been playing the Philadelphia Athletics, and the Tigers had a real shot at winning the American League that year. Hughie Wise had hit a triple that sent two runners home, tying the score in the seventh inning. His father had even managed to sneak him a hot dog as he stood in the dirt next to the stairway leading to the seats that all the white folks had paid for. He hadn’t seen the end of the game after being chased out of the stadium, but he’d managed to finish his hot dog. The Tigers ended up losing that game, and came in fifth place overall in the League. Everyone in Detroit celebrated despite the lackluster finish. It was that kind of place, a place you were proud of; it didn’t matter if it was measurably the best, just that it was the best for the people who lived there. His father had found a job as a mechanic’s assistant in an old shop off of 14th street, and he and his father had lived in the loft above the shop. The fumes were pretty awful, but at least he got to see loads of cars, and this time, he was allowed to get on the running boards and even get inside them once in awhile. He wished Ruthie could have been there to see all of the cars he’d gotten to sit in. The hospital room began to grow dim, and his breathing became labored. From somewhere in the distance, he heard Lenora’s tiny, frail sounding voice. She was calling him, but he was too tired to answer. Lenora was a good girl, and had really made a name for herself. She was a librarian, and knew more than he or his father did, put together. He’d taught her greek, just as his father had taught him, although the books he used were newer and better. She was very smart, and he’d eventually had to give her the book, since she learned faster just by reading it than by having him hovering over her, puzzling out the phrases he had never learned when he was younger. He’d been a good student, as far as it went, and he had become fairly successful as a mechanic, and had opened his own shop. Blakes Auto had fourteen employees at the height of its success, and he had been able to afford to buy his own house, along with his wife Anita. Anita had passed years ago, and he missed her every day. He knew that he’d see her soon, and he welcomed it. He heard some sort of beeping noise, and a commotion of people in his room. For some reason, they all seemed to be saying his name. He smiled weakly, as he’d always liked his name. For all that had changed over the years, he still liked his name.