One
It goes like this. I’m white, but I live with the Brown people, and each morning everything changes when the Black kids get on the bus. The ride starts out quiet enough. Just me and the Brown people sitting or standing. We look out the windows and keep to ourselves. There’s conversation, but it’s in another language from the one I speak. It’s kind of like easy listening music to me, there but not there. The scenery passes by, and we slip in and out of our thoughts until the Black kids get on. I know some of you will probably call me a dumb punk. I’m not. Have you ever read Dr. Martin Luther King Jr? I have. That guy was so smart you can hardly follow what he is saying. A great man. Rosa Parks? Courageous. I don’t have to list anymore. You get the idea. Besides, we all have the same color blood. When the Black kids get on the bus all of a sudden me and the Brown people have to put all our energy into pretending that we don’t witness their music, gestures, and loud conversation. I know they didn’t want to be here. They were kidnapped and made to be slaves. It’s just that the bus ride is kind of nice when it’s quiet. It’s almost like a dream. When I lived with other White people things were different. My life was linear, planned, sensible. I had a home and a wife. Now I share an apartment and have an Ex.
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During the past year I was fortunate enough to meet a mirror. Her name is E. I met her at a dance club near the water on a Saturday night. My friend thought that this was an excellent place for people to meet and he was right. The majority of the women were White although there were some Black, Brown, and Yellow women as well. They all wore clothes that covered as little as possible. I knew I was going to like the place. The majority of men were White too, but there were some Black, Brown, and Yellow ones also. A lot of the guys seemed kind of sleazy. Some actually wore gold chains and had their shirts unbuttoned revealing their majestic chest hair. In all fairness there were some women there that were Bimbos. I guess it evened out. The funny thing is that the obvious match went unanswered. The sleazy men should have been paired with the Bimbos. That would make the most sense, but all the sleazy guys I saw were trying to get the nice women. My guess is that they really wanted to fail. I think they feed on rejection. Either that or they’re just plain stupid. And for the Bimbos, well, they never go home alone. Once we got inside, me and my friend moved among the mass of flesh and discovered that there were three areas: The DJ dance floor, the eating area, and the live band room. My friend stayed in the room that had the live band playing oldies and top forty songs. It was bright and the people danced kind of reserved. I left him and went to the DJ dance floor. It was darker and the people danced however they pleased. I took a seat on one of the speakers and watched the crowd. I could actually feel the volume of the bass and it seemed to me the flares of my trousers were flapping with every beat. A slim attractive Brown woman in a skintight black dress motioned me to join her on the floor so I did. She smiled and swayed. She couldn’t really move too much due to the fact that her dress was so tight. After a while it was clear she was there with friends, and she nodded toward a small pack of White women standing on the outer edge of the dance floor. She pointed to the prettiest of them telling me to go ask her to dance. I walked over to the prettiest one, took her by the hand and pulled her onto the floor. At first, she seemed stunned with my approach, but I said her friend told me to bring her out and dance. She smiled and began dancing. She mostly moved her shoulders and her feet a little and bobbed her head. After a few songs I thanked her and went and sat back down on the speaker. I continued to watch her dance and noted the herky-jerky way she moved. She had an angelic face and the most intense eyes. I started watching the other people and lost track of the prettiest one for a while until the dream state I was in was broken by her grabbing my hand and dragging me onto the dance floor. She held me very, very, close and it felt fantastic. After a few songs she pulled away and faded into the crowd. I sat down again on the speaker. I was pleasure dizzy and could hardly think. My head cleared enough for me to decide I should give her my telephone number. It was a weird sensation. It was like the idea literally popped into my brain. I distinctly remember physically feeling the thought arrive. I got a pen from the bar and wrote my number on a napkin. I looked around for her. I didn’t see her, but I did see the brown woman who first motioned me to dance. I asked her if she would give my number to her friend. She seemed perturbed at my request and reluctantly agreed, folding the napkin and putting it in her purse. I thanked her and found my friend in the live band room. He was having a good time dancing with a White woman with yellow hair. My friend is Black. I smiled and he waved. I got bored with the band and headed over to the DJ section and saw the prettiest one in the eating section of the club sipping a drink. “I thought you left.” I said to her. She looked up only slightly and continued sipping her drink. “Oh, hi.” She answered. I introduced myself and she told me her name. “You want to go outside and talk?” She asked. “Sure.” She walked away and I followed her through the eating section, through the DJ dance area, out the entrance, and into the late-night air. She took out a clove cigarette from the little black purse she was wearing and offered me one. I really have never liked clove cigarettes. When I was a kid going to rock concerts it seemed like someone was always lighting one up in front of me. They smell awful. They smell too sweet. She asked me where I lived, and I told her I lived in the city. I asked where she lived, and she was vague saying she lived in the Bay Area. I said that was a big area to live in and she just shrugged. Then she asked me what I did for a living. I told her and asked the same. “I’m a jewel thief. I steal jewelry.” She smiled and I knew she was playing with me. I smiled and took another drag from the awful clove cigarette I was smoking. Her friend that I gave my phone number to was leaving the club with a guy and she stopped long enough to retrieve the napkin and give it to E. I explained that I gave that to her friend to give to her and she put it in her purse. She studied me and held my chin in her hand and moved my head for a left, and then a right profile. “You have a strong face.” “Thanks.” We finished our cigarettes, and I followed her back inside. We hooked up with her friends in a booth in the eating part of the club. The two girls we joined had a sleazy man on each side of them whispering in their ears. After a while the sleazy men went away, and it was just me and the girls. My friend and the yellow haired woman he was dancing with stopped by for a while and then left. Eventually it was closing time and the girls offered to take me home. The girls and I waited outside while E got her coat. I listened to them chit-chat about who was with who and who was only a player. E came out and took my chin in her hand again showing her friends my strong face and then we moved on. As we were walking the girls were saying how hungry they were and started naming restaurants we could go to in the early morning. We passed a pizza place and there was a delivery guy standing in the doorway holding a pizza. E said that she would love a pizza. I asked the guy how much and he told me. I bought the pizza much to the delight of the girls. Each took a slice as I held the box open. E fed me since my hands were full. She held the slice, and I would take a bite and keep walking. We got to the car and E demanded to drive. I rode shotgun and handed the remaining pizza to the girls in back. We circled the block once to see who was leaving the club with who and then headed down Mission Street toward where I live. I told E that what would really impress me was if she could drive the car with no hands steering only with her knees. She demonstrated she could do this, so I added that she needed to keep steering with her knees and act like she was taking a bong hit. She did that as well and I told her I was impressed. The girls in the back began questioning me about what it was I did, and one asked me point blank if I made a lot of money. My response was rather crass and defensive, but it ended their questioning. E didn’t seem put off with my reply and pointed out a good-looking man in a car that drove by. I said he was gay, and she argued with me. “Well, he must be bisexual then because I’ve slept with him.” Of course I hadn’t, I just wanted to rattle her, and it worked. She seemed confused and the girls in the back started laughing and would point out other men in cars asking if I slept with them and I kept saying yes because it upset E. She had an angry expression on her face and wouldn’t look at me. Right before we reached where I live, I took pity on her and assured her that I had not slept with those men, and it seemed to ease her mood some. She was thinking awfully hard and had a quiet confusion about her that went unnoticed by the girls in the back who were laughing about something else by now. We got to my neighborhood, and I had her pull to my corner to let me out. “Call me.” I told her. She said she would and sped off up the street. I could see the girls in the back laughing. They might have been laughing at me. I didn’t mind.