Or, Sandy Kicked My Ass Too But I’m Fighting Back
I’m going to post a something I saw way back when and was like, “What am I going to do with this?”
It’s something that was written in the past that attracted my attention – and at least I’ll submit something for this month. Oh yes, I beg your forgiveness in with my lack of lovely words to tickle those parts of your brain that make you want more, or less, or to karate chop me and my characters into the next dimension. Some of you guys do that to me too. Yeah, I had a rude guest, her name was Sandy, and she had me for a week with no lights or TV or computer – even longer without Wi-Fi. But her biggest detriment was mental and you must realize that can be worse than any prolonged time without “The Big Bang Theory”.
Makes no difference, folks. It’s healing and getting better time; no better way than to write or reflect on the writing that you writ in the past. Ha ha ha, I can feel the “clever” oozing back in my body. Enjoy!
Portion I – Mary: An External Conversation
“Ain’t no need in you looking so defeated, my brotha,” Mary said without an ounce of compassion in her voice, “when you knew this was gonna happen. And you know she left you because she’s white, right?”
He rolled his eyes. Here we go again! He wondered why he came to her for advice at all. So what she’s gay. Mary is still a Black woman and they are all angry, gay or not.
“OK, Sister-Girl-Sister-Friend,” James replied, “let’s hear another woeful tale of the Black woman being victimized because a Black man is with a white – ”
“No, no, it’s not even like that,” she said. She was becoming annoyed. “Listen James, she didn’t have it in her to be with a Black man. She didn’t. I told you not to invest that much time in her when you first brought her to the club.”
“An ‘I told you so’, huh?”
“You damn right! I’m so tired of men – y’all are such girls! Brothas? Oh you guys are the worst! Anything that’s black and female is out to get you. James look, everybody wants to belong to something. Everybody wants a sense of normalcy in life. You’re talking about a woman who, although she does charity work for people, those people are abroad, they ain’t here. She’s not from the ‘hood and she has no Black friends, none that are Americans anyway. She has no idea what the experience is like for our people over here – ”
“Neither do we! We’re not slaves anymore, M.”
“But we have reaped the consequences of that horrible legacy. We wake up every day, look in the mirror, and see the inequities in our reflection. Listen, no matter how you slice it, it takes a rare kind of person to be herself in America today. Even the so-called rebels want to be accepted. To be you, and to be really happy with that, means you will be someone’s punching bag. People get tired of being punched all the time, James. She did the only sensible thing she could: ended y’all before anybody started swinging.”
“English please, Confucius. I don’t speak in parables.”
Mary had reached her patience threshold with James’s attitude, best friend or not. She knew he was hurting but she had “told him so” when he brought Kate by the club a month and a half ago. She knew Kate’s type the moment she saw her: part-time Liberal; James was probably the first Black man she’d ever dated, Mary thought. But James can be a very stubborn (or stupid depending on where you stand) and arrogant man.
“OK, smartass, how about this? That chick travels the world with her Daddy. She and her Daddy help feed the darkies in Africa; help the darkies in India; help the yellow darkies in Asia but come back to America and have to deal with niggers. Those pesky niggers ruin everything with their complaints about inequality, police brutality, unemployment, piss-poor education – why some of ‘em are even hungry like the darkies they just left overseas. Then there’s that complaint about the little inhumane 2 ½ century historical event called the TransAtlantic Slave Trade. She and her wealthy Daddy don’t want to be reminded of what their ancestry did, although their white privilege is a constant let’s-not-talk-about-this reminder. Now pay attention because this is the most important part. The day you’re chillin’ with her and all her best-est friends and one of those BFFs calls you a “nigger”, she doesn’t want to ever have to be forced to make that choice between her all-American lily white childhood buddies she grew up with or you, nigger-come-lately.”
By this time, Mary was inches away from his face. She could see the internal struggle turn to anger.
“That English enough for you?” she said with a satisfied smile.
“You know what? I’ll say it again, this is why you all don’t have men in your lives.”
“Oh not true, I’m gay, remember? That’s why I – ”
“Yeah, make a fucking joke. Black women have their head stuck in their ass and their ass stuck in the past. We are not slaves anymore, segregation is dead, and if Black women keep holding on to that Color Purple shit, they’ll never get a Black man. You want to be treated like queens? Act like a goddamn queen then! Instead of charitable women who want to help the world, you have a bunch of video hoes complaining about the white women who are invol- ”
“Are you calling me a video ho?”
“I’m just saying – ”
“Did you just call me a video ho?”
“No, Mary. I’m saying that I should have asked a man, or one of her friends what was up, rather than come to you for this old time religion shit.”
“Let me ask you a question.”
“How come it’s never ‘old time religion’ when the Jews talk about what the Nazis did to them?”
“That’s it! That solves your problem. Next time get yourself a little Jewish girl. She’ll be white like you like ‘em and she’ll be down with the peoples!”
“Ha ha, Mary. Keep making jokes. You’ll see, Black men are getting tired…”
“It’s alright with me, I love Black women. That’s just more choices I’ve got.”
Portion II – James: An Internal Conversation
What the hell is going on? Einstein’s theory, suggests I’m doing something wrong when all I encounter are young girls that want to play games and that was never me – even during my High School years.
I always knew the wondrous, crazy world that is considered you, and I stepped closer hoping for an audience with the one behind the curtain. There were those terrified by the magnificence before them; befuddled by a simple test they needed a quest. All that was required was an easy shuffle of the feet and a b-line toward that curtain, revealing the cartographer who held the secret to my way home.
As my resolve got stronger, the line seemed to get longer and I was way behind when it finally hit me! Utterance of that declaration Archimedes exclaimed so long ago and I know, I’m in the wrong line – witness the birth of my decline.
But she didn’t have to say it. I just wanted to talk to my friend. Oh, has the mighty now fallen?
My life was but a footnote in the many footnotes that was quickly becoming a book of useless facts. A tome that was a total waste of time, that phrase makes me laugh; what can I say? It’s only the truth.
I was an expert on her life, on a subcutaneous level. I felt it to the point that I knew when the tears ran down her cheeks. And I stand here, listening to the taunts, angry with her and mad at her existence because Mary is a disciple and Saint Thomas is a prophet, “And I wish I never met her at all. Even though…”
Even though, the real villain is the man in the mirror.