“I do work hard. I give those kids everything I’ve got every day!”
“How can you when every time you see some poor black kid walk into your room you’ve already labeled him in your mind as a lost cause?”
“It has nothing to do with black or white. We’ve got white kids from the trailer parks who are in the same boat.”
“Yeah, but do you treat them the same? You don’t because you can relate to the kids from the trailer park. You clean up well, but I can still hear the faint hint of white trash country twang in your voice. It must have been hard work getting rid of that accent. I know. I had to do it too. My ghetto slur. Gangsta drawl. So, you can understand the white trailer trash, but not the black ghetto rats, am I right? Don’t answer now. Right now you’ll just get defensive. You won’t answer honestly. You’re going to tell me what you think or hope is true, not what you know is true. Go back to work tomorrow and just test yourself. Watch how you interact with each kid and tell me if you’re giving them all the same level of attention. I think you’ll be surprised.”
I stuck out my chin and rolled my eyes in self-righteous indignation. Who was this guy to talk to me like he knew me? He didn’t know shit about me. How dare he call me a damn racist? I jabbed a finger at his chest.
“I’ll do that. That’s fine. But let me ask you something, how much good do you think people like you are doing those kids by being apologists for them? By making excuses for them and blaming their environment or the educational system or institutionalized racism or the government or slavery or whatever? How much good do you think you’re doing them with all of that?”
He smirked and shook his head.
“A hell of a lot more than those who ignore them. Look, you’ve got a difficult job. No question. And I applaud you and all teachers for what you do. Putting up with these hardheaded kids can’t be easy. But if every school had enough qualified teachers, if they had enough books, enough computers, enough classrooms, smaller class sizes, so that they could actually do their jobs, if we flipped the script and started spending as much or more on giving a kid an education as we do on locking their asses up once they slip between the cracks, don’t you think your job would be easier?”
“Yes, yes it would. And you’re right. And I probably sound to you like some out of touch racist asshole.”
“Not at all. Out of touch? Perhaps. Racist. No. If you’re not from there how would you know what it’s like?”
“Well, you were right. I grew up in a trailer. I was as poor as any kid in the ghetto so I know a little bit about poverty.”
“Yeah, but crime is very different in a trailer park than it is in a crowded inner-city neighborhood.”
“Different but not better or worse. You don’t see many kids leaving the trailer park for Ivy League schools either.”
“I’m sure.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I know I’ve probably turned you completely off…”
“I’m not trippin’. I don’t expect white people to have a clue about the black experience. All your opinions are media created and the American media has an interest in demonizing the black male. Monsters sell newspapers and the young black male has become the American monster.”
“Yeah, and black people also have an interest in demonizing the white male and the white female for that matter. We make great scapegoats.”
I couldn’t help but smile when I said it. It was hard to believe I was in the middle of a crowded dance club with the most beautiful black man I’d ever seen having a political debate about race. It was just too surreal.
“You’re just baiting me now. Look, I have no animosity at all toward white women. You may not realize it, but white men have oppressed you as much as they have our people. Woman is the nigger of the world.”
“You’re quoting John Lennon?”
“Actually, I think that was Yoko Ono. I could quote Malcolm X if you’d prefer?”
“Now who’s baiting who?”
“You started it.”
He smiled again, and again my heart did that little flutter. I couldn’t remember a man ever affecting me this way. It was disconcerting as hell.
“Sure, okay, women have it hard. Black people have it hard. So what are we supposed to do? Cry in our beer and blame everybody else while our lives continue to turn to shit?”
“Nope. We succeed and prosper despite of. Success is the best revenge.”
He winked at me when he said it as if we were some sort of co-conspirators. I smiled again and then laughed.
“Okay, I like that.”
“Still, once we get ours we have to go back to help those who may not have met with the same success. Like I said, I escaped the ’hood because I didn’t go to the neighborhood school and so I got a decent education. I was lucky, pure and simple. But that school graduates six-hundred students a year. Six hundred! Those who don’t end up in prison or on drugs end up on welfare or in minimum wage jobs, which is to say, right back in the ghetto. And there are hundreds of schools just like it all across the country. We can’t just turn our backs on them or flush the entire ghetto down the toilet. They deserve a piece of the American dream as much as the next man. We’ve got to help because the frustrated and ignored student of today is the drug-dealing, drug addicted murderer of tomorrow. Believe that.”
I nodded in agreement. Damn, I liked this man.
“You should be a politician.”
“A black politician who hangs out at nightclubs pickin’ up white girls wouldn’t really go over too well.”
“That’s probably true. You would have to give up the white girls.”
“Would you miss me?”
His smile looked almost predatory now as he leaned in closer to me and reached out to stroke my cheek with the back of his hand.
“We ain’t quite that tight yet.”
“We will be,” he said as he leaned in closer and brushed my hair away from my ear.
“Oh really?” I tried to sound cocky, but my knees were shaking.
His lecherous grin widened again into that big confident smile. His eyes softened then he shook his head and chuckled. He gave my hand a slight squeeze and pulled me closer until our bodies touched.
“You are beautiful,” he whispered in my ear.
“A beautiful, ignorant racist?” I blushed, thinking of some of the things I’d said earlier. I don’t know what the hell I’d been thinking. If ever there was a time for political correctness it was when talking to a six-six, two-hundred and sixty pound black man, especially when you were attracted to him.
“No. Just beautiful.”
How Kenyatta could have not been offended by some of the things I’d said was beyond belief. I kept wondering if he just wanted to fuck me so bad that he was suppressing the urge to pimp-slap me every time I said something stupid. But if all he wanted was some ass then why wasn’t he hittin’ on Tina? It’s not like it was difficult to tell that the girl was easy.
He stood there staring at me without saying a word as I looked at him and then looked away and blushed then looked back again only to find him still staring at me, causing me to turn away and blush again. It was the most sexually charged moment I’d ever had inside a nightclub and I’ve had sex in nightclubs before. But this was somehow more intense than any of the drunken groping and thrusting I’d done previously. All he was doing was holding my hand and staring at my face, but it was like I could feel him all over me. I forgot all about Tina. I forgot I was in a nightclub and forgot that Kenyatta was some stranger I’d just met. I felt like I was falling in love. But I didn’t believe in love at first sight.
“I have to go soon. Why don’t you give me your number and I’ll call you.”
“Why are you so interested in me? I know I just pissed you off with that little conversation and my friend would probably fuck you right now.”