Bittersweet: What I Left Behind In OK (A tribute to Faulkner)

On Saturday night I was sitting in a bar called Roosters with my cousin, watching her boyfriend and his friends play pool. There were at least a dozen scattered people I’d gone to High School with also there.

Yeah. My *N Word* beater.
-Huh? What did you say?

His shifty, sideways glance gave him away: He’d forgotten he was in the company of an east coast liberal. His comment wasn’t directed at me, but he knew he was caught.

Uhm. I keep my bat at the front door.
-No you didn’t.

I leaned over to whisper to my host.

Did he just say ‘The N Word’?

She took a drag of her cigarette, but she decided to give it to me straight.

Yeah.
-…Oh.

The guy next to me was anxious to resume our flirting.

You don’t like that word, huh?
-No.
What, did you date one- a black person- or something?
-Yeah.
OK. Well, see. What you have to understand is, it’s not that bad of a word.
-What?
It’s not all black people, just some black people. Even Chris Rock said there’s a difference between the two.
-“Bigger and Blacker”?
Yeah. That was it. It’s like the difference between a white person and White Trash.
-Well, I don’t say that word either, and—
No, really. You’re missing the point. It describes a certain type of black person...

And thus began the 20 very unsexy minutes where the man that was hitting on me tried to justify the use of ‘The N Word.’ I sipped my beer hoping he might just disappear. He didn’t. Maybe I could shut him up:

It sounds like you’re describing a level of ignorance. Why not call those people ignorant instead?
-No. That’s way worse. Watch—-

He turned to his buddy.

Would you rather be called White Trash or Ignorant?
-White Trash.

Then he looked across the table to his half-Mexican friend:

Would you rather be called a Beaner or Ignorant?
-A Beaner.

“Beaner” tried to expound on his friends point.

Look. I have cousins in the largest gang in North America. The MS 13. And they’re fucking Wetbacks. And I tell them so to their face!

It was such a relief to see L a few minutes later.

You’ll never believe the conversation I just had...
-Yeah. There’s not a lot of opportunity for black people here. That’s why I left. I’m at Langston now. Business Management.
Wow. That’s great! You still talk to ___?

*****
Sunday, he chuckled on his couch:

So you date me way back when and you spend the rest of your life concerned about brown folks...

His Mom didn’t chuckle when I told her the story earlier that evening.

Would you ever move back?
-No, I couldn’t deal with the people…

Then she told me a story about how she had recently confronted a racist person.

…So I went up to her: Do I know you? Are you sure? Aren’t you that cashier at JCPenny’s? Sure? Well, lovely top.. And I touched her, and she cringed, but I just smiled…

A healthy 20 minutes later I walked out of her home, slowly realizing that in her own, long-winded way she had shamed me. And she had a point: If I really cared, wouldn’t I stick around and actively try to make things better?

*****

It was Sunday morning and Mom and I were driving to Daylight Donuts. She was less condemning.

I know what you’re saying. You want to be around people with the same value system as you. And it’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along about relationships; you can couple up across a divide, but you’ll spend your life fighting for the things you take for granted.
-But I’ve always enjoyed dating people that can teach me new things. I guess, thogh, there are already certain things I can’t compromise on, like last night proved.

*****

Saturday night L took me to the other side of Roosters. There was hip hop playing and a cluster of brown faces in the corner, but no dance floor like I’d hoped.

This is Roar, ____’s ex-girlfriend.
-O yeah, I remember that.
--You do? That was High School! Did you graduate with me?
-No, I graduated in ’96 with L’s brother. But I remember you two.

*****

I had been giddy to see him that evening. I had gone the entire day (Sunday) without makeup, my bra strap sticking out of my sweater while playing cards with my grandparents, but I had changed and primped to see him. I was wearing tight jeans. And pink.
It had been years, but there we were, on his couch, overlapping legs and holding hands.

What do you miss about us?

We reminisced about our first love, how pure and uncomplicated it was.

I’m not sure I could ever trust someone like that again.
-No one’s ever tried to understand me, who I am and what I come from the same way since. No one’s respected me at face value like that since you.
If I could have chosen, I wouldn’t have had a baby with her. But you always made me wear a condom.

O yeah. His kid. His daughter.

Earlier, in the car, I’d been indignant, as if she was my own:

You just can’t raise a strong black woman here. No offense to your Mom, cuz she did a good job with your sisters and all, but you want to raise a strong, intelligent and conscious black woman, and you can’t do that here!

On his couch that night, I was ready to jump his bones, kid or no kid, mine or not. He’s still so sexy, and the same sweet guy I’ll always love. I never said so, though I don't think I had to.
But he touched my hand.

These days, it’s so different. It’s just different being a Dad. I may see a woman I’m attracted to, and I may talk to her, or I may not, but it’s just not my focus.

I hugged him goodnight and he felt exactly like I remembered, like a puzzle piece fit snugly with my own. Still, it seemed as though we’d never stood in such different places, or further apart. It hit me, as I walked out of his front door: he may be less long-winded, but he’s definitely his Mother’s son.