#3: “Couldn't you act black for just one second?”

I’d already had a weird morning. Driving half an hour to get to a store which turned out not to have what I was looking for…only to find a different store which did have it…only to find out I was looking for the wrong thing in the first place. 

And I hadn’t had breakfast. 

As I drove into the parking garage, I saw Melvin leaning against the railing wearing a hoodie. I was oddly pleased to see him. Usually, I have mixed feelings about seeing him because I want to get where I’m going and Melvin usually isn’t going anywhere. 

But today I wasn’t in a hurry. And I hadn’t seen him all week.

“Hey, what’cha doing wearing a hoodie? It’s still summer!” I called out as I came out of the garage. All summer, Melvin had been wearing a rather stylish beret type thing, so seeing him in a hoodie was like seeing the first leaves of fall turn yellow.

He was leaning up again the railing next to Jimmy¹, the alleged drug dealer and perhaps pimp, whom I’ve said challenges my pretensions of unconditional love.

I’d been wanting to lean up against that railing with Jimmy sometime. Just ‘cause. Having Melvin there seemed like a good way to break the ice.

I couldn’t remember ever seeing them together. Melvin thinks people who do hard drugs are stupid. Although I’m not positive he feels the same about people who make money selling them. 

“There you go, starting with that white sh-t again,” Melvin said to me in response to the hoodie question, while taking on his most annoyed posture. This involves stamping a foot, leaning back, shaking his whole body no, no, no before stopping and glaring at me as if he’s looking over glasses.  

There are several translations of this response 1) He doesn’t have to explain anything to anybody; 2) Yesterday he was wearing something; today he’s wearing something else. End of story. 3) Only stupid white people rely on that kind of stupid pleasantry to start a conversation. The proper way to great people is, “Whazzup? Whazzup? or ‘Morning ‘Morning.” Both of which he says with his signature suggestive voice that implies he’s really interested in what you’re doing and might want to join you.

He followed up this verbal assault with several expletives and suggested that I must be having a bad day to be talking that way, ending with: “Couldn’t you act black for just one second?” 

Another inadvertent Melvin koan.

I looked over the railing. Noticed the trash scattered down on the ground three levels below. Stayed very still. There are (Caucasian) Zen Buddhists who would pay good money to be asked a question like that.

He could tell he’d stumped me. And that I knew he had. And that he knew I knew. Which amused both of us. We cracked up and he threw his arm around me as he is wont to do. (It’s a spontaneous and enthusiastic hug although the woman at the deli who gives him food sometimes has to tell him to be a little less enthusiastic. And I’m sure she’s not the only one.) 

Now that we had the existential questions and cursing out of the way, I told him where I’d been and, out of nowhere, Jimmy—who, depending on your perspective, is either whiter or blacker than I am—started saying what was all wrong with that town I’d been to. That you can’t get anywhere by walking. You need a car. There’s nothing but box stores. They gotta do something.

Actually, the town has one of the widest Main Streets in America and plenty-wide sidewalks going every which way. Maybe Jimmy’s business doesn’t take him downtown.

Melvin gave me a familiar side bump that translates into: let’s walk down the street so you can give me money without anyone seeing. Particularly people like Jimmy who might want to get into the action…any action.

I gave him my familiar shrug that translates into: maybe. Just then, another guy materialized and started pulling cans of beer out of a paper bag. He handed one to Jimmy, another to Melvin, took one for himself and offered me one. It was a Pabst Blue Ribbon. 

I shook my head slowly. Melvin might eventually be able to teach me how to act black for just one second, but learning how to lean against a railing with nowhere to go, drinking a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon at 10 o’clock on Saturday morning was a bridge too far. Even for just one second.

It was oddly humbling.

Before walking away, I surreptitiously slipped a bill into Melvin’s pocket. It was the first time I’d given him money that was more for me than for him.

1. As mentioned, the names in these are pseudonyms except for Melvin and Kenny who think I’m going to make them famous and, in Melvin’s case, make a lot of money in the process.