paper napkin.
“You all right, B?” Jay asks.
“I’m hot, Jay,” she says, sticking out her bottom lip and blow
ing air up toward her nose, trying to cool herself with her own
breath.
“I’ll look at the box in a minute.”
Kwame stares across the table at Jay. “I want you in it with
me, man.”
It is offered as tenderly as a proposal of marriage. “Just like the
old days,” Kwame says. “You and me, bro? We show ’em how it’s
done?” His leg is pumping up and down under the table, making
a faint rat-a-tat-tat and gently knocking the plates on the table.
Bernie presses her hand firmly on the tabletop to stop it from
shaking. Kwame stills his leg. The room is suddenly quiet. “People need to remember we was about something once,”
Kwame says.
“We were kids, Lloyd. We were just kids.”
“Aw, come on, man,” Kwame says. “Are you so far gone?” “Let me ask you something,” Jay says. “This march you’re
planning . . . how much of this is about the longshoremen and
how much is about you?”
“It’s about all of us, man. ‘Injustice anywhere is a threat to
justice everywhere.’ You remember that, don’t you?” “Answer my question, Lloyd. Really, man. Answer the ques
tion. Far as I know, you never worked a dock in your life. So what
is this? What are you trying to do here? Is this just you needing
some platform to stand on?”
Kwame stares at Jay, his old buddy, his comrade.
“You telling me you don’t miss it, man?”
“Miss what?”
“Come on,” Kwame says, his tone wistful and unexpectedly
soft and dry with longing. “We were really doing something
back then, man.”
“I’m doing something now, Lloyd. I’m trying to raise a family.” Bernie has kept her eyes on her plate, pushing her peas
around.
“Ain’t nobody trying to take this away from you, Jay,” Kwame
says. “I’m talking about a march, a single afternoon.” “I’m not interested,” Jay says. “It’s not my deal.”
“Man,” Kwame says, shaking his head. “They really got to
you, huh? They got you good. I guess you doing your twenty
years on the house.”
Jay slaps his hand across the table, shaking the silverware. “That’s enough, Lloyd.”
Kwame picks up his napkin, balls it up and tosses it onto his
plate. “I know you got your practice and everything, but I guess
I always thought that when push came to shove, if the right issue
came along, you’d be right there.”
“I’m not interested.”
Kwame nods. He’s heard the message loud and clear. “Man,” he says. “She really did a number on you, didn’t she?” Bernie wobbles to her feet then, loudly stacking the dinner
plates without asking if anyone’s finished and slapping away Jay’s
hand when he tries to help. Jay shoots Kwame a harsh look, and
Kwame finally stands. “I didn’t mean you no offense, Bernie,” he
