bullshit?” I started to rise from my seat when Huey reached out with one hand and shoved me back onto the couch. Huey and I have never fought again since that first meeting when we were little kids, but the memory of that long ago ass-kicking still cowed me. I stayed put.
“Sit the fuck back down and listen to what I got to say. This white bitch is lookin’ at you and seein’ every stereotype she’s ever heard about Black men. You think she really knows what you do out there? You think she knows who the fuck you are? She looks at you and sees gangsta rap videos with young playas sittin’ in million dollar homes filled with naked women, guns, and mountains of cash like little Black Capones. She sees romance novels where African warriors turned slaves risk hanging to fuck the massa’s flat-assed dick hungry wife. She sees natural athletes with ten-inch dicks who can’t get enough of white pussy, the bad boy from the other side of the tracks that her parents will hate and her friends will envy as a sign of her liberal rebelliousness. You’re her little Mandingo, her Tupac Shakur, her Mike Tyson. You feel like some big time Mack Daddy when you’re with her don’t you? She play the innocent little white girl who’s been turned out by her charismatic Black pimp? She even calls you Daddy don’t she? It’s all some kind of fantasy to her. She ain’t no less prejudice than them fools in the white sheets just because she spreads them lily white thighs for you. When she looks at you she sees the same vicious sub-human animal they do only she sees one with a big dick.”
“You finished now? You got that shit off your chest? ’Cause you ain’t said shit as far as I’m concerned. How you gonna be in her house, drinkin’ her tea, and talkin’ shit about her while she’s out there tryin’ to help our asses?”
“Whitey guilt. That’s all that is. They do a little charity work and they don’t feel so bad when they pass us over for promotions and tell nigger jokes around the dinner table. Look, just answer me one question, what’s wrong with Black women?”
“I love Black women. They just…”
“They just what? Don’t talk to you if you ain’t got no money? Argue too much? Talk too loud? Dress too flashy? Wear too much jewelry? Expect too much from a brother? Won’t let you treat them like hoes? Act too much like hoes? Too bossy and domineering? Too hard and unfeminine? They don’t suck your dick and let you cum in their faces? All that’s bullshit and you know it. Those are just more fucked up stereotypes.”
“I was gonna say they’re too damned religious and they don’t give me no play anyway. Everytime I like a sista she disses me for some other brother. They all want light-skinned pretty boys with hazel eyes and wavy hair like you or big buff brothers with two percent body fat. An average nigga like me ain’t got a chance with nuthin’ but the neighborhood chicken heads and I ain’t willin’ to stoop that low. I want a woman that wants more for herself than the average bitch in the street. That’s why I don’t fuck with no sistas but Yolanda.”
“That’s ’cause that heavy bitch spoiled your ass. Now you done found another stupid hoe to kiss your rotten ass.”
This time it was my turn to shake my head in exasperation.
“Can’t a brother just have a little fun without it having to get all political and shit? Damn. I don’t understand why you hate White people so much anyway. I mean, how can you already hate people you’ve never even met? You got your mind made up about the whole race based on what you know about the handful you’ve met. There’s like two hundred million White folks in America. It ain’t like you know all of ’em.”
Huey poured more tea into the imitation Japanese tea cup with pictures of little Bonsai trees on the sides. He raised the cup to his lips and loudly slurped down the Ginseng brew.
“You should be asking yourself why you don’t hate all of them. You blame God for everything and let them devils off the hook when they’re the ones with our blood on their hands. That don’t make no sense!”
“I can’t hate them ’cause they ain’t did shit I wouldn’t have done myself if I was in their position. You think that if brothers was runnin’ shit we’d be anymore fair and compassionate? Just take a look at Africa. Brothers is always talkin’ about the white man’s nature but conquering and exploiting is just man’s nature. Fuck do you think would have happened four or five hundred years ago if Africans had guns and bombs and shit and traveled to Europe and found White folks over there chuckin’ spears? We would have kicked they asses and took all they shit. They would have been cleanin’ our houses and plowin’ our fields and we would’ve been rapin’ their women and sellin’ off their families just like they did to us. White folks would be the ones callin’ us devils. Shit, we was already conquering and enslaving our own people before the white man ever came to Africa. I ain’t sayin’ I don’t hate them in general. I ain’t got no love for no peckerwoods. I mean if there was a war goin’ on and we had to pick sides I’d have no problem droppin’ bombs on faceless White enemies, but when you deal with them one on one you realize that they’re just people like you and me. They ain’t no devils.”
“Except Scratch?”
“Yeah, except him.”
“And yet you worked for his ass too, killin’ your own brothers for him.”
“Dog, I’m all out of excuses for that shit. I just want to cap that devil and be done with it.”
Christina and Iesha stepped back into the apartment, each carrying a grocery bag and chatting excitedly. Iesha had been as suspicious and cynical of Christina as Huey, but now the two girls were gossiping like old friends. Huey glowered menacingly at the noisome duo and Iesha immediately fell silent, casting one last smile at the tall white girl before they shut the door behind them and walked into the kitchen to put their groceries down.
“Have you called your mother yet?” Iesha asked, and then, seeing the shock and fear wash over my face, added, “I—I’m sure she’s alright. It’s just–you know—don’t you think you should check?”
Horrible images flashed through my head as I looked over at the phone. My eyes, wide with fear and a sadness in the pit of my stomach, scanned the ashen faces of Huey, Iesha, and Christina. Their expressions were sympathetic, as if they had already assumed the worse.
I took a deep breath and told myself that everything was okay, that Scratch hadn’t gone to my house and murdered my mother after we’d left.
Scratch’s enraged voice boomed in my head as if I was still down in that basement with him. I rose to my feet and staggered over to my cell phone. Huey, Iesha, and Christina followed, crowding around me and placing consolatory arms around my shoulders. We didn’t even know for certain that anything had happened and I already felt like I was at a funeral mourning my mother’s death. I dialed the numbers in a daze as I thought of the reconciliation my mother and I had never had and the look of disappointment and disgust on her face as she watched me speed away from the scene of Yellow Dog’s murder. My stomach tightened painfully as the phone began to ring.
“Hello?”
I nearly fainted. I was so relieved.
“Mom? It’s Malik.”
“Yeah?”
There was a strange tremor in her voice as if she’d been crying.
“Is everything alright? Did anybody come by looking for me?”
“You mean like the police or friends of that guy you murdered right in front of our home last night? The cops were here for hours asking me about you. They wanted to take me down to the station. I can’t believe you would kill someone right in front of me like that! I saw you! Is this the type of shit you’re into? Killing people? Is this what I raised you to become? I don’t even know you anymore. But don’t worry, I didn’t tell the police nothing. You’re still my child.”
“I— uh…I’m sorry.”
She snorted contemptuously.
“Nobody else came by while I was home, but I left about an hour after the police did,” her voice choked up again and now it was clear that she was crying, “I spent the rest of the night at the hospital.”
“Why were you at the hospital? What happened?”
“Your grandmother had a stroke last night. I would have called, but I didn’t know where you were.”
“Is she alright?”
“No…,” her voice softened and became very small, quivering with emotion, “…she passed away this morning. The funeral is tomorrow at 9:30 am.”
Mom continued talking, mostly chastising me about not being at the hospital to comfort my dying grandmother who loved me more than anything. I barely heard a word she said.
“Grandma?”
