Blackanova from I am a Dirty Immigrant

I heard the same sentiments from a couple of women I sat next to everyday at work. I was a little taken aback because these women were always being extra-friendly with me. Anyway, I expected that from the older of the two women. The younger one took me by surprise because she tried her best to portray an understanding of the plight of black people. She joined the conversation by stating that she did not believe in the mixing of races. This woman was a Jessica Simpson look-alike or wannabe, whichever way you see fit to categorize her. She stated emphatically that she would not allow her daughter to date a black man. I did not say anything at first, but when she insisted, I had to respond. I wanted to know why she felt that way, but she did not have a viable answer for me. I insisted, and she said that the children are the ones who suffer, so I informed her that it was people like her that made it hard for children of mixed origin.

She was speechless, her eyes rolling around in her head as she searched for an answer. She finally attacked my failed marriage, stating that it did not work because of our color difference. To tell you the truth, I had to stop and take a breath so as not to explode. Once again I had to explain to her that it was people of her mentality that made mixed relationships hard to maintain. I also let her know that it was not the ethnicity that ended our marriage. But still she insisted. Hell, I even heard her say that if a black man painted his dick white, she still would not sleep with him.

I was not defeated in my effort to show her that color played no role in how people feel about each other. The following day I embarked on a campaign of flirting. I was more tenacious than a politician, and from the beginning I knew I had her attention. I used my writing skills to woo her, using exotic images from my island. Every day she would come in and try to get my attention. She would swoon like a schoolgirl, always looking for my approval with what she wore or what color her hair was, and believe me she changed it daily. I laid on the poetic charm until I knew she was addicted to the attention, and then I stopped. Her reaction to me stopping was a little hostile, the wrath of an ignored woman. At one point I was walking by her when she told me to kiss her ass. For someone who would never date a black man, she sure seemed a little perturbed about losing the attention.

Humour from the novel I am a Dirty Immigrant

I heard the same sentiments from a couple of women I sat next to everyday at work. I was a little taken aback because these women were always being extra-friendly with me. Anyway, I expected that from the older of the two women. The younger one took me by surprise because she tried her best to portray an understanding of the plight of black people. She joined the conversation by stating that she did not believe in the mixing of races. This woman was a Jessica Simpson look-alike or wannabe, whichever way you see fit to categorize her. She stated emphatically that she would not allow her daughter to date a black man. I did not say anything at first, but when she insisted, I had to respond. I wanted to know why she felt that way, but she did not have a viable answer for me. I insisted, and she said that the children are the ones who suffer, so I informed her that it was people like her that made it hard for children of mixed origin.

She was speechless, her eyes rolling around in her head as she searched for an answer. She finally attacked my failed marriage, stating that it did not work because of our color difference. To tell you the truth, I had to stop and take a breath so as not to explode. Once again I had to explain to her that it was people of her mentality that made mixed relationships hard to maintain. I also let her know that it was not the ethnicity that ended our marriage. But still she insisted. Hell, I even heard her say that if a black man painted his dick white, she still would not sleep with him.

I was not defeated in my effort to show her that color played no role in how people feel about each other. The following day I embarked on a campaign of flirting. I was more tenacious than a politician, and from the beginning I knew I had her attention. I used my writing skills to woo her, using exotic images from my island. Every day she would come in and try to get my attention. She would swoon like a schoolgirl, always looking for my approval with what she wore or what color her hair was, and believe me she changed it daily. I laid on the poetic charm until I knew she was addicted to the attention, and then I stopped. Her reaction to me stopping was a little hostile, the wrath of an ignored woman. At one point I was walking by her when she told me to kiss her ass. For someone who would never date a black man, she sure seemed a little perturbed about losing the attention.

24th Installment of La Diablesse

CHAPTER 8

I woke up the next morning feeling like I had slept on a concrete floor, I forced meself out of bed and went into the bathroom, today I get to see Jane and I smiled and did a little dance as I walked through the bathroom door. I stood in front of the sink and saw me reflection in the mirror, bloody hell, I looked like a skeleton with eyes man. I opened the faucet and splashed water on me face the cold liquid ran down me skin waking me up and with a spring in me step I began to get ready to go meet Jane.

By the time I had finished taking a shower and got dressed I was feeling much better singing as I walked out of the bathroom. I went downstairs and into the living room and turned on me stereo they were playing one of me favorite Peter Tosh songs, I went into the kitchen singing along to the lyrics. I looked at me watch and saw that it was almost ten o’clock, the sun shined through the window in the kitchen leaving a smoky golden trail from the window to the kitchen counter. I opened the fridge and took out a sapodilla fruit and bit into it, the juice ran through me fingers and dripped onto the floor, I did not stop to clean it up, I mean, who cares? I was going to see Jane. The beat in the song stopped and I stopped with it and when it started back I jumped and twisted me body, yes, life will be like a bed of roses today. I walked out the door and headed to the beach.

Jane was already sitting on the sand waiting for me, she looked up and saw me and that beautiful smile spread cross she face. I tingled all over as she reached out and took me hand, I pulled she up and our bodies bumped and we almost fell over, she laughed she hair twirling round she neck.

“So what do you have planned for today?” she asked looking into me eyes. I beamed staring into she sparkling hazel eyes.

“I know a spot where no one else goes, we can go there and have a nice quiet afternoon” She squeezed me hand sending what felt like small electric shocks through me.

“Are you doing O.K this morning?” she asked looking at me with some

concern.

“I am doing much better right now,” I said swinging she hand. She pulled me towards she and kissed me she lips tasting like bubble gum, they were warm and soft and I closed me eyes trying to savour the moment. We came to the dirt road where I was last night and I felt a little uneasy remembering the woman in white.

“Where is this place,” she said jolting me out of that thought.

“You will see, I think you will love it,” we reached the place where the ocean was crashing against the rocks and the blue water disappeared into the sky in the distance. She stopped and looked round, to the left of us was a grassy field the blades almost as tall as she was, the field slanted downwards to a small beach where a flock of birds floated by on the water just below us. Jane let go of me hand and ran down to the beach, the sand here was not as white as on the other beaches it sparkled black and gray and there were more seashells stuck in the grains. I watched she run she hair bouncing from side to side, man, she had some silky hair, she turned round moving backwards.

“Come on.” She shouted and I followed she. She started to sing an old country song by Glen Campbell and I joined in, she stopped and looked at me surprised.

“How do you know that song?” she asked looking at me.

“My parents loved country music, my mom used to sing them to me when I was little,” she smiled and took me hand and began singing again and we walked down the beach sometimes stumbling over the words. She laughed it was melodic sending more tingles through me, man I tell you what, If I tingled anymore me body would have exploded.

We got to the end of the beach, rocks jutted out into the ocean and the water foamed round them creating a kaleidoscope of dark green, dark blue and black. She jumped on to one of the rocks determined to see what was on the other side. I followed her as she jumped into the sea, the water was waist deep and she struggled to go round the rocks, she stopped realizing that there were more rocks on the other side so she turned round and waded back to me. I took she hand and pulled she out of the swirling tide she blue running shorts clung to she upper thigh. She came back onto the beach and I wrapped me arm round she as she giggled and tilted she head back. She body was warm against me like a blanket on a cold day. She wrapped one of she perfectly shaped legs round the back of me leg leaning she body back like a meringue dancer. I placed the palm of me hand on she back so she did not fall over, she hair hung loosely swinging gentle in the breeze. She pulled sheself back up looking into me eyes still giggling and we began to walk back to the field were the grass was dancing in the wind. I found a clear patch in the tall blades where the sand was white and soft and sat down. She sat with she legs drawn up to she chest looking out at the ocean she eyes wide open with amazement.

“You love the ocean don’t you?” I asked.

“Yeah, But I love the mountains too.” Then she began to tell me bout she home, the big mountains and the green landscape ran for miles, the rolling hills that looked like giant waves against the late afternoon skies, snow covered mountains, brown yellow and orange leaves on lawn in the fall, coal miners coming home covered with coal dust, they were hard working people them West Virginians. She told me about the small town where she went to university, the river that separates Ohio from West Virginia and Kentucky the trains that ran through the middle of the town at rush hours. The city was called Huntington, a small town in comparison to the big cities she had been in America. I listened without interrupting, I had been to America before but I had only been to the large cities. A rowboat went by on the mildly choppy sea the fisherman waved at us a big smile on his face. I lay down on me back trying to picture she descriptions in me head, she looked at me she eyes squinting as she spoke.

“What did you study at Cambridge?” she asked

“English with an emphasis on creative writing,” I replied.

“Do you write poetry?” she asked and I sat up’

“Yeah, but I have not written anything in a long time,”

“I would love to read them some day”, she said and I shook me head smiling at she. We looked at each other not saying a word for bout ten seconds then she took me hand in hers and leaned she head on me shoulder. She raised she head back up and was bout to ask me another question when a yellow and blue butterfly swooped out of the grass and landed on she left knee, she let go of me hand and sat staring at it, then slowly stretched she hand out palm up and used she fore finger to brush the butterfly into it. I lay back down watching she hair, it was a mixture of black and dark brown that cascaded in small waves down to the middle of she back, she moaned in disappointment as the butterfly flew off the palm of her hand and disappeared into the grass, I rose up resting all me weight on me left elbow.

“Why don’t you walk into the grass and shake it,” she looked at me a questioning expression on she face.

“Go ahead, you will really enjoy it,” I said and she got up and walked bout ten yards into the field. She shook the grass and butterflies fluttered into the air surrounding she, blue, green, orange multi coloured butterflies made the grass shimmer in the sunlight man you should have heard the squeal of delight as they glided round she tickling she skin, I sat watching I was smiling so much me cheeks began to ach a little. After bout five minutes the butterflies began to settle back into the grass, she walked back to me and sat down giggling, I lay back down on the sand and we sat in silence. She looked back at me and then lay down next to me resting she leg across me body, she reached out with she hand caressing me face and I closed me eyes for a second enjoying the soft touch of she fingers. I opened them again to see she smiling at me then she leaned over and kissed me, ahh yes there was that bubble gum taste again.

We kissed for what seemed like an eternity stopping when we heard giggling. I looked over she shoulder and saw Ken and another boy standing a little way down the beach holding homemade fishing poles.

‘Afternoon Mr. Dickens,” he said with a big old grin on his face.

“Afternoon Ken,” and he and his companion turned and walked away whispering to each other. Jane smiled then looked out to sea.

“I love being around you,” I sat up and looked at she.

“I love being with you too.” She reached over and took me hand leaning she head on me shoulder. We sat, not saying a word, just enjoying being close to each other.

When the sun was almost down and the dark clouds began to hide the view of the sea I suggested that we leave. We walked down the beach holding hands and stepped onto the dirt road. As we passed the place where I saw white figure I became uneasy, Jane looked up at me but said nothing.

We got to the beach in front of her dorm, I took both she hands in mine and pulled she towards me and kissed she. She leaned into me letting go of me hands and wrapping she own round me neck.

“I don’t really want us to part ways here,” I said and she smiled.

“Me neither,” she replied.

“Well, how about you come over to me house and I cook you the best Caribbean dinner you will ever eat on this island,” she laughed and took me hand.

“This better be as good as your kiss,” she said and I laughed, my voice drowning out the sound of a small boat engine going by on the ocean.

We got to me house and I went right for the kitchen while she took to take a tour of the house, I heard she footsteps going upstairs as she walked round stopping to look at one thing or another. She finally came down stairs and walked into the kitchen.

“Was that a picture of your mother on your desk?” she asked. I nodded.

“She is beautiful,”

“I know,” I said smiling from cheek to cheek. She walked over to a stool that sat at the small counter next to the window. We talked as the scent of the food cooking filled the house and into the yard.

 

Short piece from the new project

Andre was getting ready to go to the student union,

            “Wah yuh so happy for?” The Shadow asked,

            “A gurl man ah gurl,”

            “Yuh too excited bout dis one why?”

            “She real nice,” Andre said. The Shadow moved out of the dark and stood next to him in front of the mirror. Its body colour fluctuated between black to grey, grey to black.

            “Its bout time, yuh need to settle down and have ten children,”

            “Wah yuh say, I thought you said a real man don settle wid one woman eh? And who the hell want ten children?”

            “Wah, are yuh questioning me, listen yuh are grown now time to start a family, a man needs a home base,”

            “Oh so now you saying dat I should stick to one woman?” The Shadow moved and now stood in front of him, and for the first time slapped him in the chest. A chill ran through Andre’s body followed by an intense heat, then it cold as a New York Winter. He stepped away from The Shadow,

            “Wah you trying to make me afraid of you?” he asked, The Shadow slapped him again,

            “Yuh should be, remember I control everything, wah yuh think, wah yuh feel. Like I said yuh are a grown man now, things are going to be different from here on out, I go treat yuh like a grown man”

            “Hey am me own man, you don control me and don you forget dat, you hear,” The shadow swung his arm knocking some books off the dresser.

            “Yuh don talk to me like dat boi. I been like yuh fada for the last ten years and don tink because you got big dat I don have no say in wah yuh do,”

            “To hell with you,”

            “Or is it to hell wid yuh huh, jus because yuh full ah education and yuh talking like a white man now don mean yuh is a bigman.” Andre walked to the door,

            “Yuh cant escape me not night or day,” Andre closed the door behind him and walked down the hall, The Shadow was right beside him, running along the wall, its uniform shape changing as it went over doors, boards and tiles. Andre ignored it.

You Don’t Need a Date you Need Therapy from the novel I am a Dirty Immigrant

Attempting to date for me was like collecting an assortment of crazies. Here it is 2013 and I am still a magnet for them. It was about eleven at night when I got a message on Facebook.  It read, “Hey buddy.”  I was puzzled as to why she was contacting me. I knew her. She was a manager at one of the places I worked. I wouldn’t have answered but she seemed stable enough, so I asked the deadly question, “How are you doing?” 

She embarked on a tirade of misfortune. She had cancer, her mother was dying of cancer, her boyfriend dumped her four days earlier. I was taken aback. What the hell? I had never really spoken to her at length before, but I thought maybe she was just having a bad month. She told me where she lived and it was a block or so from my apartment, so I suggested that we should go for a walk so she could vent. I know, I know. It’s the nice-itis coming to the surface again. Anyway, I gave her my phone number and she called. That was when the conversation turned strange. She asked me if I saw her model pictures, and, from that she started talking about her breast size. Then she told me how many men she’d slept with; she had slept with twenty but that did not make her a whore. By this time I was already walking to her apartment or I would have faked a cough and stayed home. Then out of the blue she told me she was broke. I thought OK, what does that have to do with me?  She babbled on some more about her problems for a few minutes. Again, out of the blue she suggested that we should go to a bar. I remember thinking, who the hell is going to pay for this?  I was already outside her apartment, so no turning back. She continued to tell me that her brother died of a drug over dose three weeks earlier and her sister was in rehab. I was asking myself what the hell I had gotten myself into. She stepped out of her apartment. She was pretty; no more than four feet nine inches tall, dark eyes and long, dark hair and yes, she was drunk. So here I was, a seven foot black man, walking down the street with a pint size drunk white woman. We got to the bar and no sooner I was in there than a friend of mine took me outside,

Bro, that girl is crazy as shit,” he said. I told him I figured she was.

No bro, you don’t understand. Last week she told us that she was a CIA agent and she was serious too. ”

I thought, confirmation; I was with a walking Looney lady. I went back in, bought one drink and started trying to find ways to get out of this. She told me that her boyfriend and his father had locked her in their basement so she would not leave him. It was then I suggested that we go outside because I could not hear her. The second we stepped outside, she started paying attention to some kid and totally ignoring me. The young man was apprehensive; he kept looking at me to make sure I would not kick his ass for talking to my woman. Me, I was slowly backing up. I got the chance and took it and said I was going back inside to talk to my friend. While in there, I saw the young man looking at me because he realized why I left. Then all of a sudden a beat up old truck pulled up and she walked over to it and to my surprise jumped in and took off.  I promise you, you have never seen a seven footer run so fast in your life. I got home, turned off my phone and shut off my computer. There is no way I wanted her to contact me ever again.