In was a regular summer's day at the local Pathmark. David and I had just finished shelving bread and were down deep into our daily ritual. We broke the seal of a pickle jar we just took off the shelf and began to eat the fruit inside. We did this in the privacy of the back room. No body ever came in here, and it was the best place to keep cool in the whole store during the hot summer day.
"Did ya see that Josephine in church yesterday. Mighty fine if ya ask me. I think she got an eye on you."
"Josephine does have any business with me. Beside she's dating that Russian boy."
"Quit pretending you don't know she's checkin' you out. That Russian guy's broken up with every girl he ever had anyway."
"You really think she's interested in me."
"Of' course. She's only more interest'd in God far as I know. You should really go after her."
"We'll see."
We settled into our pause, part of the ritual that took place after any conversation. We didn't plan it that way it just sorta happened. We were different David and I. We didn't always have a lot to talk about. I lived ten blocks away from the store but David lived on the other side of Staten Island. It was basically the ghetto as far as any white guy was concerned. The only reason people set foot there is because it was the only place to get a good slice of pizza. As they walked down the streets they'd see the blacks lost in their game of poker and somebody would find something to say. Everybody in the pack would always yell real loud, "Looks like them niggers are trying to buy dinner tonight." Sometimes they would shout, "Selling your girl for weed jackass."
Whatever anybody said, it didn't matter on the surface. That's what David told me anyway. Every since we started working together David showed me thing that I never even knew existed. He opened my eyes to the ghetto outside Pathmark and by what he said I was glad to be white. He always said that any and all insults that were thrown at him that he made sure it looked liked it seemed to slide off his back. There was a curtain of David said they had to cover themselves with so the white guys would stop bothering them. It seemed to work most of the time. To all outsiders there was a dignity that black community carried around with them that was lacking in any and all white areas and David made sure that people knew that.
Regardless, the words of the abusers never left through one ear and went out the other. They might have looked strong, but things like that can't go away easily and they never did. They hear every comment ever made from everybody and never forgot anyone of them. They hear them from the past, got deformed by them in the present and anticipated them for the future and the rest of the lives. It floated into their ears and for the rest of the night the word "nigger, nigger, nigger" would stab into their brain until they passed out from trying to avoid the harsh reality, eventually penetrating. They always woke up and all they thought about was how nigger was reality. No harshness to the word, just plain and simple factual reality. That never happened to David. He never believed he was a nigger but David was just an exception.
Most of the black boys never left the thirty-eight blocked community. And if any black was stupid enough to leave the boarders, he would be instantly kicked back at knife point with a couple scars the remind him never to leave again. I always called people like that crazy for trying. David said they'd be crazy if they didn't.
"You think we gonna be friends forever."
"Sure, why not. We're friends now."
"I know, it's just that times are hard, and life is harder. We gonna be forced to go our separate ways eventually."
"Maybe. But if we have to leave each other, it's gonna be because we leave not because someone forces us."
"Friends."
"Yeah friends."
We started to eat out of the pickle jar again. We never ate that many. We just ate really slow. If anything wasn't accounted for, we would get docked in pay, so we always reseal the lid and put the pickles back on the shelf.
"I hope I never have to leave this place."
"Why. Its just a store. Not like you're going to make any real money around here."
"Maybe so. But at least around hear I know am treated human. Nobody calls me nigger or tries to beat me up. I'm just me hear. Plain old black boy me."
We fell into the second pause of the ritual. I never understood David. He always talked about trying to get out, trying to leave. But, he wanted to stay here. Nothing special ever happened here. It was just a regular Pathmark on a regular street in a regular part of an everyday town.
"Well I want to get out of here. This place is doing nothing for me but giving me a paycheck to buy shoes."
"Well, shoes is always a good place to start."
I resealed the pickles and placed them on the shelf. Nobody ever noticed and I doubt anybody every cared. As long as the work was done and you left on time. David walked up to me. I always felt kind of strange standing next to him in public. He was the only black guy who worked on this side of town.
"Want to come over and play basketball later David. Before the next shift."
"Sure. I'll see you at three than."
We fell into another pause. This one wasn't part of the ritual.
