“Friggin’ Lester keeps texting me lately,” Naomi said. “When have we ever hung out? And now he keeps asking me. It’s getting really annoying, but I feel bad saying that.”
“Really?” I asked, wanting to get a glimpse of whatever he was texting. I sat down across from Naomi. “That is kinda weird, though, right? I don’t think you need to feel bad. It’s a little disrespectful to us, too.”
“How’s that?” Naomi asked, and put her phone on the table. She took a sip of coffee.
“Well, he’s been weird around me, too,” I said. “I think he’s jealous of us. He didn’t say anything, but I definitely caught a vibe.”
“No,” Naomi said. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s not like that.”
“I’m serious. I think it is,” I said. “He’s always asking me about you. It’s not crazy to think he’s jealous. He sees me with you, and he wishes it was him.”
“Stop making it weird, okay?” Naomi said. “We do have some history. Maybe he’s just going through something. I should probably see what’s up.”
I didn’t say anything. It seemed naïve to completely discount it as a possibility, but I could see this wasn’t going to be a productive conversation.
“Are you jealous?” Naomi asked, and then shook her head. “I’m sorry, forget I said that. I didn’t mean it. That was mean.”
“No, I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t know Lester that well. I’m jumping to conclusions. I just know I’d be jealous if I saw me kissing you. I’d kick my ass.”
Naomi smiled. She picked her phone back up. “My parents are freaking out over the picture. It’s one thing to have a bunch of nasty people talking about your daughter, and it’s another to see a picture of her making out with her boyfriend. They think I’m going to pull an Alicia and go nuts, rebel child or whatever.”
“Ugh,” I said. My coffee cup was still really hot. I hadn’t even sipped from it yet. Naomi was owning her coffee—she didn’t care if it was hot or anything. That coffee was good to go. “I guess this wouldn’t be a parent’s ideal scenario for their daughter’s first relationship.”
“They’re worried about your dad, too,” Naomi said, sipping her coffee. “Worried about you. Worried about me. They’re basically shedding years off their lives every day—it’s out of control.”
“Ugh,” I repeated. I wondered what their worries were, if they lined up with my worries or Naomi’s. There was getting to be a lot of worries to keep track of. Maybe we could meet up and swap worries and chart them out on a piece of paper.
“This is disgusting,” Naomi said, eyes still on her phone screen. I wished she’d stop looking at the comments. “You see this? There’s a hashtag on Twitter. My parents would kill me if I responded to any of this.”
She tilted the phone to me, showing me the search results for “#racistcop.”
So she responded in person, to me. “Give him life or he keep on doin’ it,” she read. “Hashtag racistcop. Ignorant.
“Leaving America over hashtap racistcop,” another one read. “Boy, bye,” Naomi said.
“Let’s see.” She scrolled for another one. “Kid’s got jungle fever, funny as hell. What does that even mean? Who says that, ‘Jungle fever’? Give me a break.
“That girl in the pics, tho,” she read, referring to herself. “That girl’s gonna beat your ass if she ever sees you. Hashtag pissed-off Naomi.
“This hashtag racistcop ho, getting nasty in the theater,” Naomi read. “‘Ho’? I’m kissing my boyfriend—so what? Who the hell expects their picture to get posted on the Internet? I’m tired of these no-brain cretins online, can’t think for themselves!”
“Don’t look at that stuff,” I said. “You’re right, it’s all idiots on there, and who cares what idiots say?”
“If it’s about me,” Naomi said, “then I care.”
Even one comment like that can stick like a leech and worm its way into your brain. I felt now like Naomi did when she sat in the middle of a restaurant, like we were being watched or whispered about. Naomi was embracing the negativity with vigor. She actually insisted we sit in the middle of the room now.
I took a sip of the coffee. I grimaced.
“Is it bad?” Naomi asked. “Did you put any sugar in it?”
I shook my head. I had never ordered coffee before, so I didn’t put anything in it. I took it to the counter to add some cream and sugar to it. “Mmm,” I said, taking another sip. “Tolerable.”
Naomi sipped her coffee and looked at her phone again. It had become addictive, for both of us. There was nothing good on there, just arguing and bile and hatred, but we were involved now. If there was ugliness around, we should at least know it was there.
“Who asked these idiots for their opinions, anyway?” she asked. “Why do they care who I date, or who you date? They don’t know either of us.”
“Bothers me, too,” I said. “I wish they’d find something else to debate. I don’t want the attention.”
Naomi put her phone in her pocketbook. She took a deep breath and looked at me for a second. I raised my eyebrows. “Can we talk?” she asked.
“Yeah. We aren’t talking now?” I asked. “That whole time you had the phone out, that was talking. Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch you up later.”
“Do you like me? Like, really like me?” Naomi asked. Something must have popped in her head because her mannerisms were all different suddenly. “None of this was going on when you first kissed me and I don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck in it. With the websites and opinions everywhere. It feels different now.”
“I like you. That’s not different,” I said. “I like you even more—you know I do. I like-like you.”
Naomi laughed. “You’re such a dork. You didn’t have to say that.”
“It is what it is,” I said, looking around the room. No one paid any attention to us. We were just another dizzy couple getting coffee on Friday morning. “It’ll pass.”
“That’s the problem. It doesn’t just pass,” Naomi said. She twisted her mouth with distaste. “I have it all right, I’ll admit that, but I’m still a minority. I still get judgments, and I have fears that you don’t really have to face. This sounds like an insult, and I promise I don’t mean it as one, but you’re white. All this stuff with your dad, that will pass. It may take a week or a month or however long, but eventually it’ll go away. But if you stay with me…” Naomi began to trail in her thoughts. “I’m just saying, it’s a long road, and—”
“I’m staying with you,” I said, touching her knee under the table. I wanted to take every fear and pain of hers entirely. “That’s their world, okay? Our world is right here. It’s a happy one.”
“I like-like you, too,” Naomi said, touching my hand on her knee. She nodded. “I really do. I like you a whole lot.”
“I like you even more,” I said. “I like you more than anything in the world. I want to be right here with you, right in the middle of this room, okay?”
Naomi nodded. “If that’s true, we’ll be okay,” she said. I leaned over the table and she leaned in and we kissed. And with that kiss, I could tell her coffee was much sweeter than mine.
Chapter Thirteen
School was becoming increasingly claustrophobic and one of my least favorite places to be. For a supposed empath, I didn’t trust anyone there. As I walked between classes, the halls were flooded with faces I’d seen a million times but I’d never viewed them all as potential enemies like I did now.
“Walter!” I heard calling behind me. “Earth to Walter!” It was Kate’s voice. Where had Kate been? I felt like I was on everyone’s radar but couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Kate. She caught up to me.
“Where have you been?” I asked.
“Me?” Kate responded, and hoisted her bag over her shoulder. “Where have you been?”
We walked fast, navigating between oncoming people like a scene out of Star Wars. Kids were walking fast with a bounce in their step, ev
eryone with direction and purpose, confident in where they were going. “I’ve been around, haven’t I?” I asked.
“Not really,” Kate said. “I’m guessing this Naomi is keeping you away?”
“Can I ask you something?” I asked.
“Can you stop asking things?” Kate asked. “What’s up?”
We turned down the hall, still walking fast, although now we weren’t walking to my next class. I hoped we were at least walking to hers. “Do you like Naomi?” I asked. “Like, do you think we’re a good match? Or no? You can be honest. I mean, you haven’t really hung out with her or us or anything—”
“Did I miss the invite?” Kate asked.
“Huh?” I asked, and then walked straight into a kid built like a brick wall and fell on my butt. The kid didn’t even stop moving but muttered a “dude.” Kate laughed and helped me up. I guess I hadn’t invited her. I hadn’t included any of my friends in my relationship. Maybe I was on another planet lately, one with just me and Naomi.
“You’re such a nice guy, Walter,” Kate said. “You’re a goddamn sweetheart. Yes, I love Naomi even if I’ve never met her, and I can’t wait to meet her, and she’s incredibly lucky to have you.”
I smiled. “Is your class this way?” I asked. She shook her head and laughed. “Mine, either. I’m back that way.”
*
After school I sat in the library waiting for Naomi to finish her harp lesson. I’d been in the library a lot lately. The eternal refuge for thrill-avoiders. I could avoid everyone outside while I was there, but I was still drawn to the people I didn’t know, online.
I parked myself at the computer and checked the Internet to see what hatred was being floated now. The news websites and comments sections were eye-opening, but there were other sites that reprinted the same articles on a more national level. The people leaving comments there weren’t locals. They weren’t people who knew anything about my family or our police department or what goes on in the city. These were people from wherever, Anytown, USA. Who were these people who felt so compelled to comment on everything?
The article was about Calvin Temple’s lawsuit against the East Bridge PD, but the comments spiraled away immediately.
*
Winker1074: Put them all behind bars, that’s where they find love and Jesus, anyway.
WakeUpPeople: Bunch o race hustlers!! Media turns everyone against each other and won’t stop until there’s war! Burn down the media, burn down every news station, only way we’ll ever have peace!!!
CoolGuySammy: Blame the obamathugs, it’s the ghetto people that cause all the violence and feel the most entitled to free everything, rent, food, gas.
*
It was addictive in the worst way, reading line to line, comment to comment. Every time you scrolled down, more popped up. You lost yourself in the noise of everyone else, and in this case you lost yourself to hate, you became one of the millions. Every time I sat at that computer I was leaving my body, joining some celestial primordial soup with every other thought and feeling floating out there, and when I got out of that soup, I needed a shower.
The soup and the world were blending. It felt like everyone in the school knew about Dad and knew who I was. I questioned every look I got. Everyone knew about me and Naomi, about my Mom and Dad, about every little thought I’d ever had.
I read those words online but they could have come from anyone at anytime. The kid sitting across from me. “It just seems odd, is all. I mean, the timing is highly suspect. No one believes you’re actually dating her.”
The librarian. “People are going to look at you. Everyone’s going to have an opinion. Get used to the whispers. Hashtag racist cop. Hashtag jungle fever.”
“We’re all gonna look the same in another ten, fifteen years.” The girl with her face buried in a book. As far as I was concerned, every pair of eyes in a fifty-foot radius was set on me. “If God wanted us all to be one race, then we’d all be one race.”
I looked back at the computer and opened Facebook. At least I didn’t have to worry about Dad’s online meltdown anymore. Not that he was doing much better without the Internet. When he was online trying to protect his image he’d been busy. Now he was just watching TV and eating, waiting for something to change. Jason was making all the commotion now, and the rhetoric had spun increasingly negative. The page was run over with trolls trying to out-funny each other. More comments on the infamous Walter and Naomi kiss picture.
Anonymous: Hey I know that girl. Didn’t realize she liked white guys. I’ve got something for that dark bitch, I’m gonna have fun with her.
Who the hell was Anonymous? He’d left a bunch of comments.
Anonymous: I wonder if she’s one of those ratchet ho’s I hear about, guess I’ll find out soon enough.
Anonymous: I’ve been wanting to show one of these girls what a strong white man’s capable of for a long time. I can’t wait.
Dan P: Real nice, sicko.
I clicked on Anonymous’s page, but there was nothing there. The page was empty, no picture or anything. The page was fairly local, though. I mean the case had gotten some national attention, but the Facebook page was for people in East Bridge. It didn’t even name the case or my dad or anything. Who was this person? Did he actually know Naomi? This was going too far, and I was ready to knock his teeth in and I didn’t even know who he was. Who was talking about my girlfriend like that? Did people think this was funny?
Naomi dropped into the empty seat next to me, a dusting of snow on her shoulders and hat. A big smile, just for me. I shut the browser down fast before she saw what I was looking at. She didn’t need to see it. Not this second, anyway. I wished I could get her away from the Internet or any of this stuff. I had a knight-in-shining-armor moment; I wanted to lift her up, put her on the back of my horse, find the dragon, and slay it. We’d trot off into the sunset, wherever that led. Some mythical warm place with no dragons, and no Facebook.
“I can’t believe she didn’t cancel my rehearsal!” Naomi said. She always seemed excited to see me when we hadn’t talked, even for just a short while. “I know it’s only, like, an inch of snow right now, but come on, snow is snow, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. “They should just cancel, to be safe.” Maybe Jason would step up and delete the comments. He obviously cares about her on some level or he wouldn’t still be this mad. Maybe I could track down Anonymous and beat the crap out of him before she ever had to worry.
“I could be home right now, sitting in front of the fire in my fuzzy slippers,” Naomi said.
“You don’t have a fireplace,” I said. And then I noticed Jason over Naomi’s shoulders, looking through a shelf full of books.
“Well? You want to get going?” Naomi asked. Jason hadn’t looked over at us yet. I wasn’t sure if he’d seen me or not during the hour or so I was there.
“Hang on,” I said. “Jason’s here. Should I check in? Like, just to say hi?”
“Could,” Naomi said. “You want me to come with?”
“Better not,” I said. “Didn’t work out so well the last time we were all together.”
Something about the library atmosphere, the familiarity of seeing Jason there, struck a nerve with me. Even in the summer when school was out, Jason and I kept our routine. But I had to see Naomi when I could, and there was homework to do still, and life in general had gotten a lot more chaotic in a short time. Comic stores and library chats were expendable. Not that it mattered now. Jason would take a bus to the next-nearest comic-book store before stepping in there with me. That was how it felt, anyway.
“How’s the demo going?” I asked. Jason was standing by a wall of books with his eyes glued to a thick one he was holding.
“I don’t rap anymore,” Jason said, not looking up to acknowledge me. He turned a page in his book. “More important stuff to do.”
“We need to talk,” I said. “I know you’re on there posting stuff about me. On that Facebook page. Is that your page? Are you
running it? I get that you’re mad, but this is serious stuff. And Naomi’s getting hit there, too. It’s messed up.”
“It’s just online,” he said, and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” He shut his book and stuck it back on the shelf.
“This is our lives, not some game,” I said. “You’re riling people up and you’re trying to turn people against my family. Have you seen some of the comments on there? What did I do to make you so mad?”
“I’m just being honest, and you guys are wrong,” Jason said. He picked another book off the shelf, refusing eye contact, not making any effort to think of me as a human being. “If you disagree with anything I say, you can post there, too, like your dad does.
“I’m friends with Cal, so I have to take his side in this,” Jason said. “That’s that. I’m pro-black, I’m anti-cop, anti-profiling, and honestly I’m not really down with you dating my little sister, either. So none of this should be a big surprise to you.”
Lester and Beardsley joined the circus, coming into the library out of the snow like a burst of unwanted cold air, and streamed right toward Naomi. Beardsley threw his bag on a table.
“Is that Beyoncé Knowles in our little library?” Lester asked Naomi at the computers. “Oh, no, that’s Miss Naomi Mills, diva in her own right!” Always charming.
Jason went back to his book. “Listen to these facts,” Jason said. “Traffic stops have grown seven times in the last decade. Young black men and Hispanics are five percent of the population, right? But we’re over forty percent of the traffic stops. Only six percent of these stops lead to an actual arrest, and they give these cops quotas to meet, they tell them to go bring in as many people as they can, so where do you think they go? Us. It’s not just that, either. I don’t drive, so that doesn’t happen to me, but I get followed around in stores. People walk extra far from me on the sidewalk, I see old ladies holding on tight to their purses. I’m not that guy. I’m friendly. Stuff you wouldn’t understand. You aren’t me, you aren’t Calvin. You’re Walter Wilcox, son of Officer James Wilcox.”
Bright Lights, Dark Nights Page 17