He practiced slang. He used the word “man.” He watched MTV, practiced intonations.
People always say that I don’t have an accent like other Asian people, he’d say. You taught me the best English—thank you for that.
While he prepared, he did his best to avoid Bryan: his roommate’s words still stung, and instead of thinking about them, processing them, analyzing them, he grew resentful of them. As time passed, this resentment transformed into an overwhelming, encompassing spite. In classes, if he was paired with a Black person for an assignment, he would make offhand remarks—sometimes callous, often offensive—implying that the Black person would not do his or her fair share of the work, or that the Black person obviously was not that smart, or that the Black person cared more about sports, or partying, or the opposite sex than the actual task at hand. Some of these Black students brushed the comments off as the naïve words of an international student, but once in a while, there would be an argument, and a meeting with a professor, and a switching of partners and/or groups. Jaidee, through his hatred, alienated large swaths of the student community, gaining, over just a few weeks, the moniker of “Small Man,” though he was oblivious, unnoticing of the revulsion he evoked in others.
At the group, his one friend, Katie, stopped sitting by him, and at outings, she threw him only the most cursory of smiles, and this bothered him, for it was still cold outside, and though he had a renewed sense of purpose now with Victor’s address in hand, he still needed to live this life on campus, and he’d thought that they’d connected in a singular, strident way. So one night after the group, he confronted her outside of the student union. It was early March—damp, windy, cloudy—and she wore a black hoodie and ripped jeans, exposing a cut on her left knee. When he came up to her, she quickened her pace, but he was fast, and before she could get far, he stood in front of her, frowning.
“Yes?” she said, stopping, looking at a call box attached to a lamppost. It was nine p.m., dark.
“Katie,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“I’m going home, that’s what’s going on,” she said.
“No,” he said, wishing she’d reach for his hand, wishing she’d touch him and then apologize for touching him. “I’m not good at confrontation, as you know. But I want to know why you stopped answering my calls.”
“Jaidee,” she said, “I’ve been busy. I told you.”
“That’s an excuse. I know better.”
She shook her head. “It’s true.”
“There’s something else.”
She shrugged. “I mean, we don’t really know each other that well, right? We just hung out a few times.”
“Just a few times? Like every day during break? Like all the beginning of the semester? What do you mean just a few times?”
She sighed. “Jaidee, listen. I gotta go, okay?”
“I miss you,” he said, feeling something catch in his throat.
She looked away. “I really am very busy.” She blinked hard.
“Okay,” he said.
“I’ll see you next week?” she said, stepping away.
“Yeah,” he said. “Next week.”
“Bye, Jaidee.”
He felt an ache in his clavicle. He wondered, as he watched the night swallow her, if perhaps friendship was something for other people, if his stubbornness, and his ego, and his drive, intimidated and ultimately repelled people like Katie, like Bryan, like Aran. In Thailand he’d always been more forthright than his classmates—quicker to judge, earlier to evaluate—and he knew that sometimes this had turned people off. But with all of them he’d simply stated what he’d deemed obvious, so he’d attributed their negative responses to oversensitivity. With Katie, however, he couldn’t pinpoint an altercation that would’ve resulted in such banishment, so it bothered him more than the others, and at home, he began making wild assumptions about how she perceived him.
Then one day, the very next week in fact, at Brewsky’s, sitting at a table that entirely ignored him, two of his roommate’s friends, the friends he’d met on move-in day, one tall, one short—Eli and Terrence—approached him, asked if they could talk to him outside. The table fell silent. Jaidee looked up at them, said, “I don’t know where Bryan is.”
“We’re not looking for Bryan,” Eli said. “We want to talk to you.”
“But why?”
“Come on,” Eli said. “Just for a second.”
Jaidee’s stomach tightened. He suddenly remembered talking to Eli outside the party house in the Bottoms. You’ll be more than okay! Eli had shouted as he’d walked off. Hadn’t he liked him back then? Hadn’t he felt some sort of kinship with the tall, gregarious biology major? He had. Eli had told him about a time when he’d shoplifted, when Bryan had saved him from a predicament, and Jaidee had felt warm all over: he’d felt a sort of belonging only felt when a person opens up about a past indiscretion. But now? No warmth. Eli’s eyes drilled through him. Jaidee didn’t move.
“We’ll hold your spot,” Katie said, as if it were an issue, as if anyone in that sports bar wanted to be associated with the table of weirdos.
“I’m not going outside,” Jaidee said.
“If you don’t,” Terrence said, “we’ll talk right here, in front of your friends, and I don’t think you want that.”
“Seriously, Jaidee,” Katie said. “It’s okay.”
“What do you mean it’s okay?”
“I mean, we’ll be here when you come back.”
“I didn’t expect otherwise.”
“Just—”
“Come on,” Eli said. “Just a second, okay? Just a second.”
And slowly, his face hot, eyes everywhere burning his skin, Jaidee stood up, walked to the door, let the cool night air smash into him. Before he exited, he said a short prayer, for he knew, somewhere, that he’d done something wrong, and that whatever he’d done, he was going to pay now.
Outside, the sky was wispy, jovial. A thin pink line stretched across the horizon. It was earlier than he’d thought.
“I don’t want any trouble,” Jaidee said. Small puffs of vapor flew from his mouth.
“Nobody wants trouble,” Eli said. They stood on the sidewalk, Eli and Terrence with their backs to the wall, Jaidee closer to the street.
“Well, what do you want, then?” Jaidee said.
Eli looked at Terrence. Terrence nodded.
“Listen,” Terrence said, his eyes icy, “right now everyone thinks you’re a piece of shit. That includes Eli and me.”
“What?” Jaidee said, stepping back.
“You’re being called a racist,” Terrence said. “It’s all over the place. You’re the Small Man.”
“What?” Jaidee repeated, his heart in his throat.
“You haven’t noticed?” Terrence said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seriously?”
“Just tell us you’ll stop,” Eli said. “Just tell us that. You tell us that, we’re good to go.”
“Stop what?” Jaidee said, thinking of Katie’s coolness. Did she think he was racist too? Was that why she’d been so distant?
Eli sighed. “We gave you the benefit of the doubt, you being an international student and all. But the comments you make, like the one you told Todd Wilder, telling him, and only him, that you expected to do most of the group work, assuming he wouldn’t do his share—that’s why people don’t like you, Jaidee.”
“No,” Jaidee said. “He sits in the back. I didn’t want to be in his group, but the professor—”
“Listen to yourself,” Eli said. “Take a deep breath and just hear the words you say.”
“But it’s true! He sits there and sometimes daydreams and the professor doesn’t call on him ever.”
“He’s a straight-A student,” Terrence said. “But that doesn’t even matter.”
“I worry about my grades,” Jaidee said.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Terrence said.
Jaidee crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you gonna
beat me up?”
“We should,” Terrence said. “We should beat you right here and now.”
Jaidee took another step back. “In front of all these people?”
“Who would care?” Terrence said.
Jaidee took another step back. He had one foot on the street now. “I haven’t done anything to you.”
“Just say that you’ll cut it out, okay?” Eli said.
“I’m not racist!”
“We’re trying here,” Eli said. “We’re trying.”
“Is this about that fight I had with Bryan? When he called me a Twinkie? Like an Asian wannabe white?”
Terrence chuckled.
“Oh, that’s funny?” Jaidee said.
“In fact, it is,” Terrence said.
“I don’t understand you,” Jaidee said, balling his fists. “I don’t get it. You all talk about racism all the time—never-ending! Is that what you’re wanting me to ‘cut out’? My talk about your race? But then you talk about mine like that? It’s incredible. A double standard.”
Terrence closed his eyes, shook his head. “You know,” he said, “we should be on the same side. It’s such a shame.”
“The same side of what?”
“None of us is white,” Terrence said. He took two steps closer to Jaidee. Even though he was shorter, he still radiated menace. “What happens when we have these confrontations, huh? What happens? What happens when we splinter like this?” He dug his finger into Jaidee’s chest. “This is what they want, you see? They want this friction. If we’re doing this, they can continue their domination. I mean, look at us, look at me, here I am, the angry Black man, picking on you, the helpless pawn, and that’s really all people see, that’s what people want to see. But it’s not truth, right? It’s not—listen, if you and me, if you and Eli here, if we’re not brothers, then we’re enemies. But we’re not enemies. And nobody here wants us to be enemies. But if you continue on with your ignorant shit, we don’t have a choice. And then they win.”
“I don’t—”
“If you want to be them, they have the power; how can you not understand that? If you want to be them, they can use you. And who do you think they’ll use you against? Huh? Who the fuck do you think they’ll use you against?”
“I don’t understand,” Jaidee said, his eyes misting. “I’m not racist!”
“It’s seductive, right?” Terrence said, clearing his throat. “That world, their power, the proximity to whiteness. They say, Try to be us, wear our clothes, listen to our music, watch our movies, read our books, speak our language because we’re good, we’re sexy, we’re successful, everyone sees it, look around you, billboards, commercials, we own it all, right? We control the world, so strive as hard as you can to join us, our ranks. They say this knowing full well that you can never be them, and that as long as you stay in line, keep up that desire to be them, you’re no real threat. Next thing you know, you’re indoctrinated into their way of thinking. Black people are subhuman, Black people are animals, Black people are angry thugs. Always, Jaidee, this is what it comes down to. Always. Don’t you see?”
“I’m not against you,” Jaidee whispered. “I’m not against anyone.”
Terrence groaned. “Maybe I should’ve just beat you and be done with it,” he said.
“But it’s true!” Jaidee said. “I’m not against anyone!”
Terrence stepped back, joined his friend on the sidewalk. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”
“Eli,” Jaidee pleaded. “I’m not against anyone. You know that! I’m an international student. Everyone’s against me here.”
“Think about what we said,” Eli said, walking away. “Just think about that a bit, okay?”
“But I’m not the villain here!” Jaidee called out. “I’m not the villain!”
“Watch yourself, Jaidee,” Terrence called out, not looking back. “Not everyone around here is as gracious as us.”
“I’m not the villain!” Jaidee said. “I’m not the villain! I’m not the villain!”
After this interaction, Jaidee expedited his trip to Des Moines. He needed no more preparation. What he needed was a reprieve from all the nonsense he’d endured over the last few months. His first winter in America had been nearly unraveling: to stay mentally intact, he’d require a reminder of what his purpose had been in coming here.
Three hours passed quickly. The bus dropped him off in downtown Des Moines. Jaidee disembarked, got in a cab, gave the cabbie the address.
On his way to the house, he rummaged through his backpack, ensured that he had everything he needed to show Victor. He’d brought all his vocabulary exams, circling words that had summed up his feelings—joyous, anticipatory, iridescent, adoration—and had highlighted, in pink, the word affection. He’d also brought all the worksheets that contained the heart-shaped smudges, and the three short papers he’d written containing Victor’s encouraging annotation. He’d brought a change of clothes (just in case), a box of Twinkies (nostalgia; and now, irony), and, as a gift, a small globe piggybank with Thailand outlined in a heart.
“Hey, buddy,” the cabbie said. “This is when you get out.”
Jaidee hadn’t realized they’d stopped. He zipped up his backpack, paid the driver, and climbed out. The cab zoomed off.
Victor’s house was larger than Jaidee imagined—dark yellow with a wraparound porch, two stories, black shutters flanking large, boxy windows on the first floor. Toward the top, the paint peeled, revealing small gray puzzle pieces of wood, and the sizable deck contained only one rocking chair and one round glass-top table. On the table was an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. He smokes? Jaidee thought. He couldn’t recall Victor ever outside with the other teachers, quickly inhaling nicotine between class hours, but perhaps Jaidee hadn’t paid close enough attention, or maybe Victor had picked up the habit later. No matter—it was a minor indiscretion, something that would bother his mother more than him.
The street Victor lived on was quiet, tree-lined. In the driveway was a green Jeep with a single orange stripe. Jaidee imagined living there, walking down that street, driving that car, waking up each morning to the sounds of birds and light traffic. He could do it, he thought. It could be fun, or at least comfortable. It certainly would be an improvement over his current living situation—anything would be. He drew in a deep breath, walked up the porch steps to the front door, knocked.
No answer.
He knocked again.
Still nothing. His heart fell. I should’ve called first, he thought. I’m so dumb. Why would he be home on a beautiful Saturday? He tried once more, waited. After a while, he heard footsteps.
At a messy, stained kitchen table, drinking coffee, they stared at each other, Jaidee grinning, Victor squinting. Every few moments, Victor slid his tongue to his molars and bit.
“Sorry,” Victor said. “I, um, just woke up.” He was in flannel pajama pants, a white T-shirt. His hair clumped over his head in oblong misshapes. Jaidee looked at his watch. It was almost noon.
“I understand it has been some time,” Jaidee said. “But you have to remember, right?”
They’d stood at the front door for three whole minutes, Victor behind the screen door, rubbing his eyes. It’s me, Jaidee had said, over and over. It’s Jaidee. Jaidee Charoensuk from Thailand. I’ve come back. I’ve come to see you.
At the table, Victor said, “You’re here to sell me something? Like, are you some ambassador to try to recruit me to go back there?”
“Recruit you?” Jaidee said. “No. No, of course not. I came to see you.”
“But why?” he said. “I don’t get it.”
Jaidee unzipped his bag. “You smoke now?” he said.
“Huh?”
“I saw, outside. Cigarette butts.”
“Dude, it’s too early for this. Could you just tell me what you’re needing?”
Jaidee brought out his exams, his papers, his exercises. He laid them in front of Victor. Victor leafed through t
hem. “Okay,” he said. “Yeah, so you were my student.”
“You remember, certainly,” Jaidee said, his voice fluttering.
“Yeah,” Victor said, his eyes resting on the highlighted affection. “Yeah, starting to come back to me. It’s been a few years—sorry, that whole time’s a bit of a blur.”
“A blur?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I was—never mind. But—Jaidee, is it? You’re in Des Moines now?”
“I am a student at the University of Nebraska,” Jaidee said.
“Okay,” Victor said. “And you’re passing through or something. I get it. Well, cool.” He sipped his coffee. “We’ll actually be in Lincoln soon.”
“We?” Jaidee asked.
“Yeah, my fiancée and I.”
“Your fiancée?”
“We won a free pass to Quigley House. Crazy, huh?”
“You have a fiancée?”
“Yeah. But anyway. What I should say is that I hope to be in Lincoln soon.” He shifted in his seat, leaned forward. “They require a team of four, and so far nobody but me and Jane wants to do it. I mean, I’ve asked everyone. Crazy, right? It’s sixty thousand dollars. You’d think a bunch of people who work in a bank would be all up to try for some free money and, you know, international fame. But nope. They’re all too chickenshit. Anyway.”
Jaidee sat silently, looked at the pile of papers he’d put on the table. They seemed absurd now. Had he really thought Victor had drawn him hearts? Had he really lugged those hearts across the globe to show Victor what he should’ve remembered?
“None of my friends and none of her friends are game either,” Victor said. “Can you believe that?”
Jaidee shook his head.
“Jane’s pretty fired up about it, so I’ll make it happen,” Victor said. He looked out the window. Outside, the branches of a silver maple tree batted lightly against the window.
“Where is Jane?” Jaidee said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Oh, she’s at work now.”
“I see.”
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