Black Buck(115)

“I’d say thirty, maybe forty,” she replied, annoyed.

“It’s two. At each of those companies, only two in a hundred employees are Black. For most of them, only four in a hundred employees are Latinx.”

“Boo-hoo,” she said, pretending to rub her eyes. “You know why there aren’t more? Because they don’t have the skills, buddy. If more Black and Latin-whatever people were competent enough to get these jobs, they would. Look at Asians. You don’t see them crying and blaming the white man for not succeeding. No, they just buck up, get good grades, and reach for the American dream.”

“YEAH!” a man shouted, rising from his chair and clapping. The rest of the crowd clapped along with him.

“I’m not here to convert you,” I said, facing them. “And I’m not here to, as you say”—I turned to Bonnie—“play the race card. I don’t want to waste your time. So just humor me for a second and close your eyes.”

“What is this?” Bonnie asked. “I thought you just said you weren’t here to convert us.”

“I’m not, I promise. And I’m tired of arguing, defending, and everything else you brought me here for. You win.” I addressed the crowd now. “You all win. But before I go, just close your eyes. It’ll only be for a second.”

I turned to the side of the stage where the man with the headset stood. “Dim the lights, please.”

As the lights turned down, I closed my eyes and brought the mic closer to my mouth. “I want you all to think back, way back to when you were a kid. Think back to where you lived, to your parents or whoever raised you. Think back to the school you went to, your first crush, what you loved to do on Saturday mornings, your favorite types of snacks.

“Think about what you wanted to be when you were younger. Maybe it was a firefighter, nurse, actor, police officer, doctor, lawyer, hell, maybe even president. Try to remember what that feeling felt like, when you really believed you could be anything you wanted. That not even the sky was the limit. And now hold that feeling in your chest. Feel it in your heart—its warmth, how it lifts you up like your mom or dad carrying you on their shoulders.

“Now I want you to think about the moment you realized you wouldn’t be what you wanted to be. Maybe you never saw anyone who came from where you did achieving what you wanted. Maybe it was a teacher, or one of your parents, who told you to get real. Shit, it could’ve just been as small as a friend laughing at you when you told them your dreams, and that little laugh, that seed of doubt, crushed you. You felt less than, like you weren’t worthy of being more, of being better. Like who you were wasn’t good enough.

“That is why we started the Happy Campers. Not to be labeled as terrorists, racists, or anything else the media loves to portray us as, but because we wanted to help others—people who, maybe even like you said, Bonnie, usually don’t have the skills for those jobs—get ahead. Because we know that when you lift others up, regardless of their skin color, your arms get stronger. And what I want for those Happy Campers is the same thing I want for you all here today. To never, ever, feel less than again.”

I opened my eyes and saw the men and women in the crowd opening theirs too. When I looked into their faces, everything that had been there before—the red anger, electric violence, and blistering hatred—was still there, but it was softer. Like they remembered the children they were, the dreams they had, and when they’d lost themselves.

I turned to Bonnie. Her face was trembling as if she were fighting a war inside of herself. She slowly raised her mic, and said, “I wanted to be an actress, but my . . . my mother said I was too fat, that Hollywood would never let someone as large and clumsy as me in any movie.”

She paused. A tear of mascara rolled down her cheek, staining her signature white dress. In that moment, I didn’t care that Bonnie Sauren was an evil white supremacist who probably wished the South hadn’t lost the war. I got up and did what I would’ve done with anyone else: I gave her a hug.

The crowd didn’t applaud, but they also didn’t boo. Bonnie, rendered defenseless, sobbed into my chest in front of five thousand people who may have still hated me but also, I hoped, saw my humanity, which was a win. The wars I had fought to get there were over, and now, no matter what happened, I was finally, truly, and completely free. Whoosh! Bang! Poof! Every day is deals day, baby. Every day is deals day.

Reader: There’s nothing like a Black man on a mission. No, there’s nothing like a Black salesman on a mission. And don’t you forget it.





35





“How did it go, Buck?” Chauncey asked.

I laughed. “I guess as well as it could’ve, Chauncey. I’m still in one piece and no one broke out a noose.”

“Of course you are still in one piece. I told you, strength lasts forever. So, if you are free tonight, maybe you could join Fatou, Amina, and me for dinner at my home?”

“Sounds like a plan. Is Fatou going to make—” My phone buzzed. “One second.”

It was Kujoe. “Kujoe,” I said, anger bubbling in my stomach.

“Buck, I know you told me not to call, but—”

“But what, Kujoe? Don’t fuck up my perfect day, man. Especially with all of the shit you’ve pulled. Trey is fucking dead, and it’s probably your fault.”