Queenie(96)

I opened my mouth to say: “Sorry, I just feel like I shouldn’t do this. I don’t think I have a very good relationship with sex, and I thought I was getting better, and this is the worst idea and also what you said was racist, whether you know it or not, so I’m going to take myself home.” But instead I said: “The chocolate thing. Why?”

“The chocolate thing?” He laughed nastily. “I knew you were one of those.”

“One of what?”

“One of those Black Lives Matter girls.”

“Of course I am. It says it really high up on my dating profile.”

At least I no longer had to worry about how I was going to sober up. I was halfway to stone-cold sober in a second.

“Don’t you think it’s just a stupid movement?” he asked me, quite seriously. “Look, don’t get me wrong, I’m not racist or anything [always good to say it!], but don’t you think it causes more problems than it solves?”

“Yeah, I really need to go.” I sighed, bored with the discussion before we even got into it. “This is a bit much for a first date, Courtney.”

“Really? I thought you’d want to be challenged, strong black woman like you?” he said, arrogance flashing across his face. “We can sit and talk about music, about films, about all that nonsense, but don’t you want proper conversation, proper stimulation?”

“Well, not when it’s about this. I expected to go for a drink with a nice man and talk about everything but this. I shouldn’t have to defend myself and my beliefs.” I sighed again.

“Sorry, no, come on, I don’t want to upset you. Let’s talk about something else.” He poured himself more wine as I looked at him, knowing exactly what would come out of his mouth next. “I bet you think that you can’t be racist to white people, too.”



* * *



Two hours. We debated, nonstop, for two hours. I kept my coat on. One hundred and twenty minutes of me having to explain why the Oxford English Dictionary definition of racism that he kept waving in my face was tired, how racism is systemic, how reverse racism was NOT a real thing, why it wasn’t okay to refer to his Senegalese friend Toby as “black as the ace of spades,” while he tried to counter and manipulate all of my points and say, at the end of every other sentence, “but don’t listen to me, I just like to provoke.”

“That’s the thing about people who love to play devil’s advocate!” I shouted. “There’s no emotional involvement in it for you, there’s nothing at stake!”

I made my way to the front door. “It must be nice to be so detached from a life that someone like me actually has to live.” I slammed the door behind me. Unbelievable.

THE CORGIS

Darcy

Queenie, you’ve never put the phone down on me before. Can you let us know you’re okay?



Kyazike

What happened?



Darcy

She called me from the pub, I was trying to tell her not to go home with this guy, she said something about being like Beyoncé, and the line went dead. She was really drunk



Kyazike

Do you know where they were?



Darcy

A pub in Brixton, I don’t know the name, I can meet you at the station and I can find it by foot



Kyazike

Aight, cool, let’s wait until 11. If she hasn’t replied by then, I’ll come meet you



Queenie

I’M FINE



Queenie

Sorry



Queenie

SORRY



Kyazike

KMT



Darcy

KMT indeed



Queenie

Sorry both. I bet you didn’t miss how much of a liability I am! Anyway, my battery died, I just got home. Will explain all tomorrow



Queenie

I just snuck back into my grandparents’ and I think my grandmother has just woken up, so actually you might never hear from me again



Queenie

You must have been REALLY annoyed to say kiss my teeth, Darcy, sorry again





* * *



I popped into Kyazike’s bank the next day and stood in line until I was close enough for her to look up and make eye contact with me. She left the woman she was serving and came over to me.

“Hello, madam, I am so glad that you could come in for your appointment.” Why was she talking to me like a robot? “If I can just lead you to the consultation room? I’ll be with you shortly.” Kyazike whisked me into a frosted-glass compartment in the corner of the bank and closed the door behind me.

Five minutes of me playing with the pen chained to the desk later, Kyazike walked in carrying various folders and shut the door.

“You might be the only bank in the country with these pens attached to the desk,” I said, yanking it. “Is the stationery that valuable?”

“Fam, did you hear how I have to switch up my voice out there? The new manager, some prissy white woman, has told me that I need to speak ‘better.’ Doesn’t want me to ‘intimidate customers.’ Can you believe that? The only person I’m intimidating is her, fam.” Kyazike kissed her teeth. “This shit gets on my nerves.” She sat opposite me. “Anyway, what’s good?”