Brother Man Said Nothing
Friday, September 21, 2007

Something interesting transpired today—my interaction with an older African American male reached an epiphany. Such interaction was more out of the ordinary than anything else but not normal enough for it to slip by without acknowledgement.

I pose this question to my brothers—what is the fascination with white women?

Allow me to explain. As my Friday came to a close, I decided I would treat myself to some barbeque from the local pub restaurant. As many could agree, I was not the best cook and I did not have the stomach to digest another bowl of bland chicken and rice.

The atmosphere in the pub was quite inviting; accented with dim lights and hearty laughs from patrons. I went to the bar to place my order with the dazzling young female bartender; her eyes were sky blue and her skin as pale as Nicole Kidman’s. I used the word dazzling because she seemed to be in high spirits which aided the light overall atmosphere of the eatery. She was polite enough and I was rather pleased with her soft banter as I mulled over the menu then placed my order. Instant camaraderie cajoled between us.

That was when I truly noticed him. My distinguished-looking African-American brother sporting a loosen tie, name brand sports coat and a weathered smile. His salt-and-pepper facial hair painted the image of a seasoned professor visiting or promoting his life’s work. Then, again he could have been a hobo who knew how to dress but that didn’t matter—his true profession—because his image inked this portrait of refinement and dignity. At first.

I sat two seats down from this man—my brother in race. I searched for his eyes so I may pay the proper respect and acknowledge his existence. I was dumbfounded in this endeavor because his eyes avoided mine as one would avoid the mythological creature Medusa—in dread that eye contact would turn one to stone. He looked at me not.

I settled in the seat and adjusted my clothes—as a way to seem busy to cover my disappointment. The lackadaisical white bartender offered generous smiles to my brother—as he returned her smiles with overzealous laughs and robust grins. His deep voice echoed throughout the small arena of a pub. They exchanged giggles—as she flipped her golden locks, in what it seemed like artificial acknowledgement in hopes of a fat tip. Young diva was working it and working him—this seemingly talented brother with the dark chocolate flawless skin and deep brown hued eyes accented with his rimless round spectacles that balanced out his handsome demeanor.

I searched again for his smile. Did he even notice me? I swerved my chair to his direction, and then leaned in closer to erect some embodiment of that interaction—between the bartender and him. I disengaged my bashfulness and stared at him. His face crooked a bit toward my direction but his eyes stayed focused on her. I felt his peripheral vision peering deep into my eyes yet something held him back.

Did I come off as too aggressive? He was hardly my type; considering he stood a mere 5’6 or so and my statuesque build was ever potent at 6’3. I wasn’t attracted to him. My intention transformed from general curiosity to outward infatuation with this man’s attention span. Was he truly more into his white entertainment so earnestly that he could not acknowledge his sister in race?

I had to paused within and weighed my own objectives—was I envious of this female; did I want this man to hit on me—what? What was it? What was bothering me?

After what seemed like less than a second, it moved me to answer—my conscience. It did not tickle my fancy that this man was not attracted to me. I did not harbor any feelings of envy for their playful interaction—my fervor of disgust started to swell due to the fact this man could not even acknowledge my existence—as in a casual person sharing the same air. That was just rude. Plain rude. I realized that was the culprit to my frustration with this situation. I felt disrespected by my brother in race.

Was this man too mesmerized by his possible play thing to say hello or even offer a quick, ‘good evening’? This was quite unusual, in my eyes.

The bartender smiled at this man then cut her eyes to me. She asked, ‘May I offer you a drink on the house, miss?” Again, his eyes remained steady. He looked at her, only…refusing to falter.

I did not know if she felt my deep stares and wanted to make peace with me in fear I resented her for goggling over a black man or if she was doing her job and making sure I was satisfied. Either/or, I felt her mannerism was pleasing and told myself I would tip her.

He introduced himself to Nadine and extended his calloused hand for a ritual handshake. She obliged and barked her name aloud then tilted her head to me and smiled. ‘I’m Nadine,’ she said again toward me and I winked. ‘Shaye,’ I whispered and closed the deal with a nurturing nod.

Brother man said nothing.

I decided to give up and forget the yearning for recognition by this man. He knew my presence and he knew that I knew he was dead wrong for avoiding my eye contact. I had to let it go. I wondered to myself—did he think I was jealous of his interaction with this white woman or did he truly understand I just yearned for a simple hello from him. I wondered if he thought of me as a stereotypical ‘black female’—antsy, loud and I Love New-York-ish or did he have the essence to avoid judging a book by its cover? Then, I reversed those thoughts to myself. Was I putting this man in a ‘category’? A Black man seeking a White woman or were my feelings truly lacking validation?

My mind was on overdrive so I sipped my Sprite in silence.

Ten minutes or so passed. The bartender acknowledged me a few more times and even refilled my Sprite. Every time, Mr. Black Man stared elsewhere-afraid that my stares would burn a hole in his soul.

I accepted the situation as soon as he walked passed me, with a cigarette in his hand, without a word. He finally returned my stare and kept walking to the door. Silence.

I paid the kind woman and left the pub. As I walked to my car, I saw Mr. Black Man sitting at the stoop with a cigarette in his hand---puffing cancerous smoke.

I strolled passed him then paused; adjusted my body to face his. Then, I spoke.

“Excuse me, brother. I do not mean to interrupt you but I was curious about something.”

Brother man looked up with innocence in his eyes. Smoke hurled through his nostrils and his big eyes penetrated mine.

“Yes” he responded almost immediately.

“Why did you avoid me earlier in the pub? I mean, I noticed you and Nadine had an energetic conversation and not once—did you say hello. Why is that?”

He looked puzzled, at first, and then rubbed his salt and peppered beard uneasily.

“Oh, well, I don’t know.” He admitted.

“Don’t get me wrong, brother. I’m not tripping because you were kicking it to the white lady. Hey, if that’s your thing, then go for it. Who am I to judge? But, I felt you avoided my eye contact on purpose. I just wanted to know why.” I felt deflated emotionally--once I got it out—my feelings about the situation.

He looked dumbfounded. Puffed another bit from his cancer stick then rebutted.

“Actually, you’re right. I could’ve acknowledged you but I didn’t. I do like white women—that’s just my thing. I really don’t know, sister. I mean..I mean..I never thought about that. This is the first time someone has brought it to my attention. That’s interesting..”

I cut Mr. Black Man off and reassured him by saying, “look..I’m not trying to scold you or even make you feel a certain way. We’re both adults and there are no hard feelings. You are entitled to your views. I was just taken back a bit that you didn’t acknowledge my presence. I mean, I am hard to miss.”

I chuckled to lighten the mood. It worked because he returned my smile with his own.

“And you are stunning, very beautiful..I just..I don’t know..I don’t really talk to Black women..I mean...” he stammered and struggled to find his voice. He looked a tad uneasy and I felt I needed closure to this conversation.

“Look, mister..it’s okay. I wasn’t fishing for a compliment or even trying to make you say something you had no intention to share. I am a very outspoken person and I just had to speak my mind. I wasn’t trying to offend you or whatever.. I mean..well..we’re all human and things happen, right?”

He looked downtrodden as I talked. That wasn’t my intention—I thought to myself—to drudge up feelings of guilt or whatever so I smiled and introduced myself to this Black Man. I did not want an enemy; I wanted a friend. So, I did what I do best—I reached out to him, my brother in race.

“Let’s start over,” I said to him and his upbeat energy—from earlier-returned.