Black White

a short story
by Astor W. Heinemann

Isn’t it true that you start your life a sweet child believing in everything under your father’s roof? Then comes the day of the Laodiceans, when you know you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked, and with the visage of a gruesome grieving ghost you go shuddering through nightmare life.

- Jack Kerouac

Ah! The White family. This is your average upper middle class caucasian family living in heartland American suburbia. Rabid liberals, they were guilt ridden not only about being relatively wealthy in the U.S.A., but also about their name being White!

When Laura and Paul White were youngsters in the late sixties, they were heavily involved in the civil rights movement, burning bras in D.C., protest, demonstrations, the works. Today, being older and more mature, their values have grown as they have, a bit less anarchic. Both of them have respectable jobs, Paul works as a human resources manager at a nationwide car rental company and Laura works as a dental hygienist.

Now they use their free time working as volunteers in several racial equality organizations where their guilt over the suffering of the old time black folks can be somehow simmered. Still, they were always plotting what more they could do.

The have one son. A healthy, bright youngster of age nine. They named him Black. Although he was often the punch line of schoolmate jokes, he was a happy kid with many friends. His name, Paul and Laura though, would be a living, walking testament of their values, a boy in which they would inject all their racial equality ideas and, of course, it's implicit guilt. He was always encouraged to be kind and friendly to black kids, they made play dates for the children and dinner parties for the adults more frequently with the black families with whom they rubbed shoulders than any others. It was a conscious effort, which in their minds, was meant more as helping and giving back. Paul, in particular, had chosen his career because it allowed him the chance to give better opportunities to black people and this he always did.

Their neighborhood was racially diverse, they made sure of that when they were house shopping. They lived a comfortable happy life with very few problems.

Little Black was a very inquisitive child, very intelligent as well, for his age. He was always hungry for knowledge especially about people. He noted the differences between his family and the black families they were friends with, not only because of their skin color, but also the way they talked, the way they carried themselves, their hair. This fueled his curiosity and he was determined to know more about why these things he observed were so.

His parents were always very loving and protective of him, not in a smothering way, but rather to shield him from the evils of the world as his tender young age. They would gradually teach him about those things as he grew older, was their plan.

For the child it was almost like a gift from above when a new family moved next door. The Wright family had come to the neighborhood from North Carolina because the father, Jackson, had been transferred there for work. Angela, the mother, was a stay at home mom and she cared for their thirteen year old daughter, Corinne.

As was their tradition, the Whites prepared a welcome basket and all three went next door to welcome their new neighbors about a week after they had moved in. Paul rang the door bell that night as he straightened his shirt and removed lint from his khakis. Laura next to him with a big smile proudly holding the welcome basket, wearing a light cotton dahlia printed summer dress, radiant with great expectations of befriending their new black neighbors and little Black next to her standing up straight with his polo shirt tucked in, his bright blonde hair slick and combed to the side. The door wasn't answered right away and Paul pressed the button again a few seconds later, and as he did so he turned to his wife and son to give them a reassuring smile.

Some light, mostly unnoticeable racket was heard from inside and shortly the door opened. A large black man stood there staring at Whites with confused glassy eyes, barefoot, work pants unbuttoned and an old sleeveless undershirt with a light wet spot around the chest area. Behind him a multitude of unopened moving boxes and sporadically placed furniture garnished the home. A little girl sat on top of one of the boxes wearing a ragged old blue dress, her hair in braids, staring blankly at nothing in particular on the floor. Pots and pans clanking in the kitchen suggested there was either some cooking or dish washing going on.

"Who are you? Whaddaya want?"

Jackson grunted. A potent stench of alcohol almost forced Paul back and in a quasi-hesitant tone he announced their intentions.

"Hello there, we are the White family, we live right next door to you and we wanted to come by and give you a small token as a welcome to the neighborhood gift. My name is Paul and this is my wife Laura and my son Black."

He stretched out his hand for a handshake...

"Black? What the hell's black 'bout that kid?! He ain't even got black hair."

Paul smiled nervously as he tried to muster out the words to explain why they had chosen the unusual name for the child, pulling back his hand and wiping off sweat that wasn't there on his trousers when Laura chimed in.

"We are very happy to have you as our neighbors and we wanted to let you know that if there is anything at all that you need just come on by or holler."

She put forward the basket and it seemed like Jackson didn't want to take it, a few seconds of tense silence and a fading smile on her face and he finally reached out and took it from her.

"Well, thank you very much, it's nice to know we have such good people as neighbors."

Jackson said in a tone that mocked Laura's voice and accent. Laura turned over to Paul, shrugged, and a few more seconds of intolerable silence were interrupted.

"If there ain't nothing else you best be on your way back."

Still with the same tone and he shut the door.

The Whites looked at each other, baffled, and Paul promised they would all be like old family in no time. Little Black was excited about this event. The new neighbors were even stranger than the other black families he knew. He thought this was a great opportunity for him to learn more and use that new detective kit he got for his birthday. Immediately when they went back home, Black rushed to his room and took out his detective notepad and started jotting down clues that will help him put all the pieces together later on.

Tall dirty black man with smelly breath.

Sad girl.

No couch or TV.

Boxes, a lot of them. What's in them?

Investigate Mother.

Interview girl.

The next day Black watched by his bedroom window waiting for Jackson to leave for work. Once he saw the old pickup truck smoke on down the street he set his plans in motion. He rushed down the stairs skipping every other step, darted through the long narrow kitchen hallway and leaped out the back door. A single board was missing from the fence that divided both backyards and it was gap barely wide enough for little black to fit through. As he tiptoed towards the neighbors’ house he was startled by loud barks from a large dog chained to a metal post on the other end of the Wright's backyard.

"Shut up, Puffy! You ain't gittin' none!"

Yelled someone from inside the house. It was the voice of a little girl. Black's imagination wondered for a second as he remembered the sad little girl from the previous night, then the dog calmed down and he resumed his mission.

Black peaked in through the screened door and saw a woman sitting on the kitchen table smoking a cigarette, still on her night gown, reading something. He heard the girl hollering at her mother saying she was going to play outside, but there was no response from the woman. He quietly prowled off the back porch through the little garden on the side of the house, leaping with agility from one old concrete stepping stone to the next on the high, muddy grass, making sure not to make a lot of noise.

As he reached the front of the house he hid behind some bushes and started recording the events he witnessed.

Day 1:

9:35 am Mom smoking and reading in the kitchen. Little girl playing jump rope barefoot on the front yard.

Another neighborhood kid was riding his bike when he noticed the new girl and stopped to say hello.

"Hi, are you new here?"

The girl ignored him and kept on playing. The boy raised his voice slightly and asked again.

"Hello! Did you just move into this house? Are you new in the neighborhood?"

Still no response. Black wrote it all down.

9:37 am Skittles stops to say hello to girl. Girl won't respond.

The boy stands there wondering why the new girl won't answer him for a few seconds before the front door violently opens, knocking down some empty flower pots that were on the front porch beside it.

"Corinne, what the hell you think you doin' child?! You come back in the house right now 'fore I smack you!"

The woman yells. The child stops her game and starts running back into the house before the shrieking stops.

9:38 am Mom doesn't like girl talking to strangers

NOTE: girl's name appears to be is Corinne.

As Corinne walks back into the house her mom smacks her in the back of the head making her braids flutter around.

"Do you know what your father would do to us if he saw you hookin' up with boys again!? He will kill us both if he sees you! We just can't go through this again, child!"

9:38 am Why doesn't dad like friends that are boys? Why is mom so scared?

Black's curiosity was now at a boiling point, it was impossible for him to control his impulses. This was now an even bigger mystery. It wasn't just about how different the black families were to his own anymore. Why was the girl always so sad? What was the mom so afraid of? What is it that they can't go through again? He wrote all these questions and more fervently on his detective notepad and spent the day eavesdropping on the Wright women. He too, was now afraid of Jackson because of the way the two spoke of him.

There were a lot of things he didn't understand about what Angela and Corinne talked about, but he wrote them all down. He went back home at lunch time, ate and ran back out hollering out to his mom letting her know he was playing on the backyard. But he was really working on discovering all the mysteries this new family brought with them to the neighborhood.

1:22 pm Mom teaching Corinne how to clean up split peas.

He was so engrossed in his spy work that he didn't hear the pickup truck pull up in the driveway a few hours later. The front door opened and quickly slammed shut.

"Angie! I'm home, where my dinner at?!"

The Wright women sprang out of their seats and started setting up a place at the table. Black was subdued by fright at the sight of Jackson walking into the kitchen scratching his groin, large and fat with a shadow that almost darkened the whole room. The poor boy was shaking for a few seconds, finally overcoming his brief fear induced paralysis, jumped back on his feet and zipped on home as fast as he could, knocking down a metal bucket on his way. Puffy barked again.

"Who dat? I'mma get my shotgun, mo'fuckah!"

Black made it through the missing board on the fence right on time for Jackson not to see him squish by. He peeked through a small hole in one of the boards and just saw the big black man looking around dumbly with a paranoid expression on his face. The boy grasped his chest, his heart beating so fast he felt it was gonna burst out through his ribs. He didn't breathe.

"That's right, mo'fuckah, run! Ha, ha!"

Jackson muttered as he dragged his work boots back into the kitchen. Black finally calmed down and went back home, straight to his room to write about the experience.

6:38 pm Dad arrives home yelling at everyone and throwing things around. The girls are scared. I ran away, almost got caught.

That night at the dinner table Black asks a question.

"Paul, what is a bertion?"

You see, Paul and Laura encouraged Black to call them by their first names. They felt it would allow him to grow with a stronger sense of individuality.

Paul stopped chewing on his chicken and glared with googly eyes at Laura from above his eye glasses. He finished chewing, swallowed his food, took a sip of water and wiped his mouth clean with the white cotton napkin.

"Now, son, where did you hear about this?"

Black certainly did not want Paul and Laura to know about his detective work, and definitely not that he was spying on the new neighbors, so he lied.

"I was watching TV the other day and they were talking about this girl that had a bertion."

Laura took hold of one of his hands and asked Paul if maybe it was time to talk about the birds and the bees. Paul smiled and said:

"Well, Black certainly is a mature boy for his age. I think his intelligent little mind can now understand these things."

And so, after dinner both the White men sat in the living room couch while Paul explained how babies were made. He also explained how sometimes babies are made by mistake or other unwanted situations and he justified the concept of abortion in little Black's mind. Throughout the conversation Paul made it a point to refer to the baby as it, or the fetus, reassuring little Black that this was sometimes necessary and when this was done it was not a person yet, that it was safe and normal and no one was being hurt in the process.

Young Black took this in very well for a boy his age. He understood the concepts and that this abortion business was sort of a way to reverse a mistake or an attack, but he still wondered about the baby inside. Could it feel anything? Was this like a mercy killing? He wondered about the girl and he thought back to that kitchen table conversation between Angela and Corinne. Black now understood that before they moved here Corinne had a fetus inside her and it was taken out with an abortion as his dad explained.

All these things made the mystery even more alluring to him. Now he knew why the girl looked so sad, but why were they so afraid of Jackson? He needed to know more.

Everyone went to bed and Black kept his eyes and ears open. Listening for the sound of the end of his parents' night routine. Doors locking, windows shutting and finally their bedroom light flicks off.

Black waits a few minutes and then slides out of bed, he had gone in fully clothed minus the shoes and hid between the sheets when Paul and Laura had come to his bedroom to tuck him in earlier. He grabs his detective kit, flashlight, notepad and shoes and covertly sneaks out his bedroom window. He turns around and sees there's a single window lit at the Wright's and he sneaks in closer. He sits on the ground below the window, looking around, thinking what mysteries will be uncovered just a few seconds from now, his excitement was indescribable. Smiling to himself he slowly starts to get on his feet, quietly, steadily, heart pounding.

Standing there, his back and arms firmly against the house, his face sideways towards the window next to him, he moves in slowly to see through the light yellow shades. It looks like it's the girl's room. There are girl toys and clothing lying around, more boxes. As he continues he sees the end of a small bed. Then feet, big feet, big black feet, hairy legs. Now his mouth is starting to open slightly, this is a reflex product of his amazement. Small feet, black. Big black hands. It's the girl, Corinne. Big black hands touching her body. Black is frightened but he wants to know what's going on in there, he needs to know, he moves a little more to the side, his foot snaps a twig on the ground as he does so.

"Muthafuckah! Who dat?!?! Where my shotgun at!"

Big black feet leap out of the little bed, running out the room. Little Black jumps back and ducks below the window, he's frozen, fists clinched tight, he starts to quiver. As the back door of the house smashes against an outside wall when Jackson kicks it open, Black makes a run for the missing board gap on the fence.

Paul is savagely awakened by a loud noise. A spine-chilling sound that makes Laura almost fall out of bed. He goes for the lamp switch, confused. Swipes his glasses off the night table and puts them on.

"What in the hell was that?"

Paul asks. Laura looks at him confused as she cringes into a corner of the bed holding the sky blue fluffy bird feather filled comforters on firmly. He looks out the bedroom window and sees some shadows and lights, some sort of commotion at the neighbors'. A woman wails in the night, a few more windows in the neighborhood light up.

As Paul ties his robe around his waist he reassures Laura that it's probably nothing, but he's going to check it out anyway and out he goes. Laura, still confused stares at the lamp shade, half asleep. Suddenly her heart pounds so hard one could almost see the skin over it bubble up and down. She jumps off her bed and rushes to little Black's bedroom.

Paul closes the back door behind him, takes off his glasses to wipe them clean using the robe, this only makes them foggier. Just as he's cleaning them for a second time with his pajama shirt he hears someone talking on the other side of the fence.

"That's right mo'fuckah, you don't mess with my shit!"

Wailing continues on from the other side of the fence. Paul is suddenly startled by screams coming from inside his house. He turns around quickly, even more confused.

"You come fuckin' around my house and now you dead on the ground, mo'fuckah"

Says the voice on the other side of the fence. Paul whips his head back and forth, looking at the fence, then looking at his house.

"Please God, don't let it be true!"

Laura cries out as she storms out of the house towards Paul.

"What's the matter, what's going on?"

"It's Blackie, he's not in his bed!"

Laura cries. Paul holds her tight and turns his glare at the missing board on the fence. He sits her on one of the teak chaise lounge chairs they have on the back porch and carefully walks towards the fence.

Dropping to his knees, Paul sees Jackson nodding anxiously at the ground near where he was peeking through, shotgun on his hand still blowing up smoke. He looks down and sees a small figure in lying the dark, muddy grass close to him on the other side of the fence. He looks back at Laura still crying and howling and sobbing and tears begin to run down his cheeks. He gets up and runs rapidly through the kitchen, grabs a butcher knife out of the first drawer and storms out towards the house next door. The night breeze makes his tears feel cold on his face as he steadily thrusts through the bushes and brick passage ways and random wooden things that obstruct his way. Eyes red, he grips the knife tighter.

He stops right before little Black White lying there, lifeless, Angela still shrieking and bawling. Jackson mumbles:

"Mo'fuckah got what he deserved comin' here to my house."

Laura weeps on the other side of the fence and Paul soars on to his child's killer, as he does so Jackson pulls up the shotgun. Click.

Still not willing to believe this is happening Laura gets enough sense back to stand up and go towards the fence.

There, on the house next door, Paul on his knees crying, bloody knife on the ground next to him. Large black man bleeding from the neck, stomach, back. Several stab wounds let blood quickly flood the back porch of the house. Inside a black woman holding her little girl tight, crying why! And to the side, in the dark, muddy, high, unkept grass, Black.

Ende.