Being a Barrow - A Sequel to Barrow's Boy

Percy

tw: discussions of racism, white supremacy, and lynching

    Harlem was a culture shock, that was for certain.

    Look, it wasn't like Percy had never seen someone who looked like him. He definitely had. As a little American child, they had been all around him; his mother made sure of that. And after he was in England, he'd briefly met Jack Ross. And sometimes he passed someone while visiting his friends in London. And, well, surely there was- Who else?

     Percy knew how it looked at home. Even if his family didn't think it, he knew that he was a dark mar on what would otherwise be their perfect white family. His father and Winifred had their perfect, beautiful, blonde-haired and blue-eyed little girl. He didn't blame Grace for that, of course, and he loved Grace dearly. But, truly, how was he ever supposed to feel like he fit in when he was so obviously different from his family? All he could do was try to compensate for it. He did what he could to earn his place in that home and on that farm. And he adhered to the half of himself that was white. But his differences weren't like Teddy's or Everett's. He couldn't just not mention them and get away with being like everyone else. He could stay quiet about it all he wanted, but that didn't change what everyone could clearly see. 

     And then there was his mother's family in Chicago. He'd only visited them once, but he had felt a strange sense of being different from them the entire time. Even if he looked more like his mother than his father, Percy had a strong feeling that the white man who raised him was all that any of them could see when they looked at him. The British accent he had developed over his years there didn't help.

     Going from the quaint roads of Downton Village to the streets of Harlem was one of the only times that Percy could ever remember fitting into a group. He could walk around without anyone giving him a second glance, go into a shop without fearing sub-par service, and, later that night, as he walked into a diner to get something small to eat, be outwardly flirted with.

     Percy may have been with Hazel briefly, but it hadn't happened like this. Kisses in corners and acts in lower-class rooms on ships crossing the Atlantic. They were never going to last anyway. Percy probably would have called it off sooner if it weren't for the aftermath of that trip and the fact that he didn't know if there would be anyone after Hazel.

      But now, sitting at a stool by the counter as he sipped from a bottle of Coca-Cola, he had two girls, Black girls, leaning on the counter next to him, ogling him as they spoke.

    "We haven't seen you around these parts before," the one closest to him began. She was wearing a deep red dress, the kind with a deep v-neck that Percy supposed also transferred to the back. He wouldn't know, considering that he'd only seen her from the front. 

    "I've not been around these parts before," Percy replied simply, then lifted his drink to his lips. The other girl, dressed in a rusty orange, raised her eyebrows.

    "Not with that voice you haven't. Where are you from, handsome?"

     Handsome, now that was something. Percy sat up a little straighter, placing his glass back down.

    "England. Yorkshire, more specifically."

     The girl in orange reached forward, put her hands on her friend's shoulders, and looked at her. 

    "I don't know. What do we think of an English man?"

     The girl in red hummed, eyeing Percy for a moment of consideration before turning to her friend. Without a word, she reached forward to grab Percy by the bicep. He made no effort to move, and she squeezed, then nodded.