The Color Of Love | COMPLETED

03. Prejudice

I've often dreamed of what would happen if I came out. What if I just walked into work one day and told everyone that I was gay? I've had years of consideration, and most of the outcomes included someone outing me to the rest of the world and at least a dozen dirty looks and swear words in my direction. 

That was why it came as such a surprise when James Scott didn't do any of those things.

"Get out," he hissed. "Put on that wig and leave the premises... sir."

I drummed my fingers against the table, slightly bemused by his reaction. He wasn't thinking clearly. If he came back to his station without a gay man in tow, his superiors could fire him. They fired black people for reasons less severe. On the other hand, if he handed me in, there would be an uproar. 

I closed my eyes in pain. I would be fired, first and foremost, and then I would be shunned. I would have to find a dead-end job from some poor but sympathetic folks, and the rest of my life would be akin to the life of a criminal. 

I couldn't let that happen. James Scott was as agreeable as a crocodile, which was only a slight improvement from other police officers who I had met who were sharks. But he was still a man who had acquired a taste for blood in the water, and right now, he was out for mine. 

 "I thought you were going to arrest me, officer," I said mockingly, using the same emphasis on his title like he did with mine. 

His hand found my arm beneath the table and he gripped it tightly, his fingernails digging into the scratchy, thin material of my coat. 

"You're lucky that I'm being lenient," James said menacingly. "If you weren't a prominent public figure, I would have you - "

"- arrested," I completed his sentence. With a long-suffering sigh, I removed his hands from my arm with a little more force than necessary. "But I know your department. You have a - " I paused, trying to remember what it was called. "What was it? A gentleman's agreement that a black cop can't arrest a white person."

James curled his fist so tightly that his knuckles became white. I watched in morbid fascination as he clenched and unclenched his hand and the colors changed. When he finally spoke, his voice was extremely low and controlled. "February 1st, 1960."

"Excuse me?"

He looked up at me, the whites of his eyes rimmed with a red that was an unsettling contrast to the darkness of his skin.  "I was still in college. It was before I dropped out, in a Woolworth's lunch counter in Greensboro. North Carolina." He laughed, a jarring sound in the silence. With a start, I realized the big group had left. The bartender was in the back. It was just us. "We were a group of four black people, so they didn't serve us. I wanted to go, but Arthur convinced us to stay. They pushed us around a little, asked us why we weren't leaving and I remember Arthur telling them that 'we just wanted a sandwich' and they didn't give it to us. So we stayed."

James seemed to be lost in the old memories, but his expression wasn't of nostalgia or anger. It was of something softer, and somehow sweeter. With his eyes closed, he could have been a statue made of chiseled obsidian. As if he could sense my gaze, his eyes opened, and I immediately glanced down at my lap, embarrassed. I felt like I had seen something too intimate to be shared with someone else on his face. His face twisted back to a clenched jaw and angry eyes. 

"We stayed there for days. And somehow, hundreds of people joined. They agreed with us. We boycotted segregated lunch counters until they caved. I ordered a bacon and tomato sandwich even though I hated bacon. It was average, at best, but that day, it was the best damn sandwich I had ever had. Then the people left and it was all forgotten. Arthur was arrested for trespassing. I couldn't find a job in North Carolina with that under my belt, so I changed my name and moved here."

There was silence for a few seconds. 

"All for a sandwich," I finally said. 

"That damn sandwich," he spat out bitterly. "I wish I could go back and tell myself what that sandwich was going to do to me. I wish I could have warned myself that I was going to be black, so maybe I would know that nothing anyone does makes a difference."

"That's not true," I said as gently as I could. I fumbled around for something. "What about Martin Luther King?" 

"You don't understand, do you? Nothing anyone does makes a difference. He's been arrested twice in one year. I still have to ride a specific police car because I'm black." He scoffed. "Just to warn them that there is a black person in that car, because that's so terrible."  

I simply sat there silently, a little awed at what this man had to go through, but mostly ashamed at myself. Here I was judging James Scott because he was homophobic while I sat back and did nothing about racism. He was shown blatant prejudice every day of his life and if I ever came out, I would see that too. He discriminated against LGBTQ+ people and I, by not doing anything about the flagrant racism I saw, discriminated against people of color. The only difference between the two of us was what set us apart. 

There was no black and white in this situation. Everything and everyone was a shade of grey. Everyone was, at some degree, right and wrong. There was no winning. 

"If you could go anywhere, where would you go?" I finally ask. "If you could drop everything and hang loose?" 

He regarded me with his dark brown eyes, his expression a hurricane of emotions. "Away," he said after a pause. "Anywhere but here."

I glanced down at my watch. The golden numbers of my watch stared back up at me. "What's your real name?"

"What, so you can report me to your superiors, Casey Addams?" 

I waited. 

"Darius Jordan," he admitted grudgingly. 

I pressed my lips together. "I'm offering you a choice, Darius. You have ten minutes. You can either split out of here a changed man and not discriminate against what people can't control, or you can leave here and be the same man you will always be." 

"You can't - " he fell silent. Almost instinctively, we both glanced at the carved heart. Love is love. 

I met his dark gaze straight on, challenging him. 

"What will it be?" 

ooo

Definitions:

Hang Loose - if you've opted to spend your day taking it easy and relaxing, then you are officially hanging loose.  (BestLife definition)

Split - when you're done and ready to get out of there, it's time to split. 

February 1st, 1960 - a real event in which four college students were refused service at a WoolWorth's and decided to protest. Hundreds of people protested with them until they were served. 

A 1960s WoolWorth's Menu

Car 27 and Car 29 - specific police cars that black people were forced to ride in (On NPR, 'How Policing Has Changed For 3 Generations Of Black Police Officers')

MLK in 1962 - "Following the unsuccessful Albany, Georgia, movement, MLK is tried and convicted on July 10 for leading the march the previous December. He is arrested again on July 27 and jailed for holding a prayer vigil in Albany." (Quoted from 'The King Legacy')