Disorderly

Oneshot

Will Smith's "Getting' Jiggy Wit It" bumped through the speakers as your car sped across the bridge. You and your roommate Elana had decided to head to the beach that weekend and finally soak in some of the summer sun.

Traffic slowed significantly when you crossed the bridge on to the island. You finally had a chance to take a look at your surroundings as you crawled along in search of parking.

Your excitement dwindled when you noticed a pick-up truck with a "Blue Lives Matter" flag flying behind it, and another car with a Trump bumper sticker. Expensive, high-rise summer homes and rentals lined the beach. You scanned the crowds of people on the sidewalks. The demographic was heavily Caucasian. You mentally prepared yourself to be the only Black woman at this beach bar, if not the only woman of color.

It's not that you weren't used to being the only Black person. You could make it work. It was just exhausting. If you spent all of your time on the shore, hopefully it wouldn't be an issue.

You glanced over at Elana in the driver's seat. Her long red hair was pulled up in to a high pony tail and the sun had made her fair skin begin to freckle. She was completely unfazed by the small details you had noticed, instead letting go of the steering wheel and raising her hands in the air.

"WOOOOOOOO!" Elana screamed. A group of frat brothers screamed back, raising their coozied beers.

You elected not to mention your reservations about this beach day. You'd just roll with it. This could be fun. What was the worst that could happen?

You found parking for $20 and snatched it up. You spent the rest of the day vacillating between laying out on the beach or swimming in the cool Atlantic waters.

As the sun set, everyone migrated to the bar on the boardwalk. You could hear the music from the beach and the lights flashed enticingly at you. You ran back to your car to drop off your stuff and awkwardly change behind a sandy beach towel.

"Cover me, bitch!" you giggled. Elana shook the towel a bit, throwing sand in your direction.

"Maybe I want a peek!" she joked, eyeing you from behind the make shift curtain. You finished pulling on your romper and shook the remaining sand out of your hair. You grabbed the towel from her.

"Aight! It's your turn." You held the towel up in front of her.

"Nope! I'm good," Elana insisted. She simply slipped some jean shorts over her bikini bottoms and left the top on as a shirt. You shrugged.

"Let's go!" She grabbed your hand and dragged you towards the night club.

–

Erik had taken on a weekend security gig over the summer. He needed the extra money if he was going to finish out his graduate schooling without debt. The graduate fellowship package MIT had given him was nice, but he needed more.

The bar was a little over an hour outside of Boston and the pay was surprisingly good, so he made the trek up to the small but popular island every weekend. It was a pretty easy gig as well. He rarely had to do any heavy work. Mostly ejecting overly drunk people from the bar and reminding patrons not to set their drinks on the stage.

He often stood next to the speaker towers and scanned the crowd, letting his physical appearance do the intimidation work. Being the only Black man on staff, that wasn't exactly hard to do. Most men avoided him, and some women tried their hardest to hit on him, offering him shots, dancing a little too close, or spilling their drinks on him. The end of the night was usually the worst. Gaggles of drunk girls would come up to him in groups and try to engage him in slurred conversation.