For the color challenge on graffitidec.
Title: Hybrid
Author: ebony_miasma
Rating: PG-13, for language
Word count: 1,187
Warning/notes: Some of the language used by an outside character may be offensive. Oh, and the club mentioned is a club in Atlanta. I’m not familiar with any Los Angeles clubs.
Summary: Nothing has color. Color does not matter.
*
“The sky is blue,” I said. Mike had asked me what color the sky was. Everyone knows it is blue.
“What color is the sky, Brad?” he asked again.
“Sky blue.”
He laughed and told me that the sky had no color. I looked at him strangely and told him all that art school fucked with his head, as if it weren’t messed up enough already. Mike just shook his head and smiled, showing all of his lovely white teeth.
He said that nothing had color, and that color didn’t matter.
“Color is necessary,” I told him. Ha. Me, Brad Delson, the law student was telling the art student why color was needed. Looking back on it now, it was pretty funny. I went into this whole jag about why people needed color in their lives.
I told him that when people saw reds, greens, and blues it evokes something in them. They feel can feel empowered; they can feel calm. Of course it was necessary, I reasoned.
“It can make people angry,” he said. “It can make people hate…”
Then it occurred to me that Mike didn’t learn about things having a lack of color in art school. No, he learned it from his life.
*
There was this day-the perfect day, and we were both eleven. It was so picturesque, like it came out of a small child’s imagination, you know? Mike came over and a new family moved into the old Smith house next door. The family was Jewish, like me, and they sent their kid over to play with me.
His name was Rob Bourdon. Mike had gone inside to go to the bathroom while Rob had introduced himself and we waited. When Mike came out, I noticed a change in Rob’s eyes. Suddenly, they didn’t seem so friendly and peaceable. His brown eyes had a brief flicker of red in them; the smile upon his lips became a solemn, grim line. Rob could tell right off that Mike was not totally white, nor completely Asian.
“Um, I… uh… just remembered that I have to do some… stuff,” he said, the discomfort in his voice evident.
“Okay. See you later, Rob,” I said.
“Yeah. See you later,” Mike said quietly.
Rob walked quickly to his house and never came back over to play basketball or anything else.
*
Mike announced that his grandmother, the one on his father’s side, was coming over to Shinoda household for a two-week visit from Japan. Once he told me, he became quiet.
We have had many talks about Mike’s-not only the Japanese-relatives. They never visited. Not even once. Sure, there would be the occasional Christmas card that was shiny in all its gold, white, red and green décor on the outside. But the cards were never displayed like they were in the homes of my other friends. The inside that had the greeting ‘Merry Christmas’ in a fancy script font and usually bore a hand-written message to the individuals of the household, always forgot Mike’s name. Actually, the whole thing was rather impersonal: “Merry Christmas Mr. and Mrs. Shinoda.”
“She’s probably feels that it’s okay to come now, since I’m out of the house.” Mike was talking more to himself than me. “Next thing you know, Aunt Delia will be stopping by-as if I didn’t tear the family apart-wishing my mother and father well.”
“Let’s go out somewhere,” I suggested.
“As long as isn’t The Bounce.”
*
The Bounce was this hip-hop club about an hour and a half away from our quiet, boring suburb of Agoura Hills. Mike and I handed the bouncer our fake ID’s when we were both sixteen. We had always heard about the wild shit that had gone on there and Mike was actually willing to be a bad boy for once and sneak out on a school night. And what was it all for? Some group I’d never even heard of, but, apparently, Mike had to have been crazy about them.
Tyrell, a twenty-one-year-old college friend of ours, agreed to take us out on that Wednesday night. We were to stay no longer than one in the morning, but we didn’t even get to stay until ten-thirty.
With The Bounce being what it is, the groups of people that were mostly attracted to it were of African-American descent. And when we managed to get a drink, some kind of daiquiri, and quickly gulp them down, we accidentally ran into one of Tyrell’s friends.
“What the fuck?” he yelled. The two girls and Tyrell immediately stopped what they were doing. The black man turned around and glared at Mike, his brown eyes radiating their anger.
“Look here. We got a couple of crackas in the club.” It was directed at us, but his stare was mostly fixated on Mike, whose mocha skin gleamed with sweat. “Well, one and half crackas,” he laughed.
“Hey, man--” Tyrell interjected, but his much stronger friend pushed him back.
“Naw, man. Did you bring them up in here?” He turned to our friend, then back to us, and said to Mike, “This club is fo’ niggas only. No white boys, no half-breeds-just niggas. Why don’t y’all take y’all asses outta here, a’ight?”
No one had seen what was going on except for the three people around the man, but I could tell Mike felt like he had been gutted in front of a million people. He ran out the door and Ty and I ran after him. That ride home was one of the quietest car rides I’ve ever had. Though there was no talking, I felt color coming from Mike; his angry reds, his drowsy, depressed blues, his envious green.
I had that I would never have to have another ride that tension-filled.
*
The whole world looks gray today. You would wish for colors to be filled in the spots where the sun had shined so brightly two days ago, but I didn’t. Today had an overcast sky, a good chance of rain, and not a single trace of blue to be found. I got the ride I never wished for: tension-filled and full of sadness. But this time was different. It’s Mike’s funeral.
He was on his way home to see his parents. His grandmother was spending her last day over and he thought he would surprise her. Mike wanted to show her, to tell her that she had nothing to be ashamed of. So what if her grandson was mixed? He’s just a product of his parents love-a beautiful hybrid.
But he never did get his chance. He died in a car accident on the way. It was a three-car pileup and, ironically enough, one man in a white Toyota was Rob’s father, the other was in a black Lexus, the man from The Bounce.
I witnessed Mike’s hurt. I feel sorry for the people who couldn’t look past the color in their worlds and couldn’t see that a human soul is invisible, no matter what ethnicity holds it.
Nothing has color. Color doesn’t matter.
Author: ebony_miasma
Rating: PG-13, for language
Word count: 1,187
Warning/notes: Some of the language used by an outside character may be offensive. Oh, and the club mentioned is a club in Atlanta. I’m not familiar with any Los Angeles clubs.
Summary: Nothing has color. Color does not matter.
*
“The sky is blue,” I said. Mike had asked me what color the sky was. Everyone knows it is blue.
“What color is the sky, Brad?” he asked again.
“Sky blue.”
He laughed and told me that the sky had no color. I looked at him strangely and told him all that art school fucked with his head, as if it weren’t messed up enough already. Mike just shook his head and smiled, showing all of his lovely white teeth.
He said that nothing had color, and that color didn’t matter.
“Color is necessary,” I told him. Ha. Me, Brad Delson, the law student was telling the art student why color was needed. Looking back on it now, it was pretty funny. I went into this whole jag about why people needed color in their lives.
I told him that when people saw reds, greens, and blues it evokes something in them. They feel can feel empowered; they can feel calm. Of course it was necessary, I reasoned.
“It can make people angry,” he said. “It can make people hate…”
Then it occurred to me that Mike didn’t learn about things having a lack of color in art school. No, he learned it from his life.
*
There was this day-the perfect day, and we were both eleven. It was so picturesque, like it came out of a small child’s imagination, you know? Mike came over and a new family moved into the old Smith house next door. The family was Jewish, like me, and they sent their kid over to play with me.
His name was Rob Bourdon. Mike had gone inside to go to the bathroom while Rob had introduced himself and we waited. When Mike came out, I noticed a change in Rob’s eyes. Suddenly, they didn’t seem so friendly and peaceable. His brown eyes had a brief flicker of red in them; the smile upon his lips became a solemn, grim line. Rob could tell right off that Mike was not totally white, nor completely Asian.
“Um, I… uh… just remembered that I have to do some… stuff,” he said, the discomfort in his voice evident.
“Okay. See you later, Rob,” I said.
“Yeah. See you later,” Mike said quietly.
Rob walked quickly to his house and never came back over to play basketball or anything else.
*
Mike announced that his grandmother, the one on his father’s side, was coming over to Shinoda household for a two-week visit from Japan. Once he told me, he became quiet.
We have had many talks about Mike’s-not only the Japanese-relatives. They never visited. Not even once. Sure, there would be the occasional Christmas card that was shiny in all its gold, white, red and green décor on the outside. But the cards were never displayed like they were in the homes of my other friends. The inside that had the greeting ‘Merry Christmas’ in a fancy script font and usually bore a hand-written message to the individuals of the household, always forgot Mike’s name. Actually, the whole thing was rather impersonal: “Merry Christmas Mr. and Mrs. Shinoda.”
“She’s probably feels that it’s okay to come now, since I’m out of the house.” Mike was talking more to himself than me. “Next thing you know, Aunt Delia will be stopping by-as if I didn’t tear the family apart-wishing my mother and father well.”
“Let’s go out somewhere,” I suggested.
“As long as isn’t The Bounce.”
*
The Bounce was this hip-hop club about an hour and a half away from our quiet, boring suburb of Agoura Hills. Mike and I handed the bouncer our fake ID’s when we were both sixteen. We had always heard about the wild shit that had gone on there and Mike was actually willing to be a bad boy for once and sneak out on a school night. And what was it all for? Some group I’d never even heard of, but, apparently, Mike had to have been crazy about them.
Tyrell, a twenty-one-year-old college friend of ours, agreed to take us out on that Wednesday night. We were to stay no longer than one in the morning, but we didn’t even get to stay until ten-thirty.
With The Bounce being what it is, the groups of people that were mostly attracted to it were of African-American descent. And when we managed to get a drink, some kind of daiquiri, and quickly gulp them down, we accidentally ran into one of Tyrell’s friends.
“What the fuck?” he yelled. The two girls and Tyrell immediately stopped what they were doing. The black man turned around and glared at Mike, his brown eyes radiating their anger.
“Look here. We got a couple of crackas in the club.” It was directed at us, but his stare was mostly fixated on Mike, whose mocha skin gleamed with sweat. “Well, one and half crackas,” he laughed.
“Hey, man--” Tyrell interjected, but his much stronger friend pushed him back.
“Naw, man. Did you bring them up in here?” He turned to our friend, then back to us, and said to Mike, “This club is fo’ niggas only. No white boys, no half-breeds-just niggas. Why don’t y’all take y’all asses outta here, a’ight?”
No one had seen what was going on except for the three people around the man, but I could tell Mike felt like he had been gutted in front of a million people. He ran out the door and Ty and I ran after him. That ride home was one of the quietest car rides I’ve ever had. Though there was no talking, I felt color coming from Mike; his angry reds, his drowsy, depressed blues, his envious green.
I had that I would never have to have another ride that tension-filled.
*
The whole world looks gray today. You would wish for colors to be filled in the spots where the sun had shined so brightly two days ago, but I didn’t. Today had an overcast sky, a good chance of rain, and not a single trace of blue to be found. I got the ride I never wished for: tension-filled and full of sadness. But this time was different. It’s Mike’s funeral.
He was on his way home to see his parents. His grandmother was spending her last day over and he thought he would surprise her. Mike wanted to show her, to tell her that she had nothing to be ashamed of. So what if her grandson was mixed? He’s just a product of his parents love-a beautiful hybrid.
But he never did get his chance. He died in a car accident on the way. It was a three-car pileup and, ironically enough, one man in a white Toyota was Rob’s father, the other was in a black Lexus, the man from The Bounce.
I witnessed Mike’s hurt. I feel sorry for the people who couldn’t look past the color in their worlds and couldn’t see that a human soul is invisible, no matter what ethnicity holds it.
Nothing has color. Color doesn’t matter.