DARKIE DIARIES VOL.1 : THE APPROACH
NOV 14
11:44 PM
“I think you are the first dark skin I’ve ever talked to. I’ve never met one so educated and pretty,” he said.
I stood across from him, leaning against the bar in my purple high-neck set with an exposed back (made by my superstar designer Mother, don’t be the last to find out). My leg crossed over the other with a crisp pedicure poking out of strappy Steve Madden’s. Visibly unfazed and internally indifferent, I took a long, dramatic sip of my French 75, splashed with Cointreau. Here we go.
Those were the words uttered out of the mouth of an undesired encounter, verbatim. This random young man that approached me, whom we will refer to as Rainboot because of the big shiny spot reflecting from his forehead that reminded me of clipart rainboot drawings, was just a speck in the infinite line of people hellbent on making sense of a question that has been plaguing the masses for a very long time … “How can she be a regular person, I thought she’s supposed to b-… be dark skin?”
I peered at Rainboot through the top of my sunglasses. He was below eye level (first L). Before responding, I made sure to get a good look at him. A really good look at him. I noticed his scuffed air forces (second L), ripped blue jeans, and polo shirt. His suburban homeboys in the corner, trying desperately to pass for the real deal. What struck the most was his deep and even skin sitting celestially under the bar’s blue light, just like mine.
From an outsider’s perspective we probably just looked like two people trying to get to know each other in a loud room. His opportunistic lean toward me so he could hear over the music. My friend on the left, waiting for one of our many signals. In reality, this was another spooky, sunken, unwanted approach.
At the ripe age of 22, this obviously was not my first rodeo. Most will never see an issue with marveling at you in that way. What could start out as a harmless compliment turns into modern minstrelsy very quickly. Every dark skin girl will hear the pretty comments but education? Not too many people have opened their mouths and said they’ve never met a dark skin woman of my education, especially after my never mentioning where, when, and IF education even took place. Lord have mercy. Take another sip, Joyce.
What stopped me from giving him the proper reaction he deserved? At this stage in my life, I’m learning that when I find myself in circumstances of any nature such as this one, ludicrous and laughable, the LAST thing to attempt is confrontation. I don’t have the manual for how to properly deal with people like that, or what exactly to do when you’re in this situation. If I wanted to fulfill #8 on my bucket list and throw my drink in Rainboot’s face like a VH1 veteran, I could probably justify it. What is known for sure is that I was not put on this Earth to educate every nigga I run into. Save that shit for whoever actually wants them.
Rainboot, God bless him, doesn’t deserve all the blame. It takes a village - an institution rather - to create and maintain that deep a level of baseless indoctrination. Whether it was drunken courage, pure ignorance, or a combination of both, I don’t know. And I don’t care.
To be clear, I am neither different, special, nor “one of the good ones.” There’s no flattery in isolating me from my kind.
Rainboot continued looking at me while inconspicuously hiding the smirk creeping out from the corner of his mouth. He was waiting for me to swoon and gush, I think. For I have been chose! I mustered up the blankest stare I could and shot him the tight, toothless smile that is typically reserved for crazy-looking people on the street and clergymen, just before sauntering off to find another bartender. The DJ had just cut on Beyonce’s Alien Superstar and I urgently needed another French 75. This is what I get for going out on a weeknight.
-JK