Defining Moments

by Ben Burgess Jr.

  My leg was bouncing. I was regretting coming here and was ready to leave. Becky calmly placed a hand on my leg.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll defend you. You’re worth fighting for,” she whispered.

  Seeing that she was upset and embarrassed calmed me down immediately. I looked up at Mr. Preston. His eyes bored into me. He looked inquisitively at both of us. My defenses were up.

  “So, dear, do you have anyone special in your life?” he asked.

  “Well, yes, isn’t it obvious?” Becky said. “He’s sitting at the table with us.”

  Mr. Preston’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not sure I’m following what you’re saying, Rebecca. All I see is your ‘friend’ here.”

  “Dad, Ben isn’t my friend. He’s my boyfriend.”

  His eyes widened. “The hell he is. No daughter of mine is going to be dating a black boy,” he yelled.

  He shook his head vigorously. His nostrils flared, and his face was beet red as he continued. “First, we have a darky in the White House, and now my daughter, my only child, is fucking one. Unbelievable. Haven’t you embarrassed yourself and our family enough ho’ing around when you were growing up? You have to do this now too?”

  “Daddy, stop it!” Rebecca yelled.

  Susan covered her mouth like she didn’t know what to say. Mr. Preston continued.

  “Rebecca, I raised you better than this. We’ve taught you to stick with your own kind. You don’t see lions mating with panthers. There’s a reason for that. God wanted us to stick with our own race. He wouldn’t have made other races if he wanted us to all be the same.”

  “Your logic is false and outdated, Dad,” Becky said. “Ben is smart and funny, and he treats me better than any white man I’ve ever dated. I don’t see life in black and white like you do. Life is in color, and you need to open your narrow-minded way of thinking to understand that.”

  “Steven, dear, calm down,” Susan said, patting Mr. Preston’s hand.

  A scowl was all over his angry, red face. “Ben, let’s talk in my study like civilized men,” he said.

  Becky held my arm. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. We can leave right now if you want to go home.”

  After everything her father said, there was no way in hell I was going to back down from him. I also appreciated Becky sticking up for me. The fact that she defended me made me want to be strong for her.

  “It’s OK. I’ll hear him out,” I said.

  I followed him to his study, where he closed the door and let out a loud, irritated sigh. His study was impressive. It was a huge room filled with mahogany furniture, plaques, trophies, and pictures of all of his accomplishments. There were mounted animal heads on the walls and a bearskin rug near the fireplace. Apparently, he liked to hunt. I felt like I was being hunted now.

  “Have a seat, Ben,” he said, standing by his liquor cabinet.

  I sat in one of the black leather armchairs in front of his desk.

  “Drink?” he offered, pouring a large amount of scotch into his glass.

  “I’m fine,” I answered.

  He shrugged, tossed back the scotch, and said, “Suit yourself. More for me.” He refilled his glass and sat behind his huge desk in a chair that looked like a throne. I waited to see where this conversation would lead.

  “Ben, in this room, we leave all the politically correct bullshit at the door. We’re unfiltered and open in here. Bottom line, I don’t want you dating my daughter. I don’t believe in anyone dating outside their race,” he said bitterly before tossing back his second scotch.

  I didn’t respond. I kept quiet and let him continue.

  “Rebecca has always been challenging. As a kid, she never colored in the lines of her coloring books. She was always rebellious, always wanted to be different. If I try to stop her from being with you, it’ll only drive her to want you more. She went through a very . . . promiscuous phase as a teenager. I’m sure she’s just curious to see if the stereotype is true and wants to fuck you for sexual gratification.”

  Mr. Preston snickered to himself and went on. “For now, I’ll play the game. I’ll tolerate this ... whatever it is you have with my daughter. I know it won’t last.”

  “But what if it does? What if we’re soul mates?”

  “I’d never let my daughter marry a nigger or have nigger children. Let’s pray she gets over whatever phase she’s going through right now, and it never comes down to that. If it does go that far, I guarantee I’ll put an end to it.”

  I stood up. “Are we done here?”

  Mr. Preston smirked. “Yeah, we’re done here. Oh, and, Ben, whatever we say in this room stays in this room. I hope you’re man enough to keep our conversation private.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your little girl how much of a racist you are.”

  “I’m not racist. There are plenty of exceptions to the rule. Blacks like you that work for me ... I value them, but I just wouldn’t want them ruining my family’s gene pool.”

  I stomped out of the office and sat back down next to Becky.

  She analyzed my pissed-off expression.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  * * *

  We went to my apartment after dinner.

  “Can I talk to you about something?” Becky asked.

  “What’s on your mind, beautiful?”

  “What are we doing, Ben? We spend time together like we’re in a relationship, but we’ve never discussed it. Where are we going with this? I really want more than just a friendship.”

  “Becky, I like you a lot, but we come from two completely different worlds. Tonight, meeting your parents confirmed that. I’m not sure either of us is ready to handle the stress and drama that would come from us being in a relationship.”

  “I’m not scared. We never know unless we try, right?”

  She held my hand and looked me in the eyes. I couldn’t deny the fact that I really liked her or the fact that she made me extremely happy and proud when she had no fear in claiming our relationship and defending me to her parents. Those actions gave me confidence that we should at least try to make our relationship official and see how things work out.

  “All right, let’s do it.”

  “You mean yes?” Becky said excitedly.

  I sighed. “I want to be with you, but are you sure you really want to do this? It’s not too late to just stay friends.”

  “My feelings for you go deeper than a mere friendship. I’m with you because I want to be. I can handle whatever happens. I know we’ll face shit, and I don’t care. I love you, and I’ll fight for us because you’re worth fighting for, but this’ll only work if you feel the same way.”

  Hearing her say “I love you” further proved to me that we weren’t just fuck buddies. Her words helped solidify that our feelings were mutual and real, and we were now in a committed relationship.

  “I love you too. I feel the same way ... I needed that.”

  “Needed what?”

  “I needed to hear that you love me and you’d fight for us. I’ll protect and love you too ... always.”

  We kissed.

  “What about Gabby?” Becky asked.

  “I’ve known Gabby a long time. She’s one of my best friends, but that’s where it ends. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t love her like that. I just want to be with you.” I stared into her eyes.

  After that day, it was us against the world.

  * * *

  My trip down memory lane was interrupted by Gabby snapping her fingers in front of my face. I was instantly pulled back to the present.

  “You looked like your mind was somewhere else for a minute. You all right?”

  I shook those memories away. “Yeah, I’m cool. I’m just thinking about my case.”

  “Yo, yo, what’s up, Ben?” Terrence said.

  Terrence was about six-two. He had a brown complexion and always had on the latest fashions. Today, he was weari
ng a charcoal-gray suit with matching purple bow tie and socks. I gave him a brotherly hug.

  “Gabby, I see you’re still suffering from resting bitch-face syndrome,” he teased.

  “Shut up, punk,” she said jokingly.

  I told Terrence everything that had gone down so far with the case and about the partnership if I won.

  “I don’t want to sound negative, but your firm is playing you. They know damn well you can’t win that case,” he said.

  “Rarely do I agree with Terrence, but he’s kind of right,” Gabby added.

  “You need to drop that firm anyway and start one with me,” he said.

  Terrence had his own solo law practice, and he tried to convince me to start a firm with him nearly every time I saw him.

  “Why would Ben want to work with your broke ass?” Gabby asked him.

  “I guess you didn’t see the brand-new Porsche I’m driving, huh? My life is like a sandwich. No matter which way I flip it, my bread comes first. I’m always about getting my money, and with Ben and me working together, we’d be unstoppable.”

  I laughed. I looked at my watch and said, “I got to head home. If y’all want, we can keep this conversation going and hang out at my place for a while until I get ready to go to dinner with Becky.”

  They nodded.

  * * *

  “Hey, babe,” I called, entering my apartment.

  We stepped inside.

  “We’re in the living room,” Becky shouted.

  “ We.

  “Yeah, Simone is here.”

  “I got Terrence and Gabby with me.”

  “Oh ... OK.”

  I knew she wasn’t thrilled to hear Gabby was with me. I placed my briefcase on the hardwood floor. Gabby and Terrence were still arguing. They walked in, sat on the love seat, and continued their comical bickering. Simone was sitting on the sofa with Becky, flipping channels, while Becky had her legs crossed on top of our ottoman, typing away on her laptop.

  “Hey, cuz,” Simone said.

  “What’s up? What are you doing here?”

  “Can’t I visit my favorite cousin and my best friend?”

  “What’s the real reason you’re here?”

  Simone laughed. “I have a date picking me up here at seven. I don’t want Uncle Curtis or Aunt Mabel to question me about my new guy, so I told them I was hanging out with Becky tonight.”

  I shook my head, tugged off my tie, and kissed Becky.

  “So, I got that case with that rapper who killed the cops and the gay couple. He claims he didn’t do it, and as crazy as it sounds, I kind of believe him. If I can clear him and win this case, I’ll be made partner.”

  “That’s great, baby. You’re like Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird.”

  I looked over at Gabby, who was pretending to vomit.

  “What are typing?” I asked Becky.

  “I’m just finishing this article about the importance of women wearing lingerie for their partners.”

  I kissed her and said, “You would know. It drives me wild seeing you dressed up all sexy, then working to get you out of it. It’s like unwrapping a gift on Christmas.”

  Becky playfully slapped me on the ass.

  “Aw, I want what you guys have,” Simone said.

  “Ugh, get a room,” Gabby said, breaking away from her conversation with Terrence.

  Becky cut her eyes at Gabby.

  “You see that?” Terrence said. “That’s why brothers are going to these white girls. Sistas got too much attitude.”

  “Don’t say shit like that. Race has nothing to do with it,” I said.

  “No, don’t correct him, Ben,” Gabby said. She adjusted herself in the love seat, faced him, and scowled. “When I see sorry brothas like you choose white women, I take it as a personal rejection of the women who birthed them. It’s bad enough we’re devalued in society. To see it happen from our own is just hurtful.”

  She was upset, but I took offense to that too, since I mirrored the men she was talking about.

  Gabby continued, “We’re immersed in a culture where society subtly tells us black women like me aren’t viewed as beautiful. Do you know how much it tears me apart inside and hurts when I hear the white boys at work say how hideous Michelle Obama is and drool over how hot they think Melania is now that she’s the first lady? I think Michelle is beautiful, but to them, everything about her is ugly. When I see Michelle Obama, I see myself, so what do they think of me? Why does Melania set the bar for beauty standards?”

  “I agree with you, Gabby, but don’t blame all white people for the few that made those silly comments,” Becky said.

  “Of course, you would say that. If I had blond hair and blue eyes, I’d see the world with rose-colored glasses too. It wouldn’t make sense to try to make you understand the constant rejection from society that blacks suffer on a daily basis. No matter how much you see it or Ben explains it to you, you’ll never know what it feels like. You can at least have compassion and stop insulting blacks further by pretending that racism doesn’t exist.”

  “I think Michelle and Melania are both pretty,” Simone inserted.

  That made Terrence and Gabby laugh.

  “You’re no better than Terrence. You’re a black woman so ashamed of your race that you won’t even date a black man because society has programmed you to believe they’re inferior,” Gabby snidely replied.

  “I’m not even going to argue with you today. You’re always talking about other people’s problems when yours is simple: you need some dick.”

  Terrence and I laughed. Simone and Becky high-fived. Gabby folded her arms and pouted.

  “Laugh it up, Simone, but playing ostrich by sticking your head in the sand and pretending problems don’t exist doesn’t make your problems go away. You’re a sorry excuse for a black woman.”

  Simone’s cell phone chimed. She waved off Gabby’s comment, glanced at her phone, and smiled. “It’s Trevor. I’ve been waiting for this text all day. He’s here. Later, guys.”

  “Don’t sleep with him,” I yelled as she rushed out the door.

  “Don’t judge me,” Simone fired back.

  “All right, I don’t mean to kick you guys out, but Ben and I have plans to see my parents in a few,” Becky said.

  “That’s tonight?” I joked.

  “Yes, babe. I’ve been telling you this for the past week.”

  I laughed. “I’m kidding.”

  “Well, I guess that’s our cue to leave. Get up, punk,” Gabby said, nudging Terrence.

  We said our goodbyes, and then I walked back to the couch with Becky.

  “Whatcha doin?” I asked.

  “Working on my book.”

  I tried to sneak a peek, and Becky playfully covered the monitor.

  “I don’t want you to read it until after it’s published. This book is special to me, and I wrote it for us.”

  “All right. How’s the book coming along?”

  “Ugh, good, I guess. I did some revisions and sent it out to two more publishers. There’s a letter from a publisher now on the counter.”

  “Open it.”

  “I’m afraid it’s another rejection letter.”

  “If it is, you’ll just have to keep trying.” I handed her the letter. She opened it and read it.

  “What does it say?” I asked.

  She sighed and handed it to me. I winced as I scanned through the rejection letter. The letter was professional and tactfully written, but it was crystal clear they weren’t interested.

  “Hurry up and get ready,” she said. “I told my parents that I didn’t know if you’d be able to come to dinner tonight because of your case, but I’m glad you’re going to be with me.”

  That made one of us.

  Chapter 7

  Bill

  Ill Bill

  “Yo, who’s that white guy? Is that a cop?” a teenage boy asked Shakir, a kid that lived in my mom’s apartment building.

  “Nah, that’s n
o cop. That’s my man, Ill Bill.”

  Shakir waved. “Yo, B, what up? You playing ball with us today?”

  “Nah, not today,” I said. “I know you don’t want me to come on the court and embarrass y’all. You already know why they call me ‘Ill Bill.”’

  “Yeah, yeah, ’cause your skills are sick on the court,” Shakir said. “I know, but come on, B. What, you scared you gonna mess up your pretty suit?”

  “Don’t think I can’t cross you over in wingtips,” I joked.

  “Prove it. You got next.”

  “All right, I’ll play one quick one.”

  After the arraignment, I was on my way to visit my mom. She still lived in this housing project. My case was heavily on my mind, but this was a welcome distraction from the petty games played at the firm. When I was at work, I listened and smiled at the bullshit comments and racist jokes the partners made when there weren’t minorities around. I nodded and pretended to agree with their opinions, but their bigoted way of thinking wasn’t me. I didn’t belong in their narrow-minded world. Here—this neighborhood—these were my people. Being here was where I felt comfortable. I grew up here, found love here, but most importantly, I could be myself here. I was at home in Queensbridge.

  I hung up my suit jacket on the black metal fence, rolled my shirt sleeves up to the elbow, cuffed my pant legs, and tied the laces as tightly as they could be on my brown wingtip shoes, preparing myself for the next game.

  Being on this basketball court brought back so many memories. Memories of my mom, Ebony, and why I became a lawyer. At first glance, a lot of people believed that because I was white, I never had to struggle and had a perfect life growing up, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

  * * *

  “Now, class, I want you all to welcome our newest student, William O’Neil,” Mrs. Foy said.

  I was a skinny, dorky, twelve-year-old standing awkwardly in front of the classroom, noticeably sticking out because I was the only white student in the class.

  “Can you call me Billy or Bill? I hate my full name,” I said to Mrs. Foy.

  She nodded.

  “Can you call me Billy or Bill?” one of the kids sporting a high-top fade nasally mimicked me.

  “Knock it off, Jalen. Keep it up and I’ll make another call home to your mother.”