Defining Moments

by Ben Burgess Jr.

  “No, most of the time he’s the late one, and I usually buy for him,” Gabby said from behind me, scaring the shit out of me.

  Ben chuckled. “Hey, Gabby.”

  “Hey, Big Head.”

  She walked past me like I wasn’t there.

  Ben handed Gabby her coffee.

  “Is it black, the way I like it?”

  “Black with no sugar, the way you always get it.” He cleared his throat.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Did you forget something?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re being rude.”

  Gabby rolled her eyes. “Hi, Rebecca.”

  “Gabby,” I said.

  “I know Ben likes milk in his coffee, but I didn’t know he was bringing you here. What’s up? Writing in your little column isn’t cutting it, so you’re going to apply for a job here?”

  I wasn’t taking her shit today. I was already furious about my book being rejected by another publisher, and while I knew I should let it go, her snide comment put me over the edge.

  “What’s your problem with me?” I asked. “Are you that insecure and intimidated that you have to put me down to boost yourself up every chance you get?”

  “Baby, let it go. Both of you, please, let’s try to have a nice, peaceful lunch today,” Ben said.

  “I’m not letting it go,” I said. “Not today. She has a problem with us being together, and I want to know what’s so wrong with interracial dating?”

  Gabby sipped her coffee and stared at me with a smirk. “Insecure? Hardly. Intimidated by you? Never. Listen to him, Becky. You don’t have the wits to have a debate like that with me.”

  “Oh yeah? Let’s see about that,” I shot back.

  Gabby chuckled as if I were pathetic. The way she’d condescendingly called me “Becky” pissed me off.

  “Baby, please. Don’t do this. Let’s all calm down and drop it,” Ben said.

  I knew he loved me, but I also knew he didn’t have confidence in me being able to hold my own against Gabby.

  “No, I can handle myself. I’m not afraid of her, and I’m tired of backing down every time she acts like a bitch. I got this.”

  Ben sighed, closed his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  Gabby faced him. “May I start with my opening argument?” she asked.

  “Neither of you listen to me anyway, so proceed,” he said.

  “Gladly.” Gabby turned herself to face me better. “Becky, I am absolutely against interracial dating. I’m pro-black love. Honestly, interracial dating disgusts me, especially when most white women only date black men as a novelty—not because they love them and truly understand what black men face in this country on a daily basis. Before I school you, answer this: how many African American friends do you have? Real friends—not Ben’s cousin, Simone, coworkers you’re friendly with, or people on your Facebook friends list. How many real black friends do you have?”

  I stuttered and stammered a bit, but caught myself.

  “I don’t keep a tally of the number of friends of different races I have. For me, people are people. I’m sorry you believe that I see Ben as a novelty, but I never looked at him like that. I genuinely love him, and you’d see that if you weren’t so busy being racist toward me, but since we’re on the topic, how many white friends do you have?”

  “To answer your question, Becky, I don’t have any white friends,” Gabby said. “I have a few associates, but none that I would consider a close friend. There are some Caucasians that I’m cordial with, but that’s where it ends. Second, black people can’t be racist. Racism is a problem and concept that operates on both an individual and institutional level, where a dominant race benefits from the oppression of another. To be racist, I would have to have the power and influence to take my prejudices and exercise them with immunity under the law. African Americans in this country have never had that type of authority or influence. Therefore, we could never be racist.”

  “Racism, by definition, means to view another race as being inferior, and isn’t that how you view me?” I asked. “You look at me as if I’m less than nothing. You don’t like or respect me. You think I’m some stupid, spoiled little white bitch that is beneath you.”

  I felt my anger bubbling. Gabby clasped her hands together and placed them on the table. “I can’t help that I see you for who you are.”

  “Gabby—” Ben snapped.

  “Sorry. It slipped,” she said, smiling at him, then looking back at me before she continued.

  “You’re interchanging racism and prejudice. They aren’t the same thing. How I treat you is just a taste of what Ben and I go through on a daily basis. We live in a challenging time for black people. Women like you won’t help him through these struggles. When he gets pulled over for driving while being black, followed, and harassed in stores because of the color of his skin, or passed up on getting this partnership, when everyone knows he busts his ass and is probably more qualified and deserving than the white guy he’s in competition with, who is going to console him—you?”

  “All right, before this gets further out of hand, let’s stop this now,” Ben said.

  “No, I’m a big girl, Ben, I got this. I can take anything she dishes out,” I said, cutting my eyes at her.

  “Baby, I have all the confidence in the world that you’re strong, but you don’t have to prove anything to Gabby or me,” he said. “Let this go.”

  “No, Ben, she needs to hear this,” Gabby said. “Too many times I’ve seen white women like her date black men just to piss off their fathers, or because they want to have exotic-looking babies, or just to escape the label of being racist.”

  She pointed at me. “Do you know how many white girls I know will date, marry, or have babies with black men but don’t associate with any other black people or African American culture whatsoever?”

  I knew the expression on my face showed I hated her. I couldn’t be weak in front of her. I couldn’t let her see she was getting to me. I needed to hide my emotions better.

  “I care about African American culture, and I have black friends.”

  Gabby continued to push and goad me. “Hanging out with Simone and watching Save the Last Dance and Roots doesn’t mean you have black friends or care about African American culture.”

  She made me so angry. I was holding back tears, and I curled my bottom lip and bounced my foot under the table.

  “Look at you with your fake tan, wearing your big hoop earrings, stealing our cultural styles,” she said. “It’s funny how y‘all hate us but want to be us so much. Is that all supposed to make you appear more ‘down for the cause’?”

  “Now you’re attacking my appearance and fashion choices?” I said. “I don’t see you wearing a dashiki. All the designers you have on are European. Doesn’t that makeup you’re wearing make your skin appear lighter than it is? Who is really stealing whose style?”

  “So, you think all African Americans should wear dashikis, huh?” Gabby said. “Maybe we should live in mud huts too and be primitive like your people believe is in our nature, right? I wear clothing and makeup because they’re tools to help me succeed in this country that is controlled by your kind. What’s your excuse?”

  I rapidly tapped my fingers on the table.

  “Am I striking a nerve?” she said. “Help me understand. Why do you want to be with a black man? Since you’re not a twig and have some hips and ass, were you rejected by your precious white men and gravitated to brothers as a default because they showed you attention? Oh, I get it. It’s a sex thing. You just love you some black dick, huh? Knowing that sistas have been enjoying something so good that you didn’t have must’ve driven your cracker ass to want it full-time, huh?”

  “Fuck you, you stupid black bitch.”

  I covered my mouth as soon as the words left it.

  “You see that, Ben? All it took was a little prying and irritation, but her true colors showed. She doesn’t give a shit abo
ut you or black people. She’s just another spoiled boujie white bitch that doesn’t know the struggle and is trying to convince herself she isn’t racist.”

  My lips trembled, and I felt myself on the verge of tears. The last thing I wanted to do was cry in front of her. I rose to my feet, grabbed my purse, and quickly ran toward the door.

  “Shit.” I tripped on the edge of a chair and dropped my purse. Nearly everything spilled on the floor. People chuckled at my clumsiness, but no one helped me. I quickly began to pick up the contents. I was still within earshot when Ben said, “Gabby, you’re my best friend. I care about you, but you have to stop this shit. Stop picking on her.”

  “I’m not picking on her—”

  “Whether you or my family approves, I love her, and I’m going to protect her, even if it’s from all of you.”

  “She’s an adult, Ben,” she said. “The bitch doesn’t need her big black man to save her all the time.”

  Ben shook his head. “I love you, Gabby, but if you call Becky out of her name or treat her like shit again, we’re done!”

  Gabby gave him a look of confusion. Even I momentarily stopped picking up my things in shock.

  “We’ve been best friends since we were kids. You would throw away a lifetime of friendship for her?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer. They stood in silence and stared at each other long and hard.

  Hearing Ben defend me warmed my heart and calmed me down somewhat, but I was still embarrassed and hurt.

  I finished gathering the things from my purse and stormed out of the restaurant. Ben caught up to me.

  “Baby, wait,” he said.

  I stopped and faced him. “She’s a vapid bitch, and I fucking hate her.”

  “I know you do. Look, I’m going to talk to her and my parents. This can’t keep going on.”

  “Will anyone ever think I’m good enough for you?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. You think I have it easy with your family?”

  I knew he wasn’t wrong, but I was still fuming.

  “Look, it’s hard for both of us, but we knew this when we started dating,” he said. “The only opinion that matters is our own. As long as we love each other, we can handle it.”

  I knew he’d just said back there that if Gabby didn’t stop, their friendship was over, but I didn’t believe him.

  “What if I can’t handle it anymore?” I asked. “What if I told you that you had to choose between her and me? Who would you choose, huh?” I looked at him intently and waited for an answer. “You know what? Don’t say it. I know the answer.”

  I didn’t want Ben to answer because, deep down, I was scared he might answer truthfully. I hated Gabby because, overall, I felt she was better than me. She was graceful and sexy, with serious curves that made men and even women turn their heads. She was strong, confident, articulate, and I was intimidated by her. I knew if I saw all these things, it was obvious Ben saw them too. I knew he loved me. When I looked him in his warm, almond-shaped, brown eyes, I knew what we had was real, but deep down, I was afraid he’d come to his senses one day and choose to be with her over me.

  Ben cradled my face in his hands before he kissed me. “I love you, Becky. You’re worth fighting for.”

  I hugged him. Ben always knew what to say to make me happy.

  * * *

  We came home, and I was still fuming from our lunch with Gabby. I plopped down on the couch with my arms folded.

  “Baby, don’t be mad, OK?” Ben said.

  “I’m not.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yup.”

  “All right, you did this to yourself ...”

  Ben tickled me into submission, and I couldn’t help but laugh my ass off. I playfully slapped his arm.

  “I love you,” he said.

  Seeing the sincerity in his eyes somewhat soothed me, but I kept thinking of her. “I love you too. Let me show you how much,” I said, pulling down his zipper and dropping to my knees. A smile grew on Ben’s face.

  I unbuckled his pants and slid his boxers down to his ankles. His huge cock bobbed in his lap and dangled in front of my face. I took him all in, deep-throating as I worked him in my mouth, toying with him as he writhed in ecstasy. His legs trembled, and the veins inside his thick cock pulsated. I stopped, taking my mouth off him.

  “Shit, babe, I’m almost there, don’t stop.”

  “I don’t want you to come yet. I want you inside me. Let’s take this to the bedroom.”

  I took him by the hand, pulled him to his feet, and led him to the bedroom, where I quickly undressed while he lay down on the bed. I lay next to him and stroked his meaty shaft. Then I braced myself as I swung my legs over him, reached back, grabbed his cock, and, in one smooth motion, inserted it inside me.

  I placed my soft hands on his chest and slowly found my rhythm. Ben held his hands on my hips, thrusting into me until we were in perfect sync.

  I pictured Gabby fucking him like this. I envisioned Ben in total ecstasy while she rode him. Her holding her nose up high as if she were fucking him out of some sort of charity. Ben reached up and caressed my breasts. I closed my eyes. I worked my ass up and down on his dick, quickening my pace when I heard his breathing quickening and his moans getting louder. I needed reassurance that I could please my man. I wanted to fuck him so good that he’d forget about ever being intimate with her and any other women that came before me.

  Ben slapped my ass. “Damn, baby,” he moaned.

  I needed to see him lose control, to know that I made him reach nirvana like this. I was desperate to see that look of satisfaction in his eyes, but most importantly, I needed to feel powerful. The lack of finding a publisher and my constant battles with Gabby had me feeling powerless and inferior. I needed to feel and believe that Ben wanted me—and only me.

  “Oh, shit, Becky.”

  I felt my own orgasm rising inside me. My body became lost in the moment. “Ahhhh!” I moaned.

  My orgasm snuck up on me. I bucked and shuddered. Ben continued to thrust upward, and I savored the feeling of his dick filling me. I gathered my composure, and he pounded into me, faster and harder. Then he moaned and pinched my nipples.

  We held each other as we came. Ben moved behind me and spooned his body against mine, nuzzling his face into my neck and running his fingertips along the contours of my body.

  “I love you, Becky.”

  “I love you too.”

  I needed that reassurance. My thoughts went to my spat with Gabby, and inspiration hit me. Suddenly, I knew what was missing from my book. I reached for my laptop on top of my dresser.

  “What are you doing?” Ben asked.

  “Today inspired me. I know what will make my story better.”

  I start typing, infusing every new paragraph with the frustration and pain and hatred our relationship dealt with on a daily basis. I wrote about the things we did to combat those factors that tried to pull us apart, and I loved the outcome. I felt like my story was finally complete.

  Chapter 19

  Ben

  Acceptance

  I walked into my parents’ house. Dad was watching that show, The First 48.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “What’s up, son? What brings you around here today?”

  I told him about the incident with Becky and Gabby at Starbucks and how I wanted to talk to Mom about her relationship with Becky.

  “Is Mom home?” I asked.

  “Yeah, she’s outside in the backyard reading one of her favorite novels.”

  “Dad, I gotta ask—how come you aren’t as mad about me being with Becky as Mom is?”

  He took a long breath and exhaled. “Son, I’ve dealt with my fair share of racism, but not like your mother. I lived in New York all my life, where racism wasn’t as prevalent as it was in the South. Your mom grew up in Tennessee during the segregation era. If you know your history, Pulaski, Tennessee, was where the Ku Klux Klan originated. As a kid, your mom witnessed f
amily members and friends get beaten and killed by white people. I was blessed to not have the same negative experiences with white folks as your mom, so my views are somewhat different about it than hers, but no matter how much time has changed and race relations have slightly improved, those memories will always be ingrained in the back of her mind.”

  “I get it, Dad, but how does that help me with showing her that Rebecca is different?”

  “It doesn’t,” he said. “It’s not up to you to show that to your mother. Your mom has to change on her own. She knows you love Becky, and even though she isn’t fond of it, and it may take awhile, she’ll come around. Rebecca has to do her part by continuing to show her love and support to you, and trust me, it will soften your mom’s heart.”

  “How is that fair to Becky or me?”

  “Fair? There’s nothing written in stone that anything in this life has to be fair. Black people in this country have endured troubling times for generations. All our lives, your mother and I had to prove to the world that not all black people are the same, that we aren’t all uneducated, lazy losers. Through hard work and our actions, we show people every day that we’re different. We’ve changed some people’s perspective on us. Some people we haven’t. It feels like a never-ending battle, but that’s life. Rebecca is going to have to endure that same fight with you. If it’s too hard for her, she can take the easy way out and leave you, but if she loves you like you say she does, she’ll be able to handle it.”

  I nodded. “I’m going to talk to Mom and see if I can help speed things up and spark that change in her heart.”

  Dad laughed. “That’s the spirit.”

  I walked into the backyard and saw my mom sitting in the shade on a lounge chair drinking iced tea and reading Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man. I kissed her on the cheek and sat next to her.

  “Hey, Ben. How’s everything going with the case?”

  “I’m struggling, but I’ll fight with whatever I have.”

  “That’s what I like to hear.”

  “While I’m in the fighting spirit, Mom, I need to talk to you about Becky.”

  Mom sighed. “What do you need to say to me about that weak girl?”