Black Sky, Bitter Wind
Hitchhike
It was gloomy the next day, synonymous with my disposition. After
taking the bus to the end of the line, when I got
off, a Louisiana flash flood fell out of the sky. I managed to take
cover in a grocery store. It didn't last long, but it left enough
water to make it look like an all night rain. After that, I started
hitchhiking back to Michigan, and the dude who picked me up dropped
me off smack dab in the middle of bayou country.
Surprisingly, standing on the road in the middle of the swamp
cheered me up. The swamp was overflowing with water, making bayou
country a beautiful sight to behold. The peace and quiet of the
swamp made it easy for me to understand how the stereotypical image
of the slow moving, slow thinking, black man came to be. There was a
strong sense of "If it doesn't get done today, it's no big deal, and
if `whitey' or anybody else doesn't like it, I'll just go back into
the swamp and forget it all." No doubt about it, bayou country
would be the perfect place for a fatalist to set up housekeeping.
Unfortunately, I didn't have long to soak up the atmosphere because
two black dudes picked me up. If I had listened to them I probably
would have had better luck hitchhiking. When I was dropped off
somewhere in Mississippi, they told me to stay on the country roads.
They said, "Country folk pick you up, not the people traveling the
expressway." But my experience taught me to stay on the main
highway, so I stood out on the barely traveled expressway for three
hours, and than I backtracked to the country road where the black
dudes told me I would have better luck. It took me a while before I
could put their advice to the test because as soon as I reached the
road the sky turned black and the cold wind picked up (an
uncomfortable reminder that it was still winter in the south). I
took shelter from the rain under a parked earthmover. I was
beginning to have visions of having to sleep under the earthmover
when the rain let up and I managed to catch another ride.
At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I can only describe my
compatriot (the driver of the car) as a bigoted, male chauvinistic
pig. I tried to avoid talking politics, so I sat quietly and
listened while the jackass solved all the world's problems. By the
time we reached Jackson, Mississippi, he had the niggers shipped
back to Timbuktu, the Jews put in concentration camps, and welfare
recipients put on the chain gang. It wasn't as if I hadn't heard
these things before, but this guy just rubbed me the wrong way.
Being wet, tired, and hungry probably had something to do with why I
hated this guy too. Saying good-by to "my savior" was a joy. With
that dude in my past, I was left to wander the streets of Jackson,
Mississippi.
I really didn't want to get back on the highway. The daylight was
gone and so was my energy. I had some money left, so I decided to
buy a bus ticket back to Michigan. I was looking for the bus station
when I met this guy getting into his car. He started talking about
the nasty weather and one thing led to another until I found myself
accepting an offer to crash at his place for the night. I was
surprised to find he lived in a large house in the middle of a fancy
neighborhood. Ed's roommates and his Grand Champion cat greeted us
at the door. Once inside, I found his expensive furnishings and fine
art collection a pleasing sight to behold.
Both of Ed's roommates were friendly. When we were drinking beer
together, however, I could feel a little tension coming from the
older roommate. I thought all along Ed might be gay, but so far
there was nothing to confirm my suspicions. By the second beer, the
four of us were talking as if we had known each other for years.
When Ed's roommates excused themselves, I found out I was sleeping
with Ed. By that time, I pretty much knew what was going on. I
suppose I could have said I would sleep on the couch, but I decided
to postpone the embarrassment until the last minute.
When I got in bed and started to go to sleep, Ed asked if he could
rub my back. I didn't respond. When it came time to object, I
didn't. I consented because I was not going to let society tell me what I
could or could not do, in the privacy of my own home, or in this
case, Ed's bedroom. Ed didn't take advantage of me, he took
advantage of the situation and I let him, not because I was giving
in to my hidden desires, but because, at the time, it seemed like
the right thing to do.
When I went home with Ed, I thought it would be for one night only,
but Ed invited me to stay, and when I accepted, it was understood
that I would be sleeping on the couch from then on. The next couple
of days I became a privileged tourist in Jackson, Mississippi. Ed
and his roommate escorted me around town in their luxury automobile.
As it turned out, Ed's older roommate, so to speak, was Ed's wife.
The two of them had an open marriage, and took in the kid because he
needed a place to stay. The kid was okay with the gay relationship,
as long as he was left out of it. Ed owned a picture frame business
that was apparently successful because they shipped custom picture
frames all over the world. The three of us toured the university,
the medical complex, parks, and the exclusive section of town, which
by the way, was where Ed's parents lived. Before it was all over, Ed
offered me a job and said I could stay at his place for as long as I
wanted. I was tempted, but I'm not stupid. I knew that kind of
relationship would explode in the end. When it was time to say good-
by, I thanked him for all the hospitality, real southern
hospitality, and he dropped me off at the expressway.
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