Even Credence fell in love and got married, although I think he secretly wants a medal for falling in love with a Black woman. Our parents were so proud. Now, if I could only abandon my heterosexual tendencies as uninvestigated cultural preconditioning and move in with some sweet college-educated lipstick-lesbian bike mechanic, they could all finally die happy.
I’ve lived with Credence and Annette for almost three months now. At first I thought that because Annette was Black I wasn’t ever supposed to get mad at her. I acted like I was living with an exchange student who spoke English really well.
“Jean-Pierre, what do they call baseball in France?”
“Annette, do you like macaroni and cheese?”
“Daisuke, how is the rebuilding going?”
Credence has a missionary’s belief in community organizing. He says “grass roots” like Bible thumpers say “Jesus.”
Credence and I stopped aWalmart from opening once. It was earlier in the year and it lasted about a minute. Four months of door-to-door organizing, leafleting, town meetings, petitions, land-use hearings, senators, phone calls, cold, free doughnuts, and sermons to the choir in the rain with balloons whipping around our faces in the wind while we chant and people drive by in heated sedans and look confused. Take pictures and send them out to everyone who couldn’t come to the rally. And it worked. For about a minute. It’s hard to do the same thing twice. It’s hard to feel the same way you did, especially when you really want to.We just set them back a couple of months on their timetable. Chipped teeth, flags, crosses, and white sugar.