A satirical short fiction based off of friends in my quirky little community. I'm so thankful to have Steemit as an outlet, and thank you for reading. Enjoy, and aloha!
As the bus stopped in front of the 7/11 in the heart of Pahoa, he couldn’t believe it. Of all the Punatics to be leaning against the wall of Sirius Coffee, rolling some tobacco he’d probably purchased around the corner at the Irie Smoke Shop, sure as shinola is a real word, it was Sherman. Timing was everything, a synchronicity most fortuitous, he thought.
Joe stepped off the bus, casually observing a barefoot red faced wino sitting against the wall. Bloodshot eyes and a vacant stare complemented the 40 oz. bottle cradled in his lap. Swaddled in brown paper, he cherished the bottle like a little glass baby. Joe pictured the wino’s defeated look if the cops should happen to drive up. Unsympathetic, they’d surely take his baby if he didn’t make more of an effort to conceal it.
“Yo, Sherman!” Joe called out, as he crossed over. “You’re never gonna believe what happened to me today. Would you be willing to come to the Hilo campus with me next week to clear up some shit?”
They fist bumped, Sherman nodding obliviously to the question until he paused and asked, “Wait, what are you asking me?”
“This girl in my class, a Lakota tribal member, told me to take off the necklace you made me cause I’m a white boy.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Sherman dismissed. “I’m 100% Blackfoot. Did you tell her I made it for you?”
“Yeah, but she wasn’t listening,” Joe explained. “I was trying to tell her about how you were raised on the res, but she wasn’t hearing a word of it. Said that nothing I could say would excuse me because I’m a nonnative and should have some respect.”
“A bit uptight,” Sherman reflected, nonplussed. “Did you tell her that the feather was from a white owl on this island? It’s not from a hawk or some mainland bird. Someone hit it down toward Kapoho, roadkill.”
“She wasn’t upset by the feather,” Joe clarified, brushing his finger down the feather’s length as he spoke.
“It’s the beadwork she didn’t like. In her opinion, for me to be wearing beads like these is cultural appropriation.”
“Buzzword of the year, for 100 points!” Sherman declared, shuddering as if tazed. After he finished a dramatic pantomime of being buzzed, he handed Joe a cigarette he’d just finished rolling.
“No thanks man, I’m trying to quit.”
“It’s organic,” Sherman encouraged, still holding it out.
“Wow, organic death, how wonderful. I’m all set.”
Sherman shrugged, sparked it up and took a contended drag. After exhaling a pungent ghost, he said, “Well, inhaling this tobacco is appropriating from you white devils.”
“A terrible appropriation. Don’t do it,” Joe admonished. “I might still hit a vape pen, but no more smoke for me."
“So, back to this Lakota girl... don’t tell me you took off my necklace.”
“Of course I took it off,” Joe readily confessed. “What was I supposed to do?”
“You took it off? But you’re wearing it now.”
“Yeah, I put it back on on the bus,” Joe said, sheepish. Sherman rolled his eyes.
Joe’s next words were pleading, a tone that Sherman didn’t care for as he said, “Come on, brah, just come to class next week. I’ll buy you lunch.”
“I’m not about to take an hour bus ride and show up on campus as your show-and-tell tribal member, brah, sorry,” Sherman said.
Joe shook his head. “It ain’t like that. I just think that the Lakota girl would listen to you. Besides, she was a dime piece, her cheekbones, I’m telling you, brah. Mean to me, but I’m white. If she saw you, I’m sure she would turn three shades redder.”
“Racist much?”
“No, it’s not like that… well, maybe it is. Red skin and blushing, is that racist? Either way, I’m willing to bet that she’d be into you.”
“I’m not going,” Sherman said, his tone firm. “You shouldn’t assume anything about who this girl would and wouldn’t date. That’s racist as it gets, brah. But I’ll tell you why I’m not going. First, I don’t wanna show up as your token Indian friend, and secondly, I’m not interested in fighting this battle for you. Show up like I’m a spokesman for my tribe. The whole conversation is convoluted, so no thanks. And third, that Lakota girl… cute or not, sounds like a bitch.”
“Well, she was a bitch to me,” Joe permitted, “but she had her reasons.”
“That beadwork is from my family line in Montana,” Sherman said. For the first time, Joe detected a glint of passion, a spark of rising ire in his friend's eye. “If I caught her wearing your necklace, I’d say she was the one appropriating from my family. I gave that necklace to you, because you're family.”
“Thanks, brah.”
“You know it.” Again, they fist bumped. “But you need to learn to stand up for yourself,” Sherman said, almost paternally. “You shouldn’t be submitting to anyone that tells you what you can and can’t wear. Fascist brah, you shouldn’t have taken it off.”
“Easy for you to say,” Joe said. “Try being white.”
“Oh, I’m sure you have it so hard,” Sherman scoffed. “Seriously?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. White privilege is real. Well, it’s real anywhere in America but Hilo University. Upside down crazy town--I swear, you should come to campus just to listen to the spin. The class with the Lakota girl is called ‘The Sociology of Race and Ethnicity’, and if there’s one thing we’re learning, it’s how evil white people were.”
“Still are,” Sherman amended.
“Believe me, I know. Redlining and institutional racism. The glass ceiling and the one percent. And then there’s always the corporate environmental… something or another. Slash and burn it to the ground. Go white man.”
Sherman chuckled. “That said, don’t be letting that Lakota girl bully you. It’s not like you’re wearing a swastika or some white pride nonsense. You need to set her straight. Say that it’s a gift from your Blackfoot soul brother.”
“Thanks for the inclusion, brah,” Joe said. Then he frowned as he thought about the prospect of wearing the necklace again. “Sherman, you gotta understand that without knowing where it came from, a lot of native people will get triggered if--”
“Ding, ding, ding!” Sherman cut in. “Another buzzword, for 200 points!” Joe smiled as Sherman jolted, buzzed again.
“I like the word trigger,” Joe considered. “It’s a good buzzword, probably less than a decade old now, yeah?”
“Don’t tell me you like the word trigger,” Sherman lamented. “What is ‘triggered’ supposed to look like? If you say you’re upset, I get it, but triggers are on guns and things that go boom. Are you saying that you’re gonna explode when your triggered?”
“Probably.”
“Not me. Live and let live. Agree to disagree.”
“Brah, seriously? You grew up on the res. Your people were almost annihilated with smallpox blankets, driven out of their homeland and forced to dwell on windswept wastelands. So live and let live isn’t exactly the motto of the--”
“Stop!” Sherman commanded. “Look around, brah.” Sherman’s eyes lit up, and he indicated the sky, the ground, the bum sitting to his left. “We’re in Hawaii. This is paradise.” It was rather pleasant. The afternoon was neither too hot or cool. Perfect, Joe realized.
“Paradise, indeed,” he affirmed.
“But then take a good look at the two us.” Sherman bent in toward Joe, whispering, “Now we’re the invaders. You and me.” He leaned back with a knowing gleam in his eye. Joe frowned in incomprehension, so Sherman continued, “I’m from podunk Montana. Nothing but a convenient store and dead grass on the roadside on the res, but I escaped. Same as you. Both of us flew out of Seatac airport, right?” With his hand, Sherman puppeted a plane flying across the pacific, landing with a clap on his opposite palm. “What would you think of either one of us if you were Hawaiian?”
“Wait, don’t Hawaiians and Native Americans get along? Both of you have been under the thumb of--”
“I’m not under the white man’s thumb, brah,” Sherman protested. “Don’t go and say something like that.”
“Not you, but… well, you were born on the res, so yeah, you. White man’s thumb, the res, same difference.” Joe raised his eyebrows.
Sherman conceded with a shrug. “Born under it, maybe, but I escaped.” Sherman nodded to himself.
“Anyways, back to your Lakota girl troubles. This is what we’re gonna do. I’ll let you take a video of me explaining everything about the necklace. I’ll say where I’m from, who I am, and you can show that to your class, or that Lakota girl--whatever.”
“Brah, that’s it!”
After a few minutes of deliberation, they decided to head over to the community center. Under the monkey pod trees the lighting would be more evenly distributed, and there would be less traffic noise to gum up the audio. As they walked passed the wino, Joe observed that his feet were both black with street grime. The wino nursed his baby as it nursed him, no cops in sight.
“Anytime brah,” Sherman said. They were under the monkey pod canopy, and Sherman had Joe's necklace laying across his forearm. Holding his phone, Joe was grinning as he tapped record. Sherman first pointed out the beads, their colors and what the pattern represented. Then he spoke about the method his grandmother had taught his mother and how the tradition was passed down to him, etc. He was articulate, concise, and all was going better than Joe could have hoped for.
“And Joe is my brother,” Sherman was saying as he looked up into the lens of the phone's camera, “and anyone that doesn’t like him wearing my necklace should go fuck themselves.”
“Cut!” Joe barked. “We need to do it again, you can’t say that.”
Sherman held his hand up for the phone. “Let me see it.”
“No, let’s do another take where you don’t tell people to go fuck themselves. That was perfect up until you said that.”
“You can always edit the ending out if you don’t like it,” Sherman said and snapped his fingers. “Let me take a look.”
“One more take, come on, brah.”
“That’s a wrap,” Sherman said. “That’s my opinion, take it or leave it.” Joe heaved a deep sigh and relinquished the phone.
“Perfect,” Sherman proclaimed when he’d finished watching the thirty second video clip. “Now anyone else who tells you to take off my necklace, you can play them that.”
“Thanks brotha,” Joe said.
“One tribe,” Sherman said, as he passed the necklace over to Joe.
“One love,” Joe said, slipping it around his neck.
“That’s Bob Marley appropriation. Better watch yourself. You can say that today, but times they are a changin.”
“That's Bob Dylan appropriation, check yourself.”
“Now you’re getting it, brah. Let’s go eat some tacos.”