The Black Experience Salesman (Part 1)

 

Sept. 28, 2024 

                                  

There was nothing particularly Black about George Jones, and that was a problem.

Because George Jones was a Black man living in Detroit, which happened to be the Blackest big city in America. Which meant (George thought) that if there was any place to be Black as loud as possible, then Detroit should be that place. He had even heard Detroit described as the Black Mecca by some, although he had his doubts about that description. But then, as stated, there was nothing particularly Black about George, so his opinions on the matter didn’t particularly matter.

The way he mispronounced his words, the way he walked, the way he fumbled the handshakes. And Lord, what transpired when he tried to dance…

And it was all so strange, because both of George’s parents were unquestionably Black, and so was his younger brother, Ali, whose name was considerably Blacker than that of his sibling. Anybody could be a George, but Ali was a name that not only implied darker hues, it implied a certain level of consciousness. Which probably explained why Ali, as soon as he entered his later teen years and with the full blessing of his parents, became full throttle militant and joined a full throttle militant organization committed to the Uplift of the People.

“You should join too!” said Ali to George not long after he had made his announcement. Ali had always loved his brother deeply, even if he wasn’t particularly Black, and thought that maybe participating in an organization that was committed to Black Community Uplift might make him feel more like he belonged.

But George just smiled sheepishly as he sat beside his brother on the couch in the living room, staring at the floor through thick glasses. He shook his head.

“I dunno, Ali. I don’t think so. Folks like that usually laugh at me. And that’s all right. I understand. But you go on ahead. You’ll do great.”

“George, you only think folks are laughing at you, but it ain’t true, man. It’s not! You just need to not worry so much about what you think people are thinking and put yourself out there. You’re so smart, George! Mom and Dad are always saying that, and if you could just…”

“You’ll be great, Ali. But it’s just not for me.”

That had been nearly a decade ago, when George and Ali were still kids. Ali had since become a lawyer, lauded as Detroit’s own Johnnie Cochran, while George, now nearly 30, remained stuck working shifts in a warehouse. He and Ali had drifted apart and hadn’t spoken in several years. George still lived in the family house with their father (their mother had passed not long after Ali had joined the community uplift organization), who quietly smiled and nodded at the end of each day when George came home from work on his bike.

“Dad.”

“Son”

And that was the extent of it. Day after day after day of near invisibility. Of being Black While Not Black. Until the day George decided to take a different route home just because maybe there was such a thing as a different route. Maybe taking a different route home might just take him, you know, home.

And that was the day when George met Dr. Lester, standing right there on the corner wearing a perfectly-tailored dark gray suit and flashing a megawatt Colgate smile that beamed like a headlight from a dark chocolate oval-shaped face. He was squeezing the handle of a black leather briefcase in one hand, with the other shoved casually inside his pants pocket.

“Well you finally decided to come my way, I see,” he said as George was pedaling past.

George looked over his shoulder with apparent confusion, then fell off his bike.

“Oh dear,” said Dr. Lester, before breaking out into a fit of laughter. “I see we have some work to do.”