Historical Fiction Winner: 2nd Place "Back to the 60's in a Blink"
I didn’t know that “love at first sight” could be true. I had heard others talking about it, but I never expected that it could happen to me. As a young black dude living in the 1960s, during such tough times so full of social and political struggles especially for the minority groups I was part of, the last thing that I wanted was to become enamored, and even less of a white person. That was unsafe in many ways. Once it materialized, though, it resonated in me as strong as Martin Luther King, Jr.’s speech; and I, too, had a dream. It was more than a juvenile fantasy for me. The whole experience was sort of ethereal from the start. At times, I wondered if I had imagined it. But, my emotions were real. After all these years, the pressure, the sadness, and the longing remain in my heart and mind. Back then, I would not have dared telling anyone about it, and I didn’t know if anyone would ever read or hear my story. I was afraid of the consequences not just for myself, but for my mother and my community. I was not ready before. But, I wrote it all down luckily, and thanks to that now I have a tale to tell. I was part of American history without even trying.
Here in the United States, we “negroes,” as we were generally called, were not supposed to mix with whites. It was illegal. Yet, that didn’t stop us from reclaiming justice. We wanted racial discrimination against us to stop. We believed that, as citizens of this country, we deserved equal protection and recognition. And good things were accomplished. The Civil Rights Act of 1964, the Voting Rights Act of 1965, and the Immigration and Nationality Services Act of 1965 for example. In 1964, Martin Luther King, Jr. received the Nobel Peace Prize. Segregation at public schools had been ruled unconstitutional in 1954, with Brown v. Board of Education, when I was in elementary. Despite these achievements, there was tension all over, but mostly in the southern states. So, I grew up in this atmosphere of turmoil, knowing that interacting with white folks would not occur without confrontations. I knew that I had to play it safe. My mother would say, “It’s better to be safe than sorry, Michael.” I should have stuck to her advice. But, I couldn’t resist once I met this beautiful white person. It all took place during the spring of 1967.
The University of Maryland in Baltimore, attempting to appear progressive and current, was running a program to attract ethnic students. To attend, one had to apply and fulfill certain requirements, like being from out of state, having graduated from high school, or being in the last year, with decent grades. Since I met all that criteria, I sent my application and was accepted. The school would cover our stay, food, and related activities. I just had to find a way to get there from where I lived in Ohio. So, I asked my mother. She was so enthusiastic about this opportunity that she offered to drive me herself all the way to my destination in her used and repaired Cadillac. The car, which had been inherited by her from my deceased father, was one of the few possessions that my family had, and my father made sure that we kept it since he had obtained it after working hard at a car shop. My mother viewed this occasion as something that would benefit us both. People of color like us just didn’t get invited to nice places so easily. Instead, we were constantly pushed aside and denied the same privileges as whites. I think my mother was also afraid of sending me alone in Greyhound. Public accommodations for blacks had not been the norm and many negro passengers had been forced to sit in the back of buses, when allowed to go in them at all, and had to give up their seats to whites on demand. Some also carried buckets in their heads as they were not always permitted in public restrooms.
Our ride to Maryland was exciting. My mother drove as confident as when she cooked and baked. Achievement and enthusiasm despite obstacles were her distinguishing values, and she would speak about these at any given chance. When he was alive, my father had also taught me about hard work, merit and reward. Thus, I was thankful and honored for the invitation to attend the student conference. Though, I had no idea who else was going to be there. I didn’t know if anyone from my school or state would be going. The conference was meant to last a whole week and those of us who had been invited could learn about its programs, admission system and financial aid while getting a feel for the campus and dorms and discovering other activities that the city offered. I liked the idea when I first heard about it, but I was still concerned as if predicting something out of the ordinary could come to pass. I didn’t know how I was going to be perceived or treated. Besides, we had been previously warned in the letter of acceptance from the program that we had to behave and abide by all norms or else we would be sanctioned and asked to leave at the least indication of misconduct. The trip enabled me to discuss these concerns with my mother as we sung and hummed some of Nina Simone’s hits. After several hours, we were in Baltimore. The city was amazing, especially the area around the university.
Once in campus, I said good-bye to my mother. She seemed so proud as she drove away, yet a bit teary. Well, a lot. It was the first time that I was away from home since my father had died. I looked at the map that had come with the letter of acceptance so that I could find the check-in area. I felt so out of place standing there with my luggage. Others walking by seemed so confident coming and going about their businesses. Some white students stared at me apprehensively while one of them said: “That must be someone’s helper.” It was so unsettling. I finally found the building that I was supposed to go in, but the door was locked and there was no one around to help me. For a moment, I regretted telling my mother that I was going to be all right and having her go on her way so soon. Suddenly, a guy came out and greeted me. He said to be the leader of the program and invited me to come in so that I could check myself in the list and be assigned a room. He seemed friendly and kempt. His name was Leonardo and had an Italian accent. He smelled like pizza. I got hungry just talking to him. He said that we would have a welcoming dinner later that evening and was working on the details. He assured me that the event was officially taking place, and this helped me to feel more at ease. He warned me that other invited students were barely arriving from different neighboring states, such as Pennsylvania and Virginia. I found that amazing and was hoping to see more students of color so that I didn’t feel too different. He did not mention if anyone else was coming from Ohio, but I was glad to see my name in the list. More than that, I felt included. This was such a novelty. I also saw the name of my assigned roommate: Malachi. I assumed that it would be an ethnic name since I wasn’t sure how to pronounce it. It was intriguing to know that I’d be sharing a room with an unknown person for a whole week nevertheless. I wished that we’d get along so that my experience could be less intimidating.
When I made it to my room, I waited a bit before coming in. I needed to calm myself down before the initial encounter with my roommate. I did not want to appear too confused, cause any stir, or scare this other fella away. I opened the door softly and called in with a shy “hello.” I could only see a person wearing a baseball hat while laying in the high bed, but I could not distinguish physical features, which only made me more nervous. I was thinking that another ethnic dude would eventually get down so that we could introduce each other and start talking to ease the tense moment. In a blink, I saw a handsome, athletic, well-mannered white male jumping off his bed. I was petrified. He looked like an angel. As he shook my hand, I felt like flying over a cloud. I could hear him talking and developing a conversation, but I could not understand any word he was saying. I was mesmerized. It took me a bit to recover, and once I did I tried to hide my true reactions by following the chit-chat. He said to be “from Virginia” and asked where I was coming from. I said, “from Ohio,” and he seemed very intrigued. Something happened to me the day I met him, but I couldn’t articulate it until a couple of days had passed. In his talk, he was very careful to indicate that he was fine meeting people of other racial groups as if trying to help me to feel better acquainted. He even mentioned that he knew some people of color in his state. I felt odd having a talk about race with a white guy. It felt forbidden, but I was enjoying his demeanor, voice, assertiveness and intelligence. He went on to confess that his family was Irish. I wasn’t sure what that meant until he explained that his people had encountered exclusion and stereotype not so long ago and that he still was being affected by the consequences. I just knew that I felt lucky to have him as my roommate. I guess his little lecture helped me to feel more at ease and empathetic toward him. At least he understood what it was to be persecuted because of one’s cultural group. Though, I doubted that he could ever understand what it felt like for an African American person in this country. Then, he started talking about his deep faith in Christ. I felt as if a bucket of cold water had fallen on my head. I’m not a Christian, so I had to play along and listen. I decided that he could be a good friend anyways.
Our conversation lasted for an hour. I was amazed that he had stayed chatting with me all that time. But, he finally decided to go downstairs to the lounge where the dinner would be served and we could meet and greet other participants from the conference. He asked if I was coming. I was so nervous with the whole situation that I needed a moment for myself, so I explained that I’d be coming right after. He seemed intrigued, yet he trusted his stuff would be fine with me there alone and said that he would meet me downstairs. I felt relieved when he was out of the room. Yet, from that moment on, I felt overwhelmed during the entire conference. I wasn’t sure what to do or how to act around Malachi. With each attempt to be evasive, he would find a way to break the ice and engage me in conversations or check on my overall enjoyment. It became a challenge to hide my excitement as I watched him come out from the restroom, after taking a shower, sleeping in his bed across from mine, and preparing for the next day by kneeling to pray as the good Irish Catholic he strived to be. At times, I got so afraid that he or others could detect what was happening to me. Even I couldn’t quite understand it. I was attracted to a white guy in the ‘60s. It just couldn’t get worse than that for me. But it did.
As the conference was reaching its end, I started to feel devastated, thinking that I might not see Malachi again after spending a whole week in his company. I didn’t know that being supported by a white person would come to be so special. I had grown knowing that relationships or friendships like ours just didn’t happen. This had been a once in a lifetime experience, and yet I had not dared to reveal my feelings. The last day of the conference, he was especially kind and attentive to me as if predicting in his own way that I was regretting the farewell. My mother would be arriving at the university soon to pick me up. I did not have any more chances. I had to do something, but what or how? I saw him packing his luggage and then he asked if I needed any help with mine. I was desperate, but I didn’t want to break in front of him. I looked through my things and then found the baseball hat that I had bought at a store on our way to Maryland. In one of our conversations, he had mentioned that he liked this sort of hats and I saw him wearing a few. So, I said: “Hey, I know you like hats, and this is new. I bought it for me and didn’t get to use it, but now I prefer to give it to you.” He seemed pleased and joyful and asked if I was sure. I explained that he had been such a good roommate that I needed to show appreciation in some form. He said: “Now I’m going to feel like I have to give you something.” So, I replied: “You’ve already given me enough just being nice to me.” Then, I thought that I needed to keep in touch with him somehow. So, I asked if he would write down his name and address in my notebook in case we could meet again if I ever happened to visit the state of Virginia. He accepted and wrote it down for me.
As we went out of the building, my mother was waiting for me. She asked if I was all right as if noticing my sadness. Malachi was wearing the hat that I gave him as he headed down the street towards the bus terminal. I asked my mother if we could give him a ride. She hesitated a bit, but then she accepted. I rolled down my window and shouted with all my heart: “Malachi! You need a ride”? He smiled, run toward our car, and got in. That was one of the most special moments in my life. A white person was riding in our car, but not just anyone, someone important to me; and yet I couldn’t verbalize it. We were both silent on our way to the terminal somehow. Malachi was sitting right behind me. He even touched my shoulder a little bit unintendedly perhaps. My mother asked where he was traveling to, and he name his home state. Then, my mother asked if he was aware that the Loving v. Virginia case was hoped to be decided next month. It turned out that he knew more about politics than I had imagined. So, my mother and he held an interesting conversation. When we made it to the bus station, we noticed that his bus was about to leave, so there wasn’t much time to do any more. I really would’ve liked to come out and give him a big hug, but I didn’t dare. He did give me a strong and caring handshake though, and said: “Michael, whenever you happen to visit Virginia, look for me. You got my address.” And then, he left. I couldn’t stop crying on my way to Ohio. My mother was respectful and gave me my space without pressing with questions. I knew that I had to see him again. This could not be the end of our story. I had a premonition that life would be kind and let us spend time together again. Our story could not be over. And if all odds were in our favor, the Supreme Court would invalidate laws prohibiting interracial marriage, which would also ease tensions in all interracial relationships and friendships, even ours. I could not believe what I was about to do, but I prayed that this could happen.
