Prejudice goes both ways. It bubbled up in my veins one lazy afternoon. We were sitting on a park bench, just outside a hostel, when I noticed a black Harley-Davidson moving straight for us. I did not have to know the guy on the bike in order to hate him. He was a formidable picture in black: leather jacket, boots, fingerless gloves, greasy hair and evil eyes. He was the dark soldier of the Hell’s Angels. The only break in this unimaginative monochrome picture was a smattering of silver objects. I grew up with idiots like this and I knew too well what to expect.
But not Charles. When the front tire of the Harley stopped within a micro inch of my knee, Charles whipped out Thed and presented him to the intruder.
“Hi. Meet Thaddeus.”
My heart stopped. The Hell’s Angel lumbered off of his bike then slammed his big black foot against my thigh. His dirty, hairy, fingers pulled up his pant leg and encircled a black handled knife. As he slowly pulled it out of its shaft, he said “Meet EDGAR.”
My God Charles, what have you done? We are going to be killed. I was screaming but no sound spilled into the air. Charles read my eyes and shoved Thed into a pocket. In silence he found a space between me and Edgar, then turned his back, pushing us both towards safety.
The guy was looking for fear and Charles didn’t give it to him. He followed us into the hostel, slicing the cool wet air with Edgar. In a split second of insanity, Charles turned back to him,
“Are you from the States?”
Duh, I thought.
“What part?”
Oh Charles, what are you doing?
“That’s where Bobbe is from.”
Thanks you idiot!
“What brings you to England?” Charles skillfully pulled the guy into conversation.
Edgar is safely tucked away, let’s leave this jerk alone!
But Charles continued on, into the night, talking to this fellow. I knew this guy right down to his stinky socks. I felt no pangs of curiosity. Something thick and twisted began to surface in my gut. Was this interest Charles had for the Hell’s Angel the same interest he had in me – just a strange curiosity, nothing more? Why did I care? Why was I churning inside? I was silent for days, not understanding what was going on inside of me. At least I was unwilling to acknowledge what might be happening to me.
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