Our history isn't written in our DNA

 They were on opposite sides of the barricade, but it was like looking into a mirror - except for the color of their skin. The angry black man had been shouting obscenities as John approached and stopped mid-insult. John could see by the look on the man’s face he saw the resemblance too.

   They both took a moment to examine one another. Slim, elegant eyebrows curved graciously over dark brown eyes. So dark they were practically black. A wide eggplant-shaped nose hovered over lascivious lips that women seemed to find attractive. Their cheekbones were high, and their faces were not quite square. John’s afro was higher.

   It was uncanny, and unnerving. The black man seemed slightly brawnier, definitely angrier.

   John took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Hey. I’m not with the police and I’m not a politician. Third floor, state agricultural department. I’m an analyst. Can I get through? I’d really like to grab a beer and head home.”

   An even angrier man jumped in. “We ain’t letting nobody through till those fuckin’ assassins admit they killed an innocent man and arrest the mother fucker who did it. They protecting him. Ya’ll part of the system.”

   John studied his new interlocutor. He was tall, like a basketball player, with skin darker than a moonless night, and enormous white teeth that flashed as he spoke. This guy could rip me to shreds.

    “Look. What happened to that boy.”

   The black man, John’s doppelganger, intervened. John sensed a hint of confusion in his voice. “His name was Jerome. Jerome Tibbins.”

   John understood. He had spent many a night in front of the mirror, trying to convince himself something had to change. He could work with that. He focused on his double. “Sorry. I tend to tune news about death out. What happened to Jerome was atrocious.”

   A woman’s voice barged into the conversation. “You see! You part of the problem too. All you white assholes just stick your head in the sand!”

   John assessed the woman. She was in her mid-thirties, heavyset, beaded cornrows, and chocolate-brown skin. It reminded him of the leather armchairs in his living room. In fact, his entire house was done in brown tones. He found the color soothing.

   A police officer in full anti-riot gear stepped forward. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to go back into the building.”

   This brought a barrage of insults from the crowd as they pressed against the barricade and several more officers rushed forward raising their shields to push the crowd back. John found himself in the middle, flattened against his black twin.

   “I’m sorry man. This kind of thing shouldn’t happen in America.”

   “I hear you, but you see how they treat us. Trying to beat us back, like lion tamers. They think we’re the animals because we won’t put up with their shit nomore.”

   John felt a large hand grab him by the back of his shirt and pull him back. Before he knew it he was behind the police line. This made him angry. It was still a free country. Besides, the heat was starting to feel uncomfortable. Eighty-two degrees and seventy percent humidity at six p.m. There was no way this crowd would disperse before nightfall.

   He refused to go back inside as the police pushed the crowd back. The shouting and insults continued. John thought he and his doppelganger now had a connection, at least the guy’s eyes kept finding his between insults. This was ridiculous.

   John strode over to the nearest officer, “Officer, you can’t keep me here, can you?”

   “Sir, we can if we think you are putting your safety and the safety of others at risk.”

   “If I find someone who will let me pass, can I leave? I gotta get home. My mother’s an invalid and needs her medication and the day nurse won’t do overtime.” John was lying. His mother had passed last year.

     Before the officer could reply, a deafening roar rose from the masses, which seemed to be surging toward the left. The air was electric. John strained his neck to see what had caused this sudden alteration in the atmosphere. On the steps to the state building, John could see a man in a suit approach a podium. When had that been set up? The man spoke into a microphone.

   “At six-twenty-nine this evening, officer Joseph Frank McCullen was arrested and suspended from the police force pending trial for the murder of Jerome Louis Tibbins. I would like to remind everyone present that in this country a man is presumed innocent until proven guilty. The delay in this arrest was due to the need to review the evidence and interview the eye-witnesses. Our investigations have uncovered sufficient evidence for a trial and Officer McCullen will be tried in a court of law. I invite you, as law abiding citizens to go home. Justice will be done. God Bless America.”

   The reaction of the crowd was like the sea in a storm. Thrashing waves of joy, surged against hostility and anger with backwashes of relief. John searched for his doppelganger. He was hugging the heavy-set woman.

   On impulse John walked over to them. “Hey, can I buy you a beer. I think we could all use one.”

   The man stared at him long and hard before speaking. “Never had drinks with a whitey, but yeah.”

   “Great. There’s a TGIF’s around the corner.”

   John and his doppelganger wove their way through the crowds. John kept close as his new friend navigated the rough currents. “It’s cool, he’s a brother. He’s with me.”

   By the time they made it to the bar John was ready to buy the guy the whole fucking bar. He sank blissfully into the booth as the man slide in on the opposite side.

   “Hi, I’m Suzy and I’ll be serving you tonight. The manger has extended happy hour an extra hour so you’re in luck. Drinks are five dollars each and that does include nibblings. If you want something more substantial our menu is on the table. Are you ready to order?” Suzy was a perky little thing, probably in her twenties, oriental.

   “I’ll have a beer, whatever you have on tap,” said John.

   “Same.”

   “All right. I’ll be right back with those.”

   When Suzy had gone both men leaned back against the leather to rest their heads. The man rubbed his face and head as if he could wipe away the fatigue of the day.

   “I’m John by the way.”

   “Malcom”

   “I feel like we should know each other. It’s been bothering me all evening.”

   “Yeah. I got the same feeling when I saw you too, but I don’t think we do.”

   Suzy came back with their drinks and the two men downed half the glass in a single gulp. It felt so good. There was nothing like a beer, or half a dozen, to forget the stress of the day. He raised his hand to catch Suzy’s attention.

   “Suzy, bring another round.”

   “Sure, but we do have a limit of six. After that, they’re full price.”

   John smiled. “Let’s worry about that when we get to six.”

   “Ok. I’ll be back in a moment with your second round. Enjoy!”

   The two men looked at each other and chuckled shaking their heads.

   “Six beers and I’m floating home,” said Malcom.

   “It wouldn’t be the first time for me. So, where did you grow up?”

   “South Carolina, you?”

   “Chicago. What about college?”

   “I didn’t go to college, but I got an accounting degree, worked my way up. I’m senior controller at Roth’s here in the city. That’s why I moved to Springfield. What about you?”

   “I got my degree at Berkley. Statistics. Moved to Springfield to be closer to my folks. I’m an analyst.”

   “Agricultural department, right?”

   “Yep. I spend my days looking at numbers measuring urban impact on farming. It’s pretty fucked up. So, we can rule out schools. I never went to summer camp. What about here in the city? Gyms, clubs, favorite bar?”

   “Naw, none of that. I have a gym in my basement, and I don’t get out much. Just got divorced. Any free time I have I spend with my kids. You?”

   “Never been married.” It was too early in the evening to tell him he was gay.

   “Smart man.”

   “Maybe. Just never met the right person. Did you know Jerome?”

   The man started and a look of pain crossed his face, “No, but my daughter is sixteen. That’s only a year younger than Jerome. What if it had been her? What if she had been dating him. Every time she goes out with her friends, my wife and I panic. We try not to let it show, but…” his voice trailed off.

   “I’m not even going to pretend to know what that feels like, must be a nightmare.”

   “Nightmare doesn’t even come close.”

   “That’s rough.”

   “Yeah, but what you going to do. Racism is real.”

   John wasn’t racist. In fact, he was pretty sure he was color blind. He didn’t even like the term black. He had been with several colored men, and each had been a variation of brown. Malcom was light brown, like the finish on John’s cherrywood desk. He still could not get over the likeness.

   “You know, if it weren’t for the color of our skin, you and I could be brothers.”

   “Sorry man, my mom and dad are still together, thirty years come November, and I look too much like him to think my mom ever cheated on him.”

   “You got a picture of him?”

   “Yeah, wait a minute. I must have one on my phone.”

   While Malcom was pulling out his phone Suzy popped over with round three. John smiled.

   “Thanks Suzy.”

   “No problem. You guys sure are thirsty.”

   “Got caught up in the riot.”

   “Oh yeah. I wanted to protest too, but I couldn’t get out of my shift.”

   Malcom had found the picture he was looking for. “Here it is. This is my mom and dad. It was taken last summer. Those are my girls.”

   John nearly dropped the phone. He set Malcom’s phone on the table and began rummaging for his. “You are not going to believe this. Give me a second.”

   He was so excited he could hardly get his phone out of his pocket. He began scrolling through his pictures until he found the one he had been looking for and thrust the phone towards Malcom, “This is my dad.”

   Malcom had to look twice. He took the phone. “No way!”

   He kept looking, zooming in to see each feature. There was no denying he was looking at a white version of his father. “What the…”

   “I know. There has got to be an explanation. What’s your last name?”

   “Haines.”

   “No fucking way!” John exclaimed, raising his voice and drawing the attention of surrounding tables.

   “What?”

   John could barely keep to his seat. “My last name is Haines too.”

   Malcom was stunned. “Ok. That’s not a coincidence. What the hell.”

   “Maybe they were brothers,” said John leaning across the table.

   “No. My dad was an only child.”

   “How can you be sure?” asked John.

   “Because my grandmother would never have given one of her children away! You know white people aren’t the only ones with moral standards.”

   His voice brooked no contention, but maybe there was another explanation.

   “Malcom. What if,” - he took a deep breath - “what if there was ‘a nigger in the woodpile’?”

   Malcom blanched, or rather, turned an impressive shade of grey. The implication of John’s words was so repulsive that he bodily rejected the idea. A nigger in the woodpile conjured acts of abhorrent violence. A violation of all things decent. Even John found the concept revolting.

   “Do you know your roots? I’m pretty sure my mother had a family tree done. Her stuff is still in storage. I know my dad’s family went back as far as the Mayflower.”

   John picked up his phone and opened the picture back up to show Malcom. “It’s not impossible. Look at him.”

    In the picture John’s dad appears tan, but the more John thought about it; the picture was taken in winter. Sometimes the truth is so visceral it grips your core. He and Malcom were related. “We could do one of those DNA ancestry tests.”

   Malcom looked skeptical. “Why waste the money?”

   “We could be cousins.”

    “Yeah, there’s no way I’m cousins with a honky like you.”

   “Listen. My dad died when I was twenty, and my mom passed away last year. I don’t have any family. Even if you never wanted to have anything to do with me, just knowing there’s someone out there...what have you got to lose?”

   “I don’t want to be white.”

   “Well, your skin is not going to suddenly change color, unless you’re related to Michael Jackson.”

   Malcom grimaced amused. Suzy appeared. “You guys ready for a fourth round?”

   “Naw. I think I’m good,” said Malcom.

   “Yeah, no I’m good too. Thanks Suzy.”

   “Sweet. I’ll close the tab. You can pay whenever you like. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

   The two men sat in contemplative silence, lost in that pleasant torpor that three beers can induce. Finally, Malcom stirred.

   “I gotta head home. It’s getting late.”

   John hid his disappointment. He wasn’t ready to go home. He wondered if Malcom ever felt lonely now that he was on his own. Maybe he had a girlfriend. Although John had the impression that Malcom was still in love with his ex. John could relate.

   They slid out of the booth and sauntered over to the bar. John got there first. “It’s on me.”

   “No man. I can pay for my own drinks.”

   “Naw. If we ever do this again, you can pick up the tab.”

   “Thanks man.”

   “No sweat.”

   John handed his debit card to the paunchy phlegmatic man behind the cash register. “Listen Malcom, I’d like to give you my number. You know, just in case you change your mind about the DNA test. You can always cancel it from your phone, but it will make me feel like less of a white asshole if you take it.”

   “You want me to make you feel better about being white?”

   John could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, “Forget it. I didn’t mean it that way.”

   Malcom snickered, “Man, I’m just messing with you. Here. Give me your number. I owe you another round of drinks.”

   John took the phone, swiftly typed in his number and handed it back to Malcom. “There you go. Let’s not wait until another riot to get together.”

   “I hear you. I’m not going to change my mind about the DNA test, but I might call you the next time I’m in this part of town.”

   John smiled. Malcom was a cooler, sexier version of himself. He was even straight. Well, nobody is perfect. Outside the city had returned to normal. They leaned into a bro hug and said their good-byes. John was only a few blocks from home. Malcom’s car was in the other direction. John resisted the urge to watch him walk away.

   Fifteen minutes later, John entered his apartment and looked around. Something felt different. The leather armchairs he had inherited from his mother were in their usual place by the electric fireplace. His L-shaped couch with its oversized cushions beckoned from the center of the room. The television silently awaited his commands. Beyond the living room, the dining area was deserted. The kitchen remained hidden behind a partition, ashamed to remind him that he hadn’t done any shopping.

   He pulled out his phone and ordered dinner from his favorite Thai place. The app said dinner would be delivered in thirty-five minutes. That was just enough time for a quick shower.

   The water felt divine. He closed his eyes and put his head under the running water. God, sometimes taking a shower was better than sex. He could feel himself grow hard. He decided to lean into it and massaged himself until he came. Jason had destroyed him, but maybe it was time he put himself back out there.

   He cleaned his mess, finished washing, and stepped out of the shower. He dried himself off and threw on his kaftan, a souvenir from his trip to Morocco with Jason two summers ago. He caught sight of his reflection in the steamy mirror and for the first time in ages, he didn’t cringe.

   The doorbell rang. He went down to pick up his food. They charged extra to bring it to his door. Back in his apartment, he took the food to the kitchen and put it on a plate. His mother had always insisted on plates, even for pizza. He had eaten out of boxes for weeks after Jason left him, but he wasn’t going to do that anymore.

   He took his plate to the living room and turned on the tv. The noise made him feel less alone. And that was when it hit him. The loneliness had vanished. It didn’t make any sense. Malcom was a complete stranger. He would probably never call again, and without a DNA test John could never prove that they were related.

As he zapped through the channels John relived his discussion with Malcom. He didn’t really care whether they were related. Malcom had shown John he could connect with another human being. Maybe Jason hadn’t broken him completely, or perhaps John had finally mended.

   The news came on. Usually, he changed the channel. But tonight, he watched the scenes of the riot through different eyes. The inequity of it all struck him forcibly. He fervently hoped it would never happen again, but if it did, he knew which side of the barricade he would be on.

   His phone buzzed. He didn’t recognize the number, but the message said. “Ok honky. Let’s do the DNA. Your cousin, Malcom.”

   John smiled.