Being Keith

Ethics be damned, Mara was going to do whatever it took to change minds. Mathematic rigor, scientific evidence, even repeated verification by experiment, none of these convince as well as personal experience. It was the quest to make the experience of one person available to others that led to the device in front of her.

The real question, of course, was how well the device would translate the experience of her thirty subjects for the wearer of the halo. She’d try it herself, but she was already fitted with the prototype for the other half of the equation: an implanted interface that translated the signals of the brain to electrical impulses transmitted wirelessly to a receiver.

Mara smoothed her lab coat, her light brown fingers with bright red polish contrasting with its stark white. Her first subject was coming in; a fifty-three-year-old male with a highly conservative upbringing.

“Good afternoon,” Mara said, “please have a seat.”

He nodded. “Ma’am.”

“Just so we’re clear, when we place the halo over your head, you are going to experience what someone else is experiencing, in real time.”

The man shrugged. “As long as I get paid,” he said, “I can sit through almost anything.”

Mara smiled and placed the halo on his head. “Here we go.”

“When does it…oh!” His eyes closed and from the outside it looked like he was in REM sleep.

While he was under, Mara went over the questionnaire he’d filled out the day before. She wondered which of the subjects he’d be linked with. Every one of them was different, and there were no guarantees that any specific one was compatible with the person wearing the halo.

#

“Fuck you, faggot!” The two white men, one wearing a Confederate flag tee and the other sporting a collection of white supremacist tattoos, jeered at him.

Keith’s heart raced. He knew he wasn’t safe here, or anywhere really. This neighborhood was primarily black, like himself, but even his neighbors wouldn’t lift a finger to help. Being black in America was hard, and even harder when you’re openly gay.

The litany of abuse he’d encountered growing up played in the back of his mind. He was trying to determine the best course of action. It would probably be best if he rushed past them into the store. At least inside they weren’t likely to assault him physically.

As he headed for the relative safety of the store, the men moved to block him. That’s when another man stepped out the door of the store drinking a can of soda. Without hesitation he stepped between them. “What is your major malfunction?”

“Stay out of this,” the one with the tattoos said, “this is between us and the fag nigger.”

“I see,” the man said. “You’re just fucking morons.” He dropped the soda he’d been drinking and pointed at them. “This is your one warning. Walk away now.”

The tattooed man took a swing at him. He ducked out of the way and followed with a uppercut that knocked tattoo on his rear. Flag tee grabbed him, and in a well-practiced move, he reversed the hold and threw flag tee to the ground. “I said, walk away.”

Keith used the commotion to rush into the store. He felt awful for leaving the man to take care of them on his own but knew what would happen if police were to show up with him fighting a white man. Hell, any time police show up it’s bad for a brother.

Keith stood by the rack of carts inside the door, trying to stop the shaking, when the man came back in the store. He was tall, at least six feet, with sharp features, his skin sun-touched and peachy, with medium-blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and well-defined muscles Keith hadn’t noticed at first.

He placed a gentle hand on Keith’s shoulder. “You okay?” he asked.

“I—thanks. I think I might be, now.” The man’s smell was intoxicating. Keith wanted nothing more than to hold the man, and let passion take them. He pushed the thought away as hard as he could. Acting on impulse like that had gotten him beaten once in high school, and he had no desire to repeat that.

“Listen, those idiots are sitting out there in their truck. How about I accompany you while you shop and make sure you get out of here safely?”

“Y—you’d do that for me?” Keith asked. “You aren’t afraid of what people will say when they see you with me?”

“Hell, no. Fuck them.” He laughed and offered his hand to shake. “I’m David.”

Keith shook his hand, being mindful to be “manly” about it. Firm grip, don’t hold it too long, god he smells good…don’t be creepy. “I—I’m Keith. How did you learn to fight like that?”

“Nice to meet you, Keith.” David gestured for Keith to head into the store proper. “I’m an amateur MMA fighter and I teach at the dojo over on 12th.”

“Why did you help me?” Keith asked. “Not too many white dudes will stop to help a brother. Hell, not too many brothers will help a gay brother.”

“I could try to sound all perfect and say that I’m just a really good guy,” he said with a shrug, “but you deserve the truth. My little brother’s gay, and I’ve had to protect him from bullies all his life, including our own father.”

Keith knew all too well how that was. His own father had disowned him and kicked him out at sixteen when he came out. He didn’t know how many times he’d wished his father was right, that it was a “choice,” or a “phase.” When he was younger, he’d have given almost anything to be “normal.”

“As for the racist bullshit,” David said, “there’s nothing that shows ignorance faster than that. If I thought I was better than someone because of the color of their skin, I’d be dead in the ring in no time.”

They made their way through the store, Keith grabbing essentials, and finding out more about each other, with David dropping not so subtle hints about Keith meeting his brother. Finally, David invited him for a barbecue on the weekend.

“You really want me to meet your brother,” he said. “Why is that?”

“You have it backwards,” David said. “I want him to meet you. His taste in men is…not the greatest.”

“Well, meeting your brother is the least I can do to repay you. I can’t guarantee anything, though.”

“Fair enough.”

#

Mara watched the man as tears ran down his face. Time was running out, but the signal remained strong and steady.

He came out of it with a gasp and wiped his face. He took a deep breath and looked at his surroundings, then his hands, which shook.

“Take your time,” Mara said. “Coming back can be a little disorienting. Can you tell me who you were linked with?”

“I was…Keith Meadows.” He shook his head. “I mean, it felt like I was him. The memories, the men, they were going to—.” He took another deep breath and blew it out. “My…his whole life, and he never gives up. He’s so strong. I could never….”

Mara helped him up and led him to the out-processing room where he would get snacks to help him reconnect with himself, and a follow-up questionnaire.

After he had left, Mara called up his questionnaire to compare the before and after answers. The initial findings were promising. Where before he’d thought racism was a limited problem, he now saw it as a systemic issue. He no longer considered homosexuality as something perverse or unnatural, but just the way some people were born.

His exit interview included the strongest indication of why this program might work.

Eyes red from crying, and still sniffling, he looked into the camera. “Until I was Keith, I had no idea just how deep racism in this country goes. It’s not just the loud jerks like the two who attacked him, but the entire system. And without being a man feeling an attraction for another man, it’s hard to imagine that being ‘normal’ or the default. Living it and knowing that it’s who I am to the core made it clear, even though it wasn’t really me. There’s a part of me that still has a crush on my rescuer, David. I mean, Keith’s rescuer. If you told me last week I’d have a crush on a guy, I would have knocked you out. Now, it’s just something that happened.”