In the Eye of the Beholder

Sometimes the middle is good. It’s when you go from the middle to “in the middle” that life gets more complicated. Fortunately, I had avoided being “in the middle” for most of my life. I spent my days working at the estate owned by the wealthiest family in the city, and my nights and weekends reading, fishing, or doing anything else relaxing I could find to occupy my time. I suppose there are a lot of folks who would not expect such a mundane life for someone of my age, most people my age have finished college, starting careers and families. College wasn’t for me and well, neither was marriage. 

I had just finished work and stopped by The Township Cafe for a cheeseburger instead of cooking at home. I sat down at the counter and was surprised to see that a copy of the daily newspaper was still available. While waiting for my meal, I unfolded the paper to see the headline: MARTIN PORTER’S CONTINUED LEGACY 100 YEARS LATER on the front page. For a moment I wondered if reading about my employer’s family was a good idea, however, the newspaper is public and not the occasionally present whispers of gossip.

Martin Porter had purchased land in 1855 and by 1858 was joined by close to 100 families. These families came together and created a town with a post office, store, church, and a growing reputation for their produce. Martin was a fierce businessman but also a fierce defender of his family. He was kind and giving as well. The article was well-written and gave quite a few details about Martin Porter that I had never known, however, the article left out the part we all knew or thought we knew. According to town gossip, the Porter family wasn’t what they appeared to be. Most of the families in town had been here for as many generations as the Porter family and didn’t feel the need to capitalize on the secrets of the Porter family because, deep down, they knew they benefited from the Porter family regardless of the truth. 

I wondered how this secret had been kept for so long and why no one had ever exposed the family. This thought was quickly replaced by the realization that the kind of money the Porter family had could if used the right way, make people who threatened the peace keep quiet. I was deep in thought and hadn’t heard the gentleman the first time.

“Are you using that ketchup?” he repeated. The man had kind eyes but looked like he had been traveling for years. His clothes were worn and I wondered about his age. His voice said twenties but his face said forties. Even though our town was not as segregated as the rest of the country, the man’s skin tone was out of the ordinary. 

“Nope.” I passed him the ketchup. “Would you like to read the paper?” It was customary to pass the paper on when you were finished. The man looked at me momentarily and then took the paper from my hand. Out of the corner of my eye I watched as he opened the paper. He scanned the front page and I heard a “hmph” come from him at some point. He was not from here, so I was puzzled by his disdain for local news. I finished my meal, left, and soon forgot about the interaction.

Three days later I came across the same man outside the grocery store. I thought back to that brief interaction. Upon reflection, the man had an eerie feeling about him. He was not friendly and did not try to engage in conversation and, to be fair, I didn’t either. I normally do, though. From what I could remember of the man that night, he was wearing the same clothes and I still couldn’t tell his age. He recognized me and made a hand gesture, which I gathered was a motion to come closer. I was both cautious and interested to see what this stranger had to say.

“You work for them, huh?” I was stunned. The tone was accusatory and I didn’t like it. I turned away to go back to what I was doing. “Are you scared to say it?” I wasn’t scared to say anything. I was skeptical of the man and whatever it was he was trying to get at. The same feeling of eeriness from the other night was back. I kept walking. I glanced over my shoulder to see that he had stayed behind. 

“I didn’t think anything of it until yesterday, but I’ve seen this man twice now. The first time was in the restaurant and then yesterday I ran into him outside of the grocery store. That’s where he asked me about my job here.” The interaction had stuck with me. I knew that I should say something to Benny to get his advice. Benny had been with the Porters for over a decade now and would probably know how to move forward.

“What did he look like?” Benny had a serious tone to his voice.

“Well, he was about six feet tall, short dark hair, an old face but a younger voice, and…and…umm…his skin was dark.” I hated giving that final detail, but it was a detail nonetheless. Benny was surprisingly calm. I guess I thought that he would be more upset or, at the very least, come up with a plan.  

“There’s not much we can really do right now. I don’t think it’s enough to bother the Porters with. Let me know if anything else comes up. This person is attracted to you for whatever reason.” Benny gave me a reassuring smile and a pat on the back. I worked in silence that day. 

Months went by and the man had never shown up again. I found myself having nightmares about the man. His face was at the forefront of my memory. Suddenly, I was “in the middle” and I had no one to blame but myself. I wondered why Benny hadn’t been more concerned when I told him. I decided that I had to try and find the man if only to save my sanity. In my twenty-two years, I had never left our town. I had no reason to until now. It was time to know the truth, even if I had to leave the place where the secret lived. 

“Where are you going?” Benny showed concern which surprised me. 

“I’m not entirely sure, but I just need to see some things for myself.” I hope he takes this answer and does not make too much out of it. Truth be told, I purposely did not tell Benny what I was doing because I feared being judged for jumping to conclusions. Just because that man had asked about working for the Porters didn’t mean that he knew of the supposed secret. I was working on a gut feeling and I had to find out, regardless of what others thought. 

“Alright, son. Take care of yourself. You know the number here if you need anything. I’ll do my best to keep a place for you when you’re ready to come back.” Benny did something that shocked me…he hugged me. 

I’ll go east first. This was crazy. I had no idea where to look and had no idea who the man was. Luck needed to be on my side. I made it to my first stop and quickly realized that I needed more of a plan. I had heard about men traveling from town to town, renting a room, and staying for a month or so. This was my new plan. Six months in I was getting tired of not being in the same place and I hadn’t come across the man or anyone who knew the person I described. I did, however, now have six months of experience as a carryout boy for the grocery store. 

The following week I prepared to go home. After all of this time, I wondered if it was still my home or if I should look at settling somewhere else. This journey honestly left me with more questions than answers. The world is not what I thought it was. There were places where I had to move on before my month was up because they made me feel uncomfortable. Places where some would choose to carry out their own groceries and not allow me to help them. I was confused by this. When I would ask my coworkers about these reactions they would say something ridiculous about the customer probably just wanting more exercise. 

I stood at the bus station taking it all in. There were all kinds of people preparing to go to Florida, Michigan, Texas, and even as far as California. They were going to see loved ones, sightseeing, and even start new lives. They were old and young and everything in between. At that moment, I made a snap decision. When I looked up at the board, New York City jumped out at me. “Hey pick me!” it said. Before I could blink, a one-way ticket to NYC was in my hand. Thankfully, the departure time was soon and I wasn’t allowed the time to second-guess myself. Once I was on the bus, I closed my eyes and thought about my mother and how concerned she would be once she learned that I was not coming home and instead going to the largest city in the world. 

I felt someone shaking my shoulder and it irritated me until I opened my eyes. I must have slept most of the way and was slightly disoriented. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was both terrifying and amazing at the same time. I wondered where a stranger even got started in a place like this. I made my way out of the bus and gathered the one bag that I had. Once inside the bus station, I couldn't help but stand there and stare. There were so many people from so many places. There were people that I had never seen before, speaking languages I had never heard. It was mesmerizing. It was everything I never knew I needed. I was caught up in the beauty of it all when a man bumped into me and proceeded to swear at me in ways that I never thought possible. At that moment, I was brought back to reality and concluded that I better find a place to sleep for the night. 

After inquiring with a couple of nice gentlemen, I learned of a boarding house not far from the bus stop. When I got there it was just a regular house and there were a group of men sitting out on the porch talking. Some of them looked my way but none of them were too eager to make conversation. I guess that was a city thing. I was lucky that they still had a room available. I took a chance and asked if they knew of any work in the area and pointed in the direction of a nearby bulletin board. There were a handful of options and after a good night of sleep, I would hit the ground running. 

I woke up the next morning with a sort of nervous excitement. I had been in NYC for less than twenty-four hours but I got the very distinct feeling that this place had the power to make you or break you in no time at all. I put the “third time’s a charm” rule to work and accepted a job after being turned down twice. I now had a whole day ahead of me and I couldn’t think of a better way to spend it than to go out sightseeing. I had grabbed a sightseeing tour brochure from the boarding house and took it from my pocket to check the place and time of departure. 

I seem to be in a constant state of awe. The buildings are tall and beautiful specimens of architecture. I say this with little to no experience looking at architecture but at this moment, it doesn’t matter. Just like the bus station, there were so many people. I don’t believe this sightseeing tour had anything to do with the people that were in the city but for me, the people were the most intriguing part. Out of my small bus window, there were mothers with children…carrying them, loving on them, hurrying them, men rushing off to work in fancy suits and ties, police officers, and many others that could not be put in any particular category except for the category of being in a rush.

As I lay my head on my pillow, I know that I will sleep well. I think back to what started this journey, the man and the question of my job with the Porters. Perhaps the man was just a catalyst for something that I had always wanted to do but couldn’t bring myself to do. All of the experiences that I have had over the last few months and the questions that came to the surface seem to be settling now. I know it has only been one day but I believe I will be comfortable here. 

I am comfortable here. I have kept the same job and even made some friends. I am still the person who likes quiet for the most part, although there’s not much fishing that happens in the city. Fishing has been replaced by jazz. I am living a life that I never dreamed of for myself. I am now one of those people that sightseers see from the bus tour. I am on my way to work. I am on my way to the jazz club. I am on my way to the bodega on the corner. I am on my way.

Until the moment that I am not on my way. I stopped in my tracks. I would know that face anywhere and there it was on the front page of the paper. PORTERS PASSING ON BEING THEMSELVES was the headline. I still had some time before work so I hurriedly paid for a paper and sat down to read the article. I find that I am not really reading the article but rather scanning it for particular information. And there it is in black and white, no pun intended. The article read, “My name is Kenneth Langley and I am Martin Porter’s brother.” I finally had a name to put with the face. My mind was spinning.

At this moment, nothing else mattered. Instead of going to work, I found my way to the newspaper headquarters. Once there I realized that there probably wasn’t much they could do for me.  

“I can take your name and phone number…the address of your boarding house, if you’re comfortable…and I’ll pass the information on to the gentleman in the story. From there it will be up to him what he does with it.” The receptionist smiled at me and I wondered how often they received these kinds of requests. I left the newspaper and made my way to my job, hoping that they would overlook my behavior today. 

A week later I was still employed and losing hope that I would hear from Mr. Langley. I tried to put it out of my head while I got ready to attend a jazz club that was opening tonight. While I was putting the final touches on my tie I looked closely at myself in the mirror. For the first time, I noticed a man staring back at me. I was no longer that boy who had barely left home and still went to his parent’s house for dinner every weekend. I was sure of myself and knew that I could make it in a big city. I left the room with a mighty grin on my face.

As I was leaving the boarding house, I came face to face with Kenneth Langley. He no longer looked disheveled but his age was still a mystery. I looked at him harder than I probably should have but knowing that he was Mr. Porter’s brother made me hyper-aware of the man’s features. 

“Hello.” The man held out his hand and put an apprehensive smile on his face. “First, let me tell you how sorry I am for the way I came at you outside that grocery store. I’m sure you understand a bit more after reading the article.” This was all well and good but I still didn’t understand why the man had picked on me. I didn’t mean to be rude to the man but the question popped out before I had a chance to reel it back in.

“Why me though?” I waited for the man to be disgusted by my sharp tone and walk away. He didn’t seem at all upset by the question, as a matter of fact, he seemed relieved. 

“Do you want the truth?” Was this some sort of dare?

“Yes, I want the truth.” The man motioned for us to sit down. And there on that bench, he told me that I was just like the Porters. I had been passing as white my entire life. He was still talking but I blanked out for a lot of it. When I came back around he had a few words of wisdom for me.

“Please just make better choices than they did. Don’t hide. Families deserve better than that.” I was speechless. So many experiences I had in the past started to make sense to me. I didn’t know whether I should be angry at my parents or not. Was this why I was hired at the Porter’s estate? So many questions. So many feelings. At that moment I knew that I had one decision to make: to pass or not to pass.