The First Time He Walked Up to Me

I didn’t know who he was at first.

Just another guy at school.

I didn’t know what he wanted.

You’re Jeremy, right? I’d been walking down the hall

my eyes looking at the dusty floor

thinking about Geronimo

preventing the sun from coming up.

I looked up, nodded.

Saw this skinny white kid

pale, like a lot of white people when

they don’t get out in the sun

with messy, kinda long hair hanging

down over his eyes.

Yeah, Jeremy, I said.

We need to talk. You okay with that?

I thought maybe he was selling weed

and assumed I was a stoner.

What do we need to talk about?

(The word “need” was freaking me a bit.)

Don’t be scared. Shit. I guess I looked scared.

I look that way a lot

(even when I’m not scared). So?

He looked puzzled now. Said, You can’t tell that I’m different?

I wanted to say all white people kinda looked the same to me

but I received a knuckle sandwich for that one once.

Lesson learned.

Dunno, I said.

You don’t know who I am?

Like what kind of bullshit, now?

How was I supposed to know who he was?

No, man. You somebody important,

someone famous?

No, dude. (Nobody had called me dude in a long while.)

Who are you, dude?

Jenson Hayes, he said.

I guess I stopped breathing and stared.

You okay, dude? he asked. I let out my breath and

took a new gulp of air.

I’m okay, I said. You?

He smiled a crooked smile, snorted a little.

Well, he said, you know, dude.