American Literature

Writers Note The theme of the story is the continuous feeling of marginalization within minority cultures in the case of the unnamed protagonist of the story, he feels marginalization both in his ethnic origins of being a Native American, as well as with his sexual preference. Set at an undisclosed Native American Reservation, this state of living as a minority since birth has led to the characters passive indifference towards many things. However, after a recent falling out with a former relationship, the protagonist is overwhelmed by a desire to set things straight, if only for immediate satisfaction. It aims at airing out the frustrations of those often singled out and discriminated against and seeks to open up readers - particularly those who are still prejudiced and biased over race and sexuality  into understanding how hard it is to be on the other side of that discrimination.

Red Alert

A steady stream of cigarette smoke rises into nothingness from the stick I have just lit up. I wait in total darkness in the shadow of a trading post. A cab stops nearby at a reservation convenience store leaving its lights on, its beams splashing over me and the ground on which I stand.  I count the twelve cigarette butts that start to pile up, giving me a rough estimate of how long Ive been standing here. Okay, maybe nothing accurate but I figure someone who got to smoke 12 sticks in one spot would have been waiting there for a reaaally long time, long enough to bore you into smoking a dozen cigarettes. I dont mind, though. Im a pretty patient guy, and this hasnt been the longest I stayed out here in the dark, waiting.

Once at an experiment on human behavior back in the community college I went to, the local headshrinking society had people sign up to be guinea pigs. I figured theyre just gonna be observing me, so what the heck. I get extra credit for practically doing nothing. A bunch of us were led to a room and asked to be seated to wait for the testing proper to begin. We waited for hours. People got fidgety, then annoyed, then cranky. One by one the people left the room. I was last to leave after what seemed like half a day of sitting in that room. Turns out they were already testing us since we walked into the room, something about a persons breaking point or patience level or some other psychobabble. Sickos. The cab leaves and Im once again swallowed by the shadows. When is he coming out I begin to think if hes even home. The lights in his room say he is, though.

Me and Kirk were together for the better part of college. I met him in Spanish class. We got paired up to do this presentation where I managed to mumble out what little Spanish I learned from class. We had to rehearse our parts though, and that meant seeing each other after hours. Didnt really expect anything to come off it, him being white and having a girlfriend at the time. I certainly didnt think hed ask me to hang out more after the great big Lost Tourist Needs Directions to the Bathroom Presentation of ours. Us Navajos were rarely seen going out with a white guy before, and living my life as a redskin, I could say that I was pretty much used to it by then.

I take a drag, my face lit up a warm orange by the stirred embers from the deathstick in my mouth. I figure its getting late, and the last thing Id ever want to happen is to get mugged in some dark reservation dirt road, stalking an ex. Hnh. That came out unexpected. I never really thought of what I was doing as stalking before. I figure any man should be able talk to his man should he feel like it, insteada being cast aside like a person convicted without being given a fair trial, but I gotta admit, creeping in the shadows waiting for the guy to come out or even just show up does seem like the perfect description of stalking. A hunter among the hunted, like my people before me. Yeah, right.

I take another drag, throw down the butt and stomp it out. That was the last of the pack and I aint sticking around without a cig. I barely have enough money for the bus, so the convenience store is out of the question. Besides, I never really got used to the looks I get whenever I come in in the wee hours at any convenience store. Colored guy walks in a 7-11 at night, you automatically think hes a bad guy. Sound the alarms. Raise the drawbridge. Grab your torches and pitchforks and all that jazz. Us Navajo get used to it, but then eventually gets tired of it altogether. I go on then and pull up my hood for the walk to the bus stop. Just then, a cop car pulls over, starts asking me questions.

Can I help you, Sir Alright, what are you up to
Evening, officer, is there a problem What did I not do this time
We received reports on suspicious activity in this area and decided to check it out. You wouldnt happen to have noticed anything, have you Beat it if you dont want any trouble
Nope. Didnt see nothing. Sorry chief. Thanks for looking out for us though. Ill head home now I didnt do nothing, fascist pig.
Alright, best you stay indoors, sir. This citys a dangerous place after hours. Youre lucky I dont have anything on you.
Will do sir, yall stay safe now. Go home, white man.
Thanks, you too. Yeah you better run.

The fuzzcar pulls away. Since I was a kid I have been discriminated against because of the color of my skin. You cannott blame me now for thinking the worst out of people. You try going through those judgmental looks day after day.

I round the last corner just in time to catch the bus leaving the stop. No sense chasing after it, everyone knows how bus drivers take pleasure in watching panting people shrink into the distance in their side mirrors. Buncha sadists. Wouldnt have to put up with them if I hadnt loaned my car to the folks. Bad enough I have to drive around in a beat up gas-guzzling clunker, the inconvenience of actually not having it just makes it worse. Mom accidentally drove off a dirtroad last week and banged up the transmission on their old SUV real bad, I had to lend them my ride while theirs stays at the dealer. I spend the last of my money on more smokes and decide to foot it.

The walk home leaves me to my thoughts. I hate it when Im left to my thoughts. I get all overanalytical which tends to have me screw everything up. Id rather act on my toes, not really take the time to think things through. Sure, I ended up in more trouble than I hoped to be in, but even if I think everything through and everything works out fine, I get this nagging feeling that somehow, it wouldve been better had I left everything to fate. But then again, its that kind of thinking that got me in this situation with Kirk in the first place.

Weeks after the Spanish Improv Theater, Me and Kirk were just hanging out at his dorm room, watching a crappy B-Movie with werewolves and aliens while having pizza and beer. We were laughing really loud and I dropped a pepperoni on my collar. Suddenly hecame onto me and we kind of took things from there. We had to keep it secret from everyone though, especially his girlfriend. Soon we were making the most of the private time we had together and one time we thought his girlfriend would be out of town for a week, she comes home a day early and catches us together in bed. Suffice to say they broke up and He didnt want anything to do with me ever since. Now call me old-fashioned but I think I deserve to give him a piece of my mind as well.

I step in shit. This night keeps getting better and better. I try to find anything to wipe it off, but the immediate surroundings are surprisingly litter-free. Wheres trash when you need it I cautiously limp over to the gutter and try to scrape off the shit onto the sidewalk. I look around for the cops, half-expecting to see them and turn me in for some stupid offense or something. Im in shit and still I expect more. Story of my life. I light another ciggie, if only to mask the smell of shit. A lesser evil to my nostrils to negate the evil smell of shit.

Like with the shit that went down between me and Kirk, I suppose the cigarettes also help me mask it out, as it leaves me in a state of calmness  kinda like meditation  what with the deep breathing as well. Right. I made that up. I should work as a speech writer for campaigning politicians with all the bullshit I use to justify my actions. I sit on a curb in front of a drugstore and take in the nicotine from my smokes. I once read somewhere that the effects of nicotine in the body works in a way which is kinda like how eating triggers pleasure when youre hungry. Not that cigarettes fill you up or anything, what Im trying to say is that when youre hungry, and you eat, youre filling a need that is currently lacking in you -  in this case, food  but what exactly does nicotine satiate
 My thinking is interrupted by a tap on my shoulder from behind. Kirk.
Hey
Hey
I saw you from my window. I couldnt see your face but I knew it was you. The steady glow of the cigarette could only mean you taking long drags again. He said.
So was it you who tipped the cops then
Yeah.
Figured. Dont worry, it probably wont happen again.
Yeah. It was getting kinda creepy, you hanging around the house like that. Anyway, I thought it was best to get it over with, once and for all
I get up. As I turn to face him, I give him a huge punch to the jaw. The blow brings him to his knees as he spits blood out. That was all I needed to say. I tell him. I turned to walk home. I was tired and cold and hungry and all I wanted to do was get some rest and yet, I had a glow from within, a sense of lightness, like a huge burden was lifted from me. I revel in the thought, like a piece of me has been restored. But life catches up and I figure its probably just the buzz from the cigarettes.
I light up my last cigarette, savoring every puff, I walk home. Not quite as justified as I thought I would be, but then again, when did I ever feel justified anyway Deep inside, Ill always feel something wrong. If not by my thoughts, then by those of others.