What Happens When I Leave My House
Updated: Dec 15, 2020
I went out into the world today.
Taking a leisurely walk down Beverly Street (the main street here in town), I think to myself: I may not have much, but I have a few things. Like I've never, not once in my entire life, uttered the words: “Let's go to the Island for the weekend!” and “But we have that fundraiser!” And that’s sumthin’.
Thinking these thoughts, I sit in my favorite leather chair against the wall at my favorite coffee shop, “So & So”. At a table across from me sits a group of older white people (two women and a man) dressed floppily, looking suspiciously like over-educated Liberals who’ve given up the body for the mind. They're deep in discussion, and I'm not sitting there a minute when they've already said the words “diversity” and “inclusivity” at least ten times. The man, an amorphous lump with frizzy white hair like Doc Brown (but with a bald spot on top like a clearing for indigenous natives), turns to the less-lumpish but still lumpy women and says, “It's our nature to be inclusive.” But not to be mansplained to, the women make assertive declarations, one after the next, about a mission statement, and how they have friends but not the friends they need, the good friends! The kind who donate 450 Grand friends! Then Doc Brown re-emerges and suggests that they have… drum roll, please… a FUND RAISER!
As they go on about social justice, reeking of gravitas, I can’t help but notice that the three of them are all so… well, un-fuckable! Is this what old white Liberals do after they've crossed over into un-fuckableness? Write mission statements and organize fundraisers? Then, after a job well-done, they disband by congratulating each other on a productive meeting. Although I didn't hear when the next meeting was set. Isn't this what people like this do at meetings? Decide when to have the next meeting?
(This essay appears in my upcoming book, UTOPIA—short stories, poems, & essays.)