note: fiction! summer short #2

They let me off work early on a Wednesday evening – it must’ve been around 6pm – and I happily got on the uptown B to get to my apartment on 86th. I found an empty seat between a large black woman and a hairy white man. I took out my book – East of Eden by John Steinbeck – and started reading. At the 4th St. D stop, I spotted an Asian guy with spiked hair dressed much like myself – cream button down shirt and brown slacks with a black messenger bag – walking in and standing next to the metal pole a few seats away from me. He looked like he was a summer intern just like me at some bank downtown. Near him, I saw a thin thirty-something black woman with what appeared to be her child, a boy about seven or eight years old. I continued to read my book, but when I heard “Asian” from the mouth of the black kid, I found myself looking.

“Mommy, you think he Asian or Chinese?” he asked, pointing at the Asian guy.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?” the mother replied.

The black kid, who must’ve been bored out of his mind, inched closer to the Asian guy and made eye contact.

“Hey, are you Asian or Chinese?” he asked, cutting straight to the question.

“Um,” the Asian guy looked a bit confused, and I didn’t blame him. As an Asian myself, I don’t know how I would have set the black kid’s ethnic terminology straight.

“I’m Korean,” the Asian guy said. I approved of the answer because I am Korean as well. Also, while I’m sure me and the Korean guy are both Americans in our own right, saying “American” would probably have raised eyebrows because that’s just the way this damn country still works.

“Where’s that?” the kid asked.

“It’s a country next to China,” the Korean guy said, sounding like he didn’t want to answer anymore questions. The boy didn’t seem to satisfied with the answer.

“But you got them chinky eyes,” the kid said, “like this.” He pulled the corner of his right eye so that his eyes appeared slanted. I shook my head to myself as the black boy’s naivete had put the Korean guy, and myself, in an awkward position. “So what’s the difference?”

“Um. I don’t know. Koreans are better, I guess,” the Korean guy answered as he rolled his eyes and tried to turn away.

“Don’t you guys have small dicks?” the black boy asked. Suprisingly, the mother did not intervene and seemed to zone out as she looked out the subway window into the dark. I wasn’t too offended by the question because I’ve heard black dudes make fun of Asians about it before, but that a kid would say something like that to a total stranger was a bit surprising. I eagerly waited my fellow Korean dude’s reply.

“Um, I guess,” he said, remaining cool. I was a bit disappointed that the Korean guy didn’t defend himself, but I guessed that he had made a more “mature” decision to answer in such a way. But all of a sudden, he turned right back towards the black boy.

“Let me ask you something,” he said to the boy, “I could never figure it out. What’s the difference between a black person and a monkey?”

“What?” the black boy seemed taken aback.

“Yeah. You asked me if I was Asian or Chinese. I want to know, are you a monkey or black?”

The black kid was confused. Then he looked upset. He stared momentarily at the Korean guy. He tugged at his mom’s shirt.

“Mom! This fool just called me a monkey!” the black boy yelled. The mother turned towards her son and took a few seconds to process the statement and then another few seconds to react.

“What you call my son? How dare you?” she asked, as her volume began to rise.

“Whoa, relax. I was just asking him a question,” the Korean guy said, trying to calm the woman down. No use. I looked around the subway car, and I could see heads turning his way. I noticed that more than half of the car was black. Boy, was he fucked.

“This man here thinks blacks are monkeys!” the mother yelled. The little boy nodded and threw a mean look at the Korean guy.

A few teenage black guys wearing their XL t-shirts, baggy jeans, skull caps, and Timbs began walking towards the Korean guy. The fat black woman next to me gave a mean look at the Korean guy as well and almost looked ready to give up her seat to go confront the uncovered racist.

“You calling us monkeys, you fuckin chink?” one of the teens, about six feet tall but on the skinny side, tilted his head and sought an answer.

“No, man. Take it easy. I’ve got nothing against black people,” the Korean guy said, now looking a bit threatened. I wondered if I could have helped him, but I wasn’t sure if it was worth the risk.

“We let you chinks come to America and y’all think you white already? Calling us monkeys and shit. Well, fuck that. I ain’t taking shit from nobody,” the mother was now spitting expletives in front of her child. The kid seemed to enjoy the confrontation. I wondered what was going through the Korean guy’s head. Man, he was in such a bind! I wanted him to bounce at the next subway stop. He straightened his back and assumed a serious expression on his face.

“Fuck this. How dare you call me a chink? That’s like me calling you a nigger. You need to teach your son right – how the fuck you let him call my eyes ‘chinky’ and ask if my penis is small?” the Korean guy delivered with eloquence. Damn. Balls, I thought. All the black people seemd super surprised by the comment, but it didn’t look too promising for the Korean.

“Fuck you asshole. You called black people monkeys. That’s as bad as nigger in my book,” the tall teen said. “You better watch yo back. We’re gonna fuck you up.”

Just as the teen warned the Korean guy, the subway came to a stop at the Columbus Circle stop. The Korean guy seemed to walk backwards towards the door. A few people got in. The conductor announced the next stop. The ding sounded.

“Son, in my building, they don’t let niggers like you come near,” he said, just as he slid out the subway car walking backwards. The door closed as soon as he got out. The black teens, absorbing the full extent of the comment, tried to run out the door, but it had closed on them. The Korean dude flipped a bird that seeemed to touch everyone near the door – the two teens, the little boy, and the mother.

“That fucking racist piece of shit!” the mother yelled.

“Ain’t never seen a chink like that. They usually quiet and don’t speak English much,” the other teen, of a shorter, stocky build, remarked.

I returned to my book having witnessed a very bizarre incident. A million thoughts raced through my mind. I wondered how the Korean guy had such courage to confront igorance with such bold, politically incorrect language. In my mind, was he a racist? I don’t know – I bet he had black friends (probably from his college or maybe at his work), and he probably didn’t advocate things like segregation or discrimination. But then again, his words proved very flammatory and his last comment was the ultimate condescending remark someone could make to people who probably lived in the projects. I couldn’t quite figure it out. I was glad the Korean guy wasn’t passive and wasn’t afraid to reply to being called a “chink.” But then again, I was annoyed that such a huge deal had to be made because the little kid was so damn ignorant. Damn. What the hell do they teach at these schools anyway? No wonder rich white people always take taxis everywhere.