(the writer asserts that the empty space above represents all the stories of the known universe. He recommends that you stare at the blank white space for at least five minutes to see this particular story in its entirety.)
(If you are having trouble discerning where one story ends and another begins, the writer suggests that instead of trying to interpret this particular story through reading it one word at a time, you should concentrate instead on the physicality of the story, taking the requisite information about plot and characterization and theme from the amount of space this particular body of words displaces.)
(If you are trying to read this while an annoying, undersized dog is barking at you, you have the writer’s sympathies, as he was similarly aggravated by a diminutive, deballed mongrel of mostly Chihuahua origin during the creation of this piece.)
(By the end of the second minute of staring, you should begin to get a picture in your mind’s eye of the main character. You are not surprised to find that he is an anti-hero, inasmuch as this particular story is on the cutting edge of being an anti-narrative. You are also not surprised to find that the protagonist, in a vague way, resembles the you of yesteryear – a slimmer version of you who has more hair and whiter teeth, with a morose disposition you do not recall. The only surprise, if you are not African American, is that this you is black.)
(Just when your eyes begin to tire of focusing on these few square inches of blank screen, the story you have been waiting for appears in your mind. You have chosen to begin in the middle, as you are not overly fond of settings, mood, or tempo. This brown skinned character who resembles you is enmeshed in an imbroglio between his lover, who represents societal propriety, and his secretary, who represents individual desire. After three minutes of staring at a blank screen, this business of your likeness being black is no longer perturbing. In fact, it sparks possibilities in your mind. You wonder if this character’s jump shot is better than the one you have in real life. To be more accurate, the one you used to have – in real life, you haven’t played basketball in ten years.)
(This is not the life you would have imagined for yourself if you were black. The protagonist has a doctorate in appliquéd physics. His lover has a doctorate in voodoo economics. The scene you have entered in progress shows our anti-hero and his paramour standing on the balcony of his loft apartment, eating canapés of fish flavored tofu and sipping white wine spritzers. Dr. Voodoo has convinced herself that our protagonist is involved with his secretary. Dr. Appliqué is stuffing his mouth full of tofu canapés, in hopes that he will not have to talk to Dr.Voodoo about his voluptuous secretary, Pogo Tatuopo.)
(This is not what you expected from characters who look like this. Dr. Appliqué’s eyes, you feel, should hint at a well of violence, at a past filled with pain and suffering and self-loathing instead of radiating the self-satisfied gleam of the intellectually well-endowed. Dr. Voodoo should be angry and aggressive instead of confused and disappointed. Now Pogo’s broad South Pacific Islander cheekbones come into focus. The blouse she is wearing is unbuttoned to her breastbone. When you see the lush curve of Pogo’s hips, there is no question of Dr. Appliqué’s guilt or innocence – only how many times it has happened. As the action within the story begins to rise, you close your eyes, because the protagonist is an anti-hero, and it is pretty obvious to you where this story is headed. You begin to feel faintly ridiculous at having spent so much time staring at a blank space.
Your shift to anger is sudden, swift – you would murder the writer if you could get your hands on him for wasting your time! Then you blink your eyes and all of a sudden the blank space seems larger. The whiteness of it seems to be fluid, as if you are staring into the top of a freshly opened can of Chantilly Lace housepaint. Wait! Is this the same story you have been staring at? The same protagonist you have been watching? He can’t be…you didn’t expect him to…holy shit!)
(Although you have not forgiven the writer, the story has improved immensely – that is to say, the direction in which the story is headed is not what you would have expected. What is utterly amazing, moreover, is that the writer has been able to capture your imagination so vividly with two Black PhD’s, a tray of fish flavored tofu canapés, and a woman named Pogo. The recommended five-minute viewing time is almost upon you, but the tale has become so engrossing, you are tempted to try to go back to the beginning to see how this all started.)
Kris Broughton has had stories published in Carve, Exquisite Corpse, 3AM Magazine and Eclectica. Kris lives in John’s Creek, Georgia, where he toils ceaselessly in the IT industry as a channel sales professional. Kris is at work on a contemporary novel about Black men.
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