A Good Black Mans Ordinary Day

Sitting on the number ninety five bus coursing through the City of Ottawa, in Provincial Ontario, Adam Stephenson Lefebvre felt supremely bored. Once again, his talent for being unusually observant was bothering him. The big and tall young Haitian-American man tugged at his backpack, anxious for the bus to get to the stop he needed. As soon as it got past Metcalfe Street he'd get off to walk to the number four bus stop. From there he'd take the bus to Carleton University. At Hurdman station, a dark-skinned African chick got in, pushing a stroller containing a pair of light-skinned brats. She was accompanied by an older Black woman who could be her mother or her grandmother. The young lady in question fit in the eighteen to twenty two age bracket.

The bus wasn't very crowded that Wednesday morning in mid-August, and Adam was thankful for that. While flitting through the Metro newspaper, he noticed that the dark-skinned African chick with the stroller was giving him a look. Inwardly, Adam sighed. She was giving him THE look. What is the look? Every Black man on this planet knows it. Black women in relationships with White guys always like to show off these White dudes to any Black man who happens to be nearby. As if being with a White male was some kind of prize or achievement in the eyes of Black women. Hmmm. Maybe to them it's a big accomplishment. Whatever. The bus drove past Lees station, followed by the University of Ottawa stop, and then Rideau Shopping Center on Mackenzie King Bridge.

Adam looked up from his paper, and noticed that the dark-skinned young lady with the stroller was still looking at him. Annoyed, he wondered what she wanted. Okay, lady. You've got a pair of brats sired by a White male. Good for you. I don't see a ring on any of your fingers and I can see both of your hands from where I am sitting. You got fucked by a White guy and he impregnated you. You delivered a pair of mixed pups. Good for you. Maybe he's shacking up with you in some house or apartment. He didn't see fit to put a ring on your finger, though. Isn't that what you and the rest of the Black sisterhood always accuse Black men of being? Commitment-phobic, that's the term, right? Okay.

Good to see that White men can be commitment-phobic too. To hear you Black women talk, the Black man created original sin and the White male is God's gift to the planet. As if having a talent for committing genocide on a planetary scale and enslaving those different from you made you some kind of special. Oh, well. Didn't he read somewhere that White people were experiencing a population drop in places like Europe, Australia, New Zealand and North America? White males were going the way of the dodo and the dinosaur.

Maybe Miss Africa here bet on the wrong horse. The Arabs and Muslims everywhere, most of them people of color, were hell-bent on conquering the continent of Europe anyway. They almost did it under the leadership of the Ottoman Empire. Maybe they'd finally get the job done this time. As a devout Catholic, Adam wasn't exactly fond of the Arabs and their uptight brand of freedom-limiting patriarchal Islam, but he really, really disliked White males and their inbred sense of entitlement. These pale bozos were evil incarnate. Sociopaths, the whole lot of them. A White guy recently went into a Sikh Temple in Wisconsin, USA, and slaughtered innocent South Asian folk whose only crime was practicing their peaceful religion, Sikhism. And why did he do it? Simply because he was yet another racist White guy with a gun.

Last year, a White guy in the City of Oslo, Norway, went to a peaceful multicultural gathering and slaughtered tons of innocent people, most of them promising young people of color with bright futures, simply because he feared the advent of a more multiracial, multicultural Europe instead of the lily-White one he grew up in. And why, pray tell, would compel him to do something of the kind? The answer coming at us in three, two, one. Can you guess what it is? White male racism at its best. Those were the kind of men that Black women today wanted to worship? To hell with the Black sisterhood and the racist White guys they've mistaken for Gods. White male supremacy? Give me a break. Anyone who caused the racist White brotherhood lasting harm was okay by him. Go Team Arabia. Just leave my Black ass alone when you're done with guys named O'Shea, Ruiz and Hauser.

Lost in thought, Adam almost missed the Metcalfe street bus stop. He got off, and walked to the Ottawa Public Library to drop off the eleven copies of the comic book series The Walking Dead which he borrowed three weeks ago. If he didn't return them today he was going to owe the public library system and he couldn't have that. He browsed through the book stacks, and finally came across a pair of fairly interesting-looking books. My Buffalo Soldier by Barbara Reeves, and Forbidden Quest by Dar Tomlinson. The first novel was the story of an African-American soldier during the American Civil War who falls in love with a White woman who reciprocated his feelings, and the second was the tale of a Southern belle engaged to a wealthy architect who falls in love with a handsome, charming Jamaican immigrant. Two interracial romance novels dealing with Black men and White women, on the shelves of the Ottawa Public Library. Wow. Adam couldn't believe his luck.

Smiling, Adam took them both and walked to the self-check-out stand. While walking there, Adam tripped, and nearly fell. At the last minute he caught himself. Smiling, he put his books on the machine, after putting his card through the reader. He self-scanned, printed out a receipt, then put his books in his bag. As he headed for the library exit, a voice hailed him. He stopped, and turned around. The person hailing him was a tall and slender, blonde-haired and blue-eyed Caucasian female. She did not look familiar. Adam smiled politely at her and she asked him if he was okay. Adam nodded, wondering what she was talking about. The young lady reminded him that about a minute ago he almost fell. Adam grinned, and told her he was alright. He was clutching his backpack in front of him, as he did with whatever he had in his hands whenever he felt nervous. And he often got nervous around attractive women of all races.

The young lady in question grinned and asked him if he remembered her. Adam smiled, and told her she had him at a loss for words. She introduced herself as Beatrice Guillot, the French student he supposedly met at International Students Orientation in the summer of 2011, a year ago. When she said that, something clicked in his mind. Vaguely Adam remembered a really chatty White chick with a French accent during that memorable orientation day. He thought he was the only French speaker in their little group because Carleton University was known to be English-only. And yet, he, a Haitian-American guy raised in the City of Boston, Massachusetts, ran into a French woman from the region of Camargue, France, at Carleton University in the City of Ottawa, Province of Ontario. Wow.

Beatrice nodded as Adam suddenly recalled her. He told her what she once told him about Camargue, the part of France she grew up in. A land full of farms and horses, in the south of France. She called it the Texas of Europe, so to speak. Beatrice smiled at that recollection. He held out his hand for her to shake, and she batted his hand away, giving him a gentle hug instead. Adam was surprised, to say the least. Beatrice was definitely European, because White Canadians weren't that warm or friendly. At that precise moment, a group of people walked into the automatic doors of the Ottawa Public Library's Main branch.

Guess who walked in? Another example of how small the world truly was. An older Black woman and a very dark-skinned young Black woman pushing a stroller containing two light-skinned brats. Adam's heart almost skipped a beat as he recognized the Black woman from the bus ride earlier. The same one who was glaring at him to show off to his Black ass the mixed brats sired upon her by a White guy who didn't see fit to marry her. She seemed to recognize him too, and her eyes looked angry and annoyed when she saw Beatrice with him. Oh, yeah. Doesn't matter how many times a self-loathing Black chick rides, sucks or gets impregnated by White dick, she is NEVER happy to see a Black man with a White woman. Ever. It's firmly against the rules of Black womankind.

Adam flashed the angry-looking young Black woman with the strollers a warm smile, and gently touched Beatrice Guillot. He proposed they grab coffee at a nearby Starbucks to catch up. Beatrice told him they'd have to grab the coffee later because she had just come back to Canada from France. She had to get to Carleton University to register for whatever Criminology classes weren't full. Adam, habitually late to register for classes, could empathize. He was only signed up for two Law classes for the September 2012 semester. He needed a third class otherwise they wouldn't consider him a full-time student. And he wouldn't be able to renew his U-pass.

That thought was very alarming to Adam. The possibilities for disaster were absolutely endless. He'd have to get an adult bus pass for ninety six bucks a month just like everybody else in the City of Ottawa condemned to use those blasted OC Transpo buses. He told all this to Beatrice, who smiled sheepishly and punched him playfully on the arm for being so lazy. Grinning, Adam shrugged. Together, he and Beatrice left the library and walked up the street to catch the number four bus heading to Carleton University. Wednesday August 15, 2012 was a sunny day in Ottawa but it really brightened up for Adam once he ran into his French gal pal Beatrice.