After I heard the noise, I decided to investigate. Whoever was the culprit of this bit needed to stop it immediately. They were scaring me and Tiff.
I was shirtless, having rushed to put my jeans back on when I heard the ruckus. I'd picked up a branch and weaved through the forest, waiting to attack somebody.
"Come out wherever the fuck you are!" I yelled, totally frosted. Nobody was going to broach upon me and Tiff's safety.
I stood still, turned around. Nothing. Okay, maybe the guy took off.
Just as I was about to head back to Tiffany and make sure she was okay, I heard some twigs crunch under feet. When the subject moved again, he tripped and fell.
I ran like a madman, wielding my branch, ready to strike, until I saw it who it was.
Ralph.
I was frozen in my stance, completely shocked. "Ralph? What the hell—"
Ralph stood up, brushing the dirt and leaves off of his clothes. "I was just taking a stroll. Cool your jets."
This was weird. Why was Ralph following me?
"Did you follow me?"
"No, of course not! Why would I do that?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "You can be strange sometimes, I don't know."
Silence.
"Like I said," Ralph reassured, "I was just taking a stroll. My parents are gone for the week, I got bored so I thought I'd walk around." He continued brushing more dirt off his clothes and pointed to me. "Where's your shirt?"
As soon as he said that, Tiffany appeared and tossed my white t-shirt back to me. I put it on and Tiffany, fully-dressed, waved at Ralph. "What are you doing here, Ralph?"
I noticed Ralph's incessant need to look at Tiffany while he explained, "Oh, just taking a stroll, and I ran into Brendan. Of course, he scared me to death when he almost bashed a fellow's head in with that branch."
Although her laughter was polite, I knew she had to have known it was bull. Ralph was following me. Probably because he wanted to indulge his 'colored-girl fantasy' he always told me about. Tiffany was the only girl around who'd satisfy it.
But she was mine and I wouldn't let him go anywhere near my baby.
We packed up and walked with Ralph back to his house. Me and Tiff held hands while we explained that we were basically homeless.
Ralph, still staring at Tiffany, decided to offer us temporary residence.
"It's perfectly fine. My parental units are away on business in Indiana. That means the whole house is to myself."
He didn't consider one thing though. "That's fine and all, but don't you think your house is the first place my parents will look when they try to find me?"
Ralph shrugged his shoulders. "Where else are you gonna go? It's either my place or a park bench. And it'd be a shame to force such a pretty girl to sleep on a grody pigeon-pooped bench."
Total come-on. But I had to endure it because he was right. I had nowhere else to go.
I threw my hands up. "Okay, fine. But only until we figure out where we're going next, and it won't take long."
Ralph nodded. "Sure. Now let's go. It's getting late."
When we arrived back at Ralph's place, he gave us the guest bedroom and bathroom. Tiffany was in the shower. Me and Ralph were in the kitchen fixing peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches.
He'd turned on the television to check out American Bandstand. I sat down at his parents' dinner table and started on my sandwich. Elvis was performing, and all the kids were going ape.
Ralph sat down, brandishing the peanut butter jar, slathering another layer on his slice. He rolled up his button-up sleeves and tousled his brown hair. "Elvis knows what he's doing."
I took a sip of milk and set it back down. "What do you mean?"
After chewing, Ralph pointed to the television. "He's getting away with murder," he said, mouth full. "If he were colored, he'd never be able to be that famous."
I rolled my eyes. "Ralph, I asked you repeatedly to not use that word."
Ralph looked up, like he was annoyed. "Sor-ry. But you have to admit I'm right. And all the white kids are buying right into it. It's only okay if a white guy does black music."
Where was this coming from? I didn't know, but I had a feeling I'd find out soon.
"Care to explain why you're telling me this?" I dropped my sandwich on the plate and wiped my hands.
Ralph pointed to the television again. "It's this damn country. You see how they ran Tiffany out of the neighborhood. It's like we're scared to admit what we like, so we pussyfoot around things."
My eyebrows rose. "You didn't use to think like this. You used to tense up whenever the bus rode past the black neighborhoods and then make fun of them for being poor and black."
Ralph chugged the rest of his milk and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "That wasn't me, Brendan. My parents brainwashed me into thinking co—I mean black people were the enemy or something. But I look at your doll and I don't see that in her. She's normal. She's not what everybody says about them."
Again, I was wondering why his newly liberated sense of thinking came about so sudden. Maybe it was that Beatnik friend of his he told me about.
I leaned back in my chair and adjusted my glasses. "So what are you saying?"
