HALFWAY THERE
     James was my best friend through high school.  I've mentioned
him before.  Black kid,  brilliant.  He was a guard on our school's
basketball team.  He was too slow to be really great, but he had
great touch from the outside and played killer d.  Our friendship
grew through countless games of halfcourt at a local playground. 
He won about seventy percent of these.  I couldn't drive on him,
but if my shot was on I'd just take a step back from the foul line
and keep popping them.
     James took a lot of shit from both white and black kids.  They
called him "Oreo" because he was "black on the outside, white on
the inside."  He usually just said they were "ignorant" and let it
drop.  Once I asked him why he never confronted anyone about it,
since he was pretty big(6'2", 180+).  
     He said, "What's the point?  You can lose a fight.  But if you
just keep doing what you're doing, ace every test, win every award,
this you can't lose.  Got any reefer?"
     So, high school ended and we went off to college.  Once, James
came up to visit me at Cornell.  We were wandering around the
Ithaca Commons, and stopped in at McDonald's for a bite.  It was
April, still cold, and we got a few Big Macs, fries and Cokes, and
sat down.  To my right was a table of about three skinny, black
high school girls.  Behind James were two fortyish, heavyset, white
women.  
     The girls to our right were going on about something, very
animated, and we tried to catch what they were talking about.  One
of them kept looking over at James, her mouth open.
     "Girl," said one, "You crazy.  Yoni ain't ever been nuthin'
but a ho', You *know* that's the truth."
     The two women behind James were grumbling to each other,
peppering their dialogue with numerous 'Nigra's and "Can't stand
this place'.  I could tell James was seething inside.  But he just
kept eating, calm.
     "Oh, this is the *shit*, said the one who'd been looking at
James, and turned up her radio.
     [...ticket to ride, a white line highway
      tell all your friends that they can go my way...
      White lines...go away...
      White lines...go away...]
     "Slammin' bass line," said James to me.
     "Oh yeah."
     The girls were dancing in their seats.
     Suddenly, loud enough for the girls to hear, one of the women
behind James said, "I have no problem with them eating here.  But
why do they have to be so damned *loud*."
     The girls quickly turned off their radio.
     James stood up and turned to face the two women.
     "Lady, maybe it's because black folk know there's plenty of
time to be quiet once you're dead in the ground.  You, you're
already halfway there."
     The women left.  The girls turned the song back on.  James
turned back to me and sat down.
     "Rich, you okay man?  Your eyes..."
     "C'mon, let's get drunk."