Percival Everett - I Am Not Sidney Poitier

Golightly began. “Jesus, our Lord God Savior Jesus, Godalmighty, Jesus God, thank you for loving us, one and all, each and every one, and providing this bounteous, munificent, and glorious meal as we bow our undeserving heads in the face and light and brilliance of your magnificence. Thank you, Jesus Lord God, for the presence of our beloved family and cherished friends, our visitor, and the help.”

I glanced at Violet, since my eyes were open and saw no reaction in her face or posture.

“And about this meal, dear Savior God Jesus, thank you for this succulent turkey, this big juicy bird, for this cornbread, and these candied yams with little marshmallows sprinkled on top slightly browned, and these mashed potatoes, and this creamed spinach, and these green beans, and this beautiful dressing full of walnuts and raisins.” The Reverend’s reverence was growing as he made his way through the side dishes.

Across the table, eyes closed, Agnes had renewed her pedal activity, making Jeffrey distracted from his plate and the prayer. His leg was bouncing again, but his hands remained still on either side of his plate.

“We want also to thank you, Jesus God, for our good health and the right to live in this great country of ours, where free men are free to live freely, free to live where they choose, next to whom they please and away from those they choose not to be near. Thank you for our fine homes and our nice clothes and for money. Thank you for our lineage, our good blood, and our distance from the thickening center.”

I was certain the food was barely warm anymore and even more certain that Jeffrey was about to finish up. His colorless lips parted.

Jeffrey spoke. “May your stuffing be tasty. May your turkey stay plump. May your potatoes and gravy have nary a lump. May your yams be delicious and pies take the prize and may your Thanksgiving dinner stay off your thighs.” With that, he pressed his eyes even more tightly shut, and he had, I’m certain, a rather satisfying climax. He said, “A-men,” nodding, then shaking his head.

“Amen,” Reverend Golightly said, staring angrily at his son.

At first only I was aware of Jeffrey’s experience, but I looked across at Agnes as she became aware of her successful though misdirected efforts. I then looked to my left at Maggie, who had become aware of Agnes’s attention to me, but was unaware of her bad aim. Maggie shot me the evil eye and then began to eat, tearing into her turkey while glaring at her sister.

Violet, who had yet to even graze her seat with her bottom, went to answer the front-door chimes. It turned out to be of course Robert. He was dressed, I must say, beautifully, though not to my taste, in a rust-colored suit and a dark yellow turtleneck sweater. He looked like autumn.

Maggie made a fuss over him and guided him to the chair beside her as he made his apologies for being late. While Maggie, Robert, and Ward caught up at their end of the table, Jeffrey talked to me.

“Something did happen that made me straight and now I have fallen, but I’m clearing my plate,” Jeffrey said.

“That’s nice,” I said.

“I feel somewhat sticky, messy, undone, and still eating dressing is oh so much fun,” Jeffrey said. He then held up his turkey and said, “Leg.”

Agnes nibbled on in a sort of stunned silence, her eyes locked onto her plate. Ruby knew that something had or was happening, but she didn’t know what and so she tossed glances at Agnes as she pretended to be enthralled with Reverend Golightly’s monologue about something to do with the dwindling income/tithing ratio, his mouth full all the while. Jeffrey was simply happy, chewing and greasy-faced happy. Violet was in the kitchen.

The almost restful drone of separate conversations was broken by Ward as he barked out, “That’s dreadful!” When we all looked his way, he said, “Robert has just told us that Dartmouth is using a quota system.”

“Pathetic,” Ruby said.

“Yes, it is,” said Reverend Golightly. “Would you pass the potatoes over this way, please.”

“It all goes to undermine real achievement,” Ward said. “Robert gets in by his hard work and good grades and then they just let anybody in.” He looked at me. “What do you say about this, Not Sidney? About affirmative action?”

I sipped my water and felt remarkably not nervous. “How do you know that their grades are not as good or better than Robert’s?” I asked.

Silence fell on the table like a bad simile. Even Violet stopped making noise in the kitchen. The only sound was the smacking of Jeffrey’s greasy lips.

I looked at Robert’s wide-open face. “What’s your GPA, Robert?”

He reddened. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” he said.

“It might,” I said. “How do you know that affirmative action didn’t get you into the college? No, really, what are your grades like?”

“My father went to Dartmouth,” he said.

Maggie gave me an angry look.

Ward’s eyes darted about. “Not Sidney has a point. But this is a Thanksgiving dinner, so let’s eat and enjoy ourselves.”

“I’d still like to know what Robert’s grades were like in high school,” I said. “I don’t understand why he’s afraid to tell me. I guess I’d also like to know if anyone at this table has benefited from affirmative action or something like it. Where did you go to law school, Mr. Larkin?”

“Yale.”

“How many black students were there at the time?”

“There were three of us,” he proudly said.

“And you three had better grades than all the rest of the black students who wanted to go to Yale?”

Ward was angry, nervous, and, I think, afraid of me.

“My mother never went to college,” I said. “She couldn’t get in. But she invested well and now I’m worth scads of money. My mother studied in her kitchen. I wonder what she could have become if she had gone to college.”

“I’m sure your mother was a very special woman,” Ruby said, perhaps sarcastically, I wasn’t sure.

“My point is, she didn’t want to be white. More importantly, she didn’t want to be not black. I’m sorry,” I said. I looked at all of them, especially Maggie. “You were kind enough to invite me here. I don’t know why, but thank you, anyway. You people almost had me hating you because of the color of your skin, but I’ve caught myself. You should know that from the guest room a person can hear every word spoken in the study, and I heard you mention my unfortunate darkness.”

They turned red, sort of.

“I know that you love the fact that I’m rich. In fact, Maggie didn’t know that, but Ward and Ruby did.” Using their first names shocked them slightly more. “So, I don’t hate you because you’re light. I dislike you because your help has yet to sit down and enjoy any of her own cooking. I like Jeffrey here because he knows how to enjoy carnal pleasure without broadcasting it. I like Agnes because she has no qualms about performing oral sex on a dark-skinned member for the mere purpose of undermining the confidence of her sister.”

“You bitch!” Maggie said and threw a handful of green beans at Agnes.

“Young man, I think that’s enough!” Ward said, becoming again the man of the house.

“I suppose you’re right, Mr. Larkin,” I said. “I’ll go pack.” I rose and left the table.

No one came into my room while I collected my stuff and pushed it into my little duffel. I in fact didn’t know where anyone was as I walked down the stairs and through the far side of the kitchen; everything was so quiet.

Violet was standing near the stove. She handed me a paper sack and said, “You might get hungry later.”

“Thank you,” I said.