Dead Sea

    Most of the people onboard the ship had gathered in the galley. A guy named Cleveland Hooper and an Asian dude named Tran were serving breakfast-little boxes of cereal, canned pineapple, granola bars, and Jell-O. No bacon or eggs or pancakes or fresh fruit; that would have all spoiled by now. There was coffee but no milk; just the little packets of sugar and powdered creamer. They had plenty of bottled water, though, and concentrated orange juice, which tasted better than anything I'd ever drunk in my life. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had orange juice.

    "Good to see you, brother," Hooper said as he put some pineapple chunks on my tray.

    "Why's that?" I asked.

    "'Cause we the only two niggas onboard this ship. Everyone else is white, except for Tran here, and he don't speak no English. It's just you and me, player. We can divide up the women. Show them some good dick."

    "Yeah?" I feigned heterosexuality and tried to sound interested, but all I really wanted to do was eat. The sooner I could get out of this conversation, the better.

    "Hell, yeah, man. It's pussy central, brother. There's some honeys onboard. Just hope half of 'em ain't dykes. Know what I'm saying?"

    My expression hardened. "No, I don't know what you're saying. And I'm not your brother. Don't call me that again."

    Hooper put down his ladle. "What's your problem, dog?"

    "You. You're my fucking problem."

    I walked away, rather than let it turn into a fight. Behind me, I heard him muttering that I was an Uncle Tom. I sat down next to Mitch. Tasha and Malik sat on the other side of us. My shoulders felt tense, my jaw tight. The ship continued to roll.

    "All the people left alive, and that homophobic asshole had to be one of them. We should have left him behind."

    Malik stopped chewing and looked up at me. "What'd that word he used mean? Dyke. What is that?"

    "It's a bad word," I said. "People use it when talking about women who are gay, but it's not very nice."

    "Gay?" Malik nibbled his granola bar. "So a dyke is like a girl fag?"

    "Malik, don't say that."

    "Say what?"

    "Fag. Faggot. It's not a nice word. Do you know what it means?"

    He shrugged. "Yeah. It's when two guys is kissing and hugging on each other."

    "That's one way to describe it, I guess." I shook my head. "In any case, you shouldn't say it."

    "Why not? All my friends say it."

    I sighed. "Remember when we were at your apartment last night?"

    Both of the kids' faces grew sullen for a moment. I immediately felt guilty for stirring up bad memories.

    "Yeah," Malik said. "I remember."

    "Do you remember when you said nigga and I told you not to? Told you what it really meant?"

    "Uh-huh. I felt bad after it. You ain't ignorant, and that's what it meant. I ain't gonna say it no more."

    "I bet your friends called you nigga, right? But they probably didn't know what it meant, either. But has anyone ever called you a nigger?"

    "With an 'r' on the end?"

    I nodded.

    His expression hardened. "Once, a long time ago. There was this white dude on the light rail when we was coming back from the grocery store. Tasha and me and our momma was all in the same seat and he couldn't find one. Had to stand and hang on to the rail. He said under his breath, 'No seats except for the niggers.' I don't think he meant for us to hear it, but we did. It pissed me off. I wanted to kick his behind, but Momma and Tasha said not to."

    "Yes, we did," Tasha agreed.

    "How did it make you feel when he called you that, Malik?"

    "Bad. It hurt my feelings. I… I wanted to cry, but I didn't."

    "Well, the same thing happens when you say fag. It hurts gay people's feelings."

    "Yeah, but there ain't no gay people around here, Lamar."

    I turned to Mitch and winked. He frowned in confusion. Then I turned back to Malik.

    "How do you know there aren't any gay people around here?"

    He shrugged. "I don't for sure, I guess. There just ain't."

    "Malik, I'm gay."

    He stared at me, mouth open in astonishment, half-chewed granola bar stuck to his tongue.

    "Y-you're gay, Lamar? You like other guys?"

    I nodded, smiling. "I sure am, and yes, I do. And when you say fag or faggot, it hurts my feelings just as bad as when someone calls us niggers. Faggots were bundles of sticks that people used to start fires with. When you call someone a fag, you're really saying that you want to burn them alive, even if you aren't aware of it. So don't do that anymore, okay?"

    "Okay. I'm sorry. I didn't know that's what it meant."

    "That's all right, buddy. Now you do."

    "Damn straight, and I won't say it no more."

    The kids went back to eating. I picked up my coffee cup and noticed that Mitch was staring at me.

    "What?" I asked. "Don't tell me you have a problem with me being gay."

    He held up his hands in mock surrender and laughed. "Hey, man, like I told you before, I just sell the Bible. Doesn't mean I believe what it says- especially the bit about men lying down with other men. I couldn't care less. Too much hate in the world. Nothing wrong with a little more love."

    "So then what are you smiling at?"