Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Graham
“I won’t bore you with the details—”
“No, please do! Bore me with the details!” Jacqueline insisted. One of the reasons discussing music made me nervous was because I could talk about it all day, and there was this fear I would appear one track minded, and I really did want to get to know her.
Jacqueline was so cultured, and even though that wasn’t rare, it’d just been so long since the vibe was right between me and another person, that I didn’t want to appear self-centered by taking up the entire conversation.
“Well, since you asked. I have mixed feelings on the movie, but deep down there’s a part of me that thought Moana, as someone who is actually Pacific Islander, had some of my favorite music in a score.
And I’m not just saying that because Lin Manuel Miranda wrote some of the lyrics.
It actually featured Opetaia Foa’i, a really talented composer from New Zealand, and while it wasn’t a reflection of one singular culture, I have to admit, living in America, it’s a really big deal to see so many people resonate with your culture.
I feel like I’m from this little spec in the world, and I’m hearing Samoan and Tokelauan languages on the radio?
In a country people mistake me for literally every other ethnicity but Māori.
If I could just make a sixteenth of that impact, I’d be happy no matter where my career took me,” I admitted.
“I never thought about it in that way. But I am American,” she noted.
“Oh, really? I couldn’t tell,” I flirtatiously teased back.
“It’s interesting, because the only demographic of people I don’t meet on a daily basis is people from that part of the world. So outside of what goes viral, I don’t know as much as I should.”
“Which is funny, because in New Zealand, our culture is literally imbedded into New Zealand. Not that I’m saying you’re forced to learn it, but that’s why whenever you see a haka, it’s never just people native to New Zealand, but pākehā too.”
“Boy, slow down, what is pākehā?” she flirted, pronouncing it wrong once more, as I gently corrected her.
“It kind of describes people who aren’t native to New Zealand, but are born there.
Like my dad. But it could refer to any non-Polynesian born to the island.
That’s how much Māori, Samoan, and other cultures have influenced the islands.
There’s nowhere you can go and not be reminded this is pasifika land. ”
“You want to know what’s really funny?” she smiled, resting her chin on her folded forearms over my seat.
“What?”
“That’s basically what it’s like being Black American. We literally shape the culture. We influence everyone around us, to the point they forget we’re who they got it from.”
“Living in America, is actually the first time I really understood the distinction between what’s considered Black here, and what’s considered Black where I’m from.”
“You have to explain it to me like I’m five, because from where I’m sitting, I can’t think off the top of my head what other countries have a different definition of Black.
“Granted, it was much more common from my mum’s time.
And because I’m Māori, or basically just not white, that was how people were categorized.
Even some of the colonized names for Pacific Islanders, like Melanesians, were described by their very dark skin, even though we couldn’t be more ethnically different.
Observations obviously, I feel like we have a lot of subtle similarities—”
“Oh, like what,” she coquettishly interrupted.
“Well, we tend to both have strong cultural ties to our lands. Not to mention have a natural affinity for music and the arts. I don’t think I have to convince you that phenotypically, our features tend to mirror each other’s.
But most of all, we got our bums handed to us when it came to colonization.
I don’t think either of us truly recovered from all the violence and harm. ”
“We did come out with some really cool developments, though. All things considering,” she smiled. “Or at least I can say for my mom’s side. Best food. Best music. Best dance. Now if we can only get credit for it,” she rolled her eyes.
“Honestly it’s so easy talking to you. Not that I mind frivolous conversation, but it’s been a while since I’ve been out with someone who could speak on more than just reality television and celebrities beefing it out with each other.
I feel like my mind is actually being put to work just talking to you,” I laughed.
“Well, I won’t knock what gets people through such a shitty political climate.
And I am a little older, so I’ve had more time to form a personality that isn’t tied to just how much money I make, what I look like or who I’m related to.
But I’m sure there are plenty of people your age just like you, you just have to look for them,” she defended.
“Yeah, but I’ve found that people tend to stay in their comfort zones when it comes to conversations, and that’s fine.
Not everyone is equipped to deal with every topic.
But I actually like being challenged. Even if I’m in the wrong.
I’ve learned that it’s hard to acquire knowledge and different perspectives when you stay within what you know. ”
“Yeah, sometimes it’s better to stay within the confines of what you know. Sometimes there’s safety in it. Not that I’m referring to you and me. But I ain’t trying to be anywhere I’m not welcome. As a person who has absolutely had to survive spaces I wasn’t welcome,” she confessed.
“Fair point.”
“Oh, here’s my stop,” she pointed out, and if we could’ve gone one more spot, I would have. Jacqueline was thought provoking and clever, didn’t take herself too seriously. It was kind of just icing on the cake that she was gorgeous. She was, dare I say, even worth breaking my one date rule for.
We exited the train, working our way up to upper ground when she admitted the walk would be a few blocks up, so to expect some walking.
“That’s okay. I’m in good company, so I don’t mind getting my steps in along the way,” I flirted. And flirt was just about all we did on the way to her Fort Greene apartment. It was like you could immediately feel the shift in the air change once we were inside.
Normally another human inviting me to see their place was simply that. Never seen as anything more, especially with my neurospicy brain. But something told me something was going to happen. I just didn’t know what yet.
“Your place is really gnarly,” I admitted out loud, immediately associating the start of her flat with things we had discussed in casual conversation.
The entryway was like a mishmash of gallery artwork and movie posters, particularly the original Scream.
She really hadn’t been kidding when she said she was a horror fan, because while her place wasn’t overwhelmed by it, there were definitely artwork of Southern Gothic imagery, something I knew had to be inspired by Sinners, because she’d mentioned it was in her top five.
Vintage circus bookends with a clown and a red balloon, had to be nods to Pennywise the Dancing Clown.
“I’m digging the antique telephone,” I bantered. “Does it work?”
“Wow, you just gonna cut on the types of phones I grew up with? Of course, it works,” as she picked it up, reenacting the first few lines from Scream, when Drew Barrymore met her unfortunate end.
One thing that had been rare for me to see, however, was the vinyl player in her living room, that had a healthy collection of records I’d never seen before with someone under the age of eighty.
“You’re so lucky to have a record player. The acoustics must be sweet. We used to have one at my family’s home, but my little sisters weren’t always careful, so it just got cased up and collects dust in the basement now.”
“You haven’t even seen the picture that was promised,” she teased, guiding me to a hallway of her encounters with loads of influential people.
“The vibe of your place is sick. But what would I expect from someone like you,” I admired out loud.
“Well, you should know that I am a rabid gun owner. So now wouldn’t be the time to try anything funny,” she joked.
"You don't have to worry about this rabbit holding the gun,” I smirked. “I'm from New Zealand, love. I've never even held a gun.”
“Look at you, so sure that you're the rabbit,” she squinted, accusingly.
“Well, I ain't the Elmer,” I laughed.
“Look who thinks he's cute because he knows a little Looney Tunes,” she flirted with a light tap on the shoulder.
“I keep telling you, girl, I may be twenty-eight but I know I know a little something,” grinning like the Cheshire Cat that the remark made her laugh. She had an amazing laugh. Wasn't even ashamed to admit that inflated my ego a little bit.
“So, are we doing the Red Light District tour or the Family Friendly Tour?” she teased.
“I mean, you invited me,” I flirtatiously reminded.
“Well, in that case, follow me. This tour indeed involves a happy ending,” she winked, and I couldn't help wondering that my initial suspicion was correct, and something would happen before the night’s end.
Jacqueline had lived nothing short of an impressive life, having people as socially significant as Tarana Burke to culturally entertaining entities like Cardi B.
Hate to say it, but if she did or said one more amazing thing, I just might freaking marry this one.
“You weren't lying when you said your job allowed you to meet such interesting people,” carefully trying to gain recognition of the folks I didn’t know.