Red White and Black

Markus

It turned out Momma knew a thing or two when she warned Markus a white man with a badge was nothin' but a truckload of trouble. She'd waggle her finger about an inch from his nose, getting all righteous and telling him how a badge made any white boy in the world start thinkin' he's better than everybody else. Next thing you know, he's passin' judgment, handin' out punishment, and bustin' some heads. And it don't take no genius to figure that one out either. They can pass all the laws they want and keep marching 'til they's blue in the face--it don't matter. 'Cause the man with the badge is always gonna win.

So when the security guard rounded the corner, Markus knew he was about to be dished up a big ol' helping of some of that trouble. He sighed in resignation when he saw the scowl on the guard's face, knowing what was coming. The guilty verdict was already rendered and it would be assumed he was up to no good of one sort or another. Maybe trespassing. Or dealing dope. Or eyeing the young white girls. And Lord knows them innocent young white women gots to be protected!

"You sure you're in the right building, boy?" The guard's scowl deepened while his hand rested on the nightstick strapped to his hip. His tone made clear his belief the only appropriate building for a black man would be the one housing maintenance or janitorial equipment.

"Yes, sir." Markus bit back a sarcastic reply, fully aware it would only cause trouble. "I'm pretty sure. The office of the athletic director is here and I got an appointment with him."

"That so?" Now the scowl turned into a frown. "Then you ought to know his office isn't even on this floor."

"Yes sir. I do understand that, sir. But I got here early and thought I'd kill some time looking around." Markus did his best to appear contrite and innocent but it galled him to put on an act for this overweight rent-a-cop buffoon.

The guard sucked in a deep breath then blew it out, puffing his cheeks as if the burden of keeping the hallways clear of suspicious colored men was wearing him down. "I'll tell you what," he said. "You follow me on up to his office and we'll plant you there. We can't have people wandering around here unsupervised during the summer months."

He paused and nodded to a young woman scurrying by with an armload of files. Markus held his breath and bit his lip to stifle a reply pointing out the obvious hypocrisy. The fact she was white must have granted her the necessary license to wander around unsupervised during the summer months.

"You'd best follow me," said the guard, again with a frown.

Left with no option other than to follow, Markus fell in behind the guard who led him to the stairwell and huffed his way up two flights grumbling something under his breath about one too many doughnuts. Glancing at the swell of his belly cantilevered out over his belt, Markus knew it was impossible for just one lone doughnut to be the culprit. The contents of an entire bakery along with a few circuits around the all-you-can-eat buffet followed by a continual parade of Pabst Blue Ribbon through his fridge would more likely be to blame.

Upon reaching the third floor, the guard--slapping his nightstick against his thigh in rhythm with his steps--stopped at a heavy wooden door with a brass plaque indicating the occupant as the Director of Athletics. Leading Markus into the reception room, he pointed to a chair and added needlessly, "Have a seat. This is the office where you're supposed to be, not roaming around somewhere down on the first floor."

"Yes, sir. I've already been here several times meeting with Coach Sweet."

The guard paused and folded his hairy arms across his chest, giving Markus another scowl before turning to the secretary to verify his right to grace this office with his presence. She cut him off before he could speak by pointing to an entry in the appointment book residing on her desk. He huffed a bit and mopped the sweat from his brow caused by his exertions on the stairs and presumably, that guilty doughnut blamed for his excess baggage. He gave one last glance at Markus and his face wrinkled up like a stinkbug had flown into his mouth. With a disapproving shake of his head he stalked through the door leaving Markus alone with the secretary. Her faint smile and a roll of her eyes revealed her opinion of the guard.