Pudgy Indian

Jimmy George and Michael Knudeson had been friends for a little over a year. Both in their late twenties, they had met at Michael's Glass where they were glazers together. They became friends quickly and started doing all sorts of things together. Jimmy was even Michael's best man at his wedding.

Jimmy is a Umatilla who moved to Portland in his twenties. He grew used to city life, liked his work, and had a girlfriend from time to time, but never anything serious enough for long term. Mutual fun for people looking for someone else but needing that good energy to get there. Enjoying the journey, as it were.

Michael Knudeson was a city boy. He went to college but dropped out after three years. He became disillusioned because...well, that would be a whole other story all together. Michael...Mike...was white and didn't experience a lot of life beyond the suburbs and occasional trips to nature spots. The furthest he had been from Portland was when his parents took him to Disney World in Floida when he was 12. He lived in various areas of Portland, Oregon his whole life.

Mike...this Mike was not the owner of Michael's Windows, by the way. Mike left Michael's Windows about six months ago for a higher paying job that his father managed to get him.

Jimmy and Mike had a favorite bar that they would meet at from time to time and usually watch sports on TV. Today was one of those days.

Mike had a question on his mind that had been burning ever since he first heard of the issue. He never felt comfortable asking Jimmy, and they never discussed these issues. But he just had to ask. He braved up.

"Jimmy," Mike said. "Why are Indians so upset by the mascot issue?"

Mike felt something change at that moment. He wasn't sure what it was.

Jimmy looked carefully at his friend. He put his fork on his plate, placed his hands carefully in his lap, and finished chewing his mouthful of food. He had faced these questions before, but not from Mike. He was careful to avoid this issue with his friend. He was never sure about discussing these things with him.

"Simply," Jimmy carefully explained, "it's dehumanizing."

"What does that mean?"

Jimmy couldn't believe that his friend was a fucking idiot! He liked hanging out with Mike. They had a lot of fun together. But now something was changing. He knew it. There were things in his friend he would no longer be able to overlook.

"It means we are not being treated like human beings. We are a character. It's racist. It creates the idea that we are something other than human. When you are seen as not human, then it makes it possible for others to treat you inhumanely."

Mike just couldn't understand. "I don't get it. You guys have it good now [Jimmy's soul burned]. You're being treated like human beings now [Jimmy lost his soul]."

There was a silence, and Mike just thought his friend didn't understand. He tried to explain more clearly.

"You are an conquered people. We conquered you. Now you have things better than you ever would have left in your primitive state."

There was a horrifying silence that leapt canyons between them. Jimmy simply lost his soul for his friend as he sat across from him at the tiny round bar table. There was a pause as Michael watched his friends eyes turn cold. Having never seen anything like that before, he suddenly became uncomfortable and was no longer sure of himself. He felt something was going wrong.

"What if I put a gun to your head and forced you to suck my cock?" Jimmy asked in a tone of voice completely unfamiliar to Michael.

"What?" Mike almost whispered. Confused and starting to get scared. He knew is buddy had a nine milimeter, but he never carried it in the city, he hoped. He suddenly wasn't so sure. He was becoming quickly scared of his friend. What had he said that was so wrong? It was all true.

"To conquer," Jimmy explained in that same unfamiliar tone, "is to force a people to do something against their will in order to steal what is rightfully theirs so a few people can have great wealth."

Michael was starting to see the folly in his words. He was tumbling down some sort of hill. He could feel his soul slipping into a world he never had empathy for. His friend seemed to be further and further away.

"What if I were to kill you," Jimmy said leaning toward his friend, "rape your wife and children and steal your house?"

It still wasn't sinking into Michael's mind. Everything he said was true. His head turned and he wasn't sure about the change he was watching in his friend. Almost like the wolfman.

Like lightning, Jimmy reached his right hand to the left side of the table, flipped it so hard and fast it lifted off the ground and slammed into the wall above the empty booth beside them. The top shattered into pieces and one of the metal legs on the base bent as it smashed into the wall. Splinters and noise everywhere as the base bounced back across the booth table and onto the floor. Broken dishes, food, and silverware were like crumbs left on a trail by Hansel and Gretel, but there would be no return from here. Were it not for the game on the television, the bar would have been completely silent. All heads turned and everyone was in sudden terror that echoed silences generations back.

Michael knew he had just destroyed his friendship. He wanted to blame Jimmy. His temper. Too many beers? No, he only had a half a beer and was never violent. He was taller and stronger than Jimmy. He had done the guy thing of measuring him up a few times even though they were friends [no longer]. He looked up at Jimmy's face and suddenly became terrified. His anus contracted and urine was running down his urethra. He managed to stop it.

"GET UP!" Jimmy screamed.

There was a horrifying complete silence. Foot steps were heading their direction, but neither cared nor heard. Michael wondered at the weight of the table. 50 maybe 60 pounds. Flung one handed against the wall like a piece of kindling by a man whose arms are smaller than his. Whose reach wasn't as long. Michael suddenly feared for his life.

"GET UP!" Jimmy screamed again. He worked up a loogey and spit it in Michaels face. It hit under his left eye beside his nose. It trickled down his cheek, across the side of his mouth and dripped a little off of his chin.

"GET UP YOU CRACKER PIECE OF SHIT! GET UP YOU PECKERWOOD SON-OF-A-BITCH! GET UP YOU INHUMAN WHITE SKIN NIGGER! LET'S SEE WHO CONQUERS WHO! LET'S SEE WHO GETS TO KILL THE OTHER AND TAKE ALL THEIR STUFF AND GET AWAY WITH IT! GET UP! LET'S SEE WHO CONQUERS WHO YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!"

Tommy was a big security guard at this bar and knew both men very well. Tommy had been in 114 fights and won most of them. He was strong and tough and not afraid of anything. He was so confused by the situation as to allow it to delay his reaction. The feirce tossing of the table was unusual in this place. The noise was dangerous when he first heard the crash. Almost deafening. And then to see these two men, one standing, the other sitting. They were good friends. They were regulars. They were always friendly and never caused any trouble. They were a joy to be around and socialize with. Jimmy was a hugger, too. He hugged everybody, man or woman. So he was even more confused when he heard the screaming voice. He couldn't believe it was actually Jimmy screaming at his friend like that. That was the voice of someone about to kill. Tommy had heard that several times in his life. Men coming after him. He barely came out of those fights with his life. He had seen a few fights at this bar and stopped the worst with ease. This one made him hesitate in fear. He had to pretend he was the man he usually was in these situations. He knew this was a dangerous event. He knew he had to be real careful with this scene. He started walking, but hesitated several times on the way, hoping it would calm itself down. Tommy got to the scene just as Jimmy screamed at his seated friend [no more], "GET UP! YOU RACIST SACK OF FUCKING SHIT!"

Tommy reached his left arm across Jimmy to try to defuse this obviously dangerous man. This man who never gave a hint of being this type of person. Before his arm could reach Jimmy's right shoulder in attempt to turn away his focus from Michael, his arm was slapped down so hard and so fast as to cause what would become a severe bruise on his forearm and put a pain in his shoulder that would last four days.

"GET UP! LET'S PLAY A TINY GAME OF CONQUER WHITEY!"

There was a silence that echoed from generations of imbalance and death. ...genocide...

Jimmy's breathing was slow, deep, and filled with electrified tension. Michael knew he carried the Thunder Beings in his body. Knew that he could easily release them through his fists and feet, knees and elbows, and whatever else he could and would use as a weapon to extinguish, to conquer. Conquer...he was beginning to understand. The doorway to his empathy had been torn off, and it wasn't pretty, and it wasn't safe. He had just been conquered, but in such a tiny, miniscule way. So individual, and nothing like a whole race being wiped off the face of the earth so...so...someone...like him...could stand before...a conquered...unconquered...and explain...life to them...on his own...land. His breathing became light and shallow. Something, anything, to take away the focus of his former friend. Something, anything, to get out of there alive.

Tommy took a cautious step barely into the space between the men. That seemed to shake the energy a little. Tommy's arm started to ache painfully. He hadn't been this terrified in years. It seemed to calm Jimmy just enough for his former friend to get up...slowly. Slowly side step to his left until he stood to the side of his chair. He backed up slowly with his head down. He could never look at his former friend again. He had broken something very special and it would never be mended...ever. Nothing would ever be the same. He picked his coat off of the back of the chair, put it on, and backed up slowly about four more feet before turning and walking towards the door. Listening for possible footsteps or commotion following him. It didn't come.

Tommy started to relax, and he took another step in front of Jimmy.

"I CARRY GENERATIONS OF HATE YOU FUCKING SON-OF-A-BITCH!" Jimmy yelled at his former friend. As he calmed, Jimmy looked at the people who sat terrified, silent, barely breathing. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He wanted to tell everyone he carried generations of Love as well, because he did, but he knew that he would have to watch his back as he left now. Aint nothing like walking out of a bar and not having someone challenge another acting tough. Fucking Penis Driven Patriarchy. He was so much more than this angry person. A few people there knew that, but most would remember this burn. They would remember this rage. They would see it in every Indian they ever met, now. And they would have to learn to deal with the lesson the creator saw that these people needed. Everything happens for a reason.

"One last beer before you leave?" asked Tiffany, the bartender. Jimmy instantly fell in Love with her. Extremely intense situations create energies like this sometimes. He thought he would never see her again...or maybe he would. She pulled a Guinness from the tap. A harp that would play music to calm the soul even more.

Jimmy picked up his coat from the back of his chair and walked over to the bar. Tiffany was a quarter Cheyenne. They shared a common history. They often talked of this when Jimmy came to the bar alone. She placed the Guinness on the bar before Jimmy just as he arrived. He stared at it as Tiffany pulled a pen from behind her ear, wrote her phone number on a napkin, and passed it across the bar to him. She knew he was much more than this moment. She, too, fell in Love with him. Jimmy picked up her phone number, folded it delicately, placed it in his shirt pocket.

"I'm off at 10," she said. "You can walk me home if you come back. You might want to wait for me outside, though."

Jimmy started to rise, and had to concentrate to keep from being too embarassed as he would soon walk out of his favorite bar for the last time.

He picked up the pint, and in 7 seconds, it was joyously sloshing in his belly. The Thunder Beings were fed and starting to leave his body. His passions were now aroused. He was ready to create beauty in the world. He would much rather create beauty in the world. Beauty. Beauty is worth fighting for. Everything would be beautiful around 10pm.

Jimmy walked from the bar. No one called the cops, everyone was too scared. Everyone was trying to keep their closet doors closed...more like...trying to close them again.

The door closed behind him. It was starting to get dark, and starting to snow. He would be back at 10. He wanted to stay warm. He smiled and the snow touched his face like a familiar friend. He pulled his coat around his neck and figured he'd head to his grandma's for a few hours before his New Lover got off of work. Life is good! Life is beautiful. The Revolution had begun. Tonight...he was going to dance.