Blackhumouristpress's Blog

January 4, 2010

The Mason Dixon Excuse

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 7:44 am
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Colin Mason left Grand Rapids, Michigan to pursue his passion of being an artist in New York City. He found job in a coffee shop with a struggling black poet by the name of Deandra Dixon. Deandra wrote poetry about being black and poor and angry and a woman. A lot of her work was very abstract and really hard to read into but she had several poems published in anthologies whereby she never earned a cent. Deandra would read her poems at poetry slams and open microphone nights at small clubs in Brooklyn. After spending so much time with Colin in the coffee shop, Deandra decided that Colin was a safe catch. He was white, smart, fairly attractive and pliable. Deandra for all her militant black, feminist liberalism, she really wanted the old fashioned nuclear family and so she married Colin and they had a son. His name was Obama Mason-Dixon.
Obama of course was named after the president of the United States. He was conceived shortly after the election in November of 2008. Colin and Deandra drove in Deandra’s yellow Volkswagen Beetle to Chicago to take part in the historical moment in Grant Park when President Obama declared himself victorious in the 2008 presidential elections. Both Colin and Deandra cried as President Obama took the stage. They were both deeply touched.
Working at an independent coffee shop in Brooklyn, provided them enough money to make ends meet barely. Deandra had decided that she wanted to take their young son to visit her grandmother in Mississippi for Christmas. Deandra’s grandmother was getting old and Deandra feared that her grandmother might never meet her 31st grandchild and so Colin and Deandra left New York City on a Wednesday night late so that little Obama could sleep through the night. Colin was dead set against driving to the south with a black woman in a yellow Volkswagen with political bumper stickers plastered across the back. Deandra wanted everyone to know at all times how she felt about things. The several bumper stickers gave a thumb sketch as to her political leanings. Colin felt as though he had to comply if for no other reason than to ensure the safety of his wife and child even though he had never engaged in a fist fight in his life.
Colin snuck down to the south, carefully following behind those that needed to go ten to fifteen miles an hour beyond the posted speed limit of seventy miles per hour. Meanwhile, Deandra and little Obama slept like angels in the back seat of the Volkswagen while Colin listened to whatever he could tune into in their car radio. They arrived early on Christmas morning if you can believe this, in a town called Hot Coffee, Mississippi. It is roughly thirty miles north of Hattiesburg, Mississippi. They just could not get away from coffee and Colin had been wolfing it down at every filling station along the way just to keep alert.
Now Deandra’s relatives were southern folk born and raised in the south and most never ventured out of the south for anything. None of them really had any desire to ever visit New York and so their only link to the northern world was Deandra. Deandra was an outspoken buxom young black woman in her late twenties who wore her in an Afro. Her cousins thought she was too intense and probably a bit crazy. They all decided that Colin fit the description of a compliant and subservient mate and so they felt sorry for him more than anything else. Colin had spindly arms and a sunken chest. He had no interest in football or college football. All of Deandra’s male cousins were all geared up to watch bowl games on television. Colin went for long walks on country roads and people passed by and looked at Colin like he was a Martian. Nobody messed with him but he was an oddity. New Years day rolled around and it became time for the great trek back north.
Colin made the mistake of buying a combination cheese and beef jerky all wrapped up in plastic. It looked safe enough when he filled up for gas and poked around the filling station/diner/locker room for truckers. Amid the confederate flag license plate holders and hats, sat days old donuts behind a glass case and so Colin opted for packaged products and a bottled water. The old woman with a cigarette dangling from her mouth and more wrinkles than a Shar Pei Dog, told Colin that was one of her favourites as she broke into an uncontrollable smoking induced cough. By the time Colin had driven to Meridian, Mississippi, something had gone seriously wrong within his intestines.
Colin tried with all his might to keep from shitting in his own pants as he broke out in full body sweats. He pulled off the highway and carefully walked as though he was trying to keep something in his ass and he really was. As Colin lowered his draws, the liquefied feces shot out of his anus at blister speed. It sputtered as it hit the tank and wall and dripped onto the seat. Colin trembled as the episode seemed to go on for minutes. Finally the uncontrollable need to relieve himself ended. He crawled into the backseat beside his son who was asleep with a pacifier in his mouth and pulled the Snuggle up to his chin as he shivered in the back seat.
“I think that cheese or beef jerky was no good. I think I got food poisoning… I’ll be alright soon. You’ll need to drive for a bit,” said Colin.
Now Deandra was not a patient driver. If seventy was good, ninety was better and so she flew down the left lane of the two lane interstate leading out of Mississippi towards Alabama. Just before the Alabama state line, a Mississippi trooper sat parked with a radar gun pointed right at blazing yellow Volkswagen.
“Oh Fuck!” Said Deandra, as she slammed on the brakes.
Officer Clinton Dixon, no immediate relation to Deandra, sauntered up to the driver’s side with one hand near his gun. Officer Dixon was a stern man who had served in the first Gulf War as a Marine and then returned home to Mississippi to be a law man. He was born Baptist, coached high school football, loved to hunt and thought George W. Bush was a darn good president. The “Buck Fush” sticker on the back of Deandra’s car angered Officer Dixon right off. The Obama sticker, peace symbol in rainbow colors and pro choice sticker only served to solidify what Officer Dixon was already thinking as he saw the neon yellow foreign automobile with highly offensive bumper stickers and a New York license plate. Officer Dixon posed a rhetorical question to himself as he exited his car; what in the hell is this damn world coming to?
“License, registration and proof of insurance, ma’am,” said Officer Dixon.
At the same time that Officer Dixon was learning that he shared a last name with Deandra, Deandra was learning that she too had something in common with the Mississippi state trooper. Officer Dixon could not bring himself to refer to Deandra as Ms. Dixon and so he used Deandra’s first name. This only angered her.
“Ms. Deandra, are you aware of the posted speed limits hare on this hare interstate within the state of Mississippi?”
“Yes sir.”
“Okay then Ms. Deandra… Cain you tell give me a reason why you was goin eighty nine miles an hour in the posted seventy mile an hour zone?”
“I was trying to pass some cars on the right.”
“That’s an excuse not a reason. A reason would be that someone was ill or dying. Anything short of that is an excuse… Now then what is the problem with that young man in the back seat of your vehicle, Ms. Deandra?”
Officer Dixon assumed that two young people had obviously been partying on New Years Eve and Colin was paying the price all day. Deandra told the officer it was possible food poisoning but he wasn’t buying the story.
“Ms. Deandra, if I was to find an open bottle of alcohol in your vehicle, I spect that the issue would not be so much food poisoning as intoxication… I will now ask you if you have been drinking?”
“No, I haven’t,” said Deandra, angrily.
“Spell your last name backward for me,” said Officer Dixon.
“What!?”
“It’s a simple question… We share the same last name. I want to hear it backward…”
“I cain’t believe this fucking bullshit!” Said Deandra, while gripping the steering wheel tightly.
Officer Dixon was shocked by the lack of respect. He felt that anyone with no regard for the unborn or George Bush, had no respect for order and further measures would have to be necessary. Colin stepped up to qwell the situation.
“Sir, I stopped for gas back near Heidelberg. I have the receipt in my pocket. I purchased some cheese with beef jerky and got sick within twenty minutes. I had to stop to use the restroom and I broke out in body sweats… We haven’t been drinking. We came down to visit my wife’s relatives here in Mississippi and are working our way back to New York City,” said Colin, calmly.
“Let me see your license.” Said Officer Dixon.
Officer Dixon could not believe what he was seeing. A Colin Mason married to a Deandra Dixon. Luckily he never asked for their child’s name. Officer Dixon blinked heavily, shook his head and gave the license back to Colin.
“Set tight…” said Officer Dixon.
Officer Dixon handed Deandra her license back and told her that she was two miles an hour from being taken into custody. She had the option of returning back to Lauderdale County Court for a hearing at the end of the month or pay the fine of $150.00 by mail. Deandra took the ticket without saying a word and got in the back seat so that Colin could continue driving.
Officer Dixon returned home to his pretty wife who was wearing a summer like dress. She was putting the fried chicken, mashed potatoes and greens on the supper table for her husband who was just stopping in to eat his lunch before going back to work. She did what any wife would do which is to ask her husband how the day was going.
“Well darlin… Picture this picture; a large black woman with a puffed up Afro hairdo driving a VW bug in bright yellah. Now she goin nearly ninety miles an hour and got some sickly looking white boy in the back huddled undah some blankets. She go by the last name Dixon and he go by Mason. They got themselves a baby asleep with a binky in his mouth and this woman is defiant as the day is long. I aks her if her boy been drankin and she swore at me. Ifin it wasn’t for the boy speakin up, ida hauled them in for any number ah reasons… Hares the kicker, love; hates Bush, for abortion, wants peace and is from New York City… All this wrapped up in one yellow bug…”
Mrs. Dixon laughed and gave her husband a kiss on the forehead. Having a good sense of humor, she had an idea for her husband.
“Honey… Why don’t we go visit New York City sometime. We kin use mah brother’s jacked up Chevy Blazer with the Confederate flag sticker on the back. If that ain’t enough, we kin git a “Rush was right” and “Charlton Heston is my President” bumper stickers. We kin bring shotguns and shoot at rats running loose in Manhattan… Wouldn’t that be fun, honey?”
Officer Dixon took a sip of his coffee and thought about the idea of going up north with the hoards of people, pollution, and crime and winced.
“Oh… The humanity…”

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