Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 63289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Horace glared at Ryan. “Honestly, Maya, I don’t think anyone needs to be drinking right now.”
I held out my hand. “Please, pass me the bottle, Bernard.”
Smiling, he leaned over, took it out of the ice bucket attached to the door, and gave it to me.
I yanked off the top and chugged champagne right from the bottle.
“Maya!” Claire shrieked. “We have glasses.”
I lowered the bottle and licked my lips. “I’m not sharing this.”
Shi giggled from our seat.
I smiled at her. “Are you having a good night?”
She nodded.
“Hey, everybody.” Bernard spread out his hands and raised his voice over the song. “I have a good joke. There’s a bunch of people on an airplane and it begins to have a bumpy ride—”
“Absolutely not!” Claire placed her hand on his stomach. “That is a racist joke, baby. You are not saying it.”
“No. No. No.” I waved my hand holding the bottle and almost spilling champagne on her. “Enough is enough. You keep telling him that he can’t say it, and at this moment, I’m beyond curious.”
Claire eyed me. “What do you mean I keep telling him—?”
“Say it, Bernard.” I pointed at him. “I want to hear the joke.”
Bernard looked around. “It really is funny.”
Claire scowled at him. “It is not.”
“Ignore her.” I leaned forward and stared at him. “Let’s go.”
Meanwhile, Horace and Ryan shot each other daggers with their eyes.
Fine. I would rather hear a racist joke than get some woman’s dirty panties thrown at me.
“Okay.” Bernard’s expression beamed. “There’s a bunch of people on an airplane and it begins to have a bumpy ride.”
Sighing, Claire dug into her bag. “You really are going to do this?”
“Shh.” I placed the champagne bottle to my lips and gulped some more down.
Bernard rubs his hands together. “The flight is really bumpy, so the pilot gets on the speaker and says in a deep voice, ‘I apologize, but we are having difficulty because the weight is too heavy. Therefore, we must throw off all your luggage.’”
I quirked my brows. “O-kay.”
“Passengers see all of their suitcases being flung from the plane. Still, the flight continues to be bumpy. Nothing has been improved.”
I drank some more champagne.
“Next, the pilot gets on the speaker and says, ‘Sorry, but the weight is still too heavy. Even if we try to land, we may risk crashing. Unfortunatly, we will now have to start throwing people off the plane.’”
“What?” I placed the bottom of the bottle on my lap. “That’s odd.”
By now, Claire had her joint out, found some matches in her purse, and was lighting it.
Bernard cleared his throat. “The pilot explains, ‘Do not worry. We have enough parachutes for everyone and the stewardesses will be showing you how to use them so you can land safely.’”
I shook my head. “This is crazy.”
Bernard smirked. “It gets better, Maya.”
“But, does it?” Claire smoked her joint.
Ignoring her, Bernard kept his focus on me. “Next, the pilots says on the speaker, ‘We will begin having some people put on the parachutes and dive off the plane, but we want to be fair because all of our passengers are equal.’”
Groaning in annoyance, Claire blew out smoke.
“The pilots continues, ‘We will go in alphabetical order to make sure all our passengers are treated fairly.”
I eyed him.
“We will begin with the A’s.” Bernard chuckled. “Can all the African Americans please go to the door and prepare to jump off the plane?”
I widened my eyes. “Oh shit.”
Claire turned to me. “I told you.”
“None of the passengers get up. Everyone remains seated.” Bernard chuckled some more, completely overjoyed with himself. “They wait and wait and wait some more.”
Horace and Ryan turned to Bernard, probably done with their silent argument, and possibly just as curious to where this joke was going too.
“So, the pilot says, ‘Okay. Then, we will go to B. Can all of the Blacks, please go to the door, and jump off the plane.’”
“Oh my God.” I leaned back in the chair. “What have I done?”
“I tried to tell you.” Claire blew out smoke and handed the joint to me. “But no. . .you wanted to hear it.”
I took the joint.
Bernard winked at me. “No one gets up. They wait and wait and wait. The pilot gets back on the speaker and clears his throat, ‘Alright. We are now on C. Can all of the Coloreds please go to the door and jump off the plane.”
I took a hit of the joint.
“As you probably assume, Maya.” Bernard bobbed his head. “No one gets up again. Not a passenger rises.”
Claire held her hand out.
I gave her the joint back.
She took it and rolled her eyes. “And here we go.”
Bernard raised his hands in the air. “Off in the back of the plane, there is an African American mother and her child.”
Claire groaned again.
“And this child nudges his mother and says, ‘Mama, why aren’t we going up? Aren’t we African American? Aren’t we Black? Mama. . .aren’t we even Colored?”