In Hiding

All day, I've been trying to put a finger on the movie that I'm reminded of whenever I see black people here in Idaho. Can anybody help me out? I see them, and it seems like they see me, and get startled and scurry away. I am just as surprised as they are, but I would expect that it would be more of a pleasant surprise for everyone involved. It's not like this is a frequent occurrence or anything. We'll discount the 2 people that I saw at the airport because one of them came in on a flight like me and the other looked like he might work there.

I purposely detoured off I-84 East on my way from Boise to Burley this morning at a place called Mountain Home because rumor has it that there are some of "us" over there. Allegedly, there are a couple of black hair salons there. I say allegedly because a) I couldn't find them and b) they are alleged to be versed in doing black hair, not necessarily operating exclusively as that. It would make sense if this were actually true though because there is an Air Force Base in this little town of 11,341. You know how you can always find a good portion of us in the military. I was genuinely excited when I saw the sign that said "Mountain Home, Next Exit". I drove down route 30 expecting to see some signs of us somewhere. Maybe I'd see some airmen out for a morning stroll. Maybe I'd see some folks coming out of the grocery store or filling up at the gas station. Hopefully I'd see some where I dined since this was where I had decided my breakfast stop would be after an early morning of flying.

As I look at the demographics of the town (87.9% white, 2.61% black) on wikipedia, I see that my hopes for this place were far too high. I was the only brotha in Joe's Steakhouse, lured in by the signs on the front bragging of breakfast specials right across from the Thunderbird Hotel. (C'mon, Thunderbird...breakfast specials...it was a good a bet as any. Don't act like you wouldn't have considered it too). Joe's seemed like the kind of place that would've had some sort of good country breakfast and maybe some animated waitress like Mama from Roscoe's back in the day. It was not to be, however. The special of 2 waffles, ham, bacon or sausage and eggs any style for $6.25 written on a chalkboard near the front door got me excited, but the excitement stopped there.

I thought for sure that I wouldn't see any black folks in Burley since I didn't see any in 48 hours on my last visit. It didn't disappoint either. Well, disappoint is not really the right word here, but you catch my drift. I'd be surprised and delighted and probably want to rush over and give a hug if I did actually see somebody, but I had no expectation at all. There sure weren't any at "the Drift" (a little bar/restaurant across the street from where I'm working) and none walking around the town square. When I left the office just after dark, I thought I saw a brotha running down the street. I know what you're thinking. Why did he have to be running? Of course I'm not insinuating that if one of "us" were on the street that he would have to be running for his life or running from a crime. That's not it at all. It was dark and I did a double take because as he dashed through the shadows he looked like maybe he could've been a brotha but when I got closer I could see that he wasn't. I haven't even been here a whole day and I'm already like Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck on the deserted island...or was it a shipwreck? I don't know. You remember that one, don't you? Bugs is staring at Daffy and suddenly before our eyes, Daffy turns into a nicely browned, roasted duck on a platter. No? Daffy stares at Bugs and pictures him as a big chicken drumstick and he doesn't regain his right mind until Bugs threw some water on him just as he had tied the bib around his neck and readied his fork and knife for a feast. Still no? How about Daffy running full steam ahead toward what looks like a pool of cool refreshing water only to leap into a swan dive and land in some dry hot sand that he spews from his mouth like a swan in a fountain after attempting to swim through this oasis turned mirage. Yeah, it's like that. I'm driving down the street seeing a stocky white man with a 5 o'clock shadow lurking in the 5 o'clock shadows with his hat pulled down low and I think think I'm looking at one of my neighbors on the corner of 15th street in Oakland.

I got lost on the way home from the office. Home...yeah, that's funny to me too. Home meaning back to the hotel room that shall be where I reside for the next few days. Instead of going back the way that I came, I followed some signs and arrows and just when I was getting alarmed I saw a sista pushing a stroller hurriedly down the side of the road. She seemed to scurry away even faster when she saw me. What is that movie? It's driving me crazy. If we were in that movie, I'd try to talk to her or try to get her attention and she'd try to hurry up and finish what she'd doing and then be on her way and my questions would persist and she'd grow more and more anxious, urging that I better leave because it's not safe here. I'd say why? She'd look like she'd seen a ghost and become unable to describe the terrible thing that was making her so uneasy and causing her to strongly advise me to leave this place. I'd still be curious and would still follow after her asking why, not able to grasp the gravity of the situation and then it would be too late. Well, I hope that's not how it goes down for me, but that's how it feels. What movie is that???