According to The Boondocks, a nigga moment is a—
(You can't call it that.)
What? Who said that?
(It's the part of you that cares what others think.)
I don't have that. This book is me writing whatever I want.
(You lie. Deep down you want this book to be praised. To be liked. The only reason you say reckless things is to have an excuse when you eventually fail.)
…
Fine. What's wrong with it?
(You're writing a book under a pen name for goodness sake! Using a word used on black people for decades! Not to mention the copyright issues.)
But I'm black!
(Do they know that? Hell, do they care? The second someone sees that word, they don't see your book through the lens of a book.)
(They see their thoughts about the world reflected back to them.)
It's the modern age! Shouldn't people be more accepting of other cultures?
(It's only been sixty years since Jim Crow died. Don't forget who you are. And don't act brave in the face of your insecurities.)
You basta...
(Because we both know you're nothing but insecurities, boy.)
…
Damn snob.
Anyway. Where was I?
Oh yeah, moments.
The Boondocks defines a "nigga moment" as a moment when ignorance overwhelms the mind of an otherwise logical Negro male, causing him to act in an illogical, self-destructive manner... i.e. like a nigga.
For example...
Someone steps on your shoe. Someone jokes about your mother. You could just let it go. But you don't.
And eventually someone ends up in the morgue, in jail, or ashamed for the rest of their life for it.
But I disagree with the given definition. You don't even have to be black or a male to have a nigga moment. It happens just as easily to any of us.
Recklessness is color blind after all.
One thing is for sure—we've already had two of them.
And if time is any guide, this won't end well for anyone involved.
That's the funny thing about a moment.
It takes a moment to fail.
It takes a moment to fall.
It takes a moment to fade into nothing.
It takes... just a moment.
-- -- --
The classroom smells like old paper and cheap incense. Padres love incense. Makes everything feel holy. I should get them some donuts sometime.
"Let me ask you this," the instructor says, pacing slow. "What is the difference between the Changed and the Padres?"
Silence. Chairs creak. Someone coughs.
"Where they get their powers," the blonde kid says, proudly.
"Does it matter where the power comes from, Nero?" the instructor asks.
He beams like he has a halo around him.
"The Padres are holy. Chosen to be blessed. They…"
The angelic halo disappears and is replaced by the expression someone makes when they see a rotting carcass. He points across the hall. At us.
"They get their power from the waste of the worst demon to ever exist."
A few heads turn.
"The Celestial King."
The room shifts. You can feel it. Like someone opened a window and let cold air in.
"That's right," the instructor says calmly. "The Changed are the result of a dying curse made by the man who nearly brought humanity to extinction. The worst Celestial to ever exist and an utter villain. He was vanquished by—" he clasps his hands together, "Jord and the rest of the Celestials."
I lean back in my chair, suppressing laughter. That old man? A villain? Man, that guy couldn't beat a hare in a fight!
I turn to look at the asleep boy next to me. Tapping Napoleon, I ask him to wake him up once class ends. He nods, and I let sleep lull me back into her embrace.
-- -- --
"You."
My eyes open slow. Nero. And a motley crew of followers. The room is mostly empty now. Funny how fast people disappear when tension and drama walk in.
"What."
"Apologize for yesterday," he says, with a faux smile.
That kind of expression Napoleon was frightened of and crocs make before they lunge. "And I might let you live to see tomorrow."
My fists tighten. If he's going to act like a typical shonen bully, it's my right—nay my duty!—to give him the traditional hero ass whipping he deserves...
However, just as I move to rise and see to someone's fall, Napoleon's voice echoes in my head.
"You flew too close to the sun! You flew too close to the sun and now it's your turn to be shot down!"
I sigh and let the anger flow out of me like a river.
"I'm... sorry."
Silence. They weren't expecting that.
Nero tilts his head to the judges. "Hm. What do you think?"
"That wasn't sincere at all!"
"Not even close."
And the polls have come in! Let's see what our lucky winner gets!
Two of them shove me out of my chair. My back hits the floor hard enough to knock the air out of me. One knee on my arm. Another on my shoulder. The ceiling looks different from down here.
I can hear a violin. It's playing me out of the game of life. Even though I got a second chance, things keep going the same way.
"Don't worry," Nero says, crouching beside me. "I'll leave a little reminder on you so you don't forget next time. Every time you look into the mirror you'll remember this."
Heat gathers in his palm. Like the air itself is being compressed into something sharp.
I close my eyes. My tattoo artist gets closer to my skin. The crazed drone of a violin gets louder.
Just a moment. That's all it takes at the end.
"Nero."
The heat disappears.
The violin stops.
I open my eyes. Wiesel's sitting upright. For the first time since class started, matter of fact.
Nero stands up slowly. "That couldn't be... Weasel? I thought you were dead!"
"Because you killed my entire village?"
No one laughs. No one moves.
"No," Nero says lightly. "You're here, are you not? You must've used that little mind trick of yours. Damn shame. Some mistakes need correcting, it seems. How have you been?"
"Grieving," Wiesel says. "But well."
That hits harder than yelling would've. Nero studies him. "You're not angry? You don't want revenge?"
"No."
The room feels smaller. "Revenge doesn't heal."
I shake the guys off me and stand up. "You're a coward!" I say. I don't even think about it. "What kind of man lets someone slaughter everyone he's ever known and just walks away?"
Wiesel looks at me. Not offended. Just tired.
"What kind of man do you seriously take me for?" he asks quietly.
"A living one!" I shout at him "What are you a fucking monk? Have you no pride? No shame? I swear if my brother spouted this bullshit, I'd come out of the grave to beat him to death!"
Heavy footsteps thunder down the hallway.
Napoleon bursts in, breathing hard, scanning faces.
"Rio. You good?"
I roll my shoulders.
"Yeah."
I grab my stuff, walk past Nero and look at Wiesel.
"What are you doing? You dont want to stay with the mass killers and betrayers do you?
He rises out of his seat, and follows me.
"Heard cowardice rubs off these days. Wouldn't want to catch that."
Napoleon grins and walks back into the hallway. "You got a good sense of humor considering, Wiesel." I say.
"A man truly dies when his humor does." He looks at Nero. "And I ain't dead yet."
And we walk out of the classroom.
Wiesel turns to me in the hallway.
"What's a monk?"
"Don't worry about it."
-- -- --
Nero stands in the classroom. He seems almost relieved. Like a burden had been freed from his shoulders.
"What are you going to do about Weasel?" one of the boys asks.
Nero almost jumps. His eyes dart around rapidly, considering things.
"Rio's... right."
Blank faces all around stare at... whatever this is.
"What?"
"Don't you see! What type of person lets someone kill everyone they've ever known and lets it go? He's planning something. I know it."
Another boy speaks up. "But he didn't look like he was lying."
"Do you seriously think one of those filthy vermin could ever grow as a person? They're not even people for crying out loud!"
"And what if he is actually changing?"
"Then he dies for impersonating a human."
-- -- --
A Nigga Moment isn't necessarily over when you think it's over.
It stays.
Waiting for your moment of weakness.