A pair of women friends are in a coffee shop. Carole is black. Not Carole is not.
Carole: Maybe it was better during slavery.
Not Carole: (Spits out coffee).
Carole: Then, at least I was desirable as a taboo.
Not Carole: You are completely desirable.
Carole: Don’t start.
Not Carole: How is that starting?
Carole: It doesn’t help.
Not Carole. Okay it doesn’t help. Aren’t you the one who’s starting?
Carole: Yes. I’ll stop. Let’s talk about something else. How’s little Jake?
Not Carole: Fine. Why were you starting?
Carole: I thought we just agreed not to. How’s work?
Not Carole: It sucks. Like always. And that’s not an answer to why. Besides…
Not Carole: Besides-
Carole: Not taking the bait. Are you still going to that Yoga class? The one with the instructor you want to cheat on Mike with.
Not Carole: I was going to say, besides, if you were alive during slavery times and all those men raped you, or maybe put you up in the manor house to spite their wives and use you until they found someone more interesting. What about all those half black babies you would have had? No matter the little satisfaction you may have been able to take in being wanted, you would have had to watch your children, who may have been as white as massa, suffer the same or worse as you. Half black was still black to my deluded, colonialist forbears.
Carole: Are you done?
Not Carole: Yes.
Carole: Do you want a scone?
Not Carole: No. Yes.
Carole: What flavor?
Not Carole: Whatever you’re having. We’ll share. You started it.
Carole: Yep. Fired up all that white girl apologist guilt rage. Blueberry.
Not Carole: I’m not a-
Carole: White girl?
Not Carole: Apologist. Raspberry?
Carole: This is not a negotiation. Besides. I don’t actually see any. They might be out of scones.
Not Carole: Just get whatever. I’ll only have a bite. Listen Carole, I’m your friend. I just want to understand. What’s going on? Why did you start?
Carole: It just slipped out.
Not Carole: Wishing us all back to slave times just slipped out?
Carole: I saw Beyoncé on the cover of Elle when I was on my way to the bathroom and I got mad.
Not Carole: Oooh. I love Beyoncé!
Carole: Uh hunh.
Not Carole: But why would you be mad about that? Beyoncé’s black.
Carole: And hasn’t seen her own hair since 1982. And is pretty much as Barbie’d up as they come. And-
Not Carole: Well, there’s-
Carole: There’s a box. (Points to her chest) In here. Labeled: Shit I Don’t Talk About. Beyoncé must have got her weave caught under the lid, and that comment about slavery slipped out. I take it back.
Not Carole:…Well. I’m glad it slipped out. Carole, It might not be healthy to carry all that… shit around inside you.
Carole: It might be necessary. How ’bout a Blondie?