In 1979 I was 22 and living in Harlem the only pale-face rabbit workin at Amy Ruth’s Soul Food joint.
My co-workers referred to me as, da little honky. The word nigga was persistently bandied around the kitchen, by everyone ceptin me.
My wages were less than minimum wage, $3.75 and hour.
I worked At Amy Ruth's Lounge & Barbecue from 9 AM till 5, 6 days a week.
The staff would eat at a long metal table in the kitchen, fried chicken, greens, cornbread washed down with RC Cola, and hot coffee.
After work, I'd hit Harlem bars; Da Rooster, Jumbo's, Big Time, and others. I was starstruck on Black birds, ladies's confident and brave in the line of fire.
At Jumbos I'd drink beer Old English 800 with shots of Jack Daniels.
I feel a body brushing against mine.
I turn me head, it's a little black girl; she looks at me and says,
I'm Tulip baby,
hi Tulip I'm Henry, how bout supper baby on me?
They move to a booth it's cool and wet there.
They laugh, drink 7 & 7s, Henry orders ribs, greens, red beans and cornbread, da bread sucks up the booze.
They eat and drink till midnight then Tulip says,
You sweet Henry, let's go to your place,
I feel like I've won the lottery.
I lived in the Harlem Flop House, a 1 room place lined with termite infested wood, you could hear the termites chewing.
We take a bus to Central Harlem passing the Apollo Theater, Moshe's Deli, and Sam Gluck's Shoes,
Tulip says excitedly,
I love Moshe's Deli, blintzes, and matzah ball soup, and I say,
you a Black Jew baby.
At Moshes we order a Rueben sandwich, cream sodas, fries, and strawberry cheese blintzes for desert.
I pay, we take a bus to The Harlem Flop house, walking up a few stories.
Inside we sit on the sofa, the room smells like nicotine, the flower wallpaper in yellow.
We drink sparkling wine, stripping, laying on fold down bed, slowly touching then fucking like crazy.
Finished and feeling relieved, we take a bus to the Bronx Art Museum.
There are works by black artist like Jacob Lawrence, Romare Bearden, and Alma Thomas in the for story painted cement building.
We eat some ganja brownies, the paintins come alive, vibrate, we can feel it in our soul.
After a week of shaking up and The Harlem Flophouse, Tulip says,
Henry there’s a better life for you and me out west.
We pack light and take a bus to Vegas, never lookin back.