Free White Man's Problems by Kevin Morris Page A

thunder out of him like air from a tire. His ears rang.
    â€œAnd the guy goes, ‘Nah, man.’” Carmen was crying and laughing and yelling. “And Mike says, ‘C’mon, get something.’”
    â€œSo the black guy thinks about it, and then he says, ‘Let me get a chocolate cone.’” Carmen gasped for air between words. “And…Mike…says, ‘Like, chocolate ice cream …or the chocolate shell ? Which one?’”
    Peter fell into Donny’s lap. Carmen was bent over, veins popped out of his neck and forehead standing in front of the table. The words sputtered out.
    â€œAnd…the…guy…goes, ‘Chocolate ice cream , man…You’re crazy, you know that?’ And then he laughed at Mike and shook his head. And that was it.”
    The group at the table stomped and clapped. As they recovered, they reached for cigarettes and grabbed beers. After a minute, Peter shook his head and backhanded tears from his eyes. “That was Mike.”
    8.
    J ohn and Maria walked to the driveway and lit up Marlboro Lights bummed from Donny.
    â€œLook at this place,” said John.
    â€œNever changes,” said Maria.
    â€œThanks for coming. I know it’s tough.”
    â€œOh please. Knock it off. What? Because I might hear Carmen or some other guy say ‘nigger’? I grew up with these guys, too.”
    â€œWhere’s Kenny?”
    â€œHe’s talking to Donny and all Mike’s friends. He sees those guys all the time. He had Carmen and Peter do our bathroom.”
    They were sitting on the bumper of a pickup truck. “Can you believe they still smoke like that?” said John. “He died of lung cancer. Lung cancer .”
    â€œWe’re smoking.”
    â€œTrue.” He looked at Maria. He could tell she had something on her mind. “What?” he said. “What is it?”
    â€œJudge not least thee be judged, John.”
    â€œC’mon.”
    â€œNo, seriously. Sure, I sit there and think, ‘Carmen D’Ignazio, ugh. “Nigger” this, “nigger” that. Since third grade—always been like that. These guys are pigs. Nothing around here will ever change.’ But then I think, ‘Who am I kidding?’ I don’t know. Who’s so different? I don’t get on a fucking elevator in a parking lot if I have to ride alone with a black guy. Where’s that leave me ?”
    â€œYeah, but that’s different.”
    â€œOh yeah? How? How is that different?”
    â€œDo I really have to explain the difference between you and Carmen?”
    â€œNo. I’m talking about the difference between you and Carmen,” said Maria. “And you and Mike. And you and everybody.”
    The became silent. After a while he said, “You know what I say? I say, ‘Here’s to Mike.’”
    â€œOk. Here’s to Mike,” she said. They clinked her plastic wine cup against his Budweiser.
    â€œI’m glad he gave up. I’m glad it’s over. He was miserable.”
    â€œDon’t say that.”
    â€œC’mon. We’ve been talking about this all our lives. The entire circus with the candles and the martyrs and the prophets. All that crap. And then I have to listen the priest say Mike was a ‘fighter for the Lord, an archangel to protect us all from Satan.’ What horseshit.”
    â€œHe’s a priest, jackass. Of course that’s what he said.”
    â€œOh really?” Something went off in John. “No, Maria.” His voice cracked. “Don’t you tell me that. Mike did not win any battle against evil. He was my big brother. When he was a kid, girls loved him, and boys wanted to be him. Old men got up on Saturday morning and went out in the snow to see him play basketball in gyms with no bathrooms. When people saw him play, they thought he would be the president. And you know what happened? He got drafted. And