The Edge of the Line

Some days, I really hate my strange brain.

I have this great idea for a movie, or maybe a script. Some typical white teen types go on a Grand Adventure in the perceived Wild West, and whenever they get in a pickle, it’s the POCs that get them out of trouble. And in every outdoor scene, in the background, there’s this stereotypical Mexican worker type having a siesta beneath a sombrero, lying under a saguaro cactus. But he’s the one who comes up with the sage advice or clever idea, and points them in the right direction, and by the third scene some of the other background characters (same people) are realizing that they’re non-player characters in some twisted reality. They try to ask the Mexicano what’s going on, but he’s always vanished by the time the camera pans back. At the conclusion, the Hollywood-acceptable skin tones go off to their acclaim, real or imagined, and the extras finally get to ask the Mexicano what’s really happening. Dropping the typically-used accent, he shows them all that the cactus is a transporter, and opening the door, asks if they want to go on their own adventure. The eager extras pile in, and the cactus winks out of existence.

There are more than a few problems with this.

Firstly, I’m as pasty white as my non-protagonists. I do have a few drops of non-Penna Dutch (German, really) blood, but not enough to even begin to know the ins-and-outs of racism in America. But I am female, in a minority, and the culture shows as soon as I open my mouth. Even going to a relatively local college, my minority culture showed soon enough. Virtue signaling would be the least of my sins, if my deeply sarcastic humor didn’t show up properly and take a front seat in the audience with popcorn.

Secondly, sarcasm is so easy to take as real belief. Machiavelli’s The Prince shows it all too well, as does Swift’s A Modest Proposal. They were masters of the craft, and I’m a bumpkin. I couldn’t do justice to a movie without some master wordsmiths – is Mel Brooks available?

Thirdly, the finest of fine lines between having a character speaking in accent or jargon, and mocking the character by doing so, is microscopic on a good day. Considering the state of Latinx, Black, and Native American affairs today in good ol’ ‘Murica, I don’t stand much of a chance.

But still, the story wanted to be told.

So, for the last challenge, I modified it a little.

The short story I wrote changed the perspective and theme somewhat, but I wanted to convey the idea of minorities playing the fool, just to get the white majority to listen to them. I’ve seen it, time and again. But I get it, too, something needs to be done to keep an overly-large sense of interference from ruining their lives.

I knew I would be in trouble from the first line spoken by a caricature. Would I lose my audience? Keep their sympathy? Hope that the people who know my writing style would stick to it, knowing I’m not like that? Would the judges drop me before they finished reading that line?

I had to write, re-write, and scrub it and try again, over and over, about twenty times.

I still don’t know if I did it right or not. Maybe I never will.

Maybe I could have gone with another story altogether. But I’m so furious with the state of ‘Murica right now, and doing my part to fight the oligarchy and meritocracy (but quietly, so as not to draw unwanted attention), that I decided to take the plunge. The story wants to be written, so I will do so. I may get flak for it, but if so, at least the idea is out there: minorities aren’t going away, they’ve always been shoved to the background, and they deserve their own time in the spotlight. Not scrubbed from history because they have more melanin or epicanthic folds.

I gave my Latino protagonist an americano drink, because of course I did. Ironic.

I also made the call to italicize what my protagonist says, but use proper quotes for the overlooked character, to subtly highlight the differences. I’m not sure if the heightened contract actually works, but it felt right?

What do you think? Did I hit? Miss? I’m somewhat on target, but missed a bulls-eye? In the end, it’s not me who makes a final judgement, but you, the reader.

From my story, Background Characters:

This is the fifth pair of idiots this week, coming into our border town with their stupid selfie sticks and flip flops and no amount of sunscreen in sight and put down that scorpion this instant are you trying to kill yourselves? Go home! Don’t come to the desert in spring unless you know what you’re getting into!

“S’okay, señor, I will ‘splain to them, come here, cheeldren, let me geeve you some advise-a…”

Well, that’s new. Saguaros are hard to find around here; they tend to get stolen despite the laws and tracking chips placed in them. But, right across the street where I thought I would have noticed one by now, was a sixteen footer with classic curving branches, and a guy lying underneath in its narrow shade. Sombrero, white linen worker’s outfit, tough leather sandals that can take all the abuse this environment can throw at them. A living, breathing, caricature, even down to the speech that sounds like Slowpoke Rodriguez from the cartoons.

Too much for my caffeine-starved mind, and my americano getting cold in my hand. And I’m late for work. So I hopped in my car and took off like a jackrabbit, with a slightly nasal voice still droning in my ear, “You see, cheeldren, you must be a-nice-a to the desert creatures, they bite-a and a-sting-a and will hurt you baaad…”

My ancestors must have it out for me. Ten generations we’ve lived here, and we still get the… No. I won’t say the word. Being racist right back doesn’t help the situation. But they’re sure stupid, and any stupidity drives me crazy. Bit crazier than usual, this time, but, still.

If you're interested in the rest of the story, it's here: https://shopping-feedback.today/humor/background-characters-wt3ah0e5k%3C/a%3E%3C/p%3E%3C/div%3E%3C/div%3E%3C/div%3E%3Cstyle data-emotion-css="1x3zcuc-StoryContent">.css-1x3zcuc-StoryContent{pointer-events:none;}