Spoonerism

Killick’s skin was the color of ecru. The line outside the club extended around the block. Icy blasts of wind licked up from the Newark, Delaware sky that Sunday evening. He was with his date, Dala, who was as dark as a sunberry. The stark contrast made it seem like night and day had become personified. They were finally at the front of the line.

The bouncer didn’t have a metal detector, but did have something similar. He just looked at Killick.

“You’re not getting in, but the lady can,” the heavyset man with a clean shaven face announced.

Dala protested. “Wait, why not him?”

“This is a melanin finder. If I were to run this over him, it might burst into flames. He’s too light skinned. We cannot allow that in our club. It’s because of his kin scholar.”

“That was terrible spoonerism usage.”

“Huh?”

“You said ‘kin scholar.’ You meant skin color. But that’s not important. Again…why not?” Dala’s eyes narrowed. The frostiness of the evening was an afterthought.

“No. It’s cool,” Killick said. He smirked and backed out of line. “You go ahead and have a good time,” he kissed her forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere without you. Goddamn what this man says,” Dala asserted.

“I hear you, babe. If you don’t want to go in there, we can find a new spot to enjoy the night.” He put his arm around her waist and they walked away from the club entrance.

They hadn't been gone from the car long enough for it to cool off, and the retained heat warmed their spirits, as well as their bodies. Once they had fastened their seatbelts, they only had to tell the car where to go.

“They don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. I understand and respect the private property rights, and they're certainly within those to disallow people from entering their establishment, but doesn’t make it any less stupid.”

“That’s what it means to be stewards of your own slice of property. You can say who gets in, and who doesn’t. My fight is not about dissuading people from keeping me out of their places of business. I seek to persuade people to understand that no matter the skin tone, honor, justice, and rectitude count the most,” Killick said.

“I get it, but we’ve got to do something. We’ve got to use the money we’ve saved up and start our own nightclubs, diners, and restaurants. We will drain the patrons from the racist establishments.”

Killick grinned. “You’ve got a point there. We can put the money from my settlement with the city to good use. Without the burden of forced taxation, we’ll be able to not only open up clubs and cafés, but supermarkets, law offices, and dentistries, all in Newark.”

“I know a few people who can have all of this done. I just want to make sure we’re going to have a block where all of these businesses can flourish. I want to ensure that we’re able to maintain and thrive through all of the mess that may come our way.”

“You’re too intelligent and courageous to not be able to take the tools that you created for yourself, and put them to good use,” Dala said.

“That’s right,” Killick agreed, said with a sly grin. Dala shoved him playfully and smiled.

“This night was a moment of education. Had we known such a device existed, and understood the thinking behind, we could have constructed our own stores and offices. Of course, everyone would want to get in our places because people would realize we’re about the bottom line” she explained. “I don’t even want to go out anymore. Do you?”

He shook his head “no.”

Once they arrived at the house, they began sketching out business plans while still wearing their dress clothes.

Killick took his words and transformed them into action. He took a pencil and started jotting down ideas. He brought to life his ideas on a digital glass hovering in the air. He discarded and collected all kinds of bits of data like picking up arrows for his quiver.

“Look at that, Dal’,” he beamed. His arms folded and the grin returned after it had been replaced by a serious facial expression.

“It’s beautiful. Now we just have to take it to the property owners on Monday morning,” Dala reminded her husband.

Without fail, the couple opened a digital screen to show board members of all colors and sexual orientations that next day.

“Yes,” Killick said. “I have the money and the will to build a new section of Newark, Delaware. My wife and I are prepared to beautify the spaces adjacent to the library. We’re looking into financial firms and software spaces. We seek to have our plans laid out….”

Mr. Filton spoke. “The Private Property Committee wishes to know the exact amount and time for which this space will be developed.”

“Yes, sir,” Killick said. “We’re starting with ten million credits in the next ten months.”

“And all of this stems from what?” Mrs. Dyer asked.

Killick inhaled and exhaled sharply.

“I was denied entry into a bar because I’m albino.”

“With that kind of money, you can make your own—okay, I see your point. You want to go beyond just night spots and coffee houses. Proceed.”

“We are seeking approval in order to enrich Newark and actually create a community, not just a neighborhood.” Killick’s tone was even and solid as a fresh paved road.

“The PPC grants you your place on the stretch of land in which you plan to transform. This comes with one condition: that you accept or deny anyone for any reason you see fit. Just as the club barred you access, you should be able to prevent whomever you want from your property.”

“That was my intent. I will use the Character Reader to discriminate. I’m prepared for it,” Killick grinned. “Let it be so,” he said.

“What are you going to call it?”

“Kin Scholar,” Killick answered.