All Joking Aside

Patty Henry, a ruggedly pretty woman in her forties, set aside the lariat she was weaving and frowned as she got up from the crate she’d been sitting on, pausing to blow out the kerosene lamp that had been providing the illumination she’d needed.

She’d heard the younger members of the group around the fire talking on the far side of the wagon as she’d been working on the lariat; at first simply talking like a group of twentysomethings, joking and laughing with each other.  Then, the tone had shifted over several minutes, becoming more serious at first, now it sounded like people were about to come to blows.

She went around the wagon, walking with purpose and saw two of the young men, Mickey Goldberg and Warren Cohen, were standing and glaring at each other across the fire, each with fists clenched. It was a little bizarre to see; though the boys weren’t related in any way they sported similarly thin builds and the same faded out goth-black hair. They could have been brothers.

 Samantha Bennett, a pretty young woman with strong shoulders and a dark chocolate complexion, was standing at Goldberg’s shoulder, clearly restraining him.  At the same time Aisha Adams, a petite and shy girl with a splash of freckles across her nose and sandy brown hair, was doing the same for Warren.  Both women looked flustered and tense.

“What’s going on here?” Patty demanded, her voice sharp.  It was her “Mom’s pissed” voice that always succeeded in throwing cold water on conflict between her sons, and it appeared to have the same effect here.  Both boys flinched as if caught doing something bad, and they shot looks at Patty guiltily. 

“I asked you a question,” Patty demanded.

Mickey pointed an accusing finger at Warren.  “He started it!”  Suddenly he looked like someone twenty years old going on six.

Warren was no better.  “Did not!” he protested in the same childish way.  “We were just talking and he got all up in my face!”

“You shouldn’t have said what you said!” Mickey countered.

“I can say what I want!” Warren shot back.

“You can,” a new voice, deep and resonant, stated.  “But should you?”

They all turned to look at the grim-faced man with the walrus mustache, the cowboy hat and the heavy-caliber revolver on his hip.  His eyes were cold gray, glittering under his hat’s brim, and his presence threw a pall over everyone. 

Warren and Mickey wilted, though Mickey threw a resentful look at Warren before he broke eye contact.

“So,” Taggert went on, “what got this going?”

“We were just talking, Mr. Taggart,” Warren said quickly.

Taggart snorted.  “’Just talking’ don’t get people in fights, Warren,” he observed with a dry growl.

“Yeah, Warren,” Mickey said sarcastically.  “Why don’t you tell him what we were ‘just talking’ about?”

“You just set there,” Taggart snapped at Mickey, “and let Warren speak for himself?  I’ll get to you when I’m ready!”

Mickey flinched again and lowered his head.  “Sorry, sir…” he near-whispered.

Taggart turned his head back to Warren like a turret locking onto its target.  “So?”

Warren hesitated, clearly uncomfortable at being the center of attention, though his expression was one of frustration and exasperation.  After a moment he scowled.  “We were talking about camp chores,” he said finally, “and who should be doing what.  Then we started talking about who should be helping with the watch because we don’t know what’s out there, and I made a joke – just a joke! – about how Sam should be the one on watch…because nobody could see her in the dark anyway.”

“Jesus, Warren!” Patty blurted.  “What you said was harmful, and not just for Sam. Now everyone is going to wonder if you’re racist and if you can be trusted to do the right thing when it really counts.”

“I didn’t mean it that way!” Warren protested.  “Then Mickey lost his shit and…”

“You shouldn’t have said it!” Mickey shot back.  “Sam doesn’t deserve…!”

“Shut your mouth,” Taggart growled.  “Sam can speak for herself.”  He turned and looked at Sam.  “You got this?”

She looked from Warren to Mickey silently for a moment, then suddenly blew out her breath in a hissing rush.  “Yeah, I got this” she said finally.  “It’s not the first time somebody’s said racist shit to me.”

“I didn’t mean it racist!” Warren cried.  “It was a joke!”

“It was bullshit…!” Mickey started to shout.

“Shut up, Mickey!” Sam snapped.

Mickey looked startled.  “But, Sam… I was…”

“I get it,” Sam sighed.  “You were ‘defending my honor’ or whatever was in your head.  But honestly?  I’ve been black my whole life, and had plenty of people say ignorant shit to me, and other people have stepped in all self-righteous to ‘defend’ me like I can’t speak for myself…and those people are always white, trying to act like they’re my Great White Savior.  And you know what?  That shit pisses me off just about as much as the racism does.”

Mickey’s eyes were huge in his face, and he was pale with shock.  “Sam, I didn’t mean…”

“STOP,” Taggart growled.  “Just shut your mouths and turn on your ears.”  His tone brooked no argument.  After a moment he shook his head.  “I’m sorry Mac’s out on the perimeter tonight,” he said finally.  “I’m sure he’d have a better take on this.  But, fuck it.”  He took a deep breath.  “I’m not even going to get into the race bullshit, because the problem here’s even deeper than that.”  He scowled at Warren.  “Warren, just when I think you’re getting your head out of your ass, there you go shoving it right back up there!  Do you seriously not comprehend why that was a fucking chickenshit thing to say?  For fuck’s sake, I thought you were one of these enlightened liberal types who thought everybody else was racist, but not you…and you didn’t think popping off like that was going to go over as anything other than a lead balloon?  And then I come walking in and you’re going off about how you can ‘say what you want’?  Seriously?”

Warren seemed to be shrinking right before their eyes, his head down and his face burning red with shame, but there was clear resentment in his eyes at being singled out.

“Do you,” Taggart went on, “think a comment like you made would be part of what you’d call ‘civilized discourse?” he asked.

“What’s ‘civilized discourse,” Warren shouted, “when there’s no civilization?  Who cares?”  The fierce energy that suddenly exploded out of him startled everyone, even more than the tears that suddenly surged into his eyes.  “The old social order is gone!” he went on, his voice going strident.  “What rules are even left?  Maybe we just need to get over ourselves and just accept we’ve lived through the end of the world and all that bullshit we thought was so fucking important just isn’t anymore?  Dog eat dog, survival of the fittest…right?”

“Is that what you think?” Taggart asked, his voice surprisingly mild.  “Warren… look around you; at the people around you.”  When Warren looked at him with resentment, the older man’s face hardened into stone.  “I’m fucking serious, boy: do it.”

Warren slowly looked around at the others, shaking, his lower lip quivering.

“Is this the ‘end of the world’?” Taggart went on, his voice softening thoughtfully.  “Definitely the end of the world as we knew it, for damn sure.  But when you look around…what do you see?  We are a group of people who came together to do something.  We came together to stand up for something.  Each and every one of us here is dependent on everyone else for our survival, and our survival gets threatened if we can’t trust each other.”  He looked hard at Warren.  “You talk about the ‘social order’, and if we’re dependent on each other, then ain’t we creating a society?  Our society got started with small groups of people – some smaller than what we’ve got here – building communities together.  If we’re a community, we have to have rules.  Our societal rules mean we look out for each other… we respect each other.  And we treat each other responsibly.  We accept rules in how we act towards each other.”  He took a deep breath and made eye contact with everyone around the campfire.

Taggart put a hand to the gun on his belt, his eyes going hard and cold.  “Let’s say you piss me off.  We ain’t got any police or social order, now do we?  What’s to keep me from shooting you in the face?  Just because?  We can do what we want, right?  Hell, think about what you said about Sam, and think about how good she is with her bow.  Imagine a broadhead going through the back of your head, because she thinks your disrespectful comment makes you unsafe to be around.  If you show her you don’t respect her, why should she trust you?”

Sam’s eyes were huge in her face.  “Mister Taggart, I would never…”

Taggart threw her a sardonic half-smile.  “I know you wouldn’t, Sam.  Warren knows it too.”  He turned his eyes back to Warren.  “Do you get it?  One of the big issues of the ‘social order’ before all this shit blew up on us was what the nature of rights is.  I believe our rights are ours from the moment we’re born, but too many people think that having rights means being able to do whatever the fuck they want depending on what whim hits ‘em in a given moment.  I was taught that the core definition of capital ‘F’ Freedom is having the right to take responsibility for yourself.  Just because I can, doesn’t mean I should.  There are things I can say that I choose not to, because I have a responsibility for how my words affect people.  Oh, I’ll give ‘em both barrels if they earn it and deserve it, but I’m not going to ‘say what I want’ if doing it’ll hurt people I’m responsible for.  I don’t do that on account of I have to, but on account of my belief it’s the right thing to do.”  He tapped the gun on his hip.  “I believe I have a right to be armed to protect myself and the people around me…that means I have a responsibility to learn how to be armed where I wasn’t a threat to anyone else, unless they proved themselves a threat.”  He then gave Warren a surprisingly good-natured smile.  “Old social order’s gone; that’s for sure and for certain.  That doesn’t mean we don’t have a responsibility to be the best people for the people we rely on as we can be.”

Taggart saw Patty give him an approving nod out of the corner of his eye.

“I just want to add that we are not suggesting you can’t joke around…” Patty said.  “Laughing is always the best medicine. Discernment is necessary to avoid hurting the people that we need to trust us. When we say or do something that is harmful, we damage that trust and create unsafe environments where people get hurt or worse. Once that trust is damaged it’s difficult to earn it back.”

Warren was pale, his eyes still full of tears, he squared his shoulders and looked at Sam.  “I’m sorry, Sam,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.  “I shouldn’t have said that.”  He looked at the rest of them sheepishly.  “I’m sorry to all of you for losing my shit like that.”

“Warren?” Mickey suddenly said.  “I’m sorry too.  Not my place to have squared off on you like I did.”  He looked at Sam, his face sad.  “I owe you an apology too.  I hadn’t thought about how interjecting myself would have been taken.”

Sam grinned.  “You’re white.  You’ve got guilt.  I get it.”  She walked over to him and gave him a hug.  “Thanks for standing up for me, but next time, let me speak for myself.”

Taggart chuckled.  “I want it noted for the record that we had this conversation. I don’t want to have it again.  Y’all go to bed, and get some sleep!  Hard day tomorrow.”

This blog is based on the characters of a novel I wrote, The Tearing of the Veil. I like to delve into the characters in situations that don't necessarily make it into the book. It helps me to keep my charactors real. You can find all my books on Amazon.

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