The 'N' Word, Book 1 (17 page)

“Aaron… that’s nothing short of remarkable. You use emotional pull to grab your audience. You have a beautiful grasp of just how to do it, too. You have a skilled command of etymological expression, lyrics, and how to twist and turn them for your benefit. How long have you been writing speeches like this?”

“For years…”

Dr. Owens nodded in an all-knowing, annoying sort of way.

“Your words are like that painting.” He pointed back to the little boy in the wilderness. “I can hear your fear, even within the formidable shell of your pride.”

“No fear. It’s about sacrifice. Don’t read into it.”

“Oh.” Dr. Owens nodded agreeably. “But I must, Aaron. I
must
read into it, because I need you to tell me
who
you are. Everything we say and do provides telltale signs of who we really are. You give little pieces of yourself in your speeches, you see? Let’s take a line from this discourse, for instance – the one I just recited a short excerpt from.” The man looked down at the paper and located the spot he was looking for. “I suppose this passage will do,” he murmured.

‘And we answer; we keep fighting through the burn. We answer our master’s cry.’

“When you wrote that, what did it mean?”

“…The same thing that it means right now. The meaning hasn’t changed.”

“I understand that. I was only providing context for my question. So, explain to me,” he said, pointing to himself. “What you meant by those words?”

“It means that when the call to action comes, we, as members of the Nationalist Socialist Movement, will answer and not allow the pressure of this deviant world around us to stop us from doing our duty.”

“Hmmm, okay.” Dr. Owens nodded again as his eyes drifted back and forth from passage to passage. “Who is the master you are referencing in this?”

“God, our Divine Creator.”

“That’s odd. I would have guessed the master was actually
you
…”

“What? That doesn’t…” Aaron shook his head. His upper lip lifted into a roguish grin that toyed with turning into a sneer at any moment as he tiptoed on semi-squelched emotions. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, hear me out. I don’t think you believe God weeps… though, in this case, I understand ‘cry’ means a call to action. But if we look at the word out of this context—and you choose your words quite carefully, Aaron; you pride yourself on that I believe… I think if we look at the
raw
words here, you are telling people who you
really
are.”

“Now,” Aaron’s cheeks plumped with forced mirth, “that’s an interestin’ theory, isn’t it, Dr. Owens. Please, tell me more.”

“You struggle with honesty, Aaron. Yet, people telling the truth is very important to you, so you can accomplish what you have thus far and be good at what you do. Manipulation is not an option; it is a requirement. You have to emotionally pull and draw people in, to achieve what you consider your life calling. So, you offer full disclosure in roundabout ways to appease your need to be upfront. You’re like this because you absolutely hate being lied to.”

“Interesting…”

“Interesting, indeed. Aaron, I’ve learned much about you in a short time, via reading your speeches. My initial assessments about you have altered significantly based mainly on the things you’ve written that I’ve been able to obtain.”

“If you know me so well now, Dr. Owens, why do you keep asking me who I am?” he joked.

“There are still too many missing pieces, Aaron. I need you to work with me, not against me. Now, let’s not lose focus.” He glanced back down at the paper then hooked his sights back onto Aaron. “I think,
you
think you are the master leading the sheep, but behind closed doors, you cry and feel lost as you want to be found yourself.”

“Hmmm, I see.” His tongue journeyed inside of his mouth, making slow trails across the soft wetness of his inner jaw as he fought biting into his own flesh, drawing blood, and swallowing his dignity in the process. “So, Dr. Owens, when you get done jammin’ your cock into another man’s rectum or havin’ your own ass plowed the fuck out, you drive your tiny Tim, Milhouse Van Houten ass over here in your pint-sized foreign, wind-up toy car and mind fuck the inmates, right? Just one big ass gangbang in this motherfucker! You just fuck all goddamn day, don’t you?! An ass here,” he looked to one side of the room. “a brain there,” he looked at the other side of the office. “…makes no difference to you. Not gonna work here, partner! The speech
meant
what it meant. Nothing more, nothing less.” He crossed his arms over his chest, almost cutting off his own damn breath as he dared to contain himself.

“Your obsession with my alleged sexual orientation is not an uncommon divergent. In actuality, I don’t think you hate homosexuals at all. I believe you are indifferent to homosexuality. It doesn’t move you to the left or to the right. I think because you believe me to
be
one, you are trying to cause tension and upset me. That is what racial slurs and other derogatory names intended for an entire group of people are created for, correct?”

“I call people what they are. Black people are niggers, coons, and monkeys. Gay men are fags, queens, and queer. Lesbians are dykes and carpet munchers. Would you like for me to continue or do you get the idea now?”

“What is a nigger, Aaron?”

“You want the textbook definition? You know what the hell it means and we’ve already established I’m not an ordinary motherfucker.”

“Yes, that is true. Nevertheless, please address the question.”

“I know that it means ignorant. The origin of the word,
nègre
, is French, and was first used in approximately 1640. The Spanish version is
negro
. It is considered an offensive term for a member of a dark-skinned race, mainly ones that originate from the continent of Africa. Now these dumb ass coons are walkin’ around here callin’ each other that, but still want to get angry with white people if we say it. Fuck them, I don’t give uh shit. Most of ’em are goddamn idiots! We had one in the White House lettin’ all the illegals over here.”

“President Obama has a white mother, Aaron. He is technically of mixed heritage.”

“Yeah, his sell out mama fucked an African nigger who got ’er pregnant and then didn’t take care of his illegitimate kid. Big surprise! Most of these fuckers just make a bunch of bastards and then don’t take care of ’em. His white grandparents saved the day. Regardless, he’s still a goddamn nigger!”

“Aaron, President Obama’s parents were married…”

“Not at the time of his conception and birth! Look it up; do your damn research! He’s a fuckin’ nigger that aided in destroying this country!”

Dr. Owens’ lips curved at the ends. “You like saying that, don’t you?”

“NIGGER! NIGGER! NIGGER! FAGGOT! FAGGOT! PORCH MONKEY! PORCH MONKEY! COON! COON! COON! BLACK, STINKIN’ ASS BASTARDS! Who the fuck cares?”

“I see.” Dr. Owens turned away as if disgusted, as if needing a moment alone. He looked back up and glared into Aaron’s eyes. “Anything to get the spotlight away from yourself once again. The closer I get to knocking your protective shield away, the angrier and more belligerent you become. You are losing your resolve. You are typically more self contained and controlled than this. That means I’m close… I’m almost there.”

“No, I’m getting angry because of all of these dumb ass questions, and this ridiculous discussion, too. You’re wasting my time and I could be asleep right now or talking to my lawyer, trying to get the hell outta here. It’s a name. What difference does it make? If someone feels like it doesn’t apply to them, so be it. No need in gettin’ all worked up about a goddamn name. People call me shit every damn day. Doesn’t mean that’s who I am.”

“Aaron, that is a perfect segue. I ask again, who are you?”

Aaron lowered his throbbing head and ran his hand over the damn thing, feeling the buzzed softness against his palm.

“I’m the
wrong
man for you to fuck with, Dr. Owens… That’s who I am.” He slowly glanced back at the man, his eyes blurring with freshly spent rage. “Now, I’ve been real nice to ya up until this point.” He fisted his right hand, relaxed it, then repeated the movements. “I know what you’re doing, but you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. I can play this silly game with you, make up some shit, tell you what you want to hear and be on my way, but I refuse to be your success story, the one where you can tell your buddies you broke a white supremacist, a Nazi, a nationalist, and made him see the evil of his ways.”

“Tell me about that.”

“Tell you about
what
?”

“About your hatred towards non-whites.”

“I don’t hate non-whites, you see…” He shook his finger in a disapproving way at the doctor. “That’s the problem with people like you… you lump us all together. I don’t hate Hispanics, blacks, Asians, none of them. I don’t like them, but I definitely don’t hate them. They can’t help themselves. They are following their nature. I can’t hate a bear for being a goddamn bear. I can’t hate, say,” he shrugged, “a cockroach for being a cockroach… I don’t have to want one in my house, but hatred is not what I’m about.”

“What are you about, Aaron?”

“I’m about the preservation of my race, my children and future grandchildren. My people are vanishing, slowly disappearing. The white race is in grave danger and our values are being flushed down the toilet due to a derelict, perverted society. I’m trying to protect it, to ensure that this doesn’t happen.”

“This is the most you’ve talked to me, ever.”

“And?” He threw up his hands.

“You can speak and speak and speak, go on and on about this movement, your involvement in this group, but you can’t share one darn sentence about yourself, the stuff about you that exists
outside
of this construct, your xenophobia, and intolerance. Racially related matters rule your entire existence. Don’t you find that peculiar?”

“Not really. But first let me correct you. Xenophobia implies that I’m afraid of people that are not like myself. That’s not the case; I’m not scared of anyone. Xenophobia… it’s one of those fancy terms thrown about by white, liberal brainiacs such as yourself who like to sit around with your hazelnut Starbucks coffee and Jesus sandals, pontificating over shit you don’t understand but wish you did.”

Dr. Owens cracked a smile, then looked as if he were clearly stifling a bout of laugher.

“Funny, right? Funny but true… After your wine tasting, you people gather by roaring fires in big houses, half drunk off your asses, and discuss the African kids you wanna adopt and the ills of the world while passin’ around trays of aged cheese and sour grapes. Then you get these brain fuck, Dudley-Do-Right jobs to make you feel better, like you’re helpin’ the world but you aren’t, just taking up space and cloggin’ toilets after eating all that goddamn granola. You’re just a worthless turd.”

Dr. Owens burst out laughing, sighed, and ran his hand over his stomach.

“You’re funny, I give that to you, but let’s get back on task. You’ve now spent over two minutes telling me who you think I am, but once again, Aaron, you haven’t told me who you think
you
are. You continue to toss insults my way, use inflammatory language, and it has done nothing to improve your situation right here, right now.” With a huff, he crossed his legs and folded his hands onto his lap. “Who are you, Mr. Pike?”

“I am my work, and I can talk about myself without referencing to this. I just
chose
to not do that with you because you’re like the police.”

“How so?”

“Every word I say can and will be used against me.”

The man burst out laughing again as he spun slowly around and around in his chair, a carefree spark in his eyes. His reaction crawled inside Aaron, made his nerves itch.

“So, we’re two weeks in, Aaron. Let’s let today be different, shall we?”

“What is it you want me to do, Dr. Owens?” He leaned forward, as if about to engage in a football huddle and have a discussion of the future play-by-play.

“I want you to do what you’ve been fighting, but deep down it’s the thing you
truly
want to do once and for all.”

“And what’s that?”

“…Tell me the truth.”

“About what?”

“About yourself. Let’s not make this a circular conversation, Aaron. You have proven you are not easily broken, but so have I. We can keep going for the rest of the time you are here, battling and moving about on this Ferris wheel, or we can drop our swords and end this
now
. If you aren’t afraid, then
prove
to me you aren’t. Words are meaningless without action…”

They both sat quiet for a moment or two.

“Where do you want me to begin?”

“Tell me what I asked you in the questionnaire. Tell me about your life as a child.”

“Why?” His brows bunched as annoyance re-entered the picture, taking over the canvas.

No… you can’t have that part of me. I choose whom to share that with, when and how… I have control over this… not YOU.

“That is over and done with. It’s much better to focus on what we can change, what’s going on right now. All that childhood shit doesn’t mean anything. That time is gone… over. Done with.” He’d exposed himself a bit for Melissa. It was the least he could do since she’d done the same, but Dr. Owens was different. He could use it against him, make him pay. He got nothing in return. With Melissa, it had been a ploy to get a key to reach inside her. Sure, he’d told the damn truth, but he was trying to establish familiarity with the woman… make her give him a chance.

“You know why I want you to discuss it, Aaron, and that’s what worries you the most.”

“I told you I’m not afraid of anything on this damn planet, and I meant that. They have my ass in the goddamn hole, had me living in solitary then moved me to the death wing, with guys that do weird shit like cannibalism and rape and murder of their own goddamn grandmothers, so why in the furry foxtrot fuck would
I,
of all people, be afraid of these mind hump and dump questions?!”