The Joke    by Gloria Pimental                 Mar 2003

	Miriam gave a last look in the mirror. She was meeting her sixteen-year-old nephew for 
lunch and wanted to look her best. She grabbed her purse and hurried. It wouldn’t be nice to make him wait.
	She spotted him immediately in the crowded restaurant. He was tall, handsome and looked lost. "Kevin," she called.
   "Aunt Miriam." He came towards her.
	They hugged. "It is so good to see you."
   They sat and the waitress brought the menus. "You said, you wanted to talk," Miriam reminded him.
	"Aunt Miriam, you look beautiful," Kevin gave a gentle squeeze to her hand.
   The waitress came back and took their orders. An Oriental salad for Miriam and a cheese burger for Kevin.
	While they waited, Kevin approached the subject, "Aunt, I have a project on racism that is due next week. I’m lost, 
I need your help."
   "What do you have in mind, Kevin?"
	"Well, the teacher said he wants us to write in a way that will make us think."
   "Think about what?" Miriam looked into her nephew’s eyes.
	"About things teenagers can do to change a prejudice world, even if it is a little bit."
	"Why did you think of me?"
	"Because you know awesome stories and when you tell them, you always make me think" Kevin smiled.
	"In that case, let me tell you something that I witnessed. It fits the theme of your story perfectly." Miriam cleared 
her throat. "Two weeks ago, I attended a wedding where the diversity of people gathered was incredible. The couple 
seemed to have friends from the four corners of the world. The laughter coming from the garden drew me to a group of 
six middle-aged adults sitting at one of the tables, facing the swimming pool.
	‘Everything in this house speaks of wealth,’ a gregarious, blue eyed man with white hair and a well-groomed mustache 
said.
	‘Indeed.’ A brown skinned Indian with rich dark hair, neatly pulled back in a pony tail, answered, as he picked up a 
huge prawn from a silver tray.
   The Sevillian woman, sitting by the Indian, was wearing a Christian Dior attire that accentuated her slim figure. Her neck 
was long and gracefully adorned with an expensive emerald necklace. The shiny black hair was styled in an elegant chignon, 
leaving her face exposed. Her skin was rosy, creamy and flawless. ‘Where are you from?’ A black gentleman asked her.
	‘From Seville and you?’
   ‘Louisiana.’ He smiled.
	She paused for a moment, ‘I am afraid I do not know much about this place, forgive me. I must visit in the future.’
   ‘Louisiana would be proud to have you as a guest, beautiful lady. My name is Lafayette Brown and yours?’
   ‘Marina,’ she said. ‘Marina Sandoval De Reyes.’
   ‘It’s a genuine pleasure to meet you.’ He gently kissed her hand.
	‘Where are you from?’ Marina asked the Indian.
	‘From the dry Arizona desert.’
	‘Nice to make your acquaintance.’ They shook hands.
   I chose a chair at an empty table between these people and a group of lively teenagers. The four young girls were 
talking about vintage clothing and the dangers of smoking cigarettes. Their conversation was appealing and rather mature for 
their age. They didn’t look to be much older than fifteen. I caught on to the conversation’s theme; the girls’ dream was to 
pursue a career in fashion design. The red haired one was Irish. Two of them were from Washington D.C. and the fourth one 
was Hispanic. They met with the bride through the Internet and being a fashion designer herself, she became their mentor.
   It got noisy at the adults’ table. The males in the group were coaxing the black gentleman into telling a joke. He finally 
agreed. I observed the teens’ table out of the corner of my eye. They stopped talking and listened attentively. The black
gentleman proceeded to tell his joke.
	‘When I was born,’ he said, ‘I was black. When I was a little boy, I was black. When I went to the beach I was black.
When I got sick, I was black. And when I died, I was still black.’
	He paused and gave an intense look at his audience. Everybody looked at him expectantly. He continued. ‘When you 
were born, you were pink.’ He looked at the fair-skin man. ‘When you were a little boy, you were white. When you went to 
the beach you were red. When you got sick, you got green. And when you died, you turned gray.’
	The black gentleman’s eyes were fixed on the Caucasian gentleman. ‘So who is the colored man here?’
   Everybody including the Anglo man burst out laughing. Everybody except the four teenagers. The Hispanic girl stood up 
and walked towards the adults’ table. Her brown skin manifested an intense blush in her cheeks. She stood tall in front of the 
black gentleman and spoke with deep anger in her voice. ‘Why do you have to mask your hurt behind silly, insulting jokes, 
old man?’ She looked intensely at the white gentleman and continued, ‘When both of you die, the skin that covers you will 
disintegrate and when it does, you both will be the color of the earth.’ She walked away followed by the other three girls, 
while everyone stared at them surprised, unable to speak.
   As the four of them passed by me, I heard one of them say, ‘That’s why I like the Internet.’
	The four of them left, the party went on, but I couldn’t stop thinking of those young girls. They refused to be part of a 
crowd that masked its feelings of hurt and resentment. They refused to make light of an issue that for them was not trivial.
Society has learned well to use irony to deal with painful issues. The guests laughed and someone said, ‘They are too young, 
they have not lived enough.’
	"The truth is Kevin… I didn’t see Lafayette or the white haired man laugh."
   "Aunt Miriam, we all change the world a little, when we stand up for what we believe in, don’t we?"
	Miriam smiled and squeezed her nephews hand in approval, "Let’s eat Kevin, I’m famished."

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