Invitation

It was Monday morning. Ayana Johnson, who had been at S&C for half an hour already (because to her, full-time meant voluntary overtime) bounced into the display room when she heard Ben arrive. She was wearing fashionable leggings, boots, and a bright yellow tunic top rather than her usual skirt and blouse. “Ahhh, yes!” she said. “I want you to be there!” She handed Ben a flyer. At first Ben saw only a flowing black and white design that threw him right off the page before the image came into focus as a keyboard. He read:
“June 10, 7 to 9:30 pm
Governor Yardley High School
Year’s End Celebration!
JAZZ ENSEMBLE CONCERT
featuring Folu Johnson, piano - Marjorie Hemphill, saxophone - Carl Ferguson, trumpet - Jason Carrington, drums
SPECIAL GUEST John Hamar from Knoxville on bass!
Dr. Euridicee Parham, Director
OLD AND NEW FAVORITES! DANCING! REFRESHMENTS!
$10 donation requested to benefit the Yardley High School music program”

“I’ll put it on my calendar, Ayana.”

“May I call you Ben? You did not explicitly agree to that when we talked— before your incident.”

“I suppose so. Sure.”

“It’s important, because I must ask you--” Ayana saw that Orville had arrived and adjusted. “Ben, Orville. When my daughter Yejide was here a few weeks ago, you, Ben, made a remark.”
    Don’t go there! Orville thought. He had almost forgotten his suspicion about Ben, and his strange dream. Mrs. Huggins and the solar panels had shoved other concerns aside.

Ayana forged ahead. “After you agreed to my change of position, Mr. Stillman--Ben--you said, ‘I want to make it clear that there will be only one of you working here.’ Did you mean my family? Or did you mean black people?”

Ben was silent for a moment. “I honestly don’t know, Ayana.” Orville’s breathing made a U-turn.

“How can I not notice that you and your family are black?" Ben went on. "How can I not feel something about that? I am as American as you are, and you know what that means. I have read a lot about the history of slavery in America! I care about my country! When I was younger I tried to talk to people about it. Ask Orville! Before we started the bookstore, before we started this company, he and I went on some odd excursions to talk up Reparations! I was not preaching to an understanding choir, and I gave it up. I WAS serious about what I said that day you’re talking about, in the sense that I WILL NOT hire anyone else until we actually NEED someone else! I was tempted! You full-time, your daughter part-time? It tempted me, and I fought it! What it had to do with your heritage, I can’t say!”

Orville let out a sigh. Ayana handed him a flyer. His gaze took in a few words then caromed off the weird illustration and onto the ceiling. “YES! We’ll all come! Your son’s playing is wonderful!”

“Folu’s father will be there, and he’s bringing my other two. Mr. Johnson is a musician himself, Orville.” Ben had vanished into the back office after his unusual speech. “Tell me about that,” Orville said.

Ted and Aaron were attempting to find something for lunch in the Campions’ refrigerator. Dill pickles, cheese, half an onion, some sliced turkey, a jar of pesto, what was left of a six-pack of tonic water. “Charcuterie it is,” said Ted. “What a miserable selection,” Aaron mumbled. Ted found some crackers and arranged them— and everything else— on a big cutting board. “Sit, kid. Tell me what your plans are now. Are you going to keep working for your father at Sunlight?” The thought of New Haven brought an image of Placida’s accepting eyes, which he quickly distracted himself from with a big bite of pickle.

Meanwhile, Placida was contemplating a bizarre email from Yale University Press. It must be a scam. They claimed they’d seen her perform and were inviting her to submit poems to a planned anthology to be called “Townies: Unheralded Poets of New Haven.”

— Macoff