Do you act black?

She looked at me funny
once. Do you act black? 
she asked.

I looked at her funny
twice. Act black? That
sounds a little racist, I
thought. I didn't accuse
it, though - why would I?
I'd never caught her out 
racist. 

Do you know me? 
I asked. Yes! she laughed. 
Well, you tell me! Do I
act black? Was I just acting
black?

No,

she shook her head. Eyes on
further word search mode. 

I just thought, 
she said, 
Maybe you act
black sometimes -
when I'm not around? 

Yeah I don't know, I mused. 
Maybe I do and I just don't
know? But I don't think 
so. I thought. Hard. Then
again - I wouldn't though,
would I? 

How about - check me on it
if you see any, I summed up. Hey

wait. 

Keen look. Why'd you ask? 
Keen look back. Keen looks 
all around! I dunno, she said. 

Hey, I said - was it racist? Is that
it? Wanted to make sure I wasn't
betraying the master race on the
sly?
That's
racist, she
scowled.

I knew it!
I crowed! I didn't really 
know it, but you know - sudden 
hunch retroactive? I knew it. 

No! She glared. I was just, you
know. Making sure you weren't.

Racist.

We glowered warily in keen
intersecting glance. Disgusted. "Typical
white fragility," we said

simultaneously. Then
we had a staring contest, but 

we both blinked.