Waters Of The Mediterranean Sea

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A sarcastic story about what happens when 2 writers meet up in Brooklyn to work on a script & they are interrupted by a confused woman.

Submitted: September 17, 2012

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Submitted: September 17, 2012

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Starbucks, downtown Brooklyn, early morning, late June. While saturating my venti drip with soy milk and a pack of sugar in the raw, I notice a white lady looking at me and my friend Ricardo. Curiously, perplexedly…She approaches us. She sort of just stands there for a minute looking around the room, sometimes pausing at the apricot muffins they serve which by the way are my favorite... but continues to glance at my friend as if she saw him on America's Most Wanted list or the reality show Cops last night. Does she know him? Did he look familiar? Was she the wife of the Sup that Ricardo cursed out 2 months ago when he lived in that dumpy apartment in Bed Stuy!? Or was she trying to ease drop onto our conversation? Being that we had been writing a musical to try and get it off the ground sooner rather than later as we were dreaming of it being on Broadway someday, I was paranoid and thinking, this nosy bitch wants to steal our idea! Is she spme sort of Andrew Lloyd Webber spy? What is her fucking problem? At first, she speaks under her breath…my natural negative and protective New Yorker attitude abruptly says, "I'm sorry, what the hell did you just say lady? I can't hear you! Speak up.” Now, she looks as if she's studying Ricardo, taking mental notes…her gaze intensifies as I lean in closer to hear what she is saying. I mean, if it weren't for random people, I wouldn't have a sex life anyway, so I was interested in why she was lingering! Her green eyes settle just past mine and onto Ricardo's hair. She was in a trance. I was just gearing up to let her have it...Frantically she asks, "What product do you use on your hair?" It all suddenly makes perfect sense. I looked down at the biracial toddler in the inexpensive umbrella stroller beside her, whose hair is in two poorly crafted chunky braids, a clear sign of resignation. Obviously, she and Ricardo share the same frustration, mixed hair. I empathize, this poor woman has only been dealing with it for a few years and already she's at her wits (split) end. I apologized for being a asshole and snapping at her. She says “That's alright.” Ricardo decides he is going to divulge his deep secret…she needs it. "Waters from the Mediterranean sea;" he says. This, by the way, is his miracle remedy. A cure all for all mixed, multi problematic hair…unwanted dreadlocks, breakage, split ends, suddenly straight, you name it…if its broken, waters from the Mediterranean sea will fix it. Personally, I can't say I get it because I wear hats 90% of the time. Sounding like a travel agent or nerdy weather man on NY1's 24 hour news channel, Ricardo tells her he goes to the lovely islands periodically, not only to bronze his Puerto Rican body on its lush pristine beaches, and sexy climate, but also so his hair can look less nappy and more happy and healthy for at least a few days of his life..just a few days..and he just got back…so his hair buzz hasn't worn off yet. “Today, it's at it's peak...” he says proudly. It wasn't until after he had answered her burning question that I realized he sounded like a complete sarcastic prude. The dismay on her face let us both know this wasn't the miracle remedy she was hoping for. We both sensed her desperation. Her face sorely wore an expression of disappointment. "So there's no hope?" I kind of just shrug as if to say sorry lady, I'm white and your guess is as good as mine...while I'm thinking, just shave the little ingrates head and call it a day. My coffee is getting cold. Ricardo smiled and gave the little girl an initiation wink as she snacked on what looked like Cheerios…The woman then pushed the stroller out onto the busy morning sidewalk. Ricardo looked at me and said “the little girl will struggle with and even hate the hair on her head…but all she will forever hear for the rest of her life "I love your hair and I dig your hair! How do you get it like that!" This brief interaction made me think perhaps I should not struggle with trying to get a show onto Broadway...it could be my calling to write the guide book for biracial couples who are thinking of having babies. Maybe I could call it "What to consider if you're considering?” The moment passed, I took sip of my now cooled venti coffee. Ricardo and I continued on bouncing ideas about Act 2 of our show.


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