PEN Emerging Voices Mid-Program Reading

THE KNOWLEDGE & THE POWER

The following took place in 2006, a few months after I moved to Los Angeles.

A ten dollar cab ride out of Hollywood used to get me within a half mile of my apartment on Hayworth. I never paid more than ten. I was new to Hollywood, and broke, and that was my rule. So, me and Tom stepped out of the cab and into the neon glow of the Chevron at Sunset and Fairfax around two in the morning.  

Tom asked, “You got beer at the crib?”

I didn’t answer. I walked straight into Chevron and bought a case of Budweiser.

Tom was visiting from Toronto where he was working on his Ph.D. He was spending a few summer weeks with me. We’d been undergraduate roommates, and to celebrate his being in L.A. we’d been drinking since around 4 the previous afternoon. 

On the other side of Sunset, I tore open the case, pulled out two cans.  

Hayworth Avenue is apartments and bungalows. Nice but nothing fancy. 

A few sips into our first beer, a long white Humvee rumbled past. A limo. 

“That thing’s huge,” Tom said. 

The Hummer stopped about a hundred yards from us. A muscle-bound man in a white suit slid out of the driver’s seat. He placed a white fedora on his head. Then walked back and opened the rear door. A second man stepped out. This gentleman also wore a white suit and fedora. 

Tom crushed his empty can. He signaled for another beer and I passed him the case. 

About ten cars away, the dudes in white looked like they were waiting on someone. 

“Yo,” I said. “That’s Wesley Snipes.”

“What?” Tom said.

“That’s Wesley Snipes.”

“No way.” Tom was incredulous.

“Promise you.”

“That’s Blade?”

We were close now. 

“Yo, man,” I lifted my finger, “you’re Wesley Snipes.”

Snipes smiled. “Nah,” he said, pointing at the big dude, “he’s Wesley Snipes.” 

“Nah, man,” I laughed, “you’re Wesley Snipes.” 

Did I mention that Tom and I had been drinking since the previous afternoon?

Snipes laughed, offered his hand. “How you doing, brother?” 

“This is unbelievable,” I said, shaking Wesley Snipes’ hand. 

Snipes nodded at Tom; Tom raised his drink. 

“You want a beer,” I asked. 

“Sorry, brother,” Wesley said, “I can’t do that.” 

“Well,” I said, “will you just hold one, so I can truthfully tell people, ‘I had a beer with Wesley Snipes?”

Big laughs. “Sorry, brother,” he waved his hands, “No can do.”

“I feel you,” I said, “but check it: you need to do a Black Panther movie.”

“Oh yeah,” Snipes said.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t be, you know, Huey —”

“Huey P. Newton?”

“Yeah, no,” I said, “you should be Bobby Seale.” 

“Is that right?” 

I explained to Wesley that I had just read Soul On Ice, Eldridge Cleaver’s memoir that is also pretty much a history of the Black Panther Party.

“Huey P. did his thing,” I said, “but Bobby Seale, there’s a story there too. He was an intellectual, a Black Panther who had a love affair with a white woman.”

“How about that,” Snipes said.

I was telling Wesley Snipes all this like it was news to him. I don’t think you can be as black as Wesley Snipes and not already know all this stuff.

“I’m tellin’ you, Wesley,” I kept going, “Seize The Time. You read that one?”

“Brother,” Snipes said, “you got the science.”

“You know what I’m saying!” 

“Brother, you got the knowledge and the science,” Snipes said.

“I’m saying! You should really do a biopic. Black Panthers. Bobby Seale. Wesley Snipes.” 

He stopped me. “Have you read This Side Of Glory?”

“Nooo,” I was curious, “should I?” 

“That’s the real science right there.” 

“Wesley, I’mma write you a Black Panther script.”

“You do that,” Snipes said. “Find a way to get it to me.”

“I’m for real,” I said. 

“What’s your name, brother?” 

I told him my name. He bowed his head.

“All right then,” I said, “me and my homie Tom got some drinking to do.”

“Hi Tom,” Wesley said. 

“You were great in Blade II,” Tom gushed. 

“Appreciate that.” Wesley raised a fist. We continued walking.

Moments later, Wesley’s white Hummer rolled by.  

“You really gonna write a Black Panther script,” Tom asked. 

“Doubtful.” Tom laughed and I finished my Bud.  

“Dude, did I tell you about the time I met Keifer Sutherland at Cheetahs?”

“No!” Tom was excited.

“Pass me another beer,” I said. “I need a drink for that one.”