Symphony, ice cream, and high drama

I went to the symphony last night with my boyfriend and another couple, E- and P- (and a bunch of other graduate students). We were all smartly dressed. It was all very classy and the music was wonderful. It was soulful, and it made me more capable of thinking; I thought I could feel the neurons firing away to the rhythm of the violin bows.

On the way home, we decided to stop at the Bi-Rite creamery in the Mission district. Bi-rite has a red rope with a line of people behind it. The line sometimes goes around the street corner. It makes the ice cream shop look like a fancy club, so we fit right in. And the ice cream is so delicious . . .

We were standing in front of the shop, enjoying our ice cream, gossiping the math-gossip, the world behind us fading away. Then we look around. The crowd we were standing in had actually faded away, and the shop was closing.

Our ice cream cups were almost empty when a man passed us, saw me, then stepped into our group, examining me with a swiveling motion of his head. If he wasn't homeless, he certainly wasn't living the good life. We took a communal step back and together.

"I see how it is," says the man. "A black man steps up to you, and you all step away. I have the power. I can move you wherever I like. Like chess pieces."

I give him a steady look.

"So you're a chess piece," he says. "What are you? A pawn, a rook, a knight, a king, a queen?"

I think for a moment, and say, "I'm a queen, obviously."

"A what?" I don't think he was expecting an answer.

"A queen," I say, drawing myself up, and using a bit of bravado.

"Then I'm the king," he says. He steps up so that his face is maybe two inches from mine. I'm looking him straight in the eye. He says, "Check mate."

"That's not the way it works," I say. I mean, it isn't. It's the king who gets check mated . . .

"Yes it is," he says.

A beat.

He swoops in to try to kiss me, I dodge. I tell him not to do that. He spins around and walks away.

We all had a laugh afterward to diffuse the tension. I was jumpy on the way back to the car. C- tried to put his arm around me, making me almost leap out of my socks. You see, he was standing to my right, and his arm somehow got to my left side.

But it's really kind of sad. Here's this man. He's not living a good life, he feels powerless, and I'm sure that being black doesn't make it easier for him. He wants to feel some measure control. That probably explains his behavior. Although it certainly was creepy . . .

In any case, we had a little adventure to round out a lovely evening. And then we drove home.