Choose Me by Xenia Ruiz

kind who frequented Rites of Passage, a reggae club where Maya, Simone, and I used to party back in the old
     days. He wore a shirt, cargo pants, and vest, all in different shades of tan, and all in need of some serious ironing. He
     looked very ill-at-ease, like he had just been dragged out of bed. Of course, being the person that I am, I tried to guess
     his ethnicity. African American and Irish. Or some kind of Afro-Caribbean, old-world mix. In another time, when I was in the
     world, I might have been interested in someone like him.
    Everyone introduced themselves all the way around, but before I could say my name, Maya interjected, rather ecstatically,
     “That’s my sister …” She paused for dramatic effect, then continued, “Eva.”
    Adam looked straight at me, and I at him, and it must have hit us at the same time—Adam and Eve. For one momentary impulse,
     I contemplated that the best way to hurt Maya was to call Alex up and tell him her little secret, confess her sin for her.
     Of course I would never do anything that lowdown to my sister. So it wasn’t Simone who was playing matchmaker after all, but
     my own flesh and blood. Why didn’t they both stay out of my life? Why was it so hard for them to understand that I was waiting
     for a special man, a Christian man, not some Rastafarian-looking slacker? There was no way this man was a Christian.
    Adam kind of smiled helplessly, uncomfortably rubbing the back of his neck. I looked away first, over at Maya; I was ready
     to attack her with my eyes, but she was conveniently engaged in a conversation with Luciano.
    Then “Dazz” by Brick began to play and some of the couples jumped up to go inside and dance. In one corner of the porch, a
     loud debate distracted me from Maya and Luciano just as I overheard a woman make a comment against affirmative action in college
     admissions, a topic that was headed toward the Supreme Court.
    “I heard about this study where Hispanics who scored 130 and 180 points lower than Whites and Asians were admitted ahead of
     more qualified candidates.
That
is totally unfair.”
    “You want to know what’s unfair?” I challenged. “Getting into an Ivy League college when you’re a C-average student just because
     your daddy went there.”
    A few hoots rippled through the group. Someone imitated a cat’s shrieking sound.
    “Well, I don’t think it’s fair for us minorities to think we deserve special treatment just because of our ethnicity. It demeans
     who we are,” the young woman insisted, her eyes piercing through me. The woman looked like she might have been biracial and
     perhaps thought she needed to prove something to the White side. There were several Whites in the discussion group and I knew
     this kind of comment coming from an African American, even if she was half, could be construed as retrogressive.
    “I don’t think they’re asking for preferential treatment because of their ethnicity as much as they’re asking for a chance
     to compete. The playing field’s got to be leveled somehow,” I stressed. “If the government doesn’t equalize public education
     with private education at the primary and high school level, then some concessions have to be made at a higher level.”
    “All I’m saying is that minorities need to step up to the challenge and compete with the rest of society and stop holding
     on to the notion that the world owes us something.”
    I looked around for backup, but Maya, my most staunch supporter, had disappeared with Luciano. Simone was busy heading up
     a Soul Train line in the front room.
    “There are a lot of worse things going on in our government that are unfair. So what if college admission criteria benefits
     a few Blacks and Latinos. In the long run, our society as a whole is going to benefit from a more educated population,” someone
     commented. I looked up at Adam straddling the porch railing raising a bottle of some obscure juice in my direction in support.