Werewolves of London

When I was in 3rd grade we were talking about the UK. There had recently been riots in LA, so I gave into my curiosity, raised my hand, and asked the teacher if there was racism in London as there was here in the states.

How was I to know how silly the question was?

The teacher laughed at me, abruptly followed by the class.

****

Last year I was in the UK with a friend. It was our 2nd week in London. We had just visited the tribute to Lady Diana and Dodi Al-Fayed at Harrods. It was evening, a bit chilly and the streets were wet from a fresh rain. Walking back to our motel we cut into a magazine shop. We had blown an hour collecting an assortment of strange design mags, foreign film publications and anthologies of european page 6 girls. All for friends back home of course.

We had been there for a few minutes and the chimes on the door jingled and I looked up to see this gorgeous African woman walk in, drenched in rain. She was clearly a model, the clothes she wore were only of the sort  a rock star could pull off without looking like a fool. But she wasn't tragic looking either, she had a refined elegance about her that words couldn't to justice to. And I had to forcibly take my eyes off this siren and go to the opposite side of the magazine rack and pretend I was reading some euro football mag that made no sense to American eyes… just so I could take a few mental snapshots without fear of being spotted. And elegantly she strolled over to some fashion mags, picked one up and thumbed through the pages. And I looked back to my friend and we exchanged a glance that implied we were both astounded by this incredible creature that had stumbled into our lives for a few moments...


And then all of the sudden there was a scream from the back of the shop. And a man came running out. In his cockney accent he thundered…”Get the fuck out of my store. I don’t like your kind here.” And the girl turned left and right, to make sure she was his target, clearly astounded by his baseless attack.


She kept her composure and replied… “Excuse me sir…I was just reading a magazine…is there something wrong with that?”

“Yes there is, you people come into my store and steal my magazines all the time. Its your peoples fault. You should all fucking leave, you are bloody werewolves. We turn our back and you take advantage of us.”

For a moment she looked sad. I thought she may just walk out. And then, suddenly she exploded with rage. “HOW DARE YOU FUCKING ACCUSE ME OF STEALING YOUR SILLY MAGAZINES YOU PITIFUL LITTLE BASTARD…”

And the screaming match escalated. And my friend nodded to me, we put down our magazines and ducked out of the shop just as the man was threatening to call the police.

Outside it was raining hard now. We stepped under the awning of a nearby building, shared a smoke and exchanged bewilderment at what we had just seen.

Suddenly, the doors from the magazine shop burst open and the woman furiously stomped out, slamming the doors behind her. She stepped under the awning where we stood and fumbled about with her umbrella, not having much luck through her seething rage. She towered over me with her tall legs and high heals. Tossing out unfamiliar British curses under her angry breath. She looked over and saw us standing there looking at her. We had been caught.

She kneeled down a bit, bringing her head to my level. She looked into my eyes, and for a second I thought she might smack me upside the head with her half expanded umbrella.

With her nose almost touching mine, she said sarcastically “do you have a problem little boy?”

I had no response. There was an awkward moment of silence with just the pitter patter of rain on the awning above our heads. A part of me wanted to lean forward a hair and drop an tiny kiss on her lips…but surely she would have clocked me good, as in that moment she associated me with her enemy.

Then her umbrella popped open and she disappeared into the sheets of rain.

We sat there smoking cigarettes trying to look cool. Like confused American tourists have a tendency to do.

And for some reason…her question made me think back to that day in 3rd grade.