“So” asked the the white goth girl with the red streak in her hair as she held a notebook and pen in her hand, a hint of amusement in her voice as well as on her face, “how did you two hear about us?”.
As the goth girl sat Indian style on her comfy queen sized bed, she watched her two “patients” with a discerning eye. They were holding each others hands in the sickingly sweet little loveseat that her sister made her keep in her bedroom for appointments such as this.
“I heard about you through my friend Serena Weber and her boyfriend Brad, but there have been others” answered Sandra. “They've all told me about the services your sorority offers underneath the table” she added. The beautiful black girl had a twinkle in her eye to indicate the subtext of that statement. She also gave back a knowing smile to further drive home the point.
“I remember Serena and Brad. Nice couple. What about you, Patrick? I'm guessing that your better half is the one who dragged you in here and not the other way around.”
“How'd you guess?” said Sandra sarcastically as she whipped her braided hair over her shoulder and slightly scowled as her boyfriend, who looked like he had just murdered someone, gulped nervously and stuttered out his answer:
“Sandra t-thinks that I'm too much of a puss...pushover. I always feel g-guilty about my privilege whenever w-we go out somewhere, and she t-thinks it's r-ruining our social life. I was born having an unfair a-advantage over 75% of the world that I never asked for, and it's e-eating at my soul.”
The amateur relatioship councilor cocked an eyebrow.
“Privilege, eh? You feel guilty that you're not suffering, that you're here at an expensive university instead of wondering where your next meal is coming from?”
Patrick's face suddenly turned as red as his hair.
“Not so much that, even though that bothers me too. It's my white male cis-het privilege. Every single day, some poor innocent black person gets shot by police for no good reason. T-they get shot just because they exist, and these piece of shit white supremacists out in the public don't bat an eye. They WANT black people dead. To them, anyone who isn't as white as Casper the Friendly Ghost is a threat. Dindu's. Black people who get shot are called “dindus” because it's impossible for white bastards to believe that they didn't deserve it for Christ's sake! So people of color and their allies protest all these senseless murders, and what do they get? They get called terrorists. They get told that they are inciting violence because they're outraged about innocent people being shot down like a dog. Football players take a knee to protest peacefully, and they're told to shut the fuck up, that they aren't supposed to have an opinion because somehow having money makes your opinion irrelevent. It's infuritating! Women get sexually assaulted every day, and nobody believes them. People in Aleppo are being bombed to death right NOW, and then they're told that they're not allowed to come to seek sanctuary here in America because they are Muslim and have brown skin. Trans people are murdered by the dozens right NOW, but more people are worried about what bathroom they're allowed to use. It drives me crazy! Whenever I'm finishing differential equations or welding or making some damn power point to show to my professors, in the back of my mind I can't stop thinking about this. About how fucked up and evil the world is and how I benefit from it. It's like that story “The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas”. Innocent people suffer so people like me can watch Rick & Morty late at night in my underwear in peace. I could just...I can practically do anything I want and get away with it! I could literally rape the both of you right now, and the court of public opinion would be on my side because I'm a white guy. I hate this culture and just want it to go away, but I can't do anything! The culture is too big to fail, and too many people are brainwashed or too distracted by the Kardashians, and...oh shit, I just slut shamed! God, see! I'm torn up inside!”.
During his rant, Patrick had yelled loud enough to attract a few other Delta Gamma girls, who came inside and asked if everything was alright. They looked at Patrick with his face in his hands crying, and not knowing what the hell was going on, they quietly shut the door, a few of the sisters giggling to themselves.
“It's OK” said the goth girl, reaching over to the edge of her bed to envelop Patrick's shaky hands in her own. Patrick noticed how soft and pleasurable the stranger's hands felt and tried to back away, but the goth girl, whose given name was Jennifer Stewart but went by Rain Blackfeather, had a surprisingly strong grip. He stared into her alluring dark eyes.
“Patrick, I don't know you from Adam, but I'm going to take a lucky guess and assume that you're one of the good guys.There are lots of bad people in the world, but if you get this bent out of shape about the state of the world, about something like privilege, things that you have zero control over, you're probably not one of them. You're not a horrible person. You're a good guy.”
“B-but...” said a blubbering Pat.
Sandra sighed cynically to herself while Rain continued to console the guilt ridden Patrick by wiping away his tears.
“See, this is what I mean” said Sandra, butting in. Rain turned to look at her.
“Pat here is all heart, but he IS a pussy. I've tried explaining to him so many times that I don't NEED a shoulder to cry on, I don't need somebody to be 100% angry all the time on my behalf. I don't need a Superman. What I need is a partner to share the good times with. I need somebody to hang out with and fuck and play video games with. Patrick, boo, look up at me right now.”
Patrick's watery eyes looked up at his girlfriend.
“I've told you this a hundred times before: I've been called a n****r on a regular basis by asshole white people ever since I was five years old. I was molested by my aunt. It's just the way the world is. Fucked up things happen. But you man up. You keep a stiff upper lip, and you deal with it the best you can. You don't become this...”
Sandra waved her hand up and down.
“...this special snowflake shit.”
“Listen” continued Rain, as she looked at the both of them. “I think I know a solution to this, but I'm not sure how you're going to respond to it...”