BOMAW Vol. 10-12 (20 page)

"Echm echm..." A voice cleared behind them.

With slow reaction to it and a sigh, they parted, moving gently, gradually away from one another, both turning to see a smiling Samuel in the door. "Uh, I think Charlie is uh, wanting you to write these people a check. Sorry to say, I think they've had enough of her. Chances are uh, they won't be back."

Deidre sighed, nodded, "Sure, just a moment."

He turned away, grinning broadly to let Charlie know.

Deidre turned back to Jeremiah, looking up at him. He was a few inches taller than her, standing 6' to her 5'10.

"I better go and see to them, no doubt Charlie has them all stressed out. Will you, stay ... for the evening?"

"Absolutely." He promised, caressing the soft skin of her cheek, next to her lips.

Smiling, happy, she turned away to write out a check and make her apologies. Accepting the fact that she would have to, considering what Charlie could put one through. In her absence, Jeremiah looked around the library waiting for her. Checking out the stacks of books. He removed his jacket, hanging it on one of the chairs, and began looking over the rows of shelves. There were tons of books for everything one could imagine, many on health, Homeopathy healing, you name it. All were stacked in front of the shelves they would be going on. Deciding to occupy himself while waiting, he began placing the books on the shelves, arranging them in alphabetical order. Doing so, his mind flashed back years and years ago as he'd stood in a public library, his mother by his side. He remembered telling her about Arthur Ashe, the black tennis player that Deidre had told him about. He hadn't known about sports or sport figures because his mother had always stated that the mind was always better to train than the body.

She'd said,
"White folks always expect black men to play basketball, football or other games like that. That's not what you about, you hear me? Never be what people expect you to be. 'Sides, the body can't last doing all that running and playing, time gonna come when you have to depend on your brain, your knowledge. Spending all that time on sports, getting tired, you won't feel like filling your head later, that's why you have to do that now."

"There's some good sports mama, like tennis."

"Black men don't play tennis, that's a rich white folks sport, black men play basketball and football."
She'd answered.

"Not Arthur Ashe."
He'd returned.

"Who is Arthur Ashe?"
She'd asked.

"Deidre, she said that Arthur Ashe was a famous tennis star, and he's black."
He'd answered while they'd been standing in the aisle of books, looking for ones to help him with his homework, or whatever school project he was doing. Maxwell had been at the table making a face, forced to read, sneaking a peak into comic books when their mother wasn't looking. His answer surprised her. Bea Rose didn't know much about sports, didn't have time for them.
"He so famous, we should find something about him here, look for'im."
She stated, challenging him, now interested. Because anything or anyone that made him rise above the stereotypical black male image, his mother wanted him involved in. Together, they went into the sports aisles and looked for his name according to alphabetical order. Sure enough, they found book after book on Arthur Ashe. Taking them down, they went to the table the three of them always occupied and his mother made him read out loud about Arthur Ashe, his college education, his goals, his accomplishments, successes and his rise to being the only male African American to win the singles at Wimbledon. His mother was impressed and sure enough, she wanted him then to sigh up to play tennis. Realizing that he couldn't be all about books, she also sent him and Maxwell to a school of martial arts. Discipline, control, inward focus and concentration she decided was the way to build a strong black and balanced young male. She always talked to him and his brother, stating what she expected them to become. It wasn't too far from the day that she died, that she'd said on one of her talks to them,

"One of these days, you two will be men. And everything that you are, you will share with a black woman who is worthy of you, who will give you strong black sons too, that you better pass all these things onto. Its time for black men to show a different side to themselves. Don't be like the others, needin' a white woman on they arm to make them stand tall. Stand tall on your own, so you don't need a superficial arm bandit trophy. You both gonna be better fathers to your sons than the black man is known to be. I'm not a father, but you two will be, one day. Strong heads of a strong, proud black family, with a educated black wife, intelligent black children. That's your future, you two understand me?"

"Yes mama."
They both answered.

"Wow, look at you. Thank you, chances are, we'll be decorating this place ourselves, Jon'pa was not happy. I think Samuel is right, doesn't look like he'll be returning." Deidre stated re-entering the room.

Jeremiah turned to her smiling. Not the same smile that was on his face when she left.

"Something wrong?" She asked.

He thought about the question for a moment and started out saying, "My mother, I was just thinking about her. Thinking about, the way she wanted me to be. Max as well. I ah, more so than Max, have always tried to fulfil her expectations of me."

"She was an incredible woman; very kind, you would be wise to do as she expected of you. Were she alive today, she would be very proud of what you've accomplished."

Jeremiah gave a small, sad smile, "My mother Deidre, wanted me to be, a proud, educated, successful black man."

"And you are."

"She wanted me to be all that the white world expected me ...
not
... to be."

"I see ... I can understand that."

"She wanted me to set an example for my sons, when time came to have ... sons ... black ... sons."

"Black ... sons? ... oh."

"Yes, to ... or ... with ... a black wife."

"I see ... so... that is why ... you've fought to ... well ... keep your distance, from me?"

"Deidre, the world sees a black man, with a white woman on his arm, and the first thing a sister thinks is,
"What? I'm not good enough for you?"
, first thing a brother thinks is,
"You too good now nigga for yo'own? Trophies on the shelf not good enough, you got to have one on your arm, huh nigga?"
, and a white man thinks,
"Nigger having one of our women on your arm, still don't make you nothing but a nigger ... but, with a whore."

Deidre stood paralyzed by his words. Just moments ago, just a few mere seconds earlier, she'd been dancing up the stairs with a lightness to her heart. She didn't know what to say to him. She thought she would cry, how could things turn on her, so fast?
'You stupid, you should have known better!'
She gave a sad smile, "And here I am, blond hair, rich, a Wherrington, oh my ... what a trophy I would make, huh? What would they say then? Oh I can just imagine. So... I was right then, huh? I should write the check so that you can go."

"No ... I don't want you writing me anything! Can't you see, dammit, I'm trying here ... I'm explaining to you, what it means for me, to choose to be with you. I'm explaining to you, how deep within me, I must go, to turn away from what I know - how others will think, feel and react to me, by choosing you to be with! Everyday, I see myself - slowly - inch by inch - sliding into the stereotypical expectancy of the successful black male. Now that I've made it, all I need is a white woman on my arm! Hearing that, seeing that on the faces, in the eyes of black women, men ... is going to ... to make ... this hard for us ... if we continue in the way we're going."

Deidre stood realizing that what he said, was true. He would suffer more for their relationship, than she ever would.

"I guess the unselfish thing for me to do, is make this easy on you and ... send you on your way, that's what you're really wanting, aren't you? You, maybe ... can't just walk away, so you need me to be firm and send you away? Right?"

Jeremiah stood frozen. The answer was, yes ... and no. He wanted to leave her, but couldn't. He wanted her to send him away, adamantly send him off, but even then, would he be able to go and stay away?

Deidre swiped at a tear that rolled down her cheek, she squared her shoulders and stated with full eviction, "Sorry to tell you this, but ah, I've made all the sacrifices I plan to this year! I've done my one selfless act when I gave my daughter up! So ummm, I'm gonna have to say ... to hell with everybody else. This is about me! And I, Deidre Charlotte Wherrington, I - want - you. I want you in my life, by my side ... and yes ... in my bed. And if you can't handle ... that ... then, you know where the door is. But I'm not about to make it easy for you to walk through it. So if you go, you'll have to leave me, on your own steam, by your own decision; with your own sense of pride, strength and determination. But I will not help you, leave me." She finished, staring right into his eyes, refusing to look away.

"Our life ... if we ... stay together ... could be ... might be ... hell."

"Oh ... is that all?" She started laughing, "You had me worried a moment, I was expecting something far more horrific than hell. Hell you say? I know hell ... I do hell, very well. But ... maybe, you can't." The laughter left a sad smile in its place, "I - I don't know, being a black man, I figure, who would know more - about hell, than you? I guess I was wrong. So ... if you're going to leave me ... don't wait until it destroys me beyond repair. Go now ... go now."

Jeremiah stood staring at her. His mind kept playing the visual image of him walking to the chair, picking up his jacket and then, heading for the door. It played it once, twice and then a third and yet ... he could not get his feet to move. He was frozen to that spot. Frozen because, he wanted this incredible woman. He didn't give a damn about her being a Wherrington. He could care less if she had billions ... he was a successful man and could easily afford this home on what he raked in. Only problem was, the message playing inside his head, the message planted their by his mother. The problem was, he was black and successful. For a black man, this world and what was expected was too heavy. Now he understood why so many walked around with a chip on their shoulders. Simple fact of the matter was, you're damned if you do, you're damned if you don't. It won't matter that he hadn't chosen to be with her deliberately. It wouldn't matter that their coming together was as natural as the rising of the sun. None of that mattered, the truth. All that would be immediately apparent is that she is blonde, white, rich and he is a black man with her on his arm.

"Go Jeremiah. Make life easier for yourself. You've worked long and hard for it to be that way, to be a success. I wish you the best."

"If I wanted - to go - I would be gone! So please stop - telling me to go." He bit out through a tight jaw.

"I thought that's what you wanted? If not, where do we stand?" She couldn't help but ask.

"Can we go, one day at a time?"

"Then six months from now, you find that you can't handle it, then what?"

"I'm doing the best that I can, Deidre."

She smiled, did an about face on the subject, clearly wishing to drop it. It was too much to deal with at that particular moment. "Will you come to dinner the night I invite my daughter, her father, his family? Will you come then, please ... and be here with me, please?"

"If you want me to be, sure I will. What about our talk with him? The new arrangements?"

"I can't deal with it right now. They just arrived. I don't want him angry with me right now, I want to wait until the very last minute for that. They are being guarded, lets just keep it that way until we have no other choice but to finally let him know."

"I understand."

She smiled, "Will you ... stay for dinner, tonight?"

He smiled, "I'm starved, sure I will, what are we having?"

"Mama-JoJo...where you get all of these different roosters and chickens from? They're beautiful." Sylvia asked standing at her sink, washing up the dinner dishes with Crystal and Angela's help. She couldn't help but look up at all the shelves upon shelves of them that surrounded the kitchen, on all four walls, every kind of rooster and chicken one could imagine in wood carvings, ceramic, soldered metals and glass. They came in figurines, salt and pepper shakers, sugar bowls, gravy servers, pitchers, planters, all kinds. Some of them looked very expensive, certainly a collectors item.

Mama-JoJo was sweeping her floor, Shawn, Ben and Mundo sat at the table, Isaac in Mundo's lap, Darren in Shawn's. They were all talking after the incredible dinner Mama-JoJo made for them. She knew that Shawn loved catfish and greens. So she'd prepared that, homemade macaroni and cheese, corn bread, and for desert, banana pudding. Made with layers of vanilla wafers, banana's and vanilla custard poured on, baked and then served with a dollop of cool whip. Needless to say, everyone was stuffed so they could barely move. Even so, Sylvia immediately came to her feet to get the kitchen cleaned, not about to let Mama-JoJo do so after fixing such a dinner. The girls naturally followed. But Mama-JoJo would always find something to do, sweeping her floor and pointing out where everything went as she shared stories of days gone by and her experience with the younger Shawn after Jesse.