Coffee Will Make You Black (13 page)

“Carla, it's okay, I'm still gonna go through with it. It was okay when you'd peed with somebody and I hadn't. I'll tell you how it was.” I smiled. Carla's mouth dropped open like she didn't know what to make of me.

“Well, if you ain't gonna drop no draws, Carla, you can take your tail out of here,” Yusef said.

“Forget you, Yusef Brown. Stevie, I'll wait for you out front.”

“Stevie, you back here? It's me, Roland.”

“Oh, shoot. Carla, you the only one I told. You tell anybody?”

Carla shook her head, “I ain't told a soul, I swear 'fore God.”

“You better get that nigger out of here, now this shit done got ridiculous!” Yusef shouted.

We all stared at Roland standing at the gate.

“Roland, what are you doing here?”

“Stevie, I just couldn't let them do you like this, I went back and forth in my mind, but I just wouldn't feel right, not telling you.”

“Tell me what? Do me like what? How did you know I was back here?”

“I ain't told you,” Carla said to Roland.

“I hear your mama calling you, boy. So why don't you take your narrow ass outta here?” Yusef moved toward the gate.

I was confused. What was Roland talking about? Somebody had to have told him I was back here unless he followed us.

“Roland, you should leave, this has nothing to do with you. And I don't appreciate you following me, getting all up in my business,” I said.

“Stevie, don't pee with him,” Roland begged.

“I ain't gonna tell you again to get your black ass off my property, nigger!” Yusef looked like he might hit Roland any second.

“Wait a minute,” I shouted. “How did he know we were gonna pee together if nobody told anybody?”

“Stevie, I heard them talking about it in the john, they didn't see me. I would've been here sooner but Mrs. Verducci kept our class after school. And I had to do some detective work to find out where Yusef lived. They're hiding in the basement, at the window,” Roland pointed.

I looked up. I could see some heads bobbing up and down, and heard laughing. I turned toward Yusef, who was cracking his knuckles. I felt my eyes filling up with tears.

“Yusef, how could you do this to me?”

“Yeah!” Carla cut in.

“Look, I don't know what you talking about, he's just trying to get next to you hisself. Ain't nobody in there stud'in you, they in there looking at baseball cards.”

“Tyrone ain't up in there, is he?” Carla twisted her head.

I knew Yusef was lying: I could feel it. He hadn't looked me in the eye once.

“I hate you, Yusef Brown!” I pushed past him with Carla at my side.

“You ain't nothing, bitch! You think you something, but you ain't shit! And I better not catch you, you four-eyed faggot!” Yusef shouted at the three of us as we headed toward the street.

I couldn't understand why Yusef had blabbed to his friends and done what he'd done to me. I never understood before how somebody could hurt you unless they hit you. But what Yusef did hurt me worse than the slap I felt when I dived into the pool and forgot to tuck my head.

We had reached my block. “I'm okay,” I told Carla and Roland as I wiped my face off with my hand. “I've gotta look like I just came from the library. Thanks, Roland, that was really nice of you. I'm sorry you had to be in the middle of this. I hope Yusef doesn't mess with you.”

“It's okay, Stevie. I just couldn't see anybody doing you like that, because basically you're a very nice girl. And don't worry, I'm not that scared, although I'm glad it's Friday.”

“He'll probably be cooled off some by Monday.” Carla nodded.

Roland waved and headed toward his street.

“Stevie, Yusef done you dirty and had the nerve enough to call you a bitch. Did you hear him say you wasn't shit?”

“Look, Carla, I don't want to hear another word about whether anybody asks me to dance or not at the Graduation Tea, okay? At this point I don't care if I have to hold up the walls or dance with Roland or even end up dancing with Willie Jean, for that matter, okay? I just hope they have some good food, that's all!”

“You right, Stevie, sho you right, I ain't saying nothing else. Although you do have a whole week. Hey, a lot can happen in a week. If I was you I'd.…”

“Shut up talking to me, Carla.” I cut her off and walked up my front stairs.

And if I wanted to play basketball next year, I didn't want to hear anything about that either, I told myself as I went into the house.

I sat alone in the kitchen with a glass of milk and a handful of Oreo cookies, thinking about what had just happened. Yusef Brown had done a job on me; he had really done me dirty. If it hadn't been for Roland, no telling what would've happened. My throat felt tight and my eyes began to fill up with tears, as I pictured myself standing butt naked in front of Yusef with his friends watching and laughing. I hated cold-blooded people.

I wished Grandma was here and I could crawl into her lap like back when I was younger, and feel like everything was going to be okay. But now I was too big for Grandma's lap and besides I couldn't tell her how Yusef had shamed me.

I remembered Roland and felt bad about the way I had treated him. He had risked everything for me. Roland had risked everything to be himself.

The next day I was on my way out to the playground at recess time. I had kept to myself this morning and hadn't crossed paths with Yusef. There had been a few whispers in the coatroom, 'cause like Mama always says, some people thrive on mess. But nobody had the nerve to get up in my face about what had happened.

Melody caught up with me as I headed toward a big rock in the corner of the playground near the swings.

“Stevie, girl, I got something to tell you if you can keep it to yourself!”

I wasn't in the mood for any foolishness. But Melody looked excited, and besides, she wasn't the foolish type.

I sat down on the smooth rock and looked up at Melody. I shaded my eyes from the sun.

“Stevie, you won't believe what happened! Girl, you know how Carla always says payback is a dog!”

I nodded as Melody sat next to me on the warm rock and folded her legs. She pulled at her blue checked tent-style dress so nobody could see her panties. I smoothed out my denim skirt and crossed my legs, just in case.

“Okay, Stevie, you know how you told me on the phone you were worried about what Yusef Brown might do to Roland?”

“Yes, so, did Yusef jump on Roland?” I asked, feeling scared.

“No, remember, I said payback is a dog. Well Yusef got the big payback!”

“What?” I couldn't help but smile.

“Dig up, Stevie.”

“Okay, shoot,” I said, surprised that Melody had become so cool.

“Okay, I was working in the office today like I do every Monday morning, putting teachers' mail in their boxes, right.”

“Cut to the chitlins, Melody.”

“Okay, but don't you want me to clean them first?”

I smiled; she had a point.

“Okay,” Melody continued, jumping up and talking with her hands. “Who would come stepping in to see Mr. Davis, in a tight miniskirt and a red shell top, but Yusef Brown's mama!”

“For what?” I asked.

“She had an appointment with the principal. He called her into his office. Next thing I knew, I heard Mrs. Brown begging, ‘Please let my baby graduate!'”

I raised my eyebrows. “Then what happened?”

“Well, Mr. Davis must've turned her off cold. 'Cause, baby, then Mrs. Brown proceeded to call Mr. Davis a white-ass motherfucker!”

I gulped; this was something. Yusef Brown wasn't graduating, and his mama had cussed the principal's behind out!

“What did Mr. Davis say?”

“He ran her out of his office. You should've seen her face when she left. Her liquid eyeliner was running into her powder, her face was full of sweat and tears. If she hadn't been Yusef's mama, I would've felt sorry for her. Especially 'cause while she was waiting for Mr. Davis she told me her 'frigerator broke down and one of her sons got shot two days ago and was in what they call stable condition, not to mention her no-good, two-timing husband had left her.”

“Wow!”

“Anyway, when Mrs. Brown left, Mr. Davis turned to me and said, ‘I'm sorry you had to witness that. It's people like her who give the Negro race a bad name. It's people like her who make it hard for the rest of you.'”

“So, Stevie, don't worry about Roland. Yusef's got enough of his own problems. I don't think he'll be stuttin' Roland now.”

“Wow, Melody, thanks for telling me. I gotta go. I gotta ask Carla if she wants to trade sandwiches at lunch,” I mumbled, jumping to my feet.

I was at my seat, recess was over. It was almost lunchtime. I watched Yusef cleaning his desk out of the corner of my eye. He was trying to act cool, but his hands were shaking as he threw stuff into the green metal wastebasket. Everybody had been whispering about him in the coatroom. I still don't know how they found out. I just told Carla and she'd promised not to tell anybody. I couldn't help but feel sorry for Yusef, now that I knew his brother had been shot and their refrigerator had broken down and his daddy had cut out. I mean I couldn't be too cold; I still planned to join the Peace Corps.

chapter 11

I sat at a long table between Carla and Linda, munching on little chicken-salad sandwiches, green grapes, and chocolate cake. I couldn't believe how good the gym looked, the waxed floor and the crepe-paper decorations and balloons made you forget how funky the place usually was. All the girls were decked out in pastel-colored chiffon and other dressy materials. The boys had on their best suits and white shirts and ties. Every girl's hair looked freshly done. Even girls like Patrice who had “good” hair had made a date with a straightening comb before the Graduation Tea.

Mrs. Cunningham stood in the middle of the room with her hair down and wearing a lilac colored, lacy dress. She had been promoted to assistant principal last September, and was about to make a speech.

“Good afternoon, class of nineteen sixty-seven.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Cunningham.”

“It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was a tale of two cities.” Mrs. Cunningham's voice sounded strong and clear through the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, that is as true today as it was in Charles Dickens' time. We live in the richest nation in the world and yet some of our children go to bed hungry. Dr. King is preaching love and yet many still practice hate. They say we have a generation gap. Your music is too loud, your hair is too long, your skirts are too short, and we are sending nineteen-year-olds to a place called Vietnam. Some of them aren't coming back or are coming home in body bags.”

Mrs. Cunningham paused and looked around at our faces. I felt a lump in my throat. I knew that everyone was thinking about Michael Dunn's older brother, Donald, who had recently been killed in action. I glanced in Michael's direction and saw Calvin put his hand on his shoulder. Michael's eyes were clouded with tears. It seemed like a long time ago when Michael had asked me if I was a virgin.

“We still have prejudice and discrimination,” Mrs. Cunningham continued. “Dr. King's dream has not been realized. Our cities have exploded in the summertime. And yet you young people have opportunities that your parents only dreamed of. You can make it if you try. You can do anything you set your minds to. But I bet more of you can tell me what the number-one record is this week than what year the Magna Carta was signed.” Mrs. Cunningham stared us down.

Peaches jumped up out of her seat and shouted, “What you want, baby, I got it, ooh. What you need, you know I got it, ooh. All I'm asking for is a little respect!” Peaches gave a few claps and sat back down. Lots of kids giggled and some applauded.

“All right, settle down, young people, I hope you will channel that energy toward making the world a better place. I know you'd rather hear Aretha Franklin at this point, but in closing, I'd just like to congratulate you and say that you've earned it. And I hope that whatever you become you will strive to be the best. Whatever you do, bad or good, will always reflect on your entire race. Remember that and make us proud. Good luck, and may God bless you, class of 1967!”

Mrs. Cunningham grinned as we clapped loudly, partly because we were proud and partly because we were glad she was finished.

I felt a little nervous as I sipped frappe and stared at the dance area. What if no boy asked me to dance, how could I not feel like a loser? I almost hoped that no one would ask Melody or Linda to dance. I felt guilty, but they say misery loves company. I figured Carla, Patrice, and Tanya would hardly get a chance to sit down.

“Tell It Like It Is” was playing. Oh, no, I thought, why start with a slow song? I waited for Tyrone to walk over and ask Carla to dance. Carla was ready in her pink chiffon dress and matching dyed shoes and purse. I was no small potatoes in the turquoise rayon Empire-style dress that Mama had made from a Vogue pattern.

To my surprise, Tyrone continued to laugh and talk with his friends. No boys made a move to ask anybody to dance. Only the girls stared at the dance floor or looked around the room desperately.

“They just 'shamed to slow dance,” Carla said.

Oh yeah, that explains it, I thought.

“All right, ‘I Heard It Through the Grapevine'!” Patrice shouted, snapping her fingers and shaking her head.

Tanya stood up and danced at her seat, practically drooling. But not one boy seemed interested. They were too busy joking and giving each other five and getting more cake.

“Look, there go a couple dancing,” Linda said, sounding hopeful. I was surprised to turn and see Roland dancing with Willie Jean. Even Carla looked jealous. She couldn't knock them because at least they were dancing.