Coffee Will Make You Black (10 page)

We walked smack dab into Roland. Mama slapped a smile on her face; she liked Roland. He was smart and polite. His people were members of Faith like us. Both of Roland's parents were teachers. His father was a deacon in the church, and his mother sang in the choir. His oldest sister was a freshman at University of Illinois Circle Campus. Deep down Mama was especially proud of dark-skinned people who did well in life. So in her eyes Roland could do no wrong. The fact that he wore horn-rimmed glasses, was a total square, and had almost no behind didn't seem to faze her.

“Good morning, Mrs. Stevenson, Stevie, David, Kevin. Nice to see all of you.”

Me and my brothers nodded.

Mama perked up. “Good morning, Roland. How are your parents?”

“They're fine, thank you. My father's inside helping to count the money, and my mother's changing out of her choir robe.”

“Roland, you enunciate so well. So many of our young people underestimate the importance of good diction.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Stevenson. As you know, my mother is an English teacher.”

David made a face. He and I would crack up later and say how we'd wanted to throw up, or how badly we'd needed a shovel. But now we had to keep a straight face or else Mama would be reading us all the way home.

“Stevie, I wondered if I could walk you home?” Roland stood there with a goofy smile on his face.

I didn't want to be bothered with Roland on a Sunday, and yet Mama might not be through yelling at Kevin. I was caught between a rock and a hard place. I decided to go with the devil I knew. I was used to tuning Mama out. Forgive me, God, I didn't mean Mama was a devil, I said in my head.

“Sorry, Roland, some other time. I just want to be with my family right now. I was hoping that my mother and I would have a chance to go over the sermon together.”

David started to hoot, but he pretended like he was coughing. Kevin's eyes were big as saucers, but he didn't dare say anything. Even Roland looked like he was caught by surprise. Mama smiled; she was tickled to have any excuse to discuss religion.

“Well, okay, some other time then.” Roland tipped his stupid cap and we said our goodbyes.

“What profit a man if he should gain the world but lose his own soul? Now I take that to mean …” Mama started.

Mama was one of the few people who could make a body look forward to Monday.

Daddy walked into the kitchen carrying an empty rat trap. Mama had seen a rat while she was doing the laundry in the basement. Daddy put the huge trap on the table and sat down across from me.

I looked up from my homework.

“Daddy, if X plus Y equals Z, then Z minus Y is equal to X, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The new math.”

“Is two plus two still four?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. That's all I want to know. Now get me a beer.”

I frowned. The idea that Daddy could get his own beer was probably as foreign to him as the new math.

“Jean, bring me a piece of cheese, while you're at it.”

I stood over Daddy, holding a can of Hamm's, watching him mash a piece of cheese into the brand-new trap.

“Thanks, just set it on the table.”

“You know, I've heard peanut butter works better.”

“Who's doing this, me or you?” Daddy tried to sound mean, but his smile gave him away.

“It was just a suggestion,” I said, going back to my homework.

“Girl, I was trapping rats before you was born.”

“Did y'all have them when you were growing up?”

“Sho did.” Daddy sipped his beer.

“The first rat that I can remember showed his behind on a cold winter night. It was almost Christmas. It was going to be another hard-candy Christmas.”

“What's a hard-candy Christmas, Daddy?”

“A Christmas when you ain't getting nothing but hard candy, 'cause that's all your people can afford.”

“Oh. Must've been a dumb rat to pick you all's house, huh?”

“Well, times was hard. Anyway we set a trap that night and it went off while we was asleep. The next morning, my father told my mother that I had to take the rat off the trap before I went to school.”

“How old were you, Daddy?”

“Younger than Kevin. I couldn't have been more than seven.”

“Weren't you scared?”

“Course I was scared. I told my mama that I didn't want to take no rat off no trap. I had tears running down my face and everything.”

It was hard to imagine my big, strong father as a scared little boy with tears running down his face.

“So what did your mother say?”

“She said, Just run on to school, boy. See to it later.”

“Couldn't you just tell your father that you were scared?”

Daddy pretended to choke on his beer. “Girl, please! You must be kidding! My father believed that a boy should be tough as nails. He'd buy my sisters ice-cream cones and wouldn't buy me nan.”

“How come?”

“My mama asked him the same thing.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Let him go out and hustle. Nobody's gonna give a man nothing.' My mama reminded him that I was just a child. But that didn't make him no never mind.”

My grandfather had died of a heart attack when I was seven. I'd met him when I was a baby, but I didn't remember him.

Daddy drank some beer, and stared out the window into the dark night. “And it didn't make me no never mind when he died, either,” he whispered.

I swallowed, I remembered my father saying he was only going to his father's funeral for his mother's sake. Now I understood why.

“Daddy, did you end up having to take the rat off the trap?”

“My stomach was in knots all day long. When I come home from school that afternoon, Mama told me to run quick to the hardware store to buy a new trap. She'd thrown the rat, trap and all, into the furnace.”

“Did your father ever find out?”

“No, and over the years, we bought a number of traps too. Some mamas used to have pin money. My mama had trap money.”

I laughed.

“Jean, I wished you could've known my mother. She was really special,” Daddy said, wiping his eye with the sleeve of his work shirt.

He always got teary-eyed when he talked about his mother. The only time I'd seen my father cry was when I was nine. His sister called and told him that their mother had died from TB. He was sobbing by the time he hung up the phone.

“Daddy, were your mother and father close?”

“What do you mean, close? They had five kids.” Daddy said, finishing his beer. “Mainly, my mother and father just stayed out of each other's way. They were on their own separate missions.”

Sort of like you and Mama, I thought.

“You think your parents were happy?”

“They didn't have time to worry about being happy. Besides, happiness isn't what's important in life.”

“It's not? Well, what
is
important in life, Daddy?”

“Raising a family, making a living, that's what's important. Any fool can be happy.”

I didn't argue with Daddy but I thought that there was a lot to be said for just being happy.

“Daddy, are you gonna make Kevin take the rat off the trap?”

“Nope, we've got a furnace.”

chapter 9

I was sitting at my desk Monday morning. Mr. Cox was giving us a history review. My eyes were glued to Yusef Brown out in the hallway, jumping up and down pretending to make baskets. Mr. Cox had sent him out there, counta he had his hat on in the class and plus he'd been chewing gum.

“Jean, do you know when that took place?”

I jumped and looked up at Mr. Cox's balding white head and beady blue eyes. I stared down at my history book.

“Eighteen sixty-five,” I heard Willie Jean whisper from behind me.

“Yes, Mr. Cox, in eighteen sixty-five,” I said just as cool as you please.

The class snickered.

“Eighteen sixty-six?” I asked shyly. The class broke out into hoots and hollers.

“I asked you if you knew when the last fire drill took place.” Mr. Cox shook his head.

I swallowed. “Oh, it was around Valentine's Day,” I said, as the recess bell rang.

I huffed and puffed as I made my way out into the hallway. Who did that heifer think she was? What was she trying to pull, I thought to myself. I had never done anything to her.

“Wait till I catch up with her,” I mumbled on my way down the stairs.

“Say,” Carla came up from behind me. “Don't let that bitch get away with that. There she is, jack her up, Stevie.”

“Willie Jean, that was really cold-blooded!” I shouted. Me and Carla followed Willie Jean onto the playground and so did a bunch of other kids. I didn't want a crowd around us, because I knew a crowd meant a fight.

Willie Jean turned around. “It was just a joke, Stevie.”

“Ha, ha, well, it was so funny I forgot to laugh.”

“You don't know her that well.” Carla cut her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

“Oooh, doon, baby!” Tanya shouted. “She say you don't even know her that well!”

“This is between us, Willie Jean, let's talk over there.” I pointed to a far corner of the playground. Willie Jean nodded. “We don't need no crowd,” I explained.

Me, Carla, and Willie Jean walked away from the others.

“Willie Jean, why did you try to make me look like a fool?”

“You look like a bigger fool, trailing behind a no-good boy the likes of Yusef Brown!”

I raised my eyebrows. “What business is it of yours?”

“Yeah, what business is it of yours?” Carla sounded like an echo. “Don't tell me you wanna get next to him, 'cause I know he ain't thinking about you.” Carla sucked her teeth. “Shoot, your chances are slim and impossible and, honey, slim just left!” Carla laughed.

“I don't want none of Yusef Brown. He don't move me and he don't groove me. I just think Stevie can do better for herself, that's all.”

“What do you care?” I asked. Me and this girl weren't even tight or nothing.

“When Stevie's holding up the walls at the graduation tea, what can you do for her but hold up the walls with her?” Carla added.

“There ain't no law saying that two girls can't dance together,” Willie Jean answered all calm.

“Yeah, but everybody feels sorry for them. They know they dancing together 'cause they can't get no man.” Carla folded her arms.

“Sometimes a boy will cut in if two girls are dancing together. He'll say something like, Y'all two ladies ain't got to be dancing together. I saw that happen at my Aunt Sheila's birthday party,” I explained.

“Yeah, it be's that way sometimes, if you happen to luck out,” Carla agreed.

“I don't know if I'd call that lucking out myself.” Willie Jean turned and walked across the playground toward the volleyball game.

“She don't know if she'd call that lucking out.” Carla shook her head. “Is she fully clothed and in her right mind?”

“What is she trying to say?” I asked.

“Stevie, I think she's trying to say she funny.”

“Carla, you think she's really that way?”

“I ain't wanna say nothing before, cause you know how I hate to talk about people. But the girl told on her own self. I could tell she had some boy in her, from jumpstreet. Nine outta ten of them P.E. types do. Her sister's probably all crossed up too.”

“Here comes Roland.” I hunched my shoulders.

“From the pitiful to the pathetic. I'm gonna go and see if I can find Tyrone.”

“Hey, Roland.”

“Hi, Stevie.” Roland stood there grinning, looking even goofier than usual.

“Stevie … uh … I was thinking … maybe … you know ah, would you mind if I kind of walked you home from school today?”

“I guess.” I forced myself to smile. “Well, Roland, I gotta go play volleyball. You need to wipe your glasses off, they're all steamed up.”

“Oh, okay. Well, see you after school.” He grinned.

During lunchtime, me and Carla sat in the swings on the playground and ate our fried-bologna sandwiches. A few minutes ago, Tyrone had come by and dragged Carla away, laughing and screaming.

Now I just sat in the swing and let it rock me gently back and forth. The sun was in my face and I just let my feet drag through the wood chips that they always put on the playground.

I felt somebody's hands pushing up against my back. I started moving forward and I grabbed onto the swing's chains. I turned around. I couldn't believe it: Yusef Brown was pushing me!

I liked the way his hands felt against my back. And the rubber swing felt good up under my butt.

Yusef grabbed the swing and brought it to a halt.

“I heard about you.” Yusef bit back his bottom lip. He had what Grandma called laughing eyes.

“Heard about me, what did you hear about me?” I asked, surprised. I wasn't the kind of girl that boys usually heard about.

“In class this morning, eighteen sixty-five.” Yusef burst out laughing.

“Oh, that,” I said, not sure whether I now thought it was funny.

“You cracked everybody up! ‘Eighteen sixty-six.'” Yusef laughed some more.

I still wasn't crazy about Yusef laughing at me, but I figured it beat being invisible.

“Stop making fun of me.” I punched at his arm playfully.

“Okay, okay.” He smiled, holding his arm. “Look, I wasn't making fun of you. I just thought you was so cool counta the way you took it, didn't get bent outta shape or nothing behind it. They said you was cool to the end, just said, ‘Around Valentine's Day, Mr. Cox.'”

“I have to really hand it to Willie Jean, though; she's the one who whispered eighteen sixty-five.” I decided to go along with Yusef.

“Yeah, that was really slick.”