Coffee Will Make You Black (24 page)

The doctor shone a flashlight in my eyes and told me to take some aspirin for pain. That had been it. Daddy said the school should pay my clinic bill, but Mama said it wasn't worth the red tape to try to collect ten dollars. They'd argued back and forth at the dinner table. It was settled when Mama sent me to get her checkbook. Of course, my brothers teased me no end about my shiners. And they were forever begging me to take off my sunglasses.

A week later Carla and I were at my locker.

“You think I still need my sunglasses?”

Carla shook her head. “Not unlessen you just want to look cool.”

Sean walked toward us. “Hey, Stevie, let's say we check out White Castle ninth period? They gotta special going, ten burgers for a buck.”

“I wish I could, Sean, but I'm booked.”

“Booked? You gotta new nigger or something?” Carla cut in. Sean smiled but he looked worried.

“No, I've got to help Nurse Horn.”

Carla shook her head at me before rushing away to catch up with Ivory.

“Help Nurse Horn? Help her do what?”

“Different stuff, Sean, file, type, clean up, whatever. I'm her student helper now.”

“How did you get stuck with that?”

“I had to tell Nurse Horn what the doctor said. And while I was in her office, Barbara Taylor was in there.”

“So.”

“Anyway, Barbara was telling Nurse Horn that she couldn't be her helper anymore, accounta she's the new captain of the girls' basketball team, and they're in the finals and all.”

“So, what's that got to do with you?”

“So I asked Nurse Horn if I could be her new helper. And she said, ‘Great idea.'”

Sean frowned, “Why do you have to help her ninth period? Why would you want to be tied up at the end of the day?”

“Because that's when she needs me. Earlier she's more likely to have somebody sick in there.”

“What if I need you?”

“Sean, you're being silly. You go to swim-team practice three times a week. You play basketball during most of lunch period.”

“That's different.”

“Well, I need service points for the Junior Honor Society. Helping Nurse Horn two measly periods a week will cover it.”

“I forgot about your needing service points.”

“Sean, we can go to White Castle tomorrow.”

“Stevie, tomorrow it will be too late. This is a one-day sale,” Sean grumbled.

That's just too bad, I thought to myself.

chapter 21

I knocked on Nurse Horn's door.

“Come in,” she said.

I was surprised to see her pacing in her white pants uniform. I just sat down on the cot and watched Nurse Horn do her thing.

“I came to this school because I wanted to make a difference. I could've been a nurse in a suburban school where everybody's Dad wore a suit and tie to work and their mothers all played bridge and tennis,” she said, continuing to pace. “But I would've been bored to tears.”

“Nurse Horn, are you through talking to yourself?”

“I'm sorry, I just had to let off some steam.”

“Why?”

“I saw this semester's dropout list. Your name wasn't on it, but I recognized quite a few.”

“Whose names
are
on it?”

“Never mind, they're just wasting their lives.”

Nurse Horn faced me with her arms folded. “Stevie, I know that you're not getting a first-rate education here.”

“You mean I'm not being prepared for Vassar?” I asked, looking down at my bucks.

“Don't get me wrong. We have some fine, dedicated teachers here. But even the best teachers can get worn down by overcrowded classrooms, a lack of supplies, poor equipment, not to mention the discipline problems. I know that you guys don't have the best shot. But it's the only shot you've got. And you need a high school diploma just to survive these days.”

“Nurse Horn, Brother Kambui says, ‘White people are raised to live, but black people are raised to survive.'”

“I don't care what Brother Kambui says, I care what you say, Stevie. I know that any black person who wants to get ahead is up against it. I'd be naïve to think otherwise. But the question is whether you're going to let racism stop you.”

I looked up at Nurse Horn. “Twenty years ago my grandmother was in Gainesville, Florida, cleaning toilets that she couldn't even use. Today, she owns Mother Dickens' Fried Chicken Stand and she's a success. And when my mother was the only black teller at her bank's downtown branch, people avoided her window. But eventually her coworkers voted her teller of the month. Now she's a loan representative,” I said proudly.

I stood up and folded my arms. “My grandmother didn't let racism stop her, my mother didn't let racism stop her. And I'm damn sure not going to let racism stop me, either! Now, does that answer your question, Nurse Horn?”

Nurse Horn nodded and walked over to the sink and filled the teapot.

“I'm sorry I had to curse,” I said.

“To Be Young, Gifted, and Black Is Where It's At!” We yelled and waved our fists. I took my bow with the rest of the Drama Club, ending our “To Make a Poet Black” Assembly.

“The Drama Club peed, girl! Y'all got down!” Carla stretched her hand out and I gave her five as we headed out of the auditorium.

“Right on, Sisters! Power to the People!” Roland greeted us with a raised fist at the door.

“Right on!” Me and Carla answered, raising our fists too.

“Who would've thought Roland Anderson would have become a tam-wearing, fist-waving black militant?” I asked Carla.

“Who would've thought he'd grow some behind?” Carla shouted above the noise in the crowded hallway.

I laughed.

“Stevie, come have a smoke with me.”

“Carla, you know I don't smoke.”

“I know, just come with me, girl.”

“We've got Study this period.”

“Damn Study, Mrs. Welles ain't even here today.”

“Okay,” I agreed, sort of looking forward to getting out.

Carla and I sat across from each other, on either side of the main school steps.

“Prom tickets go on sale next week,” Carla announced after lighting a cigarette.

“Yeah, I know.”

“I wish Ivory was a senior.”

“How are you two doing these days?”

“He blew my mind last night!”

“What do you mean?”

“Girl, while we was fucking, he rubbed the top of my pussy with his thumb.”

“Where?”

“It's a spot, like a little button,” Carla said as she exhaled.

“The clitoris?” I asked.

“The what?”

“The clitoris. I read about it in this book called
Everything You Always Wanted to Know about Sex
.” I had been walking around Hyde Park while Mama was at the dentist when I'd seen the book in a bookstore window. Hyde Park was the only neighborhood on the South Side where you were guaranteed to see something unusual, like hippies or interracial couples or pottery or a book like
Everything You Always Wanted to Know about Sex
.

“Well,” Carla said, “you get a nigger to rub the clawtaurus the right way, honey, and it'll make you wanna slap the judge!” She stretched her hand out and I gave her five.

Carla blew smoke rings in the air. “Dang, Stevie, much as you read, seem like you'd wanna do more.”

During the middle of tenth period, I returned to Nurse Horn's office with the stencils that she had given me. It was my third week of being her helper.

“You ready to collate and staple?” Nurse Horn asked without looking up from her desk.

“No, that doggone ditto machine was out of ink, again. They said it'll be a couple of days.”

Nurse Horn sighed, “I wanted to have those handouts for tomorrow. But, oh well.”

I nodded at Tanya lying on the cot, all doubled up.

“Tanya has a stomachache. She'll be all right. I just gave her some peppermint tea.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling kind of jealous.

It struck me how wavy Nurse Horn's brown hair was. It wasn't stringy like some white people's. And her breasts had felt soft and comfortable when she'd hugged me that time. Plus even Carla would have to admit that Nurse Horn had a nice behind for a white woman. And she had the softest gray eyes you could imagine.

“Stevie, you can type up my report for the district if you like.”

“Is it urgent?”

“No, not at all. Why?”

“Because, look at that window. Aren't you tired of looking out of it? Wouldn't you like a clean window?”

“Sure, I didn't know that you did windows.”

“I'm in the mood.”

I'd found everything I needed in the janitor's closet. I couldn't believe how much clearer things were beginning to look as I washed away the layer of dirt. I couldn't wait for Nurse Horn to return from her break and see the sparkling-clean view of the faculty parking lot.

“Stevie! Stevie!”

It was Carla. She and Ivory were lounging up against a Volkswagen bug, smoking cigarettes. I waved my rag. Carla waved back and Ivory shook his fist playfully.

“Hey, what's happening, Aunt Jemima?” Carla shouted. She and Ivory fell out laughing. Ivory had the nerve to add, “Tote that barge, lift that bale!”

I glanced over at Tanya but she turned away. I wondered if she looked down on me as some white woman's flunky too. My view was suddenly blurred by my tears.

I wiped my eyes as Nurse Horn walked in with Miss Humphrey trailing behind her in a denim skirt and peasant blouse. “Diane, you're a lifesaver.”

“That's me, the human aspirin dispenser,” she joked, opening the medicine cabinet.

“Well, maybe I can get rid of this headache before I have to hit the traffic.”

“Good luck.” Nurse Horn shook a couple of aspirins into Miss Humphrey's outstretched palm.

Miss Humphrey noticed me standing by the window.

“Jean, I've got your brother David in my class. He's a pretty good artist. But you were a real sweetheart.”

“The window looks great,” Nurse Horn cut in.

“Thanks.”

Miss Humphrey got all up in my face and tugged at my cheek.

“Smile, honey chile,” she said. I turned away and glanced at Tanya on the cot. She was facing the wall.

“I'm not in a smiling mood,” I mumbled.

“But you look so cute when you smile.”

I frowned even more. I wasn't in the mood to have Miss Humphrey up in my face. Why did white people want you to be all the time grinning for, anyway?

“I don't have to smile. I'm not on a plantation.”

Miss Humphrey looked embarrassed.

“Excuse me,” I said, passing by them carrying my rag and pail.

“You know, I've been offered a job in Vermont next fall. Maybe I should take it,” I overheard Miss Humphrey say.

chapter 22

I stepped into Mother Dickens' Fried Chicken Stand, past the
BLACK OWNED
,
BLACK OPERATED
and
KEEP A COOL SUMMER
signs in the window. The same picture of the late Dr. King and the Kennedy brothers that hung above the takeout counter was on our living-room wall at home.

I needed to talk to Grandma. Carla and Ivory's comments had me all shook up. I needed to know if it was all right for me to be friends with a white woman, or if it was unheard of to try such a thing. I'd never known a black person who was really friends with somebody white. I'd heard of famous people like Sammy Davis Jr. and Leslie Uggams being buddy-buddy with white folks, even marrying them. But I wasn't rich or famous, and I also had my pride.

“How's my favorite niece?” my Uncle Franklin asked, revealing a gold tooth as he smiled from the cash register.

“Fine,” I lied. “Your only niece is fine.” I usually loved to joke around with Uncle Franklin, but today I was on a mission. I couldn't rest until I reached Grandma. My nose led me to the small kitchen. The smell alone was enough to set your mouth to watering. I almost forgot about my problems.

“What? Your mama ain't feeding you at home?” Grandma teased, looking up from a wire basket filled with golden fried chicken.

“I didn't just come here to eat, Grandma, I came here to see you.”

“Well, you know I'm always glad to see my girl.” Grandma smiled and handed me a wing.

“Thanks.” I sank my teeth into the juicy meat.

I finished my chicken, washed my hands, and began helping Grandma by digging homemade potato salad out of a huge plastic container with an ice-cream scoop. I put a ball of potato salad and two slices of Wonder Bread on each paper plate while Grandma saw to the chicken.

“Grandma, could you ever be friends with a white woman?”

Grandma looked confused. “You mean really friends, not just ‘hi' and ‘bye' friends?”

I nodded. “Yes, really friends.”

“Baby, white people are like actors, they don't feel things the way we do. If they really had deep feelings they couldn't have done half the dirt they've done and sleep at night.”

“Aren't some of them different?”

“There might be that rare exception, that needle in a haystack. But generally speaking, getting close to a white person is just asking for trouble. Nine times out of ten, you'll only end up getting hurt. I wouldn't trust one behind a broomstraw.”

Uncle Franklin stuck his head in to pick up an order.

“Did you ever trust one, Grandma?”

Grandma drained the fried chicken on a paper towel. She stopped and stared into space.

“Yeah, Kathy Jo.”

“Who's Kathy Jo?”

“Once my mother was working for a family and I spent a lot of time over there. I grew up with Kathy Jo. We even took baths together. That was common in the South. We couldn't sit together on the streetcar, but we could share the same bathwater. Figure that one out.”