Culture Clash (17 page)

“What the hell?” Oops, did I say that out loud?

“Jayd, do you want to add to the debate?” Mr. Adewale asks, putting me on the spot. Why did he do that? Sometimes I think Mr. A loves to challenge me just for fun, but it feels more like torture, even on a good day.

“Oh no, my bad,” I say. Nigel looks at me in shock, but he’ll just have to ride this one out on his own. The last thing I want to do is make an enemy out of Seth—and, Matt, too, by default. They can make a sistah’s life in both drama class and the drama club more difficult than necessary. Even if I am a member of the ASU, drama is still my main love.

Everyone knows that Matt and Seth, as both the main stage producers and prop managers, have Mrs. Sinclair’s ear when it comes to auditions and all other important drama business. I don’t want to end up like Miss California did when she voiced her personal opinion about gay marriage to one of the judges of Miss USA, who just so happened to be gay. She lost the crown and got clowned on his blog. Knowing Seth, that judge is probably one of his mentors, and I’m not going out like that. We have one more play and a musical before school’s out in three months, and I want them to go as smoothly as they can.

“What? Man, please,” Nigel says, dismissing Seth’s argument—and I have to agree. Seth’s taking it a bit too far, although I am all for him starting a club if that’s what he really wants to do.

“I’m serious. Whenever I tell someone I’m gay—” Seth begins, but not before Nigel can interject.

“That’s what I’m saying. You have to tell someone that you’re gay. We don’t have to tell anyone we’re black.” KJ and his crew clap and whistle loudly. I smile and clap my hands under the table.

“It’s still the same thing,” Seth says, his anger now apparent in his blue eyes. Is he wearing eyeliner?

“No, it isn’t. You’re still a white boy with all the privileges thereof in this society. Even the gayest white man was still a master back in the day.” As the bell rings, ending fourth period, the class is silent while Nigel’s words permeate the air like the funky truth that they are. He’s right and we all know it. Seth will probably never admit it, but I know he heard Nigel loud and clear.

“Okay, class, that’s the bell,” Mr. Adewale says, picking up his large textbook and slamming it down on his desk like a gavel. Nigel definitely won that argument and Seth’s defeated look says he knows it, too. “Have a good lunch and weekend.” We begin to file out of the room and head to lunch. Jeremy and I are going off campus alone. We both need to decompress after that intense discussion.

“Jayd, are you busy tomorrow afternoon? Me and Nellie are going to meet up at my house and discuss the baby shower,” Mickey says, rubbing her watermelon-sized belly. She looks cute pregnant, even if she should be picking out her prom dress instead of baby clothes. I know she wants to grill me more about Mrs. Esop possibly coming to the shower, but I don’t know if I’m willing to make the personal sacrifice it’ll take to get her there.

“Maybe after I get off work,” I say, filing out of the classroom with Jeremy right behind me. “We’re going to lunch, but I’ll hit you up later.” Nigel and my girl look at me and Jeremy, who’s holding my hand and waiting patiently. Mickey smiles at me and grabs her man’s hand as he leads her out of the room. Nigel’s always going to want Rah and me back together, no matter how unrealistic it may be.

“Okay, Jayd. Bye, Jeremy,” Mickey says, following Nigel to the lunch quad. I already know I’m going to get grilled about this tomorrow. Maybe by then I’ll have something really interesting to tell her. Not only are we going to lunch, but after I get off work this evening, Jeremy’s picking me up from my mom’s house in his friend’s Benz again and we’re going to cruise Sunset Strip in Hollywood all night long. I’m looking forward to having fun with my boy.

“Ready to go, Lady J?” Jeremy asks, claiming my backpack to carry. Mr. Adewale looks at us and shakes his head. I know he doesn’t get it, but it’s not for him to get. If I want to be with Jeremy that’s up to me and Jeremy—no other opinions allowed.

After working all day at the shop I’m tired and funky, but still came to my girl’s house to discuss her baby shower. But so far Nellie and Mickey have been doing all the talking. Why am I even here on a Saturday evening, when I could be hanging out with Jeremy or by my damn self? I can barely keep my eyes open long enough to pretend like I care about what’s going on in Mickey and Nellie’s fantasy world. All I can really think about is me and Jeremy.

I didn’t get home from our date until almost two this morning. Jeremy and I drove around Hollywood all night long and ended up in Malibu, where we parked and hung out for a while. I forgot how good a kisser he is. I got lost in his touch last night and for the first time in a long time thought about taking the next step with Jeremy. But five minutes in Mickey’s world has made me appreciate not making that leap too soon.

Mickey’s parents just got home from work and are sitting in front of the television, where they’ll most likely remain for the rest of the night. Her father is a garbage man and her mother works at the post office. On Mickey’s block her family is the Joneses others aspire to be like. They’re what we call hood rich: they have good jobs, everyone’s got a ride and they don’t seem to want for anything, even with a large family living in a three-bedroom house.

Unlike Mama and Daddy, they extended their home by adding an extra bathroom and a den. Mickey shares a bedroom with her younger sister, and her three brothers have a room across the hall. Their parents have their own bathroom in their room, leaving the hallway bathroom for the children to use.

“Nigel, have you asked your parents if I can move in once the baby’s born?” Mickey asks, like they’re newlyweds saving for a home. In her mind, maybe that’s how her teenage pregnancy appears. But in everyone else’s reality it’s a very different story.

“Not yet, baby, but I will. You know I want to see both of my babies every day,” Nigel says, bending forward and kissing Mickey on the tip of her nose. They look so cute together. I wish I could sit in between my boyfriend’s legs on Mama’s porch, with her well within viewing range. She’d think I’d lost my mind again. I’m not judging my girl or the way her and her family chill. To each her own, but I know they couldn’t be this affectionate in front of Nigel’s parents, either.

“When? Nickey Shantae is going to be here in three months, Nigel.” Mickey rubs her stomach for dramatic effect. Nellie rolls her eyes at our girl and tosses the baby catalogue she’s viewing onto the pile of others on the porch. She replaces it with a baby name book, which is unnecessary. Mickey’s had her daughter’s name picked out since she knew what a daughter was. I doubt any name in that book will sway her decision.

“Can we consider a different name? How about Madison?” Nellie says. Mickey laughs at our girl’s suggestion but Nellie’s serious.

“I like her name,” I say. I know my goddaughter’s listening and I want her to feel my love. “At least it’s original and created out of love.”

“Exactly, just like my name. My daddy bought my mom a Mickey Mouse doll on their first date. She liked it so much that he bought her something with Mickey Mouse on it every time he gave her a gift from then on,” Mickey says, beaming like the spoiled daughter she is. I never knew there was so much sentiment behind her name.

I can hear a song come on the television inside, and start moving my shoulders to the beat. I’m not sure which band it is, but I know I’ve heard Jeremy playing this song before, and I love it.

“What’s the name of that song playing on the commercial?” I ask my friends, hoping that maybe one of them will recognize it. I know Chance and Nellie listen to alternative music on occasion.

“Okay, Ms. ASU. You can’t be black and love white music. It just ain’t natural,” Mickey says. Both Nellie and I look at our girl, neither surprised by what can fly out of her fuchsia colored lips at any moment. But I am shocked sometimes at the way she thinks about the world.

I look at Mickey and realize that even though we’re both black and from the same hood, we live in two different cultures. She and her family don’t ever want to leave Compton; they’re content not travelling, reading, or even considering living anywhere else but here. Mickey thinks living in Compton is the most real shit ever. Even if she would prefer to live in LA with Nigel and his family, she’d love it if he’d move back to her neck of the woods.

“You know rock music is black music, too.” I’m glad Nigel’s got some sense. Maybe it’ll rub off on her and my goddaughter, too.

“Whatever. I think you all think too much about being black and white. We’re all one, just like the motto for the Cultural Festival says. Why can’t we all just get along?” Nellie asks with her silly self.

“Because, Rodney King, it ain’t that simple. We’re not making fondue in this country. No one’s going to melt down my culture.” I need to get out of here before I really go off. I wish I could talk to Mr. Adewale on the phone sometimes, especially when I feel my head getting hot like it is now.

“Making fon-what?” Mickey asks, her button nose all scrunched up like she got a whiff of the fresh dog shit the loose pit bull across the street just laid. He’s running around the yard almost choking himself with the tight leather strap hanging around his neck. What good is a leash if no one’s holding the other end? You’d never see anything like this in Redondo Beach.

“Fondue,” Nellie answers like she’s an authority on the subject. “It’s melted cheese. You usually dip bread in it. But Chance and I went to a restaurant that melted chocolate, too.” Mickey looks completely unimpressed by Nellie’s knowledge of the fancy feast.

“Around here we call that a grilled cheese sandwich. Which reminds me, it’s time for me and baby to eat,” Mickey says, making her way up off the porch. It is getting late and I know Mama will start to worry if I’m not on my way to Inglewood soon. And all of this food talk has got my stomach growling, too.

“And on that note, I think I’ll check out.” I rise from my comfy spot on the dilapidated brick porch with my keys in hand. It was nice chilling with my crew, but it’s definitely time to go. Besides, Rah couldn’t be here and has been blowing my cell up all evening. I suppose I should call him back, but for what? I’d rather walk across hot coals than talk anymore about Rah’s drama in the house of hell he’s created with Sandy.

“Okay, Jayd. And I’m looking forward to positive results with that situation you’re responsible for,” Mickey says, like we’re secret agents on a mission to get her baby-daddy’s mama to like her. I’d hate to be around when Mrs. Esop pops her delusional bubble. Mickey’s my girl and I’m going to try my best to make her happy—but not by sacrificing myself in the process.

“I’m all over it, Mickey. Bye, y’all,” I say to Nellie and Nigel before heading to my car parked on the street. It’s almost a half hour from here to my mom’s apartment, and I need to stop somewhere in between for dinner. I have a full day of heads to braid tomorrow and I have to study in the afternoon. With the rest of my busy weekend, I’m looking forward to getting some good sleep tonight.

“Bye, Jayd. And my boy said to holla when you get a min,” Nigel says, winking at me from across the porch. I get in my ride and slam the door at the thought of talking to Rah.

Rah’s not slick, monitoring my movements through Nigel. I haven’t spoken to Rah since I saw him at Simply Wholesome last weekend. I’m not sure I know what to say. If I tell him I’m thinking of getting back with Jeremy, he wouldn’t take me seriously anyway. Maybe Mickey has a point about black and white mixing: it’s just not natural. But if that’s true, then why does being with Jeremy feel like home?

“O
h, sweetie, you know I would be with you if I could, but it’s just not the right time,” Maman’s lover says to her with tears streaming down his face. Maman looks into his blue eyes, searching for the truth with her mystical green eyes, also moist from crying. They appear to be outside at night in the rain. They both look around nervously, in fear of being caught by each other’s spouses or people who don’t like interracial dating, yet they stay where they are.

“Do you love me?” Maman’s words ring through the air like a bell. Love. How can a white man living in the Jim Crow South truly love a black woman? And how could she want his love?

“Marie, how can you ask me that? After everything we’ve been through, after all the sacrifices I’ve made so that we can be together, you would doubt my feelings for you? Yes, of course I love you,” her lover says, kissing her on the top of her head. They’re soaked from standing out in the rain for so long. They didn’t have umbrellas back in Maman’s time, or what?

“Then let’s go, now. Let’s run away together,” Maman says, sounding excited like a hopeful schoolgirl. “Take me away now, before Jon Paul finds out about our affair and kills us both.” Maman breaks down in her lover’s arms, trembling from cold and fear. “Don’t leave me here with him any longer, please. If you love me take me away from this evil place. New Orleans is not good for us, my love.” Maman’s lover looks down into her eyes, almost giving in to her powerful gaze, but he turns away just in time. I guess he knows all about Maman’s gift.

“Marie, when the time is right you know we’ll leave. But now is not the time,” he says, his tears again welling up. This dude’s really feeling Maman, but he’s not strong enough to do what it takes to be with her. Even white boys get lynched under Jim Crow if they choose to hang with black folks—literally.

“Why not? Why can’t we just run away up North, or do like your friends who moved to California and got married? Yes, we can be free to be open with our love there.” Maman’s lover lifts her face from his chest and looks at her solemnly.

“I have to get married,” he says to her as if he’s just been issued a death sentence. “You know I wouldn’t if it weren’t for my family inheritance, Marie, but I can’t afford to lose my share.” Maman’s hopeful look hardens as she pushes away from their embrace. This must be before either of them had children. Maman looks younger than I’ve ever seen her in any of my other visions.

“That’s what it’s always been about, hasn’t it?” Maman says in a cryptic voice, reminding me more of our evil next-door neighbor, Esmeralda, than herself. Her tears become waves of passionate cries as her emotion overwhelms her. I wish I could hug her, but in this dream I’m just a quiet observer. “Enjoy your money and your white woman. You can both go straight to hell!” Maman takes off down the dark street, water splashing underneath her sandals as she runs away, never looking back.

“Marie, wait!” her lover yells after her, but it’s too late. Maman is long gone.

“Jayd, can a brotha get a ride to work this morning, or what?” Bryan asks, interrupting my final few moments of sleep. If the alarm hasn’t gone off then I know it’s too early for me to be having this conversation.

“Waking me up is not the way to get what you want, Bryan,” I say, turning over in my bed and pinning my pillow over my face. Maybe he’ll go away if I ignore him.

“Consider me your personal alarm clock,” he says. Bryan’s such an ass. “And you need to hook my braids up, too.”

“Don’t push it,” I say, flipping the blankets back to start my day. What a strange dream. I never knew that Maman wanted to run off with her white boy. From all of the other visions I’ve had, it was always her lover who wanted to be with her. That sure does put things into perspective a bit with Jeremy and me. I want to be with him and he wants to be with me. Unlike in Maman’s day, we can be together, so why shouldn’t we?

I’ll give it some more thought as the day progresses, but the more I think about it the fewer problems I see with me and Jeremy giving our relationship another shot. So what if everyone hates on us and talks shit about the black girl from the hood and her rich, white surfer dude. That’s what they already do. Besides, I’m not here to please anyone else. My happiness is what matters, and so far Jeremy makes me very happy.

When I arrived at school this morning Jeremy was nowhere to be found. I guess he decided to take the day off and I can’t blame him. If I could have slept in I would’ve done the same thing. But Mama doesn’t believe in letting me stay home if there’s nothing wrong, no matter how sleep deprived a sistah might be. He also hasn’t texted me back this morning, so I know he’s either knocked out or surfing. It must be nice to have such a chill existence, which is opposite of everything I know.

It’s been a busy Monday morning, collecting all of my weekly assignments and getting last week’s work back. I did well on my quizzes, but my homework grades could be better. I’m not comfortable slipping down a single point in my class average, and at the rate I’m going, my A average will be an A-minus on the mid-semester progress reports if I don’t up my game soon in all of my classes.

After speech and debate class, Mr. Adewale called an ASU meeting for those of us still interested in the club. There are still a few technicalities to work out with the administration on the club’s official formation, but Mr. Adewale and Ms. Toni are hopeful that it’ll all work out in time for Cultural Awareness Day. With the festival next week, we need to decide on the club’s participation categories and what kind of food we’re going to sell at our booth, just in case we are able to participate in the day-long festivities.

“Okay, so we’ve got to decide on a theme, which will include a presentation or a performance, customary attire, music, and of course, food.” Mr. Adewale likes the sound of that, I see. I’ll have to bring him a plate from Mama if he likes to eat that much. “Any suggestions?” he asks, filling out the official club entry form on his clipboard while we all eat our lunches. The usual crew is here, including Misty, KJ, and followers. But unlike last time, Emilio’s not here and I’m not surprised. I never responded to the letter he sent me through Maggie and he’s avoided me today. I don’t mean to be rude, but he needs to back off and I’m glad he’s finally getting the message.

“Yeah, I say we go in chains with that fool holding the whip,” KJ says, pointing at Chance. Every time I think he can’t get any more ignorant, KJ goes and proves me wrong. How could he have ever reminded me of Rah?

“I think you should grow the hell up,” Nellie says, defending her man. I know it’s a major sacrifice of her primping time to come to our meeting, but she belongs here just as much as the rest of us, including KJ’s dumb ass. I think Chance convinced her to come, even if I did ask her several times to offer the club her support. How come boys can get girls to do things when their homegirls can’t?

“We weren’t just slaves, KJ,” Mr. Adewale says, putting him in his place. It’s about time someone did. KJ gets away with clowning around in most of his other classes because he’s a star athlete. But Mr. Adewale couldn’t care less about KJ’s scoring average.

“I think we should perform a scene from
Fences,
” Chance offers, smiling at me. He’s performing a small role in the drama club’s performance at the Cultural Awareness assembly and still has my back for my play suggestion. What a sweet friend. I don’t know what I’d do without him in my life. He may be Nellie’s boyfriend, but Chance will always be my leading man when it comes to the stage.

“Man, we ain’t performing no punk ass, lame ass, stupid ass play,” KJ says, making his crew laugh. Why are they even here? I know they don’t care about African American and diaspora issues. All they really want is to say that they’re down with the black club on campus. When it’s time to do the work they’ll be nowhere to be found.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Mr. Adewale says, glancing at Chance and then at KJ, pissed at the irony of the situation. It’s our first ASU event and a white boy is the one making the most relevant suggestions. “Nigel, would you be interested in performing a scene from the play?” Nigel looks at Mr. Adewale like he’s crazy. I’m not surprised by my boy’s reaction, but I am a little disappointed.

“I think it’s a good idea, but I’m not the one for this role,” Nigel says, leaning back in his seat and watching Mickey look at herself in the mirror. Nellie’s doing the same thing. I hope some of Mr. A’s consciousness rubs off on all of us, because we’re in desperate need of some righteous guidance.

“I can do it,” Chance says, shocking everyone except for me. I know he’s a good actor and can play the hell out of the lead character’s part. Chance and I used to rehearse scenes from the play last year, just for the hell of it. When we first read it together we loved it and had fun developing the characters. “And Jayd can play Ruth. She knows that part like the back of her hand.”

“Okay, then it’s settled. We’ll offer a scene from August Wilson’s play for the opening assembly,” he says, writing it down in ink before anyone can protest. “We only have about a minute left to discuss the festival. So, what’s on the menu?” Mr. Adewale tries to move on, but KJ’s not having it.

“Hold up a minute,” KJ says, leaning forward in his seat and shaking his nasty-ass toothpick in the air. He just finished a burrito, and part of it is on the tiny wooden stick. “How’s a white boy going to play a black man?” KJ asks, now standing he’s so pissed. He should’ve thought of that before he dismissed the idea so quickly.

“I guess we’ll find that out at the assembly. Jayd and Chance, I’m counting on you to rehearse on your own. We look forward to seeing the scene at the next meeting. As for the menu and theme, we’ll take a silent vote after class tomorrow,” Mr. Adewale says, adjourning the meeting as the bell rings so we can all get to our fifth period classes.

“This is some foul shit, man,” Del says, getting up with the rest of us. He looks at Chance like he wants to beat his ass, but Del’s too chicken for a move like that. And as thin as Chance is, he can still defend himself when necessary, with or without his boys behind him.

“You should’ve thought of that before y’all were too proud to perform,” I say. “Maybe next time you’ll step up like real black men instead of the little boys y’all are acting like now.” I grab my backpack off the floor, ready to get to drama class.

“Shut the hell up, white-boy lover,” KJ says. Misty smiles at her man’s ignorance. Chance looks like he’s about to spit on KJ, and he should. If he only knew the truth about his heritage, Chance wouldn’t have to put up with so much hating from these suckers at South Bay. But as long as I’m dating a white boy, I will have to put up with these idiots.

“And I fell for a white boy after being your girlfriend, KJ,” I say, stepping up to him and looking him dead in the eye. “So what kind of man does that make you?” Misty steps in front of her man and in my face, ready to throw down over his stupid ass, as usual. I thought she learned her lesson after I stripped her of her dreams, but I guess not.

“A damned lucky one,” she says, her hands firmly set on her wide hips, like she’s going to do something. I wish the trick would. She knows I’m not the one to play with and KJ’s ass has never been worth fighting over.

“Okay, let’s all calm down,” Mr. Adewale says, breaking us up before it gets too ugly. None of us notice the visitor in the room.

“Well, what do we have here?” Mrs. Bennett asks, entering at the tail end of our meeting, unannounced and uninvited. Misty backs up and smiles at me like I just walked into her trap. What the hell is she up to now?

“Can I help you?” Mr. Adewale asks, looking at the clock above our heads. We have three minutes until the tardy bell rings, but I’m not going anywhere until I know why she’s here.

“Well, actually I think I can be of help to you,” she says, handing Mr. Adewale a slip. “I heard your little club was in need of an adviser so I volunteered, since I am responsible for you while you’re on probation, Mr. Adewale,” she says, slyly. “I also don’t think a junior faculty member should hold club meetings in their room.” Mrs. Bennett looks at me and Misty, her cold blue eyes shimmering. Misty takes a step back and nods her head, but in recognition of what?

“With all due respect, Mrs. Bennett, I can host whatever groups I want to in my classroom.” Mr. Adewale carefully reads the paper in front of him and his face gets more red with each word his eyes absorb.

“But I’m your mentor teacher,” she says, pointing to the paper. “And I think this group needs proper supervision. And what’s wrong with holding the meetings in my room?” Mrs. Bennett suggests. The bell’s about to ring and the other students begin to head slowly toward the door. Nobody wants to miss how this showdown is going to end.

“What’s wrong with it is that we are fine where we are.” The two teachers lock bright eyes and I’m loving the action. It’s about time someone other than Ms. Toni stood up to this broad. “And I’ve already pulled in Ms. Toni as the supervising adviser, no offense.”

“I’m well aware of your request, but she’s so busy with ASB that the administration is concerned about her taking on too much. I, on the other hand, only chair the Advanced Placement group, and after the exams in May I’ll be as free as a bird.” Mrs. Bennett’s not slick. She’s going to destroy our club without a second thought if she gets the chance, and we can’t let that happen.

“We’ll see about that,” Mr. Adewale says, glaring at Mrs. Bennett, who turns around and walks out of the room. Everyone follows suit and heads to fifth period, with less than a minute to get there. I’m not worried about receiving a tardy in drama, especially because no one’s paying attention to me too much since I’m not performing in this play.

“Mr. Adewale, can I do anything to help?” I ask, walking up to him on my way out. The rest of my crew is already gone, so it’s just me and him.

“They’re trying to stop the club from officially forming before the festival, if at all,” Mr. Adewale says, frustrated. I look past him at Laura and Reid talking with Mrs. Bennett outside. I know they had something to do with this. And I also know Misty’s not in the clear. She’s been their mole, sneaking information from our meetings back to them. And like any other pest, she needs to be evacuated from our space. Like Mama’s enemies, mine haven’t learned that I’m not the one to mess with, but they will, soon enough.