Into White (6 page)

Alex had changed into his blue-and-green-plaid pajamas. He wore a bright yellow tube sock on one foot and a black ankle sock on the other. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he slid on the hardwood and nearly fell. I never understood why more girls weren't attracted to my big brother. He was the smartest, sweetest, most fascinating guy in Edgewood, maybe the entire state of Alabama.

I went back into my bedroom, and again, there was Jesus.

“You good?” he asked.

“I think so.”

He held his hand open and beckoned for the book. After I placed it in his palm, he thumbed through it once and said, “May I?”

When I nodded, he and the book vanished.

We gathered on the living room pillows, lit the fireplace with newspaper (for ambience, not heat), and watched
Unsolved Mysteries
as a family. Mom slid close to me and attempted to squeeze an already popped pimple on my cheek.

“Mom, seriously, quit it,” I said, scooting out of her reach.

She frowned and folded her arms, defeated.

“That's mean, Toya,” Alex whispered.

“Sorry, Mom. It's just, squeezing makes it turn a little red.”

Alex laughed, and I elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Ow!”

“Hush, kids. This is the best part,” Dad interjected.

As Mom predicted, that night's episode discussed dogs that could prophesy tumors in their owners. Small potatoes compared to a dog that could keep his family's power on for three months and counting. Afterward, everyone dispersed to their cubbies and settled in for the evening.

On a regular day, seven p.m. meant reruns of crappy television followed by an hour of social media stalking in the upstairs bathroom. Mom bought a dinosaur of a computer from Lenny's Pawnshop at the beginning of school last year. She'd traded a pair of Diamonique earrings and one of her few beloved gold rings for it. It rested on the bathroom counter, since that was the only place in the house where we could steal the neighbors' Wi-Fi, but that night things were different.

I ironed my fanciest ensemble of pink stretchy capris and white lace BCBG top that I'd found stuck between old-lady blouses at the thrift store. My clothes fit so much better as a white girl; no badonkadonk to eat up my panties and no hungry hippo hips to tug at the seams of my capris. Everything in the world was made for white girls. Clothing, magazines, curling irons, makeup, shampoo, and every decent Disney princess. Even Princess Tiana was created and directed by white men; that's probably why she wasn't as awesome as the rest.

I pushed back my cuticles and painted my toes to create the illusion of a pedicure. I wasn't satisfied, so I elected for closed-toe flats. My fingernails, on the other hand, turned out to be quite the pain in the butt. I'd never regretted biting my nails more in my life, and I frequently regretted biting my nails.

No matter how painted, pushed back, buffed, or evened out I tried to make them, they still looked like the hands of a neurotic wreck. And this carefree skinny white girl from Sweden or wherever could not look undone. I rummaged through my bathroom drawer for leftover press-on nails from eighth-grade graduation. The giant thumb-sized nails were all that was left of the set. No female's thumbs were that enormous. I sliced and shaped them into smaller fingernails; and after an hour of crafty manipulation, I had myself a full set. The glue had just about dried up, but it waited until the very last pinkie finger was pressed on to turn rock hard, which I took as a sign from Jesus.

I crawled into my bed around ten, but the anticipation of the next day made the clock tick slowly.

“Hey, Jesus?” I whispered into the darkness.

“Yeah?” he replied. I hadn't seen him appear, but there he was, sitting on the two-seater secondhand bench at the foot of my bed.

“Can you give me something to help me sleep?” I asked.

He laughed. “I'm not a pharmacist, Toya.”

“But I'm so excited about tomorrow. Alex believes me! He's totally in on it,” I told him.

“I saw that,” said Jesus. “He's a cool kid. You're blessed to have him.”

“Could I just stay like this for a while?”

“As you wish,” he replied.

“It's even better than Christmas. Were you really born on that day, or was that just a guess? Oh crap, I shouldn't ask about things like that. Sorry, I shouldn't have said crap, either. Crap, I said it again.” I couldn't understand why his smile made me want to cry.

“I've heard it all, child. I should get going, though; I have a few more lost sheep to find.” He gently touched his index finger to my forehead.

 

GOOD-BYE, TOYA, AND GOOD RIDDANCE

If they could bottle whatever's in Jesus's index finger, crack would go out of business. I woke to a bright red bird chirping on my windowsill, and I ran to the bathroom mirror. As requested, the same white face from the day before cheesed back at me. I jumped in the shower with fruity Herbal Essences shampoo and conditioner in tow. After working up a good lather, I rinsed and repeated until my hair squeaked clean. The shampoo would've stripped every bit of moisture from my black hair, leaving each strand potato-chip dry. The pitiful conditioner wouldn't be nearly enough to replenish it.

I blew-brushed my locks dry, giving them a natural bump in less than five minutes. That five-minute bump would've taken an hour on black hair, if it were achievable at all.

For makeup, I drew little red targets on my cheeks with a tube of lipstick and rubbed. My old concealer worked fine for eye shadow, and I already had the mascara.
Cosmo
proved to be correct; brown mascara was way better. After pulling on my clothes, I looked like I belonged on the cover of one of those magazines.

Staring at the manifestation of my hopes and dreams, I questioned why God had done it for me. Surely everyone in Edgewood wanted something they didn't have, so why me? I studied myself for something extra special. Opened my mouth and peered down my throat for a spirit worthy of the grace of God. Some divine illumination to help make sense of my granted prayer, but aside from my beautiful new self, I didn't see anything specific. Only Toya stepping into white. Just then, Alex hauled himself from bed and into the bathroom.

“You still white?”

“Actually, yeah, I am. Jesus told me I could keep this look for a while,” I replied.

“Cool.” He dug at the inner corner of his eye. “We'll be popular yet, little sister. Now get out.”

I tilted my head, wondering if God had visited him, too. How else could he believe me so blindly?

He loaded his toothbrush and then noticed I hadn't left. “What?” he asked, mouth overfilled with froth.

“Has Jesus come to you?”

He brushed vigorously and spit. “Not any more than usual.”

“How…,” I said before losing my words. “I mean, why did you…” Again, the sentence fell apart. “I don't know.” I gave up.

After a final gargle, he leaned against the bathroom counter. “I believe because I believe in you,” he said with a depth and gravity I'd never heard. “That's it. Now…” He twisted me toward the door and gave me a push. “Get out.”

*   *   *

“Toya!”
Mom screamed. “Come on, you're making us late up there in your precious room!”

I shuffled downstairs and sat on the bottom step.

“Hey, sweet girl, you're ready for school early this morning,” Dad said, just coming through the front door, gas station coffee in hand.

“I'm excited about school today. Where've you been so early?”

“I'm glad you asked. Hampton and I went for an early walk down to the car lot, and I've got my eye on a sharp gray Thunderbird. The Fiat has been acting funky lately, so I'm thinking rather than get it fixed, I should just buy another one. What do you think?” His eyes were saucers. My father never met a broke-down, clankity-clank, dusty vehicle he didn't love.

“I don't know, Dad. You have a few cars already; maybe we should just put some money in one of those, like the Volvo?” You'd think that at sixteen I would be smart enough to realize some things just are the way they are, but I couldn't fathom giving up on my dad. We looked strikingly similar. His eyes were my eyes. His nose was my nose. And Evilyn was right, his skin was my skin.

Well, all that was true when I was Toya.

“We'll discuss it, doll.” He took a chockablock gulp from his coffee cup, spilled about a teaspoon's worth on the foyer floor, and walked away.

“Dad, seriously, you spilled your coffee,” I said.

“I'll get it up in a bit,” he replied, but I knew he wouldn't. For years, I'd been cleaning up after my dad.

“I heard you talking about some Thunderbird,” Mom spat. “If you dare bring another half-piece of car into that driveway, I'll stuff you in the trunk and push you clean off Colossus.”

Dad stared at Mom's eyes, and she gave a slight smile. I looked from his face to hers. They were smiling at each other!

“Uh … What's happening here?” I asked.

“Extraordinary things happen in Thunderbirds,” he said, and then they laughed simultaneously.

Mom held her index finger in the air. “That doesn't mean buy it, though!”

Dad seized another mouthful from his mug.

“It's time, everybody, come on,” she said, her dream-catcher earrings dangling from her ears. My mother looked gorgeous. She'd braided her hair into a soft crown and stuck a dollar-store flower pin in the back. No matter how little effort she'd put forth, she still managed to be the most beautiful woman in the world. Where the other mothers of Edgewood coveted a Mercedes and Louis Vuitton luggage, my mom preferred Joni Mitchell, freshly picked flowers, and long flowing things. Smooth tan skin, fluffy hair, and knocking on six foot tall, she could've been a model if she wasn't born in 1969 BOMBingham, Alabama.

Her tongue, on the other hand, could be lethal. Actually, only toward my dad; she was generally nice to everyone else. “What kind of man spills coffee on his own floor? Lord, help me. Every day, I have to deal with this.”

See what I mean? I had never kissed a boy, but even I knew that the more you cut a man down, the less worthy he feels, and the more you suffer for it.

Alex strode down the stairs. “Let's blow this Popsicle stand.” He wore a brand-new pair of Levi's we'd bartered down to seven quarters at an Edgewood yard sale. His shirt read
DAUGHTERS BEWARE!
in big black letters. “Like my shirt? Cool, huh?” he asked.

“Handsome, as usual,” said Mom, grinning ear to ear.

“It was in the box marked ‘free,'” Alex said. “Remember that yard sale, Toya?”

I nodded and smiled, even though he looked ridiculous. He truly was handsome, and I didn't understand why he wore a high-school-loser belt like me. He took after Mom: His skin was as light as a tanned white person's. His eyes were hazely and big, with long, shiny lashes. He stood six foot something, though he rarely stood up straight. Maybe it was because he wore shirts that said stupid stuff like
DAUGHTERS BEWARE!
on them, but I didn't have the heart to tell him any different.

The most popular senior guy in school, Josh Anderson, wasn't as handsome as Alex, but he had something my brother lacked: swag. It's the only way Bobby could marry Whitney; Billy Bob and Angelina, Arthur and Marilyn, and the list goes on. Some men had it—an untouchable, unexplainable aura that drew women like rednecks to the Iron Bowl.

“Got your homework?” asked Alex as we ducked into the backseat.

“Yep,” I lied.

Alex narrowed his eyes and handed me a typed report entitled “Hester and Pearl, by Alex Williams.” “Here you go.”

I flipped through the first few pages. “Why are you giving me this?”

“I don't want you caught off guard when someone references Hester Prynne again.” He smiled.

“Who, besides you, would reference Hester Prynne?”

Alex groaned. “At least read the character description in the back.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to get this mirror fixed?” Mom started in on Dad. “And the pitiful air freshener…”

“Mom!” I yelled. “Stop being so mean!” Her nagging pricked me, too, not just Dad.

She didn't utter another word.

Post-sabbatical at Aunt Evilyn's, Mom had developed an acute case of child abandonment guilt. She knew Alex forgave her easily. He always had. But for my sake, my mother worked extra hard to get back into my good graces. Another daughter might have exploited it, but I was grateful that she cared so much what I thought of her. And I didn't want to contribute to her leaving again. The empty castle felt even emptier without her inside.

The Fiat didn't stall out once that morning, which was a good sign. As soon as Mom let up the seat, Alex and I jumped out, eager to start the day.

At drop-off, we stood on the curb, watching as our parents clanked off. “What's your new name?” Alex asked.

“Oh no. I forgot to come up with one.” I almost flagged down the Fiat to take me back home.

Alex thumped my shoulder. “Don't worry, I've got you. How about Svetlana?”

“Svetlana sounds like a stripper name,” I whispered.

“Okay, well, what about Elsa?”

“Better, but a little like an old housekeeper. Got anything, I don't know, cute?”

“Katarina?” he said.

“Ooh, that's it.” I hugged him reflexively. It couldn't have lasted more than a second and a half, but by the time it was over, at least twenty sets of eyes ogled us. It must've been quite the sight, too—the eccentric black guy hugging the shiny new white girl. “What should we do?” I said in a hushed voice, nodding at gawking passersby.

“Play it cool. I got this,” he whispered back. Then he turned toward the crowd, held his arms open wide, and shouted, “She's … an … exchange … student. Her … name … is … Kat-a-riiiiiina.” His voice cracked a little on the last part, so he gave up the floor. “Say … hello … Katarina!”