Zora and Nicky: A Novel in Black and White (24 page)

I’m astounded at what I’m hearing. Because of one bad poem, she’s
standing up to my family on my behalf, and I have had no such courage in a
lifetime. My heart is so overwhelmed I don’t know what to do with myself.

My father looks angry. He stabs at his potatoes. “You’re talking nonsense,
young lady.”

“That’s the kind of writing he’s made for, Reverend Parker. It’s not
nonsense. It’s his gift.”

My grandfather, who has been blessedly quiet the whole time, mumbles
some bit of profanity, but we all hear him. He follows it with, “Uppity gal. I
remember when niggers knew their place.”

Silence.

My parents gasp. Some unintelligible protest escapes from my throat.
Rebecca says, “Oh my gosh, Zora.” Everything seems to happen in slow motion.
Zora’s back straightens. She stands with the grace of the dancer she is.

I feel truly ill. I have never been so completely ashamed of my family in
my life, and I feel completely at a loss as to what to say or do to right this
terrible wrong.

I expect her to throw her water, pot roast, or potatoes in his face. Smash
the freakin’ plate on his shining bald pate. But she doesn’t. She simply says to
my parents, “Thank you for having me, Reverend and Mrs. Parker. I should
be leaving now.”

My father stands. And I stand too. No one apologizes.

Not in my family. No, we Parkers can deny like Peter on Good Friday.
Only we’re less vocal with our denial. Had not Zora stood, my grandfather
would have probably asked her to pass the peas after calling her a racial slur.
My mother looks like she doesn’t know what she’s going to do. Get up? Keep
eating? Go upstairs and sew? Rebecca looks like she’s going to burst into
tears. Dear God, what a mess. And my grandfather does keep eating, still
mumbling to himself.

I take Zora by the elbow, and she gently pulls her arm away from me. She
heads toward the door on her own.

“Zora, wait.”

I hear my father’s voice. “Nicholas.” And then Rebecca shoots up like a
dandelion on the lawn.

“Where are you going, Nicholas?”

“I’m taking Zora out of here before he puts on his white sheet.”

My mother stands and defends the creep. “Nicholas, that wasn’t fair. Your
grandfather is from a different time.”

“There’s no good time for a racist, Mother, including today.” I try to catch
Zora, but she’s well on her way to the front door.

“Nicholas, just let her go.”

“How is she supposed to get home?”

“Well, she walked to church.”

“What is the matter with you people?”

I jet into the living room and catch up with her just before she gets out
the door. “Wait.”

She yanks the door open and is out of there before I can stop her,
slamming the door on me.

I have to fumble to open it. “Zora, wait.”

My eyes have to adjust to the bright sunlight, and by now, she’s running
away. I’m calling her, and she’s running. I don’t even want to think about
what we look like.

Finally I pull even with her. I have to grab her arm and yank her to me,
and when I do … she’s crying. Aw, man. “Oh, Zora. I’m so sorry.”

“Why did you let him … you let that man …”

“I’m so sorry, Zora.”

“You were right, Nicky. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have been
involved with you. At
all
!”

What was I supposed to say? Both of us knew it would be a disaster no
matter what false hope we cloaked ourselves in. What else would it be? I let
her rail on.

“You’re all racist. All of you.”

“No, we’re not. I’m not like that, Zora.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.”

“You ever use that word, Nicky?”

“No.”

A flat-out lie. I’ve used it, as flippantly as my grandfather had and
worse.

“You’re not a very good liar, Nicky.”

“Okay. I’ve used it.”

She nods her head. “I thought so.”

“I didn’t want to admit it right now while you’re upset. But I would have
told you eventually.” I can tell she doesn’t believe me, and why should she
since I just
lied
? “Look. I grew up with
them
. But I’ve changed.”

“Why, because you went to California? Got a black friend or two? Do
you have black friends, Nicky?”

I don’t want to answer her.

“Do you?”

“Just you, for now.”

“But you’re not a racist?”

“I don’t have a lot of friends
period
, Zora. And how could I be a racist if
I’m crazy about you?”

“You think because you’re attracted to a sistah now that’s special? What
about your friend Pete? That
racist
is attracted to me.”

“I think I’ve shown you I’m a cut above Pete.”

“Oh yeah, Nicky. You’re a regular Thomas Jefferson.”

“Thomas Jefferson?”

“Yeah, the slave-owning, freedom-talking Founding Father. You remember
him, don’t you? He had this slave, Sally Hemmings. He didn’t rape her, like
most of my great, great grandmothers got raped by their masters. Not a nice,
upstanding Christian guy like Thomas Jefferson. But he sure did have some
pleasant
visits
with her, Nicky. The kind that produced children who his white
descendants still don’t acknowledge. That’s the kind of white man you are,
Nicky. ‘I like you, Zora, but not enough to fight society to be with you. Not
enough to make my life uncomfortable for you. Certainly not enough to let
my
real
,
white
, acceptable-to-the-parents girlfriend go.’”

Is this the kind of man she thinks I am?

She’s not done hurling accusations at me.

“But you’ll go tiptoeing over to the slave cabin at night. Bring ol’ Sally
some poetry and art supplies. And I was stupid enough to—”

A sob escapes her mouth.

“Zora. I’m—” I go to her, all the while asking myself, am I that white
man she just described? I try to hold her, and of course she resists.

“Stay away from me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.”

“I am. I truly am.”

“Look at me, Nicky.” She starts furiously wiping her eyes. I’m looking. I
can’t take my eyes off of her.

She only has to look up a few inches to see me. I love that she’s so tall.

“I don’t want you to forget this moment for the rest of your life, okay?”
she says.

“Okay.”

“Nicky?”

“Yes, Zora.”

“Whenever you hear the word
nigger
—”

“Please don’t say that, Zora.”

“You didn’t say that to your grandfather. Don’t say that to me. Whenever
you hear the word
nigger
…”

I nod.

“Are you looking at me?”

“You know I’m looking at you, Zora.”

“I want you to remember
my
face, okay, Nicky?”

Her statement takes the wind out of me. “Stop it, Zora.”

“You think I’m pretty, right?”

“You know I do.”

“Well,
I’m
the nigger who came to dinner. I’m every nigger you ever
uttered and ever will. I’m every nigger in the world, Nicky. They’re all me.
Every nigger you’ve ever known is me. Do you understand?”

I don’t understand and I do. I can’t stand to hear this, but she won’t
stop.

“If there is one nigger in the world all black people are niggers.”

That word tears at me, and I just want to stop her.

She keeps assaulting me with it. “And all niggers are Zora Nella Hampton
Johnson, the nigger you
think
you want. You got that, Nicky? All niggers are
me. Every single nig—”

I scoop her into my arms and kiss her. I don’t even try to be gentle. I’m
a freakin’ beast with her. And she is all sweetness. Man. She’s amazing. She
starts beating the crap out of me, but it’s so worth it.

She finally gets out of my grip and pummels me with blows to my
chest.

“That was a very
white man
thing to do, Nicky Parker!”

And I don’t even care that she’s kickin’ my butt on the street in front of
the neighbors. I’m totally short-circuited because I kissed her so good I blew
my own mind. Then she surprises me and comes back at me with a kiss of
her own.

Holy cow! I’m about to have a coronary my heart is pounding so fast.

Only this kiss isn’t a she-beast kiss. It starts that way, and then she seems
to go shy on me, and turns soft. I give Zora every bit of tenderness I have
inside of me, every bit of it. I pour all the love I have and some of the love I
don’t into tiny little kisses and the gentlest caresses I can muster.

I will remember her face all right. I will remember this moment.

Always.

If I could stop time right here, I would, and I would hold onto this
woman. Honest to God, I would never let her go. I would spend my heaven
kissing Zora on the sidewalk on this spring afternoon. She would be my
heaven. But I can’t stop time any more than I can pick my own heaven.

“
Nicholas
!” Rebecca screeches behind me

I let Zora go.

My father stands next to Rebecca, stern looking, crimson faced, and
ramrod straight. Rebecca lacks his restraint, but his eyes scream to me
everything I need to know. I’ve disappointed him. Again.

He clears his throat. Gestures to the side of him. “We called a cab for …
your friend.”