Coffee Will Make You Black (5 page)

“You think you and that girl Carla will turn out to be friends?” Grandma asked as she held me in her lap.

“Maybe. I don't think we'll ever be tight like me and Terri were.”

“Life is funny, you never know about life,” Grandma said.

I could never see Carla joining the Peace Corps, I thought.

“Here comes Mama.” I rolled my eyes.

Mama walked into the kitchen with her apron on. She frowned when she saw me in Grandma's lap.

“Evelyn, you peed tonight, like the old folks used to say, you peed with that dinner. Chile, you a true Dickens, cause you sho can fry you some chicken,” Grandma bragged.

“Mama, you sound like somebody in the backwoods. Don't talk like that. You'll forget one day and say that out somewhere.”

“I'm like Salem cigarettes, y'all took me out the country but y'all ain't took the country outta me. You dragged me away from the Baptist church to the African Methodist Episcopal, but I still miss the singing. I'm sorry, child, but every now and then I've got to just tell it like it is.”

Mama shook her head and started sweeping the kitchen floor. “Mama, you used to say the world was no place for anybody soft and colored, but now every time you look around, you got Jean up in your lap.”

I looked at Mama, but didn't move. Something told me not to get up this time.

“Evelyn, let me enjoy my only granddaughter. We're not hurting nobody.”

“It's all right to spoil
her
, mighty funny you didn't have that attitude with any of us.”

Mama cut her eyes at me. I knew she still expected me to get up. She looked mad enough to spit. “Jean, get down from there. If you don't get down from there, you better!”

I didn't move.

“Mama, just push Jean Eloise out of your lap.” Mama almost sounded desperate.

Grandma didn't move a muscle and neither did I. I wondered if Mama would come over and drag me out of Grandma's lap, or worse, go get a belt and start whipping me. Instead, she just went back to her sweeping.

“You raised us to be tough. I remember having to get myself dressed, help little Sheila and the boys get ready, fix breakfast, make Daddy's biscuits. Sometimes we went out wearing mismatched clothes, hair half combed, looking like ragamuffins, 'cause you'd left before day to go take care of some white family.”

“Evelyn, you know I had to do whatever I could to make a honest dollar,” Grandma said quietly.

“Yeah, that's why we never had Thanksgiving dinner on Thanksgiving, 'cause you had to cook and serve
their
dinner.” Mama swept the floor harder.

“Chile, when I would be cooking them dinners, I'd be thinking about how good the leftovers was gonna taste. We might not have ate good on Thanksgiving, but, chile, we sho greased the next day, remember that?” Grandma smiled.

“It still wasn't fair; we needed you. When I fell down and skinned my knee once, I remember crying for you and nobody was there to put a Band-aid on it and to say it'll be all right. Even the good times—I got a hundred on a test once and ran home all excited and didn't remember till I hit the door that you weren't there to tell.” Mama was sweeping up a storm now.

“I'm sorry, baby, I wanted to be there all them times. I know it was hard on y'all. Me and your daddy, may his soul rest in peace, wanted y'all to have the best of everything. But when you're colored the deck is stacked against you, you know that. I couldn't never afford new clothes for y'all but I kept my eyes open for the best hand-me-downs I could find. I wished I could've been there to give y'all castor oil every time y'all was sick. I guess that's one reason it was such a comfort to hear that half the class come by to see you that time you twisted your ankle.”

Mama stopped and leaned on the broom handle and stared off into space. “I was a new girl, nobody cared about being my friend. I was by myself practically all the time. Nobody to walk home with, nobody to play in the schoolyard with. Franklin and Arthur had each other, and Sheila was too young; besides she had her own little friends.”

“Yeah, but those kids surprised you, 'cause when you twisted your ankle that time you found out different. Half the class come by to see you, remember?”

Mama kept staring into space. “Nobody came by to see me.”

“What you mean, nobody came by to see about you? I never forgot that you said, Mama, it was so many they couldn't all fit. They had to come in two shifts. I know my memory is still intact.” Grandma tapped her forehead with her finger.

“They didn't care whether I lived or died.”

“That's what you said about Lillie Mae, remember? You said, ‘Mama, nobody cared whether Lillie Mae lived or died.'”

“Look, Mama, I was there, nobody came by to see about me, okay, nobody!” Mama set the broom against the wall and folded her arms like she was cold all of a sudden. I could hear my heart beating. I was almost afraid to breathe. I felt Grandma's body stiffen.

“When I went to school the next day, that's when I found out Lillie Mae had been out too, upset stomach, and that half the class had gone by to see her. Even took her some pink cotton candy from the Carnival. I pretended to myself that they had come by to see me. I went home and told you that half the class had come to visit me so you would think I was popular.”

Mama turned around and looked at Grandma, her dark eyes soft and watery. I had never seen this side of Mama.

“So you wouldn't have to feel guilty about not having been there to take care of me,” Mama continued.

I let out a big breath. “All these years Grandma's heart was going out to Lillie Mae steada you,” I said, looking at Mama.

“Humph, I used to want to laugh every time your grandmother said that. Lillie Mae had everything going for her. She was light enough to pass, with long, good hair and green eyes. Everybody wanted to be her friend. None of them cared whether I lived or died.” Mama's voice sounded shaky.

I felt Grandma's thigh muscles moving and I stood up. She walked over to Mama and put her arms around her.

“Baby, I wouldn't trade you for all the Lillie Maes in the world.”

I went over and hugged Mama from the other side.

“Mama, I wouldn't trade you neither,” I said.

“Oh, get outta here.” Mama reached in her apron pocket and pulled out some tissue and blew her nose.

“You all are too much,” she sniffed, “but I wouldn't trade you either.”

I felt close to Mama and it was a good feeling, maybe as good a feeling as any virgin could expect to have.

chapter 4

We were outside at recess, playing Squeeze the Lemon. It was February and stomp-down cold. The wind was calling names and kicking tails, as my daddy would say.

I raced a bunch of kids for the warm corner. A whole mess of bodies, in winter coats and wool hats and scarves, were squashing me half to death. I could hardly breathe; I was the lemon. It felt great!

The bell rang all loud and the warm bodies rushed away. I felt the hawk again, full blast.

I was back at my desk studying my spelling words. The wooden door creaked open. In walked Carla Perkins, grinning, carrying a pass and a little booklet so everybody could see it. We all knew she'd been to the nurse. Every girl knew Carla had gotten her period today and every girl who hadn't gotten hers yet wished she was in her shoes, including me. Carla handed Mrs. Cunningham the pass with a big smile on her face.

Mrs. Cunningham frowned at Garla and sucked in her teeth as she took the piece of paper.

“Take a seat now and turn to your spelling lesson.” Mrs. Cunningham was a tall, large brown-skinned woman from Jamaica, who wore her hair in a bun.

I tried to give Carla a smile as she passed my desk. I wanted to congratulate her later on, but I couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't make me sound like a square. I wished that I had my period too, then we'd have something in common.

It would be a year in May since me and Carla had the fight. Everybody knew it had happened on account of a misunderstanding. I could tell Carla wasn't still tripping on it. We always spoke when we ran into each other. I would always smile, but Carla would just nod and keep stepping. She didn't hate my guts or anything like that; she probably could just take me or leave me. At this point I could never see us being tight. But for some reason I couldn't help but like Carla. I knew that Mama would think Carla was loud and ignorant, but I thought she was fun and all the way cool. Here Carla's birthday was coming up in two months and I probably wasn't getting invited to her party again.

I still missed my old best friend, Terri. I wished she'd never moved away. I wondered if she was still friends with Mary Beth. Mary Beth lived next door to Terri now, and they'd gotten to be friends. Terri had called me on my birthday last September and told me about her. The problem was Mary Beth was white and she wasn't allowed to play with negroes. So she and Terri had to sneak around and stuff. I wondered if Mary Beth's family had finally sold their house.

I hung out with other girls—it's not like people treated me like I had the cooties or something. It's just that I was still not really tight with anybody, and that bothered me, sort of.

“Class, you are out of order!” Mrs. Cunningham's Jamaican accent jumped into my thoughts.

“Who is keeping up that noise?” Mrs. Cunningham looked around the room with her eagle eyes. The class got quiet. Mrs. Cunningham was the kind of teacher who didn't take no stuff.

“Class, February is Negro History Month, you know.”

Half the class mumbled or nodded.

“This year we are selecting young ladies and young gentlemen from the seventh- and eighth-grade classes to sing at a program for the Children's Hospital.”

Daddy was a janitor at Children's Hospital. Maybe he'd get to hear me!

“Close your lesson books and sit up straight now. I'm going to select four students from our class, two ladies and two gentlemen.”

Lots of kids sat up straight to the point of looking ridiculous. They folded their hands on their desks in front of them. I tried to act normal. I sat up a little straight and halfway folded my hands. I wanted to get picked like anybody else, but I didn't want to get my hopes up.

“Bernice Tyler,” Mrs. Cunningham pointed. Bernice couldn't help but grin. Everybody knew that she could sing; she sang in the junior choir of a sanctified church that was on the radio every Sunday. Mrs. Cunningham would've been a fool not to pick Bernice.

“Anthony Jones.”

“Tony, man, all right.” Calvin patted him on the back.

“Pick me, Mrs. Cunningham, pick me, I wanna sing!”

I turned around. I was surprised to see Carla leaning out of her seat, practically begging, out and out gripping, as they called it. I felt sorry for her because I knew it wouldn't work. Mrs. Cunningham would never pick somebody jumping out of their seat, especially not somebody like Carla—although she was a good singer; Carla's voice stood out even when we sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” every morning. Carla was going to feel like a fool, though, when Mrs. Cunningham smiled her evil smile and picked somebody else.

“Jean Stevenson.”

I couldn't believe Mrs. Cunningham had said my name.

“Me?” I asked, pointing to myself.

“Dog! She can't even carry a tune!” Carla shouted.

I felt my face getting hot. Some kids busted out laughing.

“Carla Perkins, you keep yourself quiet, do you hear me!”

I turned and looked at Carla; she was cutting her eyes and had her mouth all poked but.

“You just better put your face good, young lady, or else you can march to the principal's office!”

Now I could really kiss my birthday-party invitation goodbye, I thought.

“Roland Anderson.” Mrs. Cunningham had picked the second boy. There were a few groans because Roland is a square.

I raised my hand.

“Yes, Jean?”

“Mrs. Cunningham, I don't want to be in it.”

Mrs. Cunningham looked surprised, and the whole class came to attention.

“What is this you are saying to me, Jean? What kind of foolishness are you talking about?”

“I want Carla to have my spot, she is a better singer than me.”

“She is a better singer than
I
,” Mrs. Cunningham corrected me.

“She is a better singer than I and I think she should be in the chorus.”

Mrs. Cunningham looked like she was in shock. I turned around and glanced at Carla. Her mouth was hanging open like she was surprised too.

“Wait a minute, you want Carla Perkins to have your spot? Is that what you are saying to me? Do I understand you properly?”

“Yes,” I nodded.

“I can't believe what I am hearing!”

Mrs. Cunningham walked over to my desk and stood over me with her arms folded.

“How could you sit there and have the audacity to tell me after I have made my selection that I must give your spot to Carla?”

I didn't know what audacity meant. It wasn't one of our spelling words, but it didn't sound good. I couldn't think of anything to say. I just stared down at the hole in my wooden desk that used to hold ink bottles in the olden days.

“In the first place, nobody tells me what to do. In the second place, you don't have a spot!”

“It was just a suggestion,” I mumbled.

“Jean, don't give me any back chat. I don't need your suggestions. Let me tell you something, Jean Stevenson. You don't tell me who to choose to represent our class, our school, our people. Now, since you didn't appreciate the opportunity that you were given, I will choose a more deserving young lady. Angel Walker, you will be the second girl.” Angel nodded and smiled without grinning. Angel knew that this was no time to grin, no matter how happy she might be.

Mrs. Cunningham let out a sigh as she walked toward the front of the classroom. I knew that I was on her bad side now and it would be a long time before she would forget what had happened today. But I had a feeling that I had finally gotten Carla's attention, and to me that was more important.