When You Come to Me (4 page)

Scotty had invited the four brown girls to his house the next night so that they could listen to some new music that he’d discovered. They, all eager, ignorant freshmen, all agreed to this, Natalie, noticing the expression on his face, indicating that he’d gotten many girls in the same fashion.

“Great,” he’d said. “I’m sure that my roommates won’t mind…they’re never there…they’re up their girlfriend’s asses…”

“Where do you live?” Kina had asked.

“At a house on Trent road, a couple of miles from campus,” he’d said. “The rent’s really decent and the guys I stay with I’ve been friends with for years…”

“Even though they’re up their girlfriend’s asses?” Brie had teased.

Scotty laughed. “Yes…even though…”

“Are they as cool as you?” Kina had asked, tapping him lightly on the shoulder.

Scotty seemed to blush. “Well, I don’t know about all of that…but they are definitely cool people…a couple of them are graduating this semester…it’s pretty depressing…it’ll only be me and my buddy, Brandon…”

Something clicked in Natalie’s head.

Brandon…Trent road, house…

“Is this Brandon as cute as you are,” Jasmine teased, pinching the boy’s cheek tightly.

Scotty smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I don’t judge dudes, but, see for yourself, he’s around here somewhere…”

Natalie felt a chill run through her. She certainly couldn’t picture the pinnacle of white privilege that was Brandon Greene being in an establishment such as this, but she turned her head anyway, spotted him up against the wall, standing alone, shrouded in darkness, people-watching.

She left her hall mates standing there, walked toward the lofty figure, looking a little uncomfortable, standing out more than anyone else there. He was dressed comfortably, appearing as if he’d attempted to blend in as much as possible. On the contrary, Natalie knew then, looking at him, that there would be nothing that the generous white prince could do to blend in – in any situation.

He caught her looking up at him, smiled a little, visibly loosening up his stiff stance.

“You,” he’d said over the loud music.

“Me…”

“I forgot to get your number…”

“It’s been months…”

“I noticed…got a little colder since the last time I saw you,” he said, grinning. “I see that you dressed appropriately this time…”

“I see that you don’t have a beer bottle this time…”

“You’re funny,” he said sarcastically. “No, I decided to cool it…actually, Scotty told me to cool it…”

“Not Sophia?”

“So hilarious, I swear,” he said. “Not Sophia…”

She remembered him smelling amazing that night.

“I just met Scotty,” she told him. “I like him already…my favorite roommate in the house on Trent road…”

Brandon’s eyes went to Scotty’s standing place. “Yes, he seems to have that effect on all the pretty girls…I can put you onto him…if you’re interested…”

“Oh, so he’s into the brown?”

“If you mean, has he dated girls of other races, then yes…”

Natalie followed Brandon’s gaze to Scotty. “Hmm, maybe…”

“Well, that’s great,” he said. “That’s my job tonight…I’m the wingman…which basically means that I have to stand here and steer all the pretty girls in his direction…”

“Doesn’t sound very fun,” she said, turning her lip up. “You can’t even keep one for yourself?”

“I’m generous,” he smiled. “Besides, working on being faithful, here…told you that…”

“Oh, right,” Natalie said. “So…is the competition stiff?”

Brandon looked her up and down. “Want the honest truth? You’re the prettiest girl I’ve seen here…”

“I’ve seen better…”

“That’s arguable…”

Natalie leaned against the wall with him. “Are you enjoying my company? My job is to make you as look comfortable as possible…”

“That’s a hard to position to fill,” he chuckled. “Do I look like I belong at a party like this? Do I know any of the music? Hell no. Do I know anyone here? A big hell no. Why am I here? Who the hell knows…”

“Do I look like I belong here?”

He looked down at her. “No, you look like you belong at home. Not around…hooligans…like this…”

“So…black people are hooligans? And who says that word?”

“My father,” he began. “And I wasn’t talking about black people…I was talking about drunken fools, like everyone in here except you and me…”

“Oh…do you feel left out?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m trying to be a good kid, like you…”

“That’ll take some time…”

“Exactly why I have to keep hanging around you…so some of your goodness can rub off on me…”

Natalie smiled. She’d lost sight of everything happening around her. How on earth did that happen?

“We’ll see what Sophia thinks of that…”

“Natalie Savannah—as in Georgia—Chandler…you’re just a myriad of jokes, aren’t you?”

“I told you…funniest person you’ve ever heard…”

“If you mean funny-looking, then I’ll agree…”

She punched him in the arm, watching him laugh at his own corny joke, and another song began to play.

“Tea, do you drink it?” He asked.

“If you mean sweet tea, then yes…”

“I mean hot tea, Natalie…”

“Never had it,” she said, shrugging her shoulders once. “Must be a white thing…”

“Why does drinking tea have to be a racial thing?”

She couldn’t answer.

“I drink it when I’m at home with my parents…”

“Oh…so it’s a northern thing?”

“You’re making this a regional thing now?”

“Like I said, Brandon, I’ve never had any…”

“Well…let’s go get some…”

“It’s one in the morning…what’s open at one in the morning?”

“I know of a place…”

“You don’t want to stay here?” She asked.

“You don’t want to either…”

“I can’t leave my friends…”

“They’ll be fine…my car’s outside…”

Brandon took her wrist. She looked back. “What about Scotty?”

“He’ll probably go home with someone…the boy’s definitely on tonight…”

“He’s like that?”

“Oh, most certainly,” Brandon laughed. “Welcome to college…”

A small café stayed open late on the weekends, in a small corner of town. The interior was warm, inviting and the worn wooden floor creaked beneath their feet as they walked toward a small round table in the back, illuminated only by a single votive candle.

Brandon Greene ordered them two cups of chamomile tea, telling her that it was the same kind of tea his mother gave him and his brothers when they were young, when they couldn’t go to sleep at night. He then got into the subject of how his mother’s unfailing devotion made it hard for him to find a girl that could live up to those standards, explaining that his mother was everything, and anything in between, explaining that he’d do anything for her. She wanted to mention Sophia, wanted to ask why she wasn’t that girl, what made her so great. But, she kept quiet, played with her nails nervously, didn’t know him well enough to go probing through his personal business.

Their tea came quickly, and he instructed her on how she should drink it.

“Slowly,” he’d coached. “Very slowly…you can take in the aromas and the flavor better that way…”

She felt funny then, sitting in front of someone with such sophistication, she, having hailed form a background that knew nothing better than how to eat all of the meat off of the chicken bone.

“It’s good,” she told him.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “Even though it’s…a ‘white thing’…”

“I’m sorry, did that offend you?”

“Of course not…things don’t bother me the way they seem to bother you…”

“That’s questionable…”

“I only go by what I see…”

They drank their tea silently for a few moments, Natalie looking at him periodically from across the small table, catching glimpses of his movements, each of them, slow and fluid…

“What are you doing for break?” he asked, breaking the awkward silence.

“Going home…”

“Which is where? You never told me…”

“Decatur…”

“That’s not far…”

Natalie shook her head. “My mother’s coming to get me on Monday…and you? What are your plans?”

Brandon sighed, placing his cup down, sighing, and whispering, “To the Baldwin Farm in Columbia, South Carolina”

“What for?”

“Oh, you know, Sophia Baldwin’s family…”

“What do your parents say about this? Surely they don’t want you to miss Christmas…”

“Oh, I’m going to Saratoga too…but Sophia wants to come with me…my parents absolutely adore her…”

“You don’t seem too happy about it,” she scoffed.

“I’m trying to be…but…it’s soon, right? Spending Christmases together…that’s serious, right?”

Natalie tapped the side of her cup. “Three years, Brandon…you two have been dating for three years, right?”

Brandon nodded. “Yes…three years…”

“I don’t know much about long term relationships,” she began. “Because I’ve never been in one…but I know that three years is a long time for things to not get serious…”

“Duly noted…”

“But I also believe that if you don’t want to do this, you shouldn’t have to,” Natalie said proudly. “No matter what your parents or her parents or what she says…it’s your life…”

Brandon looked at her. “That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard in years…”

“Shouldn’t be…it’s common sense…”

“You try and ask white people what the definition of common sense is and I guarantee you that you won’t get a direct answer…”

“I can see that,” she said.

“You know what, Natalie? I’m most certainly going to need your number now…I have to talk to you…I have to talk to someone with some pure, fucking, common damn sense!”

Natalie’s face curled. “You won’t get anything from me if you don’t fix that language…”

He huffed, smiled grandly, placed his cup down again and said, “Duly noted…”


She wasn’t sure what her academic advisor was thinking when she suggested that she register for a philosophy course her second semester of her freshman year. After all, she was a biochemistry major who wanted nothing more than to take chemistry and biology and math classes till she felt content. Those things made sense to her. Philosophy required abstract thinking, required sitting there for long periods of time, thinking of why some things were logical and why others weren’t, or pondering the true meaning of life. She’d much rather sit down with a page full of equations in front of her, where she could easily figure out the steps and solve the problems without hesitation or frustration. Still, her advisor said that she certainly wouldn’t graduate if she didn’t take the course, and she figured that she might as well get it out of the way.

Natalie had had the most wonderful Christmas, which made it incredibly hard for her to have the desire to come back to the crammed dorm room she shared with Sammy and sometimes Billy, who, by the first of January had developed the nice habit of smoking weed. When Sammy came back to the room, she absolutely reeked of it, causing Natalie to crack the window above her bed, in thirty-degree weather.

“I don’t appreciate it that you come back in our room smelling of marijuana,” she wanted to tell her. “You’re a stupid fool for getting involved with it! And you’re a stupid fool for getting involved with him! Where’s your sense, girl? Did you lose it in the cloud of pot smoke?”

She sometimes wished she’d have an escape, somewhere off campus she could go, where peace and quiet prevailed.

She picked an afternoon class time, leaving her mornings free, where she could sleep in, because that’s when Sammy chose to take her classes. She would walk all the way to Old College somewhere close to three, taking in the soft, chilly breeze of winter, counting the days till she got a break on Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday. She hugged her pea coat close, walked into the building, shoving past the students, scurrying to class, convening in the hallways, talking of their amazing Christmases.

She could relate.

She walked into 113; saw a packed classroom, and the desks filled up quickly. Her advisor had warned her of a surplus of transfer students, and the administration cutting back the amount of classes offered that spring semester of 2001. So, she felt incredibly lucky when she found a seat in the back, one of only two remaining in the class. The teacher arrived shortly following, and just as he began to shut the door, he pushed through the door, nearly knocking the poor old professor over, scrambling to find a seat, his books nearly slipping from his long arms. He wore a red crewneck sweater, crisp jeans, and tousled black hair, appearing as if he’d just stepped out of an Abercrombie and Fitch winter catalogue. She wasn’t sure why she thought it, but she understood why Sophia might have been so protective of him.

He spotted her like a break through the crowd, and he nodded. She, on the other hand, found it hard to swallow, and she created the image of them sitting in the café, sipping chamomile tea in hazy candlelight, while she listened to him spout his woes about his relationship.

She’d given him his number without expecting much from him. She detected a slight sense of flightiness in him, but he did call, on Christmas Eve and on New Years, leaving voicemails each time.

“I’m not so sure what the point was of giving me your phone number,” he’d said. “But, it’s me…I’m just calling to wish you a Merry Christmas…right now I’m stuck in Saratoga…my mother and Sophia are out doing last-minute shopping and I decided to stay behind…I needed someone to talk to…and you…and you…never mind…goodbye…”

She didn’t answer the phone because she didn’t know what they could possibly have to talk about. She wouldn’t even give it a chance. He was different, starkly so, and she wasn’t sure that she could handle having a friend like him.

He sat down in the empty desk beside her, setting his books down, looking flustered and sweaty. She looked at him in disbelief. She would assume then that only God could perform something this uncanny. She wasn’t sure what she could say to him. Perhaps a quick ‘Hello’, and she’d turn her attention to the teacher. Act unfazed. Or maybe she would apologize for not returning his calls. Maybe he forgot about it. She would hope that he forgot.