Coffee Will Make You Black

by April Sinclair

  “Why y’all beautiful ladies leaving when I’m just getting here!” the man said, laughing. I smiled, feeling shy.

  “You want us to stay?” Carla batted her eyes.

  “Yeah, come on back,” the man laughed.

  “Okay.” Carla grinned, turning around.

  “Okay.” I smiled, following them.

  “I just love to be surrounded by beautiful ladies,” the man said.

  “What time did we say?” Miss Humphrey frowned, looking down at her watch.

  “Be cool,” the man said, smiling. “I couldn’t leave the plant till three-thirty. I had to go through some changes, traffic and what-not,” he explained.

  “What’s happenin, mama?” he yelled to the waitress.

  “Nothing, cool,” C.C. answered from the back.

  “Okay, okay, you’re here now. James Robinson, this is Carla Perkins and Jean Stevenson.” Miss Humphrey pointed at us.

  “Y’all can call me James,” the man said.

  “You can call me Stevie.”

  “You can call me anything.” Carla put her hands on her hips.

  “Let’s get a booth,” Miss Humphrey said, grinding out her cigarette.

  “I’ve got to visit the little girls’ room,” Miss Humphrey said after we ordered drinks.

  “How come you with a white woman?” Carla asked as soon as Miss Humphrey was out of earshot.

  James started clearing his throat and hemming and hawing. “I ain’t with a white woman; me and Rose are just messing around,” he explained.

  “Well, how come you messing with a white woman when my sisters are sitting at home?” Carla wanted to know.

  “Look here, the white man used black women during slavery and beyond.”

  “You just using Miss Humphrey?” I asked.

  “Let’s just say I’m a brother trying to get over, that’s all. Hey, when the revolution starts I’ll be right there on the front line,” James insisted, patting his afro. “Rose is just a nice side dish, that’s all,” he explained.

  “Don’t you like Miss Humphrey?” I asked, still confused.

  “I like what I’m gonna get.” James smiled.

  “You too cold,” Carla said, grinning, “but you a bona-fide brother. At first I thought you was like my Uncle Willie. He told my Uncle Melvin, ‘Man, you need a white woman to go with that car.’ See, my uncle had just drove up in a brand-new Cadillac. I thought maybe you had a brand-new car too. Maybe you’d take us for a ride in it.”

  “No, Carla, it ain’t even hardly like that, I’m driving a sixty-two Chevy. But that’s a good one: ‘You need a white woman to go with that car,’” James said with a smile. “I’ll have to remember that. You need a white woman to go with that car.” He laughed.

  We all laughed, but I didn’t feel happy.

  I was drinking my second Shirley Temple, wondering if Miss Humphrey really liked James. “Sip it,” Carla whispered in my ear. I looked across at James and Miss Humphrey and noticed that they were sipping their drinks. I stopped drinking and commenced to sip.

  “I wish we were all somewhere really nice.” Miss Humphrey smiled.

  “Like where?” Carla asked.

  “I wish we were all lying on a beach in the warm sand. The sun would feel so good against our skin.”

  “Don’t nobody need a tan but you.” James snickered.

  “The sky is so blue, you can see just a few puffy white clouds,” Miss Humphrey continued, closing her eyes. “Everything is peace and love and we’re feeling groovy. You can smell the ocean.”

  “Do we have to go to school there?” Carla wanted to know.

  “Just take it all in. We’re in the school of life.”

  “Can I get y’all anything?” C.C. came out of nowhere.

  “Just sink in the sand deeper and deeper on down.” Miss Humphrey rolled her head back.

  C.C. looked at Miss Humphrey like she was crazy.

  James shook his head, “You might need to get this one a straitjacket, but I’ll have another beer.”

  “Another bourbon please, and how about some goblin punch for my two trick or treaters?” Miss Humphrey kept her eyes closed.

  “We’re too old to go trick or treatin’,” Carla said, groaning.

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “we’re in high school.”

  “I got some hot cider,” C.C. said.

  “Rose, you were really trippin’ there for a minute,” James said, after C.C. left.

  “No, I wasn’t, I was just talking about something beautiful.” She belched.

  “Well, are you back to reality now?” James asked.

  “Love is my reality.” Miss Humphrey pounded the table. “I know what’s beautiful; I’m an artist. These girls are beautiful. They think they’re tough, but they’re just innocent babies. Especially this one,” Miss Humphrey reached over and held my face between her hands. “She has the soul of an artist.” She still had sense enough not to reach for Carla.

  Miss Humphrey pressed her forehead against mine. I wanted to tell her to get out of my face. I could smell the alcohol on her breath.

  “I’m not a baby,” I said. “I just turned fourteen.”

  “I’m twice your age,” Miss Humphrey said. “You know you’ve got a long time to be an adult, but only a short time to be a child, remember that. So enjoy it while you can.” Then Miss Humphrey kissed my forehead. I wanted to escape. I felt so embarrassed, plus I had to pee.

  “Rose, leave the girl alone!” James commanded. “This ain’t the Haight Ashbury, this is the South Side of Chicago. She ain’t no flower child. Can’t you see you’re making a fool of yourself?”

  “Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.” I split the scene.

  “Don’t turn cold like the world,” I heard Miss Humphrey shout behind me. “There’s no more toilet paper,” she added loudly.

  I sat holding a paper towel inside the bathroom stall.

  “Stevie, it’s me.” Carla handed me a roll of toilet paper under the door.

  “I’m glad it’s you and not her.” I sighed.

  “Girl, I didn’t know she tripped like that. I swear I’ll never understand peckawoods. The broad really needs help.”

  “Carla, I didn’t know what to say.”

  “She knew better than to get all up in my face like that,” Carla yelled from inside the other stall. “I would’ve asked that honky what her problem was. I would’ve jumped bad, do you hear me?” Carla tapped her foot against the cement floor. “What are you doing in there, are you constipated?”

  “No, I’m reading. Faye loves Bobby,” I announced.

  “That’s nothing, Debbie digs Dick.” Carla laughed.

  “Well Cathy is a hoe.”

  “Shoot, Michael is a dog.”

  “Let’s space this place soon,” I said, flushing the toilet.

  “Don’t worry, we’re at the library, remember? I told Rose our mamas think that. Let’s just wait awhile, I think things might get juicy. Besides, James is what you call easy on the eyes.” Carla laughed.

  “Okay, till six,” I said, combing my hair in the mirror.

  When we returned, James had his arm around Miss Humphrey. Me and Carla slid into the booth.

  “I know we’ve seen each other three times now, but I’m not sure I want to wake up next to someone who doesn’t really care about me,” Miss Humphrey was saying.

  The conversation had definitely gotten juicy, in my opinion.

  “Now all of a sudden you’re trying to act so prim and proper. Like you’re so deep,” James complained.

  “I’m not prim and proper, but I’m not superficial either,” Miss Humphrey insisted.

  “The hell you’re not. I know what you see when you see me, Miss Lady.”

  “What do I see, since you know so much?” Miss Humphrey lit a cigarette and moved away from him.

  “We got minors present, besides you know what you see.” James raised his eyebrows.

  “Don’t let us stop you,” Carla said eagerly
.

  I was ready to hear the dirt too.

  “This is almost the end of nineteen sixty-seven,” Miss Humphrey reminded him. “These girls aren’t that sheltered.”

  “I thought they were innocent babies,” James said sarcastically.

  “You think all I see is a nigger with a big black dick, don’t you?” Miss Humphrey blurted out.

  James started to choke on his beer. Carla’s eyes opened wide. Miss Humphrey had a strange smile on her face. I stared down at my cider.

  “You’ve really shown your behind now.” James grunted.

  “No, I haven’t,” Miss Humphrey shot back. “Not yet, I haven’t. You wanted to get real, well, I got real,” she added.

  “You got vulgar,” James said.

  “So tell me in nice language what you see when you see me, James.”

  James cleared his throat, “I see … I see a dizzy, insecure person, that’s what I see.”

  “Does that rate higher or lower than a piece of white pussy?” Miss Humphrey asked calmly.

  “No comment,” James said angrily.

  The air seemed full of electricity.

  “You know I don’t care if you see me as insecure or dizzy,” Miss Humphrey said, taking a drag off her cigarette.

  “You don’t?” Carla sounded surprised.

  “No, because you can still care about an insecure person, in fact you can care about a dizzy person,” Miss Humphrey explained. “So, James, do you care about this dizzy, insecure person, as you put it, or not?”

  “What do you mean by ‘care’?” James asked, staring at his beer bottle.

  “You know, like when you care about somebody,” Carla chimed in.

  “Just liking somebody,” I explained.

  “Yeah, do you like me?” Miss Humphrey bit her bottom lip.

  “This is too heavy. I mean, next you’ll be wanting us to sign papers.” James pretended to laugh.

  “Do you care?” Miss Humphrey laid on each word.

  “I care about everybody,” James said, gulping his beer.

  “Okay, so you don’t care, and you don’t have the guts to admit it, or else you do care, and you don’t have the guts to admit that, either.” Miss Humphrey sounded mad.

  “I’ve got all kinds of guts. I ain’t scared to say nothing!” James insisted, scratching at the beer-bottle label.

  “Well, then, say it!” Miss Humphrey shouted.

  “Maybe he’s trying to be nice,” I blurted out.

  “What do you know about it?” Miss Humphrey turned toward me, ready to attack.

  “Nothing,” I said, feeling scared.

  “Rose, don’t you know what time it is?” Carla asked.

  “What’s time got to do with it?” Miss Humphrey said. She sounded irritated.

  “She means like wake up and smell the coffee,” I explained. Yikes, Miss Humphrey looked at me again.

  “Yeah, he’s just a brother trying to get over. Look how the white man used black women during slavery,” Carla said. James let out a sigh like he wanted to shut Carla up.

  “How do you know this?” Miss Humphrey looked dead at Carla.

  “I know my history.” Carla smiled.

  “I mean about him, he told you this, didn’t he?” Miss Humphrey looked at James.

  “She’s just speaking in generalities.” James continued scratching away at the label.

  “He’s been talking about me, hasn’t he?” Miss Humphrey turned toward me again.

  “I didn’t say anything.” I stuck my mouth out.

  “You’ve got ears. Did he say he was using me or not?”

  I looked at Carla; her lips were sealed. I looked at James; his mouth was open.

  “Answer me, young lady!” Miss Humphrey sounded like we were in school. I remembered she was still my teacher.

  “Look, he ain’t said nothing really,” Carla cut in. “She just don’t want to get in y’all’s business.”

  “Look at me, young lady, and answer my question.” Miss Humphrey stared at me.

  It was scary looking at Miss Humphrey, although she wasn’t a bad-looking person. Her green eyes looked watery like a river, and I felt sorry for her. But I still didn’t say anything. I glanced at James and he put a finger to his lips.

  “I saw that. Don’t play me for a fool!” Miss Humphrey yelled at him.

  “Stop pressuring the girl,” James said.

  All eyes were on him now. I was glad to be out of the hot seat.

  “If you want to know the truth, I guess I don’t really care about you. Is that so terrible? So what if I am a brother trying to get over? I thought all you wanted was a good time too.” James sighed.

  It was so quiet at our table you could’ve heard a rat piss on cotton. Then the jukebox started playing “When a Man Loves a Woman,” which I thought was kind of bad timing. Still nobody said anything. Miss Humphrey stared into her empty glass. Carla glanced around the bar. James was rolling the shredded label between his fingers. I thought this was a good time to go. But I was afraid to move, so I just held my hand above the lit candle inside the fishnet-covered glass container.

  “Happy Hour is now over,” C.C. announced from the bar.

  Miss Humphrey stood up. “Girls, we’d better go. We’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow. We have to paint our masks, remember. Goodbye, Mr. Robinson.”

  “Nice meeting you,” I said automatically.

  “Bye, James,” Carla smiled.

  “Sure, bye y’all.” James belched and started toward the bathroom.

  I blew out the candle and dipped my finger into the soft, hot wax.

  “Be careful, sweetheart.” Miss Humphrey pulled my hand out gently.

  “You can’t take her anywhere,” Carla teased.

  “Forget you,” I said as we walked toward the door.

  “Forget you, forgot you, never thought about you!” Carla answered.

  “Look, let’s keep this between us,” Miss Humphrey said once we were outside.

  I nodded and Carla half nodded. I wasn’t about to tell Mama, I thought.

  “Miss Humphrey, I liked the part about the warm sand and …”

  “Yeah, it’s cold out here,” Carla interrupted.

  “… the blue sky and smelling the ocean,” I continued.

  “Really, well, I’m glad somebody did.” She sighed.

  Miss Humphrey went to call a cab, and me and Carla headed for home.

  “You and that stupid-ass ocean,” Carla groaned. “Now you’ll probably get a ‘A,’ and you can’t even draw.”

  “I don’t have to be able to draw; I’ve got the soul of an artist.” I stuck my tongue out at her.

  “You better just bring your butt on.” Carla ran ahead.

  I was still thinking about Miss Humphrey and James and smelling the ocean, but I brought my butt on anyway.

  chapter 14

  I was headed for the canteen in the back of the cafeteria to buy my usual Friday lunch of potato chips and a Coke.

  Carla called to me as I passed the line of students who were buying hot lunches.

  “Girl, come get in line. It’s sloppy-joe time.”

  I looked surprised. Carla and I never had enough money left to buy hot lunches on Friday. “Carla, I don’t have sloppy-joe money.”

  “Just come get in line, girl. I got you covered.”

  I was still confused, but I grabbed a tray and butted in front of Carla.

  “So where did you get the moolah?” I asked as we navigated our full trays through the crowded lunchroom.

  “Rose.” Carla smiled.

  “Rose who?” I asked, sitting down across from Patrice and Tanya.

  “You know, Rose Humphrey.”

  “Miss Humphrey?”

  Carla nodded.

  “You got lunch money from Miss Humphrey!”

  “I got over like a big dog.” Carla stretched her hand out for me to give her five.

  I barely tapped her palm. Patrice and Tanya looked interested.

&
nbsp; “You just told Miss Humphrey to give up some cash?” Patrice wanted to know.

  “Carla, I just hope you didn’t mention my name.”

  “Stevie, Miss Humphrey’s crazy about you; you were my ace in the hole.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “When Miss Humphrey heard that you couldn’t afford a decent lunch today, she took pity on your poor black ass and dug deep in her heart as well as her pocketbook and gave it up for you.”

  “Wow, so you used Stevie to get over,” Tanya said, crunching on potato chips.

  Carla nodded.

  “I don’t appreciate what you did. I don’t want some white person feeling sorry for me, behind a sloppy joe and french fries,” I said angrily.

  “Don’t forget the lime jello.”

  I ignored Carla. “Getting over isn’t everything to me. My pride is more important.”

  “Stevie, pride ain’t got nothing to do with it. It’s all about getting over, am I right, y’all?”

  “I heard that,” Tanya agreed. “Pride don’t pay no bills.”

  “Shit, if Carla can get over on a honky, ain’t no sweat off your nose,” Patrice insisted. “Help that white chick work off some of her guilt,” she added.

  “Probably thinks she’s a revolutionary now.” Tanya laughed.

  “Black folks got to get over any way they can,” Patrice insisted, stealing one of my French fries.

  “Yeah, Stevie, so enjoy your sloppy joe. It’s free.”

  I bit into the greasy sandwich. “Carla, there’s no such thing as a free sloppy joe.”

  Mama said she couldn’t understand why anyone would want to celebrate a slave past. I tried to explain to her that we weren’t celebrating it, we were commemorating it.

  But, despite Mama’s strong objections, I’d made it out of the house with my hair in a zillion braids and wearing a potato sack for a dress. Carla stood next to me in the hallway with her hair tied up in a handkerchief. She wore a raggedy cotton dress and an apron. I pointed at a girl walking by, with a sign on her big stomach that read: “The master done it!” Carla giggled and ran off to catch up with Tyrone.

  “What’s happening, Stevie!” It was Roland, dressed in patched pants with suspenders. He turned around and showed me the rips in his shirt. It looked like they had been made by a whip.

  I nodded approvingly.