College Boy : A Novel (9781416586500)

by Omar Tyree

  “OK, two chili and rice. Would you like anything to drink with that?” the waitress asked Karen.

  “Water, and can we have some plantain chips?”

  “Sure. And you? What would you like?” she asked Troy.

  He took a quick look at her breasts and then at Karen, knowing that he was caught. “Ah, well, umm,” he stammered. He couldn’t get his words out, still trying to reduce his smile. “Just give me whatever she gets.”

  Karen looked even prettier to him as she pretended to look away, as if she was not bothered by the flirting.

  Troy stared at her until she looked back at him.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked playfully.

  He smiled and threw his hands over his face. “You know what, Karen, you make me feel like a kid and shit. Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, with a grin. Another curse word.

  “Yeah, well, you act like a kid, too, just like my hardheaded brother. Just swore you knew where you was going. Didn’t you?” she asked, grinning back.

  “Look, I thought you said to catch the 34B.”

  “Well, if you wouldn’t have been all in a rush, you would have heard me. But no, ‘It’s cold out here, Karen,’” she mocked with a laugh.

  “OK, so I guess you gon’ keep rubbing it in, hunh? But why did you get on the wrong bus with me, then?” he quizzed.

  “I’on know. I guess ’cause you got me.”

  “I got you? What are you talkin’ about?”

  Karen looked into his eyes seductively. Then she dropped them to her plate as it arrived. She waited for the waitress to leave before repeating herself. “You got me, Troy.”

  She was beautiful: small eyes, curly hair, and perfect brown skin. Troy smiled and giggled and felt sexy and could feel his nature rising, all at the same time. Definitely, tonight was their night.

  They rode the bus back to campus speechless. Troy thought Karen might announce that she was going home as she usually did. Previously, it didn’t matter much to him because he always had such a good time with her. But not tonight. Tonight wasthe night.

  He signed her in and they went to the room. Troy was feeling sensuous already. Still, neither said much as he opened the door to a neatly made room. The pleasant strawberry fragrance from the incense that he lit before going to meet Karen filled their noses.

  Troy hung their coats in his closet and set the mood. He turned on his radio, turned off the lights, and began to dance with her.

  “You silly,” Karen told him.

  “I know.”

  They danced in the middle of his small dorm. He began to kiss her and she kissed him back. She began to hold him tighter. Troy then licked inside her ear and kissed her again, reaching smoothly around to the back of her skirt. But then Karen stopped him.

  “No, Troy.”

  He stopped himself. “I’m sorry. I just feel real sexual,” he admitted.

  They stood silently, holding each other in the dark while the slow music played.

  Troy looked down and into her placid face. “What are you thinking about?”

  Karen broke away softly, turning the light back on and turning the music off. “Come here,” she said, reaching her hands out to his. He did as she said, loving how she seemed to take control. “I like you, I think, more than I ever liked a boy in my life, but you have to learn when and when not to do things.”

  “Aw’ight,” Troy responded hurriedly. He felt slightly disappointed. But Karen continued to hold his hands as she went on.

  “How do you feel right now?” she asked him.

  “I feel like I wanna make love to you,” he insisted.

  “But it ain’t time yet, Troy.”

  He felt an urge to break away. But her subtle hand-holding method was effective in keeping his attention.

  “Troy? What do you want to do with your life?” she asked him.

  “I wanna live like anybody else,” he responded. He thought it was a ridiculous question. “What chew ask me that for?” he queried with a smirk.

  “Well, I kind of thought you wanted to be a soldier for Black people,” Karen said. She was serious, not smiling, and still, she held his hands.

  “Yeah, well I do.”

  “Well you gotta respect the Black woman, then.”

  Troy felt like Karen had hit him with a brick. He was guilt-ridden.

  “You understand me now?” she asked, staring into his eyes.

  “Yeah,” he told her. He felt as if he had just received a beating. His heart was racing, and he felt as if he had no control over his emotions. Karen had stripped him of his male aggression. Troy was used to sleeping with whomever he wanted to and whenever he wanted, but not with her. It was frustrating to accept, but he knew in his heart that she was right.

  Karen gave him time to think about it before she continued. “I just want you to know that this is not about sex. I am a virgin, and you will be the first, but only when I say so.

  “This is about discipline. You are gonna have to have sexual discipline and respect for Black women in order to have purpose for Black people. There’s too many Black men talkin’ ’bout ‘Fight the power’ while they still run around and treat Black women like dirt.”

  Troy was stunned, yet Karen maintained her grip upon his hands, calming him. She then wrapped them around her and placed her head against his shoulder. “I’ve known you for a while, Troy,” she said to him.

  “What do you mean by that?” he asked. He thought she was going to tell him something like, “It was meant for us to be together.”

  “You was going to all the speak-out functions that I was going to. And I guess you never noticed me before. But I always noticed you. I don’t stop and talk to any boy that says, ‘Hey, what’s your name?’” Karen told him through her smile. “I knew you before you met me. And I knew what kind of mind you had from the things that you would say. So now I got you. And you just need a little training.”

  Troy smiled back, surrendering. “Yeah, aw’ight.” He felt himself finally loosening up. Karen told him that her father trusted all of his children to make their own decisions once they reached eighteen. So she spent the night, and Troy was afraid to touch her; but he felt that once she allowed him to, it would be wonderful.

  “Yo, what’s up, Troy?” James asked. “You goin’ to church this morning, homes?”

  Troy was wearing a trench coat, slacks, shirt, and a tie at breakfast that Sunday morning inside the main cafeteria. Walton Hall didn’t serve food on the weekends.

  “Yeah, man. I’m going to the young Black men’s seminar with Peter and them down on Charleston Street,” Troy told him.

  “Oh yeah? Well, yo, homes, I got this twenty-three-year-old last night and shit,” James said, grinning. “That’s why I’m up so early. I had to drive her home for work.”

  “Yeah,” Troy responded unenthusiastically. He thought about the first night in his life where he had spent the night with a date without taking her clothes off.

  “So I heard you was wit’ your girl last night.”

  “Yeah,” Troy answered. He hoped James wouldn’t probe into his business. But he knew that he would.

  “So you finally got it last night, homes?”

  “Nope. She said she didn’t want to yet,” Troy whined, getting it over with.

  James giggled. “Don’t look all down, man. It’s plenty of girls that told me that. That’s just how it goes sometimes,” he explained, still grinning.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Troy mumbled. “I gotta’ get over to this church, cuz, I’m already late. I’ll talk to you later,” he said as he left his tray on the table.

  When Troy arrived at the African Baptist Church, he found that several State U students had become members. He looked around and did not see Peter, Roy, or Scott. Then it occurred to him that there were only women in the congregation.

  “Excuse me, are you looking for the men’s seminar?” a sister whispered into the aisle as Troy stood there, confused.

  “Yeah,” he answ
ered.

  She pointed him toward a basement door. “It’s down the stairs.”

  “Thanks.”

  Troy descended the stairs and joined close to thirty Black men. Only eight were his age, six of whom were college students. He was surprised that there were not more “young Black men” there. Nevertheless, he took a seat next to Peter and listened.

  “You a little late, ain’t you, my brother?” Peter asked with a smirk.

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  Peter smiled, suspecting the wrong thing. Then again, it was Troy’s rep that had Peter thinking what he was thinking.

  “I would like to say to all you men here today that I’m proud to be here. And the Lord brought me here safely even though the weatherman said it was supposed to snow. But you see, the snow can’t stop the Lord’s work,” the guest preacher announced.

  “Ay-men, brother!”went the response.

  “We are going to talk like men and about men. Can I hear somebody say ‘amen’?”

  “Ay-men!”

  The preacher smiled and went on. “I came here today to tell you thatBlack men need to come together and get our house in order. We gotta live truth instead of just talkin’ about it.”

  The short, dark, and round guest preacher possessed a deep and powerful voice, more powerful than Mike X had. The preacher roared when he spoke.

  “I don’t think y’all hear me.I said, can I get an ‘amen?’”

  “Ay-men!”

  “We got too many preachers that speak the words on Sunday and dance with the devil on Monday.”

  “Ay-men!”

  Troy held in his laughter.

  “We have to let our younger brothers see some true examples of some real men of the word. ’Cause see, we got too many out here that don’t read and study the word, but dey say, ‘Oh, the Lord is in my heart.’ Somebody say ‘amen!’”“Ay-men!”

  “You need to get the Lord in your mind, body, and soul and stop playing possum with him. ’Cause the Lord knows who’s sleeping and who’s awake. And he knows who’s naughty and who’s nice. But the Lord is much greater than some Santa Claus. I don’t think y’all hear me.I want somebody to say ‘amen! ’”

  “Ay-men!”

  The guest preacher spoke about what Black men had to do and how the streets had turned them sour. He talked about “sleeping with ten sisters and thinking the Lord wouldn’t know.” Troy enjoyed his speech and keyed in when he started to talk about Jesus.

  “Now see, we got a difference between the Muslim brothers and the Christian brothers when we start to talk about Jesus. ’Cause some of the Muslim brothers seem to think that Jesus was a wimpy man,” he said. He then looked around at the church walls. “I’m glad I don’t see nowhite pictures of aBlack Jesus! ” he roared with a smile. “We gotta let the truth be known thatJesus was Black, like us! And if you read the scriptures, using your mind, you’ll know that Jesus was Black, like us. The Muslim brothers know it, so how come some of us Christian brothers don’t know? I say you gotta know the word before you can teach the word!Can somebody say ‘amen ’?”

  “Amen, brother! Tell it like it is!”an older man shouted from across the third row. Troy looked at Peter and smiled. Peter nodded his head in confirmation. The guest preacher then got a volunteer to be Jesus. He told the man to take his shirt off. He then told him to bend over, put his hands behind his back, and act as if he was carrying a cross.

  “After they had whipped Jesus and ripped the skin off of his back, they poured vinegar over his head and into his sores and put a crown of thorns as long as your fingers on his head. They then beat the thorns into his head and made him carry his cross. And Jesus, aBlack man , did all this to save the souls of all men.”

  The guest preacher told the volunteer to extend his hands. “Then they took his wrists, and they drove the nails into them because the weight of his body would rip through his hands.

  “So they took and nailed him to the cross, breaking the bones and veins in his wrist. And then they placed his feet together and drove a long nail through both of his feet, breaking more bones. After all of that, the cross that he hung on had a rough surface with splinters on it.

  “Now, let’s talk about wimpy,” he said intensely. “I don’t think y’all hear me out there.I say, can I get an ‘amen? ’”

  The preacher got another“amen,” and Troy was touched, feeling the pain of what Jesus must have gone through. He had never imagined such a graphic explanation of the Bible. Television did not do the tale any justice. And all the white photos of Jesus all around the world were false and deceptive. So when the preacher asked for those men who had not yet been “saved,” Troy could not help but go up and get baptized with oil. He accepted it with his heart, filled with emotion, but in his mind he wanted to know more, so the preacher took his phone number.

  Honestly, Troy was more moved by the oratorical spirit of the preacher and not so much by the Christian doctrine. He had already known that Christianity was not the only religion. There was more to be learned about religious history, more to be read and understood. And concerning Jesus, Karen told him, “Jesus never died on the cross, and Jesus never called himself ‘the Christ.’ Those are things thatman said and created.”

  “So did you learn anything today, my brother?” Peter asked Troy. All four college friends headed back to the dorms after being fed at the church.

  “Yeah, I learned a lot. But what did you learn?” Troy challenged.

  Peter smiled. “OK, my brother. I know you said that Jesus was Black. So are you gonna start goin’ to church with us now?”

  “Naw, ’cause the Black church got a whole lot of learning to do,” Troy said. “Did you see all that pork and food they was eatin? All them big, fat women in the church? My girl says that’s addiction. She eats one meal a day.”

  Scott nooded in agreement. “Yeah, that’s why I didn’t eat much in there. My pop told me that I should never eat pork.”

  “I guess ain’t nothin’ out here right to you, hunh, Troy?” Roy asked.

  “I believe that the last days are right around the corner, man. And we ain’t got no more time for deception. So I’m gon’ call you on anything that ain’t right,” Troy told him.

  “Well, what about you and your girl last night, Mr. Potter? I saw you sign her in, like, ten o’clock at night,” Scott quizzed.

  “Believe it or not, we didn’t do nothin’,” Troy revealed.

  Peter frowned at him. “Yeah, right. So how come you say you were so tired this morning?”

  They crossed Madison Avenue, heading west.

  “Because I don’t ever get any sleep in small beds if somebody else is in it. So I would have been tired if we had done something or not. I need a lot of space to go to sleep,” Troy snapped back.

  Peter gave no rebuttal as they reached the dorm and rode the elevator.

  “So, Troy, how you gettin’ home this week for Thanksgiving? Peter’s getting a ride with me when my pop comes up to get us,” Scott said before Troy got off at the fourth floor. Scott, Roy, and Peter all lived on the eighth.

  “Oh, cuz, can I get a ride with you?” Troy pleaded, holding the elevator door open.

  “Yeah, man, we got room. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Troy got back to his room and remembered that he was supposed to meet Karen’s father right before he went home for the holiday. But Scott and Peter were leaving one day early. Troy called Karen up and told her that it would be better, economically, to get a free ride home instead of paying $86 dollars for a round-trip bus ticket. She agreed and made arrangements to have him over after the holiday. Karen had already told her father about Troy. He was anxious to meet the young scholar.

  On the long, five-hour journey from Marsh County to Philadelphia, the four Black men talked about race, gender, politics, and economics. Scott’s father talked about his days in the army and his travels around the world. Then Troy asked him what he thought about Malcolm X.

&n
bsp; “To tell the truth, I thought Malcolm started compromising his strong racial views when he got caught up into that international arena,” Scott’s father said.

  “That’s the only thing that I didn’t like,” Troy agreed.

  “And now people talkin’ ’bout Malcolm was into that ‘brotherhood of man’ stuff. But my problem is: how can we trust White people to be our brothers? They are some of the most misinformed people in the world. And it’s hard for them to give up the privileges that they have in being White to become our brothers.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. They got crackers down South that swear they’re superior to Blacks. And most of them crackers ain’t got sense the first,” Scott’s father responded.

  “What do you think about African-centered education?” Troy quizzed.

  “I think that’s the only way to do it. But I wouldn’t call it African-centered, I’d call it ‘truth curriculum.’ A lot of people, even Blacks, will not accept anything from Africa. The first thing they’ll say is, ‘I ain’t no damn African.’ So we gotta get them to listen first.”

  “Yeah, but that is the truth. Africa is where all life, language, and civilization began. So if they can’t accept that, then it ain’t no hope for ‘em.”

  “Every man who has faith in the Lord has hope, my brother,” Peter interjected to Troy.

  “Peter, if you got people having faith in lies and forced religion like Catholicism, then it’s going to be a whole lot of people deceived, my brother,” Troy argued with mockery.

  They dropped him off in downtown Philadelphia. Troy really wanted them to see his neighborhood, but they would have been heading in the wrong direction. Scott’s father still would have driven him home, yet Troy did not want to be a bother. It was one of those confusing back-and-forth deals that Troy wished Scott’s father had won. He ended up waiting nearly an hour for a SEPTA (Southeastern Pennsylvania Transportation Authority) bus.

  Charlotte was away at work when her son came home. The house was empty, except for Grandmom Bessie, who was sleeping. Normally she had at least four grandchildren to watch over. Fortunately, Cookie had taken everyone to the movies and had a sleepover.