College Boy : A Novel (9781416586500)

by Omar Tyree

  “Yeah, man, it’s freezin’ out dere. I don’t see how them White people can do it,” Demetrius said, walking toward the elevator.

  When they got downstairs to the lobby, Clay was waiting for them. “Oh, Mr. Transfer is going with us,” he said with a smile.

  “Like Public Enemy said, ‘Freedom is a road seldom traveled by the multitude,’ “ Troy responded with a smile. They walked outside to begin their cold evening journey.

  “Watch, Troy gon’ go up there with all the girls and probably end up failing,” Clay predicted.

  “My girl is goin’ there with me. And she’s the only woman I need.”

  Clay frowned with doubt. “You say that now, but it’s a lot more pretty girls up there. I mean, we got nothin’ compared to Tubman.”

  Demetrius nodded. “I know, man. You could have, like, five girls up there and they probably won’t even know each other.”

  Troy sucked his teeth. “All y’all thinking about is the girls. I’m thinking about gettin’ more out of college. It’s gon’ be Black people from all over the country there.”

  They ran across Charleston Street in their rush to the video store while still conversing on the way.

  “I’m tellin’ you, Troy. Go on down there and have fun, and watch I get a job over you. I’d rather get C’s at State U. than get A’s at a Black college, ’cause they don’t get no respect,” Clay said.

  Demetrius looked at him as if he were a lunatic.

  “Man, you going crazy now. I’d get straight A’s atShit State and come out the man! Fuck what you sayin’!”

  Troy laughed helplessly. “I can’t even believe he said that. That just shows how brainwashed he is. That’s why I can’t wait to get outta’ this school,” he mentioned.

  They finally arrived at the video store and began looking through different titles. Most of the Black films were placed on the shelves toward the back of the shop. Troy was still in a race-conscious mood. Yet he remained calm about it.

  “Ay’, Troy, look how they got the Black movies all the way in the back,” Demetrius said, instigating.

  Clay chuckled and nudged Demetrius in his ribs. “Come on, man, don’t get him started.”

  Troy just shook his head, tired of it all.

  “Look at all these dumb movies they put Blacks in. And we always be in the ghetto and shit,” Demetrius tacked on. He and Clay shared a laugh. Still, Troy was unprovoked.

  As they searched the shelves, Troy noticed the many titles where women of color were seduced by White men. He was overwhelmed by their numbers. It was something worth speaking on.

  “Ay’, man, you ever notice how White guys always get a jungle girl in their movies? A Black guy never gets a White girl,” he shared with Clay, who was closer to him. However, he spoke loudly enough for the surrounding customers to hear.

  Demetrius and Clay started to snicker as Troy continued:

  “They always get the island woman, the Asian woman, the African woman. That’s pitiful, man. And we gotta kiss ass or be a fuckin’ star to get with their White women.”

  “Dig, man,” Demetrius agreed. “The only movie where a black dude got a White girl isMandingo . And they roasted his ass.”

  “That’s probably how they started porno movies, from rapin’ slave women,” Troy suggested.

  Clay and Demetrius laughed again.

  “Ay’, Troy, cuz, cool out, man,” Clay told him.

  “Aw man, shut up. You scared of White people,” Troy rebutted. He turned and stared at a middle-aged White man, who turned his head to avoid a confrontation. “Tell y’all the truth, I’m ’bout to just Rambo some White people,” he warned aloud.

  “That’s it, cuz. You gonna get us rushed in here,” Clay whispered. He was serious, too, but Troy didn’t care.

  “Yeah, whatever,” he snapped. “I know White people think we loud and violent, but what we ever do to them? They messed the whole world up, but now they the nice ones,” Troy shared with everyone who cared to listen.

  None of the video store members dared to respond.

  The young man appeared to be losing his sanity.

  Clay and Demetrius quickly trotted away from him.

  “Troy’s goin’ crazy,” Clay uttered.

  Demetrius agreed. “I know, man. He’s a brick-ass nigga.”

  They giggled as Troy wandered over to the front counter. He looked down and read it, right in front of the counter as people walked in. Black customers walked right past it and didn’t say anything. Troy read it five times, making sure he wasn’t imagining. Clay and Demetrius then stepped up to the counter to rent the movies they had chosen. They were still laughing, considering Troy crazy, and yet they missed it. But the sticker was right there in front of them.

  “Yo, Demetrius, read that out loud,” he said, pointing to the sticker at the front desk.

  “ ‘If your children are unattended, they will be captured and sold as slaves.’ “ Demetrius was shocked. Clay read it too, before they left.

  “Now, y’all still think I’m overexaggerating about this race shit?” Troy asked them both. “White people think that shit is funny. But any Black person who laughs at that needs help.”

  “Dig, man. That shit is out!” Demetrius exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say something about it, or tear it down or something?”

  Troy hunched his shoulders. “What difference does it make? If other Black people walk right past it and don’t say nothin’, then they would just call me crazy for sayin’ somethin’, like y’all do.”

  “Man, they couldn’t put no sign up in Philly like that. Black people in our city would tear that store down. Wouldn’t they, Troy?” Clay asked.

  Troy was hesitant. “I don’t know anymore, man. Black people are just a big disappointment to me. That’s why I gotta get out of this environment. I can’t emphasize it enough.”

  Troy went on to tell his college friends something else. “Four White cops tried to intimidate me last night for some dumb shit,” he revealed.

  “What did you do?” Clay asked him, smiling.

  “That’s typical of a nigga to ask,” Troy snapped.

  “What did I do, right? What about asking me what happened, instead of assuming that I did something already? Anyway, I told that White lady off at the front desk for disrespecting my girl.”

  Clay said nothing. He simply grinned, heading back to the dorms.

  “Yo, man, you just gotta learn to be cool,” Demetrius said to Troy.

  “Yeah, well that’s easier said than done when you’re a warrior. This school is driving me crazy. I gotta get the fuck out of here!”

  Back inside his room, Troy thought about the present state of Black consciousness. His deep thoughts inhibited him from concentrating on his studies. As he wrangled to free his mind of unnecessary mental stress, his friend Peter walked in on him.

  “What’s up, my brother?”

  Bruce and Scott walked in behind him.

  “Yo, y’all better knock next time,” Troy commented playfully. He was more than happy to have pleasant company.

  “Aw, shut up, mayn,” Bruce responded, smiling.

  Troy stood up from his desk chair in obvious excitment. “Ay’ Pete, I was just thinking about something, man. Imagine if Black people didn’t have their own magazines and Black TV shows. And imagine if we didn’t have all-Black neighborhoods. Who would care about us? We would be totally ignored completely as a people. So we need some type of unit to bring us together politically, economically, religiously, and culturally. We need, like, a Holistic Foundation or something.”

  “That’s what Martin Luther King was talkin’ about,” Peter responded. “But we should just drop this racial thing, altogether.”

  “What, are you crazy? If we do that, we’ll end up being the dumbest people on the face of the earth. As a matter of fact, we already are!” Troy shouted, shaking his head in disgust. “In this integrated city, for example, Blacks don’t know shit, but the White people do. That’s how they fo
ol you in integration. Like, a lot of them Whites who hang out with Black people. They know where they’re headed, but what about us?”

  “Well what about your girl?” Scott asked, challenging.

  “She’s from Chicago,” Troy told him. “The Nation of Islam is out there with a whole lot of Blacks on the South Side. But even their city was fooled when Martin Luther King went there. They had a bunch of Black stooges talkin’ about it wasn’t no racism in Chitown. And they told King to go back down south.

  “Chicago does have a whole lot of Black businesses,” Scott mentioned.

  Bruce changed the subject, bored with the race talks already. “Ay,’ cuz, you wanna go to the mall with me tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Yeah, aw’ight. As long as Peter knows that I’m right. Integration ain’t gonna help us,” Troy declared. “The United States of America is racist. And you better never forget that.”

  Next morning Troy and Bruce waited on Madison Avenue to catch a bus to the suburban mall. Bruce had forgotten how to get there and Troy had never been, so they asked bystanders what bus to catch. Troy was so hateful of Whites that he preferred to ask Blacks only.

  “Excuse me, do you know how to get to Northside Mall?” he asked a young mother.

  “No, I never been out there,” she told him. She smiled, giving him her full attention and desiring a more social conversation.

  “Don’t you live here?” Troy asked snappishly.

  “Yeah, but I don’t know how to get out there,” the young mother repeated. She switched her blanket-covered child from her left arm to her right to give herself a better view

  Bruce began to chuckle as he viewed the disgusted look on Troy’s face.

  Troy rudely walked away and asked another young mother, “Excuse me, do you know how to get to Northside Mall?”

  “Unt-unh.”

  He then went and asked an older man. “Excuse me, do you know how to get to Northside Mall?”

  The short, gray-haired man rubbed his thick beard and shook his head. “No, not really. I drove out there a couple times, but I don’t know what bus to catch out there.”

  An old, homely White man stopped and listened.

  “Hey, son, the 54C will take you right there,” he said.

  Bruce snickered. “He don’t know what he’s talking about. He looks homeless and shit,” he whispered.

  Troy asked a younger brother standing near Mellon Bank. “Yo, cuz, what bus do I catch to get out to Northside Mall?”

  “I’on know, man.”

  Two friendly White women overheard.

  “You’re heading to Northside Mall?” the first asked.

  “Yeah,” Troy answered, not really wanting to.

  “The 54C will take him right there,” the second added.

  “Yeah, that’s it. The 54C,” the first agreed with a nod.

  Troy withheld a “Thank you.” He walked back toward Bruce, who had wandered out near the curb to spit. “You see how nice White people are in this city, Bruce? In Philly, they probably would have let us get lost. White people love it when you don’t know nothin’,” Troy said aloud. Both White women turned from him in embarrassment.

  Bruce laughed. “You crazy as hell, cuz.”

  Bystanders began to turn and witness Troy mouthing off.

  Bruce said, “You gonna get us in a rumble if you keep this up. But I’m down to bust up some White people.”

  Troy chuckled, sensing nearby Whites becoming frigid.

  “I bet that they ain’t into Malcolm X in this city,” he assumed aloud. “I bet they love Martin Luther King, though, and don’t even know the man. They just know his media image.”

  Troy noticed an older Black woman frowning in discomfort. Yet he could care less. He had lost respect for everyone, White and Black, for not feeling as he felt or believing as he believed.

  A plump and cheerful White student walked past and eyed him. “Hi, Troy. Do you remember me? I’m in your physics class,” she said with a huge smile.

  Troy turned his back to her. “See that, man. I don’t really talk to her. She actin’ like we’re the best of friends or some shit. She must think a Black boy is supposed to leap at a chance to screw her big ass.” Bruce burst out laughing as the bus finally pulled up.

  A Muslim had shown a Louis Farrakhan speech about the movieThe Color Purple , based on an Alice Walker novel and directed by Steven Spielberg. Black students in attendance sat astounded by the information presented concerning the racial psychology of America. A day later, Troy sat with Peter, Scott, and Roy for another race discussion inside the cafeteria.

  “Hey, Troy, did you hear that Farrakhan speech last night?” Roy asked. He was teary-eyed and upset for some reason.

  “Yeah. Did you see it, Peter?” Troy quizzed.

  “Naw, I had some studying to do,” Peter answered.

  “I didn’t like what he said about White people. All White people aren’t like that,” Roy alluded.

  “Was that the only thing you got out of the speech?” Troy asked sternly.

  “Well, that’s one of the things that I didn’t agree with.”

  “Did he say anything that you did agree with?”

  “Well, a lot of the things he said were true, but a lot of Black people are just not making an effort.”

  “How the hell do you know, man? You grew up in the suburbs with White people!” Troy shouted at him.

  “I had to go through trials, too. It’s not like I wasn’t hit by White society,” Roy rebutted. “I had to fight a lot of kids for calling me a nigger. I mean, what is it that gets in their way? If you work hard, you succeed.”

  Troy nodded. “I thought that same way before I got on the basketball team. But now I realize that I was used.”

  “You did make the basketball team, though,” Peter interjected with a smile. “And you did quit.”

  Troy bit his bottom lip to remain calm. “Everybody talks about making the team,” he commented, getting aggravated. “I sat the bench, man. Do you know what that means? That means that I might as well have been in the stands watchin’ my damn self.So fuck this teamshit until we can play, man!

  “ “I see where you’re coming from, Troy. But everyone must learn to work as hard as we do. And we can’t ever quit,” Roy insisted.

  “It just ain’t that easy, though. I’m struggling now, and I study all the time,” Peter intervened again.

  “Man, I know what you’re thinkin’. You’re thinkin’ that Black people don’t have what it takes to make it,” Troy accused the freshman Roy. “You’re thinkin’ they’re too lazy or something.” He ignored Peter’s comment. As far as Troy was concerned, Peter was blowing hot air, talking about studying all the time.

  “I’m not saying that at all,” Roy snapped. “What I’m saying is, we can do it if we put more effort and time into it. All they have to do is work hard, and they succeed. That’s very simple. I can’t see why they can’t do it.”

  “Hey, Roy, both of your parents went to college and settled down in a White neighborhood, right?” Troy asked with a sense of urgency.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So they had educations, right?”

  “Yeah, and … ?”

  “So you were born with an advantage already. And you’ll never be able to understand the people who start from scratch,” Troy told him.

  Tears began to swell up in Roy’s eyes again. His sensitivity reminded Troy of Matthew. But he didn’t want Roy to become spoiled like Matthew. So he pressed on. “What are you getting all upset about?” he asked him.

  “I just can’t understand what it is that you’re talking about. I’ve had it hard too, but I kept my head high and did what I had to do.”

  Troy began to settle down. He reached over and shook Roy’s hand. “You got a good heart, man. You’re heading in the right direction. But do you have any concrete plans?” he probed.

  “Well, I’m planning to set up my own business and help as many people as I can. I’m not just going to
work for some White man all my life,” Roy answered. “I figure that I can work about ten years, and then I’ll start my own business and hire Black people.”

  “How many do you figure you can hire, maybe ten, twenty people?”

  “Well, you can’t hire everybody.”

  Scott nodded his head and spoke up to end his silence. “I thought about that too. All that will do is cause jealousy from the people you can’t help.”

  “Yeah, and then they try to rip everything up and make it bad for everybody. Like at the parties and stuff,” Peter added.

  “So what is the answer to our problem, then, Troy?” Roy pressed.

  “I don’t know yet. But my boy was talkin’ about havin’ an underground economy,” Troy answered. “I’m starting to think that some type of socialism would be beneficial myself.”

  “The way I see it, you can’t help people who don’t want to help themselves,” Peter said.

  “That’s exactly the way that I see it,” Roy agreed.

  “Are you tellin’ me that Black people don’t want to get help and would rather live in a ghetto, sellin’ drugs?” Troy questioned.

  “No, but what else is the reason?” Roy asked. “If they need help, all they have to do is go get it.”

  “What if they come to you for help? Would you help them out?” Troy asked, challenging Roy again.

  “What, you think that I wouldn’t?”

  “I’m not worried about if you would or wouldn’t, I’m worried about if you could,” Troy reasoned.

  Peter and Scott laughed, confused. Roy chuckled himself. Troy, however, maintained a serious face.

  “Now what do you mean by that?” Peter asked him.

  “Look, Pete, you have to live through somethin’ before you can understand it,” Troy answered. “Now, both of you have already had a head start on me, and all of the people I hang out with back home would be considered straight-up hoods to y’all. But I came from there and I know how it is. Or at least Idid know.”

  “Well, what’s so hard to understand about it?” Roy queried.

  “Look, Roy, if you grew up with X, Y, and Z, then you don’t know how to explain how to get it. But if you grew up with just X and Y, you can most likely explain how to get Z, if you succeed yourself,” Troy philosophized. “Do you see what I’m saying? I’m talkin’ about building.”