The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois

by Honoree Fanonne Jeffers

  He leaned forward, whispering. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Ailey, I’m not white. But please don’t tell anybody. I’ve kept that secret for so long.”

  When he laughed, I thought, I could look at Mr. Yang all day. His skin was flawless, like in a beauty commercial. You couldn’t even tell he had pores. And his shoulder-length, dark hair was so sexy.

  “The way you compared the Lewis and Clark expedition to the aftermath of Christopher Columbus’s landing in America was pretty brilliant. Your language was a little strident, and I would like for you to lean more into fact-based argument—this is, after all, a history class—but I like your honesty. It’s refreshing that you aren’t afraid to speak your mind. Ms. Rogers tells me you’re an excellent student in her class, too, and you have a real flair for language.”

  “Ms. Rogers said that about me?”

  “She sure did. But we’d both like you to speak up more in class. You tend to be so quiet, and I don’t know why. You’re so full of great ideas in your essays.”

  “At my last school they didn’t like us to talk so much.”

  “Well, let’s try to work on that here, all right? This is a different environment. A chance to make a fresh start.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Yang. I won’t let you down.”

  He smiled. “Your manners really are impressive, Ailey. Please give my compliments to your parents.”

  During history class, I kept Mr. Yang’s words close. I remembered my home training as Amber softly sighed and raked her fingers through her blond tresses. I decided to ignore her and focus on Chris. On the back of his neatly trimmed head. He’d wanted a super-high-top fade, but his mother had told him absolutely not. He could get creative in college if he wanted to, but so long as he was under her roof, her son wasn’t going to look like some rapper. As I silently willed him to turn around, Amber’s hair struck my cheek; she had flipped her hair back.

  I looked at the bright strands on my desk, wishing for scissors so I could cut off that shit and hand it back to her. Instead, I took the tip of my pen and gently pushed her hair off my desk. I ripped a piece of paper out of my notebook and began writing. I folded the paper. I didn’t wait until after class to rise, as I usually did. I tapped Amber on her shoulder.

  “Hey, this is for you.” I handed the folded paper to her.

  Chris looked back at us, his eyes widening.

  “What’s this?” Amber asked.

  “Oh, just a little poem I wrote for you. I think you’ll really love it.”

  “Really? Gee, thanks!”

  “You are so welcome.”

  The rest of the day, I thought about Amber reading my note. It made me so happy, but when school let out Chris was waiting for me in our spot, holding the piece of paper I’d given Amber, as if it was a bloody knife.

  “Ailey, you made her cry! How could you tell her that you were concerned about her hair touching you, in case she had head lice?”

  “Because I am. How do I know where that white girl’s hair’s been?”

  “Ailey, why are you so mean?”

  “It’s not my fault that heifer doesn’t have any manners,” I said. “Why’s she always throwing her hair back on my desk anyway? Do I look like her damned beautician?”

  “She told her friends about the note, Ailey. And now everybody’s talking about you. Don’t you even care?”

  “No, Chris, I really don’t.”

  He was very insecure. I’d learned that in three months of secret dating. He was popular, but he put up with a lot of shit from the white boys he hung around with. They wanted to sing the “nigger” part in the rap songs they listened to when Chris visited their homes, and he laughed and pretended it was okay. I’d asked, why didn’t he just tell them that it hurt his feelings? But he’d told me he didn’t want them to think he wasn’t a good sport.

  “I’m supposed to be your girlfriend, Chris. Not Amber. Or do I just not count because I’m a Black girl?”

  “Ailey, don’t say that! Yeah, you count! But everybody’s not tough like you. You don’t need anybody. You’re, like, a soccer team all by yourself.”

  “Are you trying to call me fat?”

  “No, girl! I just mean, it’s like when you walk through the hallway, you don’t look left or right. You just keep gliding.”

  He was supposed to be my boyfriend, but he didn’t understand me. I didn’t look at anybody in the hallways because I was afraid people were laughing at me. Or I was hoping they didn’t catch me pulling my shirt down, because I didn’t want anybody looking at my big booty. I wanted friends so badly, sometimes my stomach hurt, but it was so hard for me to make friends who weren’t blood relatives—I didn’t know why. And did kin even count as actual friends?

  “You know what they say, Chris. It’s better to be feared than to be loved.”

  “Who says that, Ailey?”

  “I can’t remember. I read it in a book somewhere.”

  “You talk so funny sometimes.”

  He began to kiss me, pushing his tongue into my mouth, as I leaned back on the wall. He begged me, unzip his pants, please, touch it, oh, please, but I refused. When he pressed against me and started grinding, I closed my eyes. His movements didn’t feel good to me, but I felt powerful, that I could make him tremble and pant. I was in control, and that was important, because I was tired of people either telling me what to do or lying to me. I wasn’t going to take it anymore.

  “Ailey, oh God,” he whispered.

  There was screaming, but it wasn’t him. It was Amber: she had found us, but he didn’t tell her I was his real girlfriend. He pulled away from me and tried to do up his zipper as he started after her, yelling her name.

  I walked away.

  When Mama brought me the phone that evening, she told me it was that boy again, asking for homework. Her voice was strained, lower than usual. She’d sounded like that ever since Lydia had run away from the rehab center. Mama had started walking the halls at night again.

  I waited until she closed the door. “I’m busy, Chris. What do you want?”

  “Um, it’s like this: Amber and me broke up. You want to be my girlfriend now?”

  I put down the receiver and considered what my life had become. Only fifteen, but already, I was a pre-slut. I’d let a boy use me for sex—or something close to sex, at least—without getting anything in return. Two boys, if I counted Gandee, but he was a relative and dead.

  “Hello? Hello? Ailey, are you there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. I’m just listening to how pathetic and, like, insane you are.” The storm came over me quickly. I was so tired of people lying to me, tired of being treated like a fool. “In fact, I hate you! I wish you were dead!”

  “Damn, Ailey. For real? It’s like that?”

  His voice was small, and my heart slowed some, as he begged me not to kick him to the curb. He was sorry. He wouldn’t do me wrong again. Just give him another chance.

  “Fine. I’ll think about it until after Christmas break, and then I’ll let you know.”

  “But that’s forever.”

  “Christopher Allen Tate, don’t push your luck. I said I’d talk to you in January. In the meantime, I suggest that you reflect on your asshole behavior.” I used a terse, businesslike tone so that he would understand that he wouldn’t be getting to third base with me for a long time to come. “You made a fool out of me in front of that white girl. And I am not a woman to be trifled with.”

  “Ailey—”

  “But please remember to give Mrs. Tate my best. Please tell her I wish her happy holidays and a very prosperous New Year. Now goodbye.”

  The next afternoon, I was washing my hands in the bathroom when Amber appeared with Sunshine and Lizbet. She was weeping, which made me angry. Why was she singing her betrayal like a Metropolitan Opera soprano? She should have more pride.

  “How could you do this to me?” she asked.

  Lizbet hugged Amber’s waist, and Sunshine stepped to me, pointing her finger close
to my face.

  “You’re a man-stealing hussy, Ailey Garfield. Don’t you have any female solidarity? Didn’t you know that Amber and Chris were in love?”

  This wasn’t the best time to mention he had come after me, or that his mother had encouraged our courtship. One false word, and it would be a repeat of the Antoinette Jones debacle, but these white girls might kill me, or worse, yank out even more of my hair. I’d be permanently baldheaded, a victim of violent alopecia.

  Sunshine twisted her mouth. “You walk around this school with your nose in the air like you’re better than us, and then you think it’s completely okay to kidnap somebody’s boyfriend. That’s you, Ailey. Miss Selfish Superior Bitch.”

  She turned to the others, and they nodded.

  I stepped closer, until Sunshine’s finger almost poked me in the eye.

  “No, actually, I’m Miss Selfish Superior Black Bitch. And I transferred here from Toomer, so I’d be careful, if I were you. But if you’re feeling froggy, go ’head and try me. I’d love to whip your ass and get expelled. Because I don’t want to be at this fucking school, anyway.”

  I counted in my head until Sunshine dropped her finger. Then I balled my fists and flexed at her. When she jumped away, Amber and Lizbet moved with her. I pulled a paper towel from the dispenser, dried my hands, and walked out, clutching the towel. I know I should have been careful about turning my back, but by that time, I felt safe.

  * * *

  I’d always known that Nana thought light-skinned and white people were superior, but I’d willfully overlooked that. Even when she’d remark that my sisters were prettier than me, it didn’t chafe—wasn’t I my grandmother’s favorite? When Nana boldly insulted Dante’s color, however, that struck close to blood. My mother was even darker than Lydia’s ex-husband, and now Mama’s hurt complaints throughout the years came back to me, with new meaning: That all Nana’s friends were fair enough to pass for white. That Nana insisted I wear a hat when sitting in the sun so I’d get no darker. That Nana never had approved of my mother as a daughter-in-law, but had adored Aunt Diane from first sight.

  At Toomer High, whenever somebody talked badly about somebody’s mother—or even hinted at a maternal insult—there had to be a fight. That was a point of honor. But how could you fight your elderly grandmother? And so I stayed away from Nana. On Thursday afternoons, I’d leave messages with Miss Delores, telling her that I couldn’t spend the weekend with Nana because I had homework. My other excuse was cramps—I didn’t reveal that Daddy gave me two codeines a month after I’d told him the agony in my midsection made me ponder whether I wanted to face the next thirty-five to forty years of menstruation.

  But then Nana called my house. When I picked up, she asked to speak to my mother. Minutes later, Mama knocked on my door.

  “That was your grandmother.”

  “I know. I answered the phone, remember?”

  “Ailey, she’s so upset. What’s happened? Y’all used to be so tight.”

  “Nothing. I’m just busy, trying to keep my grades up.”

  “So you’re going to kick Miss Claire to the curb? You can’t study over there?”

  “Mama, please don’t try to be cool. It’s kind of really sad.”

  “All right, I will set my coolness aside. But, baby, she’s an old lady. I know she can be cantankerous, but she depends on you. You’re her only friend.”

  “Are you actually feeling sorry for Nana?”

  “Folks get crotchety when they get old. I expect I will, too. You remember how mean Dear Pearl was?”

  “She wasn’t so bad. She was all right.”

  “That’s ’cause you didn’t grow up with her. I remember this one time we were in church, and Mr. J.W. James, he got up and said he needed to testify about how good the Lord had been. He wanted to sing Him a song. The elder said all right—this was the one before Elder Beasley. Now the whole congregation knew Mr. J.W., he never could sing a lick, and we just didn’t say anything to keep from hurting his feelings, don’t you know. But Dear Pearl? She did not care one bit! She stopped Mr. J.W. right in the middle of ‘Amazing Grace.’ Told him if he was trying to praise the Devil, he shole was doing a good job. But if he wanted to praise Jesus, he needed to shut up and sit his ass down.”

  My mother laughed so hard, she plopped down on my bed. I didn’t want to laugh along, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “Child, in church! In front of God and everybody! Ailey, I laughed so hard, I thought I was gone pee-pee! But Mr. J.W. never did care how mean Dear Pearl was. When she died, he was so broken up at her funeral.”

  “I remember. He couldn’t stop crying.”

  My mother touched my hand. “Ailey, please go see your grandmother. It’s the holiday season. Nobody should be alone during the holidays, especially an old lady. I know she’s hard to take, but we don’t know the troubles she’s seen. And we never will, either, because Miss Claire’s a prideful soul.”

  When Mama collected me from school on Friday, I told her I needed to pack for that weekend. I’d call Nana at home and see if she was free. At the red light, my mother put her foot on the brake. She pulled my face to hers, kissing my cheek.

  “You are such a good girl. I’m so proud of you.”

  But when I called my grandmother, she didn’t seem grateful. She acted inconvenienced, letting me know she’d have to change her plans for the weekend. Exactly what those plans had been, she didn’t say, but at tea the next afternoon, she pulled out my midsemester reports. My mother had turned them over to her. It was Nana’s right to see them; she was helping to pay for my school tuition.

  “Ailey, I’m amazed by your biology grade, and not in a good way. This B minus is unacceptable. You don’t seem to understand what your responsibilities are in this family. I’m very disappointed in you.”

  As she continued to berate me in ladylike whispers, I closed my eyes. Unlike others, who raised their voices, when my grandmother was angry or wanted to emphasize something she lowered hers, forcing me to ask her to repeat herself. This resulted in her raising her voice and speaking slowly and loudly, but at least I didn’t have to be a dog to hear her.

  “Ailey, are you going to be a physician or not? Because with this biology grade, there’s no way you’ll be accepted into a college that will prepare you for medical school.”

  I blew on my Earl Grey. When I looked up, she regarded me with disdain.

  “Nana, I don’t think I want to be a doctor.”

  “But we talked about this a long time ago.”

  No. You talked about it. I just went along.

  “I know, Nana.”

  “Is that all you have to say for yourself? Do I need to remind you that there are five generations of physicians in the Garfield family, going back to the nineteenth century?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Ailey, how many times must I remind you about that servant talk? My God!”

  When I didn’t respond, she stretched out a coral-painted thumb and forefinger. I prepared myself; my grandmother didn’t hit, but on rare occasions she could be an expert pincher. I was saved when Miss Delores knocked on the open door of the antechamber. Her large, rectangular glasses sat near the tip of her nose.

  “Mrs. Garfield, there’s somebody downstairs asking for you.”

  “Could you perhaps be more specific? Somebody such as whom?”

  “I really can’t say.” Miss Delores tilted her head to the side. Her lips were clamped together.

  My grandmother placed her cup on the saucer. She placed her hands on both arms of her wing chair, braced herself, and stood. As she left, she closed the anteroom door behind her. I waited a few seconds, then stood, walked to the door, and opened it in careful inches, listening to the voices downstairs. Nana was upset, her voice wavering, and there was another voice at shouting volume. It was my sister Lydia.

  Letting go of the doorknob, I took off my shoes and stepped into the hallway in my socks. My sister’s voice was even louder now, as
she told my grandmother how Gandee had been a monster. A dirty old man who gave her nasty magazines to look at while he played in her panties. That he put his thing in her mouth and made her suck on it. How he’d told her if she said anything to anybody he’d kill everyone she loved, including her younger sisters.

  “And you’re worse than he is!” Lydia shouted. “Leaving me with him, and I was nothing but a child! You and your goddamned shopping trips! You ought to be ashamed of yourself!”

  “Oh, Lydia, I swear, I didn’t know! Oh God! Oh, please forgive me!”

  “You owe me! Now I want to see my baby sister! I know she’s here!”

  As Lydia screamed my name, I crept further down the hall, but my collar was pulled from behind. When I jerked out of Miss Delores’s grasp, my hand hit her shoulder.

  “So you’re going to beat me up now, Ailey?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Delores, but you can’t grab on me! You’re not my mama.”

  “You’re right, but I do have your mama’s phone number.”

  “I don’t care. Call her all you want.”

  “All right, then. And when I do, I’ll tell her your sister showed up high as a kite and telling lies on a dead man. And then her baby girl hit me. The one I used to change diapers for.”

  Tears leaked from my eyes, but Miss Delores was relentless.

  “You’re standing there crying, but what about your mama? Don’t you think she’s been through enough with Lydia? How many more tears does she have to shed?”

  I watched her walk down the hallway toward the stairs, before I turned and went back inside the anteroom, leaving the door open. Downstairs, my grandmother sobbed loudly, but her cries couldn’t cover Lydia’s rage. She called Nana a color-struck, mean old bitch. She called her a pimp for little girls, and then there was another raised voice: Miss Delores, who told my sister she needed to leave right now. Leave this house, and if Lydia didn’t, she could wait and shout at the police all she wanted.

  The noise stopped.

  For an hour, I waited for my grandmother, but when a shadow appeared in the anteroom’s door, it was Miss Delores again. She told me my grandmother had gone out shopping. I should get my things; she would drop me off at home.