The Saturday after homecoming, the new Gammas and Betas “crossed the burning sands.” When we heard the cheers, Keisha and I came outside our dorm to see Roz and the six others in their orange sorority T-shirts. Roz’s line name was printed in white letters on the back: “Rapunzel.” When the Betas finished their short routine, she headed for me, her arms wide. She hugged me tightly, saying we were girls for life. And don’t be mad, okay?
The Gammas brought more excitement, when Abdul, Steve, Pat, and ten others gave their call throughout the yard. They stood like dark dominoes in a row, in their maroon-and-silver T-shirts emblazoned with their line names. They sang and stomped a few minutes, declaring their love of Gamma, but then they disappeared.
That night, while my roommates slept, I propped the door to our room open. At two in the morning, the hall phone rang. I ran to answer, nearly falling in my haste. It was Abdul. Come to the apartment, he whispered. He missed me, he needed me. I rushed back to my room to pack an overnight bag. It was filled with items that I’d leave in his apartment bathroom, to mark my territory. My blow-dryer and curling irons. A box of tampons. A bottle of nice lotion that men wouldn’t use, because guys didn’t mind being ashy. I remembered that Roz had told me that since Abdul and I hadn’t made a commitment, I should be careful going over there: I didn’t want to get a bad reputation. Yet I kept packing my bag.
At his apartment, I cuddled with Abdul naked in his double bed and watched television. That night, he and I made love twice. The final time, I was so close, as he went deeper. I wrapped my legs around him, and he whispered a growl as he ordered, call him by his line name, “Shotgun.” Say it for my man.
“Shotgun! Shotgun!” I gripped him tighter and rolled my pelvis: I was almost there. But then, the moment was lost for me, and I lay there, disappointed, while Abdul climaxed inside me.
“Ooh, girl! Ooh! I love you, Ailey!”
Afterward, he didn’t speak of feelings, but he told me he thought it was a good idea to meet my father. If Daddy wasn’t coming to the reunion next summer in Chicasetta, Abdul could meet him during this Christmas break. Abdul and I could drive up together, and then, for New Year, we would continue to Philly to meet his family.
“Are you saying we’re in a commitment? Like, boyfriend and girlfriend?”
“No, I’m not ready for that.”
“We’re not committed, but you want to meet my daddy? I don’t understand.”
“That’s because you’re not listening.”
I sighed and rolled over, settling into my spoon. “Let’s talk about this later, Abdul.”
“What? You don’t want me to meet your father? You just want to fuck?”
“Abdul, I’m naked. I don’t think it’s appropriate to talk about my daddy right this second, especially if we’re not in a commitment. You’re the one doesn’t want to be my boyfriend.”
“Ailey, you’re not hearing me. My parents never were married. I got a brother three months younger than me. My daddy married Gary’s mama, but that didn’t do him a bit of good. He’s in jail right now. Me? I was salutatorian, and my daddy wouldn’t even come to my graduation. You don’t understand what it’s like. You come from something.”
“Oh, sweetie. We’ll talk about it another time. Okay? Please.”
I rolled over on my side, and for the first time in years, I dreamed of the long-haired lady. I was walking through the field in front of my granny’s house, heading to the creek. I didn’t know the long-haired lady was beside me, until she touched my arm, asking me a question. But I couldn’t understand her words, as she kept tugging my sleeve. She turned impatient, shaking her head, as I told her I didn’t understand. The long-haired lady stopped walking and pointed to the bank. She spoke again, and this time, I knew she was saying, look. Over there.
Then I woke up.
Founder’s Day
Uncle Root didn’t like homecoming. To begin with, it was in October, when the nights started getting shorter. That meant it took place in the dark, and he’d been born during a time when Negroes didn’t drive through the country after the sun went down. And there was too much noise and too many people, and if he was going to sit for a long period of time, so that his joints creaked and popped when he finally rose, he wanted it to be worth the sacrifice of his time and cartilage.
Founder’s Day was different: it took place in March and during the daytime, so there was that. It was like a family reunion, too, because not everyone attended. Only the most devoted of alumni returned. And no matter how bourgie and accomplished they were, they were enthusiastic in their greetings. They repeated the sayings of their great-grandparents, those uneducated and hardworking folks who had suffered and worked and prayed to push their descendants forward.
“God is so good, isn’t He?”
“All the time.”
“I haven’t seen you since Hector was a pup!”
“I know! It’s been a month of Sundays!”
They hadn’t moved so far from their origins that they couldn’t enjoy the down-home repast, either, the one held each year in the faculty dining room. Fried chicken and greens and two kinds of quick bread. They tucked paper napkins into their necklines of the modest yet neat outfits they’d chosen for the day. There were no fur coats and tuxedos, as with October’s homecoming. No need for all that, as they leaned bodies away from their plates but kept on chewing.
Founder’s Day was the time for students to glimpse our future, or at least, that’s what administration informed us on the handouts placed in our campus mailboxes. Classes were canceled, though we students were required to be in attendance. Junior and senior snitches were positioned at the front and side doors of the chapel with sign-in sheets. These same students blocked the doors if anyone tried to leave the building and directed us toward the bathrooms at the rear of the chapel if we lied about a full bladder’s emergency.
In the very early morning, I drove to Chicasetta to retrieve Uncle Root for the service, which began at ten. I knocked before I let myself in with my key, and saw Mama and Daddy sitting in his living room.
“Oh my goodness! What are y’all doing here?”
As the old man smiled from his wing chair, my parents rushed to me. They gave hugs and kisses and exclamations that I had grown up, even since Christmas. Look at my pretty outfit, and my new hairstyle.
Mama stroked the edges of my pressed and curled hair. “Did your granny do this?”
“Yeah, you like it? All I have to do is roll it up at night.”
“It’s so pretty! I wish you’d convince Coco to grow her hair back. She’s still baldheaded, bless her heart.”
“We thought we’d surprise you, darling,” Daddy said. “It was Belle’s idea, and I took some time off from the practice. It’s only two days, and aren’t my ladies worth it?”
He put his hands on our shoulders, squeezing gently. My parents were dressed in color-coordinated attire. Mama wore a navy dress with a red belt. My father’s suit was navy, too, and his tie was red. I touched his graying temples. When I’d visited for Christmas, I hadn’t noticed that his hair had changed colors.
“Look at you, Daddy! You’re all cute and distinguished.”
“Your mama put this gray in my head, beating me every single day. This woman is so mean. She won’t cook for me, neither. You see I’m nothing but skin and bone, don’t you?”
He rubbed his round stomach and threw back his head, hooting. Mama and I joined in his laughter, as if my father’s joke wasn’t worn and frayed. I put my head on my father’s shoulder, and when I said this was a perfect day, my mother teased me. Don’t be getting mushy, but she put her arm around my waist. She kissed my cheek.
The old man insisted I drive his town car to campus. He and Mama sat in the back, and Daddy was up front, marveling at how I took the road. Look at his baby girl, driving this big car. All right, now. Watch me go. When we walked into the chapel, I waved at my roommates across the pews, pointing exaggeratedly at my parents. I was going to sit w
ith them, and when I passed by the pew where Tiffany and Darlene were, I slowed down on purpose so they could see my parents. What an attractive couple they made. How beautiful my mother was, tiny and neat and graceful. How respectful and affectionate my father was to her. That the three of us sat with the legendary Jason Freeman Hargrace. I didn’t need to pledge Beta to be somebody. I was somebody already.
Students weren’t allowed in the faculty dining room, unless they were escorted by a college alum, and after the program was concluded, I found my roommates, asking, did they want to sneak in with my family? They’d met my mother and the old man a few times, but never my father, and we three could be guests of alumni at the reception, since none of Roz’s family had attended the program. I instructed Keisha to rush back to our room and get some aluminum foil. And bring a big purse like the one I had: not only were they serving fried chicken, there was a rumor that Mrs. Giles-Lipscomb had made several of her famous coconut custard pies. I’d brought some of my granny’s Tupperware in my own purse.
“Are y’all two heifers gone embarrass me?” Roz asked. “Stuffing food in your pocketbooks?”
“Ain’t nobody stud’in’ you,” Keisha said. “You gone be the first one begging for pie.”
The dining room was crowded with alumni and their student guests. There was Pat, standing by a tall, brown-skinned lady with short, relaxed hair, and large-framed glasses. When I caught his eye and waved, he motioned that I should come over.
“This is my mommy!” Pat said. “Isn’t she wonderful?” He squeezed his mother around her shoulders.
I shook Mrs. Lindsay’s hand. “It is so good to meet you. Your son is a nice young man, and I can tell the fruit didn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Listen to you,” she said. “So sweet and polite! My child can’t stop talking about you. It’s ‘Ailey says this’ and ‘Ailey says that.’ Now I can see why.”
Pat nudged her with his hip. “Stop, Mommy.”
“I’m sorry, darling.” She giggled. “Was I not supposed to say anything?”
Abdul walked up to us, and I backed away several paces. The day had been perfect, but now I felt an awkward dread. Two weeks before, Abdul and I had been lying naked in his bed, when he told me someone on campus had referred to me as his girlfriend, but he had corrected them. They were sadly mistaken: I was not his woman. Abdul told them that we were just kicking it.
“Hello, Ailey.”
I looked down at my patent leather flats. “Hello.”
“Are you here with Dr. Hargrace?”
“Yes, and my parents. They flew in for Founder’s Day.”
“Oh, word? I’d love to finally meet them! Let’s walk over.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. We have a very full day before they fly back to the City tomorrow.” I turned to Mrs. Lindsay. I was standing so close to her, I bumped into her. “Excuse me! I’m so sorry.”
“That’s quite all right, darling,” she said. “It’s crowded in here.”
“Well . . . um . . . I should join my family,” I said. “I don’t want to be rude to them. It was so lovely to meet you. It’s been a sincere pleasure.”
Mrs. Lindsay patted my arm. “The pleasure is mine. I hope to see you again, very soon.”
* * *
Keisha tried to beg off from the spring step show, citing possible un-Christian behavior. Everybody knew the Gammas were going to show out, and anyway, she needed to study, but Roz dropped her tough pretenses. She tugged at our roommate’s sleeve. Come support her; she was going to be in the show.
Keisha folded her arms. “I don’t like the way them Betas did our girl. It wasn’t right. And you didn’t take up for her, neither.”
“But Ailey, you know I wouldn’t ever do you wrong on purpose, don’t you?” Roz turned to me, her eyebrows pleated. This was as close as she would come to an open apology, though she’d made a tacit statement of her solidarity. Since she was an official member of Beta, she no longer sat with her line sisters in the refectory. She sat with Keisha, Pat, and me at our regular table. When we encountered the Betas on the yard and they gave their shrill call, she answered with a brief wave and kept walking.
“No, I’m not mad,” I said. “It’s cool. We’re girls for life.”
In the gymnasium, Keisha and I sat on the front row; she didn’t care how much she loved Roz. If something happened that she didn’t like, she was leaving quick.
The Betas filed in daintily in their matching orange high heels and orange jumpsuits. The members of the step team were an array of skin tones, from chocolate to cream, but all of them were slender and nearly the same height. Every woman’s hair was at least shoulder length with an identical style: blow-dried flat with a part on the left side, and pulled back with a white satin ribbon.
Before the actual routine, a skit: Tiffany was the star of their show.
“Sorors?” she called.
“Yes?” The Betas answered.
“How hard did we work to become members of Beta Alpha Beta Sorority Incorporated?”
“We worked so hard!”
“And sorors?”
“Yes?”
“How much do we love Beta Alpha Beta Sorority Incorporated?”
“We love Beta so much!”
“I said, how much do we love Beta Alpha Beta Sorority Incorporated?”
“We love it! We love it! We love it!”
They began to hum, as Tiffany sang an a cappella cover of “Promise Me,” by Luther Vandross, the lyrics altered to allow for lines dedicated to their organization. After twenty minutes of pointless, ladylike prancing and a series of hand movements that always came back to the Beta sign, the routine was over. The steppers headed in the direction of their other sorors, who lauded them loudly, but Roz walked to where Keisha and I were, across the gymnasium.
Then, the MC announced, were we ready for the nasty Gammas?
Only the neophytes stepped that night, the thirteen who had joined the fraternity the previous semester. As the shortest, Abdul was in front of the line. Pat brought up the rear. They all wore silver boots with maroon pants and shirts, though Abdul wore his fraternity jacket, buttoned up the front. When the Gammas lined up, Abdul didn’t give the signal for the routine to start. He looked around the gym, and then walked toward where I sat. With each step, he unbuttoned his jacket, until he slipped it off. Underneath, he was bare-chested, and there were appreciative female shouts. When he stood in front of me, holding out the jacket, there was more noise. Roz poked me, take the jacket, people were looking, but on my other side, Keisha whispered, don’t do nothing I didn’t want to.
I reached out with both hands. Abdul gave me the jacket, then came in for a kiss. There were louder screams, and he walked back to his space, and the routine began. I clutched Abdul’s faintly funky jacket as the Gammas pumped groins and stomped in unison. In between nasty bedroom sounds, they chanted praises about Gammas and veiled insults about the other fraternities on campus.
From my seat, I looked around the gym at sisters tossing me envious glares and whispering to each other. But there were a few dotting the audience who smiled at me. Those sisters had boyfriends who had publicly claimed them, too, as Abdul had claimed me. I was in an elite cohort: I had a man. I had beaten the ten-to-one odds.
The Dirty Thirty
“Who y’all think gone make that Dirty Thirty list?” Abdul asked. “Freaknik is in two weeks.”
Pat shook his head. “No comment. And this ain’t respectful. Y’all see the ladies here.”
“They can go in the kitchen, where they belong.”
“I ain’t going nowhere,” Roz said. “And fuck you very much.”
Even though Abdul and Steve had moved into their apartment in the fall, they’d been pledging underground. The Gammas had forbidden them to have any parties. So they waited until the spring to have their inaugural set. My boyfriend and his roommate had bought three cases of beer, the good kind. No weed, because they didn’t want that smell in th
eir new furniture. There were six pounds of chicken, which I’d fried for them, after calling Miss Rose for directions. I’d made potato salad to go along.
Roz and I shared a love seat and the four-pack of coolers that she’d bought. The Three Amigos half lay on the couch, bottlenecks resting on their chests, as the television blasted the Bulls versus the Knicks, a certain bloodbath. Nobody could win against Michael Jordan, but it was nice watching his aerial wonders.
“Precious Harmon, for real,” Steve said. “She a natural-born freak.”
“A freak like how?” Abdul asked.
“Like she had a three-way with Rick Bozeman and some dame from Atlanta. He said Precious ate that right in front of him.”
Abdul moved into his patronizing tone. “Man, that girl is a dyke. That don’t count for the DT. I’m talking about actual dudes that boned that jawn.”
Pat sat up. “Y’all need to change the subject. Immediately. Like, post-damn-haste.”
On the TV, Michael Jordan leapt through the air, his tongue out, and we clapped. How did he do that? It was some kind of miracle.
“Did Rick get in there?” Abdul executed a short air punch. “Or was it Precious on one end of that dame and him on the other?”
Steve put his red cup on the table. “Are you telling me a natural-born freak don’t count for the DT just ’cause she ain’t fucked—”
“—nigger, what did I just say?” Pat roared. “I told y’all, stop talking about this shit! Am I gone have to start busting heads up in here?”
I rose from the couch, and my roommate followed. We kicked male feet to navigate our way, but Abdul wouldn’t move. He told us, step over, and tapped the side of his cup. Get him a refill. I snatched the cup from his hand, but in the kitchen, tossed it in the trash.
Roz leaned against the counter. She pulled on my shirt and I moved closer.
“Girl, what’re you doing?” she whispered. “You’re practically living here. And you cooking for him, too?”
The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois Page 35