“It’s you that doesn’t know him, Zora.”
“I think I do.”
“You think you know a lot that you don’t, honey.”
Mama takes me in her arms and kisses my forehead.
“Mama, Miles is way too ambitious for me. He just wants what Miles wants. I’m just secondary to the plan. Just another item on his agenda. I can’t live like that. He’s the one who doesn’t love me.”
My mother gives me the saddest look. “Zora. You won’t want for anything with him. If you marry him, his ambition will make sure you have all that you need. And by the end of the week you’ll be a woman. God help you.”
“I’d rather be a woman in God’s time without a man like Miles. Without Daddy if need be. I’m going to paint. I’m going to be the woman God created me to be. I’m in love, Mama. I want to see what God wants to do with me and Nicky. I have to try. God made me for more. And I’m going for what God made.”
“It won’t work out, baby. And your daddy will never approve.”
“Maybe it won’t, but I’m going to see, and I’ll live my life without Daddy’s approval. And without his stuff if need be. I choose poverty and the Beloved Community with Nicky over all this. Don’t abandon me too, Mama.”
She slips her arms around me. “You’re my little girl. I think you’re making some very foolish choices, but I’m not going to abandon you. I know what it’s like to lose your mama. A house divided can’t stand, so I guess my house is going to come down. It wasn’t built on much anyway. You pray for your mama. I may be choosing poverty with you, baby. And I don’t want to do that. I’m too old for that.”
“Mama, it looks like you’ve figured out how to handle him. I don’t think you’re going to have it too hard. Just try to listen to Jesus. I don’t know what that is going to sound like, but try, Mama.”
I hug her. My mother is the opposite of Ms. Pamela. She’s the poorest wealthy woman I’ve ever known.
NICKY
I’m embarrassed by how badly I need to see her. I wish she’d left something in my car or in my apartment, but she’s only left something in my heart, so I tell myself that I’m going to go to her, and when she opens the door I’ll tell her she’s left her eyes on my heart, and that since she sees inside of me all the time, I’m afraid I may be forced to keep her. But that sounds stupid, not to mention psychotic. So I think I’ll just show up and try not to look like a dork until she makes me leave.
I buzz the buzzer, and my lungs feel like they want to jump into my throat. Man, she makes me feel like a little boy in the best and the worst ways, all at once. I consider how I’ll say my name when she asks who it is, but she doesn’t ask. She’s expecting someone. I’m thinking it’s not me.
I trudge up the steps wondering how soon it’s going to be before the Lion King is behind me clobbering me. I can’t help it. I’ve had a lifetime of negative stereotypes stored in my head. The fact that Miles has already threatened me doesn’t help. But he’s going to have to do what he’s going to do. I need to see her.
I get ready to knock on the door, but it’s already ajar. I feel a little worried when I see that. I tell myself that this is irrational. She’s expecting someone, probably Miles, and she’s opened the door for him. I almost turn around, but push the door open instead, and she’s standing there staring at me with those big Bambi eyes. I can see that her apartment is full of furniture. The princess is back. She won’t need me anymore because, from what I can see, her stuff is way better than anything I could give her.
It’s over. It’s all over.
“Hey,” I say. I wonder if she can hear how my heart sounds like African drums, just for her.
She looks so surprised to see me. How can she possibly be surprised when nothing can keep me away from her? Nothing at all.
“Nicky? What are you doing here? I thought you’d be working today.”
“I should be working. I would have called you, but—”
“It’s good that you couldn’t call. My parents just left. In fact, I thought you were them coming back. If you had called while they were here it probably would have been trouble for both of us.”
“You got your stuff back. Congratulations.”
“Would you like to come in?”
She waves me forward and I walk in to Black American Princess world. It’s a freakin’ awesome place to be. I don’t belong here.
Zora doesn’t look good. I mean, she looks good. She looks incredible. She’s wearing the black pants and white shirt. Oh, man. She’d look good in anything, but those long legs draped in that flowing fabric! Still, in this princess paradise my outfit from Janelle’s isn’t good enough for her. I’m not good enough for her. Zora’s out of my league. My dad may think she’s tacky, but she’s got more money, style, and class than we lowly Parkers ever had. I knew when I first saw her I couldn’t afford her. Not snack-machine guy.
“You look really beautiful today, Dreamy.”
“Thank you, Nicky.”
She’s been crying again. I want to ask her what happened, but then again, I don’t really want to know. She’s no doubt had her own version of the nightmare I’ve been living. I just want to take her in my arms and get her out of here.
“Zora, let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“I’m taking you home.”
“I can’t go home with you.”
“Sure you can. Let’s go.”
“That’s what they all expect. You to take me home. You to bed me down. My parents told me to marry Miles. Miles tried to rape me, Nicky.”
“He tried to rape you?”
“I told him no, and he thought I shouldn’t have gotten him worked up.”
“Had you ever … you know … had you been with him before?”
“I’m a virgin, Nicky. I’d never even kissed Miles. You gave me my first kiss yesterday.”
“No way, Zora.”
“Way, Nicky. You gave me my first kiss.”
Her words weaken my knees. I sit down on her leather sofa. “Dreamy, baby, you should have told me.”
She sits beside me. “Does that change things?”
“I thought you slept with Miles.”
“No wonder you were being such a jerk. But you stayed.”
“I didn’t know if he would hurt you because I showed up. Something told me you were in trouble, but I didn’t trust my instincts. Not completely. Man, Zora. I’m sorry.”
“You came back to me, even after you thought I slept with Miles. That’s why you called him, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I thought maybe you were … I don’t know. I just didn’t want you sleeping with him. You can’t marry him, either. Even if you slept with him, and thank God you didn’t, I’d still protest you marrying him.”
“That’s not what you said at first.”
“Well, I changed my mind. You can’t marry Miles.”
“You don’t have to worry. I told my mother I was going to marry you.”
I have a mild heart attack, but I get over it fast. “You told your mother that?”
She looks embarrassed, because she can’t know how lightheaded I feel. How I think I just grew four or five inches taller. But surely she can see I can’t stop smiling.
She tries to take it back. “I realize now that sounds presumptuous.”
“Not so much. How did that go over with your mom?”
“She doesn’t think you’ll have me.”
“I’ll have you, all right. I’m going to take you home with me right now.”
“That’s not what I had in mind when I said you’ll have me.”
“I want to have all of you, Zora. May I have all of you?”
She just nods her pretty head with a smile, and says, “Yes.”
Oh, man. I think I just asked Zora to marry me. Or did she ask me? I don’t even know. I just know suddenly my stomach is doing cartwheels, and she’s grinning, and she looks so freakin’ happy.
“We’ll fly away together.” She stands u
p and spins around. Dear God, she’s lovely. Her voice is music. A song I feel like I’ve always known. “Wherever our wings lead us, Nicky.”
“You and me. Free as birds.” I want to believe it.
“Free as birds.”
She starts singing. Right there in my arms by the door. She throws her head back, and what comes out of her mouth is so ethereal and haunting it almost scares me.
One of these mornings bright and fair I want to cross over to see my Lord Going to take my wings and fly the air I want to cross over to see my Lord
Oh, man. Zora is singing Negro spirituals. I don’t do that. I may do a rousing rendition of a hymn on a good day—and it’d have to be a real good day—but this is way out of my league.
I don’t know if I can handle a wife that sings Negro spirituals.
Or is it me wondering if I can handle a Negro wife?
I release her. She kisses me one more time and runs to grab her backpack.
We leave quickly. Zora forsaking her princess possessions to go away with me. I don’t tell her how afraid I am. I don’t tell her that I come from a family of hunters, and that birds get cut down in flight and come hurtling down to earth again wounded or dead, and sometimes those birds get stuffed and put on display so their murderers can enjoy their beauty long after they’ve crossed over to see the Lord.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ZORA
We decide to take my Lexus to Nicky’s apartment. He wants to ride in style. He says he’s never driven a Lexus. He’s really getting into it.
I don’t like this. It feels wrong. It has an exaggerated quality about it. Like Nicky is a cartoon caricature version of himself. I can’t escape the feeling that he’s somehow mocking me. My defenses soar.
Before we got in my car, he grabbed a bunch of CDs out of his truck. His music is appallingly white. He listens to people like U2. I mean, I know Bono does a lot of work for Africa, but I’m not really feeling U2. Or Coldplay, and his other music that sounds suspiciously country. I don’t do country music.
He has the driver’s side window down because we’ve got another stellar unseasonably mild spring day.
“Can you just turn the air on, Nicky?”
“Why?” he says. “Its beautiful! Don’t you think the fresh air is nicer?”
“That’s a white thing. Always needing air.”
“What? Black people don’t need air? You don’t have lungs or something, Zora? Did I miss some detail in anatomy? I knew we didn’t have the same amount of melanin. I knew the hair was different. But what is this lung thing?”
“I just mean you don’t see us hiking, and mountain climbing, and doing extreme cold weather sports.”
“Come on, Zora. You know that’s not true.”
“Oh, really? Name some black athletes that do those things.”
“I’m not that well versed in black hikers or mountain climbers. White ones either, Zora. But I’m sure that’s not the problem. Is it the music? Are you embarrassed that black people may think you’re listening to U2? What would you like to listen to, princess? Shall I put in Fred Hammond for you?”
“Maybe I’d like for you to stop calling me princess. Not that you mind driving the princess’s Lexus.”
“I’m sorry. Does the princess have trouble sharing her toys?”
“Does the cowboy have to come in, conquer, and take what he wants like all white men do?”
He doesn’t say anything. Just stares straight ahead, but he turns off his music, puts the windows up, and turns on the air.
I end up complaining because now I feel too cold.
“Is this a sign of things to come, Dreamy? Are you going to be hard to please?”
“What difference does it make? Everyone says you aren’t going to stick around.”
“And you’ll give me good reason to go exactly like you’re doing. Is that how this works?”
“I don’t know how it works. You tell me. Are you taking me home to have a little taste of brown sugar?”
“Brown sugar? I haven’t heard that one. I heard the whole darker-the-berry thing. I thought maybe I could just taste your sweet berry juice. I don’t know. Maybe you can give me a taste of all your flavors. We can explore the whole gamut of racist stereotypes. You can put Baskin Robbins out of business today.”
“You know, Nicky, I’ve been defending you, and now I’m not sure why. You suck.”
“I’ve been defending you, too. You might want to take a look at my face, Zora. I’ve been fighting for you. For your honor. I’m on my way to a freakin’ jewelry store to buy you a ring that I can’t afford so I can marry you, which we both know neither of us is ready for. I’m not a Thomas Jefferson, despite your eloquent speech. I broke up with Rebecca, the acceptable-to-the-parents white girlfriend. I told her I’m in love with you. I told my mother I’m in love with you.”
“You told her that?”
“What does it matter? I’m not sure you really believe in us. Nobody believes in us.”
“Billie does.”
“Yeah, Billie. That and five bucks will get you a venti latte from Starbucks. You may even get some change back. Oh yeah. Let me taste your coffee, too.”
“Stop it.”
“You started it, Ms. Brown Sugar.”
“I believe in us, Nicky. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have my doubts and fears. Miles was my first relationship. And I totally got him wrong. I have no idea what I’m doing. Are you sure about any of this, Nicky?”
“I’m not sure about my own name most days.”
“Do you think you might love me?”
“I’m thinking I might. How ’bout you? Do you think you might love me?”
“My father slapped me today. I’m not just taking a little ride with you, in case you didn’t realize it. I’ve walked away from everything I lost, as far as I’m concerned. It wasn’t taken. I walked away from it. I’m thinking I might love you very much, Nicky. I’m thinking I might want to spend my life with you, but I don’t know how. You’re white. And I don’t know how to be with a white man.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“You promise?”
“Yes. I promise.”
“Can we just skip the ring? I’m tired. I’m tired of fighting. Of everything.”
“I’m not Miles, Zora. If we’re going to get married, I want to get you a ring.”
“I just want to go home with you for now. Can we just go home?”
“Sure, Zora. We can go home.”
He doesn’t argue with me. He just takes me home.
NICKY
I get her to my apartment, and before I open the door, I’m thinking of all these differences between us. I don’t have sapphire and red walls. I’m going to open the door, and she’s going to be disappointed, and that look on her face, however subtle, will burn into me like a brand, no matter how she’ll try—if she is as kind as I think—to reassure me. And if she’s not as kind as I think, it will be worse.
We get inside, and her Bambi eyes look for some sign of life or color but find none. My apartment looks as soulless as my inner life. The princess is appalled by my cheesy apartment. She doesn’t offer me any consolation. No insincere “Nice place” tossed in my direction to soothe my wounds. She gives me nothing. Rebecca would.
What did she expect? I’m not a freakin’ engineer like Miles. But I can give her all the Tom’s potato chips and pretzels and M&Ms she can stand. Can Miles do that? I think not!
I tell her she can have a seat, and she tells me she wants to see where I write. Of course I write in my bedroom, and if I’m not mistaken, I told her that. The thought of Zora’s presence in my room seems like a delightfully bad combination, but I’m strong in the bedroom. I’m the king in that domain. I can right this slight I feel if I can get my hands on her. And if I can get her in that room, I can. She’s asking for it.
“Right this way, Dreamy.”
I lead her past my poor excuse for a dining room
and living room. Past the shabby black futon. I open the door to my bedroom—the monk’s cell where I haven’t taken a woman since I’ve tried so hard to do the right thing. And now I don’t want to do the right thing so much.
“There’s nothing in here but my bed and my laptop,” I say. “I don’t even have a chest of drawers. My clothes are stacked in my closet, and my socks and underwear are in freakin’ plastic shoeboxes from the dollar store. And you suck to make me talk about where I put my draws, Zora.”
She laughs.
“What?”
“I didn’t know white people said ‘draws’ for underwear.”
“What can I say? I’m urban. Sometimes I say ‘drawers.’ ”
“You did go to Ypsi High.”
“Yeah. And you went to Pioneer?”
“I went to Sankofa Shule.”
I don’t even attempt to say that. “What is that?”
“It’s an Afrocentric charter school. Very revolutionary.”
“I thought you Word-Faithers thought stuff like that was of the devil.”
“Most do. But we have strong AME-Church roots. We had to know who we were as a people, plus my grandfather had lots of converted Black Panther cronies. Our blackaliciousness is an LLCC distinctive, hence the Spelman, rather than the Rhema, education.”
“You are so in trouble for slumming like this, and with po’ white trash like me.”
She sashays into my bedroom, that rear end swinging from side to side in those black pants. I should have stuck with skirts. Then I’d have just been tormented by the endless calves, but that would be more manageable by far.
I stand in the doorway while she glides inside with the rhythm of a sonnet. I’m captivated by her melodic voice, even though she’s judging my stuff. Or I feel like she is.
“You’re right. All you have is a bed. And a computer.”
“I live a Spartan existence, but I can compensate by making your stay here most enjoyable.”
She sits down on my bed, and the look on her face is innocent. Childlike. She bounces up and down on it like she wants a test-drive that evil Nicky is more than happy to give her. Good Nicky is terribly weak right now, but he tries to make an appearance despite my attitude.
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