Culture Clash

by L. Divine

  “Thanks, man. And for real, thank you for being our adviser,” Nigel says, shaking Mr. Adewale’s hand before he and Mickey exit ahead of me.

  “Bye, y’all,” I say to my friends. “And thanks again for the meeting,” I say to Mr. Adewale and Ms. Toni, who look like they still have business to handle.

  “You’re welcome, Ms. Jackson,” Mr. A says before focusing on Ms. Toni, who waves her good-bye.

  The bathroom is calling me and the bell is ringing as I walk. Rather than try to make it to the bathroom in the drama room, I’ll have to stop at the one in the main hall. I can’t wait to tell Mama and Netta all about our first meeting of our new African Student Union. They’re going to be so proud. With a new club to focus on, maybe the racist plays we choose in the drama club won’t bother me so much. They can have their version of the story. With ASU, we’ll tell our own version without apology, and I can’t wait.

  The line for the girls’ restroom is always long after lunch, no matter which one we choose to use. It’s like none of the girls want to interrupt their precious lunchtime to go pee before the warning bell rings, so we all end up standing in a long-ass line and running late to fifth period. The boys’ restroom never has that problem. They go in and out ten times faster than we do. I usually go in the drama room because there’s less competition down there. But today was just one of those days.

  “Jayd, let me talk to you for a minute,” Ms. Toni says, calling me out as I exit the girls’ restroom. I knew this moment was coming, and I’m still not sure how I should react. If Ms. Toni were any other teacher, I wouldn’t care too much what she thinks about me. But when Ms. Toni’s mad at me I feel like I’ve disappointed my own mama.

  “What’s up, Ms. Toni?” I ask, repositioning my backpack on my back, ready for my hike down to the drama room. We haven’t had a real conversation in a while. I know she has a ton of questions about my role in Laura’s losing her voice on opening night of the last play we did. And I never had the chance to comment on her accusations about me having the hots for Mr. Adewale, but I hope she focuses on one issue at a time.

  “Not here. Let’s talk in my office,” she says, leading me back down the main hall where her office is housed. She smiles to other students passing by and I follow, like a child waiting for her punishment. She unlocks the door to the ASB room and continues through the empty space to the back, where her headquarters are located. It’s been too long since I’ve been back here. The stale smell of cigarettes mixed with her expensive, sweet-smelling perfume linger in the air. She must’ve gone off campus for a smoke break during lunch. Ms. Toni smells like home, and I’ve missed being in her presence.

  “Have a seat, Jayd,” she says, pointing to one of the two chairs by the door. She walks behind her crowded desk and sits across from me. The ASB students are out and about during fifth period, passing out flyers and making announcements in other classes, so we shouldn’t have any interruptions for our impromptu counseling session.

  “Nice plant,” I say, noticing the orchids sitting on the corner bookshelf behind her desk. She looks like she’s been reorganizing her crowded space. There are boxes of books and papers where stacks of the same used to be. Spring cleaning is a necessary chore for everyone, and I guess a person’s workspace is no exception.

  “Thank you. It was a gift from Laura and Reid,” she says, smiling at the gift. “They wanted to show their appreciation for my help with Macbeth, even though Laura wasn’t able to perform.” I wish I had known that before. I would’ve reserved my compliment for something else not presented to her by the king and queen of evil. “Which brings me to why I want to talk to you. I won’t keep you long. I know you’re anxious to get to class.”

  The tardy bell for fifth period rings loudly in the quaint space. After the sound passes I remain quiet, waiting for the question I’ve been dreading.

  “What really happened that night, Jayd? And don’t tell me you had nothing to do with it, because I don’t believe that for a second.” I look into Ms. Toni’s bright eyes and notice two flecks outside of the brown pupils, similar to the ones present in my own. I can’t lie to her, but I also can’t tell her the truth. What do I do?

  “You tell her what she needs to know, nothing more,” my mom says, answering my thought with one of her own. “I know you think she’s one of us because she looks familiar, Jayd, and she may be. But all of us aren’t always understanding, so be careful what you choose to reveal.”

  “I know you’re right, Mom. Thank you,” I think back. Ms. Toni looks at me inquisitively, like Jeremy does when my mom drops in on my mind. I’d better say something so I can get out of here. Not that I’m in any rush to get to drama class, especially after what happened Monday. But I do want to get off of the witness stand.

  “Ms. Toni, I can’t explain what happened that night. All I know is that one minute Laura was harassing me and the next she couldn’t speak.” I readjust myself in the wooden chair and continue with my fiction. “I was just minding my own business, getting ready for the show.”

  “Minding your own business, huh?” Ms. Toni asks, unconvinced. She taps her long red fingernails on her desk, patiently awaiting the truth. But I can tell that her patience with me has just about run out.

  “Yes. I was sitting at the vanity, doing my hair, when Laura started talking trash to me. I swear I didn’t start the argument; she did. I know better than to strain my voice before curtain call.” Ms. Toni smiles at me, but it’s not a friendly one. What does she know that I’m not privy to? I feel like I’m being set up.

  “Jayd, I’ve known you for over a year now, and if I know one thing about you, it’s that you can’t keep quiet when you feel threatened or slighted in the least bit. What Misty and Laura did to you is reprehensible, but what you did was worse,” she says, now tapping her desk with a pencil. “Do you want to know why?”

  I’m not sure if Ms. Toni’s question is rhetorical or if I should answer, so I’ll just be quiet for now. It sounds like she’s on my side, but not really.

  “It’s because I know you know better than to fight fire with fire. You’re not petty, Jayd, and I expect more from you.” My eyes begin to well up with tears. Ms. Toni’s the only teacher at this godforsaken school who can make me cry. Hell, she’s the only one who I’ll let see me shed a tear.

  “I was just defending my part,” I say, without completely confessing my role in the twisted tale. If I tell her about how my dream of Laura snatching the crown off my head basically came true, she still wouldn’t excuse my behavior. “With Misty’s help, Laura stole my crown and I had to get it back.”

  “Not like that, you didn’t.” Ms. Toni puts down her pencil and rises from behind her desk. She’s a good six feet tall, but today she looks much taller than usual. Or maybe I just feel smaller in her presence.

  Without saying a word, Ms. Toni walks over to the bookshelf and scans her collection of titles. Last year I borrowed some great books from her and read them faster than any of the texts I read in my classes. Her selection constantly changes, and I love that. After careful consideration, she pulls one of the books off the shelf and thumbs through the pages as I await my sentencing. I wish I could share the tricks of our trade with Ms. Toni. I also want to get in that permed head of hers, but that’s a conversation for another day.

  “I want you to read this novel and let me know what you think of it,” she says, walking around her desk and passing me the tattered book.

  “Voodoo Dreams,” I read aloud. I’ve heard of Jewell Parker Rhodes, but never read anything written by her. I have enough work to do with my AP exams coming up in a couple of months, not to mention the rest of the school and spirit work already on my shoulders. But from the way Ms. Toni crosses her thin arms across her chest, I don’t think she cares about my personal dilemma right now. What she has made clear is that she knows Laura lost her voice opening night of the play because of something I did, whether she has proof, a confession, an eyewitness or not. And I can’t continu
e telling Ms. Toni that her instincts are wrong when she obviously knows better.

  “It’s about a young girl reclaiming her African roots and the power that comes with that pride,” she says, eyeing me carefully for a response, of which I give none. “It also shows what happens when you allow other people to dominate your psyche to the point where you get down to their level.” Ms. Toni’s dark brown eyes pierce mine. I can feel exactly what she’s not saying, which is that I let Misty take my crown and went about getting it back in an underhanded way. I don’t agree with her, especially when it comes to dealing with Misty, but I’ll keep my opinion to myself.

  “Sounds interesting. Thank you,” I say, unsure of where this leaves the two of us. I hate it when she’s mad at me. I feel like there’s a heavy weight on my shoulders when Ms. Toni and I are at odds. But I hate it even more when Mama’s on my case, which she would be if I ever confessed to a teacher that I used a potion on someone at school, no matter how cool I may think the teacher is. Mama would literally have my ass in a sling.

  After a moment of silence, Ms. Toni takes a deep sigh and smiles at me as I read the introduction to my latest pleasure read. It’s about my lineage, but fiction. It’s not the first text I’ve ever read about my infamous great, great, great—and then some—grandmother, but this one looks hella juicy just from the opening lines. I can’t wait to really get into it this weekend.

  “You have to be responsible with your talents, Jayd. I know it seems as though I don’t understand what you’re going through, and that’s why you turned to Mr. Adewale. But I know more than you think I do. I may not be a fine black man like Mr. A, as you call him, but give me some credit,” she says, lightening the serious mood. “I’ve been here for you since last year, and I’m not planning on going anywhere.” Now the tears are free-falling down my cheeks. I’ve missed my school mama.

  “I know, Ms. Toni. I never meant to make you feel like I preferred talking to Mr. Adewale instead of you. It’s just that our histories so are similar.” Ms. Toni reaches over and pats my hand.

  “I know. He filled me in on your commonalities,” Ms. Toni says, choosing her words very carefully. “And I must say, I was surprised to know that he knew more about your family lineage than you’ve ever shared with me. But if you expect me to continue being on your side, you’re going to have to let me in. We all have enemies in the administration and we have to stick together, capiche?” Ms. Toni says, sounding more like a mafia lord than a teacher. She stands up and opens her arms to let me in. I know we’re cool now.

  “Capiche,” I respond, rising to accept her embrace. I’ve missed her hugs. I’ll try not to do anything to ever get on her bad side again. “I’d better get to class now.”

  “Just remember what I said, Jayd. Your talents are nothing to be ashamed of, but be careful how you use them.” I take my book and leave her office, ready to deal with the racist jerks in drama. Now that I’ve decided not to participate in the auditions for The Crucible, I have nothing but free time on my hands in class. And this novel is just the distraction I need to keep from cussing anyone out.

  I didn’t realize how tired I am until just now. I don’t know if it was all of the arguing I did today or the emotional reunion me and Ms. Toni just had, but whatever it is has got me yawning all the way down the hill. I still have one more class to go after drama and work to do once I leave campus. I can’t wait to get home, handle my business, and pass out for the night. We only have two more days of school before the weekend hits, and I’ll be so happy when Friday finally does come, I probably won’t know how to act.

  3

  Pride and Prejudice

  “We are the slave descendants of the African race/

  Where proud is no disgrace.”

  —THE ABYSSINIANS

  As I walk into the empty space, I get the unfriendly feeling that I’m not alone. Dressed like a samurai warrior, I look around and scope the scene, waiting for my enemy to rear its ugly head. There are no windows or doors in the space and the walls are white, bare, and padded like in a mental institution. The bamboo floor crunches beneath my feet, making the only sound in the place as I walk around looking for an escape route. From the openness of the space and the way that I’m dressed, I think I’m in a dojo, and that’s unfortunate because the only martial art I know is crazy. And we don’t need a uniform for that kind of fighting in my hood.

  Suddenly my opponents appear. The ceiling is open and it’s again my fault that I didn’t see my enemies coming: all I had to do was look up. One by one they fly in from outside and take shots at me. I should’ve paid more attention when my uncles and cousin watched Bruce Lee flicks on Sunday afternoons when I was younger. I have no idea what the hell to do. I duck from the first cloaked warrior, everything shrouded in black but its eyes. And then I realize that all I need to fight back is my sight: no karate shoes required.

  “Call on your lineage, Jayd. Their eyes are yours,” I hear my mom say from the walls of the room. I know I’m tripping if the walls are talking to me. But I have no time to worry about that right now. I have to fight back before I’m destroyed.

  When the next fighter appears from the sky I look her dead in the eyes and don’t back down. She tries to probe my thoughts, but I call on my lineage continually and rapidly, like I’m marathon praying, and my great-grandmother’s powers come to my eyes. The warrior holds her head as I use Maman’s powers to cause it to throb in pain with my look. When she can’t take anymore, the warrior disappears the same way she appeared and the next contestant comes down to play.

  “I won’t be so easy to beat, little queen,” he whispers in a low, guttural voice whose very tone catches me off guard. His first look knocks me down on the mat and I involuntarily bow at his feet. What the hell was that shit?

  “Humble yourself, little one,” he growls. Mama always taught me to salute my elders, but this fool ain’t one of them, no matter how loudly he roars at me or how old he may be. I’ll never bow to someone who’s trying to kick my ass.

  “My name isn’t Leroy and you ain’t Sho Nuff,” I say, recalling a scene from one of my favorite movies, The Last Dragon. “I only bow to elders who earn my respect.” I jump up from the mat, possessed with a power I didn’t know I had. My buoyancy precedes my understanding, but I’m rolling with it. I leap from one wall to the other without letting go of my opponent’s gaze. This is some cool shit right here.

  Although there are no mirrors, I can see the reflection of my glowing eyes bounce off the white walls like Mama’s do when she’s on her game. My opponent smiles at my youth and that’s his final mistake. Locking onto his gaze, I begin to see as he does, just like Mama can. Noticing the shift in power, his smile turns into a snarl and he begins to chase me around the dojo, matching me move for move. When he gets right behind me, I turn around and lock onto his gaze, my eyes now in full blaze. He sees his reflection through my vision and begins to break down under my sight.

  With Mama’s vision coming to the forefront, I’m using my enemy’s power against him. I don’t know much about martial arts, but isn’t the first rule never to underestimate your opponent? I guess this fool missed that lesson.

  “Bow to my lineage now, and I’ll spare you your powers,” I say, sounding more like one of my ancestors than myself. I look into his wet eyes and watch the tears fall down his covered face, moistening his mask. He struggles with the idea for a minute, but the longer he resists the more of his powers I strip away. I mentally continue to call my ancestors’ names and those of other powerful ancestors in our lineage, including Netta’s line. I don’t know why people continually test us, when everyone knows how bad our house is. When will they learn not to mess with the Williams women?

  “Challenges fortify us, Jayd. And when we stand up and face them—scared or not—we get stronger.” My mom’s right, because right now I feel invincible, even if it’s only a dream.

  “I pay homage to you, Queen Jayd, and to all of the queens before and after you,” the ma
n says, almost whispering, he’s sobbing so hard. “Now get out of my head, please.” My adversary’s pleading softens my heart and my gaze. I didn’t want to break him down and make him look like a punk. I just wanted him to leave me the hell alone.

  “Ashe,” I say, acknowledging the spiritual energy flowing through my veins. I soften my visual grip, but not before I catch my reflection staring back at me through his weakened eyes. I look like a straight-up warrior woman, reminiscent of the pictures I’ve seen of our ancestor, Queen Califia. My samurai attire is gone and I’m now wearing a cutoff skirt and sleeveless shirt, my tattoos and scars from battle and other initiations prominently displayed. My most striking feature—other than my glowing eyes—is my crown. Made of peacock feathers, it sits boldly on my head, similar to the ones that the Native American dancers wore at the school for last year’s culture fest. What the hell?

  “Jayd, wake up, girl. You’re talking in your sleep again,” Mama says, shaking me awake. Ever since my sleepwalking incidents not too long ago, my grandmother has been more watchful of me while I sleep. I look around our dark room and come to, ready to talk about the experience I just had in my spiritual dreamworld. But Mama quickly returns to her bed to sleep. I guess I’ll have to wait until daylight to get this dream off my chest.

  I’m so glad it’s Friday I don’t know what to do. This has been one of the most challenging weeks I’ve had at South Bay, and that’s saying a lot, considering all of the drama I go through around here on a regular basis. And today was no exception. I turned in all of my Friday assignments and tried to stay as quiet as possible in my classes for the entire day. It worked well, but I’m sure I lost a few participation points here and there, especially in English class.

  Mrs. Malone didn’t take too kindly to me bowing out of our discussion on John Updike, which I was so passionate about in Monday’s class. But I said all I had to say for the week about rich bitches thinking they own the world, including Charlotte, the one I sit across from in second period. Mrs. Malone can read about the rest of my thoughts in my paper abstract, which was also due today.