“You okay?” he asked me.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I rolled up the corners of my lips. I am fine. I’m not gonna let these people’s attitudes stop me from doing what I have to do. And it was then, for the first time, that I realized: people do what they want to do whether others like it or not. Why should I be any different?
After Stelson helped me pick out the perfect pair of boots for my father, we decided to ride together in his car to the Marble Creamery. The Marble Creamery wasn’t actually one of those “black” places (I wasn’t ready to go black-place yet with Stelson), but its ownership regularly employed people of color. It was located in one of those upwardly bound neighborhoods with its fair share of educated African-Americans who, like myself, wanted to “buy black” whenever we could. We placed our orders, got our ice cream, and headed toward a booth.
“I am eternally grateful,” Stelson said, taking a huge spoonful of caramel-flavored ice cream with crushed Heath bar into his mouth. “I’m gonna take a pint of this home with me.”
“I told you it was good.”
“By the way, I got you something.” He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a red envelope. “Merry Christmas.”
“Stelson, you didn’t have to do that,” I said.
“I know. I wanted to.”
“This is so nice of you.” I took the card from him. He’d written my name across the front of the envelope and sealed it with a gold sticker. I opened the card and read it aloud:
Christmas is when all God’s children celebrate
The greatest gift of all.
I count it a blessing
To share it with you.
MERRY CHRISTMAS!
—Stelson
“Thank you, Stelson.”
“You’re welcome.” He nodded.
“Okay.” He ignored the spoonful of ice cream quickly melting on his tongue. “You wanted to talk.”
“Okay, can we just let the card moment pass first?” I laughed. My pulse quickened at the thought of actually pouring my heart out to this white man sitting across from me. I felt my soul’s veil lift, exposing LaShondra in a way that I dared not bare her in front of a white person. I was bifacial, I knew: one face for white people and one for blacks. But after this veil-lifting, what would I be—an Oreo? A sell-out?
“I’m anxious to know what you have to say,” Stelson said.
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I am somewhat uncomfortable with this race issue,” I began. I shifted a little in my chair, searching for the right words. The tangles in my mind pushed and pulled, attempting to loosen themselves.
“I gathered that.” He nodded. “What’s the problem, as you see it?”
I paused.
“Look, LaShondra, you don’t have to be politically correct here,’’ he said. “I’m not gonna get up and walk out. I can take it. Go ahead and say what’s on your mind.”
I let it rip. “Okay, here it goes. I don’t trust white people. I don’t like white people. I think that for the most part, white people are a bunch of crooks who have never done anything but steal, cheat, and kill. And anybody who comes from that lineage has a little bit of it in ‘em—I don’t care how good they try to be. White men are arrogant and manipulative, and white women are simple, whiny, and lazy.”
I expected him to flinch, sit back, draw in some air and cross his arms. But he didn’t; just sat there with his hands flat on the table, eyes focused on mine. “And how did you arrive at those conclusions?” he asked.
“Life. Experiences.”
“Your personal experiences?”
“Some were mine; some are secondhand. But they’re true for the most part.” I shrugged. “A lot of it came from my dad.”
“What about white Christians?”
“I. . . I really didn’t think much about white Christians. I mean, there might be a few, but deep down inside, I’ve always thought that if white people were really Christians, they wouldn’t have let slavery go on for three hundred years and they wouldn’t keep hiding behind the cross and systematically discriminating against other human beings. The fact that black people are still behind in this country is no accident.
“But then. . .“ I shoved in a mouthful of ice cream.
“Then what?”
The ice cream on my tongue transformed from solid to liquid and slipped down my throat. “Then I met you.”
He waited patiently for me to continue. “And you were kind and helpful, and I just never got that white vibe, you know? I’ve never felt that you, Stelson Brown, had anything but my best interest at heart. I mean, I suspected you were deranged, but you’re passing every test. You’re doing better than the brothers.” I laughed. “And now I’m thinking, if Stelson isn’t everything I thought he was, maybe I’ve been wrong... about a lot of things.
“And again, when I met the people at your church, and I felt so. . . accepted. I was ready to pigeonhole them, but I couldn’t, because they treated me with such kindness. I really wasn’t expecting that. I’ve been studying love, and for the first time, I think I understand what it means for people to know you are Christian by your love.”
That’s what He’s been trying to tell me. I spoke the words to Stelson, but they hit home with me. It was never about black or white—it was about my relationship with Christ. Could I relinquish my definition of myself—first black, then Christian? Was my attitude toward white people reflective of the Holy Spirit, which I claimed to have dwelling within me?
“Okay, you still haven’t told me what the problem is. You had low expectations, but I’m turning out to be a decent person. So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know.” I looked down. “It’s just that—you will never, ever find yourself in my position. It’s like if you said, ‘yeah, I feel sorry for women when they’re in labor.’ I’m sure you do—but you will never give birth. That pain is something you yourself will never know personally. And sometimes, like when we were at your client’s restaurant, I feel like our lack of common reference puts us worlds apart.”
He nodded. “Okay. I can agree with the fact that I can’t know your pain as intensely as you do. But there’s a lot I won’t ever be able to do. I won’t ever be a woman, I won’t ever be Japanese, I won’t ever be a plant, I won’t ever be African-American, and I can’t change the past. Does that mean I can’t have a relationship with you here and now?”
“What about you, Stelson?” I stepped from under the microscope. “What do you really think about black people—in the recesses of your mind?”
“I grew up in Louisiana around a lot of different cultures, races, and languages. Everybody is mixed in Louisiana—I’m one of the few people I know who doesn’t have a living black relative, though I’m sure I’ve got some in my family tree. But Louisiana isn’t a bubble, you know? I picked up on some biased views just like every other American does.”
“And you’ve never acted on those biases?” I asked.
“Before I finished college and started working, I was pretty reticent to interact with people of other races. I had the generic white American fears—that black people would rob me or beat me up or steal my car.
“But then a couple of things happened. One of them was experience in the business world. The more I dealt with people, the more I found out that the only color that matters to ninety-nine percent of the population is green, no matter what race or nationality they are. I’ve dated white women, black women, French women, Creole women, an Asian woman. I’ve worked with clients from several different countries and backgrounds, and I can tell you: money makes chameleons. Especially when you’re dealing with people who aren’t rooted in Christ.”
“Well.” I pooched my lips out. “I can’t argue with that.”
“The second thing is something that I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t experienced membership in an integrated church. I will always be grateful for my roots in the Assemblies of God. But when I joined Living Word and saw God pouring out His
Spirit on every nationality, I knew it was the right place for me. I’ve learned through my church experience that love doesn’t have a color. Maybe it does for people who haven’t experienced the love of God, but not for those of us who know better.”
“And it was just that easy for you?” I asked.
“I don’t know if ‘easy’ is the word for it—I guess the word is ‘simple.’ If you can be talked into something, you can be talked out of it. But when you experience something for yourself, you can’t deny that. It becomes your undisputed truth, and no one can convince you otherwise.
“That’s why it’s so important for us all to come out of our little shells and live. Get to know one another beyond what we see in the media and what we’ve heard through the generations. Sometimes the truth isn’t in the facts, and the facts don’t always tell the truth. The truth is in the experience.”
I played around with my ice cream, pondering Stelson’s words while he went to the restroom. It was as though he wanted to leave me there alone to weigh his words, let them settle into my fabric. I had a decision to make. The only thing that kept me from opening up to Stelson was ignorance and fear. I hadn’t had any significant relationships with white people, and I was afraid I might forget who I was if I did. But am I going to throw away this gift because it came wrapped in different wrapping paper?
When Stelson returned, I was ready to give him the green light. “This is new for me, Stelson. I’ve never had any kind of relationship with a Christian man, black or white. You have to give me some credit here, for my lack of experience. I’m gonna give this a shot.”
“So, this is a relationship, then?” he asked.
“Are you asking me to categorize this?”
“Yes.”
I thought about the question. “It might be,” I answered.
“Well, just in case it is, I want you to know that I hope we’re in agreement to pray about the direction it goes—whether it’s a friendship, a fellowship, whatever.”
“I agree.”
“Well, it’s done, then.” He held up his ice-cream cup and we toasted. Okay, that was goofy. But it felt good.
Just to our left, two women laughed and got their dates’ attention. One of the sisters rolled her eyes at me and went back to the low whisper she’d been using before. Now, I had seen enough eyes rolled to know that she was not pleased with what she saw.
I willed myself to focus on Stelson, and we talked a little about our Christmas plans. He planned to be in Louisiana for the weekend, but he’d be back on Monday to prepare for yet another business trip to Florida the following week.
“Busy man,” I remarked.
“Unusually busy,” he said. “We rarely do this much business so late in the year.”
The couples next to us got up from their seats and walked toward the door. I was glad to see them go. They’d been talking about us since we toasted, and I didn’t know how much more of it I could handle.
I had had it up to my neck with people staring at us everywhere we went. As they reached the doorway, one of the men yelled to the other, “Yeah, man. You better be careful out there tonight. Bundle up! They say there’s a whole lotta jungle fever going around.”
I looked up and caught the brother’s glance at me. I felt myself standing, my feet preparing to carry me straight up to this brother’s face. “Hey! Hey!” I called to him.
“LaShondra.” Stelson grabbed my arm.
The brother yanked his coat tighter, smiled at me, and continued on out the door.
“LaShondra.” I felt Stelson’s hand gripping me tightly.
“Let go of me.”
“LaShondra, honey, that’s not gonna help anything,” he said, coaxing me back to my seat.
It took me a moment to pull myself together. It had been a long day, and I’d been a spectacle the whole time. I took a deep, calming breath.
“Maybe that’s what’s really bothering me more than anything,” I said to Stelson after my pulse slowed. “Maybe it’s this constant pressure, with everyone staring us, talking about us. It’s ridiculous. Don’t you feel it, too?”
“Yeah, but it’s not new to me. I told you, I’ve been out with the entire rainbow. You learn to ignore ignorance. It’s not your fault or our problem.”
We did our best to finish our ice cream in peace. It’s just me and Stelson. I can do this.
And just when I thought all my marbles were back in place, I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard my best friend’s voice say my name.
“Shondra?”
I jumped like I used to when my momma came through the door as I was doing something I knew I shouldn’t be doing. “Oh, hey, Peaches.”
She looked at Stelson, then back at me. “I thought you were. . . um. . .“
“Peaches, this is my friend, Stelson. Stelson, this is my best friend, Peaches.” To say that it was an awkward moment would be an understatement. Peaches was looking at me like, what in the world? And here was Stelson, just cheesin’ away, oblivious to the situation at hand.
Stelson got up to shake her hand. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you, Peaches.”
“My name is Patricia.” She barely let him touch her fingertips. Peaches clutched her purse and looked at me again, still not sure what to make of things.
“Um, Stelson, would you excuse us for a moment?” I asked him.
“Sure,” he said, grabbing my empty ice-cream bowl so that he could dispose of it for me. “I’ll go ahead and get the car warmed up.”
Peaches took his place across from me. “Get the car warmed up!”
“Peaches, it’s not. . . well.. .“ How do I unravel this mess?
“Go ahead—say it’s not what I think it is, so I can tell you that you are flat out lying.” She slapped her hand on the table. “Go ahead—tell me that you were not at this parlor having ice cream with whoever that was just now.”
“Let me start at the beginning. His name is Stelson Brown.”
Her nostrils flared, and she breathed heavier as she bit her lip, smearing lipstick onto her teeth.
“Okay.” I came from a different angle. “We met at my job—he’s the engineer that I invited to the career fair last month at—”
“He’s white, Shondra.”
“I know.” I nodded calmly, hoping she would see the humor in her observation.
“You didn’t tell me that you were gonna be hanging out with a white man today. Come to think of it, you lied to me. You said you couldn’t go shopping!”
“I told you that I had plans already.” I lowered my voice, hoping she would follow suit.
“You did not say anything about plans with somebody else—let alone a white man! See, you’re already actin’ like ‘em. Evasive! Coverin’ up stuff lyin’ through omission!”
“Peaches, I did not lie to you. I have never lied to you. You know me better than that.”
“Know you? Pulleaze!” She raised her hands as if to say “stop” and stood up. “You might as well have lied to me— matter of fact, I would prefer a lie right now. I don’t know what’s worse—the fact that he’s white or the fact that you kept it from me.”
“And is there any wonder why?” I asked her, drawing my back to the bench.
She cut her eyes at me and waved her hand as though she were warding off a dog. “Go on with your little white man.” She got up and took her place behind the last person in line.
She was beyond reason. And yet, I hurt for her and with her. We’d shared everything, but I had let the fact that Stelson was white come between us.
I couldn’t say another word to her. I just left her there and walked back to the car, wondering if this Boaz was worth all the trouble.
Chapter 13
I begged Sister Lewis to substitute for me in children’s church and promised that all the materials she’d need were in the plastic tubs. “There are crayons, scissors, and glue to complete the activities. The kids can look at the charts and tell you whose turn it is to pray, pass out the materials, and
distribute the snacks. Again, thanks so much for sitting in for me today. I just. . . I really need to be in service.”
She looked at me, perhaps noting the swelling in my eyes. “Sure, Sister Smith. I understand.”
I let my mind drift out of the church from time to time—back to the night before. After another disappointing breakup, this time with one who said he just wasn’t happy with the relationship anymore. I’d plopped myself down on the third pew and had a big, fat pity party, crying through everything—even the offering. I knew that my heart couldn’t take much more of this slashing and patching.
I paid attention long enough to hear Pastor mention that the tape library had acquired a set of tapes for singles by Missionary Preston of the New Hope Church of God in Christ. She wasn’t much older than me—probably in her early thirties—and I’d listened to her teach a few times when I was in the Purity Class at Gethsemane. I was the first one at the table picking up a set after service. I listened to it all the way home.
“I think that the crux of a happy marriage lies with God, as does everything else in the life of a Christian,” she preached. “When two people who are already committed to Christ come together, they complement each other. Those two whole people don’t have to beat around the bush when it comes to what they will or will not accept in a relationship.” There was a break as the congregation cheered her on.
“You see, the world has made this courtship and marriage process way too hard. If people would stop actin’ married before they get married, we’d probably cut the chase time in half.” There was a hum of laughter. “I mean, think about it. People who weren’t looking to be married would stop tying up those of you who are seriously seeking a mate. Yet, that’s not how the world operates, and that is precisely why relationships between men and women of the world will continue to decline. But that should not and does not have any bearing on what you can expect as a couple united in Christ. I believe that God arranges marriages between His people.”
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