Boaz Brown

by Stimpson, Michelle

  “Momma, can’t Jonathan help him? Jonathan’s better at math than I am!” I complained.

  “Hush your mouth, Shondra. Jonathan ain’t even in high school yet. You’ll be just fine.” She didn’t even look up from her Bible. Just turned another page, as though it were written: thou shalt make thy children suffer unnecessary trials and tribulations.

  “Momma, I just. . .” I racked my brain for an excuse good enough to cancel the check she’d already written for me. It was no use.

  “You never know—you might like working with Solomon,” she hinted.

  “I will never like working with him.”

  Sister McHenry dropped Solomon off every Thursday at 6:30 for weeks, and I worked with him begrudgingly. Until he started getting it. I taught him, I questioned him, and I quizzed him until he knew how to solve for X a million different ways. Slowly, I began to see Solomon for what he was: a hard-working boy who was in the same boat as me, with parents who pushed harder than we could pull sometimes.

  One Thursday, I had all the flash cards and triangle cutouts ready on the table, but Sister McHenry’s gray Thunderbird failed to groan up to the driveway. “Momma, will you call them to make sure they’re on their way?”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. . .” She sipped her tea quietly, holding out her pinky finger. “Solomon won’t be coming anymore. Sister McHenry said that he’s doing well enough on his own now. She said to thank you for all your help.”

  “But we hadn’t even finished!” I protested.

  “Be careful now, LaShondra. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were looking forward to tutoring that handsome Solomon.”

  I nodded. “I mean, there was a lot more we needed to cover, that’s all.”

  She took another sip. “I hope you learned a lesson in all this.”

  * * * * *

  Deniessa called me to confirm our next girls-only night. “So, you and Peaches should be here by six?”

  “I’ll be there by six. I can’t speak for Peaches.”

  “You two aren’t riding together?”

  “I don’t know, Deniessa. I haven’t talked to Peaches since Christmas Eve—and it was not pleasant.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, I’m. . . seeing a white man.” I heard myself say the words for the first time. “And I didn’t tell her. She happened to see us out together and. . . I don’t know. It’s just crazy.”

  “Wait a minute. Go back to the white man.”

  Deniessa and I didn’t know each other well, but I figured since she’d let me peek at the skeletons in her closet, telling her about Stelson wouldn’t hurt anything. “His name is Stelson Brown. I met him at my school. We went out a few times. We went to church a few times. We have a good time when we’re together. It’s just. . . I didn’t tell Peaches anything about it because . . . well, you know why. I didn’t know how she would react.”

  “So you haven’t talked to her in, what, over a week now? And this is all over a white man?”

  “Not over a white man. Over other things—over a misunderstanding mostly. She thinks I lied to her so I could go out with Stelson, but that’s not true. Well, not technically,” I said.

  “Okay, I’m still back on the white man,” she admitted. “Okay, how did you end up going out with a white man? I thought you couldn’t bring yourself to do something like this.”

  “I know—and this crow I’m chewing is hard to swallow. I really can’t explain it, Deniessa,” I admitted. “It just happened. I went out with him. We have a lot in common—”

  “Like what?”

  “Our church backgrounds, our beliefs as Christians. We like the same foods and some of the same music. He likes working with kids—a lot of stuff.

  “Now, let me ask you, Deniessa, would you be asking me all this if Stelson wasn’t white?”

  “Eventually, yes,” Deniessa said. “But you gotta do a reality check, LaShondra. After all the things you said the last time we were together, the fact that you are with a white man is breaking news. I need details here. Let me ask you a nondiscriminatory question—is he fine?”

  “For the record, yes, but that’s irrelevant.”

  “No, that makes a lot of difference. I mean, if you’re gonna be with a white man, he can at least be one of the good-looking ones,” she laughed. “Is he rich, too?”

  “He’s an engineer, a partner in his firm. And, just in case you’re wondering, he is also very kind and smart, and he treats me very well. Those are the kind of things you’re supposed to be asking me, you know?”

  “Whatever, girl. I ain’t mad at you. Just so long as he treats you right—that’s the most important thing.” She gave me her stamp of approval. “So are we still on for Saturday?”

  “Yeah. I’m in.”

  Deniessa called me back within the hour. “Peaches will be by to pick you up at three o’clock Saturday.”

  “What?”

  “You two can talk this problem out on the way over. Bye!” She ended the call before I could protest.

  Three o’clock doesn’t mean three o’clock to Peaches. I’ve always known that. But as I sat in front of my television waiting for her, I grew annoyed at her lack of respect for my time. Maybe this was part of the reason why I knew she wouldn’t respect my decision to see Stelson.

  At 3:15 she blew the horn. I threw my bag over my shoulder and marched toward the door. On the way out I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t like what I saw—a frown brought my whole face down.

  But even worse was the attitude behind it. I was ready to give Peaches a piece of my mind about a lot of things. A little piece of my mind, a little piece of her mind, and we could both be out of our minds by the time we got to Deniessa’s place.

  I sent up a prayer before I left the house. Lord, forgive me for having a bad attitude. Replace it with Your love and understanding. Help me to help Peaches and let me be open to hearing her out as well. Thank You for the friendship we share, and bless it to continue to grow. In Jesus’ name I pray, amen.

  “Hello,” I addressed her cheerfully as I buckled myself into the front seat.

  “Mmm,” she mumbled, throwing the car into reverse.

  She popped in a gospel CD and started driving. We rode all the way to the interstate without a word. And then it started.

  “Why?” she asked. “Why a white man? Why the lies, Shondra? Why?”

  “Okay, first of all, I did not lie to you, Peaches. All I said was that I had plans.”

  “But you didn’t tell me those plans involved a man, let alone a white man! I feel like I got kicked to the curb!”

  “I didn’t kick you to the curb for a white man.” I turned to her, raising my knee up onto the seat and shifting my weight. “I just didn’t want to tell you anything about him until. . . until it was either over or until I thought it might actually go somewhere.”

  “Well, is it over?” she asked.

  “No. I think it’s far from over.”

  She looked at me for a second, then back at the road. A dimple punched itself into the side of her face as she clenched her teeth. “How could you go there? I just. . . I just can’t understand it. It’s beyond me. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

  “How can you say that? I’m still Shondra.”

  She sped up to pass a station wagon. “The Shondra I know wouldn’t give a white man the time of day. The Shondra I know takes pride in her race. And the Shondra I know wouldn’t sell out, because she knows that our people have come too far for her to turn her back on the brothers. That’s the Shondra I know.” Her deep crimson lips quivered in anger. “Ooh, this is crazy, Shondra. Crazy.”

  “Why does everything have to be black and white?” I asked.

  “Because it is black and white. What planet are you living on, Shondra? Do we need a history lesson here?”

  “I’m not talking about history. I’m talking about now. And I’m not talking about America, either.”

  She smacke
d on her gum, shaking her head back and forth defiantly.

  “Peaches, don’t you ever just get tired of it all—this race stuff?”

  “Yeah, I’m tired of it. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.” She voiced all the objections I had within myself. “You are still an African-American woman, and you will never be held in the same light as a white woman for as long as you are black. It’s not gonna change in our lifetime, Shondra.”

  “My point is—” I slowed down. Thoughts and words were coming faster than I could give them voice. “I think that if you went up to any person on the planet and said, ‘Are you tired of racism?’ they’d say yes, yet they don’t have a clue where to start. It’s not a matter of some hate-crime law being passed or an equal opportunity statement in a company’s employee handbook. It comes down to people who can see other people as individuals and embrace all of humanity through the love of God. And even if they can’t embrace humanity with God’s love, if we could just judge everyone on the basis of their character, that would cut out seventy-five percent of the problem right there.”

  She scratched her head and looked past me to her blind spot before changing lanes. “I know all that. I’ve heard Dr. King’s speech probably a million times. But it’s hard to see them as people when they don’t see us as people. I don’t see how you can get past the facts, Shondra. You’re acting as though you haven’t been black all your life.”

  “Well, you know I told you, God has been working with me on love. And I really think this racial thing is a big chunk of what He’s changing in me. We’ve got to stop judging people by their skin,” I explained, but I felt as though I were talking to a brick wall.

  “Well, when they stop, I’ll stop.” She raised her right hand and swore like we used to do when we were kids. “Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye if I’m lyin’.”

  “So there’s no hope for white people with you?”

  “What about the slaves, Shondra—the slaves?” Peaches made a fist and pounded it on her chest three times. “How can you just dismiss hundreds of years of injustice? What about all the blood they shed? What about all they went through? How can you look in his face and not think about what his people did to ours? That ought to just make you want to pop him dead in the eye. Pop!” She swung at the air.

  “What about the blood Jesus shed?”

  “That ain’t got nothin’ to do with it! We’re talking about slavery and salvation. Those are two different things.” She opened her fist and beat her palm on the steering wheel.

  “No, we’re talking about forgiveness and reconciliation, and that’s what Jesus came for. We have to forgive them, they have to forgive themselves, and we also have to forgive ourselves.”

  “We didn’t do nothin’ wrong!” Peaches screamed. “Ooh! It’s worse than I thought, girl. You’ve been brainwashed.”

  “No, Peaches. You remember that class we took with Dr. Fielder at Jarvis? Man, Culture and Society?” I reminded her.

  “Yeah. I made a C. Brought my whole GPA down.”

  “Do you remember how angry we felt when we walked out of there that day that he told us the truth about the slave trade—that it was a trade? Something for something.

  “Remember, it wasn’t all about white people going over on ships and snatchin’ black folks up out of the rugged jungle. White people could not have penetrated the country without the help of natives any more than a white man can come into the hood without some kind of black connection. Africans—black folks—were very active in capturing other Africans, and earned money by trading Africans from other tribes as well as their own. You remember that lesson?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Her eyelashes made one slow beat.

  “As quiet as it’s kept. The slave trade was about the love of money. And you know who’s behind that, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” she relented. “I know the love of money is the root of all evil.”

  “Then call it like it T-I-Z: humanity has fallen for the enemy’s tricks since Adam and Eve. But we don’t have to keep falling for them, no matter how many thousands of years they’ve worked. The brainwashing doesn’t come from mere men; it comes from the enemy.

  “Now, I agree that a lot of white people are prejudiced—but so are a lot of black people. You know you don’t feel sorry when you watch the news and learn that a Mexican got killed working at a construction site, do you?” I quizzed her.

  “It’s not that I don’t care,” she squirmed. “I just didn’t know him.”

  “Oh, but let somebody black get killed in a car wreck— you’re the first one sending money to the family’s memorial fund, aren’t you?”

  “I like to help my own,” she defended herself.

  “And there’s nothing wrong with that. But when we see others as less than ourselves because of their citizenship status, we’re no better than the worst white racist.

  “Let me ask you, Peaches,” I said softly, “what would it take for you to feel like you could see past a white person’s skin color? What would have to happen before you could actually be, let’s say, friends with a white person?”

  “I don’t know if that’s possible,” Peaches said frankly. Then her eyebrows jumped, and she exclaimed, “I know what we could do!”

  I was afraid to ask. “Okay, Peaches, give me the answer to the million-dollar question.”

  “Line up all the white folks, have ‘em bend over, and let all the black people kick them square on their behinds one good time. Then I might call it even.”

  “I’m gonna pray for you, Peaches—hard, serious prayers.”

  “Please do,” she yelled, “‘cause I just can’t see it happening with a white man! Girl, I saw you sittin’ there with him and almost fell out on the floor!”

  I looked at her to see what kind of yelling this was— angry yelling or hilarious yelling.

  Peaches finally met my gaze, wiping tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes. “Whoo!” She held on to her stomach.

  “You are too crazy.” My heart settled back into my chest, and I waited for her to unload her first impressions.

  “Shondra, girl, I came through that door, and I saw him—what’s his name?”

  “Stelson.”

  “Okay, we’re gonna have to do something about that name later. But anyway, I saw Stelson and I was saying to myself, ‘Oh, he’s a cute white man.’ And I saw the back of your head and I was like, ‘She reminds me of Shondra.’ And then I got to that profile and I was like, ‘Aw, naw! Not my girl! Not my girl!’ Whoo!”

  “So you think he’s attractive?” I asked her.

  “Yeah, I mean, he’s got a cute thing going, for a white man. I just. . . he’s still white, Shondra. And he’s the kind of white that doesn’t even show a hint of diversity anywhere down the line—except for maybe his dark hair. Other than that, he’s just a regular old white man with a tan.”

  “He treats me well. A whole lot better than Quinn’s cousin, Mark!”

  “Mark is not a good comparison. Pick somebody else.”

  I thought, Let’s see. Who in my past treated me the way Stelson treats me?

  “Gerald?” she asked.

  “Please—he only treated me well ‘cause he wanted some.”

  “Dandre?”

  “He was all right, but we didn’t have a good time together. We didn’t click. The more I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever clicked with anyone the way I click with Stelson. To be honest, up until now I never was able to think clearly about any man, because once we started having sex, it was like I was overly invested and I didn’t have any kind of perspective on who he was. But Stelson.. . he’s so solid, you know?”

  “No, I wouldn’t know.” She regained her normal composure, attitude slipping away. “I can’t see it, girl. I just can’t see it.”

  “And that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. I know you.”

  “Me! What about you, Miss ‘I can’t stand white folks’ and ‘I’m on white folks overload�
�? Now here you are eatin’ ice cream with a white man up in a black establishment!”

  “I know, I know.” I rocked my head on the headrest.

  “But Stelson. . . he’s changing my mind. Not just about him—about people, period. I mean, all this stuff that I’ve always believed about white men and white people. . . Stelson’s not like that.”

  “So, how long you have been seeing him?”

  “About a month, I guess.”

  “Give it some time.” She rolled her eyes. “My momma always says you gotta be with somebody at least four seasons before you can say you know ‘em.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” I apologized.

  “I can’t say I blame you. Ooh! You told your parents yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Ooh, I want to be there. I got to be there! Pop me some popcorn and get ringside seats.”

  “Whatever!”

  “You know your daddy’s gonna knock you out,” she said.

  “It’s not going to be like that, Peaches.” I shoved her shoulder. “I’m already praying.”

  “Well, Stelson must be doin’ something right for you to be going through all these changes.”

  “Yeah. He’s really somethin’.”

  She leaned up toward the steering wheel and looked at me from a different angle as we approached a traffic light.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You really like this white man, don’t you?” Her eyes slits, she peered into me as though looking through distorted glass.

  “Yes. I really like Stelson.” I tucked in my lips to hide the smile.

  She sat back and gave her attention to the road again. “Well, I’m sorry for actin’ up at the Marble Creamery.

  “You’re still my girl, even if you are with a cute little ol’ white man.”

  Deniessa was waiting on us with a batch of fresh homemade chocolate-chip cookies. I felt my buttons getting tighter before she even opened the door. “Hey! Did y’all make up?” she initiated a group hug at the door.