Up at the College

by Michele Andrea Bowen

  “But he is still white.”

  “But he was acting ‘niggardly,’ which is a word used in Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary to describe a meanly covetous and stingy person,” Obadiah, who made it his business to know the meaning and history of words, said. “And if we were to take liberties and stretch and doctor up Mr. Webster’s meaning a bit, as we black people are prone to do, I would say that ‘niggardly’ could also include acting like a lowlife or a louse.”

  “Obadiah Quincey,” Trina said, “you are the only negro in Durham, North Carolina, who could work that thing like that. And … oh … just for the record, I use the term ‘negro’ in the nicest way, as in, ‘Obadiah, you my negro.’”

  “Maurice,” Obadiah said, “take your wife over to Marquita’s food table and get her some of that delicious shrimp, and add a few extra pieces for me.”

  Yvonne looked down at her spot to munch on another piece of shrimp. But her plate was gone. She hadn’t even noticed the waiters coming to get her food. If they had wanted somebody to scoop up a dirty plate, they would have had to chase one of them down.

  “I’m coming with you. I’m still hungry.”

  “No, Yvonne,” Trina said, “you are famished. What you just went through will make you sleepy or make you hungry. That’s a lot of emotional roller-coastering to be on in less than an hour’s time.”

  “Baby, get an extra plate for me,” Curtis said. “I need to run a few things by Obadiah.”

  “Okay, Curtis,” Yvonne said sweetly, and then wondered what in the world was happening today. In less than twenty-four hours her entire life had changed, and it felt odd. She was used to the drastic changes for the worse. But this drastic change for the better was so new. Yvonne understood what those folks must have felt when they came to Jesus with horrible problems and infirmities, and then walked away completely whole, blessed, and with double-for-your-trouble restoration in their lives. This was an amazing day that was full of the goodness of the Lord.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The music was sounding good. Yvonne wanted to get out there and dance to the Gap Band so badly. She loved it when they started singing, “You cain’t keep runnin’ in and out of my life.” Right now, instead of dancing, these reception folk seemed bent on cutting deals, checking out the scenery, and scheming. Black college life was almost as complex, wonderful, and intriguing as life in the black church—nothing like it. And for all of the ups and downs a person could experience in these institutions, Yvonne loved them both with all of her heart.

  Marquita’s catering company had outdone itself tonight. The entire hall was decorated in the school’s colors of black and red. The banquet tables were covered with black linen cloths with red napkins held securely with black napkin rings resting on black china trimmed in metallic red and silver. Dark red roses in translucent black crystal vases sat in the middle of each table, with rose petals sprinkled around the area of the vases. And each chair was covered with black muslin, and had a stiff red muslin bow attached to the back.

  Around the room were six-foot-high black metal frames that resembled floor-length mirrors with huge photographs of the school, the president and his wife, the basketball team, and the coaches. And the food tables made you hungry just looking at them. There was so much to choose from, Yvonne didn’t know where to start.

  But the best part of a reception like this were the people themselves. There had to be every kind of African-American in the city of Durham represented at this event. This crowd ranged from ghetto-fabulous folk, like Dayeesha Hamilton, to the hardworking staff members from the university, who worked quietly and diligently to aid in the education of folks’ children, to the professors who worked hard to make sure that not one black child would be left behind when they left with a degree in hand, to the hinctified administrators and high-profile faculty who held the erroneous belief that the university actually revolved around them, to the coaches, band directors, cafeteria workers, janitorial staff, and of course the students, alumni, and parents. It was a beautiful thing to behold.

  Another Gap Band song, “Early in the Morning,” came on, and this time Yvonne couldn’t help herself. She did a smooth step all the way over to that food table where her friend Marquita Robinson Sneed was busy making sure that all was well with all of that delectable food. She was about to select some crackers and a delicious-looking lobster spread when she heard a friendly voice call out her name.

  She turned around grinning at her girl, who was first cousin to Charmayne and the infamous and very fine Charles Robinson. Sometimes Charles reminded Yvonne of a bigger, buffer, sexier, and older version of the actor Terrence Howard. And that was saying something because Mr. Terrence gave new meaning to the term “redbone.”

  The Robinsons had always fascinated Yvonne with how very different they were. They loved one another to death. But the families of the two sisters—Charmayne and Charles’s mother, Miss Ida Belle, and Marquita’s mother, Miss Margarita—were as different as night and day. First off, Ida Belle was just downright gangsta. She loved the hood, and she was the consummate “hood entrepreneur.”

  Miss Ida Belle’s sister, Margarita, on the other hand, was saved and filled with the Holy Ghost. She was an ordained minister and assistant pastor at Ram in the Bush Holiness Church of Prophesy and Deliverance—the hottest and fastest-growing holiness church in Durham County outside of the church pastored by Apostle Grady Grey and his wife, Linda. She worked tirelessly to get as many folk saved and living what she described as “the Kingdom life” as the Lord would allow, and stayed in intercessory prayer on behalf of her unsaved relatives.

  Miss Margarita also supplied Miss Thang’s Holy Ghost Corner and Church Woman Boutique with all of that saved lingerie that folks were always going gaga over when they were in Theresa’s store. Her best-selling items were the sheer PJs in pastel colors and matching lacy bra and thongs with PASTOR’S SHORTY, BISHOP’S BOO, DEACON’S DARLING, STEWARD’S SWEETIE, and FIRST LADIES SIZZLE, embroidered on the PJ top. Miss Margarita’s favorite first ladies were Lena Quincey and Angela Cousin over at St. Joseph’s AME Church. She personally designed and made their PJs and robes and an assortment of fancy, pretty, girly things.

  Despite the obvious differences between the two sisters, there were also some similarities. Both sisters had children when they were not married back in the day when that was hard on folks.

  Yvonne remembered her mother telling her that both sisters’ baby daddies proposed but the weddings didn’t go through. Charmayne and Charles’s father was an undercover cop who was shot down by friendly fire when he was trying to infiltrate a ring of black bank robbers and they were busted by the police. Marquita’s father was shot down, too. He was in the army, assigned to intelligence, and located in an unknown spot in southeast Asia. And the only reason they knew it was southeast Asia was that the Vietnam War was up and running, and most black folk from the hood were sent south and east when they were dispatched to serve overseas.

  So the three little cousins grew up as Robinsons and without the men who loved their mothers and would have given anything to have held those sweet green-eyed, hazel-eyed, and gray-eyed babies in their arms. And the mothers struggled to rebuild their lives while raising the cherished offspring of the now-deceased loves of their lives.

  Ida Belle threw herself into the cares of the world in a feeble effort to lift the burden of despair that blanketed her heart. She got so mad at God for taking Charles Kirby away from her until she’d forgotten what folks did when they needed the Lord in their lives—fall on their knees in prayer and supplication for help in a very present time of trouble.

  Margarita ran straight into the arms of God, while holding tightly to her precious baby girl. She knew that the only way she was going to survive the death of her beloved Stanley Bishop was by the grace of God. She got saved, received the Holy Ghost, and gave her life completely over to Jesus.

  And because God is so good to those who make Him the desire of their hearts, He he
aled Margarita of her grief and blessed her with the joyful task of raising her baby girl to be a mighty woman of God. And then he brought a husband, father, and man of God into their lives in the form of Thomas Robinson, who would have been childless had not the Lord saw fit to bless him with Margarita and baby Marquita.

  Yvonne stood staring at all of those delectable dishes, wondering where to begin with her selections, and just how much food she could pile on a plate without appearing greedy and uncouth.

  “Yvonne!” Marquita said with a huge grin spreading across her sweet pale copper face, dark gray eyes sparkling like brand-new diamonds. Her shimmering golden brown hair fell in her eyes and softly on her shoulders when she moved her head. Yvonne had always thought that Marquita had the most beautiful hair—long, thick, coarse, and naturally colored a shade that women, black and white, spent a whole lot of money trying to duplicate.

  “I haven’t seen you in weeks. Where has your little chocolate behind been and what have you been doing? Because I’ve missed you, Yvonne.”

  Yvonne walked around the banquet table and gave Marquita a big hug.

  “I’ve missed you, too. But it has been crazy with work and all.”

  “Tell me about it. Girl, my business is going through the roof. But between taking care of the grandbabies and working, I’m running to catch up to meet with my own self.”

  “You still have the grans.”

  “Umm, hmm,” Marquita said, shaking her head in disgust. Sometimes it was nothing but the Lord that kept her from putting her foot straight up her daughter, Markayla’s behind.

  “You know something, Yvonne, I thought that by having Markayla in my early twenties I’d at least be able to be footloose and fancy-free in my forties. But here I am with four grandbabies, ranging from thirteen down to eight.”

  “But Marquita, you have to admit, they are some of the sweetest babies I’ve ever met. And they have brought so much joy to your life.”

  Marquita nodded. It was true. “And they are no problem, really. They are very self-sufficient.”

  “They have to be,” Yvonne said. “I don’t understand Markayla. She’s not on drugs, she a fool but she ain’t crazy, and she had you and Miss Margarita and Mr. Thomas, but she just—”

  “Wants to stay out in the streets, partying and drinking and hooking up with all of the rappers and rap producers who come to the Triangle. I don’t understand it. The girl has a good job working for Metro over at Yeah Yeah.

  “Wait ’til you see what the cheerleaders are wearing to the game with Bouclair College. Markayla is the stylist for the squad. And she is picking up more and more clients, a few out in Hollywood, every time I look around. So I do not know what her problem is. And her house is nice—she lives down the street from me in Cashmere Estates. But the babies absolutely refuse to live with their mama.

  “That youngest, June, said, ‘Nana, Mommy has too many hip-hop people in our house. And I don’t like them all in our bathrooms, either. They ain’t mean but they ain’t got no business at my house. So we are coming to live with you until Mommy gets saved and starts acting right, like you and Big Mama.’”

  Yvonne didn’t want to laugh but couldn’t help it. That little June was something else. She said, “Where is their daddy?”

  “Jail.”

  “Again? I thought he was trying to get himself together.”

  “He is. But this was about one of those old arrest warrants Jamal had dodged around back in the day when he was still gangbanging. I took him to see Grady Grey and Dayeesha’s daddy, Big Dotsy, when this first came up. They both told him to go ahead and pay his dues.

  “Dotsy said that he’d bet some money that this little arrest was nothing compared to what he suspected Jamal had done in the cut and nobody knew about it. He told Jamal that this way he’d be completely free when he came out because the system had what they wanted, and wouldn’t go looking for any hidden dirt if he let this go and did his time like a man.

  “Dotsy and Grady worked to get the time served down to eighteen months. And then they went behind the scenes and activated some protection and decent treatment while Jamal is doing his time. And surprisingly, it hasn’t been as bad as we first thought it would be.

  “Jamal gave his life over to Christ before he put on that orange suit, he has received the Holy Ghost, and has started an in-house prison ministry for his dorm-mates. The Lord has a blood covering over that boy, and He is doing a mighty work in Jamal—I hardly recognize that boy, the anointing is so strong on him. And I know that he is going to take care of his babies when he gets out. I just keep praying that Markayla will have it together when their daddy is finally free.”

  Yvonne felt like crying for joy for the second time that night. She remembered asking the Lord to bless her with the ability to experience one miracle in her life today. And the Lord, who always does exceedingly more than what she could think of or ask for, had given her two.

  She said, “Marquita, just think, Jamal has been delivered and set free of the demonic stronghold that once ruled his life. He is saved. He is working to get others saved and set free. And soon he’ll be physically free and able to finally enjoy life and take care of his children. That has to be one of the best things I’ve heard all day.”

  “Well …” Marquita began, “I don’t think that’s exactly the best thing you’ve heard all day. Seems to me like you have heard two other good things.”

  Yvonne frowned a moment as she tried to think of that third miracle and then remembered Curtis.

  “Umm, hmm,” Marquita went on. “You got that check securing your job situation, you’re here with that big ol’ sweet Mounds chocolate bar, Curtis, and I’ve given you a testimony about Jamal. You have a whole lot to be thankful for this evening, Miss Yvonne Fountain.”

  “Yeah, I guess I do,” Yvonne told her as she broke out into a huge smile when she saw Darrell and Bettina trying to act as if they didn’t see her when they came over to the table to get some more food. One look at that outfit that even Miss Baby Doll Lacy wouldn’t wear let Yvonne know that Bettina had been put in her place tonight. It felt good, too. And what felt even better was that the Lord had fixed it so nothing about her job was tied to anything that had a thing to do with Darrell and his wife.

  Yvonne smiled and then frowned and then tried to smile again when she remembered that she was standing with Marquita. But she wasn’t fast enough.

  “What’s wrong with yo’ butt?”

  “Him,” Yvonne told her as she watched Kordell make his way around the room, scoping out a woman to hit on.

  Surprisingly, Marquita frowned, too. Lately, she found herself liking Kordell Bivens less and less. And she didn’t like the way Rico always had to hop up and run out of town with that ugly man, simply because Kordell started whining about needing some time away from Durham to get his head straight. If he’d quit ho- hoppin’ and lyin’ to women, maybe he’d be able to keep his big fat head straight.

  Tangie Bonner walked up to where Kordell was standing and planted a kiss on his cheek. He gave her a dry smile, along with a patronizing pat on the behind. Tangie smiled and walked off to join her friends.

  “Sometimes I don’t get Tangie Bonner,” Marquita said. She didn’t like Tangie but couldn’t exactly explain why she felt this way. Tangie had never done anything to her—that is, not anything she could put her finger on. But there was something wrong with where Tangie was coming from as far as Marquita was concerned.

  “What do you mean?” Yvonne asked, wondering just how much Marquita could see in that girl. She didn’t mess with people like Marquita. As sweet as they were, somebody like that could see through you once she took a mind to do so. But that was the operative concept—take a mind to do so. And right now, Marquita was not ready to go to that place.

  “She’s sneaky but I don’t know why, when all of her business with men is always in the street,” Marquita said.

  Yvonne was quiet, but not too quiet as to tip Marquita off. She said, “
I feel the same way. She has dirt out there for all to see but she is still a snake in the grass.”

  Marquita nodded in agreement. It was clear that she was working through some things where Tangie Bonner was concerned.

  “So,” Yvonne said, hoping to draw Marquita’s attention away from Tangie, “why are you behind this table and not out there hobnobbing with the rest of the high-cotton folk? I saw your cousin Charmayne over there with some high rollers looking good in that black St. John with the crisscross design down the back of the jacket and the skirt. And Charles is over there huddled up in a serious conversation with the provost. Girl, you know it’s a shame that that boy is so fine and so good at being bad.”

  “I know,” Marquita said. “And look at that suit he’s wearing.”

  “Girl, that thing is tight. And Charles is the only brother in this room who can wear that suit,” Yvonne answered as she tried to get a better take on that crimson three-piece suit with black chalk stripes, black shirt and tie, and black gaiters trimmed in red.

  “Look at the women trying to roll up on him, Yvonne.”

  “What you two little negroes over here talkin’ ’bout?” Charles asked them as he walked up and then took Yvonne by the hand and gave her a twirl.

  “You look good, baby! And look … look … look,” he said and pointed at Bettina. “Ole’ Sundress is pissed that you are looking so good and that you are so happy.”

  “You are crazy, Charles Robinson,” Yvonne said. “And you are mighty clean your own self.”

  “Hey, baby. That’s how I roll. You know a player gots to always be ready and up for anything.”

  “Boy, stop,” Yvonne told him. “See, that’s why you’re always getting hooked up with the ‘ready for anything.’”

  “I hear ya’, play cuz,” he said as he glanced over to where Veronica Washington was standing with her friends, looking good in a black knit pantsuit with stovepipe-legged pants and a belted jacket with silver buttons down the front and the sleeves. He liked those black patent-leather boots with the silver spiked heels that Veronica was wearing.