Tunnel Vision

by H. R. Kitte-Rojas

  She obsessed about Coz for weeks, but didn"t see him again—even in the lounge at night. She evaded Jermaine, only answering his calls occasionally. When she did, she gave polite excuses why she couldn"t go out with him. Most of them had some basis in truth because, by then, finals were coming up.

  Finals week, her psychology class tested early, so she was able to attend the luncheon for the basketball team, which everyone at the BSU had been badgering her about.

  It seemed like a white university, until anything to do with basketball came up. Then black folks converged out of nowhere in huge numbers, making it seem just the opposite.

  The proceedings at the luncheon bored her. Celeste picked at her food while coaches and faculty rambled on about last year"s heroes and this year"s hopefuls. Jermaine, who paid for her meal, paid acute attention to all the speeches and, for once, made no attempt to flirt with her.

  When it was over, though, he made up for lost time. The BSU crowd wandered toward the quad, but Jermaine straggled back and herded her with him.

  “You been dodgin" me for the whole quarter, Celeste,” he said. “What"s up with that? I do somethin" wrong? I don"t give up easy, but you don"t give a brother much hope.”

  Celeste sighed. It was time to level with him, as uncomfortable as it made both of them.

  “I like you, Jermaine. And I"m not saying I wouldn"t want to go out with you. But the truth is, I"m interested in somebody else.”

  Jermaine visibly flinched. “Oh.”

  “I"m sorry,” she said.

  “Don"t be sorry,” he said. He assumed a nonchalant tone and grinned, as if it was no big deal, but avoided eye contact with her. “You gotta go for what you want, right?”

  “I"m sorry I didn"t tell you sooner,” she said.

  “Ain"t no thing. I mean, I can find other girls. I just kinda" thought you and me might get along pretty good.”

  Celeste thought he handled the whole thing with class, given that rejection always stings, no matter who it comes from or what the circumstance.

  “So who"s the guy?” Jermaine asked. “Do I know him?”

  “I kind of doubt it,” she said.

  This provoked his curiosity, and as they walked, he tried to squeeze her for more information.

  The BSU crowd stopped at the“black” corner of the quad and milled about to waste time as usual. Celeste continued on toward the hall where her next class would be. Jermaine walked with her, still trying to pump her for information. Seeing this, the others fell in around them and they all mobbed into the study hall.

  “You mean you don"t even know this brother"s name?” Jermaine asked.

  A little embarrassed now that the others were now close enough to hear this part of the conversation, Celeste said, “Just his nickname.”

  A couple sister-girls ridiculed her choice of words. Another one asked, “What"s his ghetto handle?”

  A short, gap-toothed brothersaid, “Girl, if he ain"t made the move yet, forget him. I"ll make a move right now. Y"know what I"m sayin"?”

  Celeste decided to just lay it all out there, embarrassment be damned. “I think he"s really shy. How do I talk to him? I"m not an outgoing person. How do I get him talking to me? Do I just tell him, „hey, I think you"re cute. You wanna go out?"”

  “Why not?” gap-toothpopped off. “I do.” He and another guy slapped skin and laughed.

  Celeste joined in to laugh off her embarrassment.

  Jermaine studied her silently for a moment, then said, “You see this nigga around, point him out. I"ll get a conversation started between you.”

  His words were still registering when, like some unbelievable reality TV setup, Celeste spotted Coz moving through the throng of students surrounding Jermaine"s clique.

  Coz had a book bag slung over one shoulder, some papers in one hand, and was moving fast. He avoided the huge flock waiting for the elevators and marched toward the stairs.

  As if observing someone else, Celeste saw her hand tugging at Jermaine"s sleeve, then pointing at Coz. “There he is!” she heard herself say.

  Every black face turned to zero in on the white boy, then bounced back to stare at her. She couldn"t read Jermaine"s expression at the time, and didn"t need to try reading those of the others.

  “That"s him! That"s him!” she hissed, like some punch-drunk hit-andrun victim.

  Everything seemed to move in slow motion; and yet her brain was somehow slower than everything else taking place. She saw the condescending smirks and expressions of disgust directed her way. A couple people whipped their heads back and forth, confirming that she really was indicating a white boy.

  “Hey, yo!” Jermaine shouted, so loud it got the attention of everyone in the hall.

  Everyone except Coz, who was almost to the stairway door.

  “Yo!” Jermaine shouted, even louder.

  Just as he opened the door, Coz turned back in the direction of the shout. His eyebrows furled when he realized Jermaine was the source of the noise.

  Jermaine extended his hands toward Celeste. “Hey, man, this lady wants to talk to you!”

  Celeste remembered thinking Jermaine was a horrible liaison and probably couldn"t have thought of a way to handle this that would make it more awkward.

  The white boy"s gaze shifted from Jermaine to Celeste. His eyes focused. His expression connoted irritation. Then, still in slow motion, the white boy turned back to his original heading and disappeared inside the stairwell.

  6 When Miles and Frank were busy with something else, Celeste pulled Shauna out of earshot.

  “What"s Frank"s last name?” Celeste asked.

  “Cozzalino,” Shauna said. “Why?”

  Celeste shrugged. “Just thought I might have known him from somewhere. But I don"t know that name.”

  Like hell. “Coz” was short for Cozzalino. This was definitely him. And this was definitely too many coincidences for one lifetime.

  Embarrassment became humiliation that day so many years ago. Celeste never showed her face again at the Black Student Union, and she never hung out in the study lounge again, either. She endured the rest of her freshman year at State, then transferred to Central.

  Her mother and Nikita were delighted, since Central was unofficially a “black” university. The smaller classes were more to Celeste"s liking, and the preoccupation withblackness didn"t seem to be an issue there. Celeste started from scratch. She didn"t exactly reinvent herself—she was as unique an individual as ever when alone, but she learned to blend in with her surrounding culture.

  She made friends, and dated. There were plenty of brothers in college who were nonconformists in one way or another. She was drawn to artistic types.

  Any time something reminded her of the debacle with the white boy, she would make a joke of it by singing, “one of your own kind, stick to your own kind”—a la Anita in West Side Story.

  Harlan was the man who helped her put the past behind. He was a jock, but an artistic, intelligent one. Their relationship lasted their junior and senior years, then another year after college. There were a few more men in her life after that. It was Nikita who pointed out that they all kind of resembled each other.

  After that, Celeste figured out what she was doing. All the postfreshman-year men in her life reminded her of Jermaine in some way. Like she was subconsciously trying to correct a mistake; reclaim a missed opportunity; atone for a foolish sin.

  ***

  When the truck and other vehicles were empty, everything put inside Miles" house, the men high-fived each other and grabbed beers.

  “Want some, girls?” Frank asked, with a smirk, from the refrigerator.

  Shauna made a bitter beer face, shaking her head.

  “No beer, please,” Celeste said, “but I am thirsty.”

  Shauna patted her on the arm as she maneuvered around boxes toward the kitchen cabinets. “How „bout I make us some lemonade?”

  “Hold up, Shauna,” Miles said, from back in the hallway. “Let me show yo
u something first.”

  Shauna scrunched her face up at him. “It can"t wait?”

  “Nope.”

  Shauna joined him in the hallway. Miles led her toward the master bedroom. Frank tailed them, so Celeste straggled along behind, sighing that she would have to wait for the lemonade.

  “Oh, the bathroom you haven"t let me in for weeks now?” Shauna asked. “You fixed the pipes, then?”

  Miles grinned and nodded.

  Shauna cupped his chin affectionately and sprung up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “You don"t have to show off, Sweetheart. I know you"re a good handyman.”

  “Humor me,” Miles said, and led her by the hand into the master bathroom.

  Shauna"s squeal blasted from inside the bathroom and echoed through the house. Frank stopped at the doorway, smirking, and took a swig of beer. Celeste rushed past him to see what Shauna was squealing about.

  Shauna stood in the middle of the room with her mouth wide open and both hands over her heart. Miles was muttering something about the enormous Jacuzzi and the overhanging television, but words were unnecessary. The bathroom was spectacular, right down to the floor tiles and the green paint—not just Shauna"s favorite color; but this was her favorite shade of it.

  “Oh, Miles!” Shauna gushed. “Oh, Honey…”

  After marveling at the bathroom for a while, Celeste returned to the kitchen to find a glass and get some water. After a moment, Frank joined her.

  “I"m sorry,” Frank said, nodding toward her glass. “I would have got you something. I know where most of it"s at.”

  Celeste hoisted her glass of water. “I made do. Thanks.”

  “Y"know,” Frank began, “I"ve been wondering—”

  “I"m sorry, girlfriend,” Shauna said, rushing back down the hallway. “I"ll make that lemonade right now. Can you believe that bathroom?”

  Celeste smiled at her friend, then at Miles, swaggering up behind her. “It really is amazing,” Celeste said, including Miles in her reply.

  “Frank helped me with it,” Miles said.

  Shauna hugged Frank, and pulled his head down to kiss his cheek. “Thank you so much, Frank.”

  “Hey, whoa-whoawhoa!” Miles protested. “I said he helped, not did the whole thing.”

  Shauna turned to her man, posed seductively, and winked. “Oh, don"t worry. I"m going to thank you later. In private.”

  Frank groaned. “Okay, okay. Desist with the goo-goo eyes for each other, already.”

  “TMI,” Celeste said. “TMI.”

  “Haters,” Shauna said, opened a cabinet and pulled out a can of powdered lemonade.

  She mixed it strong, cooled it down with ice cubes, and poured two glasses. Celeste helped her clear off space on the couch, and they sat.

  “Look at this,” Miles told Frank, with mock disgust toward the girls. “You"d think these two have been doing all the heavy lifting.”

  “Why don"t you two join us?” Shauna asked. “You have been working hard, today.”

  Frank sat next to Celeste, leaving space for Miles next to Shauna. Celeste was unnerved by Frank"s closeness. There was no contact between them, yet his presence was palpable and the way it made her tingle bothered her.

  Shauna took Miles" hand and slipped her fingers in between his. “I love my bathroom, Sweetheart,” she said.

  Miles beamed like a schoolboy that just hit the winning home run. Despite herself, Celeste found this endearing.

  “And you got the outside painted,” Shauna went on. “Now we just have to paint the guest room and living room.”

  Miles sobered quickly. “The living room?”

  “Yeah, Honey. We"ve got to have all the rooms painted.”

  “Baby, the living room"s painted already,” Miles protested. “And it"s green! The whole house is green, just like you want it.”

  “The paint in here is old,” Shauna said.

  “It looks fine, Baby.”

  Shauna shook her head, and took on a pleading tone. “It"s too dark. And you"ve got holes all over the wall where you ran wires and stuff.”

  Miles grimaced, looking flustered. “I"ve got all the wiring professionally dressed. It looks good, Shauna. I like this green.”

  “It doesn"t match, Sweetheart. Come on, please?”

  Miles shook his head, reddening.

  “What if you didn"t have to do any of it?” Shauna asked. “I can get a house painting party organized so that you don"t have to lift a finger.”

  Now Miles appeared leery. “Babe, you know I don"t want a bunch of people up in my house.”

  Shauna turned to Celeste and Frank. “Would you excuse us? We"re gonna go back and discuss this privately.” She rose to her feet, set her lemonade down, and tugged at Miles" hand.

  “Jeez, Babe, can"t I even sit down and enjoy my beer? What"s the big deal over the living room now? You never had a problem with it before.”

  “Please, Miles. Just come talk to me for a minute.”

  Reluctantly, Miles climbed to his feet and let her pull him down the hall.

  “We"ll be right back,” Shauna called back toward Frank and Celeste. “Just relax and make yourselves at home, okay?”

  A few moments passed before Celeste scooted down the couch away from Frank and his intoxicating musk.

  Once upon a time, she"d wasted untold hours trying to make sense of what had happened by the stairwell all those years ago. For a time, she told herself Coz must be gay. But she never really believed that. Later she decided it was the racial difference.

  According to Shauna, though, he liked dating women of color. That narrowed it down to him just not being attracted to her. How could she have been so wrong?

  In fact, the way he looked at her now, she"d swear he was still attracted.

  Maybe he liked playing with girls" minds.

  White boys were just bad news, and she wasn"t going to fall into that trap again. She had managed to push the whole horrible experience from her memory until last year when Shauna began dating Miles. Now it was impossible not to remember it all.

  “So how long have you known Shauna?” Frank asked, fixing his sexy grin and piercing eyes on her.

  Not wanting to reveal anything, or even speak to him, Celeste tried to sound hostile as she said, “Quite a while.”

  Not getting the message that she didn"t want to socialize with him, he kept the grin. “Y"know, you really remind me of somebody I met once.”

  Oh, great—he did recognize her. Despite herself, she acknowledged the remark with a rise of her eyebrows and a “Hmm.”

  “Did you go to state?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Central.” Then she got mad at herself: This was her chance to finally confront him and get some answers. Cuss him out, too. Now that the memory was thrown back in her face, she might as well tear him a new hole.

  But now she had told him a lie to avoid the issue. Why?

  Frank"s grin faded. “Oh. Well, what are the odds against her being the friend of my buddy"s girl, anyway?”

  He seemed genuinely disappointed.

  Maybe she could get some answers anyway. “This girl you knew was a classmate?”

  Frank shook his head. He smiled again, but this time it was a sad one. “No. And I didn"t actually know her, to be honest. Never got the chance to know her.”

  “Never got the chance?” Celeste repeated. Anger and indignation rose up inside her, and she struggled not to start cussing him right then. After a pause to calm her inner volcano, she asked,“So you wanted to get to know her?”

  He squinted his eyes and inclined his head slightly—a sign of curiosity. She was suddenly showing too much interest for someone so disinterested a moment before.

  “How long ago was that?” Celeste asked, casually.

  Frank sighed, and broke eye contact with her. “A long time ago. No big deal. If it wasn"t you, it wasn"t you. You just kind of resemble her, is all.”

  “What was her name?” she asked, still casual.

  “I n
ever knew,” Frank muttered.

  She studied him. He was a lot huskier now than then. Buff, really. He didn"t look old, but the youthfulness was gone. And he didn"t seem shy at all. He was a good-looking grown man, confident and aggressive. Shauna said he had no trouble finding girlfriends, and Celeste could believe it.

  She was over him. So over him. But why did he have to turn up in her life again? And why did she care? She had assumed the list of answers she wanted from him had been left in her past, along with her Boyz2Men posters and Paula Abdul CDs: something she used to consider so important, but seemed silly and moot now.

  “Is the shade of green really that important?” Frank asked, staring down the hall toward where Miles and Shauna"s private argument was taking place.

  Celeste glanced in the same direction. They were taking an awfully long time. She shrugged. “Aesthetics are important to a woman. Why would you paint the whole house except for one room? And that room the one that your guests all see.”

  “Because that room was already painted,” Frank replied, simply.

  “Spoken like a man,” Celeste said, again flashing with anger that had nothing to do with the paint in Miles" living room.

  Frank"s grin came back. “Ain"t it just like a woman? He busts his ass to pamper her, and when he surprises her with it, the first thing she comes back at him with is that it"s not good enough.”

  Now feeling defensive for her friend, Celeste shot him an expression of disdain. “Obviously you know nothing about Shauna or how she pampers your friend.”

  Frank"s eyebrow arched.

  “She worships the ground he walks on,” she continued. “He damn well better treat her right, too.”

  “Seems to me like he"s doing his best.”

  “He better,” Celeste said, with a threatening tone.

  They heard water running, probably from the bathroom sink. A toilet flushed. In another minute, Shauna emerged, came down the hallway and found her lemonade. Her expression was pleasant, but inscrutable to most people.

  Celeste knew her well enough, however, to read her face. Shauna was the cat who just swallowed the canary. The living room would be painted, after all.