Beautiful Otherness

by Shirley Simmons

  “I am opening up to you now so you know that in life we all make mistakes, and sometimes, in spite of those mistakes, we can still end up on top. I somehow managed to be nominated for Woman of the Year, that’s nothing but God’s anointing over my life and a lot of hard work, and I know He has placed the same anointing over you and your life. I want you to always remember that Kylie.” I hugged my daughter tight, the way my mom used to hug me. I still missed my mom’s hugs.

  SCHOOL DAZE

  I always felt like I had to be tough or hard when it came to having Phillip as my biological father. I wanted to hide who he was—the role he played in my life. As a child I acted out with behaviors because I didn’t know how else to express myself; as a teen, I discovered that it was always easier than facing my problems head-on. I often did things for no reason, things that made no sense and were destructive. However, in my mother’s eyes, I could never do wrong, so she never disciplined me. This lack of discipline made me a spoiled brat, and everyone knew it.

  ____

  I had busted my butt to improve my GPA and SAT scores to create a college application that would gain some recognition. My mother was proud of me because she never really knew how I was going to turn out. She may have had her doubts, but she never expressed them, at least not to me. And I doubt very much that she would have expressed them to anyone else. Despite everything, though, her prayers and preparation had gotten me through it all.

  Just like the young peacock that wandered into our backyard this morning, I was always barreling through life chasing anything that grabbed my attention, as mindless as a bird pecking for worms. But thank God there was always someone there to guide me.

  I loved being in college, and Bethune Cookman was perfect. It was close to home, which was great for me. If I ever got homesick or wanted to see my mom, it was only two hours away. I was still a needy spoiled brat who did not know how to wash my clothes or handle the other responsibilities of day-to-day living that other young adults my age had learned.

  Besides that, my mom was getting older. She was almost seventy, and I was not ready to move too far away. So, knowing I only had a two-hour drive if I needed to get home quickly gave me great comfort.

  Having a car on campus my first year of college turned out to be a big mistake. I soon became known as the girl who drove the Fiero. I was at every single party, both on and off campus. I was constantly on the go doing something. My friends and I never had a dull moment. We traveled to the away games and every other thing that caught our fancy. I really loved the freedom that college offered, but I also knew I needed to concentrate on my grades, or I’d soon be out.

  I became close with Gi-Gi, a freshman girl who also had a car on campus. Gi-Gi was from Atlanta. She came to BCC with a legacy; her brother had graduated from the school two years prior. Between the designer clothes and the overbearing personality that kept her involved in everyone’s business, there was a part of her that was lovable.

  If we were the only two going somewhere, we would use my car, and if it was a large group, then we would use her car because it was larger. It was a way for us to save gas and it gave us the opportunity to bond and expand our friendship.

  Once, I used her car to drive to Tallahassee. It was Florida A&M University’s homecoming and one of my friends from Jack and Jill was pledging a fraternity. It was Alvin’s second year at FAMU, and he was on the Alpha’s line. His family had a long history of pledging Alpha. His grandfather, father and both of his brothers were Alphas. Everyone from Jack and Jill was thrilled for him. Once the word got out that I was going to FAMU, I had a list of girls who wanted to join in. There was no problem choosing five beautiful girls from a lengthy list to travel to Tallahassee, especially for homecoming.

  Alvin did not have a roommate and had arranged for us to stay at his apartment for the three days we would be there. The responsibilities of pledging would have him busy and away from home for the entire week, so his apartment was perfect for the six of us. Every chance we got, we cheered him on during pledge week. His line brothers were in awe that six beautiful girls from a rival school were cheering and encouraging him.

  At the end of the week, it was time to return. We shared the drive home taking turns driving when someone got tired. However, thirty miles from the campus, we got into a minor accident on I-95. Thankfully, no one was injured.

  Once again, I had been driving so I felt it was my responsibility to find a local mechanic to repair the minor damage to Gi-Gi’s car. The mechanic assured me it would only take about a week to complete the repairs to the rear quarter panel and taillight. She was not too happy, but I assured her that her car would be okay, and I offered Gi-Gi my car until hers was repaired. A week later I paid for the repairs and returned the car to her. A few weeks later, the car broke down again with a mysterious engine problem that could not be fixed.

  She argued that the accident that took place when I had her car was the cause of the damage, but this new problem involved the engine.

  I guess she was trying to get me to pay for the damage, but it really didn’t make sense. Here was a girl whose family obviously had some money, and she was trying to scam me into paying damages for something that I was clearly not responsible for. I told her so, and our now fragile relationship completely broke down to the point that she thought she should be able to take possession of my car and keep it.

  After a day of arguing with her, she left my dorm with my keys without me knowing. When I noticed my keys were missing, I went downstairs to find my car missing. I had not told my mother that I had been to Tallahassee or that I had a classmate’s car repaired, so I was in a real bind and out of my depth. Things escalated quickly, so I had to share the whole story with my mom because I realized that I needed help getting my car back.

  The constant arguing back and forth with Gi-Gi and contacting my mother had me emotionally drained. I was crying in my dorm one evening when my roommate came in. The same roommate who was never around when I needed her but somehow always seemed to show up at the wrong time.

  She was furious at how I was handling the situation. My roommate was from Liberty City, and she did not take crap from anyone. I had met plenty of girls who were rough around the edges before, but none compared to her. She was “hood” and I do not mean that in a bad way. Let’s just say when you met her you immediately knew not to cross her, so I wasn’t surprised by her response.

  “You pretty bitches kill me,” she screamed. “Stop that damn crying and squash this shit. Beat that bitch ass, or they are going to run all over you on this campus. Look, Kennedy, you seem to think everyone likes you! Don’t nobody like you ‘round here. You need to stop going out of your way for people. You are too damn bougie if you ask me! Everyone sees that you are different, with the clothes and personality. But let me tell you, people don’t know how to take you. And if you really want to know the truth, your ass is annoying. It’s just too damn much!” She paused to take a breath and paced. She seemed to soften a bit. “This crying gotta stop. Call the police and tell them she stole your car!”

  As harsh as her words were, they were what I needed to hear. In part, she was right…all but the fighting part. Crying was not going to solve this. However, I knew fighting in college—or anywhere for that matter--was the last thing I needed and something I could never tell my mother. I already felt bad about the way things had played out and making her come to Daytona to help get my car back.

  I really enjoyed Gi-Gi’s friendship. But now she hated me to the point she wanted revenge. She and her boyfriend hired someone to demolish the inside of my car. Her original plan was to only steal my car, but after I got it back from her, my mom had the ignition and keys changed. When they could not get into the car again, they broke the window, ripped the seats, and stripped the gearbox. The insurance company paid for all the repairs, so I was not too upset over the damage. I was happy knowing I had a car, and she didn’t. The bigger problem was that she was becoming a threat and I was a little afr
aid of what she might do next.

  Before the semester was over things escalated so much that we had a physical fight. Gi-Gi just would not let it go. Every day she continued to make threats toward me. She would go out of her way to show up wherever I was to harass me. Finally, I had had enough. She had to take a beat down.

  It was a normal Saturday when Gi- Gi approached me on the yard. For weeks I had intentionally avoided her. However, on this afternoon the yard was packed with students and locals enjoying the spring day. I ignored her threats for well over thirty minutes but Gi-Gi wanted the attention, and I was more than ready to oblige her. She was very sure that she would come out the victor, unscathed by the ‘pretty’ girl, and she wanted as many witnesses as she could get. But she had a rude awakening when I landed several punches to her gut. I’d learned firsthand from Rodney how that felt, and I wanted to inflict that pain on her, to temporarily debilitate her and show some dominance.

  She threw the first punch and I dodged it. I was not fueled by anger the way she was. I knew that emotions could skew our judgement, so I tried to keep calm. I focused on her eyes. This is the first rule of boxing. The eyes always give away your opponent’s next move. Gi-Gi didn’t have a next move, she just charged forward without any control. And having run track, my footwork was on cue. That and the fact that I was a dancer gave me a huge advantage over Gi-Gi. After a few more Rodney-like gut punches, she lie in the grass curled up trying to catch her breath. I didn’t realize it beforehand, but when everything started to sync, I knew she didn’t stand a chance.

  Afterward, the administration organized a meeting with our parents to resolve the issues.

  During the meeting, her parents and the school found out that her grades had dropped so low she’d lost her scholarship. Her father was furious with her.

  He screamed at her during the meeting, in front of me and my mom. And anyone passing in the hall would have heard the tongue-lashing he gave her.

  “There is no way in hell I’m paying for college when you had scholarships. I am so angry and disappointed right now!”

  Gi-Gi looked totally humiliated and dejected. When it was all said and done, he withdrew her from school.

  I, on the other hand, escaped probation and was permitted to remain in school. It was suggested that I press charges against her for damaging my car, but I just wanted it to be over. Seeing how defeated she was in that meeting, my heart sort of went out to her. It was obvious that she was a troubled girl, and I wasn’t comfortable adding to her and her family’s misery. What had been done was done. I wanted to put it behind me.

  I think that was the first time I realized it was better to be kind than right. I felt good about that decision, and from that moment forward, I had a new attitude toward the plight of others, what motivated them to do what they did. Once again, I thought about Phillip.

  14K

  “Kennedy, your mom sent you to this school to find a husband.” Those were the words a professor had the audacity to say to me my freshman year. It was a bold, presumptuous, and rude statement based on the fact that I could not answer one question she’d asked me. But her sarcasm was like a gut punch. And saying it in front of the entire class sure as hell did not help my self-esteem. But I was sort of used to sarcasm and doubt. In fact, I was learning to use it as armor. She didn’t know a thing about me, yet she’d formed an opinion, and as I sat there looking at her, I knew I had to prove her wrong. I had become skilled at overcoming the odds and finding the victory.

  It seemed that even a school of higher education, the one place you were supposed struggle, succeed, make mistakes, fall, get up, and be challenged, was just like any other institution or cultural group – filled with arrogant, self-righteous and bigoted people. She was basically saying, “Don’t try little girl. This is not for you. Just find someone to save you.” I never told my mother what that professor said to me, probably because it didn’t matter all that much. My life was going to be bigger than what she was offering.

  ____

  Given the car fiasco and this teacher’s perception of me, not to mention that I really couldn’t answer the questions asked of me in class that day, I made the decision to be less active socially in my sophomore year. I wanted to focus on studying and getting better grades so I wouldn’t be embarrassed again in class. However, I quickly got bored and needed something to keep me busy, but I did not want to start partying and hanging out again.

  At the advice of my biology professor, I decided to try out for the band’s dance team. It was something I loved doing, and it would demand a lot of my time. That meant I would always have an excuse to say no when asked to go out socially, if I needed one. I later learned that my mother had arranged for the professor to mentor me and assist me if difficult times arose again. She had arranged for someone to make sure I did not chase every visible lizard or shiny object that was dangled in front of me.

  I had never done this type of dancing before. Every dance lesson, performance, or dance school I had attended taught me theatrical dance. Everything was very technical, and nothing reflected cultural ethnicity. I was generally the only black girl, and if by chance there was another black girl in the group, for some reason I was the one picked to be out front receiving the attention. The older I got, the more I disliked being front and center. It wasn’t the reason I wanted to be part of dance and baton twirling. Being the token or the only one or the first one seemed to turn people against me. The black kids and parents in my small town thought I was trying to be white, and the white parents thought I was too black, which meant they didn’t want me involved, especially if I outperformed someone’s daughter and was selected over her. By the time I reached high school, all the blacks were cheering me on. I guess they figured, “This heifer isn’t going to quit, so let’s get behind her.” I had become so technical and precise with my performances that white fans were cheering as well.

  But becoming a 14 Karat Gold dancer, or 14K as we were known, was something altogether different. It was nothing like any dance lesson I had ever taken or any show I had ever performed in. The moves were almost erotic, and if you know anything about historically black colleges and universities, it’s all about the band and the dancers. No one went to the football games just for the football at any HBCU. The halftime show was the thing. Almost everyone stayed in their seat during halftime. It was like moving around during communion at a Baptist church. You better not do it.

  You just did not want to miss the performance or as they said, “the show.” You could bet the band was going to give chest-high steps, spins and moves to their version of the latest songs. The band at Florida A&M University was known as the Marching 100; however, it was the Bethune Cookman drum majors, with their leaps and backbends, touching the turf with their heads, that got everyone’s attention.

  Bethune Cookman’s band sound was precise and accurate to detail. They could only be characterized as perfect conformity to sound and dance moves. As great as they sounded it was all about the 14K dancers. We got all the attention. We were the perfect collaboration of sights and sounds. The 14Ks performed jaw-dropping, choreographed, Broadway-chorus-line moves that were rhythmic and provocative.

  But dancing was dancing to me. I was a natural at almost everything I trained or practiced for, and I was convinced that this would not be an exception. There could be up to sixteen spots for dancers. It all depended upon the talent level. There could be as few as ten spots if there was not enough suitable talent.

  Every day we trained for four hours, sometimes in the hot Florida sun, but I loved it. And the more we trained, the better I got and the more I loved it. I even noticed my physical appearance changing. I had well-developed abs and a nice round butt. I was in better shape than when I was running track.

  I saw it as a privilege to be chosen. We performed every weekend and people would line up for autographs and photos. It was like being a celebrity. The homecoming performance was always great; however, you were not officially a 14K until you pe
rformed at the Florida Classic.

  No pressure. There were only more than fifty thousand people screaming and cheering for us when we took the field. And we had their undivided attention. I had performed in performing arts centers, parades, convention centers, and at Disney, but none of it compared to or prepared me for the Classic in Orlando. People would begin to line up just to watch us enter the stadium. They would line up to watch us enter the field and exit the field. The ground moved and the stadium rumbled like a small earthquake during our introduction. My mind was completely blown away by the cheers that thundered through the crowd during our performance. It was two minutes of pure ecstasy that no words could describe

  The word had made it to my hometown that I was a 14K dancer, and to my surprise I was greeted by what seemed to be every person from my town when we exited the field. I could not believe it as they screamed my name. I was the only dancer on the squad to live close to Orlando. All the other girls were from other states or cities much further away, which meant there was a lot of support for me that day. It was amazing, and I was in heaven. At every turn, someone screamed my name. Some of the faces I recognized, but most of the time, I did not have a clue who was screaming for me. I had been in performances where people cheered because of the show. I had even been in performances where people cheered simply because I was the only black performer, but never because it was me, Kennedy.

  From that day forward, my life had forever changed! Things were never the same for me on campus or at home. The school had unwritten expectations and rewards for us. None of us ever stopped being 14Ks, whether we were performing or not. We were always expected to be on the clock, with hair and makeup done at all times if we were in public. The school used us to our full potential. We were the school’s ambassadors. And we had to maintain a certain GPA, so all in all, it was grueling, time consuming, and one of the best experiences of my life. It was work being a 14K, for sure, but every one of us loved it. We would not have given it up for anything in the world.