Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice

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PRAISE FOR THE NOVELS OF APRIL SINCLAIR

Coffee Will Make You Black

“A funny, fresh novel about growing up African-American in 1960s Chicago … Sinclair writes like Terry McMillan's kid sister.” —
Entertainment Weekly

“Whether she's dealing with a subject as monumental as the civil rights movement or as intimate as Stevie's first sexual encounters, Sinclair never fails to make you laugh and never sacrifices the narrative to make a point.… What is clear is that Stevie is a wonderful character whose bold curiosity and witty self-confidence—through Sinclair's straight-talking words—make her easy to love.” —
Los Angeles Times

“Heartwarming … Memorable … Told with earnestness and humor … A coming-of-age story with a twist.” —
Chicago Tribune

Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice

“Hard to resist … The freshness of Sinclair's voice makes both the familiar and the unfamiliar an adventure worth smiling about.” —
The Miami Herald

“This tale has verve and readability.” —
The New Yorker

“A hoot … High-spirited and entertaining … A disarmingly upbeat novel about race and sexual preference.” —
San Francisco Chronicle

I Left My Back Door Open

“A
Bridget Jones's Diary
for black women … Readers will respond to this novel's honesty, to its colloquial humor, and to its exacting exploration of Daphne's relationship woes.” —
The New York Times Book Review

“Any sister who has felt unlucky in love will identify with Sinclair's smoothly written tale.” —
Essence

“Snappy, entertaining.” —
The Washington Post Book World

“Sinclair's jazzy new novel is her best yet. Her syncopated rhythms and her cool, bluesy tones make her Ella Fitzgerald's literary rival.” —E. Lynn Harris

Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice

A Novel

April Sinclair

for my friend, sue holper

my catalyst for change

summer 1971 to spring 1975

1

“You meet the same peoples over and over again in life,” Grandma warned from the doorway.

I didn't give her my full attention. I was too busy cramming wool sweaters into a suitcase full of jeans. Despite my sweaty, well-toasted skin, I knew I'd need warm clothes in a month or so.

“They names and they faces might be different. But they will be the same peoples,” Grandma insisted. Her words hung in the humid Chicago air like the smell of chitterlings cooking on a stove. She pulled a paper towel from her apron pocket and wiped the sweat off her fudge-colored forehead. Grandma wore one of those serious aprons that you had to stick your arms through. There was nothing prim and proper about her.

I was the first person in my whole family to go away to college, and I was excited. But I knew that “book learning” wasn't everything. Grandma says experience is the best teacher. And she is no one to take lightly.

Mama joined Grandma in the doorway. The two of them could barlely fit. They were both big women. Neither of them were fat, just big in the way grown women are supposed to be, according to Grandma. She'd often say, “Chile, don't nobody want a bone but a dog.” But I was content with my slim figure. Thin was in, especially in white America, where I was headed. After all, Twiggy was the model of the hour. And besides, I certainly wasn't anywhere near that skinny. I did have titties and booty to speak of.

There sure were a lot of memories in this bedroom. The walls had been yellow, pink, and finally blue, my favorite color. I shook my head at the now worn-out-looking white bedroom furniture that had looked so magnificent the Saturday afternoon they carried it home in my uncle's truck. Mama and Daddy bought it used from a house sale in Lake Forest, a rich northern suburb. I'd thought I'd died and gone to heaven. Aunt Sheila took one look at the gleaming white furniture and declared that we'd arrived.

I gazed at my bed. The quilt that Grandma made me years ago was almost in tatters now. I'd bought a brand-new, lime-green corduroy bedspread with some of the money I'd made this summer helping Grandma at her chicken stand.

Mama looked sad, like she hated seeing her only daughter go. You'd never know by her puppy dog expression that Mama had swung a mean switch in her day. She'd also done a lot of preaching over the years. And I'd been the mainstay of her congregation. My two younger brothers could never be held hostage long enough to listen to her sermons. Boys were “outside children,” they “liked to go,” as Mama would say. I wondered if David and Kevin would finally have to help her out in the house. She might make them wash a few dishes, but that would probably be about it.

“Well, Mama, you won't have me to kick around anymore,” I teased.

“Just don't let some man make a fool out of you and you'll be all right.” She sighed. Her smooth pecan complexion only showed wrinkles when she frowned.

I didn't have a boyfriend right now. I'd gone to the senior prom with a dude from the school band who'd asked me at the last minute. I'd barely known the shy, husky trumpet player drew breath until he'd mumbled, “Stevie, will you go with me to the prom?” They call me Stevie at school. My family calls me Jean. My name is actually Jean Stevenson. I'd swallowed and answered, “Yeah, I'll go with you.” Paul was shy and quiet, but kind of cute. At least he wouldn't expect me to put out, I figured.

Our date had been pleasant enough. I even had fond memories of resting my head on Paul's shoulder as we slow-danced to the prom's theme song, “We've Only Just Begun.” It was a white tune by the Carpenters; and our class of 1971 was all-black, except for a couple of Puerto Ricans and a Chinese girl. Some people had complained about the honky theme, but the prom committee prevailed. Only three other white songs were played during the prom, Carole King's “It's Too Late” (which everybody agreed was hot, white girl or no white girl); Bread's “I'd Like to Make It with You”; and Bob Dylan's “Lay, Lady, Lay.” Of course no dudes could complain about the last two.

Paul and I had gone to the Indiana Dunes for the senior class picnic the day after the prom. And Paul had been a perfect gentleman, lightly brushing my lips only when he'd said goodbye. It would give me a sweet feeling, just thinking about it. Something might have come of our connection if we'd had more time to get to know each other. But we didn't; Paul's draft number was pulled. He jumped up and joined the navy and shipped out right after graduation. Paul figured if he was in the navy, he'd have a better chance of staying out of Vietnam.

“Jean,” Grandma said, interrupting my thoughts. “We're expecting great things outta you.”

I chuckled as I stuffed underwear in the inside pocket of the large suitcase. “Grandma, I'm just going away to a state university, so don't y'all expect me to come back a Rhodes scholar.”

“I know you'll do us proud,” Grandma said, dabbing her eyes.

Suddenly, I felt a lump in my throat. I was sad to be leaving everything familiar, even Mama.

“You just keep your head in your books,” Mama admonished. “And don't let men distract you. Men are nothing to get excited about, remember that.” It was obvious that Daddy no longer excited Mama. The two of them reminded me more of business partners than lovers. She often passed Daddy like a vegetarian walking by a steak house. I wondered if the earth had
ever
moved.

“I don't know what you talking about.” Grandma winked. “Men
are
too something to get excited about! Jean, if you can't be good, be careful.”

Mama folded her arms. “You oughta be ashamed of yourself, talking like that at your age!”

“
You
the one who should be shamed,” Grandma insisted, stepping into the bedroom and swinging her full hips.

“Chile, there might be snow on the chimney,” she laughed, pointing to her Afro. “But, there's sho' nuff fire down below!” She snapped her fingers and did a boogaloo step.

“Get it, Grandma!” I laughed, clapping my hands.

“Poppa must be turning in his grave,” Mama sighed.

Grandma rubbed her nose. “My left nostril is itching. Some man is talking about coming to see about me right now. And if he cain't cut the mustard, he kin least lick the jar!” Grandma rushed out of the room.

Mama shook her permed head in horror.

Grandma said her good-byes in Chicago. She shoved a twenty-dollar bill in my hand and then we hugged for the longest time.

As soon as my brothers, my parents, and I were out of Chicago good, we saw corn for days. I don't mean that literally; it was only a four-hour drive. But I don't care if I ever see another cornfield again, no matter how much I like eating it.

I've been assigned to a coed building, modern twin towers with twenty floors. Mama says she would've preferred for me to be in an all-girl's dorm. Daddy agrees with her, like he usually does on matters involving us kids. I don't know why Mama's tripping. We're on two different sides of the building. We even have different elevators.

It got a little emotional in the parking lot for us and plenty of other families. Everybody hugged me, Mama, Daddy, tall, lanky David—who will be a junior on Southside High's basketball team—and cute, chubby Kevin, who I can't believe will be a freshie this fall.

There wasn't a dry eye among us, including my father's narrow dark eyes. He's due for a dye job, I thought, noticing the gray around his temples. But Daddy still looked strong and athletic in his bowling shirt.

Grandma says white people are born actors. So, I'm not sure how my roommate and her family really felt when they discovered that I was black. I'd moved into the room first. My family was long gone by the time Barbara, her parents, big brother, and little sister trooped in with her stuff. Everybody was cordial; none of them tripped out like they'd seen Godzilla or anything. But who knows how they
really
felt?