Boaz Brown (41 page)

As soon as we got to Aunt Emma’s apartment, I pulled the jumpsuit out of the suitcase and put it on. Aunt Emma asked me why I’d changed, and I told her I was practicing to be a model. She got herself another beer out of the refrigerator and disappeared behind her curtain of beads.

I called to her from the living room, “Can I go outside and play? I see some kids out there, Aunt Emma.”

“Yeah. Be back before the sun goes down!”

Jonathan, then almost four, begged me to take him with me, but I shut the door in his face. I didn’t have time to fool with Jonathan—not when I was stylin’ in my sailor jumpsuit.

I walked right on over to that bunch of kids near the generator and introduced myself “Hi, I’m LaShondra.” I looked over their shoulders for a second and noticed that they were busy painting pictures. “Can I play?”

There must have been at least five of them, but only one of them looked up at me. She was white with dirty blond hair and green eyes. “We’re not playing; we’re painting—can’t you see that?”

“Well, can I paint, then?”

One of the boys moved aside to let me in. He was older than me—probably almost a teenager, I guessed. I sensed they didn’t like me, for whatever reason. I knew they were all white, and I knew I was infringing upon their painting, but I had no doubt they would soon recognize my worth. After all, I was wearing that outstanding jumpsuit.

I set my knees down on the cement and began to paint carefully, so as not to get a drop of it on my clothes.

They talked over me, never really including me in anything. I didn’t really care, though. It was worth it to be able to listen and make new friends. I just painted and hoped for the best. The kids moved around me, a few at a time, switching places and taking turns passing the paint around. In front of me, behind me.

Within minutes, it started getting dark. I cursed Aunt Emma in my head. She knew I was only gonna be out here for a few minutes. Nonetheless, I had made new friends. “Are y’all gonna paint again tomorrow?” I asked the only little girl who actually addressed me.

“No,” she laughed, shaking her hair out of her face. “Probably not.” Come to think of it, they were all giggling as they quickly gathered their painting materials and sped off in different directions.

I went back to Aunt Emma’s apartment, bursting in to show her the painting I’d done. “Put that back out on the porch till it dries!” she fussed.

“Yes, ma’am.” I turned to obey her orders.

“Shondra, what’s that stuff on the back of your clothes?”

I froze. “What stuff?”

“Looks like paint. Come here.”

Oh, NO. I was so careful. I passed through the curtain again. “What is it?” I whimpered.

“Chile, they done painted a whole bunch of stuff on your back. You didn’t feel them paintin’ on your back?”

“No, ma ‘am,” I cried. “I was just paintin’, myself What kind of stuff? Can you get it off Aunt Emma? Can you
please
get it off?”

I was shaking like a leaf at the thought of what Momma would do if she found out that I’d taken that jumpsuit out of the house and then let a bunch of white kids paint all over the back of it. Aunt Emma was ready to whip somebody’s tail. “Did you see which building they went into?”

“I don’t know which way they went. There was a lot of ‘em.”

“What color were they?”

“White.”

“Mmm-hmm. See, I thought you was going out there to play with some of the black kids. I wouldn’t have never let you go out there if I’d known you was tryin’ to play with that other bunch. They’re always up to no good.” She unzipped my jumper from behind and told me to go into the bedroom and take it off. “I bet you’ll know better than to fool with those little bad-butt white kids next time.”

I went into the bedroom, took off the jumpsuit, and laid it across the bed. There were yellow smiley faces, orange triangles, and a multitude of other simple drawings on the backside of it. Someone had also written
ha-ha.

The only thing worse than the good ol’-fashioned, countrified Holy-Ghost-with-fire whippin’ I got from Momma was the fact that she couldn’t get the paint out. And I never got the chance to wear my outstanding navy blue sailor jumpsuit again.

* * * * *

Everybody and their momma was at the funeral. All the Smiths came out to pay their last respects to Grandmomma. I saw cousins, aunts, and uncles I hadn’t seen in decades. The ceremony went very well for an African-American funeral, partially due to the fact that it was a closed-casket ceremony. Daddy and the rest of my aunts and uncles agreed it would be too heart-wrenching to have the casket open. I, for one, was happy about that because once one person loses their composure, it’s
on
at a soulful funeral.

The family was dressed in white to celebrate her full life. A few of my younger cousins pinned red corsages on the children, grandchildren, and great-grands. I was proud to be a Smith that day, for all it was worth. Despite the ugly things that happened in my family’s history, we were still standing. I only wished Stelson could have been there.

Daddy didn’t say a word to me all morning. He would not even look my way.

I sat on the third pew, between Jonathan and Peaches. Quinn accompanied her and ended up helping the ushers pass out programs. I never did figure out how that happened.

Peaches’ mother came to the funeral, too. We had a few words in the church parking lot after the ceremony.

“Shondra, I’ll tell you, I’ve never seen Peaches so happy,” said Mrs. Miller. Her deep brown skin showed tear traces along her cheeks, but she was smiling now. “Since she’s been with Quinn, you’d think she’s found a pot of gold. I told her, it probably won’t be long before they jump the broom.”

“You think so, Momma Miller?”

“A mother knows these things.” She winked at me. “He’s really good for her, and I think Peaches finally knows how to appreciate a good man. I told her from the very beginning Raphael wasn’t no good. But sometimes it takes a few heartbreaks before you know how to spot a good one. Speaking of good ones, where’s Stalton?”

“Peaches told you about Stelson?” I crossed my arms and rested my weight on one leg, wondering what else Peaches had told her.

“Told me he was white, too.” She smiled, no hint of an attitude. “Where is he?”

“Stelson is in Chicago.”

“
Well
,
the both of y’all need to quit playin’ hard to get. Me and Joe got married the minute we knew we couldn’t live another day without each other, and we’ve enjoyed every minute of it. You put God in your marriage and you ain’t got to worry ‘bout too much else. You’re gonna have your ups and downs, but the ups are higher and the downs don’t go so low or last so long when you got Jesus right in the middle of it.”

After the burial, we all went back to Grandmomma Smith’s house to eat. The house smelled of food and incense that was intended to cover up my uncle Fred’s cigarettes. Daddy and the rest of his brothers and sisters ate in the front dining room. Momma and a few others squeezed in, but there wasn’t much room for the rest of us. The children ate out in the backyard, and most of the young men plopped themselves in front of the television in the den.

I ate in the kitchen and listened to the women talk about things I wouldn’t otherwise have found out. My cousin April was pregnant again by that married man. Cousin Beatrice would soon be finishing law school. Uncle Willie’s ex-wife won a trip to Hawaii, and she was taking a twenty-five-year-old man with her.

My cousin Jessica was in the kitchen, as usual, sopping up every bit of gossip she could. I started to tell her how much I
did not
appreciate her blabbing to the whole family about Stelson, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. She’d been blabbing for as long as I could remember.

Besides, it wasn’t her fault that I hadn’t had the courage to stand up to my father before then.

When the kitchen cleared a bit, Aunt Ruth asked me, “Your daddy approve of this thing between you and the white man?”

“You’ll have to ask my father that question.”

“I ain’t askin’ him; I’m asking you,” Aunt Ruth fussed. “Me and your uncle Fred always taught our kids against marryin’ outside the race.”

Jessica sat down to grill me, too. She was well into her forties but always thought she was my age—whatever I happened to be. Leave it to Jessica to put on a spaghetti-strapped halter top over an industrial-strength full-support bra. Like that was okay.

One glance at her feet told the rest of the story. Looked like she’d been out on the highway bustin’ rocks with her heels. She pushed her braids from her forehead and asked, “What did he say, girl?”

I just smiled and shook my head. “There’s not much to say. I’m a grown woman. I can date whomever I please.”

“But what does he
think
about it?” Jessica gave me that sister-girl smile, fully expecting me to go off about my daddy so she could in turn bring tidings of our family’s turmoil to the rest of the house.

“Aw, shoot. . .” Aunt Ruth got up from the table and talked like I wasn’t even in the room.

“Jonathan’s kids always did think they was better than the rest of the Smiths.”

“You know, it really doesn’t matter what color a person is,” I said, glad to get that off my chest. “If you like someone, their race is not important.”

“Not in la-la land.” Jessica joined her stepmother at the counter and made herself a second plate of chicken and baked beans.

Finally, my great-aunt Catherine spoke up. She held her beer bottle up in the air as though toasting. “I, for one, am glad to see a white person. I’m tired of looking at y’all bull-lack behinds all the time.” She laughed out loud and winked at me. I felt like toasting with her.

“Really, Aunt Catherine.” Aunt Ruth shook her head. “Do you always have to be so rude? We can’t even have a decent funeral. You and Bessie—always actin’ up and cussin’, too!”

“Well, my cussin’ partner is dead and gone now.” Aunt Catherine wiped the sweat off her nose. “I sholy am gonna miss Bessie.” She took another drink of her beer.

Jonathan and I got back to my house just after seven. In my bedroom, I kicked off my shoes and listened to my messages. I guess I didn’t realize how loud my answering machine was, because Stelson’s message was heard all through the living room. “Hey, LaShondra, it’s Stelson. We got the deal! I thought about you the whole time I was there. Well, it’s a little after five-thirty now. I’m gonna work out for a little while, but I should be finished by seven. Call me at home.” I felt the corners of my lips turn up as I listened to his message.

“So, that’s Stelson, huh?” Jonathan asked, standing in the doorway of my bedroom.
I tried to sound nonchalant, but my face gave it away. “Yes, that’s Stelson.”

“Ol’ Shondra,” Jonathan teased me, “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“What day?”

“The day you stood up to Daddy about racism and prejudice.” He folded his arms and leaned against the frame of my bedroom door. “It’s been a long time since anybody challenged him about it.”

“I didn’t know anybody ever
had
,” I said.

“I did. It was a while back, right after I got into the service.” Jonathan came and sat next to me on the bed. “We had a long, drawn-out talk about one of my comrades. His name was Blake Uretsky. I called Daddy once to tell him that I had leave for a weekend and that I was going home with Blake to check out San Diego. Daddy pitched a fit— told me that I was selling out. All kinds of stuff.”

“Did he tell you that he wasn’t proud of you?” Those words still pinched me.

“No. He told me I was letting him down. And that hurt. It really did. But I prayed about it, and you know what I asked myself?” He waited for my blank stare. “I asked myself, who am I, if I’m not black?”