College Boy : A Novel (9781416586500) (8 page)

“Aw'ight, then, Mat, I'll catch you later.”

 

When later had finally come, Troy had barber business to attend to. His floor's R.A., Charles Davison, needed a haircut badly.

“So how do you want your hair cut?” Troy asked him. He had already cut both James's and Doc's heads as they watched inside his room.

“Just give me a regular cut. Even it up all the way around, and shape it up,” Charles said.

James began to laugh as he looked at his high-rounded, tapered haircut in the mirror. He felt it was comical for a person to want a plain, low haircut. Charles was funny-looking to him anyway.

“Ay', yo, homes, you don't get no tapers, hunh?” James asked with a smirk. Homes is a dickhead, he thought.

“No, I don't get those hoodlum-type haircuts,” Charles answered.

James got hyper. “What, homes? Who said these were hoodlum haircuts? Man, I've been wearing my hair with a nice height since I was, like, seven years old. I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout,” he snapped, peeking again at his hair. “Gon' call this a hoodlum haircut?”

James looked at Doc, who was smiling. Doc also had a high haircut, displaying his curly black hair.

“Ay', little brother, I'm tellin' you now. When you go to Whitey for a job interview, they ain't gon' hire you looking like that, unless you got curly hair like my man here. 'Cause he can wear his hair high without them sayin' shit,” Charles said, referring to Doc.

“
What?
Homes, you must be crazy out your mind, talkin' 'bout what I gotta do for White people!” James shouted. “Why you gotta have curly hair to wear it high? You ain't my brother, homes. I don't wanna be a part of nobody who's ashamed of being Black!”

James would go on and on about race matters. He never dropped the issue. He continued even after Charles Davison had left. “You hear that shit homes said, Troy, talkin' 'bout I can't wear my haircut because of these White motherfuckers? That makes me mad to hear a brother say some shit like that. He's already given up the fight against White people.”

Troy nodded. “Yeah, that's the same dude who was makin' a damn fool out of himself when I first got here. You know how White boys laugh at stupid shit. Well, he was in the bathroom at this floor meeting, actin' like a clown for them.”

James shook his head in disgust. “Troy, man, I'm tired as hell of hearing about how we got to do all this extra shit for White people. They don't have to change for us. That's why I hate White people, homes! We got our own fuckin' cultures, and they ain't important because White people say so!” James shouted with tears in his eyes.

“The real world is like that, though. White people own everything. They don't have to change for us. They're the ones doin' the hiring,” Doc said, as though it was an old and boring argument.

“Naw, fuck that, man! That's why, when I get paid, I'm gon' buy up some land and let money fall in my lap,” James said, irritated. “See, it's too many Black people up here thinkin' about gettin' a regular job. If you really want to get ahead, you gots to own things.”

James stopped only when he realized it was time for his night class. “Yo, homes, sign me out. I got a class to go to.”

Troy signed Doc out as well and returned to his room to set up for two more customers. He first signed in John, a Black student from the suburbs. Later he signed in Peter.

“Hey, John, what's up, man? I didn't know you knew my brother Troy,” Peter said, as soon as he spotted John in the chair.

“You two are brothers?” John asked. “I had no idea of that.”

“Yeah, we're all brothers,” Peter responded.

“Yeah, OK,” John said, not knowing what he was talking about.

Troy frowned, finishing up his haircut.

“Are you a follower of the Lord, brother John?” Peter asked.

“No, but if there is a God, I hope he likes me.”

Troy laughed, in no mood for religious lessons. He hoped Peter didn't have any.

“Ignorance is the route to all evil,” Peter commented.

John started to feel annoyed.

“Ay', look, man, don't come down here messin' with my customers with that religious shit,” Troy stated in John's defense.

The situation was useless. Peter kept talking about the Lord. It only got worse with argument. So Troy finished up John's haircut and began on Peter's after signing John out.

“Ay', Peter?”

“Yes, my brother.”

Troy shook his head, sickened every time Peter uttered “my brother.” It was starting to get on his last nerve. “Anyway, man. This dude was in here today, and he said that Jay shouldn't get a high haircut because the White employers will think he's a street hood.”

“What brother said this?” Peter asked, grimacing.

“This Black R.A. named Charles Davison. He's a senior.”

“Yeah, well the way I see it, a haircut is trivial. You mean to tell me that just because I wear a high hair-cut, I won't be hired for a job? What, my résumés and grades are no good? What if you're a straight-A student and you happen to have a high haircut? You don't get the job? Naw, my brother, that's crazy. It doesn't make any sense.” Peter laughed softly for the first time in days. “Yo, man, this brother needs help, 'cause I wear a high haircut too, not to be a hoodlum, but because it's my preference.”

Troy wore a high haircut as well. He was proud of being Black and having brown features. He was also happy that Peter didn't seem to change his views on his blackness. For some reason, Troy had previously felt that being religious had no room for being Black. The jubilation made him reveal his prayer.

“You know what, Pete? I prayed last night, but nothin' happened,” he said, sneezing.

“God bless you,” Peter said. “So you prayed last night, hunh, my brother?” he queried with a grin. “Well, what did you expect to happen?”

“I thought I would feel this big impulse like you claim you did.”

“It doesn't work like that. God gives everyone a choice to live for him or to perish in hell with the devil.”

“Why can't I just live for me, my family, and my people? Why is God gonna make us live for him or die?” Troy asked. He was starting to feel frustration.

“That's just it, my brother. God doesn't make you do anything. You have a choice.”

“Well, what kind of a choice is that? It sounds like we have a choice to be a puppet for God or for the devil, to me. If I don't follow God, I'm going to the devil. So every time I do something wrong, it was the devil, Pete. Is that what you want me to believe?”

“My brother, the devil can only influence you to do things. You determine if you want to do them or not.”

“Aw man, fuck it then! God is real selfish if he expects us to just live life like that. Why didn't he just make us into mindless robots? It ain't no God. Black people just don't believe in themselves, so they run to all this religious shit and catch the ‘Holy Ghost,' “ Troy said, giggling away his tension.

Simon walked in as he continued: “It ain't no damn God, man. I don't believe that stupid shit. It's all dumb.”

When Troy finished cutting Peter's hair, Peter got up angrily and put his coat on, leaving $6 on Troy's bed. “You know what, Troy, I hate to see you be lost to the dark roads that lie ahead, so I'm gon' pray for you. And by the way, I'll sign myself out.”

Peter left disappointed in Troy. He thought that Troy, of all people, would be able to see the light. Troy had helped him more than anyone else on campus. Peter thought that Troy cared a lot about people. As he closed the door, he shut it softly enough to give his friend a conscious message.

Simon looked at Troy as soon as Peter disappeared. He was ready for a chat about it. “Hey Troy, Peter's really serious about that religious stuff, isn't he?”

“I guess so, man. He ain't backin' down at all.”

Simon shook his head. “There ain't no God, Troy.

And Jesus Christ was a regular man with a crazy dream that he was a messenger. OK, if there is a God, why don't
he
cut Peter's fuckin' hair?” Simon said humorously. “Now stop looking all sad and shit, wouldja.”

Troy thought about it. “I'on know, man. I hate being wrong, especially about something as deep as religion.”

“Yeah, yeah, you're Black, too, so you're weakminded, just like the rest of 'em,” Simon responded. He laughed and put his earphones on, stretching out on his bed.

“Yeah, well ta hell with you too, Simon. You damn Jew.”

T
HE COACH HAD SAID THAT PRACTICE WOULD GET ROUGH
when the season neared. He said he would run ten pounds of sweat off of each fat-ass. Water bottles were minimal, breaks were cut in half, and mistakes were not tolerated. It was time for the true men of the game to show their colors.

“Come on, Potter, push it up. This is not the time to get tired! Do you want to take someone's job on this team, or what, young man? Show me right now what you want out of this ball club! This isn't high school, son!”

The coach shouted up and down the court, trying to inflame the fire in each player's blood.

“Damn it, Morris! Get in there quicker and box the man out! 'Cause let me tell you, son, when you're up against Georgetown, they're not gonna wait for your sorry ass to decide when you want to work in the middle for a rebound! And Hecker, the next shot you miss like that, you'll be watching all year, son! Those are not the kind of shots that guys at your level should be missing!”

Finally, Troy received a short break while the next group of guards practiced.

“Yo, Potts, I'm getting tired of this dumb shit, man. We should be practicing more plays and perfecting 'em. All he tryin' to do is make us sweat,” Morris said. “I'm tellin' you, man, I'm 'bout to say, ‘Ta hell with this team,' and go play ball for Florida State. They was gon' give me more money anyway, and it's closer to home. But naw, I wanted to come to State 'cause they had national rep.”

Troy listened, barely. The bulk of his attention was on a light-brown-haired White girl who watched them practice.

“Yeah, man, I know. It gets on my nerves, too. But, cuz', who's that bad-ass White girl in the bleachers?”

Morris looked and smiled. He was taller than Troy, with long, lanky arms and legs. “That's this white hoe that Dave is pimpin'. She be around his crib all the time. These white hoes will be dying to give up the panties when the season starts.”

Troy smiled, as his teammate continued: “Man, I never had a White girl in my life before I started runnin' ball up here. But now, I know, like, hundreds of 'em,” Morris commented. They started to laugh and the coach caught them.

“You two, what the hell are you laughing at? You give me twenty laps around the court after practice, on the clock, since you both got something to laugh about! You think this is a damn joke out here, do ya? We'll see how hard you two laugh after the season starts!” the coach screamed.

By the time Troy got back to his dorm, he was exhausted, falling out across his small, twin-sized bed.

“Practice is gettin' hard as hell, Simon, just like the coach said it was. And it's Friday, too.”

Simon was at his desk doing much needed home-work. “Yeah, well, you don't get to be a star for nothing,” he responded. “I still can't believe that my roommate is actually on the basketball team. It's unreal. I mean, what if you go to the pros and I see you on TV and all? I'll say, ‘Hey, that guy there was my roommate in college,' and probably nobody would believe me. Hell, I could even be your agent, Troy!”

Simon faced him wearing a huge smile.

Troy shook his head. “You know what, man, you White people take me out. Y'all don't care a damn thing about Black people unless they're a star or something. Then y'all run around like assholes just 'cause you know somebody on the basketball or football team.”

“So the hell what?” Simon asked, laughing. “Race doesn't have anything to do with it. Anyone who is a star will be wanted.”

“Yeah, that's true, but I can't help noticing how you White people act, since I've been up here damn near four months now. I just can't help reactin'. And I'm the most liberal of all my boys. So I know they can't make it up here with you fuckers.”

“Aw man, shut up. I'm studying,” Simon said jokingly. “Oh yeah, Troy, your boy Doc called and said he'll be here around nine, to pick you up for the party.”

Troy nodded and picked out an outfit for the night.

 

“Ay', Troy, come on, man. Why you always gotta be ready waited longer than an hour for Troy. “The party started at nine. It's ten minutes till eleven,” he pouted.

“Look, Doc, when you walk in real late, you draw the attention of all the people who wanna see who's comin' in next,” Troy told him.

Doc sucked his teeth. “Yeah, right. By then all the dudes in the party will have the best girls already.”

Troy pulled his Polo shoes from underneath his bed.

“Those are some nice tennis shoes,” Doc mentioned.

“What? Man, these ain't no tennis shoes. These are casual sneakers, the kind you see in
GQ
magazine. And if you see anyone playing tennis in these, they crazy. Niggas don't play tennis anyway.”

Doc chuckled.

“Oh yeah, Doc, is that girl with the green eyes gon' be there?” Troy asked him.

“Yeah, man, I told her about you. She's probably in the party now,” Doc said, looking out the window. There was a crowd of students, eighteen stories down and strolling on the sidewalk. “See, man, come on, you wastin' time. You already look as pretty as you gon' get,” Doc persisted. He then turned and watched Troy in the mirror, admiring himself. His thin mustache was starting to grow in fuller.

“Ay', Doc, man, it's funny, 'cause my mother was telling me about some girl with green eyes, back in the day. And she went on a college campus to get knocked up by some college dude.”

Doc laughed before he responded. “This girl don't go to college either. She might try to do the same shit to you.”

Troy grinned. “Naw, man, I use rubbers,
all
the time. Ain't no girl gettin' knocked up by me until
I'm
ready,” he declared. He tugged on his long, brown leather coat to head to the party. As usual, they sneaked in by creating fake stamps on their hands.

“Hey, what you say, Troy? Where you been all week?” Bruce asked. He was always the first to greet Troy upon entry, as though he was waiting for him. He smiled and patted Troy on the shoulder.

“I've been studying for finals and practicing up at the gym,” Troy answered. He observed the crowds while they walked around to see how many good lookers they could entice for a future date. Troy was pleased that it was packed, although his cool demeanor didn't show it.

Several sisters had their eyes on him. Troy felt light-headed, shaking the hands of the many guys who respected him. It seemed that every brother at State U knew at least his name. He had become quite popular from taking cuties home with him on the weekends. He also had a reputation for not calling them back.

Troy felt that he was too smooth, freshly dressed, and too smart to be turned down. He could imagine himself in movies with screaming fans and constant women. Yet it was no longer exciting. He no longer felt those irresistible urges of first-sight lust. Women were no big deal to him now.

He spotted Ms. Green Eyes, well dressed and with a pack of her girlfriends. She wore a yellow turtleneck and a yellow sweater. Her sweater had four equally spaced black diamond-shaped designs on the front, matching her black leather miniskirt. She wore black leather boots and Troy noticed that one of her girlfriends held her long rabbit-fur coat. In a word, she was fabulous!

Troy began to wonder how he could lure her away from her girlfriends. He knew he would have to impress them. Yet he had a new fear. He had earlier decided that he would try and go for the gusto on the first night. He had met Tamara before, briefly, through hanging out with Doc. And he suspected that she wanted him.

“Ay', Bruce, you see that girl with the yellow sweater and the black leather skirt?” Troy pointed his right index finger to the left, across his body, in an attempt to camouflage.

“Naw, man, what girl?” Bruce asked, looking in the wrong direction.

“Not that way, man. Look at where my finger is pointing.”

“Oh, my fault,” Bruce said, chuckling. He peeped in the right direction and spotted her. “Oh, cuz, she bad as hell,” he responded.

“I'm tryin' to decide how to get her away from all her girlfriends,” Troy told him. “It must be about six of 'em. I ain't tryin' to have all those girls up in my face.”

“Word, cuz. I know what you mean. I'on like that shit either,” Bruce agreed.

Either it was luck or just meant to be, but Green Eyes happened to look in their direction. Troy gave her a fast finger motion for her to come to him. He thought that she would wait until her new dance was over. Yet she stopped, whispered something to her partner, then to her girlfriends, and began to walk toward him. Instead of feeling overjoyed, Troy began to feel more vainglorious and engineering. He felt like he could do anything. He headed away from where he stood, slow enough to allow her to follow, into an unattended corner where he could lay his game.

“Sit down right here,” he directed. He looked her over from head to toe, as if she were a platter at a restaurant. Her seductive smile made him believe, definitely, that he could score on the first night. “What time do you have to be home tonight?” he asked her.

“I don't have to go home, if I don't want to.”

“Oh yeah? Well make sure you get with me after the party if you wanna stay over.” Troy felt the game would end or continue after her response. If she declined, he would feel the shock of a challenge that he longed to have. If she agreed, he would feel, although happy that he had succeeded, a lack of respect and a touch of pity.

“I'll see you after the party, then,” she answered with a smile.

 

After signing Tamara out, Troy returned to his room, finding Simon wide awake and waiting for him.

“Hey, Troy, man, this is it. I'm tired of you keeping girls over here all night.” Then he smiled. “She was one pretty girl, though, I'll tell ya that.”

Troy chuckled to himself, modestly. “Yeah, man, that girl told me she has a baby, and she's only seven-teen. Everybody told me she was down. I really don't understand her, though, man, as pretty as she is. But fuck it, I'm goin' down to eat breakfast.”

“Yeah, well bring me up a bagel,” Simon said.

“That's another thing I've noticed; you White people love bagels,” Troy commented, leaving.

Inside the cafeteria there were no other Black students up yet. Troy was the only one who had made it up after the party so early. He realized that it had been the same every week. He would be the only Black up early and eating breakfast, until he was almost finished. A bunch of other colored faces would float around later.

Out of boredom, Troy began to watch the half-dressed White girls. He felt a strong and sudden craving to have one. Nevertheless, they still seemed like virgins. They seemed somehow untouchable to him.

Yet and still, White girls conveyed a certain looseness. They appeared positive and gay. Troy's curiosity for their flesh increased by the second. He felt a challenge. I wonder if I can get a White babe, he mused. And of course, he would want top choices.

 

“Here's your stupid bagels, man,” Troy said, returning to his room.

Simon was watching an early college football game with big, bright green eyes. “Hey, great, Troy! Thanks a lot, man.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Troy responded, thinking of the news he had to tell. “You know what, Sime, I think I wanna pop a White girl. I mean, they been walkin' around here every day, and I haven't even tried one yet. It's thousands of 'em up here. And it's not that I'm really interested in your girls, I just wanna see if they feel different or something.”

“Go for it, man. They'll probably be with it. You're kind of cute, and you're on the basketball team. Oh yeah, you can score. Easily!” Simon assured.

“Oh, since I'm on the basketball team, hunh?” Troy responded.

 

That Monday morning, Troy began to observe the race of which he was not a member to see if there were any instances of inner discrimination among Caucasians. He had already taken a liking to an olive-complexioned, black-haired student in his chemistry lecture.

Late as usual, she stomped into class making extra noise and turning heads. The classmates would turn, only to see who it was, before paying attention to the lecture and taking notes.

She was beautiful to Troy. He had always noticed her, even without the noise she regularly made. Maybe she was angry at the world for having darker hair and darker skin than her peers.

Her eyes always seemed to follow a sandy-haired guy who was a cheerleader for the football team. He sat next to his blond-haired girlfriend.

Blonds had more fun because no one White paid any attention to the dark-haired girls, although Troy felt they were prettier. They had fuller, more contrasting features. And over the next few days, he continued to watch his Caucasian classmates in their social behavior.

 

“Ay', what's up, Joe?” Troy asked, setting his tray of food down inside the cafeteria.

“Nothing much, Troy. What's up with you?” Joe said, already seated and eating lunch. Joe was tan-skinned, with slick wavy hair that he combed to the back, the Duke Ellington look.

“Ain't nothin' goin' on, man,” Troy told him. “Ay', man, I noticed that you get along with White people pretty good,” he mentioned, expecting a response to start a discussion on the topic.

“Yeah, I went to a high school where the population was, like, half and half,” Joe said.

Troy nodded. “I went to an all-Black school. I can't talk to them White people too much. It seems like they're actors to me.” He took a sip of soup. “Their personalities don't seem real. My roommate is cool, though.”

Joe nodded back to him, chomping on his tuna sandwich and wiping the sides of his mouth with his napkin. “It was the same way with me. But I've learned how to bullshit around with them.”

“Tell me somethin', though,” Troy asked. “Do you, umm … find White girls attractive?” He lowered his voice. He didn't want anyone to hear him talking about finding Whites girls attractive.