Love Knows No Color Pt. 03

They were looking for us when we drove up. The whole family was waiting to meet the white boy who'd stolen Shavonda's heart. Althea met us at the car. She hugged Shavonda, then said to me, "C'mon. You too." We embraced. Following Althea down the steps was her father, James. We said hi, we shook hands. Like Althea, he had an air of quiet dignity to him. He also had an authority about him that reminded me of James Earl Jones. Or better yet, Denzell Washington in Unstoppable.

One of the cousins loved to deejay. He'd set up a stereo and table in the backyard, hip hop music was playing and some of the people were dancing in on the patio. I made the rounds with Shavonda introducing me to everybody. Velma was there, so was Tamika.

One of the men about my age confronted me. "What are you doing with my cousin. She's not a toy."

Althea rushed in to my rescue. "Robert! You leave Jason alone. HE's our guest."

"I just don't want to see white boy here leave her high and dry once he gets tired of playing on the dark side." He glared at me. They were protective of Shavonda.

Althea hustled me away from Robert, saying, "Don't mind him. He'll come around." She steered me into the kitchen, where Shavonda was happily telling a group of older ladies about our weekend. She was telling them about the cactus. They didn't believe her so I retrieved it from the car and showed it to them. "You're so sweet," one of the ladies said. "I can see why she likes you." Turning to Shavonda she said, "He's a keeper, that one is. Don't you dare let him get away."

James found me and steered me away from the women. "I thought I should rescue you," he said. "Besides, we need to talk. Tell me about yourself, son."

I told him about who I was, my outlook on life, my intentions toward his daughter. He told me about the family. How his grandparents fled Birmingham in the 1960s. One of the girls killed in the church bombing was close family. In Pittsburgh, James's father had found work in the steel mills. He worked his way through night school emerging with a degree in electronics, and was promoted to electrician in the mill. That was a lucky break. When the mills shut down in the 1980s, he had enough seniority in the mill in a craft that was in demand that he retained his job. The laborers he'd started out with were not so lucky, and were all laid off. He was able to put James and his brother through school. James followed in his father's footsteps and became an electrician, maintaining signals for the railroad.

James's father retired from the mill with over 40 years of service, around the time Shavonda had graduated college. Within a couple of years, he was dead of a massive heart attack.

James had done well with the railroad, putting two daughters and a son through school. The son was working in California and couldn't make the cookout. The daughter, Shaunice, had been sitting at the table with Shavonda. She was several years older than Shavonda.

James told me the story of Shavonda's boyfriend Tony, and the baby he'd fathered. He confirmed what Althea had told me two weeks earlier. Tony's race was never mentioned. To this day I don't know it. All that matters is that he'd killed her baby, and made it so she couldn't have any more.

I could sense the guy liked me. Finally, he asked me what music I listened to. I told him what my favorites were.

"No," he said. "Do you like funk, soul, r&b, hip hop?"

"I always liked Parliament, Heatwave, War and Sly and the Family Stone."

"Now we're getting somewhere. What's your favorite P-funk?"

"Maggot Brain," I replied. "That is one of the best guitar solos I've ever heard. It's not virtuoso, but it is way more powerful than anything most of the guitar gods did."

"You like Stevie Wonder?"

"Journey Through the Secret Life of Plants, and Innervisions are my favorite albums."

"I'm impressed." He turned to me with a mischievous look that reminded me of Shavonda in her playful mood. "The young bucks have had enough air time, let's go pick out some cd's and show them what real music is."

I was in my glory. We worked our way through the cd rack in the living room, picking out about 20 disks. I followed him out to the backyard where he elbowed aside the deejay, saying, "You've had your fun, now it's time for some grown folk's music."

Shavonda was up on the patio dancing when her dad made the switch. When Atomic Dog started blasting from the speakers several of the younger members of the family left the patio, groaning, "Oh man!" and "Turn that shit off!" Shavonda stayed on the patio, her graceful movements a pleasure to watch. She was in her element.

"Let's see the white boy dance!" somebody yelled.

A female voice called out, "Hey Von, you better go get your man!" Shavonda looked at me, motioning me to the patio.

James said to me, "You better get up there before somebody else grabs your woman" I walked to the patio feeling good about myself. It wasn't "my daughter," it was "your woman." He'd accepted me. This was going to be fun.

I started to dance with her, my movements jerky. Somebody laughed. "I knew white boy couldn't dance."

Shavonda grabbed me by the hands and led my movements, saying, "I know you know how to feel the music. You do it all the time when we make love. This is just like making love. Let the music flow through you. Let it guide your movements." She gyrated in front of me. "Do what I do," she said. I copied what she did, how she moved. I could feel the music. My movements became fluid. I was doing it.

We danced that way for a while. Then a slow tune came on. I started to sit down. Shavonda put her arms around me and pulled me close. "What you worried about baby?" she asked. "Them seeing you rub up on me? Don't worry. You're family now."

She put her arms around my neck, we were slow dancing in a warm embrace. She kissed me. "I love you Jefferson Waite," she cooed.

"I love you too, Shavonda Jenkins."

To be continued...