The Journey Ch. 02

"It's really nice to meet you. I'm Jane."

"Nice to know someone else in class. Do you think the teacher is going to be a white dude who mansplains race to us?" All three of my professors so far had been just that. Male and white.

"Lord, that would be terrible!" she said. Her laugh was rich and full of life. I hated that I was being drawn to someone so clearly out of my league.

"So, what do you do? Are you like me? Stuck in your job, trying to do something to get ahead?"

She laughed again. "No, I like to think of myself as a professional student. Always learning."

"Huh. That sounds like a nightmare."

"You don't like school?"

"Well, I hated high school, that's for sure. I'm a little intimidated by the whole college thing, but calculus went pretty well for the first day, so that made me feel a little more confident."

"College is nothing like high school, when done right, Vivian. You get out of it what you put into it. I think challenging yourself is the point of college, more so than getting a piece of paper saying you went to college. It's always rewarding when you rise to meet a challenge you've put in front of yourself."

I did a quick double take when she used my full name. No one ever called me that. Except Abuela, when she was mad at me. It sounded weird.

"We'll see, I guess." I looked at my phone. "Six o'clock. Does this college do that 'five-minute rule' thing where you can leave when the professor doesn't show up?"

"Probably, but this professor is always on time. I've enjoyed talking to you, Vivian."

"What? Where are you..."

She picked up her bag, stood and walked down the steps to the front of the room, leaving me with my mouth hanging open. She set her legal pad on the podium, stuffed her bag underneath it then faced the class, who fell silent.

"Good evening, welcome to Race Relations in Modern American History. I'm Dr. Jane May and I'll be your instructor. Just a little about myself to start, I got my undergraduate degree from Howard University in African-American studies. I completed my PhD at Georgetown, studying critical race theory and how it ties to the progress of civil rights in America, and I'm currently back at Howard working on a post-doc project. This is my second semester teaching here at NOVA as an adjunct professor."

As she spoke, I slid lower and lower in my seat until I could barely see her headwrap over the top of the guy's head in front of me. Holy shit, I'd stepped in it. I couldn't believe I'd been sitting here talking to her like she was just another twenty-something trying to climb the ladder.

A freaking PhD! I can't believe I was considering trying to pick her up! Christ, what she must think of me right now. I've totally fucked myself.

"Make no mistake, the subject of race relations is threaded throughout American history for over four hundred years. But in this particular class, we'll be covering the sixties civil rights era through to current events. If you haven't read the syllabus yet, please do so before our next class, as it contains the due dates and grading rubrics for your two papers, which are thirty-five and fifty percent of your grade, respectively. I will assign each of you a topic for your first paper. By the middle of the semester you'll pick a topic for your final paper, which will need to be approved by me in advance. You'll also present your final paper to the class the last week of the semester, and that will be part of your paper's grade. I like my classes to be full of lively discussion, so class participation is fifteen percent of your grade."

Fuck.

"I like to start by going around the room and having everyone introduce themselves and briefly tell us what you're hoping to get out of my course. Let's start over here." She walked over to the young woman on the left of the front row. "You first!"

"Hi everyone, I'm Cindy Lewis, this is my third semester, and I'm..."

I tuned her out, lost in my own embarrassment.

My first fucking day, the class hadn't even started and I'd shoved my foot in my mouth. Christ. She'd probably nail me on class participation, even if I did participate, because she thought I was an underachieving dumbass. She probably thought I didn't want to take her class but had no choice because I'd fucked around until the last minute. She'd probably make an example out of me. I sat there, my mind spinning in circles.

I opened my laptop to pretend to take notes, and pulled up the NOVA web page to check the drop policies. Fortunately, it looked like I could drop this class until the end of week three with only a small administrative fee. My tuition would be refunded. Maybe I should just drop it right now? I could leave during the break. I didn't like the idea of dropping it while I was in the class, so I'd guess I'd wait until I was home tonight or maybe tomorrow, that way—

I realized the room was silent. I looked up to see Jane... Dr. May... looking at me with an expectant grin on her face.

"Vivian? Care to introduce yourself?"

"Yeah, okay. I'm, uh, Vivian Esparza. This is my first semester."

"And...? What are you hoping to get out of the course?"

"Uh, I guess I'm just hoping to get my elective covered so I can get my engineering degree."

"Refreshingly honest!" She laughed again. Surprisingly, I didn't detect any hint of irritation in it. "Okay, let's dive in. Today we'll just be discussing some concepts. We won't start getting into history and the sixties until the next session on Thursday."

She started her lecture, and despite myself, I found myself drawn in. She was a really good speaker, and kept us engaged, asking questions and calling on specific people for their thoughts from time to time. I was surprised when an hour had passed seemingly in no time at all. When she called for a ten-minute break, I got up and scooted out of the room as fast as I could.

A group of six or seven students trailed after me down the hall towards the vending machines. I skipped buying a soda and filled my metal thermos bottle with water from the drinking fountain.

It was interesting watching the different reactions as they discussed the class. The two black students of the group seemed very enthusiastic, chatting with each other about Dr. May. The rest were white and seemed interested, but less enthusiastic.

The Cindy girl from the front row seemed a little ticked off. "Is the whole semester just going to be talking about how awful white people are?"

"I didn't get that at all. I mean, you kind of have to talk about oppression when you talk about race in history, don't you?" said a white guy who'd introduced himself as Jerrod? Jeremy. Yeah, Jeremy. "Just because white people are historically the root cause of oppression in the U.S. doesn't mean when she talks about it that she's talking about you specifically. Or every white person for that matter."

"But all that stuff about white privilege, that's crap! I don't have more privilege" —she made finger quotes while saying it— "than someone just because they're black and I'm white. My dad works at a car dealership. He's not some rich guy."

"I think you missed her point," said one of the white girls, who name I'd missed while researching how to get out of the class.

"And she's black, and she has a PhD and teaches college! How is she less privileged than my parents or me?"

"That's not what privilege means," said another girl. Neither of the black students had responded to Cindy, but they both gave each other looks of resignation. I caught one of their eyes, Sam I think his name was, then rolled my eyes at Cindy. He gave me a curt nod then went back to listening to Cindy spout off.

"What about all that stuff about institutional racism? That stuff's been illegal for years. You can't deny someone a mortgage because they're black or refuse to hire someone for a job because they're black, not anymore."

What a piece of work. She was going to have fun in this class for sure. It was almost too bad I wouldn't be around to see it.

After class resumed, I kept an eye on Cindy for any more fireworks. So far, I'd been lucky that Dr. May hadn't called on me. She seemed to be spreading the love around the whole class, but I was hopeful that she wouldn't get to me today. Then I could bounce and not worry about it again.

Cindy seemed to be all about pushing back at Dr. May in the second half of class.

"How am I not disadvantaged?" she was saying, "Just because I'm white, I'm still a woman. Women are paid less, and we have our careers set back or curtailed when we choose to have children. Why don't we talk about men's privilege instead of white privilege?"

I couldn't help myself, I let out a snort of amusement and shook my head.

"Miss Esparza?"

Oops. "Sorry, nothing."

"No, share with the class please. What's your reaction to what Miss Lewis said?"

Dammit. "Well, uh, I guess I'd say that it's true women get discriminated against more compared to men. But a white woman generally has a different place in society than a black or Latino woman."

"How so?" Jane was watching me too intently for my comfort. So were several other students. I hated this attention.

"Well, I work in a pretty male dominated job, so I get harassed sometimes and have to deal with locker room talk and I'm expected to just roll with it. But because I'm Latina, and gay I get extra layers on top of that." My sexuality isn't something I was shy about shoving in people's faces. At least as long as Abuela wasn't around.

"Can you develop that some more?" The entire class's attention was focused on me now.

Jesus, this is exactly what I didn't want.

"Uh... okay, if Cindy Lewis, Dr. Jane May and Vivian Esparza," I said, pointing in turn to each of us, "applied for a mortgage, I'm probably the most likely to get discriminated against, just because of my name. Dr. May, you'd probably have the most advantage because of your title if you applied online, but if you showed up in person to apply, then you could have a race problem and be the most disadvantaged. Likewise, if the three of us were standing on a street corner and a racist cop rolled up on us, you're more likely to catch his beef just because of the color of your skin. If they don't know my last name, sometimes people think I'm white. Also, if the three of us were out somewhere with dates, and the two of you had your boyfriends or husbands and I had a girlfriend, I'm more likely to get stares or snide comments because I'm gay. And I imagine I'm the only one of the three of us who's been told to go back to my country more than once, even though I was born and raised in Virginia."

Dr. May smiled. "Those are astute observations Miss Esparza, although I've been told to go back to Africa a handful of times myself." My face heated up in embarrassment. Of course, she had, I should have assumed that. She turned back to the whiteboard, picking up a dry-erase marker. "Miss Esparza has just introduced us to another one of the concepts we'll be talking about this semester."

She wrote a word on the board below the other bullet points she'd already listed.

Intersectionality

"Intersectionality is the interconnected nature of social categorizations. Race, gender, class, sexuality, nationality and other categories, as they apply to a given individual or group, which can create overlapping and interdependent systems of discrimination or disadvantage."

Fuck, she has an actual word for someone being racist or homophobe? Why not just call them that? I'm so in over my head, she has to think I'm a total idiot. I bet her calling me "astute" is her polite way of being condescending.

Dr. May didn't call on me again for the rest of the class. When she was wrapping up, I was surprised to find I'd taken several pages of notes on my laptop, for all the use they'd be to me.

"Today was a good discussion," Dr. May was saying, "For Thursday make sure you've read the first three chapters of the Ijeoma Oluo book and the second and fifth essays in Baldwin's Notes of a Native Son. I'll be in this room for thirty minutes before every class for office hours. If you need to meet outside of office hours, email me and we can set up a Zoom call. Thank you! Safe drive home!"

Some of the students shuffled up to the front of the room to ask Dr. May questions about the syllabus. I stuffed my laptop into my backpack and headed outside to the bus stop. It still irked me that it was faster to take the 7A bus north to the Pentagon City Metro station and then go south on the Blue Line to get home, than it was to catch a bus south to Van Dorn. At least the 7A came every fifteen minutes, so I wouldn't have to wait very long.

It was probably good I was going to drop this class. By the end of the semester, it would be pitch dark and freezing cold waiting for the bus. Maybe next semester I could go to all morning classes and shift my work schedule to nights. Then maybe I could get my spot on my bowling team back.

I frowned at the sunset. Manny, Raúl and Oscar had already found someone to take my spot for the next season. Manny said all the right things about how I was a better bowler than the new guy was, and they were sad to lose me, but it still hurt being replaced so quickly. The image of Addison, towing along her doctor chick by the hand in her wheelchair flashed through my mind.

"Fuck," I said to the bus stop sign, kicking it with the toe of my boot.

The signpost vibrated resentfully, as if to say Hey chica, not my fault you weren't enough for Addie.

I cheated on her. She didn't leave me, I thought. I should stop telling myself I wasn't enough for her when I was the one who pushed her away.

It's not as if she wouldn't have broken up with you later anyway if you hadn't cheated on her, I argued with myself.

Good point, self. You don't have to be a dick about it, though.

~~ Bowl America, Springfield, VA ~~

My ball spun into the pocket, exploding the pins with a satisfying crash. I walked back to the counter above the ball racks behind my lane and helped myself to a couple of French fries. I looked over the papers I'd laid out next to the basket of food on the counter as I chewed, then finished a couple more of my math problems that were due next Tuesday.

While I was out of the bowling league, at least until January, I didn't want to lose my skills and come back with a ton of rust, so I'd decided at least every week or two I'd go bowl a few games. Either by myself, or if I could, with Manny so I'd have some competition.

This week, I'd come on a Friday morning, right as they'd opened the doors. I was working two to ten tonight, so I'd have to carry my bowling bag and backpack full of homework all day on the train. I didn't have any other time this week that was convenient, so Friday morning it was.

It was kind of nice, actually, being the only person bowling in the entire alley. The attendant had even asked what kind of music I wanted on the sound system. I normally wouldn't ask for Latin music when there were other people around, but since I was the only customer and I didn't usually bowl here, I'd asked if he could get the Viva! channel on SiriusXM. So, there I was, doing homework, having a burger and fries for breakfast and bowling to Shakira's Mi Enamore. Her voice echoed around the alley as she sang to me about falling in love.

¡Me ena-na-namo, Mira qué cosa bonita, Qué boca más redondita!

I pretended the next line about a guy with a handsome beard wasn't in the song. I ate another fry, wiped my hands on a napkin and went back to the lane. Picking up my ball, I held it over my head, both hands in the air as I danced back to my mark, my hips shaking to the music.

¡Un mojito, dos mojitos, Mira que ojitos bonitos, me gusta esa barbita!

"I could use a few mojitos and a chick with some pretty eyes myself," I said to my ball as I held it up in front of my face. I looked up at my score on the screen overhead. Huh, five strikes through five frames. I turned and looked around the alley. I was still the lone bowler and the attendant was nowhere to be seen.

Well, no point in wasting a perfect game if there's no one around to see it, I thought.

I adjusted my stance, gave my butt a little Shakira-shake along to the music, then deliberately threw my ball through the head pin, resulting in a four-seven-ten split. Always could use more practice on game situations. I really wanted to spring for a slick plastic ball for picking up spares, but then I'd have to buy a new bag too, and it'd be twice as heavy when I had to carry it to work.

I went back to the counter and did another math problem while my ball rolled back down the return to me. Since I'd dropped my history class when I'd gotten home three days ago, my stress level over school felt like it was about half of what it was. Yesterday was my second day at NOVA and I was now pretty sure I would have no problems making it through the semester. At least this semester. The two freshmen basic classes I could pass in my sleep and I was doing just fine in the calculus class so far. I just needed to stay on top of the homework.

I pulled up my work schedule on my phone. Early shift tomorrow, then late shift on Sunday.

Maybe I'll hit a dance club tomorrow night, have a few mojitos and try to pick up someone. Been so long since I've been out. I'll have to try and not drink too much, though. I hate being hungover when I go to Abuela's.

I lined up my shot. As I strode forward, my phone started ringing on the counter, startling me. My ball went into the left gutter four feet short of the pins.

"Fuck," I said, without much feeling. Since the alley wasn't crowded with dozens of balls hitting pins and people yelling, I'd had no reason to expect a distraction and I hadn't really focused. I walked back to the counter and looked at my phone. It was a number I didn't recognize. I was about fifty-fifty on whether I'd answer unknown numbers most days. It was almost always a spam call. Eh, what the hell. I picked it up.

"Yello?"

"Is this Vivian?"

"Yes, who's this?"

"Vivian, it's Jane May. I'm not interrupting you while you're driving a subway train, am I?"

"Uh, no, I always turn my phone off while I'm driving." What the fuck? Why was Dr. May calling me? "How did you get my number?" I blurted, then immediately regretted saying something so dumb.

"Your cell number was in your student contact info that I get for everyone in the class. I hope that's okay."

"Uh... Sure, I mean... yeah, it's fine. What can I do for you?"

"I was calling because I was disappointed to learn you dropped my class. Was it something I said?"

"No! No, of course not... I just... didn't think I could handle the course load for my first semester. Something had to give."

"Hmm. I'm sorry to hear that. My class was the one that didn't make the cut?" Her voice was just as it had been during her lecture. Full of intelligence, with an undercurrent of humor.

"Yeah, I'm taking calculus and I'm much more comfortable with the subject."

"I understand. I want you to know I really thought your comments leading us into the discussion about intersectionality were insightful. I think your perspective would have been a valuable addition to the class."

Really? "Uh, thanks. I mean, thank you."

"You're very welcome. Just so you know, you can rejoin the class anytime through the third week without a grading penalty. I've asked the registrar to hold your spot open so my class doesn't fill back up before then. I understand your decision, people have to decide what they can handle for themselves, but I hope you'll reconsider."