White Freshman, Black Coeds Ch. 26

11/22/2005, Tuesday

"Does your dad own any guns that you know of?"

"Baby, he's going to like you! Please stop worrying about it?"

Our usual lunch spot in the Student Union café. Tomorrow was Meet The Parents day (dun dun duh!), and I'd be driving her home to Kalamazoo.

"Machetes? Swords? Bowie knives?"

Nia was giggling as I thought up all kinds of lethal weapons. "Stop!"

"Cannons? Guillotines? Ray guns? Attack dogs?"

Laughing out loud now, "It's going to be fine! Would you stop??"

"But I'm just so nervous! I've never done this before, 'Meet the Parents.' And you said your dad doesn't like white men, so he's especially not going to like one dating his daughter."

"Listen, we'll deal with that together, okay? It's as much my problem as yours, after all. Out of all the boys I've ever met I chose you. *I* made that choice, fully aware of the consequences."

She looked at me dead-seriously, her eyes full of meaning, and that sobered me up. Because all this time I'd been making it my problem, something *I* had to get through. But I didn't have parents or any other family I had to worry about justifying my black girlfriend to, while she still had parents and aunts and cousins and friends back home, and interracial relationships like ours (black woman, white man) were still relatively rare.

"I'm sorry, Nia. I totally hadn't thought about the impact of us on you. Thank you for choosing me, and for thinking I'm worthy of putting yourself through....whatever's about to happen."

She looked at me still serious. "Mark, I love you. I'd walk through fire for you, or whatever people do. And it's not going to be that bad, you'll see. Mama will love you, and Daddy will come around. They both love me and I think trust me enough to make good decisions. And if they don't..." She kissed me quickly then hugged me, not letting me see her face. But I thought I could tell from her hug that she'd choose me over them if it came to that. Which I wouldn't want her to: no one should lose their parents, even a little bit.

Conversation petered out while we ate, each lost in our own thoughts about tomorrow. I'd noticed before a copy of Ebony on the table next to ours, so I stretched out and grabbed it. The Annual Hair Issue it proclaimed on the cover, so I thought we could look at it together. Remember how I said before that there were about a hundred ways black women could do their hair? They were all in there.

The first part was super-fancy stuff like you might wear to a wedding or a ball or something, too "busy" for everyday wear, I thought. But then there was a section for like Styles for Work, and they were nice, but still looked like a lot of work. Next was something like Everyday Styles, and those looked much more practical. There were natural styles (afros, tight or large), straightened hair, weaves, corn rows (I commented, "Like yours."), and then I turned a page and there was Nia's poofy/frilly hair staring at me; different face, but the same hair.

I must've paused a moment too long before turning the page. "Did you like my hair like that?"

"Yes," and I quickly turned the page. But she turned it back.

"Did you like it better than this?" She asked, pointing to her head.

Yes, very much better! was what I thought, but I only said, "Both are nice."

"Mark, we've promised to never fib to each other." She used her hand on my cheek to make me look at her. "Which do you like better?"

"This way," I said, pointing to the picture. I thought it would be over, but...

"Why?"

I thought for a moment about how to say it just so, then said, "Well, that's how I met you, and..."

"And what else?"

"And it just matches your face and your free-spiritedness..."

"And this? What do you think when you see me like this? Don't fib, please."

Oh boy, she wasn't letting me off the hook. "Nia, I fell in love with your mind, you know that. But you're very attractive too, beautiful even. Your body, your face, your voice, your demeanor, your....I don't know, all of you!"

"But I'm not as attractive with this hairstyle." Not a question; the girl could read me like an open book. And she looked at me in a way that demanded the truth.

"No, not with this hairstyle. You look...harder. Before, you were soft and giggly and cuddly, but that hairstyle changes you too much for my taste. I mean, I know you're the same girl inside, but when I see you now....it's hard to explain, but I have to just go back to saying you're not the same girl I fell in love with that wonderful weekend."

Nia studied me for a time while I felt miserable. She didn't seem mad, just that she was trying to understand. Maybe see herself through my eyes.

Then she smiled a timid smile. "Thank you for being honest with me, babe, even though you didn't want to hurt my feelings. But why didn't you say so before?"

"Well, it wasn't my place to, was it? You can wear your hair or your clothes any way you want, and I'll just have to get used to it. I mean, if you—"

"I did it for my Dad." An abrupt silence as we stared at each other. "I think he wanted a boy, but he got me first. So from a young age my hair was always in braids or 'rows or a tight Afro, I guess to look more boyish. For him. And then he got my sister, and only finally my brother, but even after that I never really changed.

"But when I came here and saw how the other girls were wearing their hair: straightened, weaves, curly, poofy, I decided I could do that myself. And I loved it! And I loved that you loved it."

"I didn't say—"

"Yes you did, many times before you've said things about how you loved my hair. And then when I sprung this on you, I saw your reaction. No, don't apologize, it was a natural reaction, I see that now. Anyway, with going home for Thanksgiving coming up, I thought I should go back to that. So Mom and Dad would recognize me, if nothing else! I'll change it back when we come back."

"You don't have to on my account, I hope you know that. Wear it however suits you."

"I know, but I like it better the other way too. Walk me to class?"

11/23, Wednesday

At 8:59 AM I turned from the sidewalk up the walk to the Zeta Phi house. A young woman with poofy hair had her back to me, locking the big front door. Two small suitcases flanked her on the porch. I probably would've studied her behind (for science, of course), but her puffy white coat prevented that. I was coming up the far-right side of the wide steps, to give her room down her right side when she inevitably turned to leave.

"Nia!"

"Hey baby! I knew you'd be right on time, so I thought I'd come on out. Can you help me with one of these, please?" She hadn't recognized my shock at seeing her with poofy hair again. "That one has wheels if you want to take it, I'll—"

I covered her mouth with mine, cutting her off, smooching her like we'd been apart for weeks.

"Whew! Promise to give me one of those every morning for the rest of our lives?"

"I do!" She giggled at the double meaning.

"Oooohhhh! The hair!! I'd forgotten. It must've been quite a shock for you!" We'd started moseying down the walk, me carrying the suitcase without wheels. ("No woman of mine...," you know by now how I was.)

"It was! I actually thought it was someone else, someone I guess I didn't know that well. So I was making room for her when she turned to go."

"You weren't studying her body 'for science,' were you?"

I stopped in my tracks and stared at her. "Girl, you know me better than that!" Then a dramatic pause, "It wasn't 'for science' at all..." And we giggled our way on to the minivan. But once inside, the import of her hairstyle change hit me. "But your da- parents, what are they going to think?"

"It'll just have to be another shock for them. Think it'll be too much? White boyfriend AND poofy hair? Maybe they'll disown me on the spot." She was teasing.

"Nia, please don't talk about your parents that way." She looked at me ashamedly, knowing I'd lost my own parents 10 years ago. "Always honor and treasure your parents. In fact, I'd sooner give you up than come between you." I was studiously watching the road, knowing I couldn't look at her just then while the thought of losing her was in my mind.

"Mark, no! Don't even think like that! One, that won't happen, but two, they've raised me and set me on my path in life, and if I want to make the decision to be with you then they have no say in that." We sat with our thoughts for a few moments. "Besides, I'd never find another guy like you..." Her voice had gotten small.

"Oh you would, Nia! An awesome girl like you, you'd have your pick of any guy you wanted."

"Maybe, but there aren't that many guys out there like you. You know that, but you're too modest to admit it, and that's part of what makes you so special to me." She took my right hand from the wheel and kissed it, then held the back of it to her cheek. "There are plenty of girls like me, and—"

"Nia! Don't you ever say that again! There's maybe 5 girls like you in the whole world (I've done the probabilities)." She giggled and awww'd at me. "Are you kidding me? You are so special! And I need you, I really do. Sure, I'm good at math, and good with 'things,' but you live, whereas I just kind of exist. Watching you dance, that play you took me to, talking to you about books and movies and ideas, all those things have expanded my horizons so much in just the couple months I've known you."

"Really?" That small voice again.

"Really. I don't want to live without you." And then we just kind of watched the scenery pass for a while, because we were out of Detroit now, on I-94 for the 2-hour drive west to Kalamazoo. There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, but the highway was clear and dry. As was the day: clear, sunny, and dry, maybe in the 40s.

"Ann Arbor, 10 miles. Can we stop? Maybe you could show me the schools you went to?"

Is there anything in Ann Arbor for me anymore, except pain? I guess showing her my high school would be alright, even middle school. But grade school gets too close to me being 8... The skating rink, I could show her that. The movie theater. Maybe even the Boys Home.

"Sure, sweetheart." No emotion, no that might be fun. I didn't want to be that way toward her, but there were so many bad memories there. Plus I'd never driven much there, so I wasn't even sure I could find places. "Is there an inset of Ann Arbor in the Atlas?" (Remember, this was 2005, and I didn't have a smart phone or one of those fancy new GPS units.)

"See if you can find Pioneer High School." While she was looking, I took the Saline-Ann Arbor Road exit because that sounded right, and then turned right, because that felt right. That turned into South Main Street, and I was pretty confident now.

"Should be just ahead...," she said. And then we were there, and a flood of memories came back to me. Not bad ones, necessarily, just all of them. The parking lot was full, so they hadn't gotten today off. I drove her around the building a bit, showing her the tennis courts (I used to play a little), the track, baseball fields, and the football stadium.

"I kissed Beth Wilkins under the bleachers there in 9^th grade. Rather, she kissed me."

"You were probably irresistible even then!"

I snorted. "Yeah, totally irresistible. She must've lost a bet with someone." Turning right on 7^th Street, we were at Slauson Middle School after just 2 miles. "This is where I wrote that poem for Diedre Schraeder. Sadly, nothing came of it."

"Well I'm happy nothing came of it! Otherwise I wouldn't have met you." I'd parked at the outer edge of the parking lot and Nia leaned over to kiss me. "Would you show me the Boys Home? If..." Her understanding eyes added, if it wouldn't be too painful for you.

"Sure, that's no problem. I actually had a lot of fun there, looking back on it." So east on Huron, then south on Washtenaw, and in less than 3 miles we were there.

"Wow, it's big! I love all the trees and the way it looks down that hill."

"Yeah, a lot of fun times sledding down that hill in the wintertime. And snowball fights. Hey, do you mind if we go in? Maybe Miss Ada and Miss Coretta are there; I'd love for them to meet you!"

"Sure! We have time. Mama has to work a half-day at school, and Daddy has to work his normal shift."

"Sweet!" So I parked on the street and we walked hand-in-hand up the driveway that was on the right end of the house, then around the corner of the garage to the dozen or so steps that led onto the massive, covered front porch. The house was a lot like the ZP House: brick, 2 main stories, plus a 3^rd peeking out through dormer windows, but I think it was a bit newer than turn-of-the-century. I rang the bell.

"Mark! So good to see you!" And then a big hug from Miss Ada, black and maybe early 40s. "Come in, come in!" We went in and she took our coats. "Coretta!! Come see who's here!"

Miss Coretta came in: shortish, roundish, and a glistening dark brown, as I always remembered her. Probably 50 or better. She was the cook and lived with her husband in an apartment above the attached 3-car garage. She kept us boys inline nights and weekends.

"Mark, my baby! Come here..." She gave me a crushing hug into her ample bosom. "How you been, and how come you ain't write us or call or nuthin'? I was worried 'bout you in Detroit! I wish you woulda stayed here and gone to UM, then I coulda seen you once in a while. But no matter, I see you now and you're well and that's all—"

"Mark, who's your lovely friend?" Miss Ada had cut Miss Coretta off, because if you didn't, she'd talk on forever. I'd always kind of liked that about her though, because I was naturally quiet, so she filled in the spaces whenever we were talking. She used to let me help her in the kitchen, and I learned how to cook from her.

Beaming with pride, I got all formal. "Miss Ada, Miss Coretta, it's my pleasure to introduce to you Miss Nia Carter. She's a Dance and Theater major at Wayne State and—" I had to screw up my courage a bit (and tamp down the disbelief in myself) "—my girlfriend."

"Oh dear, that's lovely! And Nia you're so beautiful!" Nia did her cute curtsy and thanked Miss Ada. "How long have you two been..."

"2 months," Nia said, beaming up at me.

"Chile, you dun good!" That was Miss Coretta, of course, openly looking Nia up and down. "He ain't bored you to death yet with all his math and science and stuff, has he, honey?" She crossed her arms under her chest and chuckled at herself, setting off a tsunami of breast waves beneath her flowery dress and white apron.

"No, ma'am. I actually like when he teaches me sciency things. Did you guys know that Mark aced the Math section of the SAT and almost aced the Verbal??" Nia looked at me with so much pride.

"Oh we did, we were so proud of him! That's how we were able to get him that scholarship to WSU." That was Miss Ada. "We don't often get such bright young men through here," and she touched my cheek lightly. "I'm sorry I didn't get you into UMAA though Mark, then you wouldn't have had to move away. But it's so competitive, and I was a little late with the paperwork."

"It's okay, Miss Ada. Because if you had, I wouldn't have met Nia!" I pulled her to my side with an arm across her shoulders.

"You young'uns look so happy with each other, I'm so glad for you, Mark. Nia, has he made a poem outta yo' name yet? I still have mine." Nia burst out with her beautiful laugh while I turned red.

"Yes, ma'am, he has. Though my name's so short it wasn't much of a challenge." Then giggling up at me she added, "Though I've been waiting for a proper poem from him..."

"And you shall have it, my love." I kissed her on the forehead.

"What brings you to town, Mark?" Miss Ada had started to add something else, maybe about family, but checked herself because she knew my history. I owed so much to Miss Ada, who acted as administrator, caretaker, and counselor. It was she more than anyone who'd helped me process the deaths of my parents.

"We're on our way to Nia's parents in Kalamazoo. I'm going to meet them for the first time," trying to sound more carefree than I felt. A concerned look crossed Miss Ada's face, but she quickly masked it.

Miss Coretta, on the other hand, wasn't so circumspect. "Nia, your parents are...okay with this..." She indicated with a wave of her hand the two of us, us as a couple.

"I know my mom and aunties will love him, and my mom has been working on my dad..."

"She assures me he doesn't have any machine guns or flamethrowers though..."

Both women laughed, then Miss Coretta asked if we were hungry.

"Only if you still have that boloney that comes in the big tube, Miss Coretta! And that American cheese, and white bread." Heard it when I said it.

"Nia, do you like white bread too, chile?" Miss Coretta, shoulder-bumping me and leering at Nia.

Nia giggled and took her arm as they moved toward the kitchen. "I'm finding I like a lot of white things lately..."

Miss Ada held me back for a moment. "Mark, I think it's really great that you found Nia. And you're not the shy young man I knew just 4 months ago. Perhaps sometime you can tell me how that happened, but for now, don't worry about meeting Nia's parents. Yes, I could see the trepidation in your eyes. But they're just people, and people just want what's best for their children; especially their daughters. But just be yourself and they'll see the same promising young man I saw when you came to us 2 years ago."

Then she hugged me and I whispered my thanks in her ear. Sniffing once, I turned and led us into the kitchen, where I could hear the meat slicer whirring.

We four sat in the industrial kitchen and chatted, mostly me catching them up on what had been going on with me, how my classes were, dorm life, etc. And they told me how some of the younger boys I'd known in the house were doing, and how Mr. Ben was; he was Miss Coretta's husband, and the handyman around the place. He'd taught me most of the things I knew about house wiring, plumbing, working with wood, etc. But he was away at Lowe's just now.

"Aren't these sandwiches the best, Nia? It brings back so many memories, Miss Coretta..."

"Speaking of memories," Nia tagged on, "are there any stories about Mark I should know?" She grinned devilishly at me, knowing I wasn't getting out of this.

"How long you got, girl??" Then Miss Coretta, who you'll remember can hardly stop talking, regaled Nia with a dozen little anecdotes about me: how I'd put a TABLEspoon instead of a TEAspoon of nutmeg in the pumpkin pie, how I'd added bleach to a load of my laundry, starting a new fashion trend, how I'd...

"But Mark is so clever too," Miss Ada jumped in. "You should've seen the working scale model catapult he built! And those water-rockets you built, Mark, we never did find that last one, did we?" I thanked Miss Ada with my eyes, while I could sense Nia looking at me some kind of new way. "But my personal favorite was his winning the Egg Drop Contest at UM. Do you still have that trophy, Mark?"

"No, ma'am, I left it at the high school. They put it in a display case where they keep that kind of stuff."

"Well no matter, he still won, and out of a bunch of different high schools too. He's a smart one, Nia, and he'll make a good—well, he's a smart young man, I'll leave it at that." Nia hugged up on my arm because she knew what Miss Ada had been about to say, and to show her and me that she thought so too.