White Freshman, Black Coeds Ch. 26

Mr. Carter had a mid-90s Buick Roadmaster 4-door sedan, a big, classy car in kind of a gun-metal gray. I noted the "LT1" badge low on the front fender, and knew that to be a Corvette engine. I got in on the front passenger side, but figured I'd move to the back when we picked Charlie up.

"LT1, that's a Corvette engine, isn't it? How many horsepower does she have?"

Mr. Carter side-eyed me maybe appreciatively. "280. Not as much as the Corvette version, but enough." He tromped it as we took off and I was thrown back in the seat. "Whatchou know about cars anyway, young man?"

I told him I used to read the back issues of Car & Driver and Road & Track in the high school library. "And I had a foster dad once who let me help him work on cars all the time, and taught me a few things." A little silence followed.

"How old were you when your folks died?"

"8, but it's been fine. I mean, not 'fine,' but it's been alright." I thought about whether I should say the thing that had popped into my head, then decided to say it anyway. "I'm just trying to become the kind of son they would've been proud of." And then I looked out my window. I hadn't said it for his benefit via-a-vis Nia, but it really was how I'd tried to live my life, like they were looking down on me from heaven and I wanted them to be proud.

And then we were there, only a dozen or so blocks away. "C'mon, let's go get Charlie." Charlie and Lenora lived in a neighborhood that maybe wasn't quite as nice as Nia's. Hard to tell in the dark, but judging by the cars I could see, and an unkempt yard across the way...

"Nate! How are you, favorite brother in law!" Lenora hugged 'Nate'/Nathan on the front porch.

"Nora, you know I'm your only brother in law. This is Nia's friend, Mark." Nia's Aunt Lenora was the youngest of the 3 girls, and I knew she had 4 kids; maybe that had made her plumper than the other two, but she wasn't what you'd call fat or anything.

"Well hello, Mark!" And then she hugged me, because that's what mothers do, right? "So handsome!" I blushed and looked away. "I can see why Nia snatched you up! Especially if you're as smart as she says." She really did seem to like me, and apparently Nia had been talking quite a lot to her mom and/or aunts.

"Charlie ready?"

"Yes, I'll just go get him. Bye, Mark!" I waved goodbye, and when she backed out of the doorway she was replaced with 4 young faces: 2 girls and 2 boys. Nia had told me their names, but I didn't quite remember them so I didn't want to get them wrong. They were boy/girl boy/girl, I think 12 & 10, 7 & 5, and they were all staring at me like maybe I was the first white person they'd ever seen this close.

"Nate-dog, how you been, brother?" Charlie did the cool handshake with Nia's dad. "And you must be Mark, I've heard a lot about you!" He swung his hand in wide and I did "the handshake" with him, smooth as can be from all that practice with Trey: meet in the middle, roll up to lock thumbs, pull in shoulder-to-shoulder, then pull apart with the last little grasp of fingertips.

"Nate, you sure this boy ain't black?! You see how smooth he did that, man?" Charlie clapped me on the shoulder as we turned toward the car. Picture Cuba Gooding Jr, only a little darker and a little stouter. A tad shorter than me. Nathan didn't say anything, but it seemed like Charlie accepted me well enough. I told him I'd learned the handshake from my good friend Trey.

In the car he turned back to ask me how I'd met Nia. I told him the white lie Nia had told Miss Ada and Miss Coretta that morning, that we'd met at a party at her sorority. "You two been seein' a lot of each other?" I told him yes, every weekend, plus lunches Tuesdays & Thursdays. "Yeah man, she's smart, ain't she? Ain't nothin' that girl probly can't do..."

Charlie had gotten kind of serious and said that last bit at the side of Nathan's face. Then he turned back toward me, dead-serious, and said, "You know if you break her heart I'ma have to hurt you, right?"

I stammered that I'd never hurt her, that I loved her, and— And Charlie broke into a huge grin and said, "Man, I'm just playin' with you! You alright though, I could tell you meant that." And then pretty soon we were at the pool hall. The pool hall in a mostly-black part of town. The pool hall full of smoke and loud talk and some hard-looking men. And me the only white person in it. Sixteen tables, 8-footers, in two rows of 8 down the long building, with a bar in the back.

"Hey, Slim, can we get a table? And 3 Strohs."

"Sure, Nate, take number 10. Here ya go, I'll open a tab." Hmm, Nia's dad must come here a lot. Oh well, I hadn't wanted to beat him anyway, just make a respectable showing. And I hoped Trey's lessons would help with that.

Charlie picked up the tray of balls while Nathan grabbed the beers and I followed them to table 10. A nice Brunswick table, very much like the ones in the Student Union. I found the rack hanging on the end and started racking the balls.

"You musta played some, Mark," Charlie said, probably noticing that I knew to alternate solids and stripes, and of course put the 8 in the middle. I told him about the beat-up table in the Boys Home, and then Trey's help at WSU. "Trey's black?" I nodded yes, and he added, "You probly alright then." I told him how most of the guys I'd grown up with the last 2 years in the Boys Home had been black. And I could see him accepting me a little more on account of that, though I still wasn't sure about Nathan.

"Cut-throat?" Charlie asked. "Oldest to youngest. Nate, you up."

Thwack! Nate broke the balls with authority! I could tell by his stance and stroke, and then the power of that break, that he'd played a lot of pool. The 12 fell (one of my balls), and I had an odd thought that I was glad it wasn't the 13 (unlucky). Charlie was up next and sank the 6 and the 10 before missing. I sank the 14 but gave myself a bad leave, so I missed my shot on the 11.

Nate was up and quickly sank the 5, the 3, and then the 2, and then missed. It looked to me like he might've missed on purpose, but it hadn't been an easy shot either. Charlie sank 2 more of his balls, but missed on the one that would've made him win. I got up and sank 2 before missing, leaving me 1. Nate got up and bang, bang, sank his last 2, winning the game.

"This guy right here, grew up on a pool table, I swear!" Charlie gave Nate five and then re-racked the balls. We played a few more games like that, chit-chatting about whatever, with Charlie mostly carrying the conversation. The beers went down and I went and got another round.

Charlie was taking extra time lining up a thin cut shot, and I was down-table from him, watching. "Study long, study wrong." Trey had taught me that.

"Son, whatchou know about study long, study wrong?" Charlie was laughing and shaking his head good-naturedly, but when he finally stroked his cue and missed I said, Toldja. "Nate, I like this kid; he alright." He gave me five, and I looked to Nate for confirmation, but it wasn't there yet.

"Next game, me and Mark, 8-ball. You win, you get to keep dating my daughter. You lose..."

I looked at him dumbfounded. Nia wasn't a thing you just bet on like that... "I'm kidding, Mark. Mostly..." And then he genuinely smiled at me for the first time that day.

I smiled back, relieved. Mostly... "Alright, sir. But I can tell you're really good, and I'm not, so give me the break and 4."

Laughing now, he said, "The break and FOUR? I don't think so. The break and 2." We haggled some more, me pointing out that the guy knew his name and all, and what Charlie had said about him earlier, growing up on a pool table and all. So finally he agreed to 3, which would leave me with just 4 balls to sink to his 7, plus the eight for each of us.

"Done," I said, and racked the balls. Cuz Trey had taught me that when money [or whatever] was on the line, you racked your own balls. (So nobody could loose-rack you.)

Thwack! The balls scattered nicely, with 6 coming up-table, one of my best breaks ever. The 5 fell, so I had solids. So I removed 3 more solids from the table (the 3 he'd spotted me), taking two that were nestled against each other, plus another one on the rail.

"Uh-oh, Nate! He up by 4 already. You nervous?" Charlie was gettin' happy from his 2^nd beer, while I'd only been nursing mine.

"We'll see," was all Nate said. I pocketed another of my solids, so 5 were in the holes now, but the cue ball clipped one of his stripes on the rebound and left me in a bad spot.

"How do you guys play defense? Do I have to hit one of my balls?" Nate said yes, looking at me realizing I knew a thing or two. Because that's how you play 9-ball, but Trey told me it could go either way with 8-ball. I saw Charlie looking at Nate like, Man, that ain't the way we normally play, but he didn't say nothin'.

So I bumped one of my solids in such a way that it mostly blocked one of the corner pockets at the head of the table (my only other ball was blocking the catty-corner pocket at the foot of the table), then the cue ball slowly rolled in behind 2 of Nate's stripes that were close together near the rail. It wasn't a perfect safety, but it would do. Charlie whistled in appreciation. "Damn, son!"

Nate didn't say anything, but studied the layout from a few different angles and on a few different balls before settling into his stance. I could see what he was going for, but it was a difficult shot. And then...bump...bump...crack...and the 15 fell in the side pocket. Two rails from behind where I'd left him, then kicked the 15 in the side.

"Nice shot, Nathan!" I would've called him Mister Nathan, but I was genuinely excited about the shot he'd made.

"I got lucky." But he grinned at me as thanks for the compliment. Then he proceeded to sink 5 more of his stripes in a row. Yeah, he'd been holding back earlier. Now he was down to just one ball before the 8, but he hadn't gotten a good leave from his last shot, so he tried a table-length bank, only to have the ball rattle in the corner pocket.

I was up again, with my last two balls hanging in diagonally-opposite corner pockets, and the 8 about equidistant from the spot and the far-right corner pocket. The pocket where my ball was, making setup on the 8 just a little difficult. Because Nathan had left the cue ball way up-table, so it made sense to sink that closer ball first.

Clack/drop...bump...bump...roooool, and the cue ball ended up way down-table almost on the foot rail, looking at the 3 hung in the corner pocket. A super-easy shot, but the leave is everything. A little top-right English to bring the cue ball off the rail and out around the 8 to line up on the same pocket and no, no, no!, the cue ball came off with too much right spin and too much speed and stopped way up at the head string and almost a full diamond right of center.

Charlie kind of went oh no, and Nate said, "Tough leave."

Then Charlie said good-naturedly, "If he makes this, Nate, you gotta let Nia date him."

"Don't worry, he'll choke." And did I choke?

You bet your ever-lovin' ass I did! So close, but the 8-ball rattled in the pocket and hung there, mocking me. If Nathan hadn't said anything, I'd have made that shot. I'd made similar ones 50 times at least. The trash-talking was something I'd been working on with Trey, and I'd gotten to where he didn't rattle me. But this was Nia's dad, and the stakes had been...Nia? Even though he'd said he was kidding, I really wanted to win, even if it was with the huge handicap.

Nathan easily sank his last ball hung in the pocket, coming around two rails with the cue ball for an easy shot on the 8. "Good game, Mark. I thought you had me for a minute there."

"It wouldn't even have been close without the 3-ball lead, sir, but thank you anyway. I'll get better."

"You will, I can see you have the innate skill. But now let's get home and break the news to Nia. Charlie, would you take the balls back?" Charlie did, while I stood there flabbergasted and afraid. Had he been serious after all?

But a quick grin told me he wasn't. However. There's always a however. Dead-serious, he asked, "Young man, have you been having sex with my daughter?"

"No, sir. I have not." I stared him dead in the eyes, knowing I was being truthful. And more importantly, knowing he saw it.

He smiled just a little. "Alright, then. I just don't want her to get pregnant and ruin her life. The way—" And then he abruptly cut off and turned away, heading toward the center aisle of the pool hall, which Charlie was just now coming up.

Back in the Buick, Charlie recounted highlights of our games all the way back to his house, where we dropped him and I moved to the front seat for the ride back to Nia's house.

"Mr. Carter, Nia's very special to me. Very special. And she and I both want to save that for...later." I'd almost said marriage, but I thought it was too soon to mention that. "I'm a virgin and she's a virgin, and yeah, we kiss and stuff, but I would never..."

"It's okay, I believe you. And thank you." A block of silence, then after a stop sign, "Young man, do you have a 'thing' for black girls?"

How to answer that? I didn't, but I did now, since Candace and Keisha. But was that why I was so smitten with Nia? I didn't think so, but...

"No, sir, I don't think so. At least I didn't before, like in high school. When I met Nia I didn't see a black girl, I just saw a smart and special girl. And I'd never even really dated any girls, let alone black girls. So, no."

He just nodded ambivalently. I didn't know if my answer had satisfied him, but it was the truth, and it was all I had to offer. And then we were back at the house. It was about 9PM.

"Did he give you a run for your money, Daddy?"

"He's pretty good, but you know I've been playing for years. Some more practice though..." He kissed Nia's forehead and I felt good about his compliment. And that he hadn't mentioned the bet, which I'd still thought was in jest, but wasn't exactly sure...

The house smelled of pumpkin pie and something else sweet I couldn't place. Linda and Erika and Devon were still there. "Mark, you'll be sleeping in the basement, I hope that's alright. There's a small extra bedroom down there, and a den where the kids have video games." I told Miss Linda that would be fine.

Lydia brought out Scrabble and she, Nia and I, and Erika and her mom played a couple games. I'd never really played before, but knew how it worked. Nia won the first game, with her mom in 2^nd and me a close 3^rd. The next game Nia won again, but this time with me a close 2^nd and her mom in 3^rd.

Miss Lydia looked at me with open appreciation, which struck a painful chord in my heart, the one that wished it was my own mom looking at me that way. "You two are a good match for each other." Nia and I looked at each other and smiled bashfully. "In Scrabble I meant." She seemed to be teasing. "But maybe in other ways too..." And the pain chord in my heart went twang. How I so wished I could share Nia with my mom and dad, or anyone I was that close to, really.

Lydia fixed a heaping plate of leftover chicken and rolls to send home with Linda, Nia kissed me good night modestly on the cheek, and then Linda and her kids and I piled into cars for the short drive over to her place, me following her. But Erika wanted to ride with me, and after exchanging a look with her mom (how could I have said no?), got in the minivan with me. When I started it the CD player came on with Grandmaster Flash's The Message in progress:

♪Don't push me cuz I'm close to the edge... ♪

"Was Nia listening to that?" It didn't seem like she'd heard it before.

"No, it's my CD."

"You listen to music like that?" I said I did, bristling a little at her implication, like I couldn't or shouldn't like music like that.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Mark. It just caught me by surprise. Who sings it?" I told her it was Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five, but I didn't know any of their other music; this was a homemade compilation CD. "You have anything on there I might like, or at least know?" She giggled, a pretty sound from a pretty girl.

"Maybe this one," clicking up 3 tracks:

♪Drop your glasses, shake your asses... ♪ Eve with Gwen Stefani.

"Oh yeah, good choice!" And she started dancing in her seat. Like Nia had. Like I do when no one's around, even though I was a dorky white boy and it didn't look as good on me as it did on Erika right then.

"Do you like black girls, Mark?" There was that question again. Of course I liked Nia, and she was black, but that wasn't why I liked her.

Isn't it, Mark? What about Candace and Keisha?

What about them?? I just happened to meet them and they came on to me.

Okay, true, but what about Gabby? You sure took an interest in her.

Yeah? So?? She's a pretty girl, that's all.

Mmmhmmm....

Those were the sorts of dialogues I've always had in my head with my conscience.

"No, not like you're asking. I don't have 'a thing' for black girls if that's what you mean." She seemed disappointed, so I added, "But now that I've met her, I do have a newfound appreciation for black women." She looked over and gave me a bright smile, but said no more. Anyway, pretty soon I was pulling up beside Linda in the concrete driveway.

The house was a single-level in what seemed to be a newer part of town, the houses not so close together as at Nia's. I got my bag from the back of the van and followed them inside.

"Mom, can we have some of that chicken?" That was Devon; like I'd been at that age, probably always hungry.

"Sure, hon. Erika, would you heat up the chicken, and Devon you can get 3 sodas from the fridge. You guys can stay up downstairs if you want, but I've got to go to bed. It's been such a long day." Then she hugged her two offspring and even threw one on me, telling me the restroom was just down the hall, then disappearing that way to her bedroom.

"Mark, have you seen King Kong yet? It's on HBO, maybe we can catch it." Erika, pulling 6 pieces of chicken out of the microwave. I said I hadn't, so Devon grabbed 3 Cokes and we 3 headed downstairs. I hadn't gotten to know him much yet, but he seemed okay.

King Kong was halfway through (remember the days when we didn't have on-demand TV?), so there wasn't much point in watching it. Devon quickly added that we could play the new Gran Turismo 4, but of course that wasn't very appealing to Erika. I would've played, because I loved racing games, but I liked talking to Erika more, so I feigned disinterest.

So while Devon vroomed and squealed and bashed into other cars, she and I sat on the couch and talked. About nothing, really, but what I was doing was practicing talking to girls. I mean, by then I could talk to Nia and Candace and Keisha and Gabby, and even Felicia at the shop, but to just talk to a random girl still made me nervous.

Plus I was sneaking peaks at her lovely cleavage; B or C cups I wasn't sure, still doing the calculations on that. Something had changed though: was it a turtleneck sweater that had come off? Whatever it was, the thin, smooth shirt now covering her bra and breasts was low cut.

Erika was smart, that was apparent, but not as smart as Nia. And she didn't seem to have that little extra something that Nia had, that bright spark of pure life that animated her from within. But she was pleasant and fun to talk to.