24

AIRPORTS AND AIRPLANES

Though being in charge of a hotel seems like it would be fun, whenever I go to the airport, I begin to think working there would be okay, too, especially if I got to fly to a lot of different places. And when I say fly, I don’t mean being a flight attendant, I mean being a pilot.

I knew there were female pilots because we’d taken some flights where a woman was the captain, and I’d been on others where black men were the pilots, but I’d never seen an African American female pilot.

“Are there black women who fly planes?”

“Of course,” Mom replied. “Remember that book you read about the pilot Elizabeth Coleman?”

I did. “But that book was about almost a century ago. I mean black women who fly planes now . . . and big planes that carry lots of people, not little airplanes like in that book.”

“Oh, you mean commercial pilots.”

“I suppose . . . I was thinking flying airplanes might be cool, and I was just wondering if they would let me become that or not.”

Mom’s face got the insect-sting look and she abruptly stopped walking, so I stopped with her. “They? Who’s they?” she asked.

“The people in charge of stuff. I mean, for a long time they didn’t let black people do certain jobs even though they were smart enough. Remember why Martin Luther King and his friends had to march to Washington and stuff? And it’s a whole new century and all Yaz talks about is being the first African American female to win an Olympic ice skating gold medal. Mr. Kilroy says that after all these years she should at least be the second or maybe even the third. He says certain things are different if you’re black.”

“Certain things are different if you’re black,” she repeated, but it wasn’t a question.

“Yep, like Yaz’s mom is always telling her she has to work harder at ice skating because of her color. She’s says there’s still prejudice, but most people try to pretend there isn’t. And I think maybe she’s right, because sometimes people look at me and you funny, but mostly older people. So I don’t want to try to be something if I’m going to have to work harder because I’m black.”

“Violet Diamond, haven’t I taught you that you can be anything you want to be? And I’m certain there are African American female commercial pilots. There have to be. You can research that on your computer when you get back home.”

At that point, Mom took my hand and we started walking again toward the terminal.

“Or maybe I can look it up online when I’m with Roxanne. She has to have a computer, right?”

Again, Mom stopped walking, and this time she kind of yanked my hand. I felt like a dog on a leash. “I think you should call her a grandmother name instead of Roxanne. It doesn’t sound very respectful.”

“Hmm . . . I think I’ll figure that out with her. I mean, I know I don’t want to call her Gam, and Grandma doesn’t really fit her. I’ll let you know when I get back. Can we go now before I miss the plane?”

Roxanne Diamond was waiting at the security checkpoint. Unlike the greeting we got at the gallery, Roxanne rushed over, smiling. “I thought maybe you weren’t coming.”

“My mom wouldn’t do that. When she makes a promise, she always keeps it,” I proudly told her.

“That’s good to know,” Roxanne replied.

Before we got in the security line I hugged my mom tightly and I grabbed my carry-on case.

“I’ll take good care of her,” Roxanne promised my mom, patting her shoulder. They both had tears in their eyes.

Just as we got to the terminal, a last call to board for Los Angeles came over the loudspeaker. “That’s our flight,” Roxanne said.

I scurried toward the doors that led to the plane. “C’mon, Roxanne!” I yelled.