chapter 11

I sat at a long table between Carla and Linda, munching on little chicken-salad sandwiches, green grapes, and chocolate cake. I couldn’t believe how good the gym looked, the waxed floor and the crepe-paper decorations and balloons made you forget how funky the place usually was. All the girls were decked out in pastel-colored chiffon and other dressy materials. The boys had on their best suits and white shirts and ties. Every girl’s hair looked freshly done. Even girls like Patrice who had “good” hair had made a date with a straightening comb before the Graduation Tea.

Mrs. Cunningham stood in the middle of the room with her hair down and wearing a lilac colored, lacy dress. She had been promoted to assistant principal last September, and was about to make a speech.

“Good afternoon, class of nineteen sixty-seven.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Cunningham.”

“It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was a tale of two cities.” Mrs. Cunningham’s voice sounded strong and clear through the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, that is as true today as it was in Charles Dickens’ time. We live in the richest nation in the world and yet some of our children go to bed hungry. Dr. King is preaching love and yet many still practice hate. They say we have a generation gap. Your music is too loud, your hair is too long, your skirts are too short, and we are sending nineteen-year-olds to a place called Vietnam. Some of them aren’t coming back or are coming home in body bags.”

Mrs. Cunningham paused and looked around at our faces. I felt a lump in my throat. I knew that everyone was thinking about Michael Dunn’s older brother, Donald, who had recently been killed in action. I glanced in Michael’s direction and saw Calvin put his hand on his shoulder. Michael’s eyes were clouded with tears. It seemed like a long time ago when Michael had asked me if I was a virgin.

“We still have prejudice and discrimination,” Mrs. Cunningham continued. “Dr. King’s dream has not been realized. Our cities have exploded in the summertime. And yet you young people have opportunities that your parents only dreamed of. You can make it if you try. You can do anything you set your minds to. But I bet more of you can tell me what the number-one record is this week than what year the Magna Carta was signed.” Mrs. Cunningham stared us down.

Peaches jumped up out of her seat and shouted, “What you want, baby, I got it, ooh. What you need, you know I got it, ooh. All I’m asking for is a little respect!” Peaches gave a few claps and sat back down. Lots of kids giggled and some applauded.

“All right, settle down, young people, I hope you will channel that energy toward making the world a better place. I know you’d rather hear Aretha Franklin at this point, but in closing, I’d just like to congratulate you and say that you’ve earned it. And I hope that whatever you become you will strive to be the best. Whatever you do, bad or good, will always reflect on your entire race. Remember that and make us proud. Good luck, and may God bless you, class of 1967!”

Mrs. Cunningham grinned as we clapped loudly, partly because we were proud and partly because we were glad she was finished.

I felt a little nervous as I sipped frappe and stared at the dance area. What if no boy asked me to dance, how could I not feel like a loser? I almost hoped that no one would ask Melody or Linda to dance. I felt guilty, but they say misery loves company. I figured Carla, Patrice, and Tanya would hardly get a chance to sit down.

“Tell It Like It Is” was playing. Oh, no, I thought, why start with a slow song? I waited for Tyrone to walk over and ask Carla to dance. Carla was ready in her pink chiffon dress and matching dyed shoes and purse. I was no small potatoes in the turquoise rayon Empire-style dress that Mama had made from a Vogue pattern.

To my surprise, Tyrone continued to laugh and talk with his friends. No boys made a move to ask anybody to dance. Only the girls stared at the dance floor or looked around the room desperately.

“They just ’shamed to slow dance,” Carla said.

Oh yeah, that explains it, I thought.

“All right, ‘I Heard It Through the Grapevine’!” Patrice shouted, snapping her fingers and shaking her head.

Tanya stood up and danced at her seat, practically drooling. But not one boy seemed interested. They were too busy joking and giving each other five and getting more cake.

“Look, there go a couple dancing,” Linda said, sounding hopeful. I was surprised to turn and see Roland dancing with Willie Jean. Even Carla looked jealous. She couldn’t knock them because at least they were dancing.

“Respect” came on, and I decided to take matters into my own hands. “Melody, Linda, Patrice, Tanya, Carla, let’s do a line.” To my surprise the other girls followed me onto the floor. Denise and Gail wanted to know if they could join in. I nodded, willing to let bygones be bygones. Soon practically all of the girls and some of the boys were dancing in lines.

“Jimmy Mack” was playing, but everybody had formed a circle. I peeked through to see Roland come out of his blue suit jacket and get down. The way he was wiping up the floor, you would’ve sworn he was James Brown, Jr. It was like watching Clark Kent turn into Superman. If a square like Roland Anderson could become the life of the party, then anything could happen, I thought.

Graduation had come and gone. “Pomp and Circumstance” had made Mama cry. I had gone to Riverview with my crowd to celebrate. I’d had enough money and enough nerve to ride the roller coaster twice. Carla had teased me, saying I was nigger rich counta I had $10 in my pocket. I’d given Carla a dollar to ride the bumper cars again, and that had shut her up.

It was only eleven in the morning but it was already hot. You could tell today was going to be a scorcher. Me and Grandma were alone in the kitchen playing checkers. I was wearing shorts and a halter top and she was in her slip. There was no breeze except for the little metal fan blowing in our faces. Daddy was at work, David was out collecting for his paper route, Mama had gone to the post office, and Kevin was in the living room watching TV.

“You study long, you study wrong,” Grandma said as I stared at the checkerboard.

I didn’t pay Grandma any attention, she would say anything to win. I carefully picked up one of my black plastic checker pieces and moved it a space forward.

“Well, Merry Christmas, you finally moved. And I’m still gon jump you.” Grandma snatched my checker piece and slammed hers on the board.

Grandma thought she was slick. She usually was, but I was determined to beat her for a change. I studied the board. Grandma had jumped me and left herself wide open to get jumped twice!

“How do you like them apples?” I laughed, holding up two of her red pieces.

Grandma wrinkled her forehead and wiped the sweat off her face with a paper towel. “That’s okay, you ain’t winning this game. ’Cause it’s many a slip between the cup and the lip.”

Mama dragged into the kitchen waving an old church fan. She was wearing a white sleeveless blouse and a pair of beige shorts. She looked good; she’d lost ten pounds recently. Grandma glanced up at Mama after moving her king.

“Thought you got lost. Did they have a long line at the post office?”

“No longer than usual, but you won’t believe what I saw! I mean I thought I had seen and heard everything, but this beat Bob’s tail.”

“What did you see, Mama?” I looked up from the game. When Mama said something beat Bob’s tail, she was as close as a Christian woman could get to needing a drink.

“It was spray-painted on the side of a building. It said BLACK IS BEAUTIFUL, in big, bold letters!”

“Black is beautiful?” me and Grandma repeated.

“Yes, ‘Black is beautiful.’ Have either one of you ever heard such a thing before?”

Me and Grandma shook our heads.

“I didn’t think so,” Mama said, fanning herself.

“Black is sho-nuff beautiful! Crown me, Grandma!”

“Jean Eloise, stop acting silly, this is serious. I’ve been asking myself over and over, What would possess a person to write something like that?”

Grandma crowned me, but she was quiet, probably because she was losing.

I turned away from the game. “Maybe he just got out of the insane asylum,” I teased.

Grandma winked at me and smiled.

“Jean, I hadn’t thought of that, maybe that explains it,” Mama said, walking toward the refrigerator.

“Oh, Evelyn, Jean was just pullin’ your leg.”

Mama shook her head as she cracked open a tray of ice.

“‘Black’ is supposed to be a fighting word. I’ve heard, ‘Black get back,’ ‘I don’t want nothing black but a Cadillac,’ and ‘Coffee will make you black.’”

“What does ‘Coffee will make you black’ mean, Mama?”

“The old folks in the South used to tell that to children so they wouldn’t want to drink coffee. The last thing anybody wanted to be was black.”

“I never told my children any mess like that,” Grandma cut in. “I told y’all, ‘The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice.’”

“Well, anyway, getting back to the wall, I wasn’t the only one who noticed it. I saw plenty of folks peeking out of the corners of their eyes, like they were being drawn by a magnet. Seemed like people were just making excuses to parade past that wall,” Mama said, sucking on an ice cube.

“Lord have mercy! I never thought I would live to see the day when ‘black’ would be called beautiful! It makes me damn proud!” Grandma shouted.

“Well, you know I don’t condone your cursing, or folks defacing property, but I have to admit that when I saw BLACK IS BEAUTIFUL on the side of the A&P like that I couldn’t help but feel … well, sort of proud myself.”

“Mama, Grandma, times are changing, I’ve heard some people say ‘black’ instead of ‘negro’ or ‘colored.’”

“Jean, you can tell your children stories about what it was like, once upon a time when we were negroes,” Grandma said, her eyes twinkling.

“I’ll tell them everything,” I promised.

“You two don’t think this stuff is going to catch on, do you?” Mama asked between sucks on her ice.

“Hey, everybody,” Kevin yelled from the living room, “there’s somebody black on TV!” Me and Grandma fell out laughing.

“See Mama, what did I just get through telling you?”

Mama looked scared and excited at the same time. Maybe like a virgin, I thought.