Into White (14 page)

“Nowhere,” he said. He smiled his signature snaggletoothed grin. “I get to walk wherever and whenever I want. My shoes never wear down. My mouth never goes dry. No one yells at me to clean up coffee grounds. I don't have to socialize, either. Simply one foot in front of the other forever and ever and ever, amen.” That night, I woke up soaked to the skin from sweat. If my dad left me, I would miss his unshaved beard and uncut hair. When I was little, I'd search for the longest strands of hair stuck to his bald spot. I loved my father, and no amount of spilled-out coffee on the foyer floor could change that.

And so I walked home from Books-A-Million—alone for the first time in my life. Through the practice fields, into the woods, past Gus Von March, around Edgewood, only to stop at the base of Colossus. It stood tall and wise, daring me to take it on. I couldn't bring myself to conquer it alone. Reaching the top would be too depressing without Alex, and since avoidance was my specialty, I took the long way around, tacking on an additional thirty minutes.

I cut through Edgewood Park. The sidewalks were teeming with moms pushing strollers, and speed walkers. On the green space, a young couple played Frisbee with their medium-sized retriever. Every time the lime-green Frisbee flew, the dog took off with pinpoint focus, and then trotted it back. The dog nearly knocked down a few toddlers on its way to retrieve the Frisbee, despite the
KEEP YOUR DOG ON LEASH
signs that were posted in the park.

I spotted Aunt Evilyn sitting alone on a bench, her bulgy-eyed Chihuahua, Bryan, peeking from her large purse. I should have gone home. I was white, after all, and since she wasn't immediate family, she wouldn't recognize me. But something drew me to her. I crossed the green space, stopping twice to avoid a collision with the retriever, and sat on the opposite end of Aunt Evilyn's bench.

“Excuse you, young miss,” she said sweetly. “But there are three empty benches in this park. Would you be so kind as to relocate yourself to one of them?”

I laughed outright. There was something comforting about Aunt Evilyn being evil to any and everyone—it wasn't just Toya.

“Did I say something funny?” she asked, then Bryan growled and squinted at me from the purse. She caressed his protruding head. “Hush, baby. I can take care of this invasion of personal space.”

“I'm on the opposite side of the bench,” I said, suppressing another laugh. “How am I invading your space?”

She didn't say anything pithy in response, which was strange for Aunt Evilyn. “Lord have mercy,” she said finally, staring across the park.

I followed her line of vision. A young couple released their curly blond Labradoodle and threw a yellow tennis ball. The Labradoodle shot across the green space like a bullet, but stopped cold when he spotted Aunt Evilyn. I looked from the Labradoodle to my evil aunt and back to the Labradoodle. There was history there.

She slowly lifted herself from the bench, careful not to make any sharp movements.

“What's going on here?” I asked her.

“Shut up, girl!” she snapped at me, but it was too late. Bryan locked eyes with the Labradoodle and leaped from the purse like a gazelle.

Aunt Evilyn ran after Bryan, I ran after Aunt Evilyn, and the Labradoodle stood in the center of the green space, paralyzed with fear.

“Get your goddamn dog!” Aunt Evilyn yelled for the Labradoodle's owners, who were so busy talking and chuckling that they hadn't realized their dog was about to be eaten alive, one small bite at a time.

“Oh no!” one of them bellowed. “Molly! Come here, girl!”

And then everyone was running, everyone except Molly. Bryan's hind legs straightened with every leap, covering as much ground as possible. He didn't bark. He just ran toward his target with one goal—to rid the world of this Labradoodle. He crashed into Molly and started gnawing on her front leg. Molly let out the most pitiful sound, and I zipped past Evilyn.

I dove toward Bryan. He did not appreciate my intervention, so he turned his hatred to me. He lunged toward my arm and caught the sleeve of my sweatshirt instead of flesh. His tiny teeth were bared in rage, his eyes ready to pop out of his face.

Aunt Evilyn cupped her hands around Bryan's butt and lifted him from my sleeve. “That's it, sweet, sweet boy,” she said softly, huffing for breath. “That's it.” She sounded like a concerned mother kissing a boo-boo. She stuffed him back into her purse and out of sight.

Molly's family inspected her leg for marks. “That little monster bit our Molly!” said the twentysomething man in khaki cargo shorts. “What's your name, ma'am? Something has to be done about that animal.” He removed his phone from his pocket.

I almost pitied him. Challenging Aunt Evilyn was a fool's errand. She was about to eat him in ways Bryan could only dream of. I waited for the downpour of insults. The attack of dignity. Anything. But nothing came from Evilyn's mouth.

Something snapped inside of me.

“Wait just one minute there,” I said before swatting his phone from his hand. “There are seven signs in this park. Seven signs. Don't believe me? Let's count together.” I pointed to the first sign staked near the tennis court. “One!” I yelled. Then I pointed to one nailed on the pine tree. “Two!” I yelled louder. Then the one by the walking bridge, and the pond, and the entrance, and the restrooms, and the pavilion. “Seven!”

“If anybody here needs to be reported, it's your ass for blatantly ignoring the rules of a public park. The signs are there for a reason,” I said, scanning the audience for the other young couple with the Frisbee. “The same goes for you!”

They looked surprised, then offended.

I spun around like a madwoman. “That's the problem with you white people! You think you can do whatever the hell you want! You think the rules don't apply to you, but when you suffer the consequences of your
own
broken rules, it's the evil black person's fault. Bryan was in her purse, contained by his owner. He wasn't bothering anybody. But your precious Molly was
off leash
! Provoking Bryan! If anyone needs to be reported, it's you!”

Silence.

Then a handful of applause from the mothers whose children had been knocked over by the Frisbee-retrieving retriever.

“Woo!” one of the young white mothers said. “Damn right! That dog nearly gave my Kenny a concussion.”

She pointed at the Frisbee family, and they slowly backed away and disappeared.

Molly's owners stood still, shocked by my outburst. Molly whimpered as if encouraging her owners to tuck tail and leave. Then the man snapped Molly's leash on and picked up his phone.

“I'll drop it this time,” he said pompously, before walking away. “You're just as white as I am, you know,” he added.

My blond hair got caught in a breeze and swung into my line of sight. I ran home, leaving Aunt Evilyn standing in the middle of Edgewood Park.

 

ABSENT

“Mom, can I stay home?”

“Of course. I knew you weren't feeling well when you missed revival last night. Rest well, baby. The rest of y'all,
come on
,” screeched Mom.

Mom and Dad weren't angry about the fight. They'd always told us to take up for one another, and since Alex was fighting for Toya, no punishment necessary.

At school, on the other hand, Alex got ISS (in-school suspension) for two weeks. Alex and I had always wanted ISS. It seemed easier than regular school. No forced social interaction, no reading aloud, no cafeteria; just cubicles filled with books. That's not punishment, that's paradise. I was happy for Alex. He deserved it.

While I was thankful for the day off, I couldn't shut down my mind. Deanté, Alex, Mom, Dad, Aunt Evilyn, the twins, Josh—even
Braveheart
made its way into my brain. The bagpipes, oh dear God, the bagpipes. Mostly, I kicked myself for calling my brother a loser to his face. I knew that I needed to stop talking, but my woman motor took over.

My woman motor was usually fueled by estrogen and premenstrual syndrome, but between Deanté's lecture and Josh's attack, I was an atomic warhead of built-up anger, disappointment, frustration, anxiety, and confusion. Typically, I could aim it away from my brother, but Alex just happened to be there when I exploded. It felt like a release, but this time regret was left in its wake—that's how the woman motor works.

I turned on the television for distraction, and it just made me angrier. My favorite channels were littered with black women fighting like cats on reality shows, or half-naked singers bouncing their behinds inches from the camera lens. I tried watching the morning news, then during Montgomery's Most Wanted segment, there were not one but two Latoyas listed. One for tax evasion and the other for possession of a forged instrument, whatever that means. After that, I flipped the TV off and threw the remote.

The only decent thing about PMS was the hibernation sleep: ten, twelve hours easy. I squeezed myself into a tight fetal ball and fell asleep quickly.

*   *   *

I flew out of my bedroom window. When I looked to my left, my arm was covered in translucent feathers, and extra cartilage helped me climb toward the clouds. I knew it was a dream and I didn't care one bit; flying was just as exceptional as it looked. Gazelles, deer, bears, and lions grazed together in my backyard. No species trying to eat the other, only harmony. The absurdity of prey and predator made me laugh out loud as I climbed upward. The clouds wet my skin; black skin, Toya's skin. I knew that the wetness of the clouds would frizz my hair, so I looked for a place to land and dove toward a grassy stretch of green. My feet touched the earth, and then I planted myself firmly at the fifty yard line of Edgewood High School's freshly mowed practice field.

“Haven't heard from you in a while.” Jesus motioned me to sit next to him on the bleachers.

My wings shrank into regular arms as I walked toward him. Taking my seat, I realized that I hadn't called on Jesus as much as I had when I was Toya. “Yeah, I'm sorry.”

“Your mother is right, you know.” He didn't elaborate, because I knew he was talking about Alex—and he knew that I knew. “So, are you enjoying life as Katarina?”

“It's fine,” I said. “Actually, that's not entirely true. It's much more complicated than that.”

“Complicated?” he asked.

“Just … being white is not as easy as I expected.” I didn't want to disappoint him, but I couldn't bring myself to lie.

“Well, nothing ever is.”

“Why, though? I mean, why grant me a wish, then set me up to be assaulted and called names?” I felt the frustration rising from deep inside. Though it was a dream, I had complete control over myself. I knew exactly what I was saying and doing.

He knuckled my tear away from my cheek before I realized it was there. “You begged me. You cried, screamed, yelled, and cursed for years, Latoya. I said no well over a thousand times, and then, we gave you what you asked for. Exactly what you asked for. Unfortunately, sometimes what we want is not necessarily what we need.”

“Can you stop playing games, and just tell me what I should do?” I said louder than I'd intended.

“I cannot.”

I stood to my feet. “Fine. Well, I want to be Brazilian tomorrow.”

“That's not a race, it's a nationality.”

“Whatever!” I stood over him. “That's what I want to be next. Can you do it?”

He shook his head no.

“What?” I asked in disbelief.

He shook his head again, and his pewter eyes peered so deeply into mine that my head began to ache. “Wake up.”

*   *   *

When I opened my eyes, my nightshirt clung to my skin like a Band-Aid. The sweat made the green squiggly veins in my forearm glisten in the newly risen sun.

“White,” I said to myself. “Thanks for nothing.”

The clock read 5:07 a.m.—way too early to start getting ready for school, but I couldn't go back to sleep. I pulled the covers over my chin and tightened myself in like a caterpillar. The dream haunted me. In all our interactions, Jesus never seemed disappointed in me, but when he'd looked into my eyes, I felt his anxiety. His desperation for me to understand something I couldn't grab ahold of.

I reflected on my prayer—
anything but black, Lord, anything but black
. It was the most sincere prayer I'd ever prayed. Before that night, faith felt like an ethereal, unattainable thing. I loved the Lord, but I hadn't truly believed that the faith of a mustard seed could move mountains. Then something powerful happened. After I buffed the dent from Deanté's Jordans, a switch flipped inside me from questioner to believer. And I'd never been so sure of anything in my life: White would be better.

Now, I wasn't so sure.

*   *   *

I quietly entered the bathroom and turned on the computer to search the Internet for evidence of Jesus answering unanswerable prayers. After nearly fifteen minutes, the frustratingly slow hourglass converted into a workable arrow, and I Wikipediaed “Miracles of Jesus.” His marvels were neatly categorized into a gallery. The cures were first, including things like healing the blind, cleansing lepers, and fertilizing barren women. Then came exorcisms, followed by resurrections, both fairly self-explanatory. The last set of miracles was the most impressive—control over nature.

Walking on water was my Sunday school teacher's favorite phenomenon, so I knew a fair amount about that one, but there was one that hadn't been adequately explained to me—transfiguration. After a full thirty minutes of research, I barely understood it myself. My interpretation was: Jesus wanted his disciples to realize that he wasn't just a prophet, he was the full-on Messiah. So he took them up a Colossus-style hill and transformed into something undeniably awesome. That way they would know, once and for all, that he was the Son of God. That was cool and all, but it wasn't the part that got my attention.