Zora and Nicky: A Novel in Black and White (33 page)

“I’m not naive, Nicholas. Rebecca and I saw you kissing her in public.”

“Dad, you make it sound like we were on the JumboTron in Madison
Square Garden.”

I’m getting sick again. The people in my life literally make me sick.

Pete gets straight to the point. “Look, Nick, what your dad and I are here
to say is, if you haven’t, just do her already.”

I get up from my straddling position, turn my chair around, and sit
straight as a judge to face them. “Excuse me?”

My dad nods in agreement. “My father always told me white men have
had a certain fascination with women of color. I know you’ve been keeping
straight, Nicholas. Maybe you just need to experience this so you and Rebecca
can move on with your life together.”

I stare at the shell that looks just like my father, but surely some alien
life-form has overtaken him. My mouth goes dry. “Dad? Are you saying what
I think you’re saying?”

“I’m not proud of myself. But I can’t stand by and let another incident
happen.”

Incident. I know what
incident
he’s talking about. The one that drove the
biggest wedge between us.

“You think I’m going to get someone else pregnant? Dad, I promise you
I will never have another abortion on my conscience for as long as I live. No,
thank you.”

“I can’t decide what would be worse, Nicholas.
That woman
having an
abortion, or you having an illegitimate half-black child.”

I’m astounded. My heart pounds so hard I think I’m going to have a
freakin’ heart attack. My ability to speak abandons me.

“Yo, Nick. Think about it. A little half-black baby would totally scandalize
your family. Your family has worked too hard to let your lust for some black
chick ruin them.”

I’m still struck dumb.

Dad speaks. “It’s not just the fact that she’s black. It’s
who
she is. Her
father is one of the most heretical preachers in that community. The only
reason I tolerate him at all is because his is one of the few local ministries that
is actively involved in campaigning with me against abortion. Their family is
tacky. She doesn’t have any class.”

“Tacky?” This from the people with red-lipped, tar-black Jocko in the
yard. This is the abortion rights activist and politician, who just said that
he can’t decide if an aborted baby, which he abhors, is better than a living
half-black one that I fathered. And I won’t even get into the horrific racism
implicit in his comments. And to top it off, he makes a sweeping judgment
on another man’s ministry. And he called Zora’s family tacky!

“Dad, unlike Rebecca, Zora graduated magna cum laude from a top,
historically black university.”

“That doesn’t impress me.”

“She’s an amazing artist. A dancer. She’s got more class on a bad day
than—”

“Nicholas, I’ve put up with all your irresponsible choices. But this is
the worst of all. You’re only doing this to lash out at me, but you’ve hurt
Rebecca and your mother terribly. I’m pleading with you, Nicholas. Stop this
foolishness before anyone else gets hurt.”

I can’t take any more of this. My voice modulations rise with my blood
pressure. “What makes you think I’m trying to hurt someone? What if I just
really like her?”

“Do you honestly think I’d believe a handsome, intelligent young man
like you would choose someone
black
when you can have your pick of white
women?”

“Are you suggesting black women are somehow inferior, Dad?”

He looks flustered. His face blanches. “Of course not. I’m only saying that
you don’t have to needlessly make your life difficult because you’re sexually
curious.”

That again. Sexually curious. Is that what this is? How am I supposed to
know? I want to ask him. This is my dad. I’m supposed to be able to go to him
and ask him how to know if I’m falling in love. How to know if her brown
skin is an issue.

“But what if she’s
the
one
, Dad? Like Mom was the one for you?”

My dad stands up. I’ve never seen such an expression of outrage on his
face. He steps over to me, and I think he’s going to punch me in my other
eye. He points his finger at me, and he’s shaking in rage. Pete gets so scared,
he stands up too. Like he’s gonna help if Dad suddenly lunges at me, but Dad
doesn’t. Not physically.

“You selfish, sorry, spoiled-rotten brat. You’ve never cared about anyone
other than yourself. You’re weak. Always crying. Sensitive. Too much like a
woman. I’m giving you an out here, Nicholas. Go and have a—whatever you
want to call it—with your black girl, and come back to reality and have your
life. She’s
not
the one. She can’t be. Not in this world, and you know it. You’re
doing this to get at me.”

“Dad—”

“Shut up, boy! Look at yourself. You are smarter, more handsome, and
far more charismatic than I ever have been or ever will be. And I watch you
make choice after choice to throw it all away. I could have been the governor,
Nicholas. But you, you surely will be, if you just listen to me. But not with a
black wife. Not with a bunch of half-breed kids. The world isn’t ready for that. I
want you to succeed, and you are determined to fail. And I hate you for that.”

And now he does hit me. A backhanded slap across my mouth. He follows
the slap with an assault of furious blows. For a moment I look into his eyes,
and I see passion there. It reminds me of how that word
passion
is rooted in
pain. Suffering. My dad is
feeling
something for me. Finally. I’ve looked into
this man’s icy blue eyes so many times and found nothing staring back at me,
and now in this moment there is something. Hate. It’s not love’s opposite. It’s
better than the apathy I’ve gotten most of my life.

I actually prefer it.

He unleashes blow after blow upon my face until Pete pulls him off of
me.

It all happens quickly. I’m stronger. I could take my father, but I won’t.
His words “I hate you” drive a stake inside of me, pinning me to the chair.

I hate you
.

The words seem alive, mocking and challenging. Demanding me to do
something about them.
I hate you
pokes and prods me, whispers, “You don’t
have to be the good son.” Says, “Go and get your woman. Your fine black
woman.”

My ears ring. My face stings. I don’t feel the pain, but I taste blood inside
my mouth. I swallow it.

I knew he hated me. I’ve always known.

He’d never said the words before now, but I’ve felt him despise me through
a myriad of indignities stacked upon each other for years, like a miser stacks
his coins.

I will not let him see this destroy me. Just let him have this moment. This
release of righteous anger of his. When I can gather my wits about me, I nod
to let him know I understand what he’s said to me. And to disappoint him
more, I will
not
cry.

He will not cry either.

I have never seen my dad cry, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so
emotional. His eyes are almost as red as his face, and they shine with tears I
know he will not shed. Not in front of Pete and me. He yanks away from Pete
and rushes, nearly running, out of my apartment. Pete looks bewildered. His
torn gaze shifts from me to the door and back to me.

“Go with him.”

“Nick, man. I’m sorry.”

I don’t say anything, just gesture with my head toward the door, and Pete
scurries out to my dad.

The words
I hate you
keep swelling, permeating the room. It’s one thing to
know your father hates you. Another to hear it. Another to know it’s growing
like fungus on your walls.

I can’t stand this apartment. It was where I tried to hide from the
knowledge that he abhors me in the first place. Now my little sanctuary seems
contaminated with his loathing.

I grab my jacket. I gotta get out of here. I try to tell myself that I don’t
know where I’m going, but I do. If I could just see her. She knows me. God,
I promise I won’t do anything wrong. I won’t do anything like what people
keep suggesting to me. I don’t want to just do her. I love her. If I could just
hold her and have her tell me it’s going to be all right.

I get in my car and head to I-96. Won’t be long, and I’ll be lost in those
brown doe eyes.

ZORA

We drive to Linda’s house, and I’m surprised to see the hippie van isn’t Linda’s
but Billie’s, and even that really isn’t a surprise. We drop Linda off, and I
can tell she’s a little disappointed, but we promise not to have too much fun
without her, and I get very excited because it just feels like Billie is going to
take me on some big, wild, crazy adventure, and I can’t wait to go.

We drive all the way to Detroit, and I wonder why she motors all the way
to Ypsilanti for a small, informal Bible study.

“It’s the people I come for.”

“But it’s just a few.”

“Yeah, but what a few. But you oughta know that by now.”

“I’m beginning to see what you mean,” I say.

She takes a peek at me, and puts her eyes back on the road. “Okay, Linda
is so gone. You gotta tell me. The kiss? Spill it.”

I laugh. “You sound like a teenager, Billie. How old are you?”

“Too old. So you gotta tell me. Humor a senior citizen, will ya?”

“You really are a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?”

“Oh, baby. I’m not without hope, glory to God. Now about that kiss?”

I sigh from deep inside. “I shouldn’t talk about it, Billie.”

“If you didn’t want to talk about it, you’d have spent the night with
Linda. Or your boyfriend, God have mercy!”