by Shawn James
“Six months ago.” I say after she takes the tongue depressor out of my mouth.
“Please note that the Pledge’s teeth are in excellent condition.”
Glad to see they appreciate the results of brushing twice a day. I hear a metal thud as the tongue depressor is discarded. There must be a wastepaper basket next to the table. Dean Mother Dr. Reed slips on some rubber gloves, brushes my hair back and takes my earlobe in between her fingers. “Are these the only piercings on your body?”
“The only ones I’ve had since I was five.”
“Have you considered others?”
Even though they’re in vogue on the NYU campus I’m happy with just one set of extra holes in my head. “No.”
“Could you lift up your arms?”
I lift up my arms and Dean Mother Dr. Reed examines my underarms. “How many times do you shave your armpits?
“Every other day.”
“You can put your arms down. Dean Mother Dr. Reed says. “What’s your bra size?” she inquires as she lifts up my breasts.
“I’m a 36 C.”
“Are these your natural breasts?”She asks as she examines them.
“Yes.”
“Have you considered breast implants?”
“My girls are perfect the way they are.” I quip.
“I’d have to agree.” Dean Mother Dr. Reed laughs. “Could you turn around?”
I turn around and face the darkness. I feel Dr. Dean Mother Reed’s eyes going down my back to the bottom of my feet. “Could you lift up your hair for me please?”
Not a problem. I ease my long black hair off my back. “Is all this your hair?” She inquires.
“Since the day I was born.” I answer giving it a tug for everyone.
“Do you use any process on it? Relaxers, straightening combs–”
“Just wash it and blow it out with a comb attachment. I use a little Royal Crown hair dressing and crème oil for shine.”
“It seems like you have good hair. Could you turn around and face the Dean Mothers again?”
I turn back around and I’m greeted by Dr. Dean Mother Reed’s smile. I think I meet her approval. She puts a hand on my shoulder, turns to the other Dean Mothers and announces. “The Pledge’s skin is clean. She has no tattoos or markings. The Pledge also appears to be in good physical health.”
On the announcement of my good health the mood lightens in the room. But I think the good Dean Mother Dr. Reed isn’t finished with me. “Colleen, could you spread your legs wide, bend over and touch your toes.” She requests.
Standard medical exam stuff. I ease into a wide stance, raise my arms, and bend my body forward. When my fingertips touch the white edge of my French tipped toenails I feel the warmth of her flashlight glowing on my lady parts.
“The pledge’s anus has not been penetrated.” She announces.
Thanks for telling everyone that Dr. Dean Mother Reed. No, I haven’t had anal sex and I don’t ever plan to. The sign on my rear end says do not enter.
Dean Mother Dr. Reed squats down between my inner thighs and examines me in places only my gynecologist knows. Even though it feels ticklish, I resist the urge to flinch. “You can stand up now Colleen.”
I take my fingertips off my toenails and ease back into a standing position. As Dean Mother Dr. Reed meets my eyes, I realize that the next series of questions are gonna get real personal.
“How long are your periods usually?” She asks.
Great. Questions about my time of the month. “Three to five days.” I answer. “They usually come around the fifteenth and end about the twentieth.”
“Do you experience any irregular symptoms?”
“Other than the occasional headaches and some cramps no.”
“Are you in the middle of a period now?”
“It ended a couple of days ago. So I’m straight for the next couple of weeks.”
“Are you heterosexual or homosexual?” she asks as she takes off her rubber gloves and dumps them in the trash can.
I like boys. “Heterosexual. Very heterosexual.”
The room erupts in snickers. “Have you had sexual intercourse with a man?”
Can’t say I’ve had a chance to get a date on campus with a six course workload two years running. “No, I’m still a virgin, technically.”
“So you masturbate?”
I really hate talking about my sex life in a room full of strangers. But If I want to honor my mother by joining the sisterhood she was a part of, I’m gonna have to own up to my nighttime fun and hope none of this goes back to Aunt Margaret. “Yes.”
“How many times do you masturbate in a given period of time?”
I gulp down a breath as I muster up the courage to talk about something I’ve done in private since I was eleven. “Twice a week when I’m in class. Three times when I’m at home.”
“Do you penetrate yourself with anything when you masturbate?”
“No.”
“It looks like it. Let the record state the Pledge meets the standard for Virtue.”
She must know her vaginas. Dean Mother Dr. Reed takes her bag and returns to her seat. As she sits down, Dean Mother Carver jumps out of her seat and approaches me with a brown paper bag. She places the bag next to my face. “Let the record state that the Pledge’s skin is the color of peanut butter.”
Lighter than the brown paper bag she’s holding but darker than everyone in the room. “Also note that that the Pledge is on the darker edge of the light brown color spectrum.”
I give her a look. Thanks a lot Dean Mother Carver. I’d have a color complex if I didn’t care.
“Dean Mother Carver takes a lock of my hair between her fingers and leans over to whisper in my ear “Your skin is beautiful.”
“How many times a year do you go to the hairdresser?”
“Once every two weeks.”
“So you style your hair yourself in between?”
“Yeah.”
”You say you only blow your hair out and use a comb attachment?”
“Yes.”
“It seems you have some Native American in your Bloodline.”
“How can you tell?”
“The way your hair straightens so easily.”
Well, Grandma Travis was Iroquois. Maybe I inherited some of her good hair like Mom did.
“Is it always this long?” Dean Mother Carver inquires.
“The hair on my head or between my legs?”
“Both.”
Great. A two–part question in humiliation. I truly regret not trimming up the coochie hair in the bathroom this morning before heading up here. “I’ve always kept the hair on my head long since I was little.”
“And your pubic hair?”
“It usually isn’t this long.” I continue. “I haven’t had time to whack the bush because I’ve been busy studying.”
“So you do shave it?”
“I trim it with a beard trimmer every week. When I used to shave it all off with a razor it got itchy and I’d get razor bumps.”
“So your skin is sensitive?”
“A little.”
“Do you shave or wax your legs?”
“I wax them every six weeks.”
“Do you get manicures and pedicures regularly?”
“Every two weeks or so.”
“And you shower every day?”
“Yes. I take baths on Sunday when I’m at home.”
“How much makeup do you use?”
“Just lipstick.”
“What colors do you use?”
“Usually I wear a medium red or a pink. But For today I’m wearing peach passion because it goes with my outfit.”
“It’s all you need. Your face has very nice color.”
“Thanks.”
Dean Mother Carver stands behind me and runs her hands across my shoulders. “You have very smooth skin. Very soft. Do you moisturize?”
“When I come out of the shower.”
“And you
smell heavenly. Do you use perfume regularly?”
“Just on special occasions.”
“I think you should do it more regularly.”
Dean Mother Carver stands next to me and addresses the other Dean Mothers “Let the record state that the Pledge meets the standard for Hygiene.”
Dean Mother Carver looks me up and down. “You have a nice figure. What size are you?”
“I’m a size four.” I reply.
“What kinds of clothes do you like?”
“I tend to dress down when I’m outside and at home. Jeans, T–Shirts, sneakers–”
“Why would you wear such dowdy clothes? Are you ashamed of your body?”
“Ashamed of my body? I doubt it. I’m standing here buck naked without any qualms.”
“Then why do you hide your body in such baggy clothes?”
“I’m comfortable with my body.” I answer. It’s just I want people to feel comfortable around me.”
“Do you feel comfortable in jeans and T–shirts?”
“Not really. Sometimes they feel kind of boyish.”
“Then why do you wear them?"
“I just wear them to take other people’s minds off my money.”
“If you didn’t have to make people comfortable, what would you wear?”
“I don’t know, maybe I’d wear more skirts and blouses.”
“Do you ever dress up?”
“When my father hosts a function or a social event. And sometimes when I’m feeling playful I’ll put on a dress when I’m going out.”
“So you like dressing up?”
I smile at her. “Yeah, sometimes. If I didn’t have money I’d do it more.”
Dean Mother Carver smiles back at me. “Let the record state that the Pledge meets the standard for vanity.”
Dean Mother Carver returns to her seat and Dean Mother Morgan rises out of her chair and approaches me with a reserved smile.
“Colleen, what religion do you affiliate yourself with?”
“I’m a Christian.”
“Do you believe in Jesus?”
“I believe that Jesus is the Son of God and that he sacrificed his life to pay for all our sins and was resurrected three days later.”
“Do you go to church?”
“We go every Sunday except when I’m in school or when it’s football season.”
“Do you read your Bible?”
“Almost every night.”
“How would you define your relationship with God?”
That’s a tough one. I’m not exactly the best Christian, but I try. “Doing the best that I can and hoping He understands when I screw up.”
“What do feel that He’ll think of your sins?”
“As far as I know we’ve all fallen short in his eyes. All we can do is hope He forgives us when Judgment Day comes.”
“It’s all any of us can do. Let the record state that the Pledge meets the standards for values.”
I may meet the standard for values, but I don’t think Dean Mother Morgan is finished with me.
“Colleen, do you have any siblings?” Dean Mother Morgan asks.
“No, I’m an only child.”
“How many friends do you have?”
That’s an easy answer. “None.”
Dean Mother Morgan gives me a concerned look. “No friends?”
“Nope.”
“You seem like a nice girl. Why don’t you have any friends?”
“I always had a hard time with people in private school.” I sigh. “It was mostly White girls there and they didn’t want to talk to me. In a couple of schools I was the only Black girl in the entire building.”
“Did you try to make friends in spite of your racial issues?”
“I’d try to, but people just weren’t interested in talking to me or hanging out with me. Unless it was about basketball, music, or fried chicken. I can remember in High School it was always: Colleen, you’re Black, what do you think of this? Or Colleen, you’re Black. Am I racist for saying this? It just made me want to stay away from people.”
“Do you consider yourself antisocial?”
“I like people. It’s just that people don’t like me.”
“Why do you feel that way?”
“It’s just everywhere I went people just ignored me. People don’t ignore people unless they don’t like them. I mean, if people like someone they try to give them a chance.”
“Do you feel that we like you?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“What if I told you if you’ve left a strong first impression on everyone?”
All that tells me is what my Aunt says is true. I still don’t know if anyone really likes me yet. They may be intrigued by me, but the jury’s still out if they want to get to know me better.
“That doesn’t tell me that we could be friends.”
“I think you should give us a chance.” Dean Mother Morgan says smiling at me.
My train of thought returns to Dean Mother Morgan as she catches my eyes with a smile. “What made you choose NYU over a historically Black college?”
“I felt NYU would give me a solid education that would help me when I was ready to take over Daddy’s businesses when I got older.”
“But going to a historically Black college would have been a chance for you to make some friends with some other Black girls–”
“Well, I felt that an NYU education would be better for me. And I feel that a degree from there will make me appear more competent to Daddy’s employees and our clients when it’s time for me to take over his business operations.”
“So you’re focusing on your father’s business.”
“That’s my inevitable destiny. People in Daddy’s circles are going to be more interested in my 3.99 grade point average than having a relationship with me.”
“You sound so resigned about taking over your father’s business. Is finance what you’d like to do?”
“I don’t mind the work. But I know it’s going to be a lonely road. So I better get used to traveling it by myself.”
Dean Mother Morgan puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s not as lonely as you think it is.”
“I don’t know. It’s looking kind of lonely to me–”
“Have you tried to reach out to other Black girls on campus at NYU?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not like they travel in my circles. I rarely ever see any on the campus when I’m in class.”
“How about when you’re at the gym or on the way to class?”
“I’m so busy I hardly have time for myself. With a six–course load, I’ve been so busy studying I haven’t had much time to get involved with life on campus.”
“So what are you studying so passionately?”
“Economics and Women’s Studies.”
“Why Women’s Studies?”
“I really enjoy studying the history of Black women because I feel it helps me learn about myself. Plus I feel that my education in Women’s studies and Feminism will help me become a strong, independent Black woman when I leave college and start working at Daddy’s company.”
“So you’re a strong independent Black woman.” Grand Mother Flowers calls from somewhere in the room.
I hear a pop. My eyes grow wide when I feel pins prick the small of my back. I let out a shriek when a current jolts through my body. In an instant I go limp and collapse to the floor.
I hear high heels storming towards me and feel eyes peering down on me. “Get up strong independent Black woman!” Grand Mother Flowers demands.
My mind sends thoughts to my arms and legs, but my body goes nowhere. “Come on, get up strong independent Black woman!” Grand Mother Flowers demands again.
“Aren’t you’re the independent sista? Can’t you do this for yourself!” Dean Mother Morgan taunts.
I concentrate harder hoping to push my body out of the state of paralysis it’s locked into. I get frustrated when my limbs
betray me.
I hear more high heels pounding into the floor. I’m circled by MochaTan Malibu Barbies who gloat over me.
“Get up strong independent Black woman!” Dean Mother Carver requests.
“You don’t need our help, you’re a feminist!” Dr. Reed barks.
That crack makes me mad. I concentrate as hard as I possibly can to make myself move. Nothing.
As my body remains paralyzed in its frozen state, Marcia and Abigail get in on the fun. “It doesn’t look like the strong independent Black woman is going anywhere on her own.” Marcia says.
“Do you think we should help her Sisters?” Abigail asks.
“I think we should just leave the strong independent Black Woman here to get herself up.” Dean Mother Morgan says.
“No, I think we should help her.” Dean Mother Dr. Reed says as she squats down over me.
Dean Mother Dr. Reed’s hands press into my back as she reaches for the Taser darts. “This may hurt a little Colleen.”
I grit my teeth and let out a grunt as she yanks the Taser darts out of my back. She rubs some alcohol on the pricked spots, applies two band–aids, then feels my wrist for a pulse. “She’ll be fine by tomorrow morning.”
Dean Mother Dr. Reed and Dean Mother Carver roll me over face up. Grand Mother Flowers squats down and smiles at me. “Now that you see what happens to the strong independent Black Woman on her own, are you ready to be helped by your Sisters? “Blink once for yes and twice for no.”
Swallow your pride Col. And swallow hard. The MochaTan Malibu Barbies served you on a platter. The only thing missing are the paper booties and the apple stuffed in your mouth.
I blink once. “Let the record state that the Pledge meets the standard for character.” Grand Mother Flowers says.
Chapter 14
The ladies get a firm grip on my limbs. “Pick her up gently Sisters.” Dean Mother Dr. Reed tells them. Let’s get her up to the suite.”
The effects of the Taser must be wearing off; I feel tingling in my arms and legs as the Sisters lift me up. As they hoist my body up horizontally, Grand Mother Flowers gets the doors. I keep my eyes focused on the floor as they carry me out of the room. I’m just too embarrassed to even look at anyone.
Grand Mother Flowers leads the procession of sisters as their high heels march down the parquet floors. She opens the tall mahogany doors at the end of the hall and we step out in the vestibule and turn the corner headed up the white marble stairs.
The ladies move with precision as they get me up to the second floor where the white marble transitions into salmon colored carpet and white walls. Makes sense, they are the Theta colors. It’s a long trip down the corridor; I count down nine doors before we turn a corner and pause in front of another pair of mahogany doors. Grand Mother Flowers opens them. When I see starched white bedskirts I know it’s the Pledge suite.
