Coffee Will Make You Black

by April Sinclair

  Anyway, it’s nice having a friend to hang out with. Especially since I don’t have a boyfriend yet. The competition for brothas is a little stiff because more than half of the black students are female. A few of the dudes have been checking me out, especially a handsome, clean-cut type named Myron. But so far nothing has materialized, just a couple of smiles and one long, lingering look in the campus bookstore. Maybe I’ll give Myron some play soon. Blood seems nice, I just hope he isn’t too square for me.

  Yesterday, Sharlinda and I went shopping in town. I was nervous, but at least I wasn’t alone. Besides, I knew I had to conquer my fear. There were almost no other black people in sight. We felt like aliens until we found this cool store run by hippies. Sharlinda bought a black light and a reefer pipe. That’s how I know she smokes dope. I’ve still never even tried it. But I’m ready to.

  I bought two posters for my room, one of a woman with a big rainbow Afro and another of a peace sign.

  Speaking of peace, I marched in my first demonstration against the war last night. A few dudes even burned their draft cards. That’s when the campus police ordered us to disperse. When we didn’t disband fast enough, they sprayed us with tear gas. I hated that shit. My eyes and throat were burning all the way back to my dorm.

  There was a long-haired photographer taking pictures at the demonstration. I told Sharlinda that I might end up in Life magazine. She said, I’d be more likely to wind up in a CIA file. That worried me a little. But Sharlinda said, “Don’t trip. You’re small potatoes, ain’t like you’re Bobby Seale or somebody.”

  Tonight, my roommate and I were interrupted from our studying by a big commotion outside. We stuck our heads out the window into the warm Indian-summer night to find out what the deal was. I thought it might be another antiwar demonstration.

  But to my surprise, what I saw was as traditional as the Fourth of July. I’d heard about panty raids but I never thought I would actually witness one in 1971.

  Girls were sliding the window screens open and panties were raining down on white boys’ heads. They sniffed them like they were fresh-baked rolls.

  They talk about us being wild, I thought. I swear, white folks are something else.

  “I have half a mind to throw my funky drawers down there,” I said aloud. I forgot I was talking to square-ass Barbara.

  “Let’s do it!” She smiled wickedly.

  I was as surprised as if a nun had invited me to an orgy.

  “Who knows? This may be the last panty raid. It’s the end of an era.” Barbara sighed. “This will at least give us something to tell our grandchildren.”

  “Yeah, we won’t be able to say we were at Woodstock, but we can say we were in a panty raid.”

  “Well, it beats swallowing goldfish or stuffing yourself inside a phone booth.”

  “OK, let’s go for it then.” Barbara and I reached under our long nightshirts and pulled off our drawers.

  We giggled as our panties, still warm from our body heat, were quickly snatched up.

  2

  Sharlinda and I were sitting up in the room of this girl named Today, waiting for her to come back from town. Today had gone to the Prairie Star Diner to apply for a job as a cashier. Last week we started this tradition of playing gin rummy and ordering out for pepperoni pizza on Thursday nights. None of us had Friday morning classes.

  Sharlinda had gotten Today’s roommate, Becky, who was working down at the desk, to let us inside the room. Becky and Today got along well enough to coordinate their room. They had matching red corduroy bedspreads and each had a stack of beer cans over her desk.

  Today was more Sharlinda’s friend than mine. They were both Kappa Kittens, little sisters of the black fraternity Kappa Alpha Psi.

  “Damn, Today know it’s Thursday night.” Sharlinda dumped several albums on the bedspread.

  “Maybe they’re showing her how to use the cash register. You know it’s Spaghetti Night at the Prairie Star Diner. The joint is probably jumping. They might have had to put her to work right on the spot.”

  “Whatever,” Sharlinda muttered. She put Marvin Gaye’s dynamite album on the box.

  I shuffled the cards for Solitaire. Sharlinda stuck the other albums back in their stand.

  “Girl, I didn’t tell you I saw you over by the Union this morning,” I said.

  “How come you ain’t say nothing?” Sharlinda opened the beige, vinyl-covered bolster over Today’s bed. She pulled out a bottle of Boone’s Farm and some paper cups.

  “Sharlinda!” I raised my eyebrows.

  “Today won’t mind. You don’t understand. We’re both Kittens.”

  I decided not to trip. Sharlinda knew Today better than I did. Maybe she would understand. And hadn’t Grandma always said, “People would rather buy you a drink than a sandwich?”

  “Anyway, girl, you were making tracks so fast. I didn’t want to yell out and sound all ignorant. You weren’t late for a nine o’clock. Why were you booking like that?”

  “I was rushing to get to my math class.” Sharlinda handed me a paper cup full of wine. “We had a test today, girl.”

  It wasn’t like Sharlinda to be racing to get to a class. A party yes, but not a class, and certainly not to take a test. I sipped my wine.

  “Why were you breaking your neck to take a test?”

  “I wasn’t rushing to take a test, fool.”

  “Wait a minute.” I demanded my propers. “You see a fool, you knock her down!”

  “OK, sorry. Anyway, I was trying to get a good seat by this white girl whose paper I could cheat off of.”

  “Did you succeed?”

  Sharlinda stretched her hand out for me to give her five.

  “I had a bird’s-eye view.”

  I slapped Sharlinda’s hand. “You think you passed?”

  “Sho, if she passed, I passed.”

  “The girl know you were cheating off of her?”

  “She’d have to be a new kind of fool not to have known.”

  I picked up a card. “What if she’d gotten pissed off and covered up her paper? Then you’d ’a looked like a fool.”

  Sharlinda leaned back against the bolster. “Look, the chick was cool. I cheated off of her once before and made a B. She knew what time it was. Miss Ann was hipped to what was happening.”

  “The instructor still could’ve caught you, girl.”

  Sharlinda gulped her wine. “Yeah, but he didn’t, did he? Coulda-woulda-shoulda don’t cut it, do it?”

  I pointed toward the bedspread. “You spilled some wine.” I was being careful sitting at the desk. I was raised not to sit on somebody’s bed without being invited.

  “The bedspread is red and the wine is red.” Sharlinda rubbed the liquid into the corduroy fabric. “So, it ain’t no biggie.”

  I glanced at the poster on Becky’s wall advertising a Grateful Dead concert. “I’d rather study, myself. For one thing, I wouldn’t want to give a white person the satisfaction of thinking that the only way I could get over was to cheat off of them.” I looked back at my cards. “They probably think we’re all dumb anyway. You just confirm their suspicions.”

  Sharlinda pushed up the sleeves of her school sweatshirt and folded her arms. It was a sure sign that she was getting pissed.

  “Well, I would rather give them the satisfaction of helping some poor dumbass nigga get over, than my black ass not being able to pledge Delta next year. I have to bring my grade point up to a two point five.”

  The door swung open and Today dragged in, huffing and puffing. She threw her heavy coat on the bed. Today was tall and striking with a vanilla-bean-colored complexion. She seemed neither surprised nor happy to see us. And she didn’t appear fazed that we were drinking her wine.

  “Well?” I asked searching Today’s high-cheekboned face.

  “Well, what?” she replied, changing out of her skirt and blouse.

  “Did you get the job?”

  “Yeah, did you get the gig?” Sharlinda asked.


  “What y’all talking about?” Today asked, running her fingers through her short Afro.

  “You know, the cashier job at the Prairie Star Diner,” I answered in disbelief.

  “What makes y’all think the Prairie Star Diner was hiring?”

  “Today, the HELP WANTED sign was in the window just as big as day. No pun intended.”

  “Yeah, and you told me that you were on your way to town to apply,” Sharlinda reminded her.

  Today pulled on her T-shirt and zipped up her jeans. She glanced up at her poster of President Nixon sitting on the toilet.

  “Ooh, that sign. ‘Gertrude, didn’t I tell you to take that sign out of the window, two days ago?’ ‘Oh, Ruth, I forgot.’” Today mimicked the white townies. “‘Why, the new girl starts Monday. Nice girl, too, from one of the Quad cities.’”

  “Yeah, sure,” I groaned.

  “Yeah, like fun,” Sharlinda rolled her eyes.

  “But wait.” Today held up her hand. “Y’all haven’t heard the killer.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Pour me a taste while I tell you what the real killer is.”

  Sharlinda handed Today some wine and freshened our drinks.

  “Honey, the real killer is, I had Becky call the diner from the desk a few minutes ago.”

  “No, you didn’t, girl!” Sharlinda said.

  “Girl, yes I did, too. And wait til you hear the stone killer.”

  “What’s that?” I wanted to know. “The stone killer is the woman at the diner told Becky to come on down. The cashier job was still open.”

  “No she didn’t!” Sharlinda shouted.

  “Yes she did!” Today sipped her wine like it was a really good year, steada some cheap stuff.

  “Umph, umph, umph,” I shook my head.

  “Well, then, Aunt Jemima, what took you so long?” Sharlinda teased.

  “I’m gonna let that slide. Anyway I hit every store on the square to see if anybody was even thinking about hiring. I mean I pounded the hell out of the pavement, and ended up missing the last bus. I had to walk from town.”

  “You couldn’t hitch a ride?” Sharlinda asked.

  “I don’t like to hitch by myself.”

  I nodded, I felt the same way. “Any luck, anywhere?”

  “Not really. I made the mistake of going into Tumbleweed Liquors. And the guy behind the counter patted my butt as he handed me the application!”

  “Did you give him a piece of your mind?” I asked, fuming.

  “Did you go upside his head with one of them whiskey bottles?” Sharlinda hollered.

  “No, but I read his behind from A to Z. And then he had the nerve to tell me that he was only a red-blooded American responding to a negress in heat!”

  “A negress in heat!” Sharlinda screamed angrily.

  “Check the calendar—is this man really saying ‘negress’ in 1971?” I marveled.

  “Girl, if I hadn’t seen the courthouse and the jailhouse out of the corner of my eye, I would’ve done serious damage to him. But then I would’ve just been another nigga behind bars. I didn’t want to add to the country’s black jail population.”

  “You need to go to the NAACP,” I suggested. “I think the closest branch is in Peoria.”

  “Wow, Stevie, the NAACP, in Peoria, Illinois.” Sharlinda rolled her eyes. “They will really scare somebody.”

  “Well, we should get people to boycott the Prairie Star Diner, then.”

  “This town is almost a hundred percent white. Our business is just a drop in their damn bucket.” Today poured herself some more wine. “What do they care? They don’t want us in the Prairie Star Diner, no way.”

  “They’d care if enough white students and professors joined in with us. If the newspaper supported us, we could make a difference then.”

  “Stevie, these white students ain’t gonna get bent out of shape behind this. They done put civil rights on the back burner, chile. All they care about is smoking reefer, women’s lib, and staying out of Vietnam.”

  Today nodded in agreement. I wish I had me a joint,” she sighed. “Anybody got any weed?”

  “Not me.” I shrugged. When have you ever had any weed? I asked myself. I had yet to buy my first nickel bag. I was on a tight budget. Mama sent me spending money every week. But it barely covered the laundry, snacks, and the quarter movies they showed at the Student Union.

  The real deal was, I’d only smoked dope a few times with Sharlinda. The truth be told, she’d taught me how to inhale. I liked it. It made me laugh. It made me horny. Unfortunately, it made me hungry. And I was almost a size ten now.

  “I ain’t got so much as a roach, and all my connections went to Chicago for the weekend already.” Sharlinda sighed.

  “Plus, my money is funny and my change is strange. Unless y’all want to forget about the pizza.”

  “No, I’m starving, after walking damn near two miles. Pour me another taste, girl.”

  “I’ll pour all of us another taste.” Sharlinda held up the half-empty bottle. “Let’s kill this bad boy.”

  Today got up and turned the album over. “Let’s order the doggone pizza—see if the line’s free.”

  I was the closest to the phone. “I know the number by heart.”

  “Hello, hello.” I didn’t hear a dial tone. I wasn’t surprised that someone was on the line, because we all had party lines. But I couldn’t understand why nobody was talking. I just heard breathing.

  “Hello. How come you’re not saying anything?” There was no reply.

  “They’re not talking; just breathing.”

  “I’m sick of their shit!” Today shouted.

  “You know who it is?” I asked.

  “Damn straight. It’s this hoogie down at the end of the hallway. They call themselves having an argument by just breathing on the phone, lately.”

  Hoogie was a word for white people, like honky and peckawood. Although hoogie usually referred to middle-class-white folks. I’d only heard it used by black students here on the Illinois prairie.

  Sharlinda frowned. “This is some really tired-ass shit.”

  I decided to talk some sense into these people tying up the line.

  “I need to use the phone. Please give up the line if you’re not gonna talk.” Now, who could resist that request. I’d been polite but firm. I listened for an apology or a click, but there was no response. I stared at the receiver in disbelief.

  “This is beyond ridiculous!” Sharlinda yelled. “This is rodiculous!”

  I hung up the phone.

  “You should’ve slammed that mothafucka down!” Sharlinda shouted.

  “Have you complained to your R. A.?” I asked.

  “Yeah, and it hasn’t done shit. I’ve had it up to here with these hoogies! Do you hear me? They’ve gotten on my last nerve. They think they own the whole damn world. The only one I can stand right now is Becky.”

  “Stevie, girl, you too nice; trying to reason with them and shit. ‘Please give up the line if you’re not gonna talk.’” Sharlinda mimicked. “You let these hoogies run all over you.”

  I gulped my wine. “Nobody runs over me.”

  “Yes they do, too. You can’t even make a simple-ass phone call.”

  “Well, let’s see if you have any better luck.”

  “OK.” Sharlinda grabbed the receiver. “Hang the mothafucka up, if you ain’t gonna talk. Goddamnit! You know this is a goddamn party line, shit!” Sharlinda yelled, leaving the receiver dangling from the wall.

  “Well, if that don’t work, nothing will,” Today sighed.

  I listened for a dial tone. “Sharlinda, looks like they’re still breathing. You wanna go downstairs and call from the desk?”

  “Hell no! I don’t want to go downstairs and call from the goddamn desk! I have a constitutional right to use the mothafuckin’ phone!”

  “A constitutional right?” I laughed. “The telephone hadn’t even been invented when the Constitution was written.”r />
  Sharlinda folded her arms and twisted her neck.

  “The Constitution guarantees me the right to freedom of speech, goddamnit! These hoogies are interfering with my right to speak. And I’m going to fight for my goddamn rights. Now, can I get a witness?”

  Today waved her hand like they do in church.

  “I think you might be stretching the Constitution a little bit far, myself,” I said.

  “Stevie, there you go, acting like a Libra. Well, you can’t always see both sides,” Sharlinda insisted. “Not if you’ve got soul.”

  “I’ve got plenty of soul, Ms. Leo,” I shot back at Sharlinda. I picked up the phone. If I were lucky, I’d get a dial tone. And at least, I would appear tough. But instead, I heard the breathing again. “Now look, I’m gonna give y’all two minutes to get off this phone or else your ass is gonna be grass!”

  I turned toward Sharlinda and Today, cradling the receiver in my hand. “How do you like me now?”

  “Did you hear her? My girl went ‘Chicago’ on ’em. She got hipped to her constitutional rights, honey.” Sharlinda and Today gave each other five.

  “Sho did!” Today agreed. “She told ’em their ass is gonna be grass!”

  “You see, Stevie might act all educated, but you better not fuck with her. They done made her show her color now. She’s still a sistah from the Southside,” Sharlinda bragged.

  I prayed for a dial tone. I hoped that my mouth hadn’t written a check that my behind couldn’t cash.

  Today grabbed the receiver. “Ain’t this a blip! They still breathing.”

  “Stevie, you said they ass was gonna be grass,” Sharlinda reminded me. “It’s been two minutes and I still ain’t heard no dial tone.”

  “OK!” I shouted into the phone. “You’ve left me no other choice. Now, your ass is grass!” I slammed down the phone.

  “She’s in Room Five Thirty-two,” Today said calmly.

  Sharlinda slapped my back, excitedly. “If you gon’ kick some ass, let’s go kick some ass!”

  For some reason, I lacked Sharlinda’s enthusiasm. “What about her boyfriend? What if he runs over here?”