by Omar Tyree
“It was the same old shit, man. All they really talked about was how we have to dress for the White man, how we have to talk for the White man, how we supposed to act; you know, stuff like that.”
Peter nodded. “Yeah, I remember when my mother used to get phone calls from the White lady on her job. I’d answer the phone and say it was a White lady, and she’d get mad at me for saying it,” he commented. “I didn’t really understand why she would act and talk all different. But me? I don’t think I’m going to go too far to please a person for a job.”
“Yeah, yeah. You were scared to tell them White punks to stop having parties at your crib last year. So how you gonna keep yourself from doing what they want you to do on a job?” Troy challenged.
“Look, Troy, there is a certain line that I draw when it comes to what I’m going to accept. Now, what happened last year was solved when I left for my own room. So there was no need for a bunch of hassles.”
“Yeah, OK, Holy Man. What chew gonna do when it’s nobody to let you off the hook? Are you gonna call on the Lord for strength?”
Peter headed for the door. “I can see that you in one of those moods where you want to talk crazy.”
“Yo, hold up, man. Let me tell you ’bout this girl I met.”
“You met a girl? So what? That ain’t nothing new.”
“Man, look, this girl is different. She’s cute as hell. She’s my complexion, too.”
Peter looked intrigued. “What? Troy didn’t talk to another light-skinned sister?”
Troy smiled sheepishly. “Yup, man, ’cause when I went home I realized that shit. So now I’m changed about what I consider pretty. But shut up and let me finish, though.”
Peter took a seat on Troy’s dresser.
“She got a skinny nose and naturally curly hair,” Troy began.
Peter burst out laughing. “I thought you said you changed, my brother. Why are you still worried about her nose and hair?”
“Shut up, man. I’m just describing how she looks.”
“So, the White man has got to you, then,” Peter said, chuckling. He ignored his friend’s explanation.
“What, I can’t have a preference? Everybody has a preference. We just supposed to grow up and marry anybody, just ’cause we Black? They have different codes of beauty all around the world.” Troy stopped and shook his head before continuing. Peter never failed to destroy the flow of his stories.
“Yeah, well anyway, she’s bad as hell, cuz. I think I might make her my girl. Her name is Karen Lopez.”
“Lopez? That sounds like a Spanish name,” Peter mentioned.
Troy nodded to him. “Yeah, Lopez is a Spanish name. But hell, Black people all over Latin America got Spanish names.”
“Maybe she got some Indian blood, hunh?” Peter assumed.
“That’s Native American blood, and I got some, too. I got it from my father.” Troy then snuck a quick look in his dresser mirror.
“Yeah, I got Indian blood, too,” Peter added sarcastically. He was annoying his friend as usual. “OK, Mr. Politically Correct. My grandfather was a full-blooded Native American. As a matter of fact, I’m the only one who didn’t get the good hair. My brothers and sister got it.”
Troy frowned. “That’s another thing. We gotta stop sayin’ that good hair/bad hair shit. That’s more White brainwashing. And that ‘politically correct’ term is White stuff too. It should be the moral thing to call a person by their correct name, not just a political thing. But that’s White people for you, just like that stupid right-wing and left-wing bullshit. I mean, it’s messed up how White people have just changed everybody’s names.”
Peter agreed and leaped off Troy’s dresser. “Well, I got some studying to do, my brother, so I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said as he left.
The next day before dinner, Troy, Bruce, Clay, and Doc went to Demetrius’s room. Demetrius, Doc’s friend, lived on Troy’s floor. They sat around and talked about various inventions.
Demetrius was returning to college after a year in the “real world.” He was roughly six-one, and athletic-looking. He appeared to be a weight lifter, with one of those health-nut looks. His VCR-equipped room was becoming a popular hang-out.
“You know what, man? How did White people make all of this stuff? They got TVs, satellites, space shuttles, bombs, missiles, Walkman radios, and all kinds of shit,” Demetrius was wondering while sitting on his bed.
“I’on know, cuz. And I mean, it’s like they pick stuff up easier than everybody else,” Clay responded, taking a seat on Demetrius’s dresser. “I got this White boy in my one class, and he reads all the chapters right before the test and gets A’s.”
“Yeah, man, it’s this White girl in my class that does that, too,” Doc added, standing in the middle of the room. “That shit makes me mad as hell. I study all the time and still come out with C’s.”
Troy was leaning up against the door looking at how light Doc was. He began to wonder if he was mixed, like many other Blacks in Marsh County.
“It’s like White people wrote them books in their own special code, and they’re the only ones that really know how to pick it up,” Bruce said, setting in Demetrius’s small sofa. “Something is strange about it, cuz. I just can’t put my finger on it.”
“Aw, man, White people don’t have any special abilities. They got y’all sittin’ around believing that dumb shit,” Troy angrily refuted. “You see what happens to your mind when we come to these White schools. They lie all the time. They probably study every day, but y’all in here believing that cramming shit works. Most of ’em had this same stuff in high school, so of course they can pick it up easier.”
Demetrius agreed with him. “Dig, man, ’cause they don’t know anything, for real. They say that we came from apes. That’s crazy if you think about it. I mean, how come the rest of the apes didn’t change?”
They laughed as Demetrius continued.
“I wonder where we did come from,” he pondered. “I remember I used to wake up when I was a kid and just wonder.”
Everyone added to the discussion as Troy thought about a dream he had had as a kid.
“Yeah, cuz, I thought about that, too,” Clay said.
“Me too,” said Doc.
“Hell yeah, cuz,” Bruce responded as everyone chattered on.
Troy told them his dream. “Did y’all ever have a dream where you woke up and asked, ‘Why am I Black, and how come I’m in America?’ I did, and that shit was crazy. It kind of felt like I was in a glass jar, looking out at the rest of the world.”
No one seemed to comment. The room was suddenly quiet enough to hear a pin drop. And after the discussion had wound down, Troy left them all in the room and went to have an early dinner.
It felt strange that no one commented on his dream. Troy theorized that maybe everyone had the same dream, but no one wanted to talk about it. Maybe if they admitted that they have asked, Why am I Black and living in America? they would be confessing to the world that they needed a purpose. What is the purpose for Black people in America? Troy asked himself. He began to contemplate as he solemnly rode the elevator down to the cafeteria. I wonder what Black people really feel about being Black. He realized that they all lied to themselves, suppressing the race issue to get along with White people.
He remembered that the Whites were always in authority over his Black relatives as a kid. The White people always wanted to send him away whenever he had done something wrong in school. The White people wanted to put him into a boarding home. And as long as he could remember, they were always on top.
Troy sat down to eat with the two freshman, Scott and Roy, who both sat with Peter. The adrenalin flowed over from his earlier animosity. He looked around the room to see that Blacks continually prayed, while Whites did not. Every day since he had been in college, it was the same. The Whites never said, “God bless you,” whenever he had sneezed. At least one Black person would say it. Always.
“Look at us, man. We nuts
. They got us prayin’, and they don’t even believe in that religious shit,” Troy said out of the blue. “It’s funny to see how stupid we are.”
“You don’t believe in God?” Roy asked him.
“Fuck no! That shit is just used to trick us.”
“Ay’, my brother, don’t let the White man fool you into believing that God doesn’t exist,” Peter warned.
“Aw man, shut up. The only reason that you got religious is because you couldn’t get no ass last year, and it messed up your studying. You still ain’t getting no better grades and no girls. So what does it mean?” Troy exclaimed, raising his voice at the table.
Scott and Roy began to snicker. They weren’t familiar with Peter’s story.
“Look, Troy, all this material stuff is going to end when it’s time to be judged for the afterworld. So you better start believing,” Peter insisted. He remained calm despite Troy’s embarrassing revelation.
“And what’s gonna happen if I don’t? I’m gonna burn up in hell in a blazing fire. I mean, come on, now. If y’all listen to that shit, it don’t even make no sense.”
The two freshmen chuckled again as Roy commented. “But Troy, there is a God, though,” he assured.
“No it ain’t,” Troy said. “The pope in Rome probably shits on golden toilets. And he’s the closest person to God. He has all that money while people are starving all around the world, kissing his fuckin’ feet.
“That’s crazy as hell! He ain’t no closer to God than anyone else. He ain’t no damn prophet. And Peter, how come he don’t give people food and stuff, if he’s so holy? All I see is people giving the church money.”
“Ay’, man, you gotta stop talkin’ like that, ’cause going to hell ain’t no game,” Scott said.
“I know, but I’m going to hell already. The Bible said that money is the root to all evil. I’m gonna get paid like a motherfucker and go straight to hell with all the White people,” Troy joked.
“Ay’, my brother, you may be going to hell, but that don’t mean that it’s gonna be a bunch of White people down there with you,” Peter said, keeping a serious face.
“Man, I’m tired of y’all holy people forgiving the White man. Just like the White man teaches in physics, the world is based on equilibrium. If they are rich and we are poor on earth, then they are poor in hell and we are rich in heaven. So if it’s a lot of White people when you go to heaven, Peter, then you know we’ve been had,” Troy said.
The four friends continued to talk about religion as they rode the elevator after dinner. Scott, whom Troy called the professor or the historian, stepped off with him to get something straight with a hardheaded friend. The concerned freshman was afraid that Troy was heading for a disaster.
“Troy, you really don’t believe there’s a God, man?” Scott asked him seriously.
Troy sighed. “Naw, cuz.”
Scott shook his head. “This is serious. Don’t be thinking about going to hell, because you don’t want to go there,” he insisted. “Aw’ight, look, I don’t go to church and all, but you don’t have to go to church to believe in God. That Roman Catholic stuff ain’t real, man. They elected that pope, and people can’t do that. We all make mistakes. They have built him right up next to God. And yeah, people kiss his feet and everything, but it ain’t right. They even worship the statue of Mary. You ain’t supposed to do that. Their religion is wrong, man, and Jesus Christ was colored. They got him in their churches all blond-haired and blue-eyed. He was born in the hot sun out near Israel. Now how you gon’ be White out there? And he had woolly hair. Read it in the Bible.
“It was said that Blacks are the real Jews, and I believe it, because we have suffered the most,” Scott said. “But don’t keep on goin’ the way you are, Troy, ’cause hell is more than what you think it is. I mean, just imagine, we will live forever in heaven. This down here is nothin’. This is dirt and filth down here. If you think that money can buy you happiness down here, you’re wrong, ’cause heaven is the only true happiness.”
“Just answer me one question, then, Scott. In the Bible, it says that the present ruler of the earth will be condemned to hell, right?” Troy waited purposely for an answer before he would continue.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Scott answered.
“And White people rule the earth right now, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So they should be condemned to hell, and all people of color, who have suffered on earth, should be in heaven, if it’s fair. That’s all I’m sayin’, man. White people cannot be numerous in heaven if God is fair. There is no way that White people can be forgiven for all the pain they have caused the colored world. That’s all I ask, is for the Lord to be fair to us who have suffered the most,” Troy argued, with tears of emotion filling his eyes.
The freshman paused, unsure of his response. “I don’t know, man, maybe you’re right. But like Peter said, it may be more than just a Black and White thing. I think it’s a human thing.”
Yet it was to no avail. Troy was not one to compromise.
“Yeah, whatever, cuz,” he responded tartly. “I say we gotta’ think Black first, because I know I’m human already.”
MALCOLM X
TROY ATTENDED EVERYBLACK SPEAKER’S EVENT HELD ON ORaround campus. Time and again the speakers were from Florida A&M, Tuskegee, Xavier, Howard, Morehouse, Lincoln, Hampton, Morgan State, Fisk, Spelman, and other African-American universities. They were not treated as minorities on campus and they didn’t act as such. They could reach for the sky unhampered by White buffers. Troy realized that Black institutions would have been more suitable to quench his own thirst for truth and leadership.
He weighed the idea, gathering information about Black college students. They had become the big businesspeople. They were the students featured inBlack Enterprise, Ebony, Essence , andJet magazines. And they possessed pride and confidence. White universities, on the other hand, curbed Blacks to remain in a secondary role. With great excitement, Troy decided to transfer to a Black university at the end of the school year. He wanted to be recognized as top quality. At State University, he believed he would never reach that goal.
“Look at all these plastic people, man. You know it’s a game this morning, Pete, ’cause that’s the only time these White people get up so early,” Troy assumed. It was Saturday morning. Game day. He and Peter moved into the cafeteria line to gather breakfast.
Peter smiled. “I know,” he agreed. “I thought they didn’t like Black people. But they be the main ones screaming and yelling for a bunch of big Black football players.”
“Yeah, but the thing about that is, they only like ’em when they’re on the field,” Troy mentioned. “I remember when I was on the basketball team last year. I’d turn around and see a blanket of White behind me every game, no matter who we played.”
Peter nodded. “The way they use our people is pitiful. Then they just kick them out after four years to do nothing.”
“Most of the athletes are too happy to know, though. They all think they got a shot at the pros,” Troy responded. “They’re on top of the world right now. It’s only when people are miserable, like me, that they ever see anything.”
They obtained their food and picked a table to sit and eat their meal.
“Hey, my brother, have you seen Matthew lately?” Peter asked, changing the subject. Troy would have talked about race affairs all morning long.
“Naw, man. Matter of fact, I was trying to get with him so we could do them chemistry labs. I’m messing up in that class, now.”
“What? Troy’s messing up in a class?”
“Look, man, nobody’s perfect. Matthew is a Black hero cause he got a four-point-oh, but he can make mistakes down the road, too.”
“That’s true, my brother.”
“You know what I’ve decided, Pete?” Troy asked all of a sudden.
“What?”
“I’m gon’ transfer to a Black school.”
Peter’s eyes opened wid
e “Yeah. Aw man, I wish that I could do that. But I still gotta finish a couple more C.M.P. classes.”
Troy barely heard him, trapped in his excitement. “Yup, man, I’m tired of talkin’ about it. I’m gon’ do it, now. I’ve heard a lot of people say it, but y’all act like y’all stuck in this school or something.”
James came and joined them with his tray of food.
“Ay’, Jay, Troy is transferring to a Black school,” Peter told him.
“For real, homes?” James asked, shocked.
Troy, mouth filled with food, nodded his head.
“Damn, I wish I could do that,” James responded.
“But I think I’m stuck on State U’s big name, homes. This school is the shit! It’s talked about all over the country.
“Naw, man, I’m gon’ graduate from here,” he said, smiling. “I know it’s gon’ be girls galore at a Black college, but their education ain’t all that.”
Troy shook his head, becoming defensive. “You know what, we’re all anxious to believe that shit, but the fact is, you get much more help in Black schools.”
“Aw’ight, homes, and when job day comes, I bet I’ll get a job before you will,” James said with a smirk.
Troy only frowned. He figured he was fighting a losing battle. James was blinded by State U’s glamour.
Peter snapped his fingers and dissipated the tension. “Oh yeah, Troy, I forgot to ask you. Who was the pretty girl I saw you with yesterday?” he asked, face aglow.
Troy smiled and began to chuckle. “See, man, church people nosy as hell,” he commented. “But that was my girl I was telling you about.”
“Oh yeah. That’s right,” Peter remembered.
“I vowed that I would stop searching for just light-skinned girls when so many dark-skinned, good-looking ones are around,” Troy said.
James started to giggle. “Naw, homes, I’m still gon’ marry me a red-bone. I’m already dark, so I want a girl that’s Peter’s complexion.”
Troy grinned at him. “Yeah. It figures.”
Troy rushed back to his dorm to call his mother about the news.
