“Hey, my father gave me pride, too.”
“But, it’s something special when it comes from a black family, especially families like mine, where only half the children grow up to be something called respectable. My sister is respectable. My father has always told me that I should be respectable. So, that’s what I’m trying to be. One of the things that my father taught me was that to gain respect, you never take anything from anybody. Go and get it for yourself. That’s why I feel strange when I take your charity, especially with you being white.”
Kevin thought for a moment. “It’s not charity and it has nothing to do with respect. I know a little bit about the experience of black people in this country, but I never really sat down and thought too long about it--never cared to do it. We’re just teammates; friends. But, now that I think about it, when we started running around together, some of the white guys on the team--and you know who they are--acted like I was making a pact with the devil.
“I understand about pride. I don’t quite understand where you’re coming from as far as the black and white thing, but I understand about pride. As you pointed out, my
dad told me that graduating from this university was a matter of pride. So I guess I get it, but listen to this, deal with this: I’m not doing this because I think you’re a ‘poor black boy’ that needs my help, you know...”
“Watch that ‘boy’ shit.”
“Hey, you’re the one who called yourself that! Can I finish?"
“Please do, oh Great White Father.”
Kevin sighed. “In the words of your buddy, Conway, ‘stop trippin’.’” He went on. “This is just what friendship is to me. If I have a friend and I have something, my friend has it too. That’s all there is to it. It has nothing to do with charity or anything like that. I know my dad has money and he gives it to me. So if you’re my friend, I’m going to give to you. I don’t give a damn what you look like or how much money your dad has. That’s all there is to it. It’s got nothing to do with pity or anything like that. So, like, can I just do this?”
Malik looked at him. ‘Yeah, you can, because I’m broke as hell.” They both laughed, breaking the tension.
“I got an idea,” said Kevin. “When we get to the NFL and you’re getting paid millions of dollars to let guys like
Deion Sanders chase your ass around, you can pay for everything. How about that?”
“Deal.” They had shaken on it.
Now, as the two surveyed the scene before them, they glanced at each other with some dismay. On one side of the “entourage,” there were the heavily made-up and perfectly coifed white girls, mostly blond, Kevin’s groupies. On the other, there were the mostly braided and weaved black girls, along with a smattering of Latinas and white girls, Malik’s groupies. The two men glanced at each other after a quick survey of each bunch.
“We don’t have time for this,” Malik said to the women impatiently. “We’ve got a big game tomorrow. Don’t y’all have classes or something?”
“Come on ladies, don’t go away mad,” said Kevin more gently. “You know we’re gonna beat those pretty boys from
L.A. Malik and I just need to get our game plan down pat. We’ll be looking for you at the game.” He smiled. The women moved away, wearing puzzled and disappointed expressions, and let the two men pass.
“Good snow job,” said Malik later on. “But, why do you care what those hos think, anyway?” They were now strolling along NMU’s tree-strewn campus. The mid-December sun
glared on their shoulders, providing uncharacteristic heat, considering the season.
“One of those ‘hos’ is helping me with my economics class. It would seem kinda ungrateful to tell her, ‘get outta here, bitch, I’m busy.’” They both laughed.
Later, as they walked and talked on the campus, they were each constantly gawked at or greeted by name, mostly by people they didn’t know. Nearly everyone on campus knew who they were, however.
As they traded friendly insults, Kevin noticed one young woman pass them, barely giving either of them a glance.
“Hey, you know that girl?” asked Kevin.
“Who?”
Kevin turned around and pointed at her. “That one.”
Malik turned to see the retreating backside of a tall, slender, dark brown-skinned woman, striding purposefully away from them. After a moment’s thought, he decided that he recognized that backside.
“That’s Felice. She works in the African American Cultural Center sometimes. She’s a sophomore. Heard she’s got a little hoochie in her.”
“Damn, not another one for you.”
“Not me, man. But, some of the brothers from the Taus gave me the tip on that one. Several of them been there. What? You thinking of crossing the line?”
“Not if she’s just like the rest of ‘em.”
They walked in silence for a bit. Then Kevin turned to Malik.
“Have you ever noticed that the ‘hoochie patrol’ is a little one-sided? How come you get the rainbow coalition, but I get only the white ones?”
“I don’t know. Let’s ask ‘em.”
“I don’t want to talk to any of ‘em, more than I have to. I want to know what you think.”
“Ain’t we supposed to be going over the game plan?” Malik said with a smirk.
“Forget the game plan. That’s all we’ve heard about since August. I want to talk about something important: women.”
“Fine. Let the Bruins sack your ass.”
“Be serious.” Kevin smiled. “What else do you know about uh...Felice?"
“So you are thinking about crossing the line!”
“What’s the big deal? You got all the women--black, white, and indifferent. You and the rest of the ‘brothas,’ cross the line all the time!”
“And you get just the white ones, and the skank ones at that. Are we going to the ‘black man, white man’ thing again now?” Malik asked knowingly.
“No…hell, I don’t know.”
“‘Cause if we are, I gotta put on the ‘brotha’ hat.”
“Oh great. The ‘brotha’ hat.”
“Yeah, the ‘brotha’ hat.” Malik mimed putting on a hat. “Now, I’m speaking from the ‘brotha’s’ perspective.”
“Did you learn the word ‘perspective’ in your freshman English class?”
“Fuck you, white man. I learned to say that in English 101, too.”
“Right. I know you didn’t learn it by actually doing it.” Malik flipped him off.
“Yeah, you said that already. Sorry, I’m not thinking about crossing that line.”
“Anyway, this is the ‘brotha’s’ perspective: we can take your women at will, as compensation for you taking ours.”
“Me?”
“Your ancestors. Why do you think that black people have such variation in skin color?”
“I don’t know. I never thought about it.”
“The reason is this: during slavery and for a hundred years afterward, it wasn’t a crime to take advantage of a black woman. A white man could get some black stuff whenever he pleased. Married or single, ‘eight to eighty, blind, crippled, crazy.’ Where do you think that expression came from?”
“Damn, you have been paying attention in English class!”
“Don’t try to play it off, white man! Now, after the Civil Rights Movement and Affirmative Action and all that shit, we feel that we now have a right to your women.”
“‘My’ women?”
“Yes, your women. ‘Brotha’ hat off. So, what do you think about that?"
“I don’t know. Sounds kind of stupid to me and not quite right. From what I’ve seen, the white girls chase after you all, for the most part, not the other way around.”
“Some of them do, some of them don’t. Your little friend, Mandy, always looks at me like my skin’s gonna rub off on her if she gets too close.”
“Yeah, well, she just doesn’t know what a charming personality you have,” he smirked. “And besides, Mandy�
�s okay, just too big a mouth occasionally.”
“She’s in one of my seminars. Every time I say something, she looks at me like she expects me to break out in a jigaboo dance or something.
Kevin rolled his eyes. “Damn, you’re paranoid! Everybody’s not looking to burn a cross on your lawn. Mandy probably just wishes you’d shut the fuck up sometimes. Back to the subject: how come the black girls don’t chase after us?”
“I don’t know for sure. I guess you’d have to talk to a black woman to find out,” Malik said slyly.
“Yeah, well maybe I will, later. Right now, I’ve got to head to the library and hit some books. The dorm is probably noisy as hell right now.”
“Like always. I gotta late class to go to. Later.” The two men parted.
Tale of the Tigers
Chapter Two
One month into the beginning of the spring semester of 1992, Felice sat alone in one of the semi-circle shaped, high-backed seats in the lounge of the Quad, NMU’s student cafeteria. She was reviewing her World Literature assignment with a slight sense of deja vu. In addition to the dread she felt at having to show her face on campus, she had to repeat three of the classes she had failed the previous semester. She had only one new class--American Government.
After the fall of her reputation, Felice had considered opting out of college altogether. She could join the military, something she had thought about upon graduating from high school. But back then, she had been too young to join on her own, and her parents had adamantly refused to sign the parental consent form that was required of seventeen-year-olds. Now, however, she had reached eighteen and could do what she liked. Boy, would that tick Mom and Daddy off, she had thought, with perverse amusement. She could enlist and be gone before her parents even finished having their shit fit.
Or, instead, she could go back, defiantly, with her head held high. She couldn’t do anything about her reputation, but she could show that she was more than just a pretty face, a nice body, or a piece. Despite her mediocre grades in high school and here in college, she knew that if she would just put forth a modicum of effort, if she simply went to class regularly, she could get a least all Bs. If she actually studied, she might get an A or two. Her mother and father had been telling her this for years. So what if she didn’t have a social life? Hadn’t it always been that way? The only difference in this case was the reason behind it.
Intensive study was best done at home or in the library. However, Felice had found that the lounge area of the Quad, the campus cafeteria and meeting place, was a good place to do a cursory review of notes, or a quick cram
right before a test. Usually, it was nearly as quiet as the library here, with only the distant murmur of the main cafeteria drifting over. It was also a good place to hide. Felice might hold her head high, but she wouldn’t look for trouble.
Suddenly, her concentration was broken by high-pitched female laughter. She looked up to see a group of about six, heading towards the seat across from her. There were five girls and one tall guy, the last of which she immediately recognized. Who in Albuquerque didn’t recognize him? His face and name had been splashed all over the sports pages and the news for years now. She immediately turned her attention back to her task, mentally turning their chatter down to a drone.
Her reading assignment for World Lit was Divine Comedy and she was right in the middle of the “Inferno.” Comedy is right, she thought. It was hilarious in a ghoulish, Stephen King sort of way, demons farting and such. Who knew that a thirteenth-century dead white guy had such a gross sense of humor? She might have, had she gone to class last semester.
Enough already! Stop beating yourself up.
She was enjoying the story, but she was already forming a rebuttal to it in her mind. Her ideas about a supreme being were vague. Though she referred to God as “He” whenever she thought about “Him,” she was more likely to believe God was an “It.” It was benevolent and loving (except when somebody made It mad), and was greatly concerned with justice, but what was its nature or its name? Christians, Muslims, and Jews all purported to know, but who really knew except those who had already left to join It? Felice certainly didn’t.
However, she had much more defined ideas of what Hell might be like. In the “Inferno,” Hell was a generic place with standard, set punishments. You went to one part of it if you were an adulterer, another if you were a murderer, still another if you were a blasphemer, and so on. In the story, there was even a man who “seemed to hold all of Hell in disdain,” as Dante had put it.
She decided that God was probably a lot smarter than this Dante guy. Heaven might be generally pleasant and ambiguously lovely, but ell would surely be much more personalized. God, being omnipotent and all, would simply have to know the subconscious horror of each individual person that It had created. Surely, It would get together with
Satan and say, “Hey, Stupid! Here’s the info on this one.” Armed with such intimate information, she could see Satan greeting the unrepentant sinner at the gates of Hell.
Is your idea of Hell being in an enclosed space? We got that. Is extreme hunger or extreme thirst your idea of Hell? Is it being in a room with your mother-in–law? We got that. We got all of that and ever so much more. We got a quadrillion of ‘em.
Her reverie was broken by an odd feeling. The droning had stopped and she looked up to see that the tall guy was looking directly at her. The girl sitting on his left started to say something to him, but he shushed her.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she answered uncertainly, unsure as to whether he was speaking to her or not. The withering looks that the group of girls gave her, however, cleared up any doubt. It was as if eyes could cause combustion. She tried to turn back to Inferno, but it seemed as though it was much hotter in the real world. She quickly stuffed her belongings into her backpack, put her coat on and left.
But as soon as she stepped out of the Quad, she immediately stepped into her own personal, self-fashioned Hell. She nearly collided with Andre Carter, one of the Tau
fraternity brothers. He wasn’t one of those she had slept with, but they all knew what had happened and had spread their knowledge of it in revenge against her.
“Hi, hoochie.” He leered at her. “When we gonna get it together?”
“Asshole,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear as she hurried away from him. He turned and tried to catch up with her.
“Oh, so I’m an asshole now,” he said loudly. “You’re the one who slept with half my frats. I just want to know when you gonna’ hook the other half up!”
His progress was halted by a powerful hand on his shoulder.
“Leave her alone, Mr. Carter,” said the voice belonging to that hand. Andre whirled around and looked up into a pair of hazel eyes that he didn’t particularly want to see. Adrienne, six-feet tall with golden-brown dreadlocks looked down at him. She was a beautiful woman, whose physical strength wasn’t immediately obvious. However, when she grabbed Andre’s shoulder, he had no choice but to stop.
“Don’t you have a class to go to or something?” she asked him.
“As a matter of fact, I don’t!”
Adrienne had to bend slightly down to put her nose about a centimeter from his.
“Well, I’m sure that you wouldn’t like your frat brothers to find out that you got your ass kicked by a woman, so be gone.” He backed up ever so slowly, so as not to appear to be running, but Adrienne could sense his fear, as well as see it in his eyes.
“Get outta here, boy,” she growled. He turned and sauntered away.
“My heroine.”
Adrienne sucked her teeth. “Girl, you've been reading too much of that World Lit nonsense.”
The two began walking toward the mass of academic buildings. Adrienne was one of the few women Felice knew who was taller than she.
“Nice pick, O great Amazon Basketball Woman.”
“Just returning the favor. Do the Taus only allow fools to pledge?”
/> “It looks that way, doesn’t it? But ole ‘Dre didn’t waste any time gettin’ gone when you stepped in, so he’s not that
stupid. Forget him. Something strange just happened to me in the Quad.”
“Another chapter in ‘These are the Days of Felice’s Life?’"
Felice grinned complacently. “Pretty much. You know Kevin Hart?”
“Quarterback of the football team.”
“Right. I was sitting in the lounge, looking over my World Lit stuff and I felt somebody looking at me. So I looked up, and across from me, was Kevin and a bunch of white girls. He was staring right at me. One of the girls started to say something to him, but he told her to shut up.”
“Really?!”
“Then, he just goes, ‘hi’ to me and I say ‘hi’ back. Then, I got the hell out of there ‘cause them girls looked like they were going to have a lynching with me as the guest of honor.”
“I’ll bet they did,” Adrienne giggled.
“It was weird. I had seen him looking at me before, but I wasn’t interested in some big, goofy white boy. I don’t care if he is the quarterback of the football team. But, he is kinda cute. So tall! Not that I’m that wild about big guys,
but he’s good looking’...for a white guy. Good looking, period.”
Adrienne was appalled. “Felice, you’re not going to do that, are you?”
“Why not?” asked Felice innocently.
“What do you mean why not? He’s white.”
“Well, I never really looked that hard at white guys. Some of them are cute, but I never really thought about them like that before.”
“He’s white, Felice. You know what white people are.”
“Excuse me, but uh...isn’t your mother white?”
“You know she is, but that’s beside the point.”
“How is it beside the point? Part of you is white.”
“Well, that’s not my doing.”
“You have a good relationship with your mother, right?”
“Yeah, but Mom is different.”
“How in the world is she different?” asked Felice skeptically. “She’s still white.”
Tale of the Tigers: Love is Not a Game Page 2
