AN HOUR LATER WE WERE STILL SINGING AND DANCING, although we had moved to the kitchen and Daniel had joined us. We decided to make a spaghetti dinner for Veronica’s aunt and uncle. Veronica pulled out some singles and albums and turned the record player on. We cooked listening to the Supremes and the Temptations. Then she found our absolute favorite album, United, with Tammi Terrell and Marvin Gaye.
As we cooked, we debated whether to attend Harry’s party. Veronica quickly realized that he and his friends had rented the Petersons’ house on the corner and that they were the hippies Miss Betsy and Miss Sadie had been talking about.
“Well, I still say we go. We were invited, he was nice, and I think it’ll be fun,” Veronica insisted after ten minutes of back-and-forth.
“No surprise there,” I said dryly, tired of the subject.
“Oh, come on, Zelda,” Veronica said. “You’ll meet new people, so stop being such a wet blanket.”
“I’m not being a wet blanket,” I said, mildly insulted. “I’m trying not to get arrested. I have no intention of having a police record. That does not go with a law degree.”
“Arrested? What are you talking about?” Daphne asked.
“You heard what those neighbors across the street said: drugs. It might get raided by the cops.”
“Oh, please. Those two call baby aspirin ‘drugs.’ ”
“Well, I still vote no.”
“I vote yes.” She looked at Daniel.
“Hey, leave me out of this. I pass.”
“Daphne, what do you think?”
We both turned to look at her. “Why am I always the tie breaker?” she asked.
Veronica and I looked at each other and shrugged simultaneously. Veronica and I were regularly at extremes and Daphne was the voice in the middle. But before either of us could answer, we heard voices as the front door opened. We walked out to the living room and saw Trudy and the two men from earlier.
We exchanged pleasantries. Meanwhile, Kimo hadn’t taken his eyes off Daphne the whole time.
“You’re just in time,” Veronica said. “Dinner’s ready.”
“You cooked,” Trudy said, surprised.
“Actually, Daphne cooked. Zelda and I helped in setting the table. She’s a far better cook than either of us.”
“That’s right,” I acknowledged.
“Well, thank you very much, Daphne,” Harold said.
“We’ll be ready in a few minutes,” Trudy added.
Trudy, Harold, and Kimo went to freshen up while we put the food on the table. We ate on the screened-in porch, where the big table was set up. I couldn’t be certain, but it seemed Daniel subtly moved Veronica out of the way to sit next to me. Surprisingly, I didn’t mind. It was still hot outside, but there was a breeze that kept us comfortable.
Kimo sat next to Daphne, and I believed the whole table could feel their chemistry. As the conversation flowed around them, they seemed to be in their own world.
“It’s going to be wonderful having you girls around. With all that luggage, I presume you’re staying the rest of the week,” Trudy said.
“Oh no, we’re not staying,” Daphne said. “We’re driving back to school on Sunday.”
“Well, I’m glad you have this young man for protection,” said Trudy. “I know you all read the black newspapers, not that whitewashed news we see on television? Colored people, men and women, boys and girls, are being killed, particularly in the South. This family has shielded you from such things, Veronica, but this world will eat you alive if you’re not careful. White people think black people are a threat to them. They don’t even consider how we feel in their presence all the time, given America’s violent history at their hands. We don’t know who is friend or foe.”
Veronica rolled her eyes and looked at me. My eyes widened, but I didn’t say anything.
“Do you have any idea what uncivilized hell you’re driving into?” Uncle Harold chimed in.
“It’s not like we’ve never been down south before. We have. This is our fourth year in college in Atlanta. We’ve never had any problems before.”
“That’s because you’ve always taken the train down,” Trudy said.
“Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was just killed in the South. It didn’t matter that he was a prominent spokesman, a leader, a minister, and Nobel Prize winner. He was still killed.”
“We’re not Dr. King.”
“Medgar Evers—shot and killed in his driveway in front of his wife and children. Harry and Harriette Moore—home blown up on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. The Orangeburg Massacre—three students shot and killed by the local police.”
“We’re not demonstrating or doing anything else with civil rights.”
“That’s just it. Young blacks never think it could be them. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you’re not doing. If whites can brutally murder a fourteen-year-old boy or blow up a church with four young girls inside, there’s nothing hatred won’t do.”
“I don’t want to live my life in fear just because I’m black.”
Trudy and Harold looked at Veronica. I could see that neither of them was moved.
8
I YIELDED. VERONICA AND I HEADED TO THE PARTY A little before nine o’clock. Daniel, now lagging behind us, decided to come along. The sun had set. The air, smelling of salt and roses, was heavy and thick, like rain hung on the horizon. The narrow streets were eerily empty, and a heavy muffled roar hummed in the distance. “What’s that noise?” I asked.
“The ocean.”
“That loud?”
“Yep. You get used to it after a while.”
“So, what do you think about Kimo asking Daphne to go for a walk on the beach?” I whispered to Veronica.
“She likes him and she never takes to anybody that quickly,” Veronica said.
I nodded. “I think he might be good for her.”
“Me too. I hope so. She could use some happiness.”
We heard the music long before we came to the big house on the corner, surrounded by lopsided hedges and wide trees. As we got closer, my heart started beating faster. I should have stayed at the bungalow.
“This is a bad idea,” I whispered. Veronica didn’t respond.
Three young white guys were standing outside smoking. They didn’t say anything as we walked past; they didn’t even look our way. They just kept talking and smoking.
“Are you sure about this?”
“Oh, don’t be such a chicken,” she scolded. “Come on.”
The door was wide open. As soon as we walked in, Harry started clapping, and his other friend from the beach, who had been standing on his head for some reason, joined in. “There they are,” he exclaimed loudly.
Harry started calling us heroes. Soon others began applauding as well. And there were so many others. Everywhere. Others. People started patting me on the back, trying to hug me, and thanking me for what we did. Veronica was eating up the attention.
She curtsied and bowed, smiling, waving, and giggling. I stood there shell-shocked. The bombardment of admiration was unsettling. Being at the center of white people’s attention made me uneasy.
I could hear my father’s voice. Get out, he would have said. Get out of here now.
I took a step back. Daniel placed his hand on my waist as if to assure me he was there. Veronica grabbed hold of my hand. I tried to loosen her grip, but she held tightly and turned to me, smiling. “It’s okay. We’ll be fine. If nothing else, it’ll be far out.”
“No,” I said to her, “come on. We have to leave before something happens.”
“Nothing’s gonna happen. Zelda, cool it. Mingle. You might just have a good time and learn something.”
Harry came up with open arms and hugged me. He did not have on a shirt but wore a psychedelic-colored Nehru jacket with a peace sign medallion around his neck, tight skinny white pants, and bare feet. I cringed awkwardly. He reeked of alcohol, cigarettes, and an abundance of musk aftershave. He didn’t seem
to notice my recoil. When he hugged Veronica, she giggled and hugged him right back with more enthusiasm than the circumstances called for.
There was a guy wearing a huge purple hat with lime-colored ostrich feathers sticking out of the top, while another wore black-and-white polka-dot pants, shirt, jacket, hat, and shoes. Someone shoved a glass of something amber into my hand. “Here you go, babe. You’re out of sight.”
“Thanks,” I said as he walked away. I tipped my nose into the glass and grimaced. It had a strong smell. I figured I’d carry it around the rest of the night, to blend in.
I looked over at Veronica, across the room. The music was loud, and she was dancing. Harry was with her and doing some kind of jiggling, wiggling movements. Veronica started doing the same insane thing: jiggle, jump, and jiggle. Soon others stood and began doing the silly dance.
Veronica always blended in. I admired that about her. We had met on a train headed to Georgia. I saw her sitting alone, laughing at something she was reading in a magazine. I found out later it was an article about her parents. The article had called them “America’s New Black Family.” I had sat down across the aisle from her. She turned to me and smiled. Her first words were “Can you believe this bullshit?” I had liked her right away. She was smart, crazy sarcastic, way more cynical than me, and she was funny.
Someone fell down next to me and then lay on the floor, laughing hysterically. I moved out of the way. I walked around smiling and nodding as I kept an eye on Veronica, who was still laughing and dancing with Harry on the other side of the large living room. I stood by the wall listening to the rock and roll that played. A girl walked by and added more liquor to my glass and then handed me a half-filled bottle of Johnnie Walker Red.
“No thank you,” I said louder than I expected. She grinned and kept going. I walked into another room. It was dark with dim lights in the corners, and a purple haze emanated from a couple of psychedelic lava lamps, offering a mystic voodoo vibe. I sat the bottle down on a table when two black guys walked past me, nodded, and kept going. I was going to speak, but they moved too fast. Then someone called out.
“Hey, hero.”
A brother was sitting in the corner on a mass of pillows, strumming the guitar lying across his lap. His Afro was sliced through with a purple paisley scarf. He wore a black halfway-buttoned shirt and a white fringed leather jacket.
Like everyone else there, he was a mishmash of colors and prints, but for some reason it worked on him. He licked his full lips, then frowned, looking mean and hateful. But then just as quickly he smiled, and his perfect white teeth seemed to brighten the room. “Yeah, I’m talking to you, hero.”
“That’s heroine,” I corrected.
He took a long drag of a marijuana cigarette, then half coughed and chuckled while looking me up and down. “Yeah, somehow I doubt that. Sit,” he instructed simply.
Ordinarily I would ignore a command, especially from a man and a total stranger, but I sat down. His presence alone made me feel less anxious.
He looked sly, like he was in on a joke and no one else knew what was going on. Or maybe he was just high. He took another puff of his joint, then offered it to me. “No thanks,” I said.
He shrugged and nodded. “Good for you. You stay clean. This shit will mess you up.”
I couldn’t think of a response, so I just nodded. “You play?” I asked, motioning to the guitar on his lap.
He chuckled and nodded slowly, his eyes half closed. “Yeah, I play. Do you?”
“No, just asking,” I said. There was a pack of cigarettes on the table. I knew it was that kind of party, so I grabbed one and lit it. I had smoked on occasion, and at the moment I felt like I needed it. I wanted desperately to look cool. I took a deep drag and blew the smoke straight out. I leaned back and tried to look at ease.
He closed his eyes and played a couple of chords. The guitar screeched loud and long as his fingers quickly danced across the strings as if they were on fire. Everybody in the room started applauding, and others in the living room cheered and shouted.
“You like that?” he asked, locking his eyes with mine.
“Yeah, that was pretty good,” I said.
“Thanks. It’s something I been working on. So what’s a cute little foxy lady like you doing in a scene like this?”
“I was invited.”
“You were invited, huh. So what’s your hustle?”
“My hustle?”
“Your gig, your job. What do you do?”
“Oh, I’m in college. I’m going to be a civil rights attorney.”
“Oh yeah, really? That’s cool. I can dig it.”
“What about you?” I asked, trying to sound equally hip. “What’s your hustle?”
He chuckled, then played a few notes on his guitar.
His bloodshot eyes bore into mine. It was intense. I felt like he knew me even before I had sat down or before I had gotten up this morning.
He played a few more chords softly. “You look scared, but these cats are cool. You gotta let that shit go or you gonna be scared of the wrong cats all your life.”
“My dad was killed five years ago by white cops. What if I can’t let it go?” I didn’t know where the words had come from, but I think I was trying to impress him—somehow.
“Then you gotta find a way to reconcile. Evil is evil, don’t matter what you look like. Can’t do much about cats like that. But I see you. I have a feeling you’ll be okay. You’ll see your way through all that.”
I nodded as if he was some mystical guru with all the knowledge and answers of the universe at his fingertips. Just when I was finding my mojo, Daniel approached us. He wore a black beret, like the ones the Black Panthers were wearing. My guitar-playing guru instructed him to sit beside me.
They talked while I played at smoking my cigarette. I even took a sip of the amber liquid in my glass. It was god-awful, but I pretended it was okay.
The guru started strumming on his guitar again. His sound was deep and thick and rich like something you could scoop up and eat with a spoon. He started drawing attention from the others so he put the guitar down.
Someone mentioned the war. Guru joined in the conversation. Everybody talked and gave their opinion. I mostly listened. He was out there. He rambled from subject to subject, not really focusing in one thing. Then, out of the blue, he kissed me goodbye, grabbed his guitar, and walked out.
“He’s an amazing talent. His music is aesthetically significant.”
I shrugged indifferently.
“What, you don’t like his music?” Daniel asked, bemused.
“No, not really.”
“No?” Daniel questioned. “Why not?”
I grimaced. “I like Motown music.”
“Oh, you’re one of those,” he said, then snickered.
I immediately took offense. “What do you mean, ‘one of those’?” I asked.
He smiled and chuckled.
“I don’t appreciate you laughing at me,” I said, then stood to leave.
“Hey, relax.” He grabbed my arm to stop me. I yanked away. “Whoa. I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t laughing at you.” I glared at him. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m not a big fan of the syrupy sweet love-machine music. I like real music. Motown isn’t. It’s too commercial for me.”
“What do you know?” I said. “You don’t even know your place.” After the words left my lips, I wasn’t even sure what they meant.
“Where’s my place?” he asked.
“Certainly not here,” I said, trying to compensate for my dumb remark.
“I’m here because you’re here,” he countered. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a very long time.”
Whoa! Was that a pass? I quickly moved beyond the moment, even though he was trying to find my eyes. “Motown is real music to a lot of people. It tells the story of our people and that there’s a better world out there for us. It helps us when we have nothing else, and it gets us through hard times. Some people need Motow
n music.”
“Like you, I assume,” he assessed.
I looked at him but didn’t say anything right away. He had belittled my music and it seemed he was belittling me. “Yeah, like me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, then placed his hand on mine.
I slid my hand away.
“You know, you don’t have to walk around with that huge chip on your shoulder. Not everyone is your enemy.”
“You don’t know me. So what you say about me, my music or my life, doesn’t really matter.”
He nodded. “You’re right. So why don’t we call a truce?”
At that moment someone nearly fell on top of me, but Daniel blocked him. The party had gotten louder and wilder. A lot of the people were drunk and falling around acting stupid.
“Come on. Let’s find Veronica.”
I didn’t really want to go with him, but I did anyway. I nodded and followed him to the front of the house. I saw Veronica straightaway. She was sitting on the steps by the front door talking with some girls. Harry was lying on the floor talking up at them.
“Hey, there you are. I was just about to . . .” she began.
All of the sudden Harry jumped up and started doing his jiggle, jump, and wiggle dance. Soon the whole room was doing it. We figured that was as good a time to leave as any.
As soon as we got outside, Veronica asked, “So, Daniel, we are on our way on Sunday—why should we let you come with us?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Aside from the fact that my father’s friend asked me to take care of you ladies, I’m also on my way to school. I will be at Morehouse, right across the road from you.”
“Really?” she said, her voice rising three octaves.
“Miss Motown, what do you think?” he asked. “May I accompany you to Atlanta?”
Veronica looked at me. I glared at him. His snide remark didn’t faze me. I shrugged. “It’s up to you. I don’t care.”
“See? It’s cool,” Veronica said.
Daniel looked directly in my eyes and smiled. His eyes were warm and inviting. “I dig your ’fro,” he said.
One Night in Georgia Page 7
