Ain't Gonna Be the Same Fool Twice

by April Sinclair

  “Of course. What do you mean?”

  “I was just concerned. You’ve been parked here for a while.”

  “So what? I’m just having a conversation with my girlfriend. Is that illegal in Berkeley?”

  I glanced at the policeman out of the corner of my eye. He looked under thirty, but I still didn’t trust him. I knew not to get funky with the police. He might go upside my head with his nightstick. Where I was from they didn’t call them billy clubs, they called them nigga beaters. And they didn’t call them that for nothing.

  “I thought she might be a male.”

  My mouth flew open. “A male!” I repeated.

  “So, what if she were?” Cynthia snapped.

  “Well, after that thing with Patty Hearst, we’re just being real careful.” The policeman sighed. Patty Hearst had been captured recently near San Francisco along with a woman SLA member. The two other SLA members, Bill and Emily Harris, had been arrested in the city.

  “Sorry to have disturbed you,” the officer continued to address Cynthia. “Have a nice evening, ma’am.”

  “I can’t believe it!” I exclaimed after he left. The two brothas in the SLA died in the fire in L. A. Who did he think I was?” Cynthia was quiet, like she was in a daze.

  “It’s so racist!” I shouted. “McNab automatically thought you might be in danger, just because you’re white and I’m black. Never mind the fact that Bezerkley is known for crazy-ass white folks. You could’ve been holding me hostage.”

  “I just can’t believe it,” Cynthia marveled.

  “Yeah, in Berkeley of all places,” I agreed.

  “I just can’t believe he called me ma’am!”

  “Huh?” I asked confused.

  “I’m only twenty-seven years old and that pig called me ma’am!”

  “I can’t believe you’re tripping on that instead of his racism!” I shouted.

  Cynthia leaned her head back against the vinyl seat. She let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, honey. I was in my own world.” Cynthia made a face. “I’m so vain.”

  “Yeah, you probably thought this song was about you.”

  I told Sterling about the incident with the fuzz as we ate tuna sandwiches in the kitchen. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. But Sterling was less understanding about my irritation with Cynthia.

  “I expected more from a white girl from Oakland,” I explained. “But solidarity took a backseat when the cop called her ma’am.”

  “To be honest,” Sterling waved his hands, “I can’t blame the chile for not wanting to be called ma’am at twenty-seven.”

  I shook my head. “I still have reservations about being with a white woman.”

  “At least you gotta Miss Ann that looks like something,” Sterling said between bites. “I’m glad you’re not the type that’ll be up with anything, just so long as it’s white.”

  “I’m not that shallow. I just wonder if Cynthia can ever really empathize with my experiences as a black woman.”

  “Y’all ain’t got married at Glide yet.”

  Traci had told me that Reverend Cecil Williams, the pastor of Glide Methodist Church, actually married gay and lesbian couples. It wasn’t legal, but it still had spiritual significance for some people.

  “Just go with the flow,” Sterling advised. “I’ll take hot sex over empathy any day. Most white folks are racists to some degree. You think I scrutinize the politics of every dude I deal with? Just because I’m black, I gotta show three IDs to get in some of these gay bars,” Sterling informed me.

  “You would expect better from people who know how it feels to be discriminated against,” I said angrily.

  “Humph, don’t fool yourself.” Sterling tilted his head and sucked in his teeth. “The only reason some of these dudes gimme the time of day is because I’m their flavor of the month.”

  “Well, I couldn’t be bothered with them.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, there are some good ones,” Sterling said dreamily. “And, you know, I have a superficial side, myself.”

  17

  Cynthia and I sat wrapped in each other’s arms in her Potrero Hill apartment watching the sunset.

  “I can see a ship,” I pointed. “Is that Oakland over there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t you just love looking out on the water?”

  Cynthia nodded. “I’m a water sign.”

  “Which one?”

  “Pisces.”

  “I’m a Libra. I wonder if we’re compatible.”

  “You sure can turn me on.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Stevie, you’re so polite.”

  “You don’t think I’m too polite, do you?”

  “I think it’s kind of sweet.”

  I held Cynthia’s hand. “Remember, you said you were bisexual.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you one of those bisexuals who needs to have both a male and a female lover to feel balanced?” I asked.

  I personally believed that I could be faithful to either sex if I were in a committed relationship. I didn’t like sexual labels, they weren’t individual enough. But, I wanted to know what being bisexual meant to Cynthia.

  “No, I don’t have to have a male and female lover at the same time. I can be attracted to both men and women sexually. But women are my primary focus. I just labeled myself as bisexual so that the women in the group would figure I could relate to them.”

  “So, if we got seriously involved, you wouldn’t feel the need to get with some dude?”

  “If we get seriously involved, hopefully I won’t feel the need to get with anybody else sexually, male or female. You’re the only one I’m sleeping with right now, in case you’re interested.”

  I was interested, and I was happy to hear it. “So, are we just having a fling or are we in a relationship?” I asked boldly.

  Cynthia leaned over and turned on a lamp. “Let’s satisfy each other’s needs for six months and then we’ll talk about a relationship,” she replied.

  I shrugged. “Lately, I’ve been in a faster lane than I’m used to,” I confessed.

  “What are you used to?”

  “A respectable courtship.”

  “I can’t believe you. You are like from another era.”

  “What era?”

  “You remind me of a character in Our Town.”

  “Which one?”

  “George, when he tells Emily how important it is to have someone care about your character?”

  “I remember. Our Town is a great play. But I still don’t like being compared to the people in it. They were so Republican, so white, so New England. I mean they went straight from a milkshake to marriage. I think I’m a little racier than that.” I fingered Cynthia’s turquoise bracelet. “I had you calling out my name the other night, didn’t I?”

  “Thank goodness, you have another side.”

  “That’s a nice bracelet. Where did you get it, Santa Fe?”

  “Yeah, I liberated it from one of those tourist traps.”

  “You stole it?”

  “I just wanted to see if I could get away with it. It was part of my rebellion. It gave me a cheap thrill.”

  “You steal things?”

  “It was just a lark. I can count the number of times I’ve ripped off shit in my whole life on one hand. Haven’t you ever stolen anything?”

  I shook my head.

  “Not even a candy bar when you were a kid?”

  “My brother David did once, and my mother made him take the money out of his piggy bank to pay for it. And apologize.”

  “But you never did?”

  “We were raised to think stealing was wrong.”

  “Stevie, you are so wholesome. If it weren’t for your lovemaking and the way you talk, I would swear you were a white person trapped in a black person’s body.”

  “Believe it or not, most black people don’t steal,” I shot back.

  “Honey, I was just teasing. You’re in your he
ad too much.”

  “You’re the one who’s studying to be a shrink.”

  “But my MFCC program integrates mind, body, and spirit.”

  “I just didn’t appreciate your stereotyping.”

  “Except the part about your being good in bed, I bet.”

  “Contrary to popular belief, some of us ‘colored folk’ are complex individuals.”

  “I know that. But you know what? Right now, I don’t have the energy for anything more complex than wild, passionate sex.”

  I sighed. I was still tripping. I wasn’t really feeling hot and bothered.

  Cynthia leaned her body against mine.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to bum you out. Do you forgive me?”

  “All right,” I said as I felt her body heat mixing with mine. But I still felt like I was putting the cart before the horse as I followed Cynthia into the bedroom.

  “Stevie, wake up, it’s raining!”

  I yawned. “Isn’t winter the rainy season?”

  “If it’s raining here, it’s probably snowing in the Sierras!”

  “So what if it is?” I rolled back over.

  Cynthia grabbed my shoulder. “That means we can go skiing!”

  “Skiing? I’ve never been skiing in my life. Besides, everybody who ever went skiing on TV broke something. Remember when Dick Van Dyke broke his leg?”

  “I’m talking about cross-country skiing. There are almost no injuries. It’s just like walking. It’s the best exercise. I love it! And you’ll love it!”

  “But isn’t it expensive?”

  “It costs a lot less than downhill skiing. We don’t have to buy lift tickets. And we can do it for dirt cheap. We can stay at the Sierra Lodge.”

  “OK, I’m game.”

  “Oh goody!” Cynthia bounced on the bed. “We’ll have to call and make reservations before they fill up.”

  She leaned over to kiss me.

  I pulled away. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

  “Ok, then, I’ll kiss your other lips.”

  Cynthia planted kisses up and down my naked body. I tingled with excitement when her head finally sank between my thighs.

  I’d just walked out of Macy’s department store in Union Square and was lugging a bag with my new ski jacket and sweater. I knew I was splurging, but Sterling had encouraged me. He said I had an image to uphold. “How many black folks are on the ski slopes? You have to be a credit to the race.”

  Call me middle class, but I wanted my stuff to look nice. I wanted my clothes to be coordinated even if my body wouldn’t be. Let’s face it, I’d never really had the true middle-class experience. Father coming home in a suit, carrying a briefcase. Mother wearing pearls while she did her dusting. The cookie jar always full, and kids getting to go away to summer camp. Secretly, I’d envied the sterile white families on Father Knows Best, Donna Reed, and Leave It to Beaver. I couldn’t hang with them long, but I couldn’t help but fantasize about people who could solve their problems in thirty minutes with nobody getting whipped.

  I was almost at Market and Powell, by the cable car turnaround. Two men suddenly backed me up against the wall, in broad daylight, flashing badges in my face.

  “Macy’s security,” one of them barked.

  My mind was a whirlwind as I looked into the two scowling pink faces. I realized that they’d followed me for several blocks. I knew I hadn’t stolen anything. In fact, I’d spent a big chunk of my first paycheck in their store. I hadn’t even lingered; they had no reason to suspect me, except that I was young, black, and carrying a large bag of their merchandise.

  The huskier of the two detectives pointed at my bag. “Let’s see what you got in there.”

  “What do you want? I just finished spending all kinds of money in your store.”

  “Can you prove it?” The other one asked.

  I bristled. “The only reason you’re stopping me is because I’m black! You have no reason to suspect me.”

  I noticed that people were rubbernecking.

  “Let’s see the receipts.”

  “Sistah, legally, you don’t have to show them shit!” A brother in dreadlocks shouted.

  “I’m going to show you the damn receipts. Just to prove to you that every black person leaving your store with a large bag isn’t a thief.”

  I rummaged around, hoping that my receipts hadn’t blown out. Or that the salesclerk hadn’t forgotten to give them to me. I found the two receipts and shoved them at the men.

  “Y’all treating the sistah like she’s in South Africa or some damn where,” the dreadlocked brother shouted. “Having to show her pass and shit.”

  “Now, satisfied?” I yelled. “I wish I hadn’t spent a dime in your damn store!”

  “Boycott Macy’s!” the brother shouted.

  “Girlcott Macy’s!” a tough-looking white woman in leather echoed.

  The detectives turned away sheepishly, but neither of them apologized.

  One of them mumbled, “We’re just trying to do a job here.”

  But that was just a cliché, same as Father Knows Best. I was on the phone. I had just finished telling Grandma about being treated like a criminal by Macy’s.

  “And you had me thinking it was different out there.”

  “It is, and it isn’t. I mean, generally that’s true. But some people say things are just more subtle.”

  “Well, there was nothing subtle about what happened to you.”

  “I second that emotion. But I still try to deal with people as individuals. It’s hard, though. But otherwise I guess I’d be walking around in a rage all of the time.”

  “White folks will sho’ try you.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been tested.”

  “And here you thought you were rich and white.”

  “What are you talking about? I just got off of food stamps last month.”

  “Didn’t you twist your mouth and say you were goin’ skiing?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So, when did you become rich and white?”

  “It’s cross-country skiing, Grandma.”

  “You ain’t fixing to try and ski across the whole country, are you?”

  “No, you just ski on flatter ground than with downhill skiing.”

  “I thought going down hills was the point.”

  “There will be some hills, they just won’t be real steep.”

  “Well, I hope you get your money’s worth. Who you going with?”

  “A friend.”

  “One of us?”

  “No.”

  “You ain’t fixing to spring a white husband on us, are you?”

  “I’m not hardly thinking about getting married.”

  “Ain’t no romance involved.”

  “It’s a girlfriend, Grandma.”

  “That don’t mean nothing these days. Especially out there where you at.”

  “Ha, ha, very funny.”

  “Well, be careful, running with white folks.”

  “Grandma, I’m tired of tripping on race. I don’t want to be careful. I just want to be myself!”

  “Gone with yo’ bad self, then. Some folks gotta learn the hard way. They might smile up in your face, but sooner or later you’ll find out. White can cover a multitude of faults. And I ain’t just talking about the snow.”

  “You would know, Grandma, since you have so much contact with white people,” I said sarcastically.

  “I’m just trying to protect you from unnecessary pain.”

  “If you protect yourself from pain, you also protect yourself from pleasure.”

  “You go ’head on then. Maybe you a pioneer. Probably we need pioneers. But when they do you dirty, you can always come running to me. I’d never leave you hanging out to dry.”

  18

  I stared out the car window at the falling snow. It was a trip going from passing a palm tree-lined street in San Francisco this evening to goo-gobs of snow in the Sierras tonight. I was reminded that it was winte
r back in Chicago. Cynthia rubbed my thigh. “Don’t the mountains look gorgeous?

  “Uhm hmm.”

  “We have two whole days ahead of fabulous skiing!”

  When we hit Emigrant Gap, we paid a guy to put chains on Cynthia’s car. While we waited, I told Cynthia about how they’d treated me outside of Macy’s.

  “That was really a bummer. But you’ve gotta let it go.”

  “It’s hard to let it go, ’cause racism is always there waiting to pounce. Sometimes, just when you least expect it, then, boom.”

  “Well, you don’t want to become paranoid, do you?”

  “No, but I don’t want to have blinders on either.”

  “Look, I’m not saying there’s not a lot of shit out here. Don’t get me wrong.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m just saying you have to stay open to the magic that’s out here too. Or else you’ll never experience rainbows in the sky and all that other good stuff.” Cynthia smiled.

  “I wouldn’t want to miss out on all that,” I said a little sarcastically.

  “Don’t you feel you deserve to be happy?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Well, then visualize peace and harmony and pink balloons.”

  I shook my head. “Maybe if I were blonde, it would make more sense.”

  I awoke after a night of snuggling in one of the twin bunks in our Spartan cubicle. I looked at Cynthia lying next to me, wiping the sleep out of her eyes.

  “I dreamed about you last night,” I smiled, sitting up in bed.

  “I bet I was good, too,” Cynthia yawned.

  I nodded. “You were giving me a Pap smear.”

  After a hearty breakfast and packing a bag lunch, I was ready for the slopes. It was exciting picking out my poles, boots, and skis, and waxing the skis. Cynthia fastened my gaiters onto my ski boots. They were supposed to keep the snow from getting into my socks and shoes. She and I told each other how good we looked and quickly brushed each other’s lips. “You’re gonna love it. I’ll meet you back here for lunch around noon.”

  I waved good-bye to Cynthia in front of the lodge. I stood holding my skis and poles, watching her take off in the winter wonderland. I still had a few minutes before I needed to walk over to the ski instruction area.