He’d only been driving for a couple of minutes when Zora reached across the distance and rested her hand on his leg.
“No, I never dated White guys,” she said. “And it wasn’t for want of them trying. I just never … I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t interested enough in anyone, or curious enough to say yes when someone stepped to me. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“Did Clarence say something?”
Deuce looked at her. “He was interested. I told him you weren’t available to him in that way.”
Then Zora’s hand was at the back of his neck instead, and she was giggling. “Aw, did that make you mad?” she teased. “That he wanted to take his shot?”
“Nah. It just made me wonder.”
“About my dating history with the Clarences of the world? So here’s the deal. I guess I could have dated White guys, but part of me always worried that I would never know whether for them dating a Black girl, especially a girl as black as me … was the point. Y’know what I mean?”
Deuce glanced at her and shook his head.
“I mean, I didn’t want to be anyone’s social experiment,” Zora said baldly. “I worried that I would never trust them enough to believe I wasn’t just that. Didn’t you ever wonder that? With the girls you dated?”
He shook his head again. “No.”
“See that’s the difference between us. I’ve always had a high degree of race consciousness. I mean, it defines so much of me. And you … where you grew up, how you grew up …”
“Don’t try to fit me into one of your little theories, Zora. I know I’m Black. I’ve always had that awareness. Just because I don’t form Black Lives Matter chapters or march every time some kid gets dropped …”
Her hand fell from the back of his neck. “Fine. Since you brought it up … No one said you needed to be an all-out activist, Deuce. But to live as though you’re oblivious to the struggle of people who look like you? That I don’t get.”
“Why am I oblivious? Because I don’t protest every single injustice on the planet?”
“Not every single one. The ones that pertain to people of color. That’s what we’re talking about.”
He let out a puff of breath. “Y’know what? Let’s just drop this shit.”
“No, let’s not,” Zora said firmly. “Because unless I’m mistaken, you just got all in your feelings when your friend in there wanted to make a move on me. But god forbid Black women should have something to say about all those little White girls you run around with. I mean, if we ever dared to …”
“Race has nothing to do with it!” he snapped.
Zora gave a bitter laugh. “It never does, does it? Especially not for guys like you … who seem to have a distinct preference for women of races other than your own. Never mind that you were the one who asked if I dated White guys. So for you to say that …”
Swinging out of the lane and to the side of the road, the two passenger-side tires mounting the curb, Deuce brought the car to a halt and put it in park.
“I wouldn’t give a shit if he was green, I wouldn’t want him crackin’ on you. You understand that?”
Zora looked stunned for a second and then her lips twitched. She shook her head. “Except there are no green people,” she said slowly, “so …”
Exhaling in exasperation, Deuce reached for the gearshift, but Zora’s hand covered his. Her thumb moved across his knuckles, and then she turned his hand palm up, lacing her fingers through his.
“Hey,” she said, her voice low.
Deuce looked at her, and she gave him a little smile, leaning in to kiss him lightly on the lips and then letting her forehead rest on his shoulder for a moment.
“What I said before? That was really condescending. I’m sorry.” She sat upright and looked directly at him. “I mean it. I’m really sorry I said that thing about your … low degree of race consciousness, or whatever. That was untrue and … and … uncalled for.”
“It’s not untrue though,” Deuce said. He leaned his head back against the headrest. “At least, not completely untrue.”
The car fell silent. Zora was waiting for him to go on.
“I’ve never not been aware of being Black,” Deuce said. “But in my life, it just … the significance of that isn’t the same as it is for most brothers, y’know what I mean?”
“No,” Zora said quietly. She put her hand atop his again, a silent encouragement for him to go on.
“I grew up in a life that was almost a, I don’t know, I guess you could call it a defiance of the stereotypes that other Black men have to live with. So, I didn’t grow up in poverty, but with money; not being shut out of exclusive places, but being invited into them; not feeling like there were some girls who were off-limits, but knowing I could have any one I wanted.”
Deuce heard the gentle intake of Zora’s breath, as though she had just realized or been made to understand something she never got before.
“But being the Black exception,” Deuce continued. “The one who supposedly defies the stereotypes? I’m not sure that’s any more fun than being the brother who lives up to them.”
“It is though,” Zora interrupted. Her tone was gently challenging. “You have to see that. The consequences for a regular Black dude for things you get away with …”
“But what do I get away with though, Zee? Going to nice clubs, dating girls people get uncomfortable to see me with? The bottom-line is, when it gets down to the most basic stuff, the life-and-death shit? Like getting stopped by a cop and not knowing how its gon’ go? Me and the brother who didn’t have my privileges, we’re exactly the same.”
“Deuce, you’re not,” Zora said, shaking her head. “You have access to recourse, you have … visibility … assets a lot of people don’t have. So, what you do with all that? It matters.”
“How’d we wind up talking about race politics anyway?” he asked, shaking his head.
“Dude. Seriously? Do you know who I am?” she teased.
Turning to look at her, Deuce stared, his eyes locking with hers. Reaching out, he touched her hair, taking it between his fingers and feeling its unyielding strength. “No,” he said, tugging on it. “Who are you?”
He couldn’t sleep. He was tired, but couldn’t bring his mind to the restful state his body was crying out for. Deuce went to stand on the terrace in the bracing cold, wearing only a t-shirt and boxers. From this vantage point, he could see into the dark and almost to the edges of his father’s property. There were lights that bounded it, dim and concealed in the trees, twinkling like distant promises.
Some of what he’d said to Zora that night, he hadn’t even known he was feeling—that it was tough living his life as an exception? Where had that even come from?
Objectively speaking, his life wasn’t tough. Not by a long-shot. But there were times, when he did things he didn’t necessarily want to do so much as he wanted to prove he could: ‘I can do this, have this, be here … and yeah, I can even fuck her. Even though I’m a young, Black man. And even if you don’t like it.’
Or maybe he was rationalizing; transforming into a form of rebellion what was just plain old bad behavior and entitlement. He didn’t even know for sure which was true; because these were questions he never would have asked himself, but for meeting and spending all this time with Zora Diallo.
When he told her he didn’t care what Clarence’s race was, just that he was interested in her, that wasn’t true. At least not completely. He wouldn’t have liked it if anyone had tried to make a move on her even if it was another Black dude. But there was no denying he liked it even less, because Clarence was not a Black dude. And that realization was messing his whole game up. Because what did it mean about him, and his choices?
He was shivering now. The temperature had just morphed into something else altogether, and now was bitter. Turning to head inside to his bed, Deuce decided that before a brother could spend time thinking about whether he was about to be woke, he’d
have to work on getting some sleep.
Chapter 7
“I just don’t think it’s constructive, Michelle. What’s the point in being so inflammatory?”
“What the cops did is what’s inflammatory. All we’re doing is holding up a mirror to it.”
Closing her eyes and trying to summon calm, Zora sat on the edge of the sofa and counted to ten in her head. Michelle was the manager of the BLM chapter website, and was given wide berth to decide on content. Most days she posted information about rallies and networking events, links to new publications from watchdog organizations like the Southern Poverty Law Center, and to recent civil rights data. Zora had never tried to micro-manage her choices, even though she could as co-chair of the chapter.
But this morning, checking in on the website as she customarily did, she saw that Michelle had posted a graphic montage of police shootings, beginning with the one of Oscar Grant, handcuffed and sitting on the ground in the BART station on that fateful and horrible day. The video was jarring, and had been presented without any context—just a five-minute excessive force horror reel.
“Look, I texted Rashad before calling you back,” Michelle added. “And he was cool with it, so …”
Zora held the phone away from her ear and mimicked a scream.
“Well then let me call him directly. We need to sort this out, so please pick up if I call you again.”
“I don’t know if I can promise that. I’m out shopping with my sister and them for New Year’s Eve outfits so if I don’t hear the call …”
“Okay, fine. Well, just check your phone in about an hour. I’ll leave a message if I don’t get you.”
“Zora, I did my time working on the website today. So, if you want something pulled, I’m sorry, you just might have to do it yourself.”
Oh, no she didn’t.
“You’re our site manager,” Zora said sweetly. “If that’s a job you no longer want, please let me know.”
On the other end of the line, Michelle made a snorting noise. “Just call me when you know what you want to do about the video. I gotta go.”
When the connection broke, Zora screamed aloud, and tossing her phone across the bed, threw herself down next to it. She would need a moment before calling Rashad. After all, she had been avoiding his calls most of Winter Break, and he would no doubt want to get into that as well.
“What’s the matter with you?”
Her brother Ousmane stuck his head into her room, no doubt hearing the blood-curdling noise she’d just made. Zora lifted her head but didn’t bother sitting up.
“Just some stuff to do with the BLM site.”
Ousmane shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll handle it.”
Her brother was a senior at U. Penn., a chemistry major and very much a head-in-the-clouds scientist. He was proud of her social justice work, but viewed it from afar. He related much more closely to their Senegalese roots than Zora did, and like their father, considered American race issues with more academic interest than emotional connection.
“Actually, I’m going to need Rashad to handle it,” Zora said with annoyance. “Because the chick who does our website apparently needs to hear something from a man who’s in charge before she feels moved to act.”
Ousmane lifted his eyebrows.
“Of course, you think that’s perfectly fine.”
“I didn’t say anything!” Her brother laughed. “How’s Rashad anyway?”
Rashad and her brother had met a few times when Zora went to Philadelphia to visit him at Penn. And each time, her brother and boyfriend had talked past each other, though both came away thinking the conversation had gone perfectly fine.
“Okay, I guess. I haven’t spoken to him that much since I’ve been home.”
“Oh. So …”
“Yes,” Zora said, before he had a chance to ask the question. “So.”
She and her brother traded stares for a few beats then Ousmane smiled at her and tapped on the doorframe.
“Well carry on then,” he said before ducking out again.
Taking a deep breath, Zora picked up her phone and called Rashad. It rang three times before he answered, sounding a little out of breath.
“Did I catch you at a bad time?” she asked.
“Any time’s a good time when it’s you.”
Despite herself, Zora smiled. If there were such a thing as heartstrings, Rashad sure knew how to pull hers. And that was part of the problem.
“Ahm.” The confrontational tone she’d planned to take seemed no longer relevant. “I just talked to Michelle. About the video on the website? She said you told her it was fine to leave it up there?”
“Look, of course I don’t like the footage. Of course the images aren’t easy to stomach. But we can’t whitewash this shit, Zora. Police brutality is ugly. And it doesn’t stop just because it’s the Christmas holiday.”
“But it’s not new news, Shad. Michelle was just being lazy and went for shock-value instead of searching for new content. And besides, we’re not looking to pointlessly inflame people. We’re looking to motivate them.”
“And some people are motivated by anger.”
“Yes, but it has to be directed anger. Coherent anger. Not just blind anger. The video doesn’t even include a call to action, nothing to add to the conversation we’re trying to start.”
There was a brief silence and then the sound of Rashad’s laughter. “Damn, girl. This is why I love your ass, you know that? I don’t know too many people who’re takin’ time out of their holiday cheer to worry about shit like this.”
“Rashad. Call Michelle and tell her to take it down. She doesn’t listen to me. She needs to hear the word directly from you.”
“Okay. Consider it done.”
“Thank you,” she said, exhaling.
More silence.
“I’m headed back to school a little early. There’s that piece the guy from the local paper wanted to do on us. Could be some positive media. And there’s a couple other things we could take care of, like prepping for the all-chapters conference call. You wan’ ride with me?”
“The local media is a little hard to pass up,” she admitted. “So yeah. I’ll see whether I can make it back a couple days before classes. But the dorms won’t be open, so I don’t know where I’d stay.”
“C’mon, Zora. With me, at my apartment. I can be honorable. Sleep on the couch and all that. And maybe we can talk too, y’know?”
“Rashad.”
“What? We broke up. That means we can’t talk anymore? That’s one of the things I miss most about us. How we talked. Like no other couple in the history of mankind. Epic-ass conversations about life, and love and … politics …” Rashad broke off and made a sound like breath whistling through his teeth. “Everything. Just … those conversations we had were everything.”
Zora closed her eyes, squeezed them shut as tightly as she could.
“Rashad.”
“Anyway, lemme let you go. You caught me between sets at the gym. I’ll call Michelle as soon as I get done here and tell her to take down the video.”
“Cool. Thanks.”
“Anytime, baby.”
Baby. Why did he have to go and call her baby?
Just hearing the word, spoken from his lips and she could picture him, stroking his long goatee as he spoke. She used to grab ahold of it when they were in bed together, and stroke it while he moaned with pleasure.
Damn baby, I love it when you do that, he’d said to her once.
Zora wished she could forget how much pleasure she derived from his pleasure. Rashad was the first man in her life. In high school, there had been boyfriends, of course. And dates. But none were with guys she thought of as full-grown men.
Rashad, even though just twenty-one was so completely who he was, so sure of his values and opinions. And even when she met him two years ago, he always felt far ahead of everyone else, accelerated somehow. So much so that he’d accelerated Zora as well. Just to catch up
, she had to push herself in ways she never would have without him.
Without him, she wasn’t sure she would take her life and the world around her as seriously as she now did. Without him, she probably would have been flailing around like some of her friends, still trying to figure out who they were and what they believed in.
“Hey. Before you go. What you up to for New Year’s Eve?”
“A party,” she said vaguely. “You?”
“Watch Night Service with my mother and grandmother,” Rashad said. “Maybe I’ll check out a couple spots with some friends after.”
“Pray first, sin later?” Zora teased.
He laughed. “Yeah. Something like that. But since you won’t be with me, I don’t see too much of a certain kind of sinning in my immediate future.”
“Shad,” Zora said. “C’mon. Stop.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “But feelings don’t turn off that quick, Zora. You still have my heart.”
Closing her eyes, Zora wiped a hand across her forehead. This was why. This was why it was better not to talk to him at all.
“Anyway, I’ll let you go,” he said again when after almost a minute, she still hadn’t responded. “Enjoy your New Year’s Eve, Zora. We’ll talk on the other side.”
“You too, Shad.”
Shad. He told her she was the only one who had ever called him that. And so, she’d clung to it, feeling good that she had a piece of him that no one else had.
Zora hung up and had put her phone down for no longer than two minutes before a text message came through. Expecting it to be a last-minute thought from Rashad, she smiled when she saw that instead it was Deuce.
What you wearing for me tonight?
What do you want me to wear? She typed out her answer, still smiling.
Nothing, came the response. I want you to wear nothing at all.
Yeah. Okay.
And since sarcasm didn’t translate in text messages, her phone rang right away.
“You serious?” he asked. “You want to go somewhere?”
Zora laughed. “How do you propose to skip your father’s New Year’s party without someone noticing?”
Young, Rich & Black Page 8
