Beautiful Otherness

by Shirley Simmons

  “I love shopping in Orlando, Momma! None of the other kids get to stay on top of the latest fashion trends like I do.” I smiled and shrugged my shoulders as I did a little dance move and held up a hot pink polo-type shirt with a pleated mini denim skirt.

  “Don’t go getting the big head, Kennedy. I buy you nice things because I didn’t always get to have nice things growing up.” Momma took the mini skirt out of my hands and placed it back on the rack. She smiled at me as she replaced it with a denim skirt that went below my knees.

  I tried to stay ahead of the fashion trends, and I would almost always be the first one in my town to wear the latest styles. I think I was envied by most of my peers even when I didn’t try to make them feel that way. But it felt like I had paid a big price to finally feel good about myself, so I did not care what others thought of me and my fashion. I was the same girl, only I was reaching for different things and I had a mother who would give me anything I wanted.

  Rodney was the perfect first boyfriend. He was goofy and funny, which was all a girl my age wanted back then. Even though I no longer acted out in anger, I was still a spoiled teen who wanted to have everything her way. We would spend most of our days studying - at least he did. If I had difficult classes, my mom would hire tutors to help me so I better understood how to do the work, or they would work with me so I could effectively write my papers.

  I went to Rodney’s house two times a week, while my mom was in church, all because I was “afraid to be home alone.” I am sure he thought I was clingy, but a kiss was all that Rodney really wanted when we were together, even if I was clinging.

  To be honest, once the sun went down, I would be consumed with fear. Fear of being alone. I really did not like being alone. It had been that way ever since Papa Earl died.

  JANICE COOPER AKA “THE JET”

  When I was about eight years old, our neighborhood was like most neighborhoods. We had a candy lady, and she was usually someone’s mom or grandmother who sold Winn Dixie Check sodas, pickles, candy, and flips, or what some might call frozen cups. It was nothing for us to go to the candy lady several times a day. Going to the candy lady was the joy of our hot summer days.

  The problem with the candy lady was the uncertainty. You never knew when she was open or when she was going to run out of things, and then there was the issue of selections. If you wanted a Coke or Pepsi, she didn’t have it, so you had to get that grocery store-brand cola. “I don’t have that!” or “Come back in a couple of hours; they’re not ready yet.” It was so annoying.

  “It’s Florida, it’s one hundred degrees outside. You knew we were coming! Why aren’t the flips ready?” We all yelled the same thing at the same time in varying versions as we stood outside her door. Here she was doing something nice for us, but we had the attitude now. Every day we would swear to not go back, but that boycott would end just as quickly as we spoke it.

  However, we never allowed these obstacles to stop us. We just changed our plans and walked to the store, which was a couple of miles away, so we could get what we needed. But on our way home from the store, it always turned into a race back to the house. I hated losing and being last; they would make fun of me because I was younger and smaller, and I could not keep up.

  “Kennedy, you can’t go with us if you can’t keep up. You better learn to run fast,” my friends would say.

  As much as I hated losing, I was more afraid of being left alone, and when you are much smaller than all the other kids, it’s even more terrifying.

  “You better keep up Kennedy. Someone is going to get you!” they would say.

  The fear of someone ‘getting me’ was always on my mind during those flip and store runs, but the thing that frightened me the most was the thought of the neighborhood pitbull chasing me. This animal was nothing like the dog, Petey, from the Little Rascals. There was no sharing your ice cream and friendly snuggles with this dog.

  I had witnessed how that dog would chase kids, only for the kids to be saved by jumping to the safety of the hood of someone’s car. That dog would have them stranded on the top of cars for hours. I swear that dog was evil, and it would appear from anywhere and everywhere; in fact, I do not even know who owned this beast.

  So, I learned to run…fast.

  ____

  The first year of high school was great; things continued to go well, and everything was great with my boyfriend, Rodney. I was still involved in dance and baton, and I became the first black majorette in the high school band. I even started taking piano lessons again, which led to me playing for the church’s Sunday school program, with pay. This was something new for me. Could I actually get paid for doing something I liked doing? Was it possible to earn income from something like dancing?

  It was a constant challenge to find time for my friends with my new schedule, but we made the most of our time at school. By now, they had each gone through several boyfriends and had sex with different guys. I loved hearing erotic stories about their sex lives. Even though I was still a virgin, I found their stories very entertaining. I don’t know that I really grasped all of it, but they were my girls and we supported each other in everything. I was there for them after every one of their breakups. They would come and support my performances and cheer the loudest for me at pep rallies and games.

  Later in the school year I made the track team. I only tried out because one of my friends was joining, and after a little training, I became good at the hurdles. Once again, I was flying. Track was something new for me, but I had always liked trying new things and mastering new challenges. I was really driven and focused on the track, like I had a purpose, and the results were starting to show - I was no longer the skinny kid who could not keep up, but a strong competitive young woman who was beginning to take herself seriously.

  I began to impress at the local and regional meets. Things were great. One by one, Saturday after Saturday, I would not just win - I would dominate. The wins came easily… and then I started hearing the name “The Jet.” Janice Cooper, aka “The Jet”, was from a high school in Orlando. Her school was known for producing four- and five-star athletes in every sport.

  Janice was currently the state champion in the hurdles. It was a title she had held onto since middle school, and the nickname, “The Jet,” was not a misnomer. The girl was fast. Real fast.

  I admit the first time I saw her run I was intimidated. She made it look effortless. Janice devoured every opponent she faced on the track. She was like a boxing heavyweight champion in his prime. She crushed her competition. Most were beaten before they ever stepped into the blocks, defeated in their mind, limiting their ability to really give the race an honest go; they ran only to see who would come in second or just how far they could run before they lost.

  She had obviously heard of me because, after her heat, she stared at me without saying a word. She smiled, and with that smile I knew I had a chance. But I knew within myself that it would take everything I had to defeat her. I tried not to give our battle much thought. We were scheduled to compete at a conference a few weeks out, but it was all everyone wanted to talk about.

  “Kennedy, did you see Janice’s times today?”

  “No!”

  “Well, we heard that she was calling you out.”

  “Listen guys. Janice can do whatever she likes.”

  “We know you aren’t going to let her talk trash. She is obviously calling you out, Kennedy. You better represent.”

  “Why are you guys trying to start something? I thought y’all were my teammates?” I was exasperated. “You know I haven’t even been running track for a year. I do not even know my full potential yet, and here y’all go trying to push me to do something I may or may not even be capable of doing! What is it you want me to do? What do you want me to do? Fight her, curse her out, or race?” I was anxious to hear what they would say.

  My teammates stood there, silently assessing me. They had no response to what I said, or so it seemed. Then I heard someone yell, �
��She’s scared!”

  I was in disbelief; this was nothing like dance or baton competitions. These girls wanted me to do something. I was frustrated and I had had enough; I grabbed my bag and started to walk away only to stop again and give them a piece of my mind.

  “One more thing. I don’t even know what I’m doing out there. Right now I am just having fun, but I guess I’m not supposed to have fun! But I’m the one about to race the state champ, not you—any of you. So much for being a team you guys. Why don’t you just come out and support me? We can take it from there and I’ll let you decide whether or not I’m scared. I mean, after all, I not getting into the ring with Muhammad Ali.”

  “She’s scared!” I heard someone whisper again, and they chuckled as I walked away.

  With everything going on, at least I still had my boyfriend. I had finally given in and had sex for the first time. It was a much different experience than the ones my girlfriends described. We had fallen in love, and it was a great connection. We saw each other every day at school. My evenings were filled with activities and track practice, but we still created time for each other every Thursday night because my mom went to church on Thursdays. My mom would take me to his house, his mom would cook dinner for us and we all would watch TV together. I still had the fear of being home alone, so Thursdays were a welcomed reprieve for me.

  The day of the conference, the clouds began to gather, and the rain was imminent. I threw myself into a whirlwind of stretches to stay loose after popping two Midol to combat menstrual cramps courtesy of an overnight visit from Mother Nature. I put my headphones on to get into the zone. Getting out of the blocks was going to be the key to my victory if the track became wet that day.

  Several minutes passed before I heard Janice Cooper’s name being called, along with the other racers, over the loudspeaker. The racers had to go to the starting block for the first heat. Janice quickly put away her opponents, doing just enough to qualify for the finals. Her strategy was obvious; just finish with a win and a good qualifying time. Leave them wondering what more she was capable of. She had an ace in the hole and she obviously wanted to keep it a secret.

  It was the same strategy that my coach had developed for my first race, and it worked perfectly right before the sky let loose. In Florida you could set your watch to the afternoon rain. It usually lasted about twenty-five minutes to an hour before the storms would pass through. The sun shined brightly during that day’s rainstorm as we took shelter under the bleachers. My concentration continued to be broken by the sound of runners screaming, “The devil is beating his wife.” This was something we said as kids when the sun shined during a rainstorm.

  A half hour had passed after the storm blew by; the track was still wet when they called us to the starting block. My heart went into overdrive as I placed my first foot onto the block. The excitement could be felt throughout my whole body, my fingers tingled as I blew out a shaky breath and kneeled into the second block. I heard Janice sigh and thought, “Here’s my chance!”

  The starter pistol rang out, and with a burst of energy I sprung out of the blocks trying to stay in my technique and not think about my step count. I was the first to reach and clear the first hurdle, but Janice was right on my left hip. I could hear her spikes click right after mine. I could not tell how far back the other racers were, but the clicking of Janice’s and my spikes tapping the track in unison told me we had the same stride count as we cleared the next eight hurdles. As we approached the final hurdle, I broke the first rule of sprinting: never look over at the competition. My focus was lost and so was the race as I clipped the hurdle and crashed to the track. There was no dramatic fall in slow motion like in the movies. It was sudden and jarring and all I could do was brace myself for the fall. When I got to my feet, a second sprinter passed me and all I could see was Janice crossing the finish line.

  I pulled myself up and went on to cross the finish line. I stood there in disbelief, catching my breath and looking at the scrapes to my palms and knees. Janice walked over and wrapped her arms around me saying, “I didn’t want to win this way. You’re pretty good, but don’t fall next time.”

  I walked over to my coach and sat beside him. My hands and knees burned from the road rash, but the pain of losing hurt way more than the missing skin on my hands and knees.

  “Way to go, Kennedy! Good job,” was all he said before I burst into tears. I wiped away my tears and turned and limped away. “I can’t freaking believe I fell.”

  RUN FOR YOUR LIVES

  The sound of a boat approaching quickly grabbed our attention. We were used to hearing the boats on the lake. After living in the community for so long, we could tell if a boat was getting close by the difference in the way the waves hit the shore. We could distinguish engine sizes and boat types, all something we’d learned from living on the water. Greyson grabbed the two robes that hung next to the shower as our friend Ellis throttled down to drift alongside the dock.

  “Da’vee,” he shouted, using the nickname he’d spun from our last name, Davenport.

  I giggled, hiding behind the shower wall, and quickly slipped into the robe.

  “I know y’all home, Da’vee!” he shouted again.

  “Man, why are you making all this noise?”

  “What’s up family? Greyson, I started to run you over out there an hour ago. You better be glad I thought of Kennedy and Kylie!” Ellis laughed. “Good morning, Kennedy!” He leaped from the boat holding a bottle of wine.

  Ellis looked as if he had not slept, and he surely didn’t care about his appearance. He wore a pair of Gucci house slippers, board shorts slung low on his hips and an unbuttoned dress shirt with cuff links. He was unconventional for sure, and a true friend—he was the dog that fought to the end—a person you wanted on your side should you ever find yourself in trouble.

  “Good morning, Ellis! It looks like you’re in a good mood this morning.”

  “Well you’re not the only one who has something to celebrate. Let’s just say my day is off to a great start.”

  Dropping to one knee as if he were proposing, or more like an Englishman presenting the queen a gift, he bowed his head and extended the bottle toward me.

  “Thank you, Ellis. You may now rise.”

  “Hey, I would love to hang around here and drink champagne, but I have a date to get back to. I just wanted to say good luck tonight and bring you this very expensive bottle.”

  Greyson smiled at Ellis in disbelief. “Man, you mean to tell me you left a woman at your house just to bring that bottle of wine over here?”

  “Y’all are family,” he shouted from the boat. “Plus, this just gave her time to snoop through my things!” He slammed the throttle forward sending rooster tails fifteen feet behind the boat, his shirt billowing in the wind, and we could still hear him laughing as he disappeared up the channel.

  Ellis lived a few nautical miles away, at the other end of the lake. I had met him several years earlier when we shared a board seat for the homeless shelter. Ellis and I did some wonderful things on that board; we were great at raising funds for the shelter.

  I later introduced him to a girlfriend of mine who only agreed to go on a date with him if Greyson and I went along. That date did not go so well, but a couple of weeks later, Greyson invited him to a Maxim magazine Super Bowl party, and they have been the best of friends ever since.

  *

  I was so excited for the new school year; everything started out the same as last year. School, practice, rehearsals, competition, and my boyfriend. But this school year was different because I was turning sixteen in a couple of weeks, which meant I was getting a car, and I was already thinking of the freedom it would provide.

  My mom allowed me to have my birthday party at one of the rental properties she owned. At the time, it did not have tenants occupying it. She said she did not want “all those teenaged, hormone-filled kids” wandering around her house, so the rental property would be perfect. We had spent weeks planni
ng it down to the letter.

  My birthday party was everything I could have imagined. There were close to seventy-five teenagers scattered throughout every part of the house. We all danced, sang, ate, and danced some more. I must have drunk three to four cups of punch before my cousin told me he had spiked it with vodka.

  Even after it was all over and I lay awake in bed that night, I could not stop thinking about it. My ears rang and my head pounded from the loud music, but I could not care less as I lay there smiling. People had come from all over, friends and friends of friends. Every time I tried to fall asleep, a new memory of the party would come to mind and push the sleep away. I could hear Papa Earl’s voice saying, “Best day ever.”

  Since I couldn’t sleep, I walked over into my mother’s room. I gave her a demure smile as I slid into bed with her. “I can’t sleep,” I whispered.

  “I know. I could hear you laughing from here,” she said.

  “Mom, thank you for everything. I really love my car. Did you see all their faces?”

  They all said I was lucky. They could not believe my mom got me a Camaro Z28 with all the options, including T-tops. I tossed and turned for a while longer, then kissed her.

  “You know what helps me fall asleep?” Mom asked. “Singing, Kennedy! Give it a try. You can sing Hallelujah with me.”

  As we lay there singing, I could not help but think about how my new car was nicer than anyone’s in town, including my mom’s. She loved me so much and she always wanted me to have more than she ever did. I loved and appreciated her more than she would ever know.

  Having my own car gave me more independence and freed up some of my time. Before I knew it, the time I spent with Rodney went from little time to just about no time, and he was not happy about it. I was making a lot of new friends. He continuously asked where I was. He even began to accuse me of cheating, and I knew the time had come for us to part.