Beautiful Otherness

by Shirley Simmons

  I waited ‘til Thursday after dinner. We stepped outside and I told him I no longer wanted to date him. I knew he would be upset. However, I never thought he would react the way he did.

  He grabbed my arm hard. “You’re not going anywhere. I’m not letting you go. Why are you doing this to me? Haven’t we been good together?”

  “It’s just time for us to move on, Rodney. I’m sorry,” I said.

  “But I don’t want us to move on, Kennedy.” He began to frighten me. His voice was tense and harsh, and he would not let go of my arm.

  I pushed him and he pushed me back. I swung and slapped his face. For a moment he looked stunned, then a sort of rage boiled on his face. And that’s when he punched me in my stomach. I doubled over, grabbing my gut, shocked at what had just happened.

  “I have to go!” I choked out the words and walked away forever. I never spoke to Rodney again.

  After the breakup, I enjoyed not having a boyfriend. I never mentioned to my mom about Rodney hitting me; I feared how she would react. But now I was able to do the things I wanted to do and not have to think of someone else’s feelings. I was busy and outgoing; my schedule stayed full.

  I got my first job with Disney World just a few months before track season began. I thought it would help me be more responsible. Besides, I saw it as an opportunity to meet new people from various places. I loved working at Disney World, and it was there that I met Kelly.

  Kelly was from an upper-middle-class family that really enforced higher education. She belonged to Jack and Jill, an organization dedicated to nurturing future black leaders, and one that well-to-do black people put their kids in.

  Kelly and I hit it off immediately. She would invite me to their parties and fundraisers where I mingled with other girls, all beautiful and highly intelligent, and guys who seemed to be just as smart, and with a smoothness that I found a bit perplexing. I’d already been exposed to some of the ways guys can sweet talk a girl, but this group was different—it was hard to catch them at their game, if that’s what they were playing.

  The way I saw it, their lives were no different than mine. They just had more exposure than I did. So, I was determined to not let any of that bother me, but I sure as hell was not going to have them snooping around my life, opening up the possibility of having them find out about Phillip. He was deep in the background, my background, but he was there, a dark secret that seemed to haunt me every time I met someone new.

  Kelly was a little different from the other girls from what I could see. She had an edge to her. She was very smart and driven. And she liked sex--a lot, especially with different guys. She dated several guys at one time and slept with every one of them. I once asked her how she was able to do it.

  “Look, Kennedy, every one of these guys wants to be my boyfriend, but that’s not what I want. I’m just playing the game the way they play it.”

  “But aren’t you worried they will find out about each other?”

  “Find out? Girl, I tell them up front so that there’s no misunderstanding.”

  That was her thing, and I did not judge her for it. She was surrounded by cute and well-mannered guys from families of money with dreams of college and success. This appealed to me because they were different from the guys in my town, and because they had the same dreams and aspiration as I did. I had no idea what I wanted to be or do, but I knew that I wanted to leave my small town and become successful. I was not sure how it would happen, and I hadn’t given it much thought because I was an average student with limited exposure. But I believed in myself, and I knew something great would come to me even though my life had a sad beginning. However, my life was not a lie or a tragedy despite the grief I had experienced. But everyone experiences grief. It’s part of life, and in this sense, I was no different than anyone else. I guess it’s how we handle our grief that makes the difference.

  Most of the people I’d know—the people I grew up with-- had no ambitions or wanted anything more than what the town offered. They were happy with their small-town mentality, dating the same guys, having babies from the same guys in the same town and working average jobs. I knew I did not want to be a Kelly and I knew for sure I didn’t want the proposals of a small town.

  Track season was fast approaching. Once the season started and the team began practicing, Coach made me anchor on the relay team, which meant more training. I did not mind. In fact, I welcomed it because between the partying with Kelly, dance performances, baton competitions, and work, all I thought about was beating Janice.

  On the day of the Show Walter Preseason Track Trials, I arrived focused. I destroyed the competition in the hurdles. Our relay team also showed good times in the relay heat. Our hard work and focus had placed the team in a great position. This gave us the rest of the meet to ourselves.

  Keith had just run his final race for the day, and when he walked over to me, I had completely forgotten that I had met him at a Jack and Jill party with Kelly.

  Keith was a pleasant distraction from the long day. All our races for the day were done, so we made the most of our free time, talking and laughing over some of the antics he’d seen at Jack and Jill, with me contributing stories about the locals in my neighborhood. It was a congenial way to unwind. We sat in his car making silly jokes and talking about his plans for college. He told me his parents wanted him to run with the hope of getting a scholarship. Then he offered me a beer from his cooler. I knew I should have declined, but I did not. I tried chewing gum afterwards in an attempt to hide the stench of the two beers I drank, but Coach gave me a look that pierced right through me when I got on the bus. Adults can be scary sometimes. It’s like they know everything you’re trying to hide from them, like they’ve done it all long before you did. I don’t know if he could smell it or if my eyes were red or if he saw me in the car drinking with Keith, but I knew I was in trouble, and not only with him. It suddenly dawned on me that drinking could interfere with my future performance.

  *

  I was nervous as hell sitting in my car before Monday’s practice. By the time I got out of the car, the trouble I was facing was so distracting that I did not notice the crowd that had gathered. There seemed to be way more people at the track that afternoon. I kneeled and tied my shoes just as Coach appeared. He pulled me to the side.

  “Kennedy, we need to talk. You are off the team,” he said.

  “What! Why?” I responded.

  “I think you know why,” he said.

  “Tell me why I am off the team,” I demanded. I stood there as everyone looked. The crowd grew larger as they began to figure out what was happening. They began to whisper, “She got cut.”

  “Tell me why I am off the team,” my voice grew louder.

  “Go home, and I’ll call you and your mom later.”

  But none of his words seemed to matter. I was enraged. Someone from the crowd yelled, “What are you going to do, Kennedy?” Surely, they wanted to add to my frustration.

  “Go home, Kennedy. I will call you and your mother tonight.”

  “To hell with you,” I screamed as I headed to my car. My blood boiled with anger. I removed my T-tops and gently placed them in their protective bags. I needed everyone to see me as I climbed in behind the wheel. I slowly removed my shoes before tying the laces of the left and right one together. Once they were tied together, I gently placed the laces around my rearview mirror allowing the shoes to dangle from it.

  By now I was seething. Some maniacal demon demanded justice. It was as though I was outside of myself, watching my own actions and having no control over them.

  I removed my headband and the scrunchy from my ponytail. I ran my fingers through my hair with deliberate intention. Every move was slow and exaggerated. I was infuriated and about to unleash my wrath. And anyone who happened to be in the way was going to be collateral damage.

  “How dare he cut me without telling me why.” I did know why, but I wanted to hear it from his mouth, like it would make a difference
in his decision. I was infuriated. I’d been schooled in front of a crowd, treated like a child.

  “He’s going to call my mother? Really?” I started the Z28 and revved the engine, exaggerating my presence, making sure everyone took notice. The RPM indicator went to the red.

  “Hey, Coach!” I made sure I had his attention and gave him the finger, then let off the gas and floored it. The car rocketed onto the track. Kids scattered in all directions yelling and running for their lives as I sped around the track. I did several laps at top speed and finished with a couple of donuts in the center of the field. When I looked back, I saw that the infield had been destroyed. The rearview mirror told the story of people cheering, some crying and a coach who was thoroughly angry. Thank God no one was hurt.

  And then I thought of Phillip. The killer. Who was this girl who had just torn up the field and endangered the people around it in a maniacal display of pride and ego? I’d essentially just ruined my chances of getting back on the team. A single tear fell from my eye and I took a deep breath. It frightened me to think I could blow up like that, out of control.

  On the drive home I obeyed every traffic law. My driving was perfect. I was calm and present, almost contemplative. You would have thought I was a student driver taking their driving exam.

  Once I got home, I cleaned all the dirt from the track out of my car, took a shower and went to bed praying my mother wouldn’t find out what I had done. But a prank of this magnitude was sure to get around, and fast. She would find out.

  My emotions had gone from cold to hot back to cold in seconds, I questioned myself and examined my soul as I lay in bed. I knew whose blood coursed through my veins. I’d pulled some tantrums as a kid, but never anything like this. It made me realize I needed to check myself sooner rather than later. It was an eyeopener into my psyche—my behavioral patterns—that I’d never seen in myself before. And it wasn’t pretty.

  When my mom got the call from the school, let us just say she was not pleased. I went from being kicked off the team to being expelled in a matter of hours.

  NEW YORK TIMES

  AND LONG HAIR

  After my complete breakdown on the track and the resulting expulsion, my mother arranged for me to finish school in Ft. Pierce with my aunt, Queen. It pained my mother in every way to do it, but she didn’t have any other options. None of the local schools would take me with an expulsion on my record, and financially, it didn’t make sense to send me to a private school for such a short time. It was Aunt Queen or nothing.

  My mother’s back was against the wall and my stupid actions had put her in that position. Plus, there was the deceptive prison visit from years ago she had to take into consideration. In the end, though, she settled on sending me to live with Queen to finish out the school year.

  I really believe she wanted to give me a punishment that I would feel—that I would remember. Even though Queen loved me, she sure did not like me very much. I didn’t like her either, so our relationship during our time together was one of tolerance more than anything else. I stuck to my studies and extracurricular activities, and she stuck to her commitment to let me stay there—as long as I behaved. Fortunately for me, Aunt Queen’s life was a tad on the unconventional side, so what she considered acceptable was a bit different than my mother’s idea of the same.

  Queen never approved of my adoption; for some reason she felt like her nephew would have been a great parent. She had conveniently forgotten his deteriorating behavior after exiting the military. Maybe it was because of my stern decision in not wanting anything to do with him that had caused her to dislike me. And she definitely didn’t like me refusing to call him Dad.

  But it was only for a semester and a half, so I did everything I could to make it palatable for both of us. I just needed to get through it so I could move out and move on. And let me tell you, the punishment was received.

  I hated the idea of knowing that every day I woke up she was going to roll her eyes during every conversation. Queen was determined to see a relationship formed between Phillip and me, and I was just as determined to stand my ground. Every week I called home complaining about being there, so my mom found activities for me to participate. That way, I would not have to spend a lot of alone time with Aunt Queen. It worked for us both. She was just as happy to have me out doing something so she didn’t actually have to converse with me.

  After a few shouting matches with my aunt about being late or completely missing school activities, I eventually persuaded my mom to let me have my car.

  By the end of the school year I truly had learned my lesson. I was able to go home. The day I left her house was the last time I saw my Aunt Queen. We spoke on the phone from time to time, and still do, though not very often, and to this day I have never taken another step inside her home. I appreciate her having taken me in when I needed her, but I have no intention of reliving her tyranny.

  Kelly and the girls from Jack and Jill were so excited to see me when I returned home that summer. All we wanted to do was party. We traveled to Orlando every weekend to hit the clubs. This was our routine over the summer before Kelly left for college.

  Every Saturday, we went to a club called NY Times. I was not old enough to get in so I would share an ID with one of my friends. They did not care that I was a junior in high school. In their eyes, I was cute, I had a car, and I did not have restrictions and curfews. My life was just like theirs.

  On the other hand, my friendship with the girls from the neighborhood was changing. Even though I continued to remain close to them, I desired more...more than hanging around that small town could offer. Nothing ever changed with them. They continued dating each other’s men and having sex with the same guys. They were living the kind of life that I would never live. But that was their choice, and I guess they were happy with it.

  I wanted so much more from life. I wanted to leave certain parts of my past behind me, and living there, hanging with them, was a constant reminder of everything I did not want.

  My other activities kept me busy. I was usually the only black person participating in certain things, so I tended to attract attention. This gave me the opportunity to meet and make friends with classmates I might never have otherwise associated with. I lived it up with them.

  Black kids “go out.” White kids “party.” When you party with white kids, there is a lot of beer drinking, bonfires and water sports. Other than that, it was not much different than going out with my black friends. They drank beer too, just not as much.

  These kids seemed not to worry about how they looked, what they were wearing or what someone else might think. It was all about having a good time; it appeared they were so free with life!

  *

  Watching the clock did not help. Time seemed to be at a standstill all day. I had arranged a great New Year’s Eve. My date, David, was to pick me up for dinner at six. Then I was meeting the Jack and Jill crew to usher the year in at NY Times.

  David had become my boyfriend. This did not go over very well with the black guys at school. Even though none of them liked me, I guess any black girl dating a white guy would have offended their egos.

  The first time I saw David was when he was introduced in math class. He was a new transfer from California that sent all the girls into a frenzy. His curly ponytail and west coast accent made him stand out in our small-town school. I mean all the girls were after him.

  I met David officially on a Saturday when a group of friends invited me to hang out at the lake. I noticed that he had been watching me the entire afternoon, so after a day of boating and waterskiing, we all sat around relaxing and making small talk, and I wasn’t surprised when he asked me out. We went for ice cream, had dinners together, and spent many study sessions together.

  He was the first guy I dated who was not black. I remember the look on everyone’s face when David and I walked into the Cattleman’s Steakhouse that New Year’s Eve. Between his long hair and the long kisses, we heard a lot of whispers. I
t might have been inappropriate for us to be kissing at the table. Maybe it was unseemly. Or maybe it was just that we were of different races. I don’t know. But we sure raised a lot of eyebrows.

  I wore a cute summer dress from Esprit with cowboy boots. I also brought my heels so that all I would have to do was change my shoes after the dinner. David had already made other plans for his after-dinner partying, and at about 10:30, we parted ways with a kiss and a promise to meet up the next day.

  It was about ten forty-five at night when I picked up my girls. I slipped on my heels, threw my cowboy boots in the trunk, and was ready for the second part of my evening.

  The club was packed when we arrived. There was a line around the building. DJ Magic Mike had the dance floor loaded. People were dancing at their tables and on the stairs.

  Magic Mike was an upcoming DJ who had trained under the head DJ at the club. It didn’t matter that he was only about sixteen years old and still in high school. He had the gift that would later earn him a Grammy for Best Dance/Electronic Album and was one of only a few DJs to have ever received this award. Magic Mike knew how to keep a party moving.

  We must have danced the whole evening, and all we could think about afterward was food. About an hour had passed while we ate at Krystal’s, the popular spot to hang out after a night of partying and chatted with a few groups of people. It was after 3am when we finally headed home, exhausted.

  I do not remember falling asleep and running my car off the road that night. The highway patrol informed me that it appeared to be totaled, but everyone was okay. We were lucky. He’d seen worse, he said. Because we were all minors under the age of 19, we had to get checked at the hospital. It was about four o’clock in the morning when our parents began arriving. I was sure that as the driver I was going to be in big trouble, but no one yelled. In fact, each parent was relieved to learn we were all okay. Kelly needed a few stitches on her face, but that was about it. Thank God for seatbelts.