Beautiful Otherness

by Shirley Simmons

  When I did visit home, I was treated like a celebrity. I found it intriguing that all the whispers and reminders of my past seemed to have vanished, replaced with people stopping by my house to have photos taken. The same older women who used to make comments under their breath about my father, my adoption, and what they considered my snobbery now asked if I needed anything for college.

  As for the men, well, all they simply wanted was to say they knew a 14K. I would catch them staring at me, and every so often one would get the courage to say something to me or ask me out. In my mind, I was the same skinny kid who none of them gave a thought about, and they were the same country boys who were trying to sleep with every girl in the neighborhood.

  Dancing as a 14K gave me some of the best memories of college. In fact, I would say my sophomore year was my best year at Bethune Cookman.

  BROKEN HALLELUJAH

  What are our expectations? What should they be? Are the things we desire within reach? Do we even know what our reach—our potential—is? I sometimes wonder if what I had expected of my life back then was what really got me to where I am today, or if I just got lucky being in the right place at the right time. Was it divine intervention that brought Kim to Phillip and then to Mary?

  Surely there must be some truth to this, otherwise why do we strive for anything in this life? And if we have a clear idea of the path we want to take, when is it right to do so? If not now, then when?

  As a young woman in college, I also wondered how long it would take for me to get what I wanted out of life. Would I know it when I got it? Would it be handed to me or would I be searching for a long time to find it. And when I did get there, would there be some left for me?

  ____

  I was thrilled to begin my sophomore year with my best friend, Jillian, the youngest of three sisters from Nashville. Jillian and I had become roommates toward the end of our freshman year.

  It was odd how our friendship began. There was one guy in particular who was trying really hard to pick her up, and she looked like she wanted nothing to do with him. I happened to be standing nearby, so I pretended to know her just to be a distraction to him. That was how we bonded the first day we met!

  In her squeaky voice, she said, “Girl, these Florida boys don’t give up.”

  “They are persistent.”

  We laughed together, and from that moment on, we were as thick as thieves.

  As our friendship grew during freshman and sophomore years, I realized Jillian always attracted the wrong guys and often fell in love with them—or at least that’s the way she described it. Whenever she was in the grip of some obsession over a guy, we did not spend much time together, but when we did, we made the most of it.

  *

  ‘‘No, thank you. We didn’t order that,” Jillian said calmly.

  The waitress looked toward the bar and whispered, “It’s from the two gentlemen at the bar,” and placed the two margaritas at the table. Prepared to hand over two fake IDs, Jillian and I said thank you and gave a nod toward the bar. But the waitress never asked for them, so we returned to our conversation, ignoring the drinks that had just arrived and the men who’d sent them. Jillian was intrigued by the admirers.

  “I’ve never had anyone send me a drink before like this, have you?”

  “Yes, I can say that I have, a few times in fact. I’m surprised you never have.

  While we were laughing, the two men approached the table making every attempt to look good.

  “I’m John and this is Chase. May we join you?”

  I looked briefly at Jillian, who had lowered her eyes trying not to look at them. She was a bit naïve.

  “Please.” I motioned to the two empty seats at the table. But I had no intention of spending the next couple of hours conversing with our new guests. It was obvious John and Chase had predetermined who they had interest in, so we went along with it for a while. It was clear John had his eyes set on Jillian the moment they sat at the table. Chase was a tall, light-skinned guy with light green eyes, and quite good-looking, so I was completely okay with their choices. As it turned out, he was polite as well as handsome. We fumbled through our conversation, trying to find some common ground, and once we did, all our nervousness melted away.

  Chase was a spoiled only-child like I was. He said he could relate to how I felt about not always fit in. Being an only child presented challenges, so we had that in common. He simply chose to deal with it differently than I did. We began dating, and after a couple of dates and a few months, Chase officially became my boyfriend. It was not until then that I shared with him that I was a 14K dancer. At first, he was a little bitter toward me. Maybe he was jealous. Or maybe, because I hadn’t revealed all my information from the beginning, he felt I’d lied to him. Maybe he knew that 14K dancers received a lot of attention and he felt threatened in some way, thinking I might be playing on the side. But he soon forgave me because he knew that he had chosen wisely.

  I had a rule of not telling guys I was a 14K right away. There is something about those two words that tested a college male ego. For some reason, it caused them to lose their mind. Most guys viewed dating a 14K as something to conquer, or at best, as his showpiece. I decided early on when I became a 14K that I would not be someone’s trophy. I was aware of how guys talked to the other girls in the group and how their self-doubt and insecurities often became the biggest issue during their dating. It simply did not make any sense to me to be involved with someone with those issues. If they got to know me first, I reasoned, they would take the news better.

  Our relationship had grown so much that over the summer break we visited his mother, Dr. Morgan, in Arkansas. Dr. Morgan had worked hard to create a career that was nothing short of astonishing. I was blown away by her success. She was Vice President of Academic Affairs—part of the president’s executive cabinet--at Philander Smith College, and a commissioner on the local school board. She also chaired the board of the local television station and hosted a TV show interviewing prominent people of Arkansas. I was intrigued at how one woman could do so much; her day started early and ended late, yet Dr. Morgan was a sweet, down-to-earth, intelligent countrywoman who cared about people. She always saw and looked for the best in everyone. She was a role model for me—an example of the type of career woman I could admire.

  Once we returned to college, Chase moved off campus while I continued to be busy with the band activities. We spent as much time together as possible even though we both carried challenging schedules. Things were perfect with Chase and me. However, I started to lose my interest in college. I had a strong desire to return home to spend more time with my mother even though I despised the small town I grew up in. I did not say anything to my peers, but Chase knew that I was not returning for the spring semester, so he decided not to go back to school either.

  I tried everything I could think of to persuade Chase to stay at Cookman. But he was adamant in his decision. As he put it, he did not want to be there if I was not there. I did not have an explanation to give my mother or anyone else who inquired or pushed, but I refused to return. There was this strong gut feeling that I did not understand at the time, yet I knew I had to follow it.

  Returning home, I got a job with a victim advocate program as a secretary, something I knew nothing about. After working there for three months, my mother became sick with cold-like symptoms. After a few weeks of being sick, my mom’s good friend, who was a nurse, became more concerned. She convinced my mother to have some tests done. Chest x-rays did not reveal a cold but something much worse--breast cancer.

  I was not sure about what was going on or how to handle all the sudden responsibilities that I was now expected, and wanted, to take on. I had no medical knowledge to fall back on. Hell, I cannot even remember a time my mother was ever sick, except for a cold. Yet here we were facing a battle with cancer.

  I often wonder what prompted me to make the decision to leave school that semester, but I’m glad I did. The nagging intuition
that I needed and wanted to go home to see my mom is something I’ll always remember. And to this day, I always follow my gut feelings. I think if more people stayed in touch with their intuition—that little voice that nags us, the one we so often ignore—the world might be in a better place. Instead, most people just go through life by rote, keeping to their daily routines, living by the clock, stuck in jobs they hate, and never taking chances or leaving room to live out their dreams.

  I was very thankful for the job I had because my employers and coworkers stepped in and helped me with everything I was facing. Chase was also there through it all. But I just wasn’t prepared for this immense responsibility.

  The next week, my mom was scheduled for a mastectomy. My mother never appeared worried, scared, or distracted during any of this. She simply wanted to continue running her businesses and fulfilling her assignments at the church.

  My mother had organized for her staff to help with her recovery once she was released from the hospital. Once she was well enough, she had a friend of hers contact an attorney to complete a will for her. She arranged for all the houses to be deeded to me. I was to become the owner of both businesses, and whether I wanted to run them or sell them was up to me. They would be mine to do with what I wished. But I wanted none of it. I just wanted my mother to return to health and everything to go back to being the same as it had been. She was the only one who I felt absolutely loved me, and no one and nothing could replace that or her.

  I sat motionless at my desk staring out at the parking lot. I could hear the phone ringing. People went about their business. Life moved around me, but I was empty of all thought. I had been tense and anxious all morning, but the phone call of my mother’s admittance to the hospital had left me numb.

  I felt completely alone as I made my way to the hospital. When the elevator door opened, I was afraid of what awaited me. I entered her room, sat next to the bed, and held my mom’s hand as we waited for the doctor to return. What is it about hospitals and beige walls, I wondered? Nothing was said, and no tears were shed as we waited. It was as if we knew our fate, but in those few moments, I felt love as pure as heaven itself.

  When the doctor returned to speak with us, we both had fallen asleep. He patiently waited for us to awake before delivering the news that my mom’s cancer had spread throughout her body.

  “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do. The cancer is inoperable. We will use the standard protocol of chemo and radiation, but I suggest you get all your affairs in order,” he said to Mom. “We’ll keep you as comfortable as possible during your ordeal.”

  The only thing I could think to do after receiving the news was to call Dr. Morgan. I placed the call in the middle of the day, but I knew her busy schedule usually never allowed her to be home during this time of the day. I was not sure if she would answer her phone. To my surprise, she answered. I cried as I told her that I was at the hospital with my mother, the walls were beige, and the doctor had just told me my mom was dying.

  She patiently allowed me to gather myself, and calmly said that if anything happened to my mom, she would take care of me like a daughter, and I could live with her until I finished college.

  My mom lay in her bed half asleep, still singing “Hallelujah” when I returned. Without thought, I curled up next to her and began to sing along. Afterward, she took my face in her hands and turned it toward hers. The smile her face wore spoke of a profound inner peace.

  “I know what the secret chord is, Kennedy!”

  I smiled. I could see the peace that God had placed on her.

  “I think you have some news for me, Kennedy.” I shared with her the conversation Dr. Morgan had with me. I no longer felt afraid once I lay my head in her lap. A few moments passed before my mom spoke.

  “That will be the best thing for you to do, my dear.”

  This was the last real conversation I had with her. The following day was Mother’s Day. I arrived at the hospital with flowers and orange slices. I placed them on the table and crawled in the bed with her. She died a couple of hours later with me lying in her arms.

  I soon began to understand that gut feeling I had about leaving school. God had moved me in the right direction. He had placed me in the correct spot for what was about to occur. I knew I was placed on my job for this reason. They aided and comforted me through the process, and they also encouraged me to go back to college. Losing my mother devastated me. How could I go back to school? How would I be able to concentrate on my studies, or my dancing? It seemed in some way to be sacrilegious to try to be happy, to be pursuing dreams when she was gone. When I would never see her again.

  But it was comforting to have Chase with me. For the next two months, I would have to manage a household, the businesses, and my life without my mother, and then make my transition to Arkansas to live with Dr. Morgan and Chase.

  GROWING PAINS

  Two months later, I was in Little Rock, Arkansas, with Dr. Morgan and Chase. They welcomed me with compassion, and I felt as though they did everything they could to make me feel at home with them, but it took me a while to adjust to the unfamiliar surroundings. My new circumstances inhibited my ability to focus on school and at times it all seemed a little too much to handle.

  I lived in constant grief of my mother’s untimely death. She was irreplaceable, and no matter how much Chase and his mother loved me, it simply did not fill the emptiness that I was feeling.

  The idea of living in this world without her scared me. Her love for me was the one thing that kept me moving forward, but now my grief over losing her was keeping me from doing just that. I knew she would not have wanted me to remain the way I was, filled with misery that was palpable.

  Would I be able to fulfill what I needed to do to become all that I was destined to become? All the things Mary had wanted for me, hoped and dreamed for me? Everything she did was with my future and welfare in mind. It was time to shake my misery and move on. I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to forget her. I wanted her to always be with me, but I needed to find the line where debilitating grief met realism—the life I must get on with.

  Dr. Morgan honored her word. She allowed me to live with her and she began to care for me as if I were her very own child. She overlooked all my unattractive faults. I was still spoiled and accustomed to having someone do everything for me. I didn’t cook or clean, and I wouldn’t know where to begin doing laundry. Simple things like sorting and washing, folding and putting my clothes away. It was disgraceful. I am not sure if Chase’s mom felt sorry for me or if she was just allowing me to grieve. I am so embarrassed about it all now, because I didn’t contribute anything to the household. I don’t think I even picked up a dirty plate from the table after I’d finished eating. Thinking about it, my behavior was awful. She had allowed me to continue that routine, but in my heart, I knew the time had come for me to grow up and be responsible.

  The following year, both Chase and I enrolled at Philander Smith College. At school, there were a few sympathetic people, including Chase, but a lot of the kids stayed clear of me. No one wanted to be around someone who is a downer, and although my grief was legitimate, it was still taking over everything I did. Slowly, I met and made friends at this new college. During all my grief, I met some great people, and we all shared the same goal - graduating.

  Their friendships distracted me from the loneliness and slowly my mood began to improve. My new friends were motivating.

  Chase always started school on a positive note. However, after a month or two, he would stop going. I never said anything to Dr. Morgan about him not attending his classes because of her position at the college. It wasn’t my place to say anything, and she probably would have known without my help.

  I also learned to use Dr. Morgan’s influence to my advantage. For instance, I knew when to mention that I was from Florida, that I was an only child, both of my parents were deceased, and I was living with Dr. Morgan. On most occasions, it gave me favor with my professors. Everyon
e knew Dr. Morgan and wanted to be in her good graces. I used this often.

  Even though college seemed to be getting a little easier, my emotions were coming undone again. Maybe I’d jumped back into a full school schedule too soon. All I knew was that I really needed a break from everything outside of the classroom so I could put all my focus on school.

  Truthfully, there was not much to say or discuss. I had already mentally checked out on everything and everyone--Chase, Dr. Morgan, going to church-- anyone or anything close to me. School was the only thing that held my attention and held me together.

  *

  My friend, Lauren, and I had been in the club for an hour. All responsibilities were fading away, becoming nonexistent in my mind as I drank my second margarita. Lauren and I had hung out from time to time with some of our mutual acquaintances, but this was our first time partying together. We had met during a study group on campus. We had always discussed going out partying but never found the time. Lauren’s boyfriend demanded a lot of her time in the evenings, but this weekend, he had traveled to visit his parents, so it was the perfect opportunity for us to hang. And I wanted desperately to escape it all.

  For some reason, no one was asking us to dance. I’ve heard it said that men can be intimidated by pretty girls. They assume that they have so many other men vying for their attention that it would be a waste of time, that they wouldn’t stand a chance. So they don’t bother. And the pretty girls remain lonely due to a misconception.

  “Screw this,” I shouted. I grabbed Lauren by the hand and we hit the dancefloor, with me slinging my hair wildly. I could feel the music coursing throughout my body, the heavy base that came through the speakers pounding and moving me like a dervish. I was giving the club just enough of those Florida 14K moves, and I did not care who was watching or what they thought.