OK...I haven't written about "Thunderbird" in a long, long, time! You might need to go back and re-read her storyline! Check out "Erica" and Glory "Amen" Johnson's entries and then read "Lenora" - June 2011. Then you'll know what's going on! Happy reading!!!!
Thunderbird was glad that the meeting was finally over. That she could get out of there. Glad as she said her good-byes, thanking Miss Bessie for her hospitality. Glad that the Book Woman Club had finally finished The Color Purple. It was a brilliantly painful and exhausting book! Thunderbird knew exactly how Miss Seely felt! A girl....alone. Fighting off some man, alone! Thunderbird shivered. "It's a book! A book!" She admonished herself as she stepped into the heat of the day. "Seely doesn't exist! You got real troubles to worry over!"
"Damn, damn, damn! she cursed. "Damn!" It was obvious. That crazy loon Glory "Amen" Johnson had seen her fly! And so had that pathetic Erica; the one always hiding bruises and black eyes, thinking no one could see them! "I see!" Thunderbird rubbed her hand over her face. "I see it all!" Thunderbird kicked out at one of the garden stones that lined the walkway down to the sidewalk in front of Miss Bessie's House. She blinked away the sweat that hung from her forehead and gathered herself together. She then hurried down Shotwell towards James Street, leaving behind the smell of the fragrant flowers in Miss Bessie's front yard. Her white cotton dress flew around her as she walked past Bessie's neighbors. They were all out in full force, pulling weeds, mowing lawns, trimming bushes in Syracuse's sweltering summer heat. Thunderbird's long strands of red, black and green beads around her neck click, click, clicked in rhythm with the pat, pat, pats, of her new black leather sandals as she made her way down the hot sidewalk.
"I'm going to have to move again" she thought. "Damn!" Syracuse wasn't such a great place to live. It was an odd sort of town. She couldn't quite put her finger on why Syracuse was such a strange place....kind of out of sink with the rest of the world. Like it existed in a black hole in Space! Thunderbird sighed out-loud. But she liked the Book Woman Club. Liked it's camaraderie, all formed around books. It was so hard for her to try and make friends over and over again, like some army brat shuffled from post to post. She liked the odd personalities of the women that attended the Saturday afternoons of reading and words and rich desserts And the stories! All those stories just sitting there, waiting for someone to write then down. History just waiting to be re-told!
"Damn! Damn! Damn!" She would never get to write down any of those sheltered words! Thunderbird regretfully rubbed her stomach. Two pieces of Miss Bessie's dark chocolate cake provided a soft padding inside her belly. Maybe it was good that she had to move! She'd be three hundred pounds if she kept indulging in those book women's good cooking! But... all those stories...!
Thunderbird reached the corner of James and Shotwell and turned towards downtown. "I wonder when they saw me fly?" Thunderbird thought about it for a moment. Turned the question over in her mind, one time and then two. Flipped through the pages of her memory and found the answer! "It had to be the last time the Book Woman Club met at Miss Bessie's! "That's the only time I've flown anywhere near any of them! Flown in the....daylight!" She began to softly slap herself on the forehead. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" She paused at the intersection and then, after the car passed, crossed Mildred Street. "Stupid! You just had to take that chance and fly in sunlight! You are so stupid" Her father's admonishment from her youth still played on the record in her head. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Still, flying in the light was delicious! Something Thunderbird just couldn't resist. Couldn't stop herself from doing! Every once in awhile. Every once in a long while. To take that glance around! To see that no-one was looking! To know that even if they saw, they would convince themselves that they didn't see what they thought they saw! The risk! The high! And now she would have to move, again! Thunderbird shook her head, hard, took a deep breath and began to accept. Accept that she would again be on the wing. Alone.
"Miss Lucifer!"
Startled, Thunderbird looked up from her thoughts, and there, riding slow in the lane next to the sidewalk like some ominous apparition, was Glory "Amen" Johnson! "Miss Lucifer!" Glory again called out, and pulled her car to hard stop, the boat sized black Cadillac fighting the brakes that Glory slammed down into it's voluminous belly. Glory reached into the passenger seat of that Cadillac, picked up her bible and raised it into the air, her arm straining towards the open passenger window. Her words echoed around inside the Cadillac and then spilled onto the bubbling sidewalk. "With the Word of God as my Armor and of the Light of the True Angels of the Lord, I confront Thee and bind Thee and Thou's Evil with the Power of the Blood of the Lamb, Jesus Christ Our Lord!" Glory "Amen" Johnson's voice rode up and down on the words she shot out at Thunderbird.
And it was then that Thunderbird saw her opportunity to turn all of this around! She knew what she had to do! She wouldn't have to move after-all!
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Saturday, May 12, 2012
"Kate K"
Kate K. crawled, hand over hand, and knee, and then knee. Hissing, spitting, her
Aladdin Head rocking back and forth...and the snack drew back. She feared it would strike; that she would die on this bridge, fall through open spaced floor-boards. Bounce through the rapids racing beneath this dangled space. Become a swallowed gulp down the throat of the rushing waters.
But she didn't back off; couldn't back off! She was going to make it over this bridge or die! She was tired of "backing off". Tired of being seen as old and therefore being scene as "not able". The memory of those classroom-childhood days of triumphs beat back her fear. Beat back reason. Quickened the beat of her heart and answered a youthful, resounding cadence! Kate crawled in the memory of crawling into those art classrooms. Those days of fingers raised to her lips quieting the tattle-talers. Those days of power over that teacher and his PHD. And so she continued to crawl towards the snake. Crawled balanced on the edge of death. She didn't want to live forever if forever wasn't living! Hand over hand, and then knee, and knee. The snakes head remained poised in mid-air it's fangs catching a slither of light that had escaped into that dark bridge.
And then it backed off! Inexplicably! Mystically! Like a dream that makes you question reality! Like those dark doubts that haunt the validity of memory. The snake backed off! It lowered it's head. It met her eye ball to eye ball...and suddenly turned and crawled passed her! Head and then body. And then rattle. Kate held her breath, and as it faded into the darkness of that part of the bridge that she had left behind, she breathed. She exhaled, dripping the remnants of fear from her lips. Hot spittle cooled on the back of her right hand. Hand over hand, then knee, and knee. She crawled toward the light at the end of the tunnel. Towards the opening of that dark bridge.
The hands of her youthful companions laughed at how her eyes blinked and squinted in the light, one of them saying "Let me help you up, Granny." His strong hands pulled her to her feet. Like the snake, her head dipped and then snapped forward for the bite. "I'm not your Granny!" Kate hissed. She shoved passed him, walking further into the light.
Aladdin Head rocking back and forth...and the snack drew back. She feared it would strike; that she would die on this bridge, fall through open spaced floor-boards. Bounce through the rapids racing beneath this dangled space. Become a swallowed gulp down the throat of the rushing waters.
But she didn't back off; couldn't back off! She was going to make it over this bridge or die! She was tired of "backing off". Tired of being seen as old and therefore being scene as "not able". The memory of those classroom-childhood days of triumphs beat back her fear. Beat back reason. Quickened the beat of her heart and answered a youthful, resounding cadence! Kate crawled in the memory of crawling into those art classrooms. Those days of fingers raised to her lips quieting the tattle-talers. Those days of power over that teacher and his PHD. And so she continued to crawl towards the snake. Crawled balanced on the edge of death. She didn't want to live forever if forever wasn't living! Hand over hand, and then knee, and knee. The snakes head remained poised in mid-air it's fangs catching a slither of light that had escaped into that dark bridge.
And then it backed off! Inexplicably! Mystically! Like a dream that makes you question reality! Like those dark doubts that haunt the validity of memory. The snake backed off! It lowered it's head. It met her eye ball to eye ball...and suddenly turned and crawled passed her! Head and then body. And then rattle. Kate held her breath, and as it faded into the darkness of that part of the bridge that she had left behind, she breathed. She exhaled, dripping the remnants of fear from her lips. Hot spittle cooled on the back of her right hand. Hand over hand, then knee, and knee. She crawled toward the light at the end of the tunnel. Towards the opening of that dark bridge.
The hands of her youthful companions laughed at how her eyes blinked and squinted in the light, one of them saying "Let me help you up, Granny." His strong hands pulled her to her feet. Like the snake, her head dipped and then snapped forward for the bite. "I'm not your Granny!" Kate hissed. She shoved passed him, walking further into the light.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
"Kate K."
Featured this month is a bookmark story for real life adventurer "Kate K." Kate was in her 70's, or close, when she had this adventure in Maine! Her friend Marilyn, a high school buddy of hers, put Kate in the Book Woman Club after buying a blank bookmark as a gift for her at Plowshares. Welcome to the Book Woman Club - "Kate K."! Of course, she is now mine, a fictionalized character with embellishments from my imagination! But all imagination begins with a spark of truth....doesn't it?
Hand, and then hand. Knee, and then knee, she crawled. She could see the river in-between the missing floor boards. It rushed by beneath her and would win the race, arriving at it's destiny long before her 70 year old,(or so), knees carried her to the other side of the bridge! Her knees screamed and her hands protested. She ignored them and pressed on. Kate was scared, but determined to keep up with the group. They walked and she crawled. They were younger, and she had a life of adventure carved into the joints of her body. Hand and then hand, she crawled. Knee followed knee.
A memory flashed and she was back in high school with her friend Marilyn. Marilyn should be here! Their adventures together often involved crawling! They'd be late to Art Class, (what was that teacher's name?), and they would silently tip-toe to the classroom door and drop quietly to their knees. They would then crawl slowly, pressing an occasional finger to their lips to hush the class tattle-tellers into not telling, and hug the ground all the way to their desks. Hand over hand, knees following knees. They would then rise up behind their desks, like giant octopuses rising up out of a churning and ancient sea. The teacher never noticed! Never caught them! He was so without a clue!
Kate's hands dragged each other over the floor boards while her knees followed. Suddenly, reptilian eyes met hers and she stopped in mid-crawl, her left knee balanced above wood. Her hands trembled as they held her weight over air filled floor slates. Kate's heart quickened it's already fear magnified rate. And with no other weapons in site, Kate's imagination took up her cause and she was a genie, the genie in the lamp from Aladdin. Her head was huge! Her hands and knees began to melting into vapor. The bridge became her lamp and it's end up ahead - her freedom from it's bondage. The art teacher from once-upon-a-time in that long ago class, (what was his name?), had them make paper mache masks of the characters from the Aladdin story. Huge masks that ate up a classroom-year's ration of paper. She and her friend Marilyn were sent on a secret mission to steal all of the toilet paper from the janitor's supply closet when the paper ran out. The class had finished the masks with bunches of toilet paper and flour. They had even performed the Aladdin play at the end of class and Mr. What's-His Name got his Doctorate from those masks that they had made!
Kate raised her Aladdin head and faced the snake. It hissed as she crawled forward. Hand, and then hand, knee, and then knee. She crawled forward.....
Hand, and then hand. Knee, and then knee, she crawled. She could see the river in-between the missing floor boards. It rushed by beneath her and would win the race, arriving at it's destiny long before her 70 year old,(or so), knees carried her to the other side of the bridge! Her knees screamed and her hands protested. She ignored them and pressed on. Kate was scared, but determined to keep up with the group. They walked and she crawled. They were younger, and she had a life of adventure carved into the joints of her body. Hand and then hand, she crawled. Knee followed knee.
A memory flashed and she was back in high school with her friend Marilyn. Marilyn should be here! Their adventures together often involved crawling! They'd be late to Art Class, (what was that teacher's name?), and they would silently tip-toe to the classroom door and drop quietly to their knees. They would then crawl slowly, pressing an occasional finger to their lips to hush the class tattle-tellers into not telling, and hug the ground all the way to their desks. Hand over hand, knees following knees. They would then rise up behind their desks, like giant octopuses rising up out of a churning and ancient sea. The teacher never noticed! Never caught them! He was so without a clue!
Kate's hands dragged each other over the floor boards while her knees followed. Suddenly, reptilian eyes met hers and she stopped in mid-crawl, her left knee balanced above wood. Her hands trembled as they held her weight over air filled floor slates. Kate's heart quickened it's already fear magnified rate. And with no other weapons in site, Kate's imagination took up her cause and she was a genie, the genie in the lamp from Aladdin. Her head was huge! Her hands and knees began to melting into vapor. The bridge became her lamp and it's end up ahead - her freedom from it's bondage. The art teacher from once-upon-a-time in that long ago class, (what was his name?), had them make paper mache masks of the characters from the Aladdin story. Huge masks that ate up a classroom-year's ration of paper. She and her friend Marilyn were sent on a secret mission to steal all of the toilet paper from the janitor's supply closet when the paper ran out. The class had finished the masks with bunches of toilet paper and flour. They had even performed the Aladdin play at the end of class and Mr. What's-His Name got his Doctorate from those masks that they had made!
Kate raised her Aladdin head and faced the snake. It hissed as she crawled forward. Hand, and then hand, knee, and then knee. She crawled forward.....
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
"Happy Thanksgiving"
Happy Thanksgiving from the members of the Book Woman Club! They won't be meeting Saturday because of the Holiday. (Spending time with their families....all except Erica. She is...well, you'll have to wait for her next blog entry!) The Book Woman Club will meet again, next week!
In the meantime, have a wonderful holiday! Remember...calories don't count on holidays. Count all your blessings and then count them again. Thank God for those blessings. No matter how hard life hits you, someone else is going thorugh more. Enjoy family and friends. We are not guarenteed another day on this planet, so love those around you and love yourself.
Isn't Life an Adventure! Vanessa
In the meantime, have a wonderful holiday! Remember...calories don't count on holidays. Count all your blessings and then count them again. Thank God for those blessings. No matter how hard life hits you, someone else is going thorugh more. Enjoy family and friends. We are not guarenteed another day on this planet, so love those around you and love yourself.
Isn't Life an Adventure! Vanessa
Saturday, November 19, 2011
"Alsha"
Dear Readers: "Alsha' is a character that joined the club in 2007. There are three Book Woman Club book marks that with stories about Alsha that were bought between 2007 and 2008. If you own a Book Woman Club book mark with a fragment of her story, now you can fill in the blanks. Here's where her story begins, and time will tell where it ends! Enjoy!
The Book Woman Club was beginning their review of The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. Miss Adella was hosting the meeting and Alsha shifted her body, uncomfortable, sitting on a hard dinning room chair in the circle of woman. The seat was made of hard wood and badly needed a cushion. She looked around at the older women in the room, all of them seated comfortably on sofa's and stuffed chairs in Miss Adella's living room. Alsha had arrived late and did not get her pick of seating. She sat in the last available chair, next to her friend Nia. Her arrival time probably wouldn't have changed her comfort. Most of the younger women in the book club were seated on chairs as unbending as Alsha's. Besides, Alsha knew that she would have willingly given up padded seating to an elder, without being asked. She remembered an old African proverb. Something about the duty of the Children was to take care of the Elders. And...some of these older women still had the talent to intimidate you with the cut of an eye! These elders practiced "the look", an important tool of rule used by the "old school". One did not dare challenge "the look"! It shamed you into compliance and ordered your behavior with fear. Alsha shifted again, first catching the eye of Nia and then Khadi-jah. They nodded to one-another, Khadija rolling her eyes and Nia winking. They passed silent sympathy, each recognizing the discomfort of the other and acknowledged, with resignation, that their behinds would ache for a week!
Alsha was late because she had been in heavy debate with herself. She wasn't going to come to this Book Woman Club meeting. In fact, Alsha had been debating on skipping several meetings, ever since the club had decided to review The Bluest Eye. She loved Toni Morrison's writing, and had read most of her novels. She had cried through Beloved and Song of Solomon. She had stayed up all night to read Sula, her favorite of Morrison's books, in one sitting. She had found Tar Baby more difficult to get through, reading the opening chapter twice. She had read Love and Jazz. Paradise and A Mercy. She had even read two of Toni Morrison's non-fiction works; Playing in the Dark and Race-ing Justice. But Alsha had avoided reading
The Bluest Eye. Over the years, Alsha had picked the book up off the shelf at Barnes and Noble several times. Had read the jacket notes and the back page reviews. Had fingered the paperback edition and had measured the weight of the hardback edition in her hands. And then Alsha had put the The Bluest Eye back on the stores shelf. She just couldn't bring herself to buy it; to read it. She couldn't bring herself to turn the pages of this book about a little girl who wished for blue eyes. It was just too painful.
Lorrie was opening the review of The Bluest Eye after, as was the privilege of the member hosting the meeting, Miss Adella read aloud from a passage in the book. Lorrie had a Doctorate in Literature and was the only published member of the Book Woman Club. The members of The Book Woman Club enjoyed Lorrie's expertise and counted on her to get the discussion going. "In the novel, Pecola wanting blue eyes is a commentary on the notion that the white social beauty standard, having blue eyes, makes you beautiful and that beauty makes you privilege to happiness. Pecola is described as ugly. Her family is ugly. Where they live is ugly. Her world is ugly. If she has blue eyes Pecola believes that she will be seen by others as beautiful. If she has blue eyes, Pecola will be able to see the world as beautiful." Rose-ann continued tugging at the theme of the inside-outside point of view from Pecola's blue eyes. "The "eye" is an important symbol in this novel. The eye is symbolic for Pecola's perspective on life. Her "point of view". Eyes can symbolize enlightenment or blindness. The truth or a distortion of the truth. This is the reality of the un-reality of Pecola's eyes. When Pecola believes that her eyes are blue, bluer than the bluest eyes, she is insane. Pecola's insanity reflects the insanity of America's white standard of beauty and how it is so destructive to our black children." Bessie Davis Hudson answering comment faded into the background of Alsha's troubled thoughts.
Alsha's shifted again in the hard chair as her discomfort grew. The discomfort of her body and the discomfort of her thoughts began to overwhelm her. Her eyes began to blink, faster and faster, as she fought back tears. How could Pecola every think that blue eyes could ever bring her happiness? Alsha focused on the back of her ebony black hands. They floated in the water of her tears, her skin swimming as she held her hands still. Nia, who was sitting next to her, covered Alsha's hand with her blue-black ones. Alsha looked up, her face a mirror of pain as she tried to focus on Nia's dark brown eyes with her royal blue ones.
The Book Woman Club was beginning their review of The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison. Miss Adella was hosting the meeting and Alsha shifted her body, uncomfortable, sitting on a hard dinning room chair in the circle of woman. The seat was made of hard wood and badly needed a cushion. She looked around at the older women in the room, all of them seated comfortably on sofa's and stuffed chairs in Miss Adella's living room. Alsha had arrived late and did not get her pick of seating. She sat in the last available chair, next to her friend Nia. Her arrival time probably wouldn't have changed her comfort. Most of the younger women in the book club were seated on chairs as unbending as Alsha's. Besides, Alsha knew that she would have willingly given up padded seating to an elder, without being asked. She remembered an old African proverb. Something about the duty of the Children was to take care of the Elders. And...some of these older women still had the talent to intimidate you with the cut of an eye! These elders practiced "the look", an important tool of rule used by the "old school". One did not dare challenge "the look"! It shamed you into compliance and ordered your behavior with fear. Alsha shifted again, first catching the eye of Nia and then Khadi-jah. They nodded to one-another, Khadija rolling her eyes and Nia winking. They passed silent sympathy, each recognizing the discomfort of the other and acknowledged, with resignation, that their behinds would ache for a week!
Alsha was late because she had been in heavy debate with herself. She wasn't going to come to this Book Woman Club meeting. In fact, Alsha had been debating on skipping several meetings, ever since the club had decided to review The Bluest Eye. She loved Toni Morrison's writing, and had read most of her novels. She had cried through Beloved and Song of Solomon. She had stayed up all night to read Sula, her favorite of Morrison's books, in one sitting. She had found Tar Baby more difficult to get through, reading the opening chapter twice. She had read Love and Jazz. Paradise and A Mercy. She had even read two of Toni Morrison's non-fiction works; Playing in the Dark and Race-ing Justice. But Alsha had avoided reading
The Bluest Eye. Over the years, Alsha had picked the book up off the shelf at Barnes and Noble several times. Had read the jacket notes and the back page reviews. Had fingered the paperback edition and had measured the weight of the hardback edition in her hands. And then Alsha had put the The Bluest Eye back on the stores shelf. She just couldn't bring herself to buy it; to read it. She couldn't bring herself to turn the pages of this book about a little girl who wished for blue eyes. It was just too painful.
Lorrie was opening the review of The Bluest Eye after, as was the privilege of the member hosting the meeting, Miss Adella read aloud from a passage in the book. Lorrie had a Doctorate in Literature and was the only published member of the Book Woman Club. The members of The Book Woman Club enjoyed Lorrie's expertise and counted on her to get the discussion going. "In the novel, Pecola wanting blue eyes is a commentary on the notion that the white social beauty standard, having blue eyes, makes you beautiful and that beauty makes you privilege to happiness. Pecola is described as ugly. Her family is ugly. Where they live is ugly. Her world is ugly. If she has blue eyes Pecola believes that she will be seen by others as beautiful. If she has blue eyes, Pecola will be able to see the world as beautiful." Rose-ann continued tugging at the theme of the inside-outside point of view from Pecola's blue eyes. "The "eye" is an important symbol in this novel. The eye is symbolic for Pecola's perspective on life. Her "point of view". Eyes can symbolize enlightenment or blindness. The truth or a distortion of the truth. This is the reality of the un-reality of Pecola's eyes. When Pecola believes that her eyes are blue, bluer than the bluest eyes, she is insane. Pecola's insanity reflects the insanity of America's white standard of beauty and how it is so destructive to our black children." Bessie Davis Hudson answering comment faded into the background of Alsha's troubled thoughts.
Alsha's shifted again in the hard chair as her discomfort grew. The discomfort of her body and the discomfort of her thoughts began to overwhelm her. Her eyes began to blink, faster and faster, as she fought back tears. How could Pecola every think that blue eyes could ever bring her happiness? Alsha focused on the back of her ebony black hands. They floated in the water of her tears, her skin swimming as she held her hands still. Nia, who was sitting next to her, covered Alsha's hand with her blue-black ones. Alsha looked up, her face a mirror of pain as she tried to focus on Nia's dark brown eyes with her royal blue ones.
Monday, November 14, 2011
"Carmen"
Carmen circled the block, driving up James Street for the fifth time, and then headed back down Shotwell Park to Bessie Davis Hudson's house. She pulled into Bessie's driveway and left her red vintage Mustang running. Bessie's screen door was open, and Carmen knocked. Bessie came to the door, her face deep lined with concern. Carmen pushed the screen when Bessie unlocked it and followed behind her. Carmen began to pass back and forth through Bessie's living room "Did you find her, dear?" "No, Miss Bessie, I didn't find her. I drove all the way down James Street and through downtown. I've been up and down Tealle Ave. a bunch of times. I even went to the Shop City Mall and checked every store and restaurant, including the McDonalds. None of the clerks I talked to remember seeing Erica." "I'm sorry to bother you, dear, but I know you're her best friend and I thought you might know where she was." Bessie sat down in her comfy chair and took her shoes off. As she reached down to rub her swollen ankles, Bessie watched Carmen's feet as they began to mat a path through her worn living room carpet. She really needed to scrap some money together to replace it. Maybe it was time to redecorate, Bessie thought, as she surveyed the room. Most of the furnishings were over 50 years old, some from Bessie's mother's and grandmother's homes! She had brought all the furniture up with her from Darlington, South Carolina, when she moved to Syracuse. Bessie's eyes caught up with Carmen's as Carmen turned back towards Bessie on her path across the carpet.
"She was looking for you, my dear, at the Book Woman Club Meeting. She told us she was supposed to get a ride from you. She waited for about fifteen minutes to see if you might stop by and pick her up even though you didn't make it to the meeting and then she took off walking." Bessie sat up from her feet and placed her hand over her heart. "I didn't see any reason to say something to her about walking! It was a beautiful, sunny day! Lot's of people out and about!" Bessie placed her other hand over the hand that rested on her heart. "This neighborhood is usually so safe!" Carmen stopped her pacing and knelt in front of Bessie. "Now, Ms. Bessie! Everything is going to be alright! We're going to find Erica. This is not your fault! You had no reason to think that she wouldn't be safe walking home. Erica is a grown woman, Ms. Bessie." "I know she's grown, dear, but being grown doesn't mean we don't need a little mothering! It's just that she seems to be such a fragile little thing. All those children...and that husband of hers..." Bessie's tongue clucked at the air. "I've called all the hospitals and they say they don't have a record of an Erica Gonzales being admitted to any of them. I am really worried, dear. We need to find her before that husband finds her!" "If this is anyone's fault, it's mine. I should have been at the meeting! I should have been here to take her home!" Carmen stood up, turning her back to Bessie and looked out the living room window at the fading day's light. "Tell me, what exactly did Pedro say to you?"
Bessie paused, the frown on her face reflecting her distasteful interaction with Erica's husband. "Well, he drove up at about 5:00 and sat in the driveway, blowing his horn! Just kept blowing it, over and over again like some rude teenager picking up a date he has no respect for! I finally went to the door, when I realized that the horn was blowing from my driveway! Neighbors were looking out the windows and the gentleman next door, Mr. Thompson, came out of his house and asked me if I was alright! Such a nice man, mows my lawn for me without charging any thing, and he takes my trash cans down to the street every Monday night without me asking the favor! I told him that I was alright and I walked over to that van. It was just full of children! Erica's husband jumped out of the van demanded that I have Carmen come out of the house and get in the car! I told him that she had long left and he demanded to know the time. I told him that she left walking sometime after 3:00 and he snapped that she was supposed to be home at 3:30. He demanded that I tell him where she went! I told him that as far as I knew, she was heading home. Then he took a step towards me, shook his fist at me and yelled that if she were at home, he wouldn't be talking to some old Biddie about where his wife was! He ordered me to tell her that she better, please excuse the language, dear, get her a-s-s home before he found her! He jumped in the car, screamed for the kids to shut-up, slammed the car into drive and backed out the driveway right over my bed of marigolds! I was so mad that I was shaking! By then Mr. Thompson had walked over to stand next to me, afraid that man was going to attack me, and he helped me into the house!" "He didn't say where he was going next to look for her?" Carmen asked, turning around, worry lines etched around her corners of her mouth. "I didn't get a chance to ask! I'm really worried about Erica, Carmen! I'm worried that her husband will find her." "Me too, Bessie! Me too!" Carmen walked over to Bessie, kissed her on the cheek and murmured, "Don't worry. I'll find her. Or I'll find Pedro before he finds her." She walked out the door before Bessie could caution her to stay clear of Pedro. Bessie sat very still in the now night-shadowed living room. Then she stood up on her swollen ankles, walked over to the end table next to her couch, picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1.
"She was looking for you, my dear, at the Book Woman Club Meeting. She told us she was supposed to get a ride from you. She waited for about fifteen minutes to see if you might stop by and pick her up even though you didn't make it to the meeting and then she took off walking." Bessie sat up from her feet and placed her hand over her heart. "I didn't see any reason to say something to her about walking! It was a beautiful, sunny day! Lot's of people out and about!" Bessie placed her other hand over the hand that rested on her heart. "This neighborhood is usually so safe!" Carmen stopped her pacing and knelt in front of Bessie. "Now, Ms. Bessie! Everything is going to be alright! We're going to find Erica. This is not your fault! You had no reason to think that she wouldn't be safe walking home. Erica is a grown woman, Ms. Bessie." "I know she's grown, dear, but being grown doesn't mean we don't need a little mothering! It's just that she seems to be such a fragile little thing. All those children...and that husband of hers..." Bessie's tongue clucked at the air. "I've called all the hospitals and they say they don't have a record of an Erica Gonzales being admitted to any of them. I am really worried, dear. We need to find her before that husband finds her!" "If this is anyone's fault, it's mine. I should have been at the meeting! I should have been here to take her home!" Carmen stood up, turning her back to Bessie and looked out the living room window at the fading day's light. "Tell me, what exactly did Pedro say to you?"
Bessie paused, the frown on her face reflecting her distasteful interaction with Erica's husband. "Well, he drove up at about 5:00 and sat in the driveway, blowing his horn! Just kept blowing it, over and over again like some rude teenager picking up a date he has no respect for! I finally went to the door, when I realized that the horn was blowing from my driveway! Neighbors were looking out the windows and the gentleman next door, Mr. Thompson, came out of his house and asked me if I was alright! Such a nice man, mows my lawn for me without charging any thing, and he takes my trash cans down to the street every Monday night without me asking the favor! I told him that I was alright and I walked over to that van. It was just full of children! Erica's husband jumped out of the van demanded that I have Carmen come out of the house and get in the car! I told him that she had long left and he demanded to know the time. I told him that she left walking sometime after 3:00 and he snapped that she was supposed to be home at 3:30. He demanded that I tell him where she went! I told him that as far as I knew, she was heading home. Then he took a step towards me, shook his fist at me and yelled that if she were at home, he wouldn't be talking to some old Biddie about where his wife was! He ordered me to tell her that she better, please excuse the language, dear, get her a-s-s home before he found her! He jumped in the car, screamed for the kids to shut-up, slammed the car into drive and backed out the driveway right over my bed of marigolds! I was so mad that I was shaking! By then Mr. Thompson had walked over to stand next to me, afraid that man was going to attack me, and he helped me into the house!" "He didn't say where he was going next to look for her?" Carmen asked, turning around, worry lines etched around her corners of her mouth. "I didn't get a chance to ask! I'm really worried about Erica, Carmen! I'm worried that her husband will find her." "Me too, Bessie! Me too!" Carmen walked over to Bessie, kissed her on the cheek and murmured, "Don't worry. I'll find her. Or I'll find Pedro before he finds her." She walked out the door before Bessie could caution her to stay clear of Pedro. Bessie sat very still in the now night-shadowed living room. Then she stood up on her swollen ankles, walked over to the end table next to her couch, picked up the phone and dialed 9-1-1.
Friday, November 11, 2011
"Dee-Dee"
Dee-Dee cupped her hands around her cup of hot coffee. She stared at its caramel depths, its color reminding her of the skin that she and her husband Christopher dreamed their son or daughter would have. If they ever were blessed with children, they dreamed of how it would be a combination of both of them...a little African-American DNA and a little European-American DNA. Their children would be a genetic mixing of the two of them; Dee-Dee's full nose, Christopher's green eyes, Dee-Dee's lush lips, Christoper's square chin. A human equality puzzle that fit together perfectly...a new race, who by the power of its presence, would end all the racism in America. She and Christoper dreamed that one day in America, everyone would be one color. One day. Dee-Dee sighed as she heard her father's voice mocking her, bouncing around inside of her head. "You never know what fruit will fall from the DNA tree!" The pragmatic part of Dee-Dee's brain knew that in the unpredictable world of DNA, their child could come out looking like Alsha, a young woman in the Book Woman Club. She had deliciously-dark ebony black skin, a button nose, thin lips and blue eyes! Her mother and father both had light brown skin. DNA had it's own agenda! Still, Dee-Dee could dream a world where the far edges of each race faded away and where, then, there would be no more need for divisive racial definitions.
"Look, Georgia...I'm sorry! I should have prepared you for the Book Woman Club! I should have told you that you were going to be the only white woman there and that there would be opposition to you attendance! It wasn't fair of me to invite you to the meeting and use you like a pawn in my private agenda to shake those women up! I was wrong, and I really am sorry!." "I don't understand, Dee-Dee! What did you think I would do if you had told me I was going to be the only white person there?" "You wouldn't have come!" "Your wrong, I would have come!" Dee-Dee cocked her head to one side, raised an eyebrow and stared at Georgia. "Well...maybe not! But I would have at least asked you if the other women would be open to me coming or if they would have been offended." Georgia thought for a minute and then said, "I would probably have come if you had been able to say that they wouldn't have minded me being there!" Georgia took a long sip of her coffee and set the cup down. "You knew my being there was going to be a problem!" "I said I was sorry, Georgia!" Dee-Dee took her friends hand. "Please, forgive me!" Georgia wrapped her hands around Dee-Dee's hand. "Five Starbucks visits and you pay!" "Four", Dee-Dee counter offered. "Five! There will be no negotiating." Georgia released Dee-Dee's hand and held up five fingers. Dee-Dee smiled and said, "O.k....Five!" They both went back to their cups of coffee and pulled at the ragged edges of this society woven out of so many varied textured yarns and sewn together with so many different colored threads; the cloth thread bare and stretched out of shape in the tug of was of competing components. Dee-Dee looked at her chocolate brown hand wrapped around her coffee cup and then glanced over at Georgia's pale pink hand holding her cup. And idea began to take hold in Dee-Dee's head and it began to drip from her mouth.
"You know, Georgia...we can be sitting in the same room, at the same time, at the same table, eating the same food, right next to each other, and our experience as an African-Americans and as a European-American will be very different." "So, I'm a "European-American."!" Georgia grinned ear to ear. They had been through this race title-exchange over and over again. "I thought I was human." "Well, that's what you say you are!" Dee-Dee stuck her tongue out at Georgia and laughed. Georgia crossed her eyes and said in a mechanical voice, "I am from planet Zercon and I come in peace!" They laughed loudly together, causing heads in the coffee shop to turn. Mouths covered, their laughter quieted to giggles. "I know, I know!" Georgia laughed softly, "Black and White are just "colors". It is our heritage that defines us! The world according to Dee-Dee!" "Serious, Georgia. Be serious with me, just for a few minutes. I'd like to play this game with you, for a few weeks. Might give you some ideas for your writing and information for my Diversity Training Workshops." Outside of her work at the museum, Dee-Dee conducted Diversity Training Workshops for Non-Profits and Corporate Institutions. "O.K.", Georgia responded, curious. "What is this game that you want to play?" "Let's play, "What was Different?" Dee-Dee's brown eyes met Georgia's blues. "The game's called "What was Different"? How's it played?" "We'll, I'm kinda making it up as we sit here." Georgia laughed. "O....K! How do we play this game that you are making up as we sit here?" Dee-Dee laughed and said, "Well...we go places together...like the mall, or a grocery store. Dinner. Here, places like this Starbucks, and if something happens to me that I feel is because of my color, I ask you, "What was Different?" You report on your experience, right then and there, and tell me the story of what is going at that time and place and if you think my experience is different from yours. Then I'll tell you my interpretation of the very same experience and we can compare notes." Georgia thought for a moment and slowly nodded her head. "O.K. This might be interesting. Only I get to initiate the same senerio if I thing that something is different in my experience that is not the same in your experience because I am white." "European-American"! Dee-Dee countered. "And I don't think there will be many times that you are treated differently because you are white!" "Oh, you mean like I wasn't treated "differently" at the Book Woman Club meeting?" Georgia jutted her jaw forward and hung her head to the side. "Huh? This can be our "Looking Glass" adventure!" Georgia folded her arms across her chest. "Looking glass adventure? What are you talking about?" Dee-Dee frowned in confusion. Georgia threw both hands up in the air. "You know, Alice stepping through the looking glass! Each of us stepping through the invisible boundary that separates our worlds in the racial divide of America. I know you're looking at this game as some eye opening life exercise for me, but I'm throwing that expectation right back at 'cha! I think you are going to be just as surprised as I am by the results this game of yours. You get a front row view of "White-World", I mean, "Euro-World" just like I'm gonna get an inside look at "African-American World". Dee-Dee rolled her eyes. "Believe me, I know more about "Euro-World" than you'll ever know about my world. We are inundated with European culture from the day that we are born. Television commercials and ads about your hair, your sun tan lotion, your families, your movies about the inner-sanctums of Wall Street where we will never gain full entry ..."Euro-World" and it's values, privileges and entitlements served up on a silver platter just beyond our reach." "Soft Sheen Hair Relaxer commercials, Cover girl's Queen Latifa, and the Cosby's - a middle class family of color! And are you going to tell me that there are no African-American stock brokers?" Georgia countered. Dee-Dee leaned forward, stabbing an index finger in the air like a sword. "Commercials recruiting us to meet the European model of beauty, and the Cosby Show has been in re-runs, how long? All I see are sitcoms where we're back to the stereotype of the minstrel player - the clown with little depth and masked humanity. That's why I don't watch T.V. anymore! And I don't see many brothers having access to the kind of power that European men have in those Fortune Five Hundred Companies controlling the wealth of America! You have a lot to learn in this game we are about to play, Georgia! You want to act like the world is all equal now and that everyone has the same access to power and opportunity, to the "white-boy network"! " Dee-Dee's index and middle fingers from both hands made quote signs in the air between her and Georgia. "Really, so that's what I think, huh - Dee-Dee? And who's producing today's television minstrel players?" Dee-Dee bristled. "I'm not naming names, but he sure isn't white! Maybe you need to take a closer look at yourself and your own assessment of some issues, Dee! Access to power and opportunity? I'm single, my dad's dead and I have no brothers or uncles! I'm not the one married to the "white-boy network"!" Georgia's index fingers slashed the air and mirrored Dee-Dee's fading air graffiti.
"Look, Georgia...I'm sorry! I should have prepared you for the Book Woman Club! I should have told you that you were going to be the only white woman there and that there would be opposition to you attendance! It wasn't fair of me to invite you to the meeting and use you like a pawn in my private agenda to shake those women up! I was wrong, and I really am sorry!." "I don't understand, Dee-Dee! What did you think I would do if you had told me I was going to be the only white person there?" "You wouldn't have come!" "Your wrong, I would have come!" Dee-Dee cocked her head to one side, raised an eyebrow and stared at Georgia. "Well...maybe not! But I would have at least asked you if the other women would be open to me coming or if they would have been offended." Georgia thought for a minute and then said, "I would probably have come if you had been able to say that they wouldn't have minded me being there!" Georgia took a long sip of her coffee and set the cup down. "You knew my being there was going to be a problem!" "I said I was sorry, Georgia!" Dee-Dee took her friends hand. "Please, forgive me!" Georgia wrapped her hands around Dee-Dee's hand. "Five Starbucks visits and you pay!" "Four", Dee-Dee counter offered. "Five! There will be no negotiating." Georgia released Dee-Dee's hand and held up five fingers. Dee-Dee smiled and said, "O.k....Five!" They both went back to their cups of coffee and pulled at the ragged edges of this society woven out of so many varied textured yarns and sewn together with so many different colored threads; the cloth thread bare and stretched out of shape in the tug of was of competing components. Dee-Dee looked at her chocolate brown hand wrapped around her coffee cup and then glanced over at Georgia's pale pink hand holding her cup. And idea began to take hold in Dee-Dee's head and it began to drip from her mouth.
"You know, Georgia...we can be sitting in the same room, at the same time, at the same table, eating the same food, right next to each other, and our experience as an African-Americans and as a European-American will be very different." "So, I'm a "European-American."!" Georgia grinned ear to ear. They had been through this race title-exchange over and over again. "I thought I was human." "Well, that's what you say you are!" Dee-Dee stuck her tongue out at Georgia and laughed. Georgia crossed her eyes and said in a mechanical voice, "I am from planet Zercon and I come in peace!" They laughed loudly together, causing heads in the coffee shop to turn. Mouths covered, their laughter quieted to giggles. "I know, I know!" Georgia laughed softly, "Black and White are just "colors". It is our heritage that defines us! The world according to Dee-Dee!" "Serious, Georgia. Be serious with me, just for a few minutes. I'd like to play this game with you, for a few weeks. Might give you some ideas for your writing and information for my Diversity Training Workshops." Outside of her work at the museum, Dee-Dee conducted Diversity Training Workshops for Non-Profits and Corporate Institutions. "O.K.", Georgia responded, curious. "What is this game that you want to play?" "Let's play, "What was Different?" Dee-Dee's brown eyes met Georgia's blues. "The game's called "What was Different"? How's it played?" "We'll, I'm kinda making it up as we sit here." Georgia laughed. "O....K! How do we play this game that you are making up as we sit here?" Dee-Dee laughed and said, "Well...we go places together...like the mall, or a grocery store. Dinner. Here, places like this Starbucks, and if something happens to me that I feel is because of my color, I ask you, "What was Different?" You report on your experience, right then and there, and tell me the story of what is going at that time and place and if you think my experience is different from yours. Then I'll tell you my interpretation of the very same experience and we can compare notes." Georgia thought for a moment and slowly nodded her head. "O.K. This might be interesting. Only I get to initiate the same senerio if I thing that something is different in my experience that is not the same in your experience because I am white." "European-American"! Dee-Dee countered. "And I don't think there will be many times that you are treated differently because you are white!" "Oh, you mean like I wasn't treated "differently" at the Book Woman Club meeting?" Georgia jutted her jaw forward and hung her head to the side. "Huh? This can be our "Looking Glass" adventure!" Georgia folded her arms across her chest. "Looking glass adventure? What are you talking about?" Dee-Dee frowned in confusion. Georgia threw both hands up in the air. "You know, Alice stepping through the looking glass! Each of us stepping through the invisible boundary that separates our worlds in the racial divide of America. I know you're looking at this game as some eye opening life exercise for me, but I'm throwing that expectation right back at 'cha! I think you are going to be just as surprised as I am by the results this game of yours. You get a front row view of "White-World", I mean, "Euro-World" just like I'm gonna get an inside look at "African-American World". Dee-Dee rolled her eyes. "Believe me, I know more about "Euro-World" than you'll ever know about my world. We are inundated with European culture from the day that we are born. Television commercials and ads about your hair, your sun tan lotion, your families, your movies about the inner-sanctums of Wall Street where we will never gain full entry ..."Euro-World" and it's values, privileges and entitlements served up on a silver platter just beyond our reach." "Soft Sheen Hair Relaxer commercials, Cover girl's Queen Latifa, and the Cosby's - a middle class family of color! And are you going to tell me that there are no African-American stock brokers?" Georgia countered. Dee-Dee leaned forward, stabbing an index finger in the air like a sword. "Commercials recruiting us to meet the European model of beauty, and the Cosby Show has been in re-runs, how long? All I see are sitcoms where we're back to the stereotype of the minstrel player - the clown with little depth and masked humanity. That's why I don't watch T.V. anymore! And I don't see many brothers having access to the kind of power that European men have in those Fortune Five Hundred Companies controlling the wealth of America! You have a lot to learn in this game we are about to play, Georgia! You want to act like the world is all equal now and that everyone has the same access to power and opportunity, to the "white-boy network"! " Dee-Dee's index and middle fingers from both hands made quote signs in the air between her and Georgia. "Really, so that's what I think, huh - Dee-Dee? And who's producing today's television minstrel players?" Dee-Dee bristled. "I'm not naming names, but he sure isn't white! Maybe you need to take a closer look at yourself and your own assessment of some issues, Dee! Access to power and opportunity? I'm single, my dad's dead and I have no brothers or uncles! I'm not the one married to the "white-boy network"!" Georgia's index fingers slashed the air and mirrored Dee-Dee's fading air graffiti.
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