It’s been a while since I posted. I’ve had a lot going on and there have been things I need to take care of. My friend Martha is touring the South Pacific and recently spent time in my character Jennifer’s home New Zealand. I’m working my way through an edit and the photos she posts of her journey inspired me. So hear we go again. A long chapter form the story of Jennifer and her beau. Right now she calls him Mark.
Jennifer Section 1
Chapter 5 Hebrews 13:2
Jennifer and I talked every day the next week. You know how when you get it bad for somebody, they rent goo gobs of space in your mind. That was Miss Who. I lay in bed at night pondering how I could fall so far so fast. It bothered me.
Nineteen, how in the world. And what was this fatal attraction to Asian women. This was two in a row. Cousin, I remember you teasing me about Minsook, saying I knew you liked them yellow, but now you’ve gone all international on me. Cracking me saying I had contracted yellow fever. That thought rode my mind hard a couple of nights.”
I talked to James about it that Thursday. He laughed and told me, “Come on man. Maybe you like them because they like you. It’s not like you chased Minsook. It seems to me she caught you.”
“James remembered how you told her I liked her. Encouraged her to go after me.”
Adrienne smirks and says, “You needed the help.”
And he said, “why are you tripping. She was nice. And Momma sure liked her once she got to know her. Matter of fact, she was glad you found a woman who could deal with you, because she used to tell me I worry about that boy. Since him and Jewel broke up, he acts like he doesn’t know how to get a woman.”
“She said that.”
James chuckled and said, “you know she did.”
“That’s messed up Momma said that. Jewel and I dated a long time. It took me a minute to get over her.”
“It was time bruh. Jewel was sweet, but you really thought you were going to marry somebody you met in the eighth grade. Don’t answer that.”
I stared at James surprised to hear him say that.
“You like what you like. I’m cool with it. You love what you love. Don’t let anybody tell you not to. Besides, better an Asian woman then bringing a white girl in Leah Thomas’s house. Cause you know it would be hell to pay. Matter of fact, you get ready to do that you call me so I can buy me some popcorn and sit on the sofa. Momma will be like, no he didn’t. And you know Daddy won’t make it any better. I can hear him now. You know Leah they say a boy wants a girl like dear old mom.”
“You think it’s all right for real man.”
“You think too much. And let that age thing go. It sounds like ya’ll get on well. Shouldn’t that count?”
That conversation helped me. And he was right. No Thomas man with sense dared bring a white girl in Leah Thomas’s house. Not if you wanted to live. I laughed right up until the moment I called Miss Who.
“Hello,”
“Hi Jennifer”
I could feel her voice smile at me through the telephone. “What are you up to Mark?”
“I just got off the phone with my brother. What are you up to?”
“I’m painting.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to disturb you. You get back to what you were doing.”
“You’re not disturbing me. I needed a break.”
“What are you painting?”
“A picture of you. And Qi sold Love Thy Neighbor. We need to celebrate.” The smile in her voice grew wider. She sounded so young.
I could feel my voice begin to smile back. “Yes! So, who had the good sense to buy a painting by one of Atlanta’s finest artists?”
“Thank you. You say such nice things to me. It’s a woman she knows. She probably bought it as a favor to Qi, but my bank account is not going to argue with why she bought it. We’re supposed to have dinner next Wednesday. She’s going to pick up the painting then. She’s going to pay me sixteen hundred dollars.”
“Dinner and a check, eh?”
Her voice pouted. “Are you making fun of me?
“Eh”
“You are. That’s okay I’m so happy I’m not going to pay you any attention.”
“Is eh a New Zealand thing? Or is a Jennifer affectation?”
“Whoa big word Mark,” she giggled. “I picked it up from an old boyfriend. He’s Māori and used to say it all the time.”
A hollowness overran my heart. “How long did you date him?”
“Two years. He didn’t want me to leave. I miss him a little sometimes. But a girl has got to do, what a girl’s got to do.”
“I don’t blame him.”
Silence fell upon the land for a moment. “I got a care package from home. Full of goodies. My mom even sent me some Whittaker’s.”
“Whoa Whitaker’s, I want some,” I teased.
“You do,” eased back through the phone. “Well maybe if you’re a good boy.”
Are you flirting with me Miss Who ran through my mind? Whittaker’s was some New Zealand chocolate she raved about. She told me her mom was sending her a batch. She’d been waiting a couple of months. She promised me she would let me try some when it got here.
We jabbered on for a while. I let slip a favorite music fantasy about wanting to follow The Dead. She’d never heard of The Grateful Dead. I told her how fans followed the band from town to town forming a community of deadheads.
“That sounds different. I’m more of A Tribe Called Quest girl myself. I bet you’ve never heard of them, eh. You being a deadhead and all.”
I started to lie but told her I didn’t know who they were.
“You don’t know who A Tribe Called Quest is? What am I going to do with you Turtle?
“Hey, quit calling me Turtle. What’s up with that? I don’t listen to much rap.”
“What’s up with that is you don’t know who Phife Dawg is. We’ll have to have lessons. Teach you a little culture. Rap, you sound like gramps. Its proper name is Hip Hop.”
“Are you sure you’re nineteen?
“Positive, question for you.”
“Ask away my dear.”
“Are you sure you’re Black?” She cracked up.
“I beg your pardon,” mock outrage in my voice.
“I beg your pardon. See what I mean.” She laughed even harder.
And I admit I laughed too. She pierced my greatest insecurity; was I Black enough and made it funny. She reminded me of how you used to say Black is more, much more than a color, it is a state of mind. We talked for another hour. We agreed I would stop by a little early Sunday. She wanted to show me her latest work.
When we got off the phone, I called Howard, Jr. His son Howard the third answered. I said what’s up Tray and asked him about A Tribe called Quest. Sixteen years old he was a big fan, only Q-Tip was his favorite. I told him I wanted to get a CD for a friend who loved Phife Dawg and asked could he recommend some of their music.
Sunday, I wound up at Jennifer’s, a copy of The Low-End Theory sitting in my CD player. I knocked on the door. Once twice, three times, and there she was. Drop dead gorgeous, too sexy for her dress.
“Hello handsome” she said with that fantabulous accent of hers as she opened the door.
“What’s up beautiful.”
Without discussing it we were both done up in our Sunday go to meeting clothes as Aunt Ada Mae used to say. Miss Hon had on a sleeveless navy dress that hit mid-calf and black sandals with slight heels. Hair down, this look was a treat I hadn’t enjoyed before. I was used to her in tee shirts and either pants or shorts, hair pulled back in a ponytail. “You sure are pretty,” I uttered.
“You look right smart yourself Mark.” I was wearing a blue sport jacket with a blue shirt and a pink tie, grey slacks, and brown loafers. I figured she’d skewer me for the white boy look, but she seemed impressed. Must be the moment I thought to myself.
“Come on and help me with this painting.” June sat on the floor in her kitchen pressed against a cabinet ready to ride with us over to my parents. She covered the painting with a large piece of cloth and directed me to pick it up. “I have something for you if you behave.”
“Eh,” I cracked again as I picked up June.
“Ya’ll funny,” she cracked back. “I promised you some Whittaker’s. Now if you act right, I’ll let you try some of the best candy you ever tasted.” I started to put June down. “No bro. You put the painting in the car, then you get some.”
“Now that’s what I’m talking about.” I looked ecstatic. “Oh, you’re talking about the candy.”
She giggled. “What did you think I was talking about. Don’t answer Mark. Come on, put the picture down. Let me show you something.” She waved for me to follow her as she walked down the hall to her room. For a moment I felt like that old dog across the street from us when we were kids who loved to chase cars. Momma used to say, “Now what is he going to do with that car if he catches it.”
I walked behind her like my feet were stuck in mud. “Come on, Turtle, step it up. We’ve got somewhere to be.” She walked over to a canvas covered with a cloth. “Look,” she said as she bent at her knees and lifted the cloth. “Behold your portrait.” It was a painting of a green sea turtle.
We stood there laughing so hard the room seemed to shake. “I going to get you for that. I let you slide with the are you black crack, but you’ll pay for this one missy.” She stretched her arms high above her head and pretended to yawn. “Okay, I got your yawn, but you are going to pay. Where is my Whittaker’s?”
We marched back up the hall. The candy was good. We stood there for a few minutes munching on it and laughing about the turtle. “What about the other painting.”
She smirked and said “It’s just about finished. I’ll let you see it soon. Qi likes the painting. Says I captured your essence.”
“Qi didn’t say that” I retorted.
“No, she didn’t, but I thought it would be funnier if I said it came from her.”
“This is how you see me. May I ask why?”
“If you have to ask… Time to go, eh.”
“Time to go.” I packed up June and took it to the car. I put it on the back seat and went to open the front door for her.
“No, I’ll ride back here with it. Nothing against your driving but I put my heart and soul into this.”
“It’s cool,” I told her. I got in, cranked the car up and pulled away from the curb.
“To the Thomas estate James, and make it snappy,” came over the back seat.”
“Eh,” I cracked. Suddenly A Tribe Called Quest came through my speakers. I watched Jennifer’s face light up in the rear-view mirror. I watched her rock her shoulders and work her fingers to the beats. She grinned at me.
“I’m nervous about meeting your parents,” she said after a few minutes. She had every right to be. These were not normal parents she was getting ready to meet. I didn’t know what to expect out of Howard and Leah. Oh, I knew they would be nice. And I hoped they would like my favorite NZ, but I didn’t know what off the wall tack they would take.
Momma had called Lan to see what he thought Jennifer might want to eat. He told her everybody loves your ribs, so she was grilling. My brothers would be sure to complain when they found out Leah Thomas cooked ribs and hadn’t invited them over. Lan tried to finagle an invitation playing the I’m Chinese and can help make her feel at home angle. Momma even turned him down, which concerned me.
“So, do I get my Black card back?”
“We’ll see…”
“Hey, talk dirty to me?”
She laughed and said “Sux”.
“I love to hear you say six.” I took the street way. Out of the way. We rode through Collier Heights. “I want you to know about this neighborhood,” I told her as we rode down Waterford toward Collier Drive. “You listen to people talk about my community and you get the impression all we do is suffer. That isn’t the case. My parents rented a house here for a minute. This is the first neighborhood in the United States where the land was bought by Black people, the houses were designed by Black people, and built by Black people. It was started in 1948.”
I continued. “There used to be something called redlining where banks would draw redlines on a map around black neighborhoods and refuse to invest in those areas. Black people couldn’t get loans to buy outside those areas. And the government played a big role in it. It did a lot of damage to black communities around the country. Collier Heights was Black Atlanta’s response.”
“Is that why you don’t trust the government?’
“You noticed, huh?”
“Hard not to, eh”
“There’s a famous court decision, Plessy vs Ferguson. It was about Plessy’s right to sit in the section of the train designated whites only. It said it was okay to separate the races. That became the law of the land for a long time. A man named Harlan wrote a famous dissent from the decision. He argued black people were granted citizenship by certain constitutional amendments. And those two citizens, no matter what color they are, ought to be able to ride side by side together on a train.”
“Turn down the music,” Jennifer said suddenly serious.
“Harlan argued this point in vain. He said quite a few things I find offensive even though I know his argument was a heartfelt defense of Black citizenship and the rights that citizenship gave us. One of his most offensive comments talked about a group of people so different they could not be considered citizens. Yet they could ride in the white section of a train. He was talking about the Chinese men who were brought here to build the railroads.”
Jennifer shook her head. “Do you know who Vincent Chin is?” She asked me.
“I do.”
“My cousins told me about him while I was in Oakland. I couldn’t believe it.”
“You couldn’t,” I asked.
‘Well, yes, I can. Do you know what a coolie is?”
I decided to go for the joke angle. “Yeah, isn’t that a movie about a high school in Chicago?”
“Eh,” an annoyed Miss Hon responded.
“It was a bad joke,” I said. “There was a movie named Cooley High. Never mind, yeah, I know what a coolie is. That was those Chinese guys who built the railroads out west. My father’s friend Lan told me they wore long pigtails. A lot of them were forced to cut the pigtails off. That meant they could never go back home.”
She gave me a brief history lesson. “Coolies came from all over Asia. Here people associate the word with Chinese men. If they think about it at all. A lot of people from Guangdong became coolies to escape hard times in China.”
I thought for a second. “One of my Jamaican students told me coolie is a slur and one of the worst things you can call a Jamaican.”
Jennifer stared straight ahead seething. “Those poor farmers were seeking a better life. Those Chinese men were done wrong. Just like your people. Listening to you I began to make the connection. It’s hard to consider someone else’s troubles when you have your own.”
“That’s America Jennifer. All us others have our own set of problems. It’s like I told Annie. Those same people who act so haughty about being Americans. Somebody a hundred years ago told some relative of theirs the same thing. Go home Paddy, learn the language WOP. And the WOPs and paddies fought each other instead of saying hey we need to hook up. It’s what everybody does.”
“I bet you’re a good teacher. I wish I had been in your class. I might have done better in school,” she told me.
“Little one, you’re doing what you need to do. A talent like yours needs to be shared with the world. You’d be wasting your time in school.”
In a pouty tone she cracked, “Ya’ll don’t want to teach me?”
This one needs to be watched. And Momma was right. I might wind up in a pot and no twig would save me.
“Cat got your tongue,” she teased.
No, you do. “I was just thinking you almost have ya’ll down pat. We’ll keep working at it. And I couldn’t have you in my class. You’d be too much of a distraction. Your accent I mean.”
“My accent, eh.”
We crossed Hightower onto Peyton Road. A dog scurried in front of us rushing to the other side of the street. “Look Jennifer, a steak.” She glared at me. I held my index finger up to my lips and blew its tip. “That’s for the turtle crack.”
She shook her head and smiled. “You remember you said that when I come for you.”
“I won’t get mad. I’ll get even.”
She reached over the seat and brushed my shoulder. I looked in the rear-view mirror. Our eyes locked. “Don’t you need to watch where you’re going,” she murmured.
A few minutes later we were pulling into my parent’s driveway.