Coffee Will Make You Black Read online

  Linda looked embarrassed.

  “Why are we doing this?” I asked, pulling my arm out of the pile.

  “Cause y’all girls! And girls are stupid!” Michael shouted as Tyrone gave him five. The group of boys laughed.

  None of the girls answered my question. “Do you think that it makes somebody better ’cause her arm is lighter?” I asked. Everyone was quiet.

  “Stevie’s right, this game has played out,” Carla said, pulling away. “Besides, I ain’t gonna let nobody put none of my guests down.” Everyone began shaking their arms out and turning away.

  I sat in a corner eating my second hot dog, tuning out the chatter of the girls around me. Melody and Linda were dancing with Carla’s niece and nephew. They were the only ones who looked to be having any fun. “It’s twine time, ooh ahh,” Lakisha and Malcolm shouted over and over as they threw their chubby little arms and legs from side to side. I knew that tomorrow everybody would brag about how cool and happening Carla’s party had been. And the ones who hadn’t been invited would think they’d really missed something. I knew, because I used to be one of them.

  Carla turned off the record player and dimmed the lights. She sent Lakisha and Malcolm back outside to play. She stood up waving an empty wine bottle. “It’s time! Everybody sit on the rug, make a circle, y’all. We fixin’ to play Spin the Bottle!”

  The girls moved faster than the boys toward the big piece of gray carpet in the center of the floor. I realized that I didn’t want to have any of these boys slobbering on me. What if I got stuck with a boy who had bad breath? I’d never been kissed before and I didn’t want my first kiss to be with just anybody. I wanted to save my lips for somebody special.

  “Where you goin’?” Carla asked as I slipped out of the room.

  “The bathroom.”

  “Well, hurry back, we’re fixin’ to play!”

  “Okay,” I answered happily from the stairs.

  You could only hide in the bathroom so long. I headed for the kitchen to talk to Carla’s mother. She was frosting Carla’s birthday cake while drinking a can of beer and smoking a cigarette.

  She wore a tight, black miniskirt and a black and white polka-dot blouse. Mama had said Mrs. Perkins was too dark to have a red tint in her perm and too old and plump to wear miniskirts, after we ran into her shopping at the A&P.

  “Stevie, where you at?” Carla’s mother asked as I walked into the kitchen.

  “Huh? I’m right here.”

  “It means, how you doing, or how you be, that’s what they say in New Orleans.”

  “Oh, are you from New Orleans?”

  “No, I hail from Little Rock.”

  “Little Rock, Arkansas?”

  “That’s right. You’re so smart.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Stevie, I’m so glad you and Carla got to be friends.”

  “Is it okay if I sit in this chair?”

  “Make yourself at home, Stevie, set yourself down.”

  “Can I help you with anything?”

  “Not right now, you can just keep me company. You are so polite. My two other daughters only ran around with riffraff. I tell Carla all the time, Be like Stevie, she’s going to amount to something.”

  “You tell Carla that?”

  “Sho do, I preach to her all the time. Carla is my last hope.”

  “Carla has a good singing voice.”

  “Stevie, most negroes can carry a tune. I want her to get something in her head. I don’t expect my kids to discover the cure for cancer. I just want them to do something with their lives, so my struggle won’t have been in vain.”

  “Well, Carla is really cool. I always looked up to her.”

  “Cool! Don’t make me lose my religion! Cool don’t pay the rent! Cool don’t pay the bills. The only thing cool do is rhyme with fool! Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’m.”

  “I wish you would mention cool to me again, I’ll whup you and Carla both! Do you hear me?”

  “Yes ma’m.” I was having second thoughts about my decision not to play Spin the Bottle.

  “Don’t get me started,” Mrs. Perkins continued. “I have struggled to raise these three girls to the best of my ability, with no help from nobody. Do you hear me?”

  I nodded.

  “I would shovel shit in a barnyard to feed my children.”

  I raised my eyebrows. I wasn’t used to hearing grown-ups curse.

  “I’ve done damn near everything but steal and sell tail to keep a roof over their heads. Stay in school, I tell them. Education is something that nobody can take away from you,” she said, smashing her cigarette out. “Don’t end up like me. Look like the only rest I’m gonna get will be in my grave. Stevie, promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “Promise me you’ll never put your trust in no man.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I trusted my father and my uncle. Maybe Mrs. Perkins meant other men. Carla’s mother didn’t wait for me to answer. She just took a drag off her cigarette and threw her head back, and emptied the can of beer into her mouth.

  “There is nobody out there for you,” Mrs. Perkins shouted and pointed with her knife. “If you make it in this world you’re gonna have to make it all by your lonesome. Do you hear me? Cinderella was not written about the negro woman. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I think so,” I said, edging back a little from the knife. She was really getting worked up.

  “Your Prince Charming ain’t never gonna come! Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’m,” I said. But I still planned to wait and see what would happen.

  chapter 8

  “You can tell Yusef Brown is nasty, huh? You can tell where his mind is just by the way he looks at you, huh?” Carla yelled so I could hear her over all the cussing and carrying on. We were hunched over our bicycles, watching these boys playing basketball in the park. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon at the beginning of June. Carla took a big suck off of her orange Popsicle.

  “Look how his skin shines when he sweats; it looks just like hot fudge,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Carla agreed. “Tyrone skin remind me of gingerbread, make me wanna eat him up,” she added.

  I let out a big sigh and bit off a piece of my Popsicle and sucked on it hard. The cold, cherry-flavored hunk melted in my mouth.

  “Yusef Brown is cool, you gotta hand him that, though,” I added.

  “Course, Yusef Brown is cool! He wear khaki pants, don’t he? He gotta black leather jacket, don’t he? He pitches pennies, don’t he? And he even got nerve enough to keep a Kool cigarette behind his ear.” Carla put her hands on her hips. “Now, if that ain’t cool, then I don’t know what is!”

  I sloshed a piece of Popsicle around in my mouth while I thought. Yusef didn’t seem to know I drew breath. Outside of school, we might as well live in two different worlds. Here I was thirteen and fixing to graduate from eighth grade, and I still had to come in when the street lights came on. When I was going in was probably when Yusef was just going out sometimes. I sloshed another piece of Popsicle around in my mouth.

  “I hate it when you do that, it sounds so nasty!”

  “Carla, if my mama would let me go to the dances down to the Baptist church, I might be able to get me some play, you know,” I said, continuing to slosh.

  “Yeah, Yusef be at them all the time. Why your mama so strict? The dances be at a church.”

  “My mother says church and dancing don’t mix, in her book.”

  “What book is that? My mama say, ‘The Lord say make a joyous noise’!”

  That’s probably why Carla’s mother was Baptist and mine was an African Methodist Episcopal, I thought.

  Carla had never met her father. He had gone to the store for a pack of cigarettes two weeks before she was born, and had never returned.

  Carla’s voice jumped into my thoughts. “The Graduation Tea is coming up soon, and there’ll be dancing there. You better make your move or you’ll en
d up holding up the walls. Or worse, dancing with Rolaids.”

  “His name is Roland, Carla.”

  “Whatever his name is, he still ain’t got no behind.”

  Roland was a square, skinny boy who wore glasses and was good in math and science. He called himself liking me. According to Carla, his biggest drawback was that he had no behind.

  “And after all that time I spent last Saturday, teaching you that new Bop, too.” Carla shook her head sadly. “If it wasn’t for me you’d still be doing the Twine. No, actually you’d probably still be doing the Twist.” She laughed.

  “Ha, ha, very funny.” I watched Yusef dribble the ball. He could be a dancer, I thought.

  “Maybe I’ll drop my books again,” I mumbled.

  “Drop your books? You ain’t told me you dropped your books.”

  “Yeah, last week, I guess I forgot.”

  “Well?”

  “Well, he stooped down and picked them up for me. He practically had no choice, since I dropped them on his foot.

  “Oh. Well, did y’all talk?”

  “Yeah, I told him I was sorry and I thanked him. And he said, ‘Cool.’”

  “That was nice. I likes that, cool.”

  “Oh, Carla, he didn’t really pay me any attention. I could’ve been any girl.”

  “Well, if you drop your books again he’ll probably just think you’re clumsy. Hey, at this point you’d practically have to drop your draws to get Yusef Brown to notice you!”

  “Very funny.” I frowned.

  Carla didn’t have to worry: she was practically going with Tyrone. Besides, she was the kind of girl lots of boys liked. Not that she looked any better than me, according to Mama, but she just had this way about her. Sometimes around boys I felt like I was in a play but didn’t know my lines. Where was I when they handed out the scripts?

  Carla’s eyes never left Tyrone. He looked like a young Muhammad Ali running with the ball in his new Converse All-Stars.

  “I just can’t help it, I just gotta weakness for bowlegged niggers.” She sighed.

  Tyrone threw Yusef the ball. I watched his strong body jump up and do his famous dunk. Tyrone gave him five.

  “You can tell he done done it before,” Carla said, sucking on her Popsicle sticks.

  “You mean you think Yusef’s had sexual intercourse?” I whispered.

  Carla looked confused. “I don’t know nothing about them fancy words. I just know he done stuck it in somebody before, I just bet he probably has.”

  “For all you know, Yusef could still be a virgin,” I said.

  “Don’t make me laugh. You can tell by the way he walks, the way he pimps.” Carla put one hand behind her back and strutted.

  I laughed and turned my back to the fence. “Carla, don’t forget how he’s all the time bending backward and sticking himself out.”

  “Yeah, and I swear his hand never be far from his dick,” Carla said, giggling as I grabbed at my crotch. We both fell out laughing. A chill suddenly ran down my spine. I felt kind of scared and excited at the same time. I didn’t want to like a dog like Yusef Brown, but I just couldn’t help myself.

  “Y’all so into basketball, maybe y’all should join up with the girls’ basketball team next fall. My sister, Johnnie Mae, she the captain.”

  It was Willie Jean, a tall, flat-chested, tomboyish girl who’d moved here last year from Mississippi. Carla said she gave new meaning to the word “country.”

  Carla rolled her eyes, which I knew meant she didn’t want to be bothered with Willie Jean.

  “I play basketball with my brother sometimes; I’ve gotten pretty good.” I tried to be nice.

  “They always looking for new girls and you ’bout tall enough, I reckon,” Willie Jean said.

  I rolled my Popsicle sticks in their paper, and tossed them into the trash.

  “Hot dog!” Willie Jean shouted. “Good shot!”

  I blew on my fingers and proudly rubbed my chest.

  “You better watch it. Next thing you know, you’ll be getting muscles and nobody’ll want you, not even what’s his name,” Carla warned.

  “Forget you! Somebody will always want me.” I stuck my tongue out at her.

  “I take that back.” Carla laughed. “No man will want you. I’ll put it that way.”

  “My sister go out on plenty of dates,” Willie Jean cut in.

  “Yeah, yeah, but how much you wanta bet she don’t go out on half as many dates as the head cheerleader?” Carla climbed on her bike. “You see, Willie Jean, we ain’t so much into basketball. We really into basketball players, right, Stevie?” Carla said as she began pedaling away.

  “Yeah, sort of.” I jumped on my bike. “So long, Willie Jean.”

  I turned around to get one last look at Yusef’s sweaty body.

  “Hey, Stevie,” Carla yelled as we picked up speed. “A girl with a name like Johnnie Mae ain’t gonna get but so many dates!” Carla laughed as we rode out of the park.

  It was Sunday morning and me, Mama, my brothers, and the minister were standing on the steps of Faith African Methodist Episcopal Church. Reverend Sawyer stood head to head with Mama, which meant he wasn’t tall for a man. But Reverend Sawyer wasn’t little. He looked to me like he could come out of his robe and kick some butt if he had to. “Reverend Sawyer, that sermon was just beautiful. I wished I could’ve taped it, so my husband could hear it,” Mama said, grinning.

  “Well, thank you, Sister Stevenson, I sure wish we could get Brother Stevenson to join the flock.”

  “Reverend Sawyer, you’re sounding like a Baptist preacher.”

  “Don’t tell me my roots are showing.” Reverend Sawyer laughed, wiping sweat off his forehead with his handkerchief.

  Kevin called Reverend Sawyer “bean head” in private because his bald head reminded him of the coffee bean a boy had brought to Show and Tell once. Kevin worried he’d go to hell because of it.

  “Your husband doesn’t work on Sunday morning, does he?”

  “No, he’s home in bed. Mama couldn’t wake him up. Daddy’s gotta hangover!” Kevin explained.

  I knew Mama felt like strangling him. Instead, she went on and tried to cover it up.

  “Uh, that’s right, Reverend Sawyer, my husband has a headache. He strains his eyes, doesn’t read in enough light. Come along, children, there are other people in the congregation besides us.”

  “I’ll remember you in my prayers,” Reverend Sawyer called out.

  Mama grabbed Kevin’s arm. “Nobody was talking to you, boy. Speak when you’re spoken to! You got one more time to embarrass me like that!”

  We walked smack dab into Roland. Mama slapped a smile on her face; she liked Roland. He was smart and polite. His people were members of Faith like us. Both of Roland’s parents were teachers. His father was a deacon in the church, and his mother sang in the choir. His oldest sister was a freshman at University of Illinois Circle Campus. Deep down Mama was especially proud of dark-skinned people who did well in life. So in her eyes Roland could do no wrong. The fact that he wore horn-rimmed glasses, was a total square, and had almost no behind didn’t seem to faze her.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Stevenson, Stevie, David, Kevin. Nice to see all of you.”

  Me and my brothers nodded.

  Mama perked up. “Good morning, Roland. How are your parents?”

  “They’re fine, thank you. My father’s inside helping to count the money, and my mother’s changing out of her choir robe.”

  “Roland, you enunciate so well. So many of our young people underestimate the importance of good diction.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Stevenson. As you know, my mother is an English teacher.”

  David made a face. He and I would crack up later and say how we’d wanted to throw up, or how badly we’d needed a shovel. But now we had to keep a straight face or else Mama would be reading us all the way home.

  “Stevie, I wondered if I could walk you home?” Roland stood there with a goofy smile on his face
.

  I didn’t want to be bothered with Roland on a Sunday, and yet Mama might not be through yelling at Kevin. I was caught between a rock and a hard place. I decided to go with the devil I knew. I was used to tuning Mama out. Forgive me, God, I didn’t mean Mama was a devil, I said in my head.

  “Sorry, Roland, some other time. I just want to be with my family right now. I was hoping that my mother and I would have a chance to go over the sermon together.”

  David started to hoot, but he pretended like he was coughing. Kevin’s eyes were big as saucers, but he didn’t dare say anything. Even Roland looked like he was caught by surprise. Mama smiled; she was tickled to have any excuse to discuss religion.

  “Well, okay, some other time then.” Roland tipped his stupid cap and we said our goodbyes.

  “What profit a man if he should gain the world but lose his own soul? Now I take that to mean …” Mama started.

  Mama was one of the few people who could make a body look forward to Monday.

  Daddy walked into the kitchen carrying an empty rat trap. Mama had seen a rat while she was doing the laundry in the basement. Daddy put the huge trap on the table and sat down across from me.

  I looked up from my homework.

  “Daddy, if X plus Y equals Z, then Z minus Y is equal to X, right?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The new math.”

  “Is two plus two still four?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Good. That’s all I want to know. Now get me a beer.”

  I frowned. The idea that Daddy could get his own beer was probably as foreign to him as the new math.

  “Jean, bring me a piece of cheese, while you’re at it.”

  I stood over Daddy, holding a can of Hamm’s, watching him mash a piece of cheese into the brand-new trap.

  “Thanks, just set it on the table.”

  “You know, I’ve heard peanut butter works better.”

  “Who’s doing this, me or you?” Daddy tried to sound mean, but his smile gave him away.

  “It was just a suggestion,” I said, going back to my homework.