To Each Her Own (The Swirl Book 1) (14 page)

“I love all people. I just prefer not to mate with anyone who isn’t white. Period.”

“Okay. Well in my opinion, that’s not love for anyone who isn’t white. That’s hate. And it’s fear. What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid. I’m informed.”

“You’re imprisoned, is what you are, Daddy. I thought that by electing the first black president, which happened because of the younger generations, that we’d turned the page, but I see lately, not only by you but by so many other people, that race is still a deep fault-line in America. I was watching CNN last night, and one of the contributors said that black people are three times as likely as whites to be denied a mortgage. That the wealth gap between blacks and whites has nearly tripled, and that also, and this tears me up, black men are far more likely to be stopped, charged for crimes, and sentenced longer.”

“And whose fault is all that? As far as mortgages, they don’t make enough or they have bad credit. Being charged for crimes, then don’t do the crime. When you do dumb things you pay the price.”

Her voice now had volume as she was stopped at a light behind her mom. “What? It’s all of our faults! They said that even schools are more segregated than they were in the 1960’s. I think that the mindset we have of not wanting ‘those people’ in the neighborhood is sick, and it has to stop. We have to stop being scared when a black man with a hoodie walks by.”

He actually gave a laugh. “Shasta, please. I’m sure that scares African American people too. If what we all wear makes us look suspicious, we need to think twice before entering a place of business with a hoodie over our heads at two in the morning.”

“But as individuals, we can only question our own assumptions and ideals of privilege. We have to own and change them.” She proceeded on, following her mom. “Daddy, do you see other races as lower beings?”

“I’ll just say that I’m racially aware.”

“And where did that come from? I know Grandmother Hattie didn’t instill that into you and Uncle Todd.”

“No comment.”

 “No comment? Why not? Of course you need to comment, and come clean, talk about it. We’re finally talking about it.”

“You come clean.”

“Wow. Okay, if you won’t, then I guess I’ll have to assume that it must’ve been jokes in school, or perhaps somewhere else where you learned all of this hate. Were you bullied for some reason?”

“No. But there were more black kids joking in school, teasing white kids than the other way around.”

“So then you were teased. And if you were, why? Was it because you were tall for your age, smart, goofy, buck-toothed, bowlegged, what? It couldn’t have been because you’re white.”

“Blacks and whites made racial jokes toward each other. All was fair.”

“Like what? What were you called that made you so afraid of integrating? Were you called cracker, honky, ofay, peckerwood? What?” She actually had raised her shoulders in expectance of his reply.

“Okay, Shasta. That’s enough. Just leave it at the fact that African Americans hate whites just as much, and some even hate themselves.”

“And why would that be?”

“They always see everything from a lens of being African American. So why can’t I see things through a lens of being white?”

“Because, Daddy. We need to think in terms of all of our differences being a melting pot.”

He waited. She could hear him breathing hard. “Okay, so let me ask you this. Where is our NAAWP? National Association for the Advancement of White People?”

She was stunned, shaking her head while she drove. “Oh my God! Oh we have one alright. And it’s called the KKK.”

“Well, whatever it’s called, we, some whites, see them through a racial lens, and they see themselves that way too, as soon as they step out into the world.”

She spoke fast. “How do you know that? Did some black person tell you that? And if that’s so, like I said, it might be because of how whites treat them that makes them angry.”

“And what makes you such a supporter of the rights of non-whites?”

“I have observed and read, and taken a lot in. I read a book while I was in college called
Why Black People Tend to Shout
. It talked about the black experience. And if we don’t take the time to read about it, and learn about it, we’ll never be able to imagine what it’s like. Just as they will never know what it’s like for us if they don’t take the time to show understanding and forgive us for what our ancestors did many, many years ago.”

He gave an odd laugh again. “Yeah, so you’re the expert all of a sudden, and that’s all well and good. All I’m saying is, just don’t mix, Shasta. Because if that happens, I promise you, every single time my grandchildren hit the streets, he or she will have to worry about how the world sees them for being black. Being seen as lower than, less than, a minority. I’m asking you; do you want that for your children?”

Her mom turned down a side street, slowing down a bit. “Oh my goodness, Daddy. Let me tell you that I hope you change this racist, bigoted act, because if I ever do have black kids, you will
never
see them. With beliefs like you have, you’d be more detrimental to them than the streets.” She took a deep breath. “I cannot believe how deep this is for you. I mean you really see yourself as superior and them as inferior. And Daddy, it’s not a complex. It’s a reality. You have a superiority complex. The bottom line is that despising race-mixing is racist.”

“It’s not.”

“I say it is.” She added it all up in her head. “Basically you’re a separatist. You support separating groups of people from a larger body, meaning the majority, white, because of ethnicity, religion or gender. That’s what it means.”

“I guess you did take a lot of African American history courses. But I, young lady, I have lived real life. I have a right to decide that I will not work with and live with anyone I don’t want to. Do not bring mixed kids into the world, Shasta.”

She yelled again. “How many black customers or subscribers of yours made you rich? Huh? And how many black people did you have employed at Gibson Media? Out of tens of thousands of employees, how many, Daddy?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m sure your only concern was not to violate Affirmative Action laws.”

“You said that, not me.”

“But I bet you didn’t have any blacks working close to you either.”

“I did. It all depended on what type of person they were.”

“Like the good blacks who act right and the bad blacks who what? Wear hoodies?”

“Shasta, bottom line is, you have been disrespectful since the minute you came home. Don’t you forget, whatever you need to say, I am your father. I won’t have this. I’m fine with integration. All I’ve been saying is, I don’t want my daughter sleeping with someone who would produce mixed kids with her. You’re not supposed to. Your kids will be bullied for being interracial, their hair will be pulled, they’ll be called names like mutt. It’ll be more hurdles. You say you’re just seeing him, but soon he’ll be trying to marry you. Then the crap will get real. And if you do marry him, I won’t be at the wedding. I won’t integrate because you decide to live that life.”

In her spinning head she tried to handle the word
mutt
. “No one said a thing about marriage. Dang! I would teach my kids to handle that, and would not categorize them, if that came to be. What you need to do is integrate your mind and then we can talk. Who I date, or marry, is none of your business, or your buddy Tyson Bain’s business.”

“Oh really? Well, that reminds me: stop fucking Tyson Bain. You think I haven’t been able to guess why he told me. I saw how he looked at you when we’d be at their home in Atlanta for the holidays. I know how he is, and now I know how you are. Good grief, Shasta. You . . .”

She could feel that something big was coming hard and fast. “I what Daddy?”

“You’re already a nigger lover, attending the Academy of Negroes. Don’t be a slut, too!”

“Oh no you didn’t!” Shasta wanted to scream as her mother pulled into a parking space. Shasta’s car was stopped smack-dab in the middle of the lot while she swallowed her father’s distasteful words, and listened.

“You’ve had money. You didn’t need to sleep to the top. But as of now, your trust fund is hereby canceled. I’ll contact the trustee in the morning.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Fine, then do that. Maybe this is your payback for such hate. You take from me what you want. But the most racist people end up having to deal with their children marrying the very people they hate. And here you are. Be careful what you preach.”

“Do what you want with this boy you met. But you need to always remember one thing; intermixing races is like breeding horses and donkeys, which donkeys, by the way, are African wild asses. Just because they procreate, doesn’t make the offspring a horse, or a donkey. It makes it a mule, a cross between a female horse and a male donkey.”

Shasta drove past the front lot, and around to the back. “Oh Lord, what? My God, I’m really trying here! I wish I’d pushed back on this subject with you years ago. So you’re saying my kids would be mules?”

“I have to go.”

“Daddy, fine you go. And I’m going to say this: I’m sorry, but the way you’re talking makes you the jackass. Good fucking bye!”

She expected him to hang up. He was quiet.

“Oh yeah. And take that damn confederate flag down.”

“I’ve been a member of Kappa Alpha for fifty years. That’s all it is.”

“It is more than that. That flag is your kryptonite. It’s 2014, already. You’re now showing that you give the middle finger to civil rights. Taking it down would at least be an expression of God’s grace. If you even care about God’s grace.”

He said slowly and calmly. “Take yours down.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Oh, yes. You do.”

She pulled in a space, and saw that her mom was calling. “You’re going to die alone in that big white house with your big white opinions of hatred, paying eight thousand a month, bitter from your choices.”

“Fine with me. To each his own.”

“Yeah, well, to each her own, too. Your own is white.”

“Your own is black.”

“Ramón is biracial.”

“Are you done?”

“With you, hell yes!” She hung up and turned off the ignition, heated.

For the very first time in her life, Shasta used curse words to her father, and for the first time she hung up on her father. It felt wrong and it felt sinful. Suddenly, her mother walked up to the car smiling, and saying as Shasta opened the door. “Hurry up, darling. We really need to talk.”

Chapter 18

Evans, GA

While sitting at a rear booth at Evans Diner, a small restaurant with a 1950’s décor and a jukebox that played oldies, Charlotte and Shasta said their
Good to see yous
, and
I’ve missed yous
, as the waitress took their orders, and then Charlotte excused herself to head to the ladies room.

Shasta’s heart was still recovering from her conversation with her father. Her head hurt, and she felt drained.

She took a long, cleansing breath and looked over at the large flat screen TV that played an episode of
I Love Lucy
, the one where Lucy and Ethel mash grapes with their feet at a winery. Shasta normally would’ve at least smiled, but she was too distracted from the throb. All that kept running around in her head was her own father calling her a nigger lover, claiming that he wouldn’t want black grandkids, and saying he’d make sure that she would no longer get her trust fund. And she believed him. The ten thousand a month she’d been receiving since she was twenty five would be history. As much as she would be able to live off of the salary she’d saved over the years, and the trust savings account, she hoped that would not happen.

Her phone vibrated along the table. She looked at it.

Ramón: Hey, babe. U ok?

She picked it up.

Shasta: Not really.

Ramón: What?

Shasta: My daddy and I just got into it. It was bad.

Ramón: Oh no. I’m sorry. You want to talk about it? Anything I can do?

Shasta: No. I just sat down to have a late breakfast with my mother. I’ll call u later.

Ramón: Ok. I’ll be waiting. Praying that things get better.

Shasta: Thank u.

Ramón: And babe?

Shasta: Yes?

Ramón: Try to smile. I still wanna be loved. Do u?

Shasta: I do.

Ramón: Bye, babe.

Shasta: Bye.

She thought and then waited.

Shasta: Did u ever hear the lady when we were about to shoot pool call me a Wigger?

Ramón: No!!! Who said that? Why didn’t you tell me?

Shasta: I’ll call you later.

Ramón: Please do. So sorry about that, babe. That’s crazy sick.

Shasta: Ok.

Ramón: Call me as soon as you’re done.

She still couldn’t muster a smile or even a smiley-face. She put the phone back down.

Charlotte returned, just as exuberant and full of smiles as she always was. “Cute phone cover.” She pointed to Shasta’s phone.

“Thanks.”

Charlotte settled her hips into the comfort of the burgundy leather cushion. Her long, glittery French nails, and the huge rock on her ring finger, shined as she folded her hands along the table. “I just can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. When I saw you at church, my heart was full.”

Shasta looked at her mom and remembered how she felt when she first met Charlotte. Shasta was only six years old. She always remembered Charlotte’s energy and sweetness, and then, ten years later, Charlotte was gone. She not only left Shasta’s father, but she left Shasta as well. And it was not appreciated. “Mine too. It’s been too long.”

Charlotte stepped to it, giving soft eyes. “I know that I haven’t been good about reaching out. I understand what you may have felt about what I did. It had nothing to do with you. But I didn’t take the time to tell you and show you otherwise.”