Culture Clash Read online

  Mrs. Malone did bring up a valid point, which I may argue with my pen instead of my mouth. Charlotte spoke again about the validity of dreaming and, as usual, she pointed to her daddy’s work for evidence that dreams are the imagination’s way of staying active while asleep. I damn sure wasn’t going to admit out loud to finding any truth in her argument, but she did have a good point. My imagination gets quite a workout when I dream.

  Since I awoke from my dream this morning, my sight has been tripping. I’m used to having very vivid dreams, of course. But being able to again see as Mama and Maman see, scared me a little. Being able to conjure the powers in my lineage was something I thought had been reserved for my forced dream-walk through Misty’s mind on Valentine’s Day. With Mama’s help and my mom’s guidance I was able to walk through Misty’s dreams and undo all of her evil wishes. I unwove the twisted reality she created with the help of my ancestors and their collective vision powers, especially Maman’s. But I don’t think I’m supposed to be able to still use their powers, whether I’m dreaming about them or not. I’ll have to ask Mama about that when I get to Netta’s shop after school.

  “Hey, Jayd. Got a minute?” Reid asks as I make my way up the steep hill to my sixth period gym class. Since dance was only offered for one semester, I was automatically enrolled in AP weight lifting, which is just fine with me. I like the solitude of working in the weight room. And I also like the tone I’m gaining in my arms and legs from the program I’m on.

  “What is it, Reid? I don’t have time to argue with you about anything right now,” I pant. This hill is taking a lot out of me. I brought books for my English and government classes with me so I wouldn’t have to go back to my locker after school. But now I’m seeing that that may not have been the best idea, with the sun beating down on me like it is. It’s that time of year in Los Angeles, when it’s cold in the morning and hot in the afternoon.

  “I don’t want to fight either. I just want to know what you’re really up to,” Reid says. I don’t like the sound of his voice. He sounds a bit creepy, like a serial killer stalking his prey. And I’m in no mood to run, nor can I with my heavy backpack weighing me down.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I look over my shoulder at Reid struggling to keep up with me. He’s not fat, but he does have a spare tire or two hanging around his waist. If he didn’t have money I doubt he’d have a girlfriend, especially one who thinks she’s as pretty as Laura knows she is.

  “Yes, you do. I know all about your little club,” Reid says, this time even more disturbingly than before. “What do you think you’ll accomplish with an African Student Union? And who do you think you are, bringing that type of club—if you can even call it that—to South Bay High?”

  I halt my trek to look Reid in the eyes while I cuss him out. Who does he think he is, questioning me?

  “Reid, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m just as much a student here as you are. And because I attend this school, I’m allotted the same rights as everyone else, including you. So yes, I thought it would be a great idea if the students of African descent could have a club to call our own and represent our culture while we’re at it. If you have a problem with that, tough.” I spin back around on my heel and continue my walk toward the gymnasium, with Reid hot on my tail. What’s gotten into him this afternoon?

  “It will be tough for you and your new club. It won’t last, Jayd. Mark my words. You will be defeated.” And just like that, my eyes begin to glow like they did in my dream last night. The elder brother in the dream thought he could defeat me until I pulled on Maman’s vision to help me kick his ass. And this time, without even calling on it, I can feel Maman’s power resurface through my gaze. What the hell?

  Noticing me stop, Reid walks around and looks at me, smiling like he’s the victor, but he’s in for a surprise. I look up, trying to gain control over my collective vision, but not before Reid looks directly into my eyes. And that’s his final bad.

  “My head!” Reid screams, putting his hands to his temples, trying to massage the pain away, like all the other victims that have fallen under the power of Maman’s wrath. He looks a whole lot less bad when he’s squirming. “What are you doing to me?”

  “What am I doing to you?” I ask, now toying with him like the pest that he is. Reid needs to be humbled and I’m just the girl to do it. The bell must’ve rung a few minutes ago, because not a soul is present to witness their mighty ASB president fall to his knees at my feet. “You came up to me talking shit, or don’t you remember? I was just trying to get to class.” Maman’s powers pulsate in my head. I can feel the blood pumping rapidly through my veins, the pulse matching the throbbing apparent in Reid’s temples. This is the freshest shit ever.

  “Jayd, stop. Whatever you’re doing, please make it stop,” Reid says, now quietly pleading. I can’t help but feel sorry for him, but not that sorry. I still think he needs to learn a lesson in manners. But unfortunately I don’t have the time to play with him any longer. We’re given only ten minutes to dress out and then it’s roll call. If I’m late I’ll have to run a mile, and I’m not down for that, especially not in this heat.

  “I don’t take threats lightly, Mr. President,” I say, almost whispering. “Remember that the next time you’re feeling especially bold,” I add, unlocking my visual hold on him. I have to get this power in check if I’m going to possess it on the regular.

  Without making a sound, Reid makes his way up off the ground and looks at me like he’s just seen a ghost. I wish I could tell him how close to the truth that thought is, but that’d be taking it one step too far. He’s already felt the power of my lineage and that’s enough for now. Reid looks at me and I at him. It’s about time he recognized there are other powerful people on this campus besides him. And, much like the fighters in my dream, the sooner Reid recognizes the powerful blood flowing through my veins, the better off he’ll be.

  When I finally made it to the weight room for sixth period, I worked out so hard I sweated out my press and curl, not that I mind much. Working out helps me calm down. That coupled with last night’s psychic workout has given me a confidence I never knew I had. And after mentally kicking Reid’s ass a couple of hours ago, I feel like I can conquer the world. I’ve been walking with this secret all day and I’m ready to let it out, but unfortunately today we have an audience at work.

  I park my car in the crowded lot and make my way to the front door of Netta’s Never Nappy Beauty Shop. The small salon is packed with clients, busy even for a Friday afternoon. Spring brings out the need to be beautiful in the sistahs and I’m looking forward to the tips. I ring the bell and look down at my buzzing phone, where Rah’s name appears on the caller ID. The ladies in the shop all look up and wave at me without missing a beat from their vibrant gossiping.

  I push the ignore button on my phone as Netta makes her way from the wash area to her station where the security buzzer is located. From the stressed look on my face, I know Netta can tell it’s Rah I’m ignoring. It’s only been a week since Sandy made her presence permanent at Rah’s house, and I’m still feeling the impact of that atomic bomb.

  “Hey, lil queen,” Netta says, buzzing me through the front door. “Get your apron, girl, and get those two heads out of the wash bowls for me as soon as you wash up. And then I need you to get to work on the clients’ boxes. We are way behind,” Netta says, smiling and smacking her Doublemint chewing gum. She moves toward the dryers where all three seats are occupied and checks her clients’ progress. The five women in the shop look at me as I cross the room to the wall where the closets are housed, momentarily suspending their chatter.

  “Hi, y’all,” I say, quickly following Netta’s directions and heading to the back of the shop to cleanse my head and hands before I start my work. As usual, Mama’s hard at work mixing products and tending to the heart and soul of Netta’s Never Nappy Beauty Shop, like only she can.

  “Well, well, well. Isn’t it Miss Chatter-in-my-sleep,�
�� Mama says, kissing me as I greet her in the spirit room/office while she’s working hard, as usual.

  “Hi, Mama,” I say, walking into the bathroom across the hall. I know she’s about to grill me about last night, but we can’t get into the ins and outs of my dreamworld while clients are present, even if we’re in the back of the quaint building. I want to tell Mama so badly that I think I’ve maintained some of the gifts I received while sleepwalking last week, but this time they’re positive and manageable—mainly because I’m staying in one place while dreaming instead of walking all over the place.

  “So, how was your day?” Mama asks, mixing the sweet-smelling cream in her mortar, carefully adding ingredients as she blends. It smells like coconut and an herb I can’t quite put my finger on. Whatever it is, the scent simultaneously lifts my spirits and calms me down.

  “Let’s just say I’m glad it’s the weekend.” And I’ll be even happier when I get to my mom’s house tonight. I want to take a long bath and finish the next chapter in my novel before I go to sleep. Ms. Toni was right; I’m loving this book.

  “And yours?” I ask, retrieving the blend of Florida Water and lavender oil wash that we use to cleanse ourselves before working on clients’ heads. I begin my wash, leaving the door open so I can hear Mama’s response. I’m glad Netta has a bathroom for her clients in the wash area and a private one back here for us.

  “It’s going well,” she says, glancing in the direction of the main shop. I know the women in there are haters of Mama’s and they know better than to mess with her. I’m sure their energy must work Mama’s nerves, even if she could crush them with one look. It must be hard, having all the power you need to hurt your enemies yet being wise enough to control it. That’s one of many lessons that I’ve yet to master.

  “Jayd, let’s go,” Netta yells. Mama smiles at me and passes me a clean towel from the shelf behind her to dry off from my quick cleansing.

  “Thank you,” I say, taking the towel from her hands. The scent of her work is on the towel, surging up my nose and through my entire body, making me feel better than I have all week. Mama smiles at my reaction and returns her focus to the creation in front of her. I finish patting myself dry and step back into the spirit room to return the cleansing potion to its place before I get to work.

  When I walk back into the main room, the clients seated at the dryers stare toward the back of the shop where Mama’s working and talk amongst themselves. At least they know better than to voice their gossip within our hearing, not that Mama cares one way or another. I can’t wait until they leave so I can talk to her and Netta without spying ears and eyes, which won’t be for a few more hours. But as long as we get some time together, I know I can get some clarity on my issues.

  After the last client finally leaves, we get busy cleaning the shop and catching up on our days. I gather the wet towels and other laundry left behind from the busy day and put them in the laundry basket—I’ll wash them first thing in the morning. After collecting the last of the dirty laundry, I replace all of the old linens with fresh ones and listen while Mama and Netta talk. They chat about the clients and their lives, but mostly about the progress of their individual hair regimens.

  Like two doctors prescribing medicinal cocktails, Mama and Netta tailor each client’s box with exactly what they need to maintain their healthy heads. It’s amazing what you can learn about someone from how they wear their hair and what they use on it. Mama makes a product for everything from insomnia to being broke. I placed the cream Mama made earlier into small containers to spread out among the various clients in need of a calm head. No wonder I responded so well to the scent: at that moment it was just what I needed.

  Last night’s dream still has me a little shook up, not to mention the mental ass-whipping I gave Reid earlier this afternoon. The more time I’ve had to digest what went down today, the more certain I have become that I can never do that again, which means I have to learn how to control that part of my sight—just like I am doing with my dreams. What if someone had seen us? This time I would not have been able to feign innocence like I did when I choked up Reid’s girlfriend. Laura would happily testify on his behalf and the witch hunt would be on—again. And I doubt that I could escape another accusation that I hurt a student with my voodoo ways. I’m sure the zero-tolerance rule applies to me using my gifts to do harm, too.

  “You know Ms. Simms’s husband is causing her all sorts of stress. Did you see those bald patches popping up all over her scalp? She’s going to need some of your quick-grow balm with honey, Lynn Mae. A lot of it,” Netta says, picking through the various containers of Mama’s creations on the counter across from the cabinets where the clients’ boxes and other storage items are housed. It takes up an entire wall and is organized to perfection. Netta’s a true professional about her shit.

  “And some of the aloe vera cream we made last week. That’ll help those scratches on her head heal faster. She needs to stop letting that man and his gambling stress her out. He’s been that way since I went to that church, and ain’t changed in the thirty years since,” Mama says, passing her a small jar full of her suggestion. Netta takes it from her and places it into the plastic box.

  “Well, you know that woman as well as I do. She thinks as long as he shows up at church on Sunday morning that there’s a chance her husband can be saved,” Netta says, sealing the box and moving on to the next. They have about ten more to go before they’re done with that project and on to the next. There’s always something to do around here.

  “That’s the problem right there,” Mama says, shaking her hand up in the air. “These folks think it’s up to someone else to save a grown-ass person. The only way someone can truly be saved is to do the work themselves. That’s where the healing begins.” Netta nods her head vigorously in agreement while scanning the remaining inventory.

  “And if you try to do it the other way around, you end up losing your hair and coming to us to help save you,” Netta says, making us all laugh. These are the most healing times we have together; just talking and cleaning. I could use a little therapeutic conversation of my own, but I’ll ease my dream and daily events into the conversation at the right time. Right now I’m enjoying the two elders in the room vibing with one another.

  “That’s why she wants you to come speak at the church tomorrow. She and all of them other women up there want the chance to pick your brain about saving their marriages,” Netta says, causing Mama to roll her eyes.

  “Mama, you’re going to church in the morning?” I ask, completely shocked at the thought of Mama sitting quietly through one of Daddy’s sermons. I thought I’d never see that happen in my lifetime.

  “Hell no,” Mama says, equally shocked at me for even having the thought in my head. “Every year for Black History Month, colored folk month, African American month, or whatever the hell else they call the shortest month of the year, these fools at your granddaddy’s church ask me to come and do a talk about traditional African culture, like they don’t remember that we have a shared history of being the survivors of captivity in this country.” Mama sucks her teeth out of disgust at the thought of stepping foot in Daddy’s church.

  “I hear you, Lynn Mae,” Netta says in agreement, without looking up from her work. Netta always has Mama’s back, no matter what the issue is.

  “Some people are so ashamed of their African heritage that they’d rather pay someone to come and talk about our collective history than do the digging themselves. Some black people are simply uncomfortable with the idea of being African,” Mama says with a stressed look across her brow. She really needs to relax. A vacation would do Mama some good.

  “Tell me about it,” I say, easing into my confession for the day. “This white boy at school who thinks he owns the place is mad at me because I initiated the first African Student Union on campus. He actually had the nerve to step to me today and warn me about what would happen if I didn’t back down from making the club official.” Mama and Ne
tta stop their organizing and look up at me, smiling.

  “Good for you, little Jayd. She’s sporting her crown high on her head, ain’t she, Lynn Mae?” Netta says, beaming from ear to ear. I knew they’d be proud of me if I eased my story in at an opportune moment.

  “Good for you, Jayd,” Mama says, returning to her duties. “And don’t worry about that white boy. They’re always threatened by the presence of a strong black woman,” she says, and I know Mama knows all about that kind of drama. “I decided a long time ago that I’m not here to make anyone comfortable, especially not white men. As far as I’m concerned, this is their country and they tend to think that this is their world, too.”

  “Amen to that,” Netta chimes in. The two of them together crack me up every time, except for when they’re mad at me. I just hope this evening is not one of those times after I tell them how I reacted to Reid’s racist threat, even if I am slightly proud of my newfound clout.

  “Even some of the black folks at the school are hating,” I say, grabbing the broom and dustpan from the corner in preparation for my next chore. “And the majority of the ones that are participating in the club don’t want to take the time to learn anything other than what they already think they know about being black. But luckily Mr. Adewale and Ms. Toni are our advisers, and I know they’ll make sure we receive the proper guidance.” I’m looking forward to spending some time with both of my favorite teachers outside of our regular classes.

  “Of course the black students are hating,” Netta says, now prepping fresh tools for tomorrow while Mama finishes the clients’ boxes. If Friday was this busy, tomorrow should be off the chain—and so will the money we earn.