slammed the door, as Paxton sat down on the couch with a look of dismay. It was going to be interesting anyway. And certainly different.
The next to arrive was a pale, ethereal-looking girl with a milk-white face, jet-black hair to her waist, china-blue eyes, and she appeared to be wearing an almost transparent white nightgown. “Hi,” she whispered, “I’m Dawn.” And she was from Des Moines. And her given name had actually been Gertrude. Dawn had come upon her more recently, with a little touch of LSD, during her senior year, and she had decided to continue to use it. Dawn Steinberg. She was also an honor student, and had played viola with the local orchestra, and she’d been offered a scholarship at Berkeley. She had been assigned to the other room, and she opened the door Yvonne had slammed only moments before, and closed it gently again, and no one emerged. There were no screams. There were no sounds at all, and Paxton could only gather that Ms. Gilbert was satisfied with her new roommate. Des Moines did not have to live down the racist reputation Yvonne had accused Savannah of having.
And as Paxton pondered the two young women she had just met, she decided to unpack her bags. The two duffels and the trunk had been left in her room the day before, and she decided to make both beds. It would make the room look friendlier when her roommate arrived, and she found herself suddenly praying that she wouldn’t be black, angry, and hate women from Georgia … please, God … she whispered to herself.… I know I may not deserve this, and you have better things to do today … but could you please make her like me?
Her roommate still hadn’t arrived at four o’clock, and Paxton decided to stock their small fridge. Before she left for the nearest market, she stopped and knocked at the other girls’ door, and it seemed to take a long time but finally Dawn came to the door and answered.
“Yes?” she whispered at Paxton, as though afraid someone would hear her. Although her hearing was good, Paxxie found it almost impossible to understand what Dawn was saying. And the temptation when talking to her was to whisper back. Even a normal tone of voice sounded too loud when trying to converse with this ethereal vision.
“Do you want something from the store?” Paxton whispered back to her. “I wanted to go out and get some food. I’m starving.” Suddenly, she was missing Queenie’s well-stocked kitchen. And for her, it was seven o’clock at night and she was ready for dinner.
“I’d love some herb tea and honey, and some lemons … and maybe some brown bread.” None of it sounded appealing to Paxton, but she was willing to bring anything back in order to make friends, and she quickly jotted down Dawn’s order.
“What about Yvonne?” she said carefully. “Would she like anything?” Paxton glanced into the room and saw that they’d been unpacking. Dawn had put up some posters, and Yvonne had clothes everywhere, and there were colorful blankets and a pair of pink satin bedspreads that looked more like Alabama than Des Moines, but it was a little hard to tell in the confusion. “Do you want anything from the store?” Paxton spoke directly to Yvonne as she approached the door with a hostile look at Paxton.
“Yeah. Martin Luther King. Think you can find him, sugar?”
“Don’t give me that.” Paxton looked annoyed. “You’re making some pretty crummy assumptions, considering the fact that we only met two hours ago, and you don’t know me.” Paxton wasn’t afraid of her, and the girl’s prejudice made her angry.
“What assumptions should I make?” Yvonne stood almost nose to nose with her, but Paxton didn’t back down. She knew she had to establish herself with the girl now, or forget it. And she didn’t hesitate to stand her ground. Paxton was passionate and strong, and she had a quiet kind of courage. Living with her mother’s constant chill had taught her to be strong a long time before,
The next to arrive was a pale, ethereal-looking girl with a milk-white face, jet-black hair to her waist, china-blue eyes, and she appeared to be wearing an almost transparent white nightgown. “Hi,” she whispered, “I’m Dawn.” And she was from Des Moines. And her given name had actually been Gertrude. Dawn had come upon her more recently, with a little touch of LSD, during her senior year, and she had decided to continue to use it. Dawn Steinberg. She was also an honor student, and had played viola with the local orchestra, and she’d been offered a scholarship at Berkeley. She had been assigned to the other room, and she opened the door Yvonne had slammed only moments before, and closed it gently again, and no one emerged. There were no screams. There were no sounds at all, and Paxton could only gather that Ms. Gilbert was satisfied with her new roommate. Des Moines did not have to live down the racist reputation Yvonne had accused Savannah of having.
And as Paxton pondered the two young women she had just met, she decided to unpack her bags. The two duffels and the trunk had been left in her room the day before, and she decided to make both beds. It would make the room look friendlier when her roommate arrived, and she found herself suddenly praying that she wouldn’t be black, angry, and hate women from Georgia … please, God … she whispered to herself.… I know I may not deserve this, and you have better things to do today … but could you please make her like me?
Her roommate still hadn’t arrived at four o’clock, and Paxton decided to stock their small fridge. Before she left for the nearest market, she stopped and knocked at the other girls’ door, and it seemed to take a long time but finally Dawn came to the door and answered.
“Yes?” she whispered at Paxton, as though afraid someone would hear her. Although her hearing was good, Paxxie found it almost impossible to understand what Dawn was saying. And the temptation when talking to her was to whisper back. Even a normal tone of voice sounded too loud when trying to converse with this ethereal vision.
“Do you want something from the store?” Paxton whispered back to her. “I wanted to go out and get some food. I’m starving.” Suddenly, she was missing Queenie’s well-stocked kitchen. And for her, it was seven o’clock at night and she was ready for dinner.
“I’d love some herb tea and honey, and some lemons … and maybe some brown bread.” None of it sounded appealing to Paxton, but she was willing to bring anything back in order to make friends, and she quickly jotted down Dawn’s order.
“What about Yvonne?” she said carefully. “Would she like anything?” Paxton glanced into the room and saw that they’d been unpacking. Dawn had put up some posters, and Yvonne had clothes everywhere, and there were colorful blankets and a pair of pink satin bedspreads that looked more like Alabama than Des Moines, but it was a little hard to tell in the confusion. “Do you want anything from the store?” Paxton spoke directly to Yvonne as she approached the door with a hostile look at Paxton.
“Yeah. Martin Luther King. Think you can find him, sugar?”
“Don’t give me that.” Paxton looked annoyed. “You’re making some pretty crummy assumptions, considering the fact that we only met two hours ago, and you don’t know me.” Paxton wasn’t afraid of her, and the girl’s prejudice made her angry.
“What assumptions should I make?” Yvonne stood almost nose to nose with her, but Paxton didn’t back down. She knew she had to establish herself with the girl now, or forget it. And she didn’t hesitate to stand her ground. Paxton was passionate and strong, and she had a quiet kind of courage. Living with her mother’s constant chill had taught her to be strong a long time before,
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