and she wasn’t afraid of the angry black girl from Alabama. “You’re from Georgia, aren’t you?” Yvonne went on. “What am I supposed to think?”
“You’re supposed to give me a chance. Just like I’m supposed to do for you. Isn’t that what civil rights is all about? We judge each other on who we are, what we think, what we believe, what we stand for, what we do , not the color of each other’s skin … or just because your skin is black and my license plate says Georgia. Maybe it’s not even my car. Maybe you’re dead wrong about me. Maybe there’s a reason why I’m not sitting around smelling magnolia blossoms and drinking mint juleps in the Deep South. Did you ever think of that? I’ll bet that never even occurred to you. Not everyone white in the South is related to George Wallace. Give me a chance, for chrissake. It might pay off.” That was the whole point wasn’t it? What Martin Luther King marched for.
“Yeah. Great. Bring me back a six-pack of Coke and a pack of Kools.” No thank-you, no please. She just turned around and strutted back into her bedroom. And Paxton added her requests to the list without saying a word, and walked out of their quad to find the nearest food store off campus. It was going to be interesting dealing with Yvonne, she thought to herself. She was angry, and filled with hate, and Paxton wondered if they would ever make it. She had tried to make friends with the few black girls she met, at volunteer projects, and on a church camping trip, much to her mother and Queenie’s dismay. Their generation was not ready for that, and it had upset Queenie even more than her mother. But it was something she felt differently about. Once, when she’d gone to lunch with a black girl she knew slightly, they hadn’t been served and Paxton was livid. They’d gone to three restaurants, and finally given up, and shared a bag of potato chips on a bench in Forsyth Park. But the black girl understood. She was used to it, and she’d been touched by Paxton’s caring and compassion.
And for a long time, Paxton had wanted to go on a march, but so far she hadn’t dared, because she knew that if she got arrested, her mother would lock her in the house for a year. And more than that, it would have mortified Paxton’s mother among her friends, and Paxton hadn’t had the heart to put her through it. But one day, she knew she would. One day, she knew she would have to. And here she was, suddenly living with a black girl who hated her just because she was from Georgia. And suddenly she laughed as she crossed Telegraph. She laughed so hard that a couple of people turned around, because she suddenly realized what her mother would have said if she knew one of her roommates was black. And Queenie! Paxton was glad. And she was going to make friends with Yvonne, no matter what it took to do it.
She bought everything on their list, and then candy bars for all of them, a couple of Cokes for herself, and a few things to make sandwiches with, and a box of doughnuts. She carried the bag back to their room, and as she walked up the stairs, she saw a slightly overweight but attractive short redheaded girl trying to drag three suitcases up the stairs at once, while a very good-looking, tall young blond man wrestled with an enormous trunk that seemed to weigh a lot more than he did.
“What the hell did you put in this thing, Gab? Rocks? Or barbells?”
“Just a few books … there’s nothing in it, really … I swear.…”
“Bullshit. You carry this thing. I’ll be damned if I’ll get a hernia hauling your goddamn luggage all over school.” He looked wildly exasperated as Paxton attempted discreetly to get by them, and then decided to offer a hand, although the trunk didn’t look too appealing.
“Maybe if the three of us carry it?” she said hesitantly, looking from one to the other as they stood on the stairs, and she juggled her groceries on one hip, and prayed she wouldn’t blush while
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