Something She Can Feel

“He’s not just some rapper. He’s sold millions of albums and he got six Grammys last year,” Billie insisted. “And he’s from here.”

“Tuscaloosa?”

“Yes, Dad,” I said.

“Who are his people?” he quizzed.

“The girls at the clinic say he’s one of those Simpsons from Hay Court,” my mother said.

“Oh, he’s from out there? I should’ve known,” my father said, going into one of his speeches about how rap was ruining the black community and the world at the same time. He detested any form of rap music and refused to allow the kids to listen to even gospel rap at the church.

“Journey had him in her class,” Billie said when he was done.

“You did?” My father looked at me as if I’d done something wrong.

“That was seven years ago when I first started teaching. He just sat in the back. He dropped out halfway through the year.” Dame, whose real name was Damien Mitchell, joined the choir with two of his friends, but instead of singing, they mostly sat in the back of the classroom acting up and Dame would often write in a notebook. Because he was clearly the leader of the pack, I’d approach him sometimes, telling him that he was going to fail and that just sitting in the room didn’t mean he was present. He’d promise to do better, but I knew he wouldn’t change. He was a charmer—nice to look at, cocky, but very kind. The sort of boy the girls couldn’t stop looking at and the boys wanted to follow. Those kinds seldom changed.

“So, y’all at my table bragging about some high school dropout, who’s poisoning our kids with trashtalking set to music?” my father said. “He isn’t doing anything but bringing down the community. Probably the reason the school is in such bad shape now.”

“Well, not exactly, Dad,” Evan said. “He’s actually trying to give back.”

“What?” I asked.

“He’s been talking about coming to Black Warrior and donating some money to the school. We’re trying to get a date together right now. Could be as soon as the week after next.”

“You didn’t tell me about that.”

“It could still fall through,” Evan said. “He’s coming off of his promo tour and getting ready for a world tour later this year. I didn’t want to speak before anything was confirmed. He’s trying to get BET on board.”

“Well, you can pump blood money into that school if you want,” my father said. “It won’t make things better.”

“Oh, Jethro,” my mother tried correcting him, “what do you want the boy to do? Give back or not? If the school needs money, they should take it. Just imagine if all these basketball players and football players and rappers all went back to their hometowns and gave away money. Look, let’s not ruin Journey’s birthday dinner talking about this. We should just discuss positive things.”

“Thank you, Mama,” I said, not knowing I’d want her to take that back in ten short seconds.

“Fine with me,” my father said, turning to focus on me. “When are you and Evan going to give me a grandbaby?” he asked. “You’re thirty-three. You don’t want to wait until your eggs dry up.”

“Dad—how could you even say something like that? Look, my eggs aren’t going anywhere,” I said, avoiding looking in May’s direction. I hated it when he said things like that in front of her. “I’m fine.”

“Well, what’s the holdup?” he continued. “You got a husband, a good job, a home.... Do you need something else?”

Everyone at the table stopped eating and looked at me. Even Evan. He’d been working on me about this for a while now. It had turned into a regular argument and once it was clear that I hadn’t made a decision and wouldn’t stop taking the birth control pill until I did, he simply stopped having sex with me. He’d been claiming he was tired, but I suspected he was just trying to punish me by controlling me in some other way.

“It’s not about what I need. I just want to do some other things in my life before I have a baby. I mean, I want to travel. I’m thirty-three and I’ve never used my passport.”

“Well, you should’ve thought about that when you were younger,” my father said.

“Where you want to go? Spring break in Cancun or something?” Jr laughed.

“You two back off,” my mother said. “Journey, if this is about travel, why can’t you and Evan just take a trip together. You can go somewhere special before you have the baby.”

“That’s not what—” I tried, but Evan cut me off.

“We’ve actually been talking about having a baby.” Evan slid his hand on top of mine on the table. Everyone got quiet. “Maybe this summer.”

“Wonderful!” my mother shouted as if she hadn’t heard anything I’d said and only Evan’s words counted.

“Really?” May looked at me glumly.