There’s a new episode available for reading from The Gospel According to Juliette series! Here’s an excerpt but you have to visit my Kindle Vella link to read the whole thing!
Chapter Three
Hello
“I don’t mind coming back later to pick you up after class. The whole reason I’m here is to help you get back on your feet,” Uncle Brady says to me as we drive up to the administrative building of the community college campus.
“It’s ok. I’ll be fine. I like taking the bus,” I say, uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze.
His dark brown eyes peer into mine intensely, as if probing for the truth, before he finally shrugs and says, “Ok. Call me if you change your mine.”
“One point to Jules, zero to Uncle Brady,” I think triumphantly to myself at having withstood that look from him without breaking.
He’s been living with me and Mo since the end of April, two weeks after mom’s funeral, and to say that he’s been suffocating is putting it mildly. As I’d predicted, he’d given me a pep talk as soon as he’d arrived and had told me point blank that he would be taking over my daily schedule until he felt like I was being productive enough to his (and mom’s) standards.
He had been forcing me to wake up for Fajr prayer every day, then to go for a mile jog with him, then to go back home to eat breakfast where he’d been grilling me about my goals for my life. I had had to come up with a plan quickly just to get some space from him. And here I am today, about to start class seeking a master’s degree in anthropology. He wasn’t convinced that I could make a career out of that degree, but it had at least gotten him to back off some. I’m not much happier than I had been back in April, and there’s a hole in my heart that plummets endlessly through to my soul because I miss mom so much, but I am able to go through the motions: I’m able to function, even if it doesn’t quite feel like living.
“What are you going to do for lunch? I can come by to get you and we can go somewhere: I saw an Indian restaurant down the road,” Uncle Brady says hopefully.
He’s only 52 years old but you would think he is older than that by the way he dresses and carries himself. It’s September in Houston Texas which means it’s still as hot as it was in the middle of the summer and he’s wearing a long-sleeved button-down shirt under a suit jacket with a pair of slacks, and he’s on vacation from work so there’s no excuse for him to be dressed this way. He’s impeccably groomed, from his thin, neat dreadlocks to his designer shoes, and I smile to myself as I think about what my mother would say.
“You know your uncle. He was 35 at 12 years old so there’s only so much you can expect of him now.”
His handsome features transform into an encouraging smile and it’s a wonder that he has never been married. Every time I’ve ever asked him about it, he says, “I’m married to my work.” I return his smile as best I can and reach for the car door handle to let myself out.
“There’s a cafeteria here on campus. I’ll grab something between classes. But thanks,” I say, adding the thanks after I see his smile waver when I decline the offer.
“Ok. That’s fine. How about I get some Indian take out for dinner? We can eat together when you get home and you can tell me all about your day,” he responds, never the one to easily back down.
“Sounds good,” I reply with a smile and step out of the car. “Love you. As salaamu Alaikum.”
“Love you more. Wasalaamu alaikum my girl. I’m proud of you,” he says, and I can hear the change in his voice as it thickens with emotion.
I meet his gaze and my smile widens. That means a lot. Where mom was always the emotionally expressive sibling, Uncle Brady had always been the stoic, logical one.
“Thanks,” I reply, and my throat tightens with emotions that I keep in check. “See you tonight.”
I close the car door and he sends me a parting wave of good-bye before driving away. I sigh with relief when I see his car disappear around the back of the building.
Liberty!
Four months of house arrest had made the prospect of today feel like a cross country road trip. I love my uncle more than most, but it feels good to be on my own and away from the house where he watches my every move. Mom and Mo had always given me my space, but Uncle Brady wasn’t having it. It’s too bad I only have class three times a week, but hopefully I’ll meet some people and I can have an excuse to get out more.
I walk pass the administrative building towards the center of the campus and I’m glad to see that there are a lot of students around. My grades hadn’t been good enough to get into the master’s program at Rice University, but community college is a better fit anyway, I think. It will give me to get back into the flow of schoolwork. If things work out, I think about applying again later and transferring my credits.
I receive a few quizzical glances from a group of young women sitting at a table outside of the social sciences building but they look away when I smile casually at them. They don’t smile back. It could be because of the way I’m dressed in my printed yellow sundress and yellow khimar which may seem foreign looking to them, but I’m pretty sure it’s because of my chocolate brown skin. I shrug it off, as my mother has taught me to do, but I can’t ignore the sting. I pull my iphone from my dress’ side pocket and distract myself by looking at the time. Twenty more minutes until the start of class.
There’s an empty table on the opposite side of the entrance so I walk over there and sit down with my back turned towards the young women. I rummage through my bag for my airpods to listen to music while I wait for the class to start but I can’t find them. I don’t think I left them at home, but I just might have done so in the rush to get out of the house. I take my laptop out of my shoulder bag, then my wallet, and I peer into the dark depths of the fabric for my little white container holding my airpods but I don’t see it.
“Hello.”
The deep male voice has a smooth throaty rumble and a slight New England accent. I can recognize the accent because most of my mother’s family, including Uncle Brady, speak with the same pronunciation. I look up from my bag to see where it’s coming from. There’s a tall, slim white guy with curly brown hair and bright blue eyes standing in front of me. Was he talking to me?
“Hello?” I reply, confused and a little wary.
Most of my encounters with white guys here in Texas have not been good and I tense defensively. He better not ask me what I’m doing here.
“Do you need help with anything? You look like you’ve lost something?” he says with a friendly smile.
He’s wearing a New England Patriot’s baseball cap and takes it off respectfully.
“Can I sit down?” he asks.
Stunned by his demeanor, I nod and continue to eye him warily, forgetting about my airpods. He’s wearing jeans and a dark blue T-Shirt with a New England Patriot’s logo on it and has on a pair of what I know to be very expensive Nike basketball sneakers which confuses me even further. The white guys I’ve run into in Texas do not dress like this.
“Have you lost something?” he repeats, looking concerned, and I definitely hear the sounds of New England in his accent.
I shake my head no, now more curious than wary about who this guy is and what he wants. He seems friendly enough, and his smile is disarming. Having spent most of my life in Atlanta, I don’t have much experience with white people in general because we lived in a predominantly black neighborhood, and so far, here in Texas, the neighborhoods were just as segregated as they had been in Georgia.
“No. I’m fine. I think I forgot my airpods at home,” I reply.
He laughs and asks, “Why are you looking at me like that? I’m not a serial killer or anything.”
His laughter is loud and genuine. It make me smile and let my guard down.
“One can never be too careful,” I reply.
He laughs again and offers his hand to me in greeting.
“I’m Benjamin. Are you here for Anthro 101?” he asks.
I hesitantly offer my hand in response, not used to being approached so boldly by guys, especially white guys, but intrigued.
Read the rest of the episode here!