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13. The Race to Who We Are
- Gallaudet University Press
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13 "I:.eRace to Who We Are two solids in (all one it) solution . .. -E. E. CUMMINGS, "WELL, HERE'S LOOKING AT OURSELVES" "D d ....." o you want to go owntownr I felt awkward and embarrassed as the signs fell off the hands before me. I tried to keep my face open, and not show any astonishment or fear. Even looking back, I am surprised by my own discomfort . I had been on campus for weeks already, one person among many going about my business in the nation's capital, one student among many studying at Gallaudet. I'd felt acclimated, even sophisticated . Then this question was dropped on my unsuspecting plate. It wasn't the question itsel£ of course. I was taken aback because the hands that asked it were dark hands; they belonged to Plumie Gainey, the only black girl in our class. Plumie, so gentle and quiet, seemed an unlikely person to approach me so directly. At home, no nice black person like Plumie would ever ask such a question. Not if they didn't want to be laughed at-and maybe tarred and feathered besides. 154 '!he Race to Who We Are "This is Washington, D.C.," someone fussed at me when I mentioned it. Okay. I lived in a big city now. Of course, I had noticed that black and white people mixed freely here, at least compared to my home in Louisiana. Downtown there were even interracial couples, black and white young people holding hands right in front ofeveryone , as ifthe whole world could take a collective leap offthe nearest bridge. No one seemed to notice anything askew when different colored bodies walked or kissed or coupled up. Two years before I arrived, people-mostly black, but white, too-converged on Washington, demanding racial equality. Blacks and whites physically mingled here. I didn't quarrel with this principle , though I couldn't quite embrace it. It was just another trauma to be borne, not like the heavy traffic and smog, which were evil things. More like the signs ofthe New Yorkers, which were neither better nor worse than our own, but fast and strange, and still sometimes forced me, rattled, to make conscious mental translations in order to comprehend a classmate. They were like all the demonstrations that filled the capitol-people walking around, hollering, carrying signs. They had a point, sure. I agreed with it, though it made me uncomfortable. Aware that the racial prejudice I'd brought with me from Louisiana was totally uncool, I stared back at Plumie, embarrassed, and at a loss about what to say. My stillness didn't matter, though, because around me all was commotion. "I'll go!" cried one girl. "Me too!" said another. "Let me get my jacket," said a third. And the inevitable: "First, the bathroom!" To my flat-out astonishment, my white classmates were hurrying to go downtown with Plumie. As they prepared, I was left standing alone. Plumie looked at me expectantly. "I have to work," I finally managed to lie. She smiled and nodded, seemingly not too concerned one way or another. "Can I borrow your lipstick?" someone asked. 155 [18.232.88.17] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 19:56 GMT) Orchid oftheCBayou I turned and grappled in my purse, but they were making the request ofPlumie. "Sure," she said. A hallmate brushed me aside as she buttoned her jacket. "Washington gets cold," she counseled from the wisdom of her Southern blood. Shaken, I returned to my room. I couldn't resist walking to the window and watching them leave campus, a brightly-colored throng. From deep down in my head, my daddy's words throbbed. Ifyou getpregnant . .. I'm not sure why that particular warning sprang to consciousness , why my memory chose to throw this particular snippet of interaction before me. Hearing people tell me sometimes songs lodge unwillingly in their memories to resurface and continually replay even though they try to think of other things. Ifyou getpregnant . . · That was my song. It ricocheted around my head like some sort ofspastic pinball. I wouldn't tell anyone of course. I sat down and worked on my homework. I was feeling out of sorts. The afternoon dragged on. I finished some English assignments and returned to the window. The girls were returning, walking through the gates in an animated clump. They headed directly for the snack bar, barely even glancing in my direction. They look no different, I thought. By...