Rebellious energy - short story - Black South Fiction, Art, Culture

African American Review, Summer, 1993 by Kiini Ibura Salaam

It was hot. The heat had transformed the atmosphere from the inconspicuous gaseous matter we recognize as air into something thicker and more tangible. This was the kind of heat that had personality and it was bold. Intent on making its presence felt, it dared to saunter up to you with the hot kisses and intimate caresses of a passionate lover. It would unabashedly crawl into unsuspecting bodies and dance up and down blood vessels, leaping and flickering like a campfire's flame. And unless you could afford to run your air conditioner all day, you would not only absorb the heat, but begin to generate it as well.

Like many New Orleanians, Asi Tendaji couldn't afford to run her air conditioner all day. Besides, it wasn't even hers - it was her mother's and her mother would throw a "nigger-bitch fit" if she did. It was ten o'clock in the morning, and the sun was parading around like it was high noon. Asi was on the bus, coming back from making groceries. She had intentionally taken the long route home so that she could enjoy the cool air on the bus, but as luck would have it, the bus that Asi caught had no AC. Right now Asi was trying her damndest to figure out how to get her heat-generating body into some cool air. After a moment's deliberation, Asi decided to visit her neighborhood friend Malene, who not only lived down the block, but also ran her AC all day.

An irritating buzzing sound drew Asi out of her thoughts. She had almost missed her stop, daydreaming of a cooler world. Asi gathered her bags together and stumbled off the bus into the bright, blinding sunlight. As she waited for enough space to appear between the speeding cars so that she could safely scurry across the street, Asi distinctly beard the words bald-head bitch float towards her. She glanced over her shoulder and discovered the source - a trio of teenagers.

Asi's eyes glazed over with the wetness that customarily precedes tears as she "turned the other cheek" with the precision of a professional cheek-turner. Because her mother adamantly refused to perm Asi's hair, she had had a natural all her life. Not that Asi wanted a perm, but ever since third grade Asi had endured cruel taunts that made her wonder if a perm could stop the abuse. Asi thought that, if she looked like all the other little girls, strangers might like her better. Now, Asi wore a natural by choice. She had come to understand the importance of her culture and appreciated her mother's stubborness, but this realization didn't make her past hurt any less.

After being called so many derogatory names for so many years - Bald-Head Bitch, Kojack, Grace Jones, Baldly, Cameo, Freak - this humiliating treatment no longer evoked the painful tears that had plagued Asi in her younger years. In fact, Asi truly believed that the name-calling no longer forced a reaction in her. Yet, here she stood, clutching her grocery bags for support, her eyes burning with tears and the trio's mocking laughter echoing in her ears.

Asi Tendaji's actions didn't reflect her name's meaning: 'rebelious energy.' There was nothing rebellious about the way Asi customarily accepted humiliation without confronting those who offended her. Finally finding enough space between the cars to safely cross the street, Asi walked away as quickly as she could without revealing to the trio that their mockery had not missed its mark. They had, indeed, hurt her.

No longer concerned with the tenaciousness of the heat, Asi rushed to Malene's house, torn between wanting to tell Malene what had happened in order to get it off her chest and not wanting to say anything because she knew exactly what Malene's response would be.

"Why didn't you do anything about it?"

"I don't know. I didn't want to sink to their level."

"All you had to do was tell them to fuck off and mind their own business or, better yet, tell them you don't make my sun shine..."

"... you don't make my world go 'round," Asi finished for her. She had heard this advice often; she just couldn't put it to use.

"You know," Asi said quietly, "I'm in college, and those kids were almost adults. I thought this shit would be over by now."

"Ignorance is ignorance," Malene replied. "It spans all barriers, including age."

"You can say that again," Asi amened.

Malene and Asi had spent many a day discussing the way this ignorance constantly intruded into their lives. Many of the things they said today they had said years ago: As their understanding of people grew, the more peoples ignorance remained the same.

"Just promise me one thing," Malene pleaded, as Asi looked at her questioningly. "Promise me you'll do something about it the next time."

Asi hesitatingly nodded her head in agreement, praying that day would never come.

Three months later, Asi was back at Spelman. It was unique because it was one of the few all-female historically black colleges in existence. Within a one-mile radius of Spelman were four other historically black institutions. The area was alive with culture and awareness. Spelman provided Asi with so much sisterhood and love that she was extremely comfortable there. Safe, like a butterfly in a cccoon.