First Semester (2 page)

In Oakland, we were inseparable. Wherever I went, Todd wasn't far behind, and vice versa. We did everything together—hit up parties, played basketball, went to the movies. Hell, our senior year, we even opened our mail together. And everybody knows that there's no better feeling than opening your own mail as a high school senior. But sometimes, opening my mail over at Todd's crib was a catch-22. Although I loved to see him get accepted to virtually every school he applied to, most of the time the letters I received from colleges were rejection letters. Of the six schools I'd applied to, I'd received letters from five of them. All of them started off the same way: “Mr. Dawson, we have reviewed your application. This year, we had an overwhelming number of qualified applicants. Unfortunately, we were unable to accept you into our institution.”

I never really read further than that. The first couple of times I read the letters, I could barely swallow. I hated rejection. The only school I hadn't heard from was University of Atlanta. Everyone kept telling me not to worry about getting in, because it was a black college, and they let everybody in. I knew that wasn't true, because Todd had just gotten rejected from Boward a week ago—and he had a 3.2 grade point average. The digits in my GPA were the same, just the other way around. So, as far as I was concerned, that notion about historically black colleges and universities accepting everybody was for the birds.

I told people I didn't care if I got in or not, but I did. I wanted to see the girls in Atlanta that everybody kept talking about, and see the city that hosted Freaknik, which I'd heard so many stories about. I wanted to check out some of the bands I'd seen on the movie
Drumline,
and go to some of those parties I'd seen on all those
Girls Gone Wild
commercials. But most of all, I knew that if I stayed I would just end up chillin' on the block smoking weed all day with my homies, and working a dead-end job. I would probably start off at a community college, but end up in jail with the rest of the O.G.s from the hood. Or worse, six feet deep like some of my boys I played ball with who never made it to our senior prom. I had come to terms with the possibility of staying in the hood, but I wanted out.

If anybody knew how bad I wanted to get out of Oakland, it was Todd. After a while, he could see that I was annoyed by the whole mail-opening ritual we'd started, so once he decided Crampton was the school for him, he stopped opening letters from other colleges. Instead, he just balled them up and tossed them in the trash, without even looking to see if he'd been accepted. I'd always go dig the letters out of the trash and read them out loud anyway. He always got in. Keisha usually changed the subject to lighten the mood.

“So, you guys heard about that album release party The Game is supposed to be throwing this weekend?” she said, after I read yet another one of Todd's acceptance letters aloud.

“Yeah,” Todd said, changing the subject. “It's supposed to be crackin'.”

“Speaking of parties,” I said. “Ever since that party the other week, I've been having this crazy dream.”

“What kind of dream, blood?” he asked.

“It's kind of hard to explain. But it always starts out with me walking down this long hallway. Some dude is walking in front of me.”

“Who?” he asked.

“I don't know. I can never make out his face. Anyway, I finally get to this room that I'm about to go into, and smoke is coming from under the door. For some reason, I go in anyway. Then this girl opens the door—”

“What girl?” Keisha asked, arching her eyebrows and folding her arms.

“I don't know. I can never make her face out.”

“I'm gonna need to know these things, J.D.,” she said with an attitude.

“Anyway, that ain't even important. Like I was saying, as soon as the door swings open, I hear a gunshot.”

“Then what?” Todd asked, as if he were waiting for the punch line.

“Nothing. Then the dream is over.”

“You been sleeping with a night-light?” he asked jokingly.

“C'mon, blood, I'm serious.”

“You need to quit watching all them Freddie Kruger reruns on the USA channel.”

“You're probably just reliving what happened at that party, boo,” Keisha said.

“Nah, Keesh, I'm telling you, this dream is different.”

“Didn't the doctor say you were going to go through posttraumatic stress?” she asked.

“I don't know. All I know is that I keep having this damn dream. I need to do something to take my mind off of it. Let me open up my couple little letters and see what I'm working with,” I said, turning toward Keisha. “Pass me those envelopes over there on that chair please, boo.”

“What's all this crap?” she asked.

“They call that mail, baby.”

“Duh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Why you always gotta be so damn sarcastic all the time? I was talking about these Jehovah's Witnesses leaflets and this restaurant coupon book.”

“I don't know. I didn't sift through everything. I was in a rush. I just grabbed what was in the mailbox and bounced. Here's something with my name on it, though,” I said, opening a white envelope.

It was from my aunt Sonya. A couple of weeks ago, my mom told me that the company her fiancé works for had its stock go public or something like that, and they went from broke to multihundred thousandaires overnight. When I saw her name on the envelope, my eyes lit up. They immediately drooped back to size when I focused on the other letter addressed to me. It was from University of Atlanta—my last hope. I figured I might as well take the good news first, so I tore into the letter from my aunt Sonya. I stood the card right side up and gave it a shake to loosen the dough. Nothing fell out. I re-checked the front of the envelope to make sure I had the right aunt. Yep, it was her all right, but no dough. The card said something about “all of her blessings” and “best wishes.” Ironically, a brotha sure did
wish
she could've
blessed
me with some of that bread.

“Damn, that's cold,” Keisha said. “She could've sent a brotha a little sumptin' sumptin'.”

“For real, blood,” Todd added, with a snicker. “That's no bueno.”

“You've still got one more letter here with your name on it,” Keisha said, reaching for it. “And hey, look, it's from University of Atlanta. Why are they sending you mail?”

I quickly snatched it back.

“I know who it's from,” I said.

“Well, hurry up and open it, blood,” Todd said.

“I might not want to open it, right now. I think I'm gonna just wait till later.”

“Later? Man, please. That's the letter we've been waiting on,” Todd said. “If you don't open it, I will.” He reached for the envelope.

I held him off with one hand, while holding the envelope up and away from him as he tried to reach for it.

“Y'all look like some little kids playing possum,” Keisha said, with a giggle. “Would
somebody
please open the letter? I don't care who it is.”

Truthfully, I was stalling for a reason. I was afraid of what was inside.

“Okay, I'll do it,” I said as I took a deep breath and walked over to the window. As I looked across the street into an alley, I could vaguely see a few of the homies from the hood having a smoke session. Another was down the block making a sale to a crackhead. I just shook my head, then slowly opened the envelope. I could feel Keisha looking over my shoulder. It started off the same way as the rest of the rejection letters I'd received: “Mr. Dawson, we have reviewed your application. This year we had an overwhelming number of qualified applicants.”

But the next sentence changed my life.

It read: “We are delighted to inform you that you have been accepted to University of Atlanta.”

“Oh, my God, dog!” I said as the letter dropped from my hand to the floor.

Keisha quickly bent down to pick it up.

“What?” Todd asked.

“He got in!” Keisha screamed. “My baby got accepted to college!”

“Yeeeeaaaahhh, booooy!” he said, in his best Flavor Flav impression as he pumped his fist in the air and opened his arms to give me a big hug.

“Here,” he said, passing me his cordless phone. “Call your mom and tell her. I know she's going to be proud.”

He was right.

LEAVING HOME

I
had been on the phone with Keisha for over an hour, but I was getting nowhere, fast. I just couldn't understand why she would want to break up with me, two days before I was supposed to leave for college. I was frustrated because it seemed there was nothing I could say to change her mind.

“As hard as this is for me to say, I think it's best you just do you, J.D.,” she said, sniffling.

“Do
me?
What are you talking about, Keesh? Where is all this coming from?”

“C'mon, J.D., don't play dumb. I mean, I love you and all, but I'm not stupid. You're going to be thousands and thousands of miles away from me in Atlanta.”

“So what?”

“So you're probably going to be down there trying to sow your wild oats!”

“What makes you think that?”

“Think about it. I helped you write your admission essay for most of your college applications, and you didn't even tell me that you were applying to U of A, so there's no telling what other secrets you might be hiding.”

“Secrets? C'mon now, I told you the only reason I didn't tell you that I was applying there was because I didn't want to be embarrassed if I didn't get in.”

“Yeah, whatever. If I was that important to you, you wouldn't keep anything from me.”

“I'm not trying to keep anything from you! Why are you sounding so insecure all of a sudden?”

“All of my girls told me that when their boyfriends left for college, they ended up getting cheated on. And I'm not even trying to go that route.”

“Oh, so you're gonna break up with me over some shit your
girls
told you?”

“It's not even all about that. Let's be real, J.D., you have a hard enough time keeping your zipper up out here, so there's no telling what you'll be doing down there, or who you'll be doing it with. I'm cool.”

“
You're cool?
What's that s'posed to mean?”

“It means I'm not trying to hold you back. And I'm not trying to be hurt in the end. So you do your thing out there, I'll do my thing out here at Oakland State and if it's meant for us to be together, then I guess we'll see. But for now, I think it's best we just go our separate ways.”

Keisha didn't come with me to the airport. In fact, I hadn't talked to her since she broke up with me three days ago. After calling her and leaving messages for two days straight, I finally just gave up. Once it sank in that I would be moving to Atlanta and she would be going to Oakland State University, closer to home, she thought I would be moving on with my life—without her.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't understand how she could possibly break up with me just because I decided to do something positive with my life. But the more Todd told me about all of the fine-ass girls he'd seen on campus when he went on the Black College Tour, the better being single in Atlanta sounded. Still, I wish I could've seen her before I left.

It's hard to explain the emotions going through my head as I boarded the airplane to Atlanta. I knew that I wanted to get away from Oakland to see what the rest of the world had to offer, but a part of me wanted to stay.

Aside from thinking about whether or not Keisha would find someone else and move on with her life, I thought about living without Todd for the first time. We'd gone to school together since second grade. When I needed to cheat on a test, he slid me his notes. When I needed the low-down dirty scoop on a chick I'd met, he was the first one I'd call. He even helped me make our high school football team by intentionally missing a pass in tryouts, just so I could look good making an interception. He was the closest thing I had to a brother, and I'd never gone more than a few weeks without kicking it with him. Starting college without him would be weird.

I thought about T-Spoon's baby mama screaming at the grave site, when they lowered his casket into the ground. I thought about how his son would grow up fatherless, like I did. I thought about staying, and getting revenge.

I thought about the look on my little sister Robyn's face when the airport security guard told her she couldn't escort our mom and me all the way to the gate. My cheeks were still wet from all the tears that poured down her face as she kissed me goodbye. She was only sixteen, but she was beautiful. Her caramel complexion, pretty smile and shoulder-length hair were enough to spark any high schooler's hormones. But to make matters worse, she had the body of a grown woman. The guys in my hood couldn't care less if she was still in high school—they were scavengers. Who would look out for her now? Would some of my so-called homies try her now that they knew I was away at school?

My mind told me to return my ticket and get my money back, but my legs wouldn't correspond. Plus, my ticket was nonrefundable. The one-way, standby ticket I copped from AirTran was only fifty-five dollars. As I stood in line behind a white guy who was wearing a pair of slacks, a dress shirt and a pair of loafers, holding a book entitled
Rich Dad, Poor Dad
in one hand, and his laptop shoulder bag with Georgia Tech embroidered on the side with the other, I thought that maybe I was in a little over my head. The guy couldn't have been more than a couple of years older than me, but I figured if he was a college student, there was no way I belonged on a campus anywhere in the vicinity. I just wouldn't fit in. For the first time since I'd applied to college, I questioned my motives. I wondered whether I was really cut out for college life.

I thought about just charging the ticket to the game and taking an “L.” Just then, I turned around and looked into my mom's eyes. She was so excited you would've thought
she
was going off to college herself, instead of coming along to help me get settled in. The joyful expression on her face, combined with the thought of living on my own for the first time with no rules or regulations, made my decision a little easier. But I was still unsure. As I weighed my options, I heard the lady working the ticket check-in desk invite all standby passengers to board the plane.

The thick Bay Area fog caused our flight to be delayed, so our plane waited behind two others on the runway. I'm not the type to hit up the church house on a regular basis. I'm more of the Christmas and Easter Sunday type of churchgoer. Honestly, I can't even remember praying over my food since last Thanksgiving dinner. But I know there's a time and a place for everything. And I knew that this was both the time and the place for a quick prayer. I clasped my hands, closed my eyes and asked the Lord to allow my plane to make it to Atlanta safely.

As I finished, I heard the wheels at the rear of the plane retract as we left the earth's surface. Before the plane got lost in the charcoal clouds, I pressed my forehead against the small window I was seated next to. I knew that it would be a long time before I'd catch another glimpse of the city I'd inherited my game from. I spotted the Bay Bridge, and I could vaguely see Oakland Coliseum. But Interstate 580 and Lake Merit were clear as day. Most people call Oakland “the Town,” others “the House,” and some “the O.” But I called it home. I became teary-eyed as I thought about the memories and family members I was leaving behind. I loved Oakland, and as much as I would miss it, we needed time away from each other.

Although I had no idea what college life was all about, I knew it was time to flip a new switch. I didn't have any friends who could give me a firsthand account of what I was getting myself into, and I couldn't ask my dad or either of my grandfathers about their college experiences, because they had none. Aside from my mother, nobody in my family had ever been to college. And she didn't graduate. This was my opportunity to break the generational curse. Nobody expected me to go to college. But succeeding in college was my way to prove all of them wrong.

My future was as cloudy as the sky our airplane disappeared into, but my vision was clear. I knew this was my chance to make something of myself, and I was determined to make the most of it.