Black Is My Heart’s Center

From off stage, Tyler watched as Charlotte finished her audition, her voice moving with ease from crystalline heights to the chocolate, rich depths only black women seem able to reach.  The director was pleased, and Char--in her responses--was being her usual sweet and charming self.  Through the maroon curtain flap, he could see her silken, pastel dress whisk in conjunction to the animated body movement of her conversations.  When Char spoke, especially when she was happy, her whole body participated.  Standing in the glare of the spotlights, she bent forward straining to see into the darkened orchestra pit. 

He always liked her in that outfit and the intense lighting highlighted the contrast between the dress’ shimmering light cloth and the brown softness of her arms.  She certainly would be called back.  Who was next?  There were a lot of people trying out for the musical that day at Eastern Wesleyan College, a small Christian liberal arts institution located in New England.  Glancing to where Tyler stood, Charlotte fell into his gaze; their eyes snagged for a moment. And then, she quickly exited the stage via the opposing side.  Tyler’s pale face burned.  Of course, it made sense to do so.  Several people were stepping out onto the lighted stage from Tyler’s side, momentarily blinded after lurking in red, velvet, curtained darkness.  She was right, far safer to not buck the crowd.  But there had been a time when she would have bucked the crowd just to reach him and say “hi.” 

And so Tyler’s chest ached . . .again.  Crushing his fist into a ball, the young man grasped it firmly with his other hand and pressed them both into his sternum.  Absurdly, he’d found that creating pain on the outside of his chest seemed to alleviate the gnawing ache he felt inside, like a starving man tightening his belt to silence his pleading stomach.  Glancing to his right, Tyler discovered that Dave, his roommate, had come up from the shadows behind and was watching him.  David raised an eyebrow, wrinkling his broad forehead which thrust forward from his retreating dark, wiry hair like a pale cliff swept clean of green by the clear salt winds of the sea.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if all this time I thought I had been in love and in fact I was merely dying of some cardiovascular problem?”

“Oh yeah, a riot.  Was she here?”

“Yeah, you just missed her.”

“Talk with her?”

“Didn’t have a chance.  I couldn’t before the audition; it would have distracted her.  And afterwards, well. . .she moved too fast.”

“You’re going to have to talk with her, just to clear the air, just to give yourself some peace.”

“You’re right.  I know you’re right.  Well, wish me luck.”

“What?  Since when were you trying out?”

“I had always planned to try out.  I’m not going to give up singing and acting just because she’s involved in all those activities too.”

“I thought you came out just to talk with her.”

“I did come out to talk, but I wanted to try out for the musical too.”

“OK, just be sure you're doing this for yourself.  You’re not going to win her just because you're talented, thin and involved.”

“I know.”  But, Tyler thought, being all of that sure couldn’t hurt. 

Tyler had met Charlotte in Wesleyan College’s traveling choir.  He had tried out unsuccessfully for two years and had finally gotten in more by his enthusiasm and consistency than by excellence of voice.  Whatever community or church choir Prof. Hartlen had directed besides the traveling choir, Tyler had also consistently and enthusiastically participated in.  He finally made it into “The Sonorians” his third year.  Tyler could carry a tune: he blended well, but even when he made it, he quickly noticed that no solos were pass his way.  

“You have a character voice,” Prof. Hartlen told him.  Tyler had been unsure of what that meant until the day he discovered that his big break for a solo would involve him singing “Creature Praise” with a Muppet-like, fuzzy marionette.  Apparently he was better at moving people to laughter than to tears.  Oh well, there were worse curses. Meanwhile, he was part of the elite traveling choir, and that was something.

Charlotte, however, was a different case.  Although technically a soprano, she could drop to a contra-alto and was called upon several times to sing solos featuring her multi-staffed range.  Ironically, when she spoke her voice reverberated in its lower timbre, but even so Tyler noticed that Charlotte’s talk was always musical.   And talk she did. 

Although painfully shy because of his hefty girth and thick glasses, Tyler had found himself sitting beside her on many a choir trip chattering happily away.  The material of their talk he could not later remember, but he did recall her easy laugh, her acceptance and her apparent pleasure in being with him. 

She could and would talk about anything and seemed utterly confident in her opinions.  Being well supported, Charlotte’s opinions were often right.  Yet for all her assurance, Charlotte was also well liked.  She could be as cute and captivating as a kitten, her favorite animal.  And with her arguments matched by her behavior, she made Tyler—who had always considered himself more of a dog-lover than a cat-aficionado—concede that he could share his living space with a cat. Certainly being near her when she purred was just a joy.    

Ironically, for all her affinity with cats, Charlotte was neither tall nor sleek.  In fact, she tended towards what less complimentary observers--David for example--might call squat plumpness. 

“She reminds me of Aunt Jeremiah.”

“I like Aunt Jeremiah.”

“No you don’t; you just like her.”

For Tyler, her darkness matched the mystery of any cat, her skin being as black as any Tyler had ever known.  The deep “browness” of her skin caused Char’s almond eyes to flash from her face.  Meanwhile, her teeth, which shinned through her ready smile, were startling.  Furthermore, to Tyler, Charlotte carried her weight high and firm, looking more cuddly than frumpy.  He reminded David, he was hardly alone in his admiration. And beyond all this, Charlotte was brilliant. 

In the fall after he met her, Tyler had opted to take astronomy to avoid the dreaded math requirement at EWC.  However his plans turned to horror when on the first day’s class he discovered that a practical understanding of trigonometry was expected in astronomy.  Charlotte was nonplused. 

“What were you expecting, Tye?  There just is no other way to express the distance between stars.” However, because of a fluke of bad high school filing procedures, Tyler had never taken “Trig” even while in the college prep track.  He should have, and he sometimes wondered whether he deserved the “Regents” diploma New York State had awarded him, but math had never been his friend, and so he never pointed out the deficiency to the authorities.  Charlotte sat him down and tutored him, shining the light of her understanding of numbers to the twelfth power into his guilty darkness.    Sometimes she even did this while simultaneously tutoring Spanish to a great, gangling, black youth named Derek from EWC’s basketball team.  In three years she would graduate with a double major in language and math.    Tyler, meanwhile, earned an “A” in astronomy and happily moved on to literature.

She opened all sorts of interesting experiences.  One night the French club went to view Beckett’s comic, “absurdist” drama Waiting for Gadot, a play in which action and words have no connections.   Beckett would have probably loved the added absurdity of Tyler's accompanying of Charlotte.  After all, what an absurd decision since he didn’t speak a word of French and had never read a translation.  He went because of her, and so, after several minutes of utter confusion, he slouched down and whispered:

“Charlotte, what is going on?”

“Don’t you know this story?”

“Haven’t a clue.”

“Oh well, let me explain” and so in gentle whispers, Charlotte gave a running translation of the whole play while probably droving the rest of the club nuts.  The silliness of the whole scene made them gag over their muffins and coffee at the Mug and Muffin afterwards. 

Of course, the absurdity of Tyler sitting in a play not understanding the words for which the author intended to no meaning was perhaps matched by his causal attitude over manning of the Afro-American Caucus table during EWC’s “Rush Week.”  Charlotte could get no one else to sit in, so Tyler sat by himself with handouts ready for any student interested.

“Aren’t you at the wrong table Tyler?”

“Nope, this is where I want to be: Want to see the line up of proposed activities?  Everyone’s welcome.”

Charlotte made being black seem desirable.  The counter-rhythm in hymns and choruses (not just “spirituals”), the excitement of the urban world, the splendid color of African inspired art, the dance and music of Broadway shows like Your Arms Too Short to Box with God and The Wiz, all seemed part of a world of excitement and life he did not have. During their whole relationship, Tyler never had a sense of Char’s being defensive or ashamed or even troubled about race. . .except once.

Late in the fall not long after he had sat in for the Afro-American Caucus’ booth, he and Charlotte were having dinner when an attractive young classmate went by.  Charlotte’s usual cheery face became a dark mask of displeasure.

“Ooooo, she makes me so mad.”

“Who, Veronica?”

“Yes, Her.”

“What’s wrong?  She’s always been nice to me.”

“I’m not surprised Tye; she’s passing.”

“She’s what?”

“Passing”

“Passing as she’s getting good grades?”

“NO, I mean she’s passing as in pretending to be WHITE.”  Tyler looked over at Veronica.  Curling, raven black hair, olive skin, a striking figure: she was a beautiful woman.  He was on the same floor that Bo, her boyfriend, a big fellow from Virginia way, lived. 

“Well, Char, she’s hardly white.  Looks Spanish or Italian.”

“No Tye!  Don’t you get it??  She’s black.”

“Oooh, she’s black. . .so?”

“She’s black and she’s pretending to be white.”

“How can she pretend to be white?  She’s just what she is; isn’t she?”  Charlotte sighed with frustration.

“No, in fact, she’s not accepting who she is: she’s BLACK.”

“Well, so she’s black.  What does that mean?  Does she have to do black things?  Does she have to like jazz or African art because she’s black?  I’m Scottish, and I don’t know the first move in the “Highland Fling” and from reputation alone, I have no intention of ever eating haggis.”

“Oh, let’s just drop it.  You don’t understand.”  Tyler didn’t understand.  In fact he would remember the conversation only years after he had graduated.  At the time he was just bewildered by her bitterness.  To him being black involved a vibrant and interesting culture, but if someone were interesting in other things what could be the problem?  Certainly he found Charlotte’s blackness attractive.

In point of fact, Charlotte was not the initiator of these impressions.  Tyler had always liked black girls.  Besides the fuller self-acceptance of curves (a point which made Tyler blush as he tried to explain himself to David), he claimed that the positives in black culture first became apparent to him as a camper and then as a councilor at Camp Tomahawk, the Wesleyan New York district camp.  

After an early youth during which he never saw a face darker than an Italian’s, Tyler found himself in close proximity to Wesleyans “of color” who came from New York City proper, becoming first his co-campers and then coworkers.  His initial fear turned to pleasure as he came to understand the individual qualities and the general quirks of his Christian, black brothers and sisters: he understood that white ash appearing on chests and arms signaled that even dark skinned people burn in the summer sun.  He was fascinated and a bit honored that Gabriela, Gabby, allowed him to sit by her and talk as she went through the elaborate process of combing and then tightly braiding her hair.  Working as a life guard by the lake, he was struck by the diversity of skin tone which all came under the label black and that led to him wondering about the accurateness of such terms. 

Tyler even came to understand some of the differences within black culture, finding himself especially drawn to those whose families had first come from the islands of Barbados, Bermuda and the Bahamas.   Their accents had long faded, but Tyler found their island personalities still warm and inviting like toasty towels on a sun-washed beach after a cold swim.  Charlotte came from such a family.  So Tyler not only found her dark skin pleasing to the eye; he found her culture attractive in its vitality.

On top of this, Charlotte had an infectious Christianity.  She knew and quoted scripture and seemed to carry within her a joy that Tyler wished he had.  Faith was vitally important to him.  He, himself, had been dubbed "classmate most likely to go on to seminary" when in high school.  But even in this he found in her a role model, someone whose faith was as dynamic as her talent and her intelligence.

And so naturally he liked her very much, very quickly.  Still, in spite of David’s intimations to the contrary, both Tyler and Charlotte seemed to intuitively agree that no romantic relationship between them was possible.  Theirs was the time of BeeGees, white three piece suits, red shirts, Soul Train and glittering disco balls.  It was only a little more than ten years since the Civil Rights movement had altered the American scene, and even less times since it had been illegal--as it had been so at many Christian campuses--to date across “the color line” on Eastern Wesleyan College.  He was Celtic white and she proudly African black.  And so Tyler went about campus acting smug in the fact that he had a friend, a real friend, with whom he could talk honestly and deeply, a friend who was very much a woman but with whom there was none of that complicated emotional baggage so common between the sexes.. 

What Charlotte’s motivation had been he could not later determine.  Perhaps she had seen him as a charity case, a lonely overweight nerd who needed someone to talk with or maybe she really had found him entertaining, or maybe it was a little bit of both.  But whatever the case they went merrily along comfortable in their worlds. Only Tyler’s roommate Dave suggested that their absurdity might be beyond that of going to weird plays or sitting in booths oblivious to the contradictions.  Then came the January term.

Eastern Wesleyan College had three semesters: a fall term, one in January and finally one in the spring.  While students filled up most of their required hours in the fall and spring, the January session was by its nature set apart and intense.  Students were encouraged to take one class and concentrate all their efforts during the frozen month while acclimating themselves to a winter which would never again have Christmas.    Charlotte and Tyler had taken “Eventful Making Moments in Science.”

For five days a week for three weeks their pattern did not alter.  They got up, met one another talking over breakfast and then headed, talking, over to class.  In class they listened intently and, taking notes and bouncing off one another’s ideas they dominated class discussion.  Then it was time for lunch.  They talked during lunch.  Then they returned—talking--to an afternoon lecture that included a viewing of the series The Ascent of Man.  They left the viewing, talking, and headed down to the student center and ate dinner where again they sat talking together.  After dinner he walked her over, talking, to the women’s dorm where they sat in the commons and discussed the ideas of the class while ignoring couples around them locked in embraces.  Finally at 11:00 p.m. the resident councilor came down and interrupted their discussion, kicked Tyler and the other guys out into the snowy evening, locked the women safely up for the night, and left the young men to return to their dorms to finally go to bed since they had nothing else worthwhile to do. 

Both Charlotte and Tyler were serious students, and the perpetual review their talks created made their performance in the class exceptional.  It was wonderful.  And Tyler had no idea that with each passing day he was falling deeper and deeper in love with Charlotte.  However, during the midwinter break between January and February, Tyler suddenly found himself miserable and lonely.  There was nothing wrong.  He had gotten a good grade in “Eventful Making Moments of Science.”  The spring classes looked like they were going to be interesting, and he felt certain that he could handle the load.  But for no reason the world seemed dry and dark.  It occurred to Tyler that it had been two days since Charlotte had gone home for a short visit.

“Oh, My Goodness!”  And, suddenly, Tyler felt afraid.

“Do you think she knows what she does when she turns away like that?”  The audition had gone surprisingly well.  Tyler might indeed get a part in the play, and yet he gave that possibility little thought.  The initial silence that followed his question spoke of Dave's disapproval, but in the darkness of their dorm room, Tyler, staring at their blank, dark ceiling, continuously reviewed the afternoon's encounter. "I mean, she didn't even wave or anything."  There was a sigh from the other side of the room.

“What do you think she should know?  I mean, what do you expect her to say or do?”

“I don’t know; I’m trying to figure out if I should be mad at her or not.  I mean, maybe she doesn’t have a clue, maybe in her mind just avoiding the whole blasted thing means that no one gets hurt more, but if she does know and is purposefully and relentlessly ripping my insides out without a word of explanation, well, she’s got another thing coming.  I mean, after all we spoke about and did and shared, and now nothing: it just drives me crazy.”

“You’re probably driving her crazy, too.”

“You think?”

“Well, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Oh. . .sorry.”  The room fell silent until Dave’s breathing took on the rhythm of sleep.  In the dark, Tyler, still staring at the ceiling, became aware of a coolness on his face caused by the wet running from his right eye.

Even after that moment when he became afraid, Tyler might never have revealed his feelings to Charlotte if it had not been from an aside comment made by a shared friend who found them in the Fish Bowl, the student snack bar on EWC’s campus.

“You guys hear about Bill and Annie?”

“Oh," laughed Charlotte, “that’s old news.  It was obvious to anyone who saw them together.  And she’s been a nut case all month.”

“Gee, I don’t know,” Tyler continued to suck on the straw thrust into his frap—a milkshake to anyone outside the New England portion of the US.  The pull made his cheeks collapse inward, like a smoker taking in his last drag.  “Bill lives right down the hall from me, and I didn’t have a clue.”  The friend snagged one of the French fries Charlotte and Tyler were sharing and popped it into her mouth.

“Oh," she said. "I think guys sometimes hide it better than girls, the whole stoic male emotional thing.”  A mischievous twinkle came into her eye.  “So Tyler, are you holding a secret flame for anyone?”  Tyler’s cheeks burned.  He had been trying to think of a way to tell Charlotte how he felt for days, but nothing had clicked.  But now he was caught red faced: He'd always been a lousy liar—the side effect of being a cop’s son—and so he chose to answer truthfully if vaguely:

“Well yes, there could be someone.”  Both girls pounced on him.

“Really?  Get out!  Tyler you’re as secret as a stone.  Who is she?   Come on, you can tell us.  How long has this been going on?  Come on give us a clue!”  Their friend’s glee was pure fun, but Charlotte’s apparent surprise confounded Tyler.

“Oh no, I think it best that I not say anything until I’ve found out how she feels.”

“All right, you’re probably right I guess.  I gotta go.  Tyler, congratulations on having a secret flame.  Hope it works out.  See you guys later.”

She rounded the corner, leaving Tyler and Charlotte looking at one another.  Char’s face was the picture of happy anticipation.

“Well?” she said at last.

“Well what?”

“Who is she?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you.”

“Aw, com’on Tye.  We’ve told one another everything else.  You can trust me.”

“I hope so.”

“What?”

“It’s you, Char.”

“Me?”

“You.”

“Oh,” Char’s face, which had been filled with delighted curiosity, now darkened into sadness.  “I see.  I’m sorry Tye.”  Sorry?  Tyler felt the prickle of fear he always got when receiving bad news.  It started in his loins, touched the palms of his hands, simultaneously warmed both his ears and finally settled down to blaze in his cheeks.  She was still talking.  “I should have seen this coming.  Friends of mine warned me, but I didn’t believe them.  You’ve been such a good friend, but Tye. . .I just don’t feel that way about you.”

“I see. . .Why not?”

“I just don’t.  I hope we can still be friends.”

“Of course.”  There was a stretch of silence.  Tyler knew he should probably shrug or laugh it off: maybe even pretend he had been joking.  But he had always been a lousy liar.  Charlotte spoke first.

“Well, I have some studying I need to do, so I had better go.  I’ll see you later OK?”

“Yeah, sure, OK.”  When he looked up, she was gone.

How does one deal with “I just don’t feel that way about you?” Tyler thought. There’s nothing to push against.  If there were something, like “I like you, but you’re a sloppy eater.”  Well then one can work on improving dinning etiquette.  If one were too loud in stores, a note to self could enforce a habit of avoiding embarrassing those around one.  But “I don’t feel that way about you?”  There’s nothing to push at, nothing to work with, nothing to hope for.  Nothing at all.

A sensation welled up in Tyler’s chest that he recognized as something that would have manifested itself as a sorrowful wail, if he were still a child.  But crying in the Fishbowl was not an option for a grown, college man.  He got up, dumped the un-finished fries into the dumpster, and went back to his dorm.

“I gotta call Mom,” he thought.

            The call home helped a little, but not entirely.  Inside the old fashioned wooden phone booth maintained in Field's Men's Dorm, he had tried to calmly explain to his parents what had happened only to break down at the end.  In the voice of his parents Tyler heard comfort but also a sense of helplessness that exists when one's child is four hundred miles away.  The conversation ended with his mother and father praying for him.  He was thankful for them, but it still hurt.  And he wasn't sure how unbiased they were.

Tyler knew that his parents stood by him and loved him, but they had never been too thrilled with the way they saw Char's and his relationship going.  Apparently they had seen more than he had.  Tyler's father, because of his life as an officer, struggled with all sorts of negative perceptions of the color line.  Tyler's mother, however, approached the problem differently; she had seen the relationship or lack of one between Charlotte's mother, herself and Charlotte’s father. 

"Remember, a good measuring-rod on how a girl will treat you is how she and her mother treat her father.  I have no doubt that Charlotte's a lovely girl, but I am around the district a lot and I never see him with them: its always those two traveling about together and never him." Leaning against the glass of the booth, Tyler nodded his head.   Still his feelings said that the faults of the parents did not have to fall on their children.  Hadn’t he progressed from his own father’s rough perception of race?  Furthermore, there was no doubt in his mind of the reality of his feelings.  He'd lay it in God's hands and trust Him to work it out.  With the faith of a mustard seed one could move mountains.  Tyler went to bed that night spiritually comforted with no idea that things were about to get profoundly worse.

The next morning Tyler had gone to their usual breakfast table, but Charlotte was not there.  He looked all over the cafeteria but could not see her.  Maybe she was late and would find him.  Sitting at an empty table, Tyler ate his cereal in solitude while the air about him vibrated with a hundred conversations between classmates.  He'd see her in Religious Ideas.  They had been sitting by one another since the beginning of the spring term.  But when he arrived at class later that morning he found that she had moved over to sit with another choir member.  They were talking at the usual speed Charlotte set conversations, enthusiastic light speed.  Tyler stopped by her desk and waited for a moment.

"Uh, hi, Charlotte."  She looked up and smiled briefly.

"Hi Tyler."

"Missed you at breakfast this morning."

"Oh, I got up earlier than usual to get some studying done."  She barely paused to return to the other choir member.  "And then when I heard that she could hit such a high note, I had to sit close to get the full effect. . ."

"Ok then, I'll catch you later."  Tyler returned to his usual seat and opened his notebook; certain that manure in a muddy street couldn't feel worse.  The pattern continued from then on.  Suddenly all of the assumptions he had developed in the Fall and January Semesters were wrong.  He went from being interesting to mundane. Suddenly he felt awkward about her and nothing he said sounded right. It was as if somewhere some awful switch had been shut off and Charlotte's reaction to Tyler went rapidly from warm involvement, to cool disinterest, and finally to cold disdain.    He sensed that he was becoming an annoyance to her even while he helplessly thrashed about trying to find a way to get her back.

"I just don't understand it, " he told Diane another black classmate who knew them both.  "We were so close; weren't we?  How could she just turn it off like that?  I should never have told her how I felt.  I never got a lover, and now I’ve lost my best friend: I want my best friend back."

"I don't think you can get her back Tyler.  That's just the way things are in situations like this."

"You know what I really don't get?  I thought the way our relationship went was how God wanted young Christians to find the people with whom they would share their lives.  We never did anything we shouldn’t.  I mean nothing.   Hours in the common room of Williams Hall with couples all around us locked in embraces, and we sit there with halos over our heads, being friends.   I always found her attractive, huggable, and I knew she likes physical affection, but I refrained from even trying.  It wouldn't have been right.  My dad always warned me that it was easy to get powerful feelings for perhaps the wrong person if one crosses the intimate border outside of God's timing, but we didn't.  And here I am with a heart full of lead.  What is God doing?"  Diane shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know, but I do think you will only make things worse if you keep trying to push her back into the relationship you used to have.  That's gone, and you need to accept it."

"How can she not love me, Diane, when I came to naturally feel this way about her?  Look at me: I’m a wreck!”

Charlotte, meanwhile, certainly did not seem to be a wreck.  In fact, she seemed to be cruising along just fine, not missing him at all.  She was, to all outward appearances, unchanged.   He saw her with clutches of friends gabbing away at the same speed she and he had always talked.  In choir she sat with others including a big-boned, potato-faced tenor named Dan and seemed to have a great time.  Tyler could even hear her loud musical laughter when he came into the cafeteria for meals.  It astonished him that her voice carried above all the cafeteria roar and clatter.  Tyler's own appetite vanished, and he began to skip meals.

February and March came and went.  April came; flowers spread their blooms all over the campus.  Young ladies put away the burdens of their winter coats like bears shedding their hibernation fur and fat, and the young men noticed.  The birds returned from the south, and Tyler found a swarm of bees had set up a humming hive under the ledge of his and David's window.  He'd have to report that or run the risk of getting stung.

"You know," Tyler was sitting in his Modern British Literature class as it opened.  "T.S, Eliot was right, `April is the cruelest month.'"  He lowered his head on his desk; what an idiot; why’d he say that?  Dr. Carnegie put her hand on his shoulder.

“I think we’ll start class with prayer today

Several days later David looked at his roommate as Tyler put on a pair of overall jeans one Saturday.  It was fortunate that they came with shoulder straps or the pants would have fallen to the floor.

"Tyler, have you lost weight?"  Tyler looked into the mirror.  To his surprise he found that David was right: he no longer carried any "hefty girth."

"Yeah, I suppose I might have.”

"Well that’s great. . .er, are you doing all right?"

"Yeah, I'm basically ok.  I'm going over to Mrs. Darnwell's again tomorrow night.  You know, the shut in?  There are about five of us from EWC who have been hired by her family to sleep at her house and make sure she's all right, eats her breakfast and takes her medicine."

"She lives in the rough part of Boston.  Aren't you worried?"

            "No, not really.  I like being of use.  It's funny, but the pain in my chest goes away a little when I get involved with other people.  I guess that's the ticket eh?"  David grunted.

"I don’t know if spiritual truths are always so pat.  Just be careful you don’t get yourself into trouble.  Are you going over to the cafeteria?"  Tyler checked his watch and shook his head.

"No, it's too late."

"What do you mean?  You still have half an hour."

"She always eats during this last half an hour."

The semester rolled towards its completion.  Tyler didn't talk to David about Charlotte much anymore.  He did mention, as he had to Diana, that he was confused how God could apparently allow him to fall completely in love with someone when it apparently wasn't in His will.  With that in mind, Tyler clung to the idea that since he had followed what he thought was God's will in their relationship, things would eventually work out between him and Charlotte.  After all, why would God lead him into such a path of despair when he had committed it all to His care?   One night as they were preparing for what David called “well deserved shut-eye,” he made a cough and asked Tyler if he were asleep.

"No, not yet."

"I've been thinking about your claim that this relationship between you and Char was fashioned by God and therefore would be preserved by Him."

"I don't know if I said that.  We're not Baptists; there are two free wills involved here, but I do hope that she will remember what good times we had and how blessed we were.  Maybe she’ll realize that she really does feel something for me."  There was a pause.

“Have you ever considered that this relationship was actually flawed to begin with, in that it was built on racism?”

“Racism? Me?  How can you say that?”

“I don’t mean an overt racism.  I know you believe in Charlotte’s worth and you’re friends with a lot of black students on campus.  I know that you respect and admire the achievements many black people.  But think about this.  I’ve seen you around girls on campus.  Most of the time, especially when you meet an intelligent, talented and beautiful woman, you’re shy and backward.  You remember Tabatha Hensly?”

Tyler remembered Tabatha: Irish, auburn hair, fair with a sprinkle of freckles.  Her figure was a little full, but healthy, and she also had a beautiful alto voice, the kind one hears usually from female, classical DJs late at night.  “It’s a quarter past twelve and you are listening to Night Calls with Loraine Sylvan on WHI-WOW.”

“Uh, yeah, I kind’a remember Tabatha.” 

“Kind’a huh?  I introduced you to her at a freshman mixer, and all you could do was go `duh.’  Do you know that she’s the only person I know besides you who’s actually read Chaucer in the original Middle English?”

“Really?  I didn’t know that.  I knew she was an `A’ student and had been in the Queen’s Court for Homecoming, but I didn’t know she liked literature,”

“Of course not, mainly because you just stood there and stuttered until Gary cut in.”

“Yeah, the jerk.”

“Have you ever wondered why the jerks seem to have no problem getting the girls?”

“Always.  It’s one of those questions I’m gon’na ask God when I get to Heaven.”

“Well, I’m not God, but since Heaven is hopefully still a few years away for you, here’s my theory.  Women are drawn to confidence.  Confidence translates into `I can take care of myself and I can take care of you.’  I think women, even independent women, are hardwired to find that attractive.  Self-questioning and self-doubt may be good moral disciplines, but when first meeting members of the opposite sex, they are, and I’m afraid, not very attractive to the ladies.”

“And jerks don’t have that?”

“Of course not.  If they examined themselves, they’d know that they were jerks.  But for the most part they don’t examine or doubt themselves.”

“You know that Tabatha and Gary are engaged.”

“Well, Tabatha has a strong will, but I’m betting there will be some rocky moments ahead.  Maybe some jerks need marriage.  Since they’re not willing to look inside themselves, they have to rely on the perspective of someone else, some poor wife, who lives with them.  But that way is hazardous.  I’ve seen a lot of divorces that came from too much light being directed into someone’s dark, selfish center.   Better for all involved to learn to do that on their own.  So don’t feel bad; you’re ahead in the long run.”

“Great, so when I finally get God’s best choice, I will be ahead, but what does this all have to do with Charlotte and your claim that I’m a racist?”

“I said that most of the time you were shy and withdrawn with intelligent, talented and attractive women.   You’re not that way with black women.”

“What?”

“I’ve seen you with the girls from Brooklyn Beulah, Diane, as well as some of Charlotte’s other friends.  You’re out-going, chatty, enthusiastic and personable.  No evidence of self doubt at all.  Why is that?”

“Well, I know some of them from Camp Tomahawk.”

“You know a lot of girls from Camp Tomahawk and not all of them are dark.”

“I think dark is attractive.”

“I believe you, but I wonder which came first, your appreciation for dark girls or the fact that dark girls seemed to appreciate you.”  Tyler turned in his bed, his mattress squeaking.

“I can’t answer that.”

“You see, it’s a question of power.”

“Power?” 

“I’m not saying you do this overtly, but I wonder if somewhere in your head you think `these girls should be thankful that I’m even talking with them.  After all, I’m doing them a favor since I am among the powerful elite and they are not.”

“I have never thought. . .that is really cold David.”

“Can you answer this?  Would you have been as easy and free with Charlotte last fall if she had been white?  If the social powers had made you both equals?  What is the difference between her and Tabatha?  Their figures are even similar.”

“Last fall Charlotte came to me.  She sought me out several times.”

“Maybe she needed a white friend then.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Ok, I have just one more question for you.  Since the end of January and you’ve been so upset with her, which word has flashed through your mind when she’s gone by?  Bitch or nigger?”

“Don’t tell me I don’t really love her.  It hurts too much.  And if anything has flashed through my mind, I’ve asked God for forgiveness.” Tyler was unaware that he was speaking through clenched teeth.  “I know the truth; I know her worth, and I’m not responsible for words that flash in my head.  Just for those that I dwell on.”  David sat up and looked over at his friend’s back—Tyler had turned his face to the wall.  David wanted to pat Tyler on the shoulder, but thought better of it.

“I’m sorry Tye.  I know that what you feel is a lot more complex than what I’ve just said.  I was only pointing back to the roots of the thing and wondering whether, as strong as you feelings are, they might not be built on as a healthy emotional foundation as you claim.”

“Yep, sure, I think we’ve done enough analyses tonight.  Hope you get an `A’ when you submit all this for you psych paper.”

“I never. . .”

            “Yeah, yeah.  Just be sure you change our names.”

With the bloom of new flowers the spring semester finished.  Tyler had once mentioned to David that it was ironic that being involved with academics made him dread the two most wonderful times of the year, Christmas and spring. 

“It’s not so bad in December, but I know when I start hearing Christmas carols, it’s time for finals.  But spring is terrible.  Maybe because with more senses involved, I have a more total physical response.  The smell of flowers, the warmth of the sun, the bright colors of plants all tell me that Finals are here. And then my stomach hurts.”

“Well, at least it takes your mind off other worries.”

“Takes away nothing; it just adds another layer to my anxiety.” 

Tyler returned home at the end of his junior year.  When he stepped through the front door and his mother saw him more than fifty pounds lighter than he had been at Christmas, she praised him for his accomplishment.  Later she went to her room and wept.   Tyler did not explain what had happened.  He knew that they knew.

Still it felt good to be home.  Tyler turned his attention to summer plans to work at Camp Tomahawk and to perhaps tone his trimmer form into a more muscular one.  He continued to eat very little, sometimes still skipping meals.  One day at lunchtime, his father knocked on his door and stuck in his head.

“Yeah Dad?”  Tyler laid the book at his side on the bed.

“Your mother and I want you to come down right now and eat some lunch.”

“But I’m not hungry.”

“I don’t give a rip whether you’re hungry or not.  I want you to come down and eat some lunch and start living a life.”  Although it was Saturday and he was off duty, Dad was clearly in “cop-mode.”  Tyler did what he always did when his father was in “cop-mode.”

“I’ll be right down.”

All summer Tyler made jogging a part of his life.  He did calisthenics and lifted weights.  By the end of the summer he looked better if still thinner.  In fact the director of the play for which he had tried out and who had decided he would be perfect as a robber had to ask him to dye his sun-bleached hair darker.

“You look like Luke Skywalker up there,” he said. 

Having been hefty all his life and considering it his major failing to attract women, Tyler hoped that Charlotte would be impressed.

In fact she was impressed and told him so.  They walked around campus together several times, glorying in the varied praise of friends who somehow had not noticed the hallow cheeked Tyler at spring’s end but had noticed the tanned, slim Tyler who had returned that fall.  Meanwhile the school year began in earnest. 

The play filled many hours, as did the full load of being an English major.  Tyler also found himself immersed in a creative writing class and discovered he liked telling stories   He wrote several poems for Charlotte but never showed them to her.  It was just as well because with the autumn chill, the relational coolness between them returned.  And even though they shared the choir and the play, Charlotte and Tyler, who kept his weight off, never talked as they once had.  In fact it became worse.  Charlotte became short and snappish. 

“What are you doing here Tyler?”

“I happen to be checking my mail.  My box is right here.”

“And I suppose the fact that I’m working on this window display for the play has nothing to do with you hovering nearby?”  Ironically it didn’t.  Tyler had not heard of the assignment.  Of course if he had, he probably would have not been able to answer her accusation with such complete innocence. 

“No, I honestly did not know.  If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just get this stuff out and hover elsewhere.”

“Oh, all right.”  An apology momentarily surfaced on her face, but as her expression hardened it stayed within her like a trapped animal under ice.  This type of thing happened more than once, and finally Tyler could not bear it anymore.

“Well, keep me in your prayers tomorrow night.”  Tyler walked into his and David’s room and sat down on the couch that morphed into a bed.  His friend looked sideways at him from his desk. 

“What’s up?”

“I called up Charlotte and asked her to meet with me tomorrow night.”

            “Good.  Where?”

“At The Lighthouse office.”  Tyler had been made art editor of the school paper, The Lighthouse, the year before.  David, meanwhile, was managing editor.

“Sounds private enough.  What do you plan to say?”

“I plan to say that even if there is no option for us to be something special, we both have Christian responsibilities to be civil to one another.  I will not be trodden upon, and I am not going to be apologetic whenever I see her just because we happen to be on the same campus.”

“Uh, that’s good.  Anything else?”

“No, I don’t think so.  Should there be?”

“No, I was just making sure there was nothing in your head like `Please take me back Char: please oh please of please.  I’ll do anything; I’ll never mention white, classical composers like Bach or Beethoven or bring up medieval literature in your presence.  All you’ll hear from me is praise for jazz, blues and the Harlem Renaissance.  I’ll even get my skin artificially altered to deep brown and shave off my blond hair.  Just please take me back, Char. Pleeease!’”

“You know David; you’re one sick puppy.”  But Tyler laughed louder than he had for a long time.

The appointed hour approached while Tyler paced back and forth in the office.  He had not slept well the night before.   Even without coffee his heart hammered in his chest, and yet he could not explain why.  It was hopeless; they would never be together.  Her behavior had convinced him of that much.  But none of that changed how he felt. 

There was a rap on the door, and he could see her smiling face through the glass panel giving him a wave.

“Hi Char, Come’on in.”

“Hi Tye; wow, you’re probably one of the few students on campus that has an office to invite people to.”

“Yeah, David said he wouldn’t be needing his side tonight.”

“So you wanted to speak with me?”

“Yeah, have a chair.”  Charlotte sat on a comfy chair by the white cinderblock wall while Tyler pulled up one of the desk chairs, sat down, and leaned toward her, his elbows on his knees.

“Charlotte, we haven’t talked clearly or for any length of time ever since the beginning of spring semester last year.”

“Was there anything to talk about?”

“Well yes, Char.  If you’ll recall, we talked about everything before that.  In fact you got me to tell you how I felt about you because we talked about everything.  And then, it was all gone.  Vanished.  And ever since then, you’ve treated me like. . .well like dirt, like you despised me or something.”

“Tyler, I’ve never despised you, and I’m sorry if you’ve been hurt.  I mean its not like I would have danced on your grave if you’d died.  But I can’t deny that you’ve annoyed me.”

“Well, what did I do?”

“It’s what you didn’t do.  I told you last year that I didn’t and couldn’t feel the way towards you that you wanted me to.  You said you accepted that, but every time I looked around, I saw you with your big, moon-eyes looking at me and while jealously glowering at whoever I was with.  It was like I was being haunted.”

“But what did I do that I suddenly became so repellent?  I mean, we were close, together, tight and suddenly there was nothing.  How could you do that?”

“I just knew that there was no future between us.  I even tried pushing you to get into a fight with me.  I mean, hadn’t you noticed?”

“What?  But why?”

“Well, in the past when a relationship of mine wasn’t working out, I’d be a little abrupt, the guy and I would have a fight, and then we could each move on.  I found it the best way to make a nice clean break.  But you wouldn’t even do that.”

“Somehow that doesn’t sound like the most Christ-like way of dealing with things.”

“That sounds a little condescending.  Still, you may have a point.  Certainly this has been a painful learning experience for me.  Not only did you put up with stuff that made me feel awful later, my usual methods put a strain on a lot of my friendships.  I’ve had several friends rebuke me because of you.  Do you have any idea how much Diane likes you?”

Tyler was taken aback.  Poor Diane; had he known she felt that way about him?  She had been such a good sounding board, and there were times when her brown eyes had suggested something else.  But. . .geez, she was rounder than Charlotte and shorter.  The bell in his being did not and would probably never ring for her.  Maybe if she reduced. . .but you couldn’t tell a woman that.   And since when did weight really show a person’s worth?  Tyler felt shame for his own shallowness and guilty because he was responding to Diane as Char had responded to him.  Still, a voice in him refused to be flattened entirely.  He had not, he reminded himself, spent days upon days in Diane’s company, apparently enjoying the relationship only to turn her suddenly and coldly away.

“No, I don’t think I did know Diane’s feelings.  And I still don’t understand yours.  But I do admit that I may have haunted your space.”  Tyler wandered if she knew he had actually taken walks outside the woman’s dorm and looked up at her curtained window.  He decided not to bring it up.  “It was never my intention to make you miserable.”

“Nor me you.”

“All right, with that in mind, I must ask that you not act short with me in the future.  It’s embarrassing and it’s not fair.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for acting like that in the hall the other day.  Forgive me?”  She used her kitten voice.  I will not cry, he thought. Oh God; please do not let me cry now.  He took her hand, which he noticed she let him hold.

“Of course I forgive you.  Please forgive me for all the junk I’ve put you through these last few months.  Would you like to have a word of prayer?”

“Sure.”

“And then, after we had prayed, she just chattered on and on.”  Tyler was buttoning his shirt the next morning while David hunted for his hair blower.  After showering, David had, as usual, slept the night wearing a tightly fitting ski cap. Now with an Afro pick and hair blower he was spreading his hair out and about.  It amazed Tyler that it took real effort to maintain the “wild, Beethoven / Einstein hair blown everywhere” look.  “You know I still can’t get over the fact that you try to look like that.  Here I thought you were just too intellectual with a psychology and philosophy double major to fret over such superficial humdrum things like coming one’s hair—but you work at it!”  David smiled.

“We all have our pretensions.  So you say after you two prayed, Charlotte got all friendly and chatty?”  Tyler nodded:

“For just that moment it seemed like I had the old Charlotte back.  She wanted to talk about television and movies, what the French club was up to now, what I thought about the play and had I ever read the work of literature it was based on--all that stuff.”

“Well it sound like it went off positively.”

“Yeah, if I’d let her, we would have probably talked all night just like we used to.  But I was so wound up and tense with dread expectations of this meeting that after we finished covering the difficult ground, I found I had a pounding headache.  I had to practically kick her out of the office to lock up and get back here to get some sleep.”

“And so do you feel better?”

“Yes and no.  I feel better in that I have to some level talked it out with her.  But I know things will never be the same between us, and I still feel awful without her.  I still miss her.”

“And that surprises you?”

“Well, it’s hardly a happy Christian ending. Remember the feature artist’s main song at the Junior-Senior Banquet?  `Everything’s Under His Control—Wooo Wooo’?”  David rolled his eyes.  Tyler, meanwhile, tucked in his shirt.  Glancing back he noticed David had stopped combing and was looking into the mirror.

“You OK?”

“I was just thinking of happy Christian endings in relation to Fred and Hannah.”  Fred Trunkel, a graduating senior going on to seminary, had been killed in a car accident the year before.  Hannah Wilkens had been his fiancée.  She had dropped out of school that January and had only returned this fall.  With only half of one semester left to graduate, she was trying to finish up, but was also having a hard time of it.  David knew this better than most since he and she had long been friends. 

“Yeah, doesn’t seem to be much happy Christian ending there.  How’s Hannah doing?”

“Fine. . .Lousy.  She seems to be doing well in her course work, but I’ll tell you one thing.  Don’t try to pass any pat answers on her about God’s `wonderful plan’ for her life.”   

“I suppose you’re telling me that perfect happy plans aren’t guaranteed for Christians in anything they do, including romance?”  David looked at his friend in surprise.

“I wasn’t connecting it to you at all, but now that you point it out, I suppose it fits.  How would you feel now if Charlotte had been killed like Fred in a car accident sometime between January last year and the following spring semester?”

“Like Hannah I suppose, lousy.”

“Then why do you expect yourself to feel fine now?”

“I guess I thought God would help things along.”  Dave shook his head.

“If I’ve learned anything in Psych it’s that grief takes time to go through.”

“You’re not comparing me to Hannah are you?  Seems a bit trite.”

“It’s not trite.  You’re in grief, real grief. Just like Hannah, you got a part of yourself torn off and both of you are still bleeding.  I may have questioned the source of what you felt for Charlotte, but I never doubted the reality of your feelings for her.  I’ve read that some people claim that the grief in divorce is in some ways harder to take than the grief over the death of a loved one.  You know why?”

“No.”

“Because just like you the divorcee has to watch the loved one continues on.  The rejection is caused by the loved one’s choice rather than by chance.  I would no more expect you to be fine at point than I would Hannah.” 

“So where is God in all of this?”

“I don’t know.  But I wouldn’t expect God to make it go away any more than I would expect Hannah to turn up at breakfast tomorrow all smiles and never be bothered by a painful memory of Fred from then on.  In fact I would find a god who fooled around with people’s heads like that kind of eerie--like we were just toys or something. 

“You’ve got a point.  If Hannah just forgot him, Fred’s life, his hopes and aspirations, would almost seem unreal.  And God is God of realities.  But I’d hate to think she’s bound forever to his memory to make him real.”

“Some people fall into that trap but I hope she won’t.  Since grief is natural and real, it follows a form.  I’ve read that going through grief is a process, not always linier but always progressive.”

            “You lost me Dave.”

“I mean that there’s no sure pattern, but there does seem to be stages.  I’m reminded of the psalmist who says "God is with our risings and our sitting downs." It’s one of my favorite passages. Your feelings for Charlotte are real just as Hannah’s are for Fred.  They both require a real process.  I’m hoping and praying that Hannah will come through this.  I’m hoping you will too.  Last night, before the meeting, was the first time I’ve heard you laugh for a while.  But you’ll probably not be over Charlotte for some time, maybe even years.  But hey, you’re a lit major: maybe someday you’ll turn all this into a story.”

David, as it turned out years later, was right on both counts.