Free From the Notebooks of Melanin Sun by Jacqueline Woodson Page B

“I’ll eat later,” I said.
    She pulled my headphones off me.
    â€œYou’ll eat now ,” she said, standing there with her arms folded.
    â€œI’m not hungry now. ”
    â€œWell, then, you’ll sit down with me while I eat.”
    I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want to look at you.”
    Now she was frowning, looking past me, out the window.
    â€œMaybe I’ve had enough of this. I’m sick of you sulking around this house. I’m sick of the faces, the disrespect—”
    â€œOh, like you respect me.”
    Mama looked at me. “May I finish?”
    â€œI’m not stopping you.”
    â€œKristin’s going to be around awhile, so we might as well start dealing, Mel. I’m sorry if this hurts, if it’s hard, but it is, and that’s the jump-off point.”
    â€œWhat, EC? You want me to just say, ‘Okay, my mama’s a dyke and everything’s perfect’?”
    Mama raised her eyebrows. “Yes. Basically, that’s what I want.”
    I looked at her like she was crazy. “No! It doesn’t work like that. Who do you think I am, God?”
    â€œI think you’re the Melanin Sun I raised to be tolerant.”
    â€œI am tolerant. Of everybody else. But here, on this block where everybody knows everybody’s business, I don’t want to have to fight and dodge people and lie to live.”
    â€œWho are you fighting?” she asked. When I didn’t say anything, she said, “Ralph and Sean?”
    I pressed my lips together and stared out the window.
    Mama exhaled. “So they know.” She leaned back, her arms still folded, and softly hit the back of her head a couple of times against the wall.
    â€œEverybody knows.”
    â€œIs that why you’re not leaving the house?” she asked quietly.
    I nodded.
    â€œYou can’t stay inside forever, Mel,” Mama said gently.
    I stretched my hands out, palms up, and studied the tiny lines in them. “They think you’re a freak.”
    Mama sighed. “I don’t care what they think. I want to know what you think.”
    I looked at her. “How come it has to be her?”
    â€œI love her.”
    â€œHow come you can’t just love a man like everybody else? Even a white man if you had to.”
    â€œNot everybody else loves men, Melanin Sun. . . .”
    â€œLike most people,” I said.
    â€œBecause I’m not most people.”
    â€œDo you hate me, EC?”
    Mama shook her head. “Of course not, M. You’re the closest person in the world to me.”
    â€œBut you don’t like men.”
    â€œI never said I didn’t like them. I’m just not romantically attracted to them.”
    â€œBut what about my father?”
    â€œI was young.”
    â€œAnd what about the other guys you dated?”
    â€œ You hated all of them.” Mama smiled.
    â€œBut weren’t you attracted to any of them?”
    Mama thought for a moment. “Yeah. Some, I guess. But it’s nothing like what I feel for Kristin.”
    â€œIs it ’cause she’s white?”
    Mama looked at me. “No and yes, sometimes. It’s complicated.”
    â€œIt is, isn’t it?” I scowled. EC was so . . . so . . . stupid.
    â€œI like the contrast of us, the differences between us—and I like the way we’ve found our way to each other across color lines. Kristin’s amazing to me. I like her —everything about her, and her whiteness is a part of her,” Mama said. “Does that make sense?”
    â€œNo!”
    â€œI didn’t think it would. Look, honey, this may sound lame, but I’d like to ask you for a favor. The next time Kristin is here, I want you to try to get to know her. See us together as people. I’m still EC. She’s Kristin. That’s all I’m asking of you.”
    I started to say something, but Mama cut me off.
    â€œJust try, Melanin Sun.