Free Culture Clash by L. Divine Page B

Netta stop their organizing and look up at me, smiling.
    “Good for you, little Jayd. She’s sporting her crown high on her head, ain’t she, Lynn Mae?” Netta says, beaming from ear to ear. I knew they’d be proud of me if I eased my story in at an opportune moment.
    “Good for you, Jayd,” Mama says, returning to her duties. “And don’t worry about that white boy. They’re always threatened by the presence of a strong black woman,” she says, and I know Mama knows all about that kind of drama. “I decided a long time ago that I’m not here to make anyone comfortable, especially not white men. As far as I’m concerned, this is their country and they tend to think that this is their world, too.”
    “Amen to that,” Netta chimes in. The two of them together crack me up every time, except for when they’re mad at me. I just hope this evening is not one of those times after I tell them how I reacted to Reid’s racist threat, even if I am slightly proud of my newfound clout.
    “Even some of the black folks at the school are hating,” I say, grabbing the broom and dustpan from the corner in preparation for my next chore. “And the majority of the ones that are participating in the club don’t want to take the time to learn anything other than what they already think they know about being black. But luckily Mr. Adewale and Ms. Toni are our advisers, and I know they’ll make sure we receive the proper guidance.” I’m looking forward to spending some time with both of my favorite teachers outside of our regular classes.
    “Of course the black students are hating,” Netta says, now prepping fresh tools for tomorrow while Mama finishes the clients’ boxes. If Friday was this busy, tomorrow should be off the chain—and so will the money we earn.
    “Jayd, you’ll soon learn that sometimes the very people who need light the most will be the ones who want it the least,” Mama says while I continue sweeping. There’s more hair on this floor than in a horse’s mane. Any other beauty shop would simply throw it away, leaving the clients’ heads vulnerable to all kinds of curses and other negative things. But Mama and Netta take special precautions to make sure that their clients’ hair is disposed of in the proper, spiritual way it deserves.
    “I had a best friend once who thought I was too black for my own good. She was black too, but not in culture. I knew some white folks that were more black than that girl was,” Netta says, checking her station’s inventory one more time before shutting the lights off in that section. “I never could understand why some black folks get pissed when whites want to join the religion, sing our songs, eat our food—not that we let them in, but I can understand the desire. Being black is where it’s at for me.”
    “But everyone doesn’t share that frame of mind,” Mama interjects, smiling at her best friend. “Different people’s relationship to the culture is personal, and you must respect their frame of reference, too. In this life, all roads are valid,” Mama says, closing all the boxes before returning them to their cabinets. “And I’ve ceased caring about what white folks think about my way of life. Why the hell should I bite my tongue to please them when they couldn’t care less about my feelings, or my ancestors’ for that matter?” Mama looks at me and knows something else is on my mind. Now is as good a time as any to lay it all out on the table.
    “I feel the same way, Mama, and showed Reid exactly how I felt about him threatening me,” I say. Mama stands at full attention and puts her right hand on her hip, giving me a look that tells me to continue with the entire story. “Last night my dream was about me fighting off my enemies with our ancestors’ powers and yours too,” I say, continuing with my work while coming clean. Mama and Netta are silent, taking it all in. “And today I was able to use Maman’s powers on Reid. It was so