“Call me ‘Doctor,’” she said. “Or, if you prefer, ‘Professor,’ but never ‘Miss’ or ‘Missus.’ I love my Femi dearly, but I’m more than his wife and the mother of his children. I’m a scholar in my own right! And surprisingly enough I didn’t go into teaching for the money. I do it for the love, since there is very little money involved. Femi’s an engineer, so he makes the money in this family, which is how I can afford to teach and raise our children. And he gave me all this gold for my bride price!” She held up her arms, making the bracelets sing. “Be prepared to dive into the awe-inspiring history of our African American people! I’m amazed that I have the opportunity to be with you, and to be filled with your brilliance. My only prohibition is no cursing or name-calling. Our discussions might get a bit rowdy, but remember, everyone has a voice and there will be mutual respect. If not, I’ll ask you to leave, and possibly drop you from the class. And if your behavior is very bad, I might refer you to the campus disciplinary committee for expulsion!”
She smiled cheerfully.
Though the required textbooks were in the bookstore, Dr. Oludara would give us additional handouts ahead of time for our units. She expected us to read the class materials, especially the seven extra students she’d allowed in the class, even though her load was supposed to be capped at twenty-two. But for this initial week, she had decided to do something she’d never done before. On Thursday, she was taking us on a surprise field trip.
In the second row, a raised hand. “Where are we going?”
Our professor stopped waving her arms. “Tell me your name, please?”
“Abdul Wilson.”
“Thank you! My dear brother, a surprise implies a withholding of information, so that means I’m not telling you where we’re going. However, be assured that you will be safe. All students need to wear something light-colored. No student wearing dark clothing will be allowed to join the group, and when we arrive at our destination, you’ll be required to take off your shoes. What do you kids say? If your feet are ‘jacked,’ please hide them with light-colored socks.”
Again, we laughed.
On Thursday morning, we met in front of our classroom building. I was self-conscious in my yellow-and-white cotton dress. Even in the summertime, I preferred dark clothing; I hadn’t brought any light clothing to campus, and both my roommates were much thinner than I was, so I couldn’t borrow their clothes. So I’d driven to Chicasetta the day before and found a dress in my great-grandmother’s trunk. My granny hadn’t thrown out any of her mother’s clothing, and the dress was from the ’50s, when Dear Pearl had been smaller, though still on the chubby side. The dress was handmade, with tiny neat stitches in the seams. It had a narrow waist and a full skirt that fell a handspan below my knees. Thankfully, the sleeves were three-quarter; I was sensitive about my fleshy arms. Underneath the bodice, a thin lining. The skirt had a petticoat that whispered with my movements. Dear’s feet had been larger than mine, so I stuffed toilet paper in the toes to make her beige high heels fit. I’d put on a pair of her clip-on earrings, and Keisha had loaned me some colorless lip gloss. I’d painted my toes and oiled the heels of my feet, but I didn’t wear pantyhose. I was hot enough in the dress.
Pat walked up to me, followed by Abdul and Steve. The three were identically dressed in white button-down shirts and khaki pants. Pat had on tan-colored sandals, but the other two wore white sneakers.
“Damn, lady!” Pat said. “When you clean up, you really go all out! You got my heart beating so fast. Here, feel it.”
He took my hand, squeezing. I laughed but didn’t let go.
“Ain’t nobody touching your chest, boy! You always trying to gas me up.”
“Naw, Ailey, I’m for real! I see you at chapel, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look quite this fine.”
When Tiffany Cruikshank walked up in her cream-colored pantsuit with light-orange shoes, Pat told her, I didn’t want to believe what men told me, but maybe I’d believe another incredibly beautiful woman. Didn’t I look nice?
“Yes, you do look very pretty in your dress.” Tiffany spoke formally, as if giving a speech, and didn’t crack a smile. “That’s a very ladylike ensemble.”
“Thank you, Tiffany.”
I crossed my arms; the attention was making me uncomfortable. Then, Dr. Oludara arrived, wearing a long white dress. Her hair was tightly wrapped again, this time in material that matched her outfit. She waved her arms and the bracelets jingled. Let’s go.