Page 24 of You've Got a Place Here, Too

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I didn’t know what schools to apply to, and ran a list of schools,

mainly in New York. I hadn’t considered an HBCU, mainly

because I didn’t know about them until that day.

He shook his head. “I thought maybe you were interested

in Howard or Hampton. They would be some great fits.”

I shrugged. He cocked his head. “And it’s not like you would

be the first. Island folks have been to almost all the HBCUs

and Tuskegee even trained an Afro-Dominican airman

who fought in World War II.”

And well, from there it was a wrap. I researched Tuskegee

because it felt like a gift that this compadre I just met

looked at me and mentioned a Dominican pilot, mentioned

a school he thought I might be at home in. Saw me

somewhere I’d never imagined but that called like a

guïra scrape on the wind, that made you crack open your window,

lean out, and want to fly.

I researched the Dominican guy he’d mentioned: Esteban Hotesse.

I skimmed down his Wikipedia page and his birthplace stopped me in my

tracks. Hotesse was born in Moca, just like me, and my mother,

and hers. He came to the U.S. at four years old, just like me. He

fought not in a warfield somewhere in Europe, but here, in the U.S.

for civil rights. He disobeyed direct orders. Second Lieutenant Hotesse

demanded an end to segregation

in the military clubs. He was a G. And while I had my reasons

to apply only to New York schools, to try and get back to Mami,

I figured it was worth a shot, to at least fill out the Tuskegee application.

In Alabama, it took time for my ears to sharpen

around the accents unfamiliar.

The campus was full of the greenest green lawns and red-roofed

buildings. And the moment I stepped on campus, my breath

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