Page 49 of You've Got a Place Here, Too
My steps falter at the sound of Kendrick’s voice. I hadn’t noticed him following me.
He approaches with his hands raised in a plea.
“Just hear me out,” he begins. “There’s a second line Uptown this Sunday. Come with me. Once you experience what Black Masking Indian culture is all about, you’ll understand why it needs to be included in the extravaganza. I know how important this event is to SGA’s fundraising, Jordyn. Don’t you think I want it to be successful, too?” He hunches his shoulders. “I need you to know you’re not alone in this. Will you come with me this Sunday?”
Do I have a choice?
I know I do, but it is beginning to feel as if I haven’t been making the correct one. Dr. Cornwall made it clear that I’m on thin ice. Putting my trust in Kendrick seems as good an idea as any other.
But that isn’t the only reason I want to join him. The prospect of spending a Sunday afternoon with Kendrick sends all manner of tingly sensations racing through me. Deep down I know I want to be with him, even if I’m not ready to admit it to him. Or to myself.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll join you on Sunday.”
His eyes light up a second before an equally bright smile streaks across his face.
“See you Sunday.”
The air is electric.
I wouldn’t necessarily call myself a party girl, but I’m not a homebody either. Give me a cookout in Lincoln Park on a nice spring day and I’m in heaven.
That’s what this feels like. The family atmosphere. The brilliant, beautiful colors. The lively music, joyous dancing, kids laughing; it is all so much more than I had anticipated.
I look over at Kendrick and can’t help my smile. He’s different today. Still fine as ever, but there’s a playfulness to him that I rarely see when he’s on campus. It’s a combination that my heart is having a hard time resisting.
We stand on the sidewalk of a tree-lined street in New Orleans’s Uptown neighborhood. I experienced more than a little embarrassment earlier when I was forced to admit to Kendrick that I had only been to this area of the city twice in the three years since I started at Xavier. I exist in the bubble the university creates, and I rarely leave it, which explains why my dad constantly gets on my case about the Uber Eats, DoorDash, and Instacart charges to my credit card.
But after this afternoon, I can see myself venturing to other parts of this city. I’m ready to discover what else I’ve been missing out on.
Kendrick leans to the side and speaks into my ear.
“You see that guy, the one in the front leading the pack?” he asks.
It takes a second for me to process his words. My brain wants to focus on how it feels when his lips brush against my ear more than it wants to focus on what he’s saying.
“What about him?” I ask.
“He’s called the Spy Boy. He’s the lookout. It’s his job to alert the rest of the tribe if trouble is near.”
I whip around and stare at him. “Why would there be trouble? You didn’t tell me these parties were dangerous, Kendrick.”
He breaks out in a laugh that has him doubling over.
“Calm down, Jordyn. Damn.” He laughs again. “You’re not in danger, I promise. It’s all part of the customs that were passed down from the Indigenous people. And, no, it is not cultural appropriation.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I say.
Kendrick rolls his eyes, then he clamps his fingers around my wrist and gives a light tug.
“Come here,” he says.
I follow him as he leads me down a side street, about ten yards from where the second line procession is taking place. The revelry is still loud, but not as deafening.
“If you did just a little research, you would understand that the masking crews were created as a way to pay homage to the Indigenous tribes of this area, not to imitate them,” Kendrick says. “The Indigenous people taught the enslaved people who managed to escape how to navigate the swamps and live off the land. They played a huge role in the freedom of our enslaved ancestors, and that is why the Black people of New Orleans still honor and celebrate them today.”
My heart thuds against my chest not only at his words, but at the passion with which he says them.
He lets out an exhausted breath. “I’m sorry for crashing outlike that,” he says, stuffing his hands in his back pockets and shuffling his feet. His embarrassment is obvious, but unnecessary.
