Hunt For Her: Black & White by Xyla Turner

Chapter Three

Kizzy

The next few weeks,I circled around the college application that laid on the magazine table, like it was a caged animal, ready to pounce at any moment. I tried to shut the thoughts in my head off, which reminded me that I didn't like school, that it was irrelevant, and I had done okay without it. Then I looked around at my place, rode to my job, and had another kid not eat a damn thing, and destroyed the food and threw it all over the cafeteria. All so my supervisor to say, kids will be kids. I was seconds away from telling all of those motherfuckers to kiss my ass.

This could not be my life.

Driving home that day, I gathered all my rage and put together everything I needed to complete the application. Forget submitting it; I took my ass down there to Bedford Community College (BCC), the next day and submitted it in person. Apparently, you get faster service that way. So, when I received that next Tuesday, an email from BCC with the subject, Congratulations! I immediately dropped my phone, stood up and stared into the ether. Holy shit!

I got accepted.

Holy shit, even with my GED and I received some funding. I mean, wow. I guess I never really tried, but damn. I couldn't believe it.

The first person, I wanted to tell was Hunt. He was really the only person that knew about it and instead of clowning me, he told me I could and should do it.

My friend Tiff didn’t even know I was thinking of continuing my education. Hell, we both hated school, but I think at that point, I hated life and what was happening at home. The structure of the school didn’t seem to fit at that time. Now, it was something I welcomed. Mentally, I was ready.

Well, over the years, Tiff and I hadn't been hanging out much, because there wasn't a football team for her to fuck, so she was all about the club scene. When we were younger, sure. That shit was getting old to me now. I saw the same guys and they were saying the same thing as they did then.

I’m sure Hunt would call sometime this week, as he’d been consistent for months now. Our usual routine remained. He’d bring food, we’d eat, share some laughs at a tv show and then fuck. Lately, after that night, he liked me doing the driving and I was okay with that. I didn’t do that with dudes often and that night when he found my application, I was feeling myself. I didn’t usually like to exert energy with men who were alphas, because they didn’t like that shit. So, I’d play docile, so they could get off. If the dick was good, I’d be a docile bitch, okay.  I also didn’t like to exert my energy with fuck buddies, who didn’t exert their energy with me.

That night, when we had that application drama, well, he’d touch me in a place that I didn’t even know I needed.

An encouraging friend.

We were fuck buddies, but that night, I didn’t mind putting it on him so he could have a good nut. I got mine too.

Now, I had to get to work.

There were a lot of things that I had to do in order to start for the fall semester. With the welfare program, I received more cash and benefits, as long as I was in school. Plus, I maxed out my student loans, so that gave me more money. This meant that I no longer had to work at that horrid job and see those nasty ass kids. We’d give them a tray and the concoctions that came back on those trays were acts of Satan or science.

The other thing I needed to do was move closer to school. I lived in Hancock, but my school was in Warren County, which was over an hour and a half away. There could be no excuses as to why I couldn't make it to class, so I immediately put in to transfer my apartment voucher. Plus, Warren was a bigger city, so my options would be nicer.

In my excitement, I decided to go shopping for some school clothes and to get some of my favorite food in Warren. My watch app told me that there was a march happening downtown, but it was a twenty-minute walk for me; since I had on sneakers, I decided to park and walk, so folks holding up the traffic would not impact me.

I purchased some nice jeans that fit me perfectly and a few shirts and for the hell of it, a cardigan. Why not? I didn’t own one, but it’s a first for everything and after all, I’m going to college, dammit. Then I bought some shoes. Not sneakers, but sensible shoes that would go nicely with my jeans. The giddiness was bubbling over as I modeled in the mirror of the dressing room. This was about to be my new life.

College Life.

As I left, I crossed the street and the march just happened to be right there. The streets were blocked off, so no cars could come through, with police escorts at both ends. That wasn’t the crazy part though…it was the burning cross, with real fire, on the back of a 4x4 truck. It was at least one hundred men that surrounded it while holding up traffic and chanted something over and over.

All white men.

Immediately, I grew uneasy, but calmed down, when I saw that the observers were all black, as they looked on in horror.

What the fuck was going on?

Was I witnessing a KKK rally?

According to some, the Klan was dead, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other groups out there. I remember reading an article about Angels and Purebreds. The Klan’s tactics of wearing sheets might not be as prevalent, but the mentality is still alive.

As I focused some more, I saw the confederate flags swinging high, armed men in the streets looking ready for a fight, sneers on their faces, and hate in their eyes. I knew where I lived, but this was the first I had ever experienced this type of shit. I grew angry at their outward display of superiority and hatred.

Good ole’ fucking Georgia.

An open-carry state.

I needed to move. Shit, fuck college. I had to go to the northeast or the west coast.

After standing there for a while, I decided to take my ass home. I’d order some takeout because I did not want to be near that shit any longer. It was then that I heard what they were saying.

More importantly, who was saying it.

“White Lives Matter, first,” a man yelled.

Wow.

“Again,” that familiar voice commanded.

“White Lives Matter, first!”

“Who?” He was encouraging them.

“White Lives Matter, first!”

My head swiveled back to see it was no one other than Hunt, whatever the fuck his name was, leading the gotdamn march.

Biggie Smalls said it best, “Life wasn’t a bitch.”

My eyes had to be bugged out. Like, really, bugged the fuck out.

This motherfucker.

WOW!

I had been sleeping with the motherfucking leader of what seemed to a Klansman. Just these ignorant motherfuckers did not have on hoods, robes, or anything. Just good ole' jeans, white t-shirts, and a gotdamn burning cross.

I stared and stared and like a moth to a flame, he turned, and our eyes connected. His hate-filled eyes almost immediately turned to sorrow. Yet, that did not stop his ass from leading the chants. He stared back and kept yelling, “Who?... What?... Why?... Whose life?”

After what felt like an hour, but could have only been two minutes, I broke eye contact and nearly ran back to my car, so I could take my ass home.

What kind of person did that make me? I ain’t asked for shit, his last name or nothing. Just invited the son of a bitch to my bed and ain’t question him in over a year.

Wow, sis.

You really know how to pick them.

I ended up going home, double locking my door, and triple checking the status of my apartment voucher in Warren. Right after I blocked Hunt’s number. Not only was I sick of this stupid life that I created for myself, but it was also time to leave. Maybe not out of the state this time, but from this neighborhood.

Away from him.

The shit made me think of my mom, after she told me that Willard hit her, and he was cooling off. I remember thinking was she that desperate for a man or someone to love her, which is why she put up with being hit. She thought the fact that her abusing ass husband wasn't interested in fucking me, was like some badge of honor. He deserved no gotdamn prizes. But had I become my mother.

What did it say about me, that someone who hated black people would pick me and fuck me for nearly a year?

Why me?

Was I a beard or the equivalent of that woman?

Who was I attracting?

Had I become my mother? Destined to be with fuckups and degenerates who asked to borrow money or coming over to crash for the night. Was the burning of the cross, my own black eye?

Any answer to these questions, scared the shit out of me, if I had to be honest. Therefore, I put my energy into my new life.

* * *

Four Months Later

The housing vouchercame through almost thirty days later and thank God for small miracles, but Hunt had only stopped by my house twice, where I did not answer the door. His number was already blocked in my phone, so there would be no contact that way either. I figured he moved on to his next Negro, but that was no longer my business. I had moved my little bit of stuff inside, saved for some furniture and more importantly, was awaiting my next big steps in life.

The fall semester started and though one might consider this to be hype, I had a book bag, what I used to call a trapper keeper to organize my classes and I even bought some glasses, like I should have done in high school. I couldn’t see worth shit but refused to admit it. This…well, I was going to succeed, come hell or high water.

My first week of classes was intense, and that was just the getting to know you stage. Most of the people in there seemed more accomplished than me. Even though the professors tried to reassure us that we were all starting from the same place. I had a distinct feeling that we weren’t. I was not a good student in high school. I hated school. Probably because I never went.

The second week was coming soon, and I had all my homework done and ready for submission. We had to take two mandatory classes for new students and then we were allowed to take additional courses within a certain range. I chose African American Studies. Something about that incident of watching that white supremacist group march downtown jolted me. I wasn’t a political chick, nor was I a 'fight the power’ one either. Yet, that shit and the asshole who led it shook me. So, what wasn’t on my radar before, made me curious now.

As I walked through the campus, ate some pizza, and did my homework in the library, I took a moment to bask in the fact that I did not think I would be in college. It might have been small to others, but this was something I did not think I would or could do it. Almost didn’t. Yet, that someone told me I could and should.

Heading to my new apartment, I stopped at the mini-mart to grab some toilet paper and not that soft shit that leaves dingleberries between your ass. But the other kind, which gives you a clean wipe. It made a difference, and these stores usually only had the soft kind. As I pulled out of the driveway, I saw a 4x4 truck getting gas and the driver looked familiar. They didn’t see me, but I would have sworn that was the king of the Klansman himself.

Hunt.

Which is probably not his legal name. Shit, maybe it was.

I peeled out of there with the quickness and made sure my face was hidden in the process. Thank you, sun visor, baseball cap, and glasses.

My third week went like my second. There were no major papers or work due and my classes went smooth, until the African American studies course. There was a white guy in the back, who kept interrupting the class with his questions. The problem was, they weren’t questions, but statements that he kept challenging the teacher with. Finally, the professor stated, “Maybe you’re in the wrong class.”

“Oh, I’m in the right class. Here is where you all teach about how the inferior race came to be. I need to hear this shit.”

Ah, shit.

I turned around, well the whole class turned around like that scene of Dear Black People and I swear, I almost fell out of my seat. Next to the stupid guy who had his hand up, was none other than HUNT, NO LAST NAME, the Asshole, punk-ass racist bitch – Hunt!

The smirk fell off his face when he caught my eye, but I quickly jerked back around to look at the professor. Actually, all fifty of us turned to see what the tall, black man with locs would do.

“You’re right about one thing in that statement,” he replied. “You do need to hear this shit, because if you think the black, African race is inferior, and your Anglo-Saxon ass is superior. Then guess what? If I take my thirty-eight revolver…” he walked up the steps towards the two men who were leaning back with boot-covered feet on the chair in front of them. “And pulled it out and shot you in your liver. The doctors would determine that you needed a new liver and if my blood matched your blood type. I could, with my inferior ass, give you a liver, so that you could live in this deluded existence that you think you’re better than me. When the truth is, and you know it deep down. You’re not. Actually, if according to your own American standards. Not only are you the inferior one in this case, but also a dying breed. So, in this class, you will listen, or you will leave. In this class, I am the professor, and I will teach. If you have a problem with any of these things, you can take them up with my supervisor, the Dean of the College. I can give you her secretary’s email and phone number if you’d like.”

He stood a few steps away from the two men, as the rest of the class watched with bated breaths as he talked and slowly approached them.

“Any questions?” He asked, standing there looking at them. As if he wished a racist bitch would.

When none of them said anything, he began his descent back down to the podium and said without looking back. “Oh, yeah. The Dean is a black woman, too.”

The class went from mouths dropped to laughing hysterically. Including me. I wasn’t laughing too hard, because of the asshole in the back. But that shit was funny. Talking about being read the riot act. His dumb ass shut up real quick.

“Class dismissed,” the professor announced, looking more dangerous than scholarly.

Students began piling out, laughing and shaking their heads. Texting and calling people, I’m sure, to share the crap that just happened in class and with phrases like, “I love college, bro.”

As I left the classroom, I didn’t get one foot out of the doorway, until I was being pulled in another direction. Turning around, I saw it was Hunt and I began to pull away.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I gasped and began to pull away. He pulled me in the doorway of another room, where I was hidden. “I’ll scream. What are you doing?”

“Calm down. I won’t hurt you,” he looked almost wounded.

“Get your hands off of me,” I jerked free and moved away from him, so I was out in the open of the hall where people were. “What?”

“We need to talk,” he said in a low voice but remained against the wall. “Can you come here?”

“No,” I shook my head. “I don’t know you.”

“Fucking bullshit, Kizzy.” He snapped. “I’ve been fucking you for a year.”

“Not anymore,” I noted and shook my head as I hadn’t seen him for almost five months.

“Because you blocked me,” he hissed.

“Because you’re a racist,” I shrugged. “What the fuck do you take me for? Some mammy slave girls you can just fuck, nut and be gone. While you continue to spread your lies. White lives matter, first?”

He jerked his head, then he spits the venom, “They do. You spread your legs anytime I asked before and ain’t know shit about me. Now you find out one thing and just call it off. You didn’t even have the decency to do that; you just ghosted me.”

I almost laughed at his absurdity of the outrage. This guy must be on meth or some shit.

“Consider this your notification,” I told him and swiftly walked away. Ensuring that he did not follow me, I went different routes out of the building and then to my car. Since I had moved, he would not have known how to find me, but I didn’t think he’d ever show his ass up to my class. What had I got myself into?

Gotdamn.