Hunt For Her: Black & White by Xyla Turner

Chapter Five

Kizzy

I could not believethis crazy-ass man was following me. He enrolled in a whole community college just to stalk me. This shit was concerning. I researched a restraining order, but since this asshole is enrolled in my school, I stopped that. I was not leaving school and he hadn’t legally done anything besides be a racist. Burn a cross in the middle of downtown with police escorts. Hell, what were they going to do? Take him out for coffee. I swear, as soon as I graduated, I was moving out of the fucking state. Maybe to the East Coast. Hell, I don’t know. California seemed nice, but those wildfires were not okay.

My courses were manageable, and I spent my Saturdays doing homework. If I didn’t understand the work, I emailed my professors and I even coordinated a study group for my African American Studies course. There were a lot of dates to remember, and we needed a system.

During one of the sessions, one woman asked me if that white guy was my boyfriend and I nearly choked.

“Hell, no.” I spat.

She raised both of her hands in surrender and said, “Girl, the way he looks at you, it says something different. My bad.”

Rolling my eyes, I kept on working. Just glad that he had not infiltrated my study sessions. I mostly communicated to my classmates via email, because he would sit right next to me, in every single class. People wouldn’t even sit next to me anymore, because of him.

At our next class, our midterm results were given back to us and all I heard was a “Fuck” hissed next to me.

“What did you get?” Hunt asked.

“An A-,” I answered, as I tried to keep my voice down since the papers were being handed back.

“Fuck!” he said again. “Can I see yours?” I slid it to him, and I guess he started to compare the two.

“Race is a social construct?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“How did I miss that?” he asked, sounding really confused.

I turned around to see that he had a D on his paper and many of his answers were wrong.

“Race was born out of colonization?” he asked, with wonder in his voice.

“Yes,” I replied. “It’s in the book and the lecture.”

“There are genetic similarities that people who are African-American and non-African-American? Now, I know that’s fucking wrong.” He countered.

I opened my page to that section and showed him, by sliding the text over to him.

“Contrary to whatever the hell you learned, the only thing that separates us is pigmentation and how I characterize myself.” Then I turned around and continued to ignore the man who for the most part left me alone while in class.

I spoke too soon because at the end of class, he called my name.

“Kizzy?”

Slowly turning as, I held onto my books, without speaking, I lifted my eyebrows for him to continue.

“Can you help me?” He asked. “With my classes.”

I was already shaking my head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. I’ve asked you on numerous occasions to leave me alone. You seem to be hell-bent on not doing that, so I am not going to put myself in the crossfires of you and your race war.”

He sighed and wiped his face, rather sharply.

“Kizzy, I’m fucking failing and I’m trying. Please. I don’t know anybody in here, but I know you. Please I don’t ask anybody for shit. I’m not trying to fail out of here, just when I got started. I need to finish what I started.”

I blinked at him then remembered that it was him, the white supremacist himself who encouraged me to go to school. He said I could and should attend and not let anyone tell me different. I understood his plight, oddly enough. I would have begged my worst enemy. I needed a win in this life, because the one I had before was shit. College was my next step. This had to work, and I completely understood Hunt, though I didn’t want to.

Fuck.

I would not be the reason why he would not succeed. I contemplated having him join the study group, then I thought about what that woman asked. Plus, I thought about what nonsense he would say.

“I study on Saturday and write my papers then as well. I do not mind going over the work with you via the phone.”

Light entered his eyes. Maybe it was hope, but it better be for his damn grades. The minute and I mean, the minute he tried something, that would be the end.

“I’m a hands-on learner, so in-person would be better for me. I can bring food or whatever.” He told me.

Shit.

I didn’t want to have to spend my Saturdays coming to campus and I also didn’t want him to know where I lived.

“There is a coffee shop on Jefferson Street, or we could go to the one on Johnston Street. They both have good food, so there is no need to bring food.” I told him. “I can meet you for two hours.”

Setting boundaries with people like him are important because they would, as he had, walk all over if I was to let him. Yeah, this was a fairly vulnerable moment, but I did not for one doubt, think he would not capitalize on his ultimate goal. Though, I still did not know what that was.

“Yeah, I know the one on Johnston.” Hunt nodded. “That works. Thanks, Kizzy…I, uh, didn’t start this to fail.”

“Yeah, I understand. Same.” I shared, as my stupid heart pricked just a bit. “I wasn’t even going to start it, if it wasn’t for you.”

He gave me a puzzled look, so I explained.

“That night, when you found my application. I was going to throw it away, actually I, uh, knew I needed a change, but I didn’t think the school route would be the one for me. It was only after you said I could and should. After some time, I went for it.”

The intensity in his eyes, caused me to look away, because I didn’t want to get emotional. What I did not expect was his soft fingers on my chin turning my head back, so that I had to look at him.

“Eyes on me, Kizzy,” he demanded. “Best fucking thing, you did. This is why I need to do well. Not D’s,” he lifted up his paper. “I ain’t never think I could be here because I ain’t never believe I could do shit. You made that possible for me and whether you ever take me back or not, I’ll always be eternally grateful.”

Hunt cleared his throat and then he asked, “What time on Saturday?”

I blinked a few times, as the question settled, and his previous words ruminated through my psyche. It passed me that he had not been previously enrolled in school and that the way he encouraged me was based on what he didn’t think he was able to do. That was the shit, that made it even crazier. I’ve had similar shit. Mom choosing a man and the bottle over me. She didn't think she could do it, so that meant I couldn’t. Education was not important. Paying the bills was a priority and I got that. Since I got my own set of bills, I must pay. Got to live first, before I can go on to finish my education. It was just that, she taught me that was the only thing that mattered. What I could get. Bills paid here. Food there. Everything cost.

“Noon works,” I confirmed. “See you then.”

Removing my face from his grasp, I turned and made my exit. Quickly without looking back, so he would not see any of the emotion that was sure a full canvas on display as tears streamed down my face.

Dammit.

Get it together, Kizzy.

* * *

Later in the week,I called my mother to check in on her. She sounded like she just woke up, but it was four o’clock in the afternoon. Therefore, I hit facetime just to see for myself. It was not clear why my mother accepted the facetime invitation because it was too late before I saw her face. My mother was considered a high-yellow, red-boned woman. I was much darker, as I took after my father, I think. If I was bruised, it would not be as visible, but when my mother had a scratch, it was nice and red.

Where I lost my mind and began yelling was when I saw my mom’s face. Black, blue and yellow. She had one swollen eye, a knot at her forehead and her jaw looked like it was hanging by a tendon.

“What the fuck did he do?!?!” I screamed.

“Oh—Kiz—don’t!” Then the phone line went dead.

“Fuck!” I packed up my shit to go over there, but then remembered the last time I tried that. That bitch, she’s called a man, was a piece of shit. Throwing my purse back on the couch, I decided to call the police.

“Can you do a wellness check to 555 Platform Street?” I asked the officer, whose voice sounded all too familiar, since I called so damn much. “I heard some ruckus, a few crashes and then screaming. Can you please go and check on the lady that lives there?”

He asked me some more questions and said they would send someone out to check. I tried to call my mom back several times, but she didn’t respond. As my chest began to constrict, I tried to calm down before my study session that evening with my Intro to Writing course. Half of me wanted to cancel the whole thing or not show up, but I had to go.

On my way back from the student group, I kept checking my phone to see if my mom would call, but she didn’t and wouldn’t return my text.

---

“Kizzy! How could you?!?” my mom screamed. “They arrested him. I’m your mother. How could you be such a selfish bitch? They took him and he’s going to jail. I can’t bail him out. Why!?! He didn’t mean it. He was having a bad day!”

The woman was screaming at the top of her lungs in between sobs and while I never wanted my mom to be in that place, I did not regret having to do a wellness check, where they locked his irate ass up. He needed to be under the jail. He had been and still was beating her like she was a fucking man. This is why, I had to move out. Mom nearly put me out, because I threatened to take his life if I ever saw her looking like she got hit by a Mack truck. That shit was not okay. I tried to stay for her though. Tried to get her to see sound reasoning. To leave his stupid ass. He was going to kill her before it was all over, but she did not see that.

Nope.

This was evident when she continued to say, “How am I going to pay the bills? Look what you’ve done. I can’t get a job.”

“Mom, I’ll help you,” I told her. “I can help, or you can come and stay with me.”

“NO!” she yelled. “He needs me.”

“Wow,” I gasped. “What happened when I needed you, mom? You have clearly chosen that man over your own flesh and blood, and he beats you to a pulp every chance he gets, but he NEEDS YOU!”

I found myself screaming with tears rolling down my eyes. In order to not crash my car, I hung up the phone as my eyes grew cloudy. Pulling over, I cried as I thought about the times when I needed my mom. I was almost thirty, so it wasn’t like I was going to blame her for what my life turned out to be. But there was a part of me, that felt like she didn’t fight for me. Never did, if I told the truth. I think it was cleansing for even the younger Kizzy inside. I was older. Knew better and even when to hang up. I could not keep the toxic cycle of dealing with her dysfunction and taking it on as my own. The curse had to end.

Hell, she didn’t even know I was in school, and she wouldn’t until I graduated. Shit, she may not even then.

This toxicity.

Saturday came and after the week that I had, I was honestly tired. I barely slept, watched way too much television, and was not focused on my studies. I wanted to escape. Since I moved, the guys that I was messing with dried up too. Well, I stopped all that shit, when I got accepted into school. It didn’t seem to serve a purpose, even if it paid a bill or two. I was still left empty.

Hence, my mood was not the best on Saturday and Hunt did not miss any of it.

Ten minutes into going over the syllabus, to make sure he had things in order, he stopped and was like, “What the fuck is wrong with you today?”

“Got a lot of shit happening,” I scoffed, and kept flipping papers.

“Want to eat something first? Get some coffee and shit? You come in here throwing bookbags, ripping through papers and shit, and not being yourself. Sort yourself out first,” he told me in that way of his.

It wasn’t a question, but clearly a directive as he waved over one of the male servers, who was cleaning off a table near us.

“Let’s get us something to eat. I’ll have that sandwich there and the lady will have…” He left it open for me to speak while watching me with a close eye.

“I’ll have a toasted lemon poppy seed muffin with an iced coffee. Cream and sugar.”

“Great. Will that be all?” The server, whose name tag read, Scott, asked.

“I’ll take a Sprite,” Hunt told him before the bright-eyed, blond hair Scott gave us a cursory nod and walked off.

“Now, you want to tell me what the fuck is bothering you or just sit and brew about it, as it eats you away?” Hunt’s focus was back on me.

“It’s nothing,” I automatically answered, until he gave me a raised eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest. “I mean, it’s nothing that anything can be done about it. So…”

“So, why not tell me?” He asked.

“Because we are not friends. We aren’t anything. It’s none of your business really. My family is my family. I don’t expect you to understand. You and your lifestyle of hating others for no damn reason beyond skin color. Or where they were born. You won’t understand.”

I stood up and decided that it was time to take a break, go to the restroom and regroup. I was snapping at him when he was trying to help. It wasn’t his fucking business, but he ain’t deserve that. I guess he was just crossing a boundary, like I would forget about the pink-ass elephant in the room. That shit was going nowhere.

When I returned, our food was there and so was Hunt looking extra rugged and sexy at the same time.

Damn these former sex partners.

“You un-bunch your panties?” He asked as he chewed through his sandwich.

Instead of answering him, I rolled my eyes and said, “So, which class are we starting with first? That is why I am here, and we have almost an hour and a half.”

“You can deflect on me, or you can try to solve it. While I may not know shit about your family, I got my own and they ain’t shit. So…despite our politics or race or whatever. I’m here because you said you’d help me. You apparently got shit going on that will hinder this help, so I’m offering to listen and if I feel inclined, respond. But you need to get that shit off of you, so we can be productive. Fair?”

This was a point.

“Fine.” I sighed. “My mom gets the shit beat out of her on a regular by her husband.”

“Your step-father?” Hunt interrupted.

“No, her husband.” I clarified. “So, he’s been doing this for years. I was kicked out for standing up against it almost ten years ago. The last time I was there, he threatened to beat my ass. I told him to try it, but he goes out, gets pissy drunk, and then goes on a rampage. This has been happening since probably before I was seventeen. They’ve been married since I was fifteen. Anyway, earlier this week, I called to check in on her and she didn’t sound good, so I face-timed. He had beat the shit out of her. Her face was black, blue, and orange with a busted eye so I called the police for them to do a wellness check. They arrested his stupid ass and she got mad at me. Blamed me for everything and now is trying to find ways to get him out. She says she needs him, but what bothered me is how she easily gave me up for this man. I just…I don’t know. The shit pissed me off. So that’s what happened.”

Hunt nodded his head and seemed to ponder on my words, then he said, “You did the right thing, sweetheart. Don’t ever doubt that. You were thinking about the wellbeing of someone who wasn’t capable of doing that for themselves. That makes you a good person and daughter. He beat on a woman; he deserves whatever the fuck he gets. You did right.”

Then he took a bite out of his sandwich as I was rendered speechless. I think I needed to hear that I wasn’t wrong. No matter what my mom was screaming. I did the right thing. There were a few times when I told a staff member that my mom was drunk all the time and they sent the Department of Children and Family Services (DCFS) to the house. She would get mad with me and cry that she was doing the best she could. This would make me feel guilty and then I’d feel the need to protect her. However, as I got older, I realized that I was not protecting her, but enabling her behavior.

After hearing most of my life that I wasn’t doing what she felt she needed, to hear that I did do the right thing, I felt a sense of relief. It was hard to explain, but it was like the time when Hunt said that I could and should go to school.

It was needed.

“Thank you, Hunt.” I smiled and took a piece of the steaming muffin and popped it in my mouth.

“Sure, sweetheart.” He took another bite. Then he asked, “So, are we ready?”

“Yes. Thank you,” I replied.

We buckled down and began to go over each course, assignment and then his exam to see where he went wrong. The issue was that he didn’t believe half of the shit that the professor said in African American Studies, so he answered with what he thought was right. I don’t know why I asked, but I did.

“Have you ever talked to a black person? Like, had an open dialogue?”

“About what?” He seemed puzzled by the question.

“Because it feels like you are answering these questions about people it doesn’t seem you have contact with. Like, it’s like you are referring to aliens, that you’ve never communicated with. I mean, it just seems weird.” My shoulders shrugged.

“Oh, I see enough black people,” he folded his arms.

“Yeah? How many do you actually talk to? Get to know? Hear their stories, background, aspirations? You know, communicate. Not see or conclude from the few people you watch on television.” I challenged him.

He unfolded his arms and took a long drag of his Sprite.

“You. I talk to you.” He countered.

“I ain’t going to bust your balls about it, but that ain’t good. We saw each other and fucked for the majority of our time together. Today was the only day we’ve had a semi-descent conversation. Most of our ties have been class, watching television or fucking. That is not communication.” I told him. “But anyway, I only say that, because these questions are pertaining to the history, but also the implications of African Americans. What that looks like now, because of slavery and how they were treated. You cannot separate the two.”

We moved on, because I really didn’t want to dwell there, and after two hours, he seemed to at least fundamentally understand the concepts and where he went wrong. He thought we should meet every Saturday to go over things, but I told him, I’d let him know. As we were about to part, Hunt paid the bill and then he said, “Thanks for sharing today. That helps me to understand you a little better. Also, thanks for helping me. That solidifies what I already knew.”

He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “See you in class, sweetheart.”

Dammit.

I wish I didn’t get excited about shit like that either, but it would be a bold face lie. My body was primed and that son of a bitch had set a rising flame.

When I called my mom later that day, she didn’t answer. I texted as well, but when she went on a bender, then that meant she could be out for a while. Especially with that asshole of a husband, being locked up.

* * *

Classes proceeded as normal,until Thursday. Hunt never spoke in African American history class. I did, because well, fuck him and his fucked-up thoughts and theories. Well, this Thursday, he must have had enough, because he definitely seemed agitated. He had been doing better on his test, but when we started talking about Martin Luther King, Jr., vs. Malcolm X, his agitation level shot up.

The professor asked, “Who do you most identify with?”

There were a range of answers, but then the professor said his politics mostly aligned with Martin, but his inclinations aligned with Malcolm.

“So, who’s worse?” Hunt shouted out. “Black men, that go around carrying guns yelling black power or white men doing the same thing?”

Oh shit.

Everyone and I mean everyone was looking at him.

“I’m just asking because you people get mad when we embrace our white pride and you do it all the fucking time. Black history this, Black Lives Matter that. So, when we say white pride, it’s something wrong with that? It sounds like, what’s the word you used professor, hypocritical?”

Just as everyone started talking, yelling or just sneering at him, the professor quieted everyone down and said, “Funny you say that Hunter. Let’s watch what happened when Malcolm realized he had been brainwashed by radicalism who had another agenda. I want you to see what happens when you get out of your bubble and learn something.”

Then he clicked the play button, which automatically dimmed the lights.

A black and white image of Malcolm X displayed, then the audio of him being asked questions about his pilgrimage and his change. It was a rather enlightening five-minute segment. This video was followed by his actual letter that was read by someone that was not Malcolm X. Once the two videos were finished playing, the professor hit a button and the lights came on as the screen dimmed.

“Now, Hunter. What are your thoughts on Malcolm X’s transformation after his pilgrimage?”

It was quiet on the left side of me, but I tilted my head to look at Hunt, but not be so blatant that I was staring. Half of me wanted to tell him to stop while he was ahead, but the other half of me, the faint half of me, the one I silenced at least, wanted him to fucking get it.

To finally get it.

“I think that’s why his ass was assassinated,” Hunt replied.

There were a few snickers and then the professor himself, laughed out loud. I kept looking back between the two of them because maybe I missed something.

“Yeah, Mr. Hunt, I would gather you are correct.” He nodded at Hunt. Then he turned towards the rest of the class. “Malcolm X’s teachings were controversial to the movement. Even Martin’s words shifted from the injustices of race in America to the Vietnam war and that is when he was assassinated. Many believed it was because of his focus on the money maker. War, is the real moneymaker of the time. Both with race for Malcolm and Vietnam for Martin. There was a shift and now, we are left with the remnants of great men who made great change in their own way, but they knew that this life was much bigger than the color of our skin.  Class dismissed.”

Wow.

I packed up my stuff, but Hunt was still sitting there, looking at the professor. I couldn’t tell if he was going to hurt the man or ask him a question.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Just need to talk with the professor about something.” He stood up. “I’ll see you in Writing tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I replied with caution in my voice. “You’re not going to fight him or anything, right?”

He gave me a smirk, before answering.

“No. I’m not.”

Then he packed up his things and went the other way to go up front. I lingered for a bit, but I saw that the professor started off with his arms folded over his chest, then they relaxed and he put his hands in his pocket. That was when I really left.

I wonder what that was about. I was super curious, but I was not about to call Hunt and find out. Maybe he’d tell me on Saturday for our session.