Black Short Stories : Culture Shock--Chapter 2

Discussion in 'Short Stories - Authors - Writing' started by Queen_of_Spades, Nov 19, 2002.

  1. Queen_of_Spades

    Queen_of_Spades Well-Known Member MEMBER

    Oct 11, 2002
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    surviving, living, and thriving
    beyond the ocean of darkness
    Culture Shock-Chapter Two

    Jimi's tunes were still playing in her brain when she finally reached the high school. It looked quite different. It was three stories instead of one; the grass was neatly trimmed. There were brand new buses coming and going.

    "What the hell's goin' on?" she thought. The white folks had never given blacks nothing new. This seemingly new building, a genuine environment worth bragging about. Maybe things were turning around after all.

    She got off the bus and walked down the unblemished sidewalk to the front door of the school. To her dismay, there stood two black cops who gave her an "I know you didn't" look when she tried to pass by.

    "Miss we're goin' to have to search your bag."

    "What!" Pyruva exclaimed. "When did ya'll start havin' this policy?"

    "Since now. Miss, are you going to make this difficult for us?"

    "Nah!" she answered and threw the bag at the officer's chest. For a moment, anger flickered into his hazel eyes but quickly left.

    "You're free to go!" she answered, tossing the bag at Pyruva, knocking her off her feet. "You have a good day now."

    She quickly got to her feet and grasped the bag. As she went through the door, she thought she could hear the two cops laughing at her. When she turned back, their faces were solemn.

    "Hmm..let's see...what is my first class?" Pyruva muttered to herself. "African-American History, room 208."

    She quickly rushed up the stairs and walked into the room. Twenty pairs of eyes stared at her. Then their mouths broke and laughter came out.

    "Girl, where did you get those jeans? From the Salvation Army?" a girl with platinum blonde hair jeered, pointing a long, artificial silver fingernail at her.

    Why is her hair dyed blond, yet she is as black as me, Pyruva thought. And why aren't her nails hers?

    "Yeah," a light skinned girl with braids chided in. "That look is out! FUBU is in!"

    "What's FUBU?" Pyruva asked, and everyone started laughing again.

    "All right, class," the teacher interjected, his ebony hair permed and hanging down to his shoulders.

    Pyruva was confused. What was this FUBU? Why was the teacher's hair permed? He was a black man, and the black men she knew never permed their hair. Why was that girl's hair blonde? Black people weren't born with blonde hair. What kind of high school was this?

    "What's your name, young lady?"

    "Pyruva..Pyruva Allen."

    He glanced at his roll book.

    "Pyruva...Pyruva..oh, yeah! You're here for my class, World Civilization."

    "Um..there must be some mistake. I signed up for African-American history, sir."

    "Let me see your schedule," he answered and she placed the crumpled paper in his smooth hand. Apparently he didn't know the definition of hard labor.

    "Hmm..there has been a mistake. African-American history is not taught here. Get a reprint of your schedule and then return here."

    She grasped the schedule and strolled to the office. She looked at her reprinted schedule and was shocked. Almost all of her classes had been changed.

    What is this, Pyruva thought, tugging at the tendrils of her Afro. African-American History now World Civilization? Afro Art now European Art? African-American Lit now English Com? Basketball now Tennis? She knew nothing about Tennis and didn't want to know more about white folk. What happened to subjects about her people, and why weren't they taught in this predominantly black high school?

    The rest of the day was like a sick, twisted dream. She went to these classes, dismayed at how the other black student thought that learning about white heritage was okay. She felt like they weren't taking pride in their culture, her culture. She looked at them in horror. Some of the girls' hair were low cut, like the guys. Some of the hair were hues of red, yellow, and brown. And the way some of them dressed. Fish net tops. The shortest of shorts and skirts. Some wore jeans so baggy one could see the Hanes or Victoria's Secret band of their panties.

    What was the world coming to, Pyruva thought, when indecency and dismissing one's culture was an accepted practice? Her lips formed a frown, and the eagerness of school faded from her eyes. She now prayed for the end of the day.

    end of Chapter Two
  2. Bishop

    Bishop Well-Known Member MEMBER

    United States
    Jan 29, 2001
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    Chicago: Overlooking the Sea called Love
    ok....I need more...I'm loving this time warp Pyruva has found herself in.....
  3. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

    United States
    Mar 21, 2001
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    BUSINESS owner
    more more more more !!!
    getting my read on ......see u captured me in dis one
    bring on pt.#3 please!!!!