The Forgotten Generation: Chapter Five

The Forgotten Generation

Chapter Five:  Fayola's Too Black

“A month has passed since we first arrived in America.  [Grandmother] talks of ‘home’ relentlessly, as if to remind us where we came from; I think she worries that [Nnena] will forget our past.  [Father] keeps saying that one day, things will improve.  That’s good, but I don’t want [Nnena] to forget.  I don’t want to forget.”

--roughly translated, from the diary of Fayola Ihejirika, aged 18.

Fayola was pretty, not that she’d ever say as much of herself.  Dark skin, even darker hair and eyes.  Her father had rejected many requests for marriage from neighbouring suitors back home, despite how unheard of such rejections may have been, because he’d been praying for a better life, even then.  Fayola had become one of the oldest unwed females of the village, still a maiden at eighteen, and many of the villagers had come to look at her as being arrogant.

Here, though, it was very much a different case.  There weren’t many other people like her.  In fact, the town was ninety percent white, and it hadn’t quite gathered that racial profiling wasn’t the best way to go about things; they went about matters in an us versus them manner, more often than not, and the Ihejirika family was a part of the “them.”

Her eyes on the large bathroom mirror, Fayola readjusted the colourful, traditional kanga she wore.  If anything, the dress made her stick out even more, but wearing what the other girls wore sounded uncomfortable and restricting.

“Fay, I have a favour to ask,” Shelley had said, the nervous edge in her voice stronger than usual.

“What is it?”

“Mr. Vaughn asked me to come to this… thing… after school.  He didn’t say much about it, but—well, I thought that… it might be easier, if you’re there, too.”

Fayola had agreed almost immediately; Shelley was too nice for her own good, and others took advantage of that.  Every chance they had, they ripped her to shreds.  If she could prevent that, she gladly would do her best.

Fayola sighed as she thought about that earlier conversation with Shelley.  Something about this meeting made her blood tingle, and she didn’t know why.  It felt… dangerous.  Or perhaps “dangerous” wasn’t the right word, but something in her body felt that it would be life-changing.

Still, a woman’s tongue was not made to lie, and Fayola intended to keep her word.  She finished smoothing the folds from her kanga, and then she headed to Mr. Vaughn’s classroom.

Four students were there already, seated, with varying expressions on their faces: Shelley sat, looking pleased at the boy beside her; the blond boy also looked vaguely happy, in stark contrast to the other two bodies.  An intimidating male with broad shoulders sat hunched over the desktop, drumming his fingers in what was obviously an act of irritation, while a pretty girl had her slender arms crossed over her chest.  When Fayola entered the room, the latter two gave a huff.

“Mr. Vaughn,” the pretty girl said, straightening her spine, “I thought that this meeting was… personal.”

“I apologize for misleading you,” he said pleasantly, and Fayola saw Shelley’s eyes snap to him as she sighed.  “Fayola, if you would like to join us…”  Slowly, Fayola took the invitation, sitting next to the irritated boy. 

“Mr. Vaughn, if you don’t mind my asking… why are we all here?”

“Good question.  With the exception of you and Octavian—”

“It’s Rainer,” he objected.

“Right, Rainer—I had noticed that some of my students were feeling a little… out of place.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Octavian—it’s Rainer—said, “This is high school.  ‘Out of place’ is going around.  And that sure as hell don’t explain what Miss Bitch is in here for,” he added, gesturing toward the pretty girl, who shrugged in response.

“You’d be surprised how much the five of you have in common.”

“Alright,” Rainer admitted, “We all hate each other.  That’s about as close as we’re gonna get to being similar.”

“I don’t,” the blond said quietly. 

“I don’t, either,” Fayola agreed.

“Yes, well, I do,” the pretty girl said.

“Madeline,” Mr. Vaughn chastised.

“What?  I do!  They’re all losers and freaks.”

Slamming his hands on the desk, Rainer stood.  “Don’t you even start, you slut,” he said angrily, his face quickly reddening.  “If anyone here’s a loser or a freak, you’re damn well included.”

“Now now,” Mr. Vaughn interjected, “Rainer, Madeline.  There are better ways to socialize than insults.”

“Oh, fuck this,” Madeline breathed.  “I’m out.”

“Then so is your grade.”

Madeline paused, and Fayola could tell from her seat that the girl was gritting her teeth.  “Fine,” she said after a while.  “What do you want me to do.”  It should have been a question, but it wasn’t, at least from what Fayola heard.

“Get along.  It’s that simple.  I’ll split you into pairs.  I suppose since there’s an odd number, the odd one out will sit with me…”  Fayola cast her eyes to Shelley, knowing that the girl was praying to be that ‘odd one out,’ with that absurd crush she’d developed on him.  “Let’s see…”  He looked around the room, apparently making the connections in his brain.  “We’ll have Madeline and Quincy together, and… Rainer and Shelley.  Alright, move together, then,” he said. 

Fayola blinked.  So then she was the odd one out.  Well, she supposed that wasn’t altogether unusual.  Shelley caught her eye, a nervous look apparent in the girl’s muddy green eyes, but Fayola wasn’t going to be tempted to question authority, whether they were officially in class or not.  Instead, she followed Mr. Vaughn to his desk as the reluctant sound of metal scraping against linoleum filled the room.

Silence soon reigned.  The pairs didn’t even seem to look at each other.

“Well.  Talk,” Mr. Vaughn said.  A moment passed before a light murmur filled the room. 

“Mr. Vaughn, I… don’t think I understand,” Fayola admitted.

“You will,” he assured.  “One day.”