Long Division(10)

“‘Hypertension’? That’s a black word?” That’s all I could come up with.

“Exactly. It’s so simple and black,” he said. “Just like your dumb ass. And, by the way, only simple black people get ‘hypertension’ and compared to ‘capriciously,’ they might as well have given you something easy like ‘homosexual,’ because that’s a compound word, too. And, all things considered, that’s what you are: white homeless fat homosexual City who is going to get hypertension after he loses this competition to LaVander K. Peeler.”

“‘Homosexual’ is a compound word?” I asked him. “What’s the K stand for?”

LaVander Peeler started laughing and humming the beat to the Piggly Wiggly commercial. I put my brush down on my bag and gently went over the top of my head with the palm of my hand. Mama and Uncle Relle had never said anything to me about getting black words or about how the people at the competition wanted me there. I couldn’t understand why they needed me if they already had LaVander Peeler.

It didn’t make sense.

“Let me ask you one more question, LaVander. Let’s say you’re right. Why would they need me if they already got you?”

LaVander Peeler looked at me like I was crazy. “What’s wrong with you? They think it’s all about them, not us. They feel good about themselves just by having us in the contest. But they’re in for a surprise.”

“Why?”

“Because, like I said, this exceptional African American is not letting these white folks win this contest. They messed up when they let me in. Come along if you want to. All things considered, I have to get my clothes on and start focusing.”

LaVander Peeler went over on his knees in the corner with his arms stretched out. Then he acted like I wasn’t even in the room by stripping out of his clothes and into his outfit for nationals. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, where I was supposed to look. I glanced up once and saw him butt-booty naked, pulling up his boxers. I didn’t get why he brought a change of boxers for the contest. Maybe he was always changing his boxers in the bathroom of Hamer. Maybe changing his boxers at strange times, not just saying “All things considered,” was really the weirdest thing about LaVander Peeler.

I didn’t want to tell you this, but I think I should. LaVander Peeler’s pubic hair was some of the nappiest I’d ever seen in my life. It looked like a black cabbage patch of tight balled-up cabbages. The truth is that LaVander Peeler was skinnier than me by a good 34 pounds, just like every other boy in my grade, but his sack was much rounder, wrinklier, and old-looking, too. I think I had plenty width on him in the privacy area, but I couldn’t be sure.

I really couldn’t.

We were both in there writing words on paper and practicing asking for the Latinate when Cindy came in without knocking. “Gents, turns out you’re right. City, you can have your brush with you as long as you want. My boss understands cultural difference and wants to make you as comfortable as possible. This is going to be a global experience. So you should wear these, too.”

She handed us two Rocawear button-ups.

I looked at LaVander Peeler. He looked at me. And for the first time, his look asked me what I thought. All I could really think about was what he saw when he looked at me. I know he saw ashy hands and a wave brush. But I knew in that second that he couldn’t hate me. He didn’t have to like me, but he definitely couldn’t hate me when there was so much work for both of us to do in the next three hours. We had to show everyone, including white folks, chubby jokers with tight waves, and skinny jokers with suspect fades, just what was possible.

As we walked out, Cindy told me to be sure to bring my wave brush.

“Nope. I don’t need it,” I said and looked at LaVander Peeler. “My waves are tight as they are going to get. Cindy, you know you are looking at the next two winners of your contest, don’t you?”

“I sure am,” she said.

LaVander Peeler looked at me like I was crazy and started reading a dictionary. “And we are going to do it for us, right, LaVander Peeler?”

LaVander Peeler ignored me, so I reread the first chapter of Long Division until it was time.


When we left our dressing room, we walked into the general prep room where some of the competitors walked around, talking with each other and mouthing sentences. I scanned the room the same way I do when coming into any room where it is obvious most of the people aren’t black and Southern.

Over in the corner were the two white boy twins from Louisiana. They had “Katrina’s Finest” airbrushed in brown block letters on the back of these tight dirty sweatshirts. The twins were outside a huge group of white kids huddled in the corner looking at something. The kids at the back were all on their tippy toes trying to see over the cluster of about 15 kids. You could see that the white kids kept fake yawning, and rocking these half smiles. Between white faces and white shirts, I saw a cheek and a neck that was a little less dark than mine. And to the left of that cheek was a folded forearm that was close to LaVander Peeler’s color. I started to get a terrible déjà vu feeling.

I tapped LaVander Peeler on the shoulder and pointed to the crowd. He walked toward the other contestants, got on his tiptoes, swiveled his head a bit, and started scratching the scalp part of his fade. Then he walked out of the room for almost two whole minutes.