.
Table Of Contents
Chapter 1: Naija
Chapter 2: Middle School
Chapter 3: High School
Chapter 4: College
Chapter 5: Subzero
Chapter 6: A Night with Cokeheads
Chapter 7: Grand Theft Auto
Chapter 8: Prisoner
Chapter 9: The Deposition
Chapter 10: Ethiopia
Chapter 11: Runaway
Chapter 12: Yon’s Truck
Chapter 13: Crystal
Chapter 14: Application
Chapter 15: New Love
Chapter 16: Death of a Father
Chapter 17: Aftermath
Chapter 18: Dinner with Latonda
Chapter 4: College
It was hard for me to tell if I truly loved college, or if my love for a certain girl in college was so great that I always wanted to be there. I was in love, infatuated, mesmerized, all of the above. Her name was Jeaniea, a Nigerian-American girl I had gradually fallen in love with. I first met Jeaniea in my junior year in high school during a scholarship program called Horizons in Medicine. She attended a different high school, so the short few days of the summer scholarship program was as close as we would get at the time. I had the pleasure of meeting her Igbo father and her white American mother at the end of the program. I also met her sister and brothers. Jeaniea was extremely attractive, and so was her sister. Jeaniea was so beautiful that if she had been alive during slavery, she could have singlehandedly ended the slave trade. If Hitler had seen her, he’d have realized he was on the wrong path to creating the perfect human beings. Jeaniea was completely different from me—she always knew the right thing to say at the right time, while I never did.
In college, I subtly tried to match my classes with hers to maximize our interactions. One day, after a chemistry course I only attended to stalk Jeaniea, I approached her to ask her for a favor. The favor was just an excuse to spend more time with Jeaniea her. I had heard her describe me as ‘crazy’ a few times to my friend Kevin, so I was worried it might be a bit much to approach her and tell her I was madly in love with her, and would rip out my heart with my bare hands if she asked. I hardly ever attended the course even though I was a Chemistry major, and when I did my eyes were on Jeaniea 90% of the time.
“Good afternoon, Jeaniea,” I said softly as I gazed at her pearly pink lips only for a quick second before blushing and looking slightly toward the ground.
“Hey! How are you, Kunle?” She had such a glow to her, like a permanent ray of sunshine indoors. I just wanted to jump all over her and kiss every inch of her body while yelling, “Jeaniea, you’re so amazing!” I wanted to get down on both knees and marry her right then and there, but I remained calm.
“Jeaniea, I’ve been meaning to tell you that I’d like to meet your sister.” Her sister was, by my strict rating, the second most attractive girl at school, but she did not have the same effect on me as Jeaniea did.
“My sister? Why?”
“Because you’re too young for me.”
“How old are you, Kunle? I am not too young for you.”
The thought of Jeaniea and I together was heaven on earth, but I shied away from making any advances. I practically worshipped the ground she walked on. I lit up like a star whenever I saw Jeaniea, and upon speaking to her the remaining rest of my day would feel absolutely complete. I loved Jeaniea, but I quickly realized skinny losers were not her type. There was a Casanova named Michael Ruff she was speaking to now. I actually had a single experience with the fellow during a different scholarship program earlier in my high school days. He had held the door open for me, and I walked timidly through. He then quickly yelled after me, “You can’t even say thank you!” He was right, but I just cowered even more and walked silently on. I told Theo about the incident and he said the guy was a known jerk. He said I could take him in a fair fight any day, but that must have been a friend just trying to be a friend. By physical observations it seemed I was at a clear disadvantage. Now in college I would see him from time to time at the gym. He benched at least 225 pounds while Beni and I were struggling with 135.
Jeaniea agreed to introduce me to her sister. She said she was actually on her way there and told me to come with her to the library. Jeaniea’s sister, Chima, was reading when we arrived. She was equally as mesmerizing as Jeaniea; those girls gave me an emotional seesaw effect. She had thick eyebrows, large perfect teeth, and her cheeks were these cute puffy things. Her breasts, butt, abs, all were perfectly proportioned. Chima was so perfect that adding makeup to her face would ruin things. She didn’t smile often, but when she did, it was worth taking a picture. Jeaniea introduced me. Chima said hello with a smile, and I could have sworn I literally saw the clock on the wall stop. I said a few words, and she said fewer. She was much less interested in talking with me than I was with her. I figured if you wake up in the morning looking like a million bucks every day, you don’t have to be bothered with grotesque creatures. Perhaps she was more welcoming to others.
Jeaniea and I ended up talking the whole time I was there. She told me about her parents’ strict rules and I told her about how I often broke my parents’ rules. I even told her about how I ended up in driving school. My parents did not want me to drive, so my college routine was to get dropped off in the morning and get picked up at night. I bought a car anyway, and just drove illegally. I was sixteen years old, still considered a minor in most states, so I needed my parents to sign off on my application for the driving test. Unfortunately, they had refused. I eventually got pulled over for driving with a broken headlight, and received a ticket for it. I was also driving past my minor night curfew period. I received a ticket for that, too. I received a ticket for driving without a license. I received a ticket for driving without insurance. I received a ticket for an illegal tint, as mine was too dark. Luckily, at Wright State a small portion was included with tuition for legal fees. I remember standing in front of the judge with my Wright State appointed lawyer as he defended me with good grades and no prior record. The judge said he would have suspended my license, but I didn’t have one to get suspended. I was instead ordered to go to driving school and watch a safety course. I couldn’t have made up a better punishment if I’d tried, and I laughed at my father every day as he drove me to driving school.
Jeaniea had to leave, so I decided to leave with her. As she packed her things she told her sister, “We really should be more like Kunle and start living a little.” The sexy brute looked at her sister and managed a very cold smile . . . I could almost hear her say, “Jeaniea, don’t entertain this fool!”
As we walked off, I whispered to Jeaniea, “Your sister’s really boring. Did she grow up on a farm?” That statement was classic me. I think the compliment got back to Chima because she never spoke to me again. I actually love farm animals, and I love drinking fresh milk, so I could think of worse insults than a boring farm girl falling down from heaven. If it were only a physical attraction, it would have been easy for me to shake Jeaniea off and not have to pretend to want to meet her sister just so I could talk to her. My biggest problem was that she had the most beautiful personality of anyone I knew.
A few weeks later, we completed the chemistry course. Upon speaking with Jeaniea she told me she’d earned 88% in the course. “Me too!” I exclaimed. We were so connected that we even had matching grades!
“Kunle, I just spoke with the professor and he said since I came to study sessions and class regularly, he would bump me to an A. You should talk to him too.” She smiled with her extra puffy checks.
“Okay. I will. Thanks, Jeaniea.” I left it at that, but I was steaming with love. Jeaniea was beautiful, friendly, and empathetic all in one.
I made it to the balding professor’s office, and he immediately began, “Who are you? Do I know you?” I had skipped a lot of his classes, but I felt I had been to almost half, so I did not appreciate what I thought was a sarcastic tone. I made my plea, and said I worked really hard in his class. He obviously knew who I was, because even though he did not take attendance he mentioned how I frequently skipped class and never paid attention when I was there. All I could think of during the meeting was how much I loved Jeaniea, and how awesome it was that she looked out for me by telling me to talk to him. The professor showed me the way out without increasing my grade.
I had many friends in college. International students had a common love for soccer. I spent all my physical activity time with the boys and all my phone time with girls. One girl in particular was my “twin”, the most beautiful girl at Wright State. I met Ann through my equally attractive Rwandese friend, Nadine. Ann was from southern India, and we connected like magnets. I remember once during our conversation we looked at the time and realized we had been talking for five hours. Beni and I deliberately worked out at the gym the same times as Nadine and Ann. We observed the two perfectly sculpted bodies as motivation during our workout. Either of the two slender girls could easily have been models. I think any possibilities with Ann were cut short once when she saw my juvenile ID card and realized I was years younger than her.
Besides soccer, my friends, and classes, I worked at one of my chemistry teacher’s labs. Dr. Ketcha was my Organic Chemistry teacher and he accepted my request to work in his lab with other graduate students. I purchased a small two-bedroom house my second year of college at the ripe age of eighteen. I said goodbye to my family, and my lovely brother, and moved to freedom in the only house I could afford in the hood. I roomed with my Ethiopian friend, Nati, and his cousin, Messy. Initially Nati was my only roommate, but Messy needed a place to stay when he moved to Ohio to enroll in Wright State’s engineering master’s program, or something like that. I was receiving financial aid, extra money was reimbursed from my scholarships after my tuition was paid, then I received rent money from my roommates, and there was additional income from working at the lab. So I was very settled financially, and I probably wasted more money than I should have during my college days.
I may be tempted to focus on my daily obsession when I speak of my college years, however college was a bit more than just Jeaniea. Ironically, a course in religious studies helped me deal with remnants of my depression along with the amplified social environment. The religious symbol outside of Christianity that I really related to was Buddha. I mostly remember his answer to his followers’ quest for ultimate truth that everyone finds their own path. I began attending church again every now and then.
College cured my depression. I was no longer alone in the world, and went home to a soft couch; both rooms were occupied by my roommates, but I slept without having to nurse punches.
My sisters were excited for me as I transitioned to college. “You’ll do great!” was all I heard. My brother’s feedback was, “College isn’t high school; you’re going to fail.” I told my mother and she told me to ignore him. My mother had faith in all her children, and if there was an exception, it certainly was not me. Her issue with me was that I had too much of an independent mind. My first quarter at Wright State, by God’s sweet grace, I had the same biology course as my brother. There were probably one to two hundred students on the course. I will never forget our first posted grade. Students were gathered outside of class staring at the white walls, handprints all over the white pieces of paper, trying to locate their grades. My brother found his grade, and standing next to him I found mine.
“What’d you score?” he asked.
“Ninety-six percent.”
“Wow! That’s the highest grade!”
“I know.” The black ink for my grade seemed bolder than all the others.
He never questioned my academic abilities after that. Granted, I did not keep up the killer pace for the course, and had a low C the following exam, but the first grade was one of the sweetest grades I had ever made. As time passed, my courses became more in line with my major. I had initially majored in Biochemical Engineering, but as more math continued even after Calculus III and Differential Equations, I quickly realized my love for math was limited. I chose Chemistry because it came easy to me, so naturally I performed better in it than my biology and engineering courses with very little effort. I could skip chemistry class and still perform well, but in that sense I was a terrible student. This became more evident after I began tutoring a friend in Organic Chemistry. I would teach her all she needed to know because I understood the material, she would continue to study and I wouldn’t, and sometimes she performed better on the exams. Jeaniea was also in all three consecutive Organic Chemistry quarters, and she sat at the very front.
I enjoyed working in the chemistry lab because it gave me an opportunity to take on more practical chemistry beyond an hour of class. I began working with a few graduate students—Stephany, Stacey, Tim, and Brad. The undergraduate students were Brian, Matt, and myself. We worked on various projects synthesizing different compounds and conducting research from peer-review articles. I was cordial with all my lab mates.
Stacey was a giant; I’d estimate six feet three inches and three hundred pounds. She was nerdy, boring, and mostly kept to herself and Stephany. Stephany was a bit more social and friendly. She was a short, chubby girl who sometimes talked of her dad working on her car, or country music. Tim was a quiet guy. The others sometimes complained that he did the least work for Dr. Ketcha yet received the most accolades. Brian was very intelligent, and always one of the top with class grades. He was far from our undisputed star, though; Steve Bomer was King of the chemistry department. We all believed Steve was intelligent enough for Mensa—the American-based organization that requires top 2% IQ for membership. Steve was the guy who would have a 125% on an exam and the next grade down would be 80%. He would repeat it on the next, and then the next exam.
Dr. Ketcha would brief us on our different projects every few weeks, and then we’d disperse. I tended to talk with Brad more. He was probably the most eccentric of everyone and had his odd, silly ways. I liked that he was down-to-earth. The lab often joked that his fiancée, Angel, must really be an angel to even consider being stuck with Brad. Matt was his opposite. He was very serious, quiet, and almost always appeared angry. I tried to carry a conversation with him every now and then and it always felt like a formal meeting. Once I was talking to him about paying some workers to lay vinyl tile on my kitchen floor. He emphasized that it was a simple task that I should be able to accomplish by myself fairly easily. He was probably right, but this was my pay-someone-to-tie-my-shoe stage. I was essentially a lazy bum flying the magic carpet of rental income and scholarships.
Dr. Ketcha gathered all of us on one of our many review days. He went around digging at the graduate students’ projects with Brad stammering through questions. We undergraduates were required to read scientific articles as well, but we were not required to report our findings in as much detail as the graduate students. The meetings were short, and I often went to the gym with Beni afterwards. I did the same that day. I had messaged my Pakistani friend, Saima, to meet me at the gym. She in turn messaged Nadine, and Nadine messaged Ann. I made my way to the weight-free room to work on my abs for a few minutes, then headed to the weight room to meet up with Beni.
“You missed it! Your girl was here, and you missed it!” Beni said, as he curled a set of hand weights. I observed his fat rolls vibrate up and down with the movement of the weights and wondered why I had never seen him get on the treadmill.
“Jeaniea was here?”
“Jeaniea was here and working. Dang! She must have gotten at least three numbers!” I tried to ignore the statement, but I was bothered by it. Jeaniea was very friendly and guys loved her for it. She was also a heavenly creature in her curve-fitting gym clothes, so I wasn’t sure if Beni was lying to me about the numbers or not.
We did some bench presses, and I noticed Beni was getting a bit stronger than me. He benched a handful of repetitions more than me, but I was not impressed. If I jealously added the body weight factor I would expect him to be benching even more. I soon walked over to the treadmills to say hello to Nadine and Ann who were working out, as well as Saima, who was talking to them. They were asking Saima why she had been mean to a cop who had been talking to her earlier, and she was explaining to them that the officer had crossed the line with me.
I was pulled over in my car by a police officer one evening while returning from a visit to the student dorms. He had his gun pointed at me while screaming, “Do you have any drugs?”
I was shocked and simply responded “no”. The officer said I’d failed to make a full stop at a stop sign somewhere around the dorms. I did not even receive a ticket after the officer saw that all I had were books with titles he couldn’t pronounce. Fast-forward months later, this was the officer Saima had shut down a few minutes ago while he’d tried to gain her affection during his break from pumping iron.
My day would have been perfect if I hadn’t seen Mr. Ruff walk in. Beni didn’t know of him because I never discussed anything about the guy. I barely knew he existed until he recently started courting Jeaniea with lies. He was not only lifting twice as much as me, he was also doing more repetitions. A primordial battle to see who gets the girl was probably not a good idea for me. I stopped by the store on my way home that day and purchased some muscle-gaining protein bars and shakes. I packed myself full of protein and gained a modest, short-lived three to five pounds over the next week or so.
The next day at lab was not so good. For me it was just another average day, but for Stephany and giant Stacey, life was ending as we knew it. Stephany came up to me to inquire if I had moved any of their items as soon as I dropped my book bag on my desk. I let her know I had just arrived and didn’t move anyone’s items. She then told me their purses, Stacey’s and hers, had been stolen.
The lab was somewhat out of the way since it was on the fourth floor. Only a few labs and teachers’ offices—including Dr. Ketcha’s—were on the fourth floor. However, we kept the doors open, so it was easy access for anyone who wanted in. Theft was frequent enough at school, as my car was broken into a total of five times. Being the young foolish child I was, I would just replace the stolen speakers instead of first investing in a decent alarm system. Stephany and Stacey were especially concerned about their credits cards, and I advised the girls to cancel them. Days went by without further incidents. I hardly carried around cash, but I was even more worried about losing my laptop to criminals because I did lots of writing. The cost of the laptop was the least of my worries, so to protect my work I began carrying my book bag at all times.
I continued my mundane synthesizing of the same chemicals I had been synthesizing for weeks on end, and Dr. Ketcha wanted me to see if I could tweak things to increase the desired product yield. I thought it was busy work, but I would always marvel at the beautiful crystals I created when I was done. I was busy drying out my sample under high heat when Brad positioned himself next to my shoulder. I said hello and did not think much of it as he was often very friendly. Brad seemed a bit agitated and appeared a little more serious than usual. He tried to keep my attention a few times, but I would just barely answer him and return to watching my samples so as not to overheat them. It was a pain to have to start the lengthy process again.
Brad came even closer. He was keen on getting my attention, so I turned the heat down a bit. I figured I would give the dorky fellow a few minutes of my time.
“Hey, Kunle.” His voice was low and sad. I was beginning to wonder if he had a dog or cat that had recently passed away. I certainly was not going to donate any money, but I would be willing to help with digging the grave.
“What’s up, Brad?” I responded calmly.
“I just wanted to let you know to watch your back.”
“Watch my back? Why? What’s going on?” My tone changed slightly. I was more concerned now.
“The purses. They think you stole them.”
“What?” It took me some time to process what he had said. I was completely blindsided. “Brad, I’d never steal from anyone! Why the fuck would they think that?” My fists tightened. My muscles were flexed, vessels constricted, blood pressure rising, and I could feel my heart beating faster. I was not going to harm Brad, but I was in that punch-the-wall-like-your-fist-is-a-wrecking-ball kind of mood. I felt a sort of murderous rage I had never felt before. There were seven of us in the lab, and I could not understand how I had been selected as the thief.
“Because you’re black,” Brad said, as he retreated slightly. “I’m sorry, man. I just wanted you to know so you can watch your back.” He turned around and walked away.
Standing in front of the hot Bunsen burners, my heart froze as I stared at the flames in front of me, my mind looking into infinite distance. I was still in complete shock. I had never taken anything from any of them, never asked any of them for money. They knew I owned my own house, and they knew I was on a full-ride scholarship. Not only was I working just like they were, I was probably making more money, yet I was their target! This was something I could not avoid—the curse of being black.
I remembered my past comments to some of my black friends that they were simply using race as an excuse. Now I was not hearing the nightmare stories, I was living it. Somehow all of my performance and achievements had missed them, and I simply existed in the form of their stereotypes, no matter how outlandish. Stereotypes are like guessing Option A on all of the answers on a board exam; you will get a few individual answers correct, but you’ll always fail the big picture. Sometimes I feel our society awards stereotypes too much, leaving the victim with little or no support. I didn’t even know they saw me as a color until now. I was treated like everyone else, so why would I suspect anything?
The closest experience I had to stealing was when I was around eight years old. A fellow student had a small, portable, handheld video game he brought to school. My friend Samuel wanted to play with the device, but the owner did not share with either of us. Samuel eventually had the opportunity to nab the portable game, and he gave it to me for safekeeping, knowing the owner was going to be more suspicious of him. Later that day the frantic kid was asking everyone if they’d seen his video game. At some point he came to me and Samuel and asked us if we’d seen his game. Samuel said no, but I immediately dipped my hand inside my pocket without hesitation. “Here you go, here’s your video game.” The kid was too excited to question how I’d ended up with his device. Samuel was piqued by my bold defiance of his agenda. I slept well that night, Samuel was still my friend the next day, and that simple act reflects my personality a hundred percent to this day. I always strive to do what I know is right.
As I woke up from my trance, I realized my white crystal samples had turned black, and my lab coat was very hot and charred from standing so close to the burners. I turned off the heat and placed my three days’ worth of hard labor on the desk to cool before trashing the damaged lot. The shock was now a stinging, stabbing pain I could not shake off. I felt like the room was spinning. I knew what was coming next, so I rushed out of the lab into the hallway. I maneuvered around the square hall and quickly opened the bathroom door. There’s where I sat for the next two hours, trying to resist tears that were flowing as though they were being suctioned out. It was one of those inexplicable pains that are almost impossible to describe unless you have been through a similar situation. You literally just want to kill someone.
These tears were different from any of the tears I had cried in the past. These did nothing for rejuvenating, but rather, seemed to be draining the life out me. Instead of crying and feeling better afterwards, these were tears of defeat. The more I cried, the more I was giving in. By the time it was over I was void of any self-esteem. In one swift blow, I was psychologically transformed; I was no longer the confident, vibrant Kunle, now rather a lost victim uncomfortable in my own skin. It took all my strength to maintain my composure as I walked to Dr. Ketcha’s office to explain the situation.
Dr. Ketcha was very considerate. He was as great at teaching as he was at being a mediator. He listened patiently and vocalized to the lab mates that such accusations were unfounded. Approaching them was the right thing to do, but it did not end the rumors the two foolish ladies had started. This became apparent to me when I went for lunch at the cafeteria a few buildings away from the chemistry department. The secretary and a few other chemistry students were eating at a table. When I got my food and sat down at an empty table next to them, they immediately got up and left. Food half eaten and all was trashed.
I also knew my physical chemistry teacher, Dr. Dosson, had heard the story because one day I walked by the secretary’s office yet again while she was telling him the story. She took a pause and continued when I was far enough from the office. Quite a few people in the department had heard about the missing purses along with my name being included as the main suspect. Just like that, I was vilified by Stephany and Stacey overnight. All because my skin did not quite glow in the dark.
I soon began skipping lab a lot. I still attended class, but I almost never attended lab. I was defeated in every aspect, but unlike everything else, I could not fake lab even with a gun pointed to my head. One average day, I woke up running a fever and my nose running marathons. My voice was as raspy as it could get, and my head was like a pressurized tank. I went to my physical chemistry teacher’s office to show him I was sick. I told him I wanted to come to class, but did not want to pass off the germs. He said I was obviously sick and it was better for me to go home. We often had pop quizzes for Dr. Dosson’s already impossibly difficult course, but I was confident I was in the clear after his assurance. I went home, took some drowsy flu meds, and slept like a baby. Luckily, I had no classes the following day, so I rested well.
Two days later, I was ready for classes again. I was still very sick, but my fever had subsided. At some point during the day I ran into one of my friends, Charlie from Wilbur Wright Middle School. Now we were both in our last year as chemistry majors. He was still a ladies’ man, and his biggest disadvantage was indecisiveness; he had way too many women to choose from. Charlie and I talked for a few minutes, and then the question came.
“So how was the p-chem quiz?” he asked.
Charlie and I only had one class together. We were both, in fact, struggling through the course. I even had to give up skipping classes to focus on physical chemistry.
“What quiz?” I asked. “We didn’t have a quiz!”
“Oh no, Kunle! Were you not in class?”
“I spoke with Dr. Dosson an hour before class and told him I was running a fever. I asked him if he thought I would miss a lot and he convinced me to go home to get some rest.”
“You shouldn’t have asked him. He probably wouldn’t tell you we had a quiz.”
“I know, Charlie. He should simply have told me to make my own decision, not coax me into missing class. What a bastard!”
I was furious. Quizzes ranged from 5-10% of the coursework and each quiz was approximately 1-2%. I was in need of every point, so missing the quiz really got me down. I didn’t get it. It was obvious I hadn’t been faking, and I could have easily attended class just to spread the terrible virus. I hoped with any luck he had gotten the flu while I was in his office.
Things got worse throughout the quarter. While I still did the things I loved like running around a wide, grassy field kicking a hard ball with other men, the place where I spent 90% of my time now felt so haphazard. I would feel anxious as soon as I walked into the chemistry building. My anxiety would peak whenever I was on the second floor by the secretary’s office, and my anxiety and anger would be the sole theme when I was doing lab work on the fourth floor. It was so terrible I must have inadvertently broken close to ten pieces of costly glassware within a few weeks versus none my entire two years of working at the lab.
I grew so mentally weak and absentminded the few times I did attend lab like I was supposed to. And even when I did attend, I didn’t stay long. I sadly became unproductive, practically stopped learning, and those who had pushed me under the bus remained unaffected. I used to function at a high level because essentially that was just me, but after the incident I was extremely below par even on my best days. I was amazed by people like Mayor Tyrus Byrd of Parma, Missouri. She managed to stay focused even after 84% of the police force quit after her election into office because they did not want an African-American female mayor.1 Resilient people like that face adversity head-on, but I was just a weak, awkward kid trying to earn my degree and go home.
I would go to the school pool every now and then to simulate drowning. I would ask myself such questions as can you calculate your drowning point? I would submerge my body into the water and take at least one painful choking inhalation of water after I could not hold my breath any longer. I wasn’t suicidal, I was just sad. I now often spoke out loud to myself whenever I was alone.
“I bet it’s different for everyone. At what point when you start to drown does it become impossible to come back up? I wonder at what point I take in so much crap that I can’t be revived anymore. I think I will reach my drowning point if I stay. It is the nature of the beast, that crazy catch-22; you leave to save yourself and your life is over, you stay to fight the battle and your life is over. I’ve never been strong, never been a fighter. I just give in. I need to make a move before I drown.”
What had never happened before the incident was commonplace now at the chemistry department; it was the phenomenon I termed ‘conversation cessation’. A group of two or more people would be in deep conversation, but immediately stop when I was around. There was now an army of them. What was left of the semester for me was to get my grade for p-chem. There were other courses too, but I had no trouble stacking up As in the other chemistry courses—when I wanted to, at least.
I remember the day we all gathered outside Dr. Dosson’s door to receive our final grades. It was as expected for me. I received the lowest grade I had ever received in my life. My grade was 59.6%, 0.4% from passing. I regretted not going over my old exams to find possible errors that might have meant receiving a better grade, and I especially regretted the missed quiz. However, Dr. Dosson said he felt I was close enough, so he would bump my grade up.
I received my transcript a few days later. Everything else was superb, as usual, except for one grade. I immediately went to pay Dr. Dosson a visit. I kindly reminded him of our conversation. He said he remembered, but I was not as close as he wanted. I would have to retake the course. I spoke with another friend who had received a 59.4% during the initial grade release by Dr. Dosson, but I did not get a chance to speak with him about the outcome. He was applying to medical school, so I hoped the best for him. But things did not look good for my friend if Dr. Dosson’s response to me was consistent across the board.
I made my way to the student union cafeteria. It was a small cafeteria a bit of a walk away. I was less likely to run into gossiping secretaries and students at this location. The main cafeteria I used to eat at prior to the incident was right next to the chemistry department. My usually slow walk was now a walk and pause. I am sure passersby wondered what mental illness I suffered from, but there was too much on my mind to care.
I ordered my cheesesteak even though I don’t like cheesesteak sandwiches. I communicated very little with my brain at this point. I saw a familiar face sitting by herself, and decided to take a seat with her. It was a bittersweet meeting. I kept a smile on my face as I continued to speak with her. She had a lot to tell me, including her recent discovery that her boyfriend was a liar. I laughed at that and told her I was glad she’d finally figured it out.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jeaniea said as she pushed my shoulder back.
“I didn’t want you to think I was just hating. You’re a very intelligent woman, so trust me; I knew you’d figure it out.”
“He even lied about getting red-shirted for soccer as a backup,” she said, with an alarming tone of disappointment.
“Yeah, I know. I was there at the original tryout he came out to. I was the best and he was the worst, yet no one at that tryout was selected. There was a future tryout with some players that were even clearly better than me and didn’t make the team. He probably wouldn’t even make my high school team, Jeaniea, and we lost every game.”
Jeaniea quickly forgave me for not revealing any of Ruff’s lies. I really wanted to tell her some of what I felt. I was not going to tell her that I loved her and worshipped the ground she walked on, but I wanted her to know I would love to go on a date with her. I was not going to tell her that if she was in a car accident and had to use a wheelchair for the rest of her life, my love would still be present because I was in love with her mind more than the physical aspects. I was not going to tell her that every time I looked at her it took me back to Africa, to Nigeria, to my childhood and the lovely memories I had with my friends. I knew if she knew how much I loved her she would turn around and run away. All I needed to do was tell Jeaniea that I wanted to take her out.
I remembered my middle school days when Will would tell me how ugly I was. It didn’t affect me one bit, but now at this moment, I wished I were one of the beautiful people. I loved Jeaniea, and I loved school. Within a few minutes, I was about to say goodbye to them both. My eyes began to water, and like the time at the lab, I knew it was my cue. Up to this point I had never stolen anything in my life, yet I let those two girls in the lab steal my life away from me.
“Goodbye, Jeaniea,” I murmured. “I have to go.”
“What do you mean goodbye? What’s wrong, Kunle?”
“Nothing’s wrong, silly. I will see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll be working at the biology lab all day tomorrow. Will you come by?”
“Yes, I will.” I turned around and walked off briskly as my face dampened with tears. That was goodbye to Jeaniea, goodbye to school. I had no intention of ever coming back. If there was one moment in life I could freeze, it would be my conversation with Jeaniea. For those few moments, I felt alive. I felt human again.
Work Cited
1. Crockett, A, S. Mo. Officers and City Officials Resign After Black Female Mayor Is Elected. April 21, 2015.
.