Joey Cloudy online

   

Isaiah Jones vs the Sea: School Daze pt 2 Strange Fruit Reprise:

Higher Education in the Age of American Exceptionalism

I Only Speak the Truth 

Professor Damien Iroko Sisulu looked at the freshman class, adjusting his spectacles, then straightened his full Windsor-knotted navy tie with crimson stripes. The steely old ANC/African National Congress veteran leaned on his cane a bit and glared at the room as he spoke. 

“Before we proceed, so there is no confusion, let’s summarize what we know so far,” he said, standing next to the podium. “Let’s look at the real history of America. Let me know when I tell a lie.” 

“Your great-to-the-third-power grandfather raped her great-to-the-fourth-power grandmother. Then your great-to-the-fourth-power granny sold the mixed-race slave child to a neighbor. Ironically, that mixed-race girl is even more exotic to the good white slaver rapists of the era. So, she gives birth to a daughter who is sold to a neighbor and raped by her owner. And now you have a slave that is indistinguishable from any white person by appearance alone. This is your America.” 

Some iteration of this skin game plays out throughout the colonies to this day. With the addition of the Indigenous peoples, it is playing out all across the Americas. Even after the colonial powers were ousted, they left their color caste system in their wake. It spreads like a malignant tumor, this ever-morphing face of our bigotry. 

At the end of the lecture, there was a full minute of standing ovation as the professor gathered his belongings—cane in hand, rolling his Samsonite case filled with books behind him—he left the lecture hall. 

Penny and Aeon exited to grab lunch after class in town. They rode through the city until they reached the café hear the marina. The two girls parked the bike and headed to the window to order tacos. 

“That was the most amazing first day of class I have ever had!” Penny gushed. “He was phenomenal. I feel as if I learned more history in the last three hours than I have in my entire life, and it was fun! It ended too soon; it felt like we were just getting started!” Penny said excitedly. 

Aeon smiled; she knew Penny would like this class. She missed Izzy, but it was nice having a friend like Penelope when you move away from home for the first time. As excited as she was, there was an element of sheer terror that she would never admit to anyone. It was scary leaving home on her own for the first time. 

Even with Izzy’s grandfather Hector and his wife Ariella letting the two of them live on the catamaran with them to save on rent, which was absolutely fantastic—it was a 50-foot boat with so much space it felt like they lived on separate boats once they were in their cabin. 

Penny liked hanging out with Hector and the other old-timers who lived on their boats at the marina; if she saw someone working on their boat the first thing she would say is what can I do to help. 

Aeon would take a break from studying come out on deck to get some fresh air to see Penelope on a neighbors boats foredeck hose in hand cleaning some elderly couples chain locker or helping repair a faulty solar panel or tinkering with an old diesel engine -covered in grim soaked in sweat, always with a smile on her face. Occasionally she would bring a bottle of tequila and sit down with the retirees to play dominoes and cards till after midnight. 

Aeon liked wearing her new school uniform she had aways wanted to go to a public school she liked the cute plaid pleated skirts white shirts necktie and navy blazer with her old Doc Martins. Aeon was still getting used to Penelope’s new punk rocker look. As a girly girl, she got the whole change-your-look thing. But, a part of her missed the old platinum blonde preppy, Dior-wearing au pair she feel in love with when they first met three years ago before they started dating. Alexander and Barbera Zavala had said no to buying Aeon a motorcycle, but she learned to ride practicing in the parking lot on Penny’s bike all week before school started. 

“If I wait tables after class, do you think I could get my own motorcycle by next summer?” Aeon asked her afro puffs shimmering in the midday light. 

Penny looked up with a mouth half full of taco. “Serious? You really want your own bike?!” 

“Yeah! I mean, riding around on the back of your bike is okay, but I really get off when I’m behind the wheel.” Aeon grinned before taking a bite of her taco. I don’t know, maybe its a black thang we don’t like riding all back of the bus an shit. Aeon said with her Mississippi accent thickening. Penelope nearly choked as she laughed. Bitch! Don’t even say that while I’m eating I could die laughing. 

“I’ve read all 17 of his books, and he still keeps teaching me new things day one. Aeon looked at her with a mischievous grin, It is pretty amazing; he is so intense. I feel like I should sit up straight or salute,” she giggled. 

“I think he likes you; Aeon grinned at Penny -he picked one of your questions today.” 

“I was so worried, Penny confessed, when he called on me -I peed a little, I was so nervous, I was afraid I would look like an idiot—and I did—but he was so not ripping into me. I knew he must have been just a little impressed.” 

“Yes! He reminds me of the English actor who played an American doctor,” Aeon said. “My big momma loves that show. we used to watch the reruns of cable together before my parents got accepted to teach at SMU. House!” Aeon exclaimed. finally recalling the name of the old tv show. 

“Really? Penny retorted. I got more of a Scrubs vibe. Dr. ‘Perry’ Cox, M.D. New Sacred Heart Hospital. 

Aeon sighed wistfully -I simply adore tv shows that have musical interludes apropos to nothing.” 

Penny looked on with a smile, thinking ahead of her plan to surprise Aeon with her own motorcycle after class tomorrow. They could rolled down to TJ for the weekend.  

About the author:  

JD Cloudy’s poetry has disappeared in the literary journals: Fatfizz, Mad Swirl, Texas Beat Anthology, Danse Macabre, Du Jour, and Death List Five. He has won no literary awards, entered no slam competitions, and never completed college. He lives to write in Dallas, Texas.