Brooke knew this day would come.
She graduated in May and now needed to start making her own way. Brooke’s parents made it clear. School would be on them. After grad, it was her turn.
First on the list was finding a place to live. Then a job. Maybe that wasn’t the right order, but that’s how Brooke’s mind worked.
She started with the apartments in the tonier neighborhoods, near the big mall, down the street from the home she grew up in. None of those seemed right, however. They were all just variations on the same theme. She wanted something to fit the new person she became in college. She wanted a vibe in a neighborhood to match what she was starting to feel in her life. More energy, more spirit, more excitement is what her life now needed. She needed to keep looking.
Brooke kept in touch with a few of her friends from high school. Melissa, a tall, athletic girl, much like Brooke herself, was one of her favorites. The two didn’t share any classes, Brooke was in AP, Melissa was not. Their few common friends were from running cross-country, often sharing a seat on the school bus when they traveled to a neighboring school or large regional meet.
Melissa’s number was still in her phone, “Wow, imagine hearin’ from you! I was thinking ‘bout you the other day, wonderin’ what you were doin’ and all?” Melissa’s voice jumped through Brook’s phone
“I’m fine, Melissa, I’m back in Charlotte now and need to find a place to live and get settled.”
“Well, I’d offer to let you move in with us but we’re pretty cramped right now. I’ve got three roommates and we’re all countin’ our pennies, so I’m not sure we’d be much fun. Want to grab coffee soon? I’d love to see ya.”
“Sure pick a time and place. I’m wide open.”
Mel, (she had stopped using her full name a few years back), suggested The Clover Café. “It’s on the light rail and next door to the shop where I work afternoons. It’s best for me cause it’s hard to get around Charlotte without my own car.”
“That’s curious,” Brooke thought, not knowing anyone who didn’t own a car. They set a date for Friday – about nine.
Brooke, a Xennial by birth, had never heard of The Clover Cafe. Google put the red balloon on the same street as the chicken place her parents used to celebrate her older brother Bobby’s move to Seattle to study environmental law. That would be a big deal someday, her parents had said.
Brooke wondered why they didn’t do a party for Ben, their middle child, when he chose a school close to his outdoorsy girlfriend. Ben was at the state university in Bozeman, working on a degree in Sustainable Food & Bioenergy Systems, (whatever that means). The two were inseparable, had been since they met at summer camp when they were both still in middle school.
Maybe she’d go to Montana someday. She could meet his girlfriend and ask about his degree. She’d even ask how he felt when his older brother got a big party and he didn’t.
Then, why not go up to Seattle and spend time with Bobby? That would be fun, Brooke liked both of her brothers and she loved it out west, so open and free, you could be whoever you wanted out there. Maybe that’s where she belonged, where she’d fit in.
After her call to Melissa, Brooke joined her parents for drinks on the veranda at their club. When you’re living at home and don’t have a job, you take what you can, felt Brooke. She nursed a glass of wine, like she always did, and joined in the conversation when she had something to add.
During a lull, Brooke mentioned that she’d called one of her friends from high school; they were having coffee this Friday.
“Great,” said her mom. “You need to connect with those girls. They were all so much fun. Is it the Smith girl?”
“No mom, it’s Melissa,” said Brooke.
She thought her dad wasn’t paying attention, but he was. “You mean the black girl with all the problems? Wasn’t she into drugs and who knows what else?” he bluntly asked. Dad was nothing if not direct.
“Yes,” was her one-word reply. That’s when her mom jumped in with her now too familiar speech on how people are known by the friends they keep and a few other mom-axioms Brooke had been hearing since her first day of pre-school.
“Mom, this is 2003, not the 50’s when you were to school. What’s your problem? Just because there aren’t any African-Americans in your privileged white life doesn’t mean there aren’t in mine!” There wasn’t much conversation for the rest of the evening.
Brooke accelerated her plans to move into her own place.