Page 4 of Beautiful Beginning

“What was it? I can go get you another one.” His beard was visible but closely shaven. His lips were a shade of brown, darker than his caramel skin. And I couldn’t focus on his eyes, or anything else for that matter. I could only stare at his lips. “Do you want another one?”

Lauren nudged my side. “Journey…”

“Oh.” I shook my head and looked down. The white Hillside shirt had a streak of brown on it. Dots splattered across the rest like I’d run a 5k through mud. “I’m good. Think I better get home and change.”

“Wait,” he said before I could walk off. “I owe you one. Here,” he pointed to my purse, “Take my number and next time you are on campus and need a cup of coffee, I’ll get it for you.”

I didn’t move though. I couldn’t. My hands weren’t dripping with coffee, but still, I didn’t shove them into my purse to pull out my phone.

Somehow it still ended up in his hands. “My name is Chaz.” He tapped on the screen of my phone then handed it to me.

“Her name is Journey. And she’ll call you.” Lauren’s words were still ricocheting through my mind as she pulled me away. “Guess he could be a prospect.”

Nia said, “Because whateverthatwas would sell on the internet.” She fanned her face. “Damn, that little interaction topped the one with the barista.”

“Maybe senior year will be my year after all,” I announced as I straggled behind them.

ChapterTwo

Chaz

The back corner of the classroom was perfect. I had a view of everyone without straining my neck to turn around as they responded. The few who engaged in the conversation anyway. Instead, they could crane their necks as they listened to me discuss what I thought was an obvious point. I could do without all the eyes on me. But if somehow their stares led to enlightenment, I could deal with it for a few minutes.

Anything longer than a few minutes would have made my skin crawl and my brain shut down. If there was anything I hated it was attention. An entire day without anyone talking to me, looking my direction, or asking me a question was ideal. For that reason, my corner of the classroom had a circle of empty seats around me.

I didn’t want to get to know anyone, and days after the first day of class, people caught on. I met their greetings and empty conversations with a blank stare. Eventually, they stopped trying.

That didn’t dissuade Professor Martin though. Every chance he got to call on me, he took. It was like every other question he directed at me. If I didn’t know him from previous semesters, I would think he had something against me.

But Professor Martin was cool. One of the few professors on campus who cared about the topic he taught. He didn’t stand in front of the class and ramble off random facts about American politics. He engaged us in healthy discussions that pushed the boundaries of our thinking. On a few occasions he persuaded my perception. Changed my point of view.

That wasn’t an easy task. Not for someone like me who was dead set on my thinking. There was little that influenced me. But Professor Martin seemed to have the working formula. Some sort of elixir that made me reconsider my thoughts.

I knew coming to an HBCU would challenge me in ways that my high school never could. It’d open my eyes to the things my teachers tried hard to shield us from—book bans, accurate history, and bias in our political system. That was the main reason I picked Hillside. It wasn’t for the band, or the football team. It wasn’t because the women on campus were sexy as hell, although that was a bonus. It wasn’t because it’s where my parents wanted me. Not out of direct rebellion to their wants.

If it were up to them, I would have attended an Ivy League school on the coast. SomewhereI could connect with the change makers.They didn’t see the value in Hillside. They discounted thechange makersthe school produced. The movers and shakers that graduated year after year. They underestimated the professors like Dr. Martin.

“Chaz, what do you think?” Well, Dr. Martin when he wasn’t calling on me out the blue.

“Sir?” I leaned forward on my desk and focused on the board to find a context clue. There were none. Not a single one.

“We are discussing disparities in voting.” He crossed his arms over his chest like he did when he expected the response to be significant.

I adjusted in my seat and nodded my head. “Like how economics impacts turnout.” I snickered. “And how the results of the campaign impact economics for those same people?” I rolled my hands in a circle. “The vicious circle that is hard to disrupt.”

“Exactly that.” Dr. Martin clapped his hands. “Elaborate on the economics that impact turnout.” He paced the front of the class. “How though? It doesn’t cost to vote.”

“Most working people can’t afford to take off. Their job doesn’t give them time to stand in long lines for hours.” Over the years it was something I grew more and more passionate about. Especially after seeing the results of recent elections. “And the validity of mail-in ballots is challenged. So, some are discouraged from using them.”

“So, what’s the solution?” The girl in the front of the class turned all the way around to look at me. Along with her eyes, there were several other sets looking my way.

“As with any other problem, recognizing there is a problem in the first place.” I boasted, “Bet there are many politicians who will debate the merit of the statement.”

“And that is what I want you to write about,” Dr. Martin announced as everyone closed their notebooks, gathered textbooks, and stood from their seats. “Give me five pages on the disparities, and potential solutions.” He pointed to his head. “Think outside of the box.”

There were groans all around the classroom. But none from me. I wanted to think through the problems and suggest solutions. Not that it would go beyond the classroom, but because that’s how I wanted to impact the community. I wanted to bring solutions. Not continuously point out the problems.

“Chaz…” Dr. Martin stood between me and the door. There was no way around him. “Tell me, why haven’t you run for student government?” He started with the discussion he had my sophomore year when I had him for Intro to Political Science. “It’s the best way to involve yourself in your major.” He pointed toward me, “And you have a voice that could make a difference on campus. You should be the SGA president.”

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