Read Pacific Avenue for Free Online Page B

don’t want to know.”
    “Does your dad want you to join the military, too?” I
asked.
    “I already did. He didn’t like it much.”
    “Why not?”
    “I enlisted right out of high school. He wanted me to
wait and get an engineering degree—go in as an officer. Maybe in the air
force.” Richard fiddled with the sugar packets, looking uncomfortable. “Now I’m
starting college, five years later than he wanted, but I am majoring in
engineering. Maybe he thinks his dream is back on track. I don’t know—we
haven’t discussed it.”
    “Are you planning to go back after you graduate?”
    “In the military? No, thanks. I don’t think so.” He
shook his head sharply. “What about you? Where did you grow up?”
    “Right here. I was born in Illinois, but we moved when
I was three. My dad teaches here.”
    “What does he teach?”
    “Philosophy. Mostly graduate students.”
    The coffee was nearly gone, and Richard began to gather
his things. He’s about to leave now. He won’t ask if we can get together
again, I know he won’t. He’s not supposed to ask a white girl. Girls can’t ask
boys, either. But why not?
    “I was wondering, I mean . . . .” I felt
like a fool, but I made myself go on. “My sister was supposed to go to a movie
with me tonight, and she backed out. Would you go with me?”
    His hands stopped moving. He didn’t look at me, or at
anything. “Do you live at home?”
    “Yes, why?”
    “What will your parents think when I show up to take
you to a movie?”
    “Nothing.”
    “You really think—nothing?”
    “Yes, I do. They’re not like that. I’m not like that.
Please go to the movie with me.” I wished he didn’t look so sad about being
invited to a movie.
    “What time should I pick you up?” he asked.
    * * *
    Telling my parents at dinner that night about my date with
Richard, I felt awkward, and ashamed of being awkward.
    “Sharon had to cancel for the movie tonight, but I’m going
with a guy from school,” I said.
    “Oh, how nice,” Mom said. “Now that you’re in college,
maybe you’ll be dating more. What’s his name?”
    “Richard Johnson.”
    “Johnsson?” she asked. “Is he from around here? He’s
not related to Erik Johnsson, I suppose?” Erik Johnsson was one of Dad’s
colleagues, a math professor whose classes I had managed to avoid.
    “No,” I said. “He’s from around here, but I doubt he’s
related to Erik Johnsson. He’s black.” Better let them know right away. But
it’s weird that I have to prepare them so they won’t look surprised when they
see him. Like we were bigots or something. Are we? I’ve never come home and
said, “Oh, by the way, I’m going to a movie tonight with so-and-so. He’s
white.”
    Dad glanced at Mom, then turned to me.
    “What’s his major?” he asked casually.
    “Engineering.”
    “Ah. What year is he in?”
    “He’s a freshman. He’s a few years older than me,
though. He was in the army.”
    “Well,” said Dad, “we’ll look forward to meeting him.
Are you planning to be out late?”
    I had no idea what they thought. We finished dinner
without saying much more and then sat in the living room, lined up one, two,
three on the couch. Backs straight, feet together, already on our good
behavior, we waited for Richard to ring the doorbell.
    * * *
    In the weeks that followed, Richard and I kept going out.
But he didn’t come to the house. I’d meet him somewhere or pick him up, since
he didn’t have a car—he’d borrowed one for our movie date. I loved setting out
on autumn afternoons to go to dinner or a movie with him, driving my Volkswagen
off by myself instead of waiting passively for my date to take me from my
parents.
    One Saturday in early November, as Dad and I cleaned up
the garden for the year, he said, “Haven’t seen Richard in a while. How’s he
doing?”
    “He’s fine.” I struggled to pull up a tomato stake that
was taller than me.
    Dad gave me a hand. “He never comes to the