Disgruntled: A Novel by Asali Solomon

Author:Asali Solomon [Solomon, Asali]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Coming of Age, Fiction, Literary, Retail
ISBN: 9780374712952
Google: _fc2BAAAQBAJ
Barnesnoble:
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2015-02-03T05:00:00+00:00

Freedom

The town that greeted Kenya when the bus turned off the highway was dismal. Every other store on the main street was shuttered, and the handful of slow-moving shoppers had a grayish tinge to their skin. The families in the bus terminal sported heavy metal T-shirts and jagged, fried hair. Both of Kenya’s parents, but especially her father, had taught Kenya to fear the Philadelphia kin to these people and the neighborhoods where they dwelled: Roxborough, Fishtown, Kensington. But there in the center of this bus terminal, which reminded Kenya of the prison visiting area, was her father, a paperback under his arm, his hands in his pockets, as if he belonged there. He managed to look relaxed, though he stood straighter and taller than Kenya remembered.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling her into a rough hug. “Look at you.”

“Hey,” said Kenya, not wanting to call him Baba in the bus terminal. His hair was a little too long—an inch or two shy of Frederick Douglass–style—and full of gray. When he smiled wide, which he did repeatedly, he showed a missing tooth. But as shabby as he should have looked, there was something expensive and gracious-looking about his old, soft T-shirt and jeans, about his sweet, woodsy smell.

This is my father, Kenya thought as they climbed into a red pickup truck. I’m here with my father. Johnbrown asked her about the bus ride, about Sheila, graduation. She answered, listening to the sound of her own voice.

The house had Johnbrown’s same wood smell and a rustic glamour, with high, exposed ceiling beams and rough-hewn floors. Despite its old homey look, it also seemed to have a powerful and quiet air-conditioning system. It reminded Kenya of the Urban Outfitters store in University City. Kenya’s parents had told her that Urban Outfitters used to be a tiny hippie shop featuring a barrel from which you could take old clothes. Now it was impossibly chic in a way that seemed to go with its grand barn look. There was even a new downtown outpost of the store, where cute white salesgirls followed you around if you were black.

“We’re home!” Johnbrown called as he and Kenya passed through a room full of muddy boots and jackets into the kitchen. They were all there around a table covered with what looked like a large meal in the making. Cindalou, who’d gotten heftier, clasped Kenya tightly, while Amandla, a chubby dark brown girl in glasses, gave a more mannered hug.

There were three other people, too: a wiry white woman with a cloud of blond-going-gray hair floating around her shoulders, and two small sand-colored children. Kenya tried not to flinch as her father, who had not warned her of this at any point, told her their names. She wasn’t sure if the boy was Nannie or the girl was Dennie, but she knew the white woman’s name was Sharon and these were her children. Johnbrown’s children. Sharon took Kenya’s hands into her own. “So wonderful to meet you,” she said.

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