Where in the OM Am I? by Sara DiVello

Author:Sara DiVello [DiVello, Sara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780989055512
Publisher: Worcester Square Press
Published: 2013-06-03T04:00:00+00:00

We break for lunch and Jessica, Hazel, and I bolt for the door. “Lunch?” I call to Janet, hoping I can talk to her about our project.

She nods and joins our procession. We’re intercepted, however, by a skinny white guy coming in with an adorable, dark-skinned African American toddler. They make a stark contrast. He scans the group and waves at Brinley.

Brinley sashays over. She pecks him on the lips and reaches for the baby. “Everyone, this is my partner and our daughter, Persephone!”

There is a coo of fluttering as everyone gathers to admire the beautiful baby. Summer looks around like she’s the guest of honor at a surprise party, trying to figure out how this all could’ve happened. “Wait...is she adopted?” Summer asks, verbalizing the question we’re all thinking.

Brinley snorts. “Yes.”

Janet, miraculously unfazed, continues toward the door. “Lunch, guys?” she calls toward our group.

Brinley catches Janet’s arm as she walks past. “Janet, now that I have a black daughter of my own, I just want you to know that I understand your struggle. I get it.”

Janet, Jessica, Hazel, and I stare, agape, at the lily-white Brinley and her equally white partner. They are suddenly the whitest people I have ever seen. Their very whiteness is blinding.

Janet sets her jaw and says nothing.

“You know, your struggle.” Brinley continues in a lowered, confidential voice, pointedly excluding Jessica, Hazel, and me. “The trials of being African-American can really only be understood by those of us who actually experience them firsthand.” She shifts the baby to her other hip and continues. “You know, I was grocery shopping last night with Persephone, and some woman actually had the audacity to come over to me and say ‘What a beautiful baby—your husband must have really dark skin.’ I mean, really. Can you believe that such racism still exists? I tell you, it’s so hard raising black children. But of course, we’re so blessed to welcome the opportunity of this beautiful challenge into our lives.”

“Yeah,” Janet says slowly, “growing up under segregation and having spent my whole life as a black woman, married to a very dark-skinned black man, and having raised two now full-grown black children, I can definitely tell you: it’s not always easy to be black or to raise black kids.”

With that, she pivots on her heel and walks out. Hurriedly, Jessica, Hazel, and I follow.

When we’re finally settled and chowing down, Janet rolls her eyes. “I just knew she’d have a black baby. I just knew it. As soon as I realized that she hadn’t actually given birth, in spite of her many references to “The Birth,” I just knew she’d have to go out and adopt a black baby. I just knew it.”

I’m impressed at her keen skills of detection. “Wait—how did you know, though?”

Janet rolls her eyes, gives me a look. “Honey, trust me, you just know. That woman had to have a black baby.”

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