apartment the dark-skinned girl had on West Twelfth Street, and somehow the marijuana would take the edge off the loneliness she felt when she saw how close Jerry and Ginger were.
The part that amazed her about them was that they seemed so glad to have her around, so willing to introduce her to their friends, so anxious to help her in anything she wanted to do.
It was more Jerry than Ginger who showed this concern for her future, because Ginger was, at bottom, an easy-going sort, given to immense indolences and occasional moods; but Jerry was a different cut--a strong, sure individual who knew where he was going, and was going there through the only channels he could find.
One evening, after they had been playing off some phonograph records on Ginger's changer, and while that talkative mood of the weed was still on them, Jerry asked, "Are you going to stick with that machine shop for keeps?"
"I don't know," Joyce said. "I hadn't thought about it."
"Well, you ought to quit," Jerry said. "That right, Gin?"
"Sure, man," Ginger said. "That place is the most uncool for you. You'll wind up so hung you'll flip. My dig is them cats up there got you working so you got no time for just plain grooving yourself."
"She means ..." Jerry started to say.
"I know what she means, Jerry," Joyce said. "But I don't know what to do about it. It's funny with me, I never felt till just about now that I really fit in anywhere. That's something you and Gin did for me. Made me feel--right in there. I never felt it before, I goofed off in school, because I couldn't really feel I was worth anybody paying any attention to because--well, nobody in my own family felt I was worth paying attention to. You know what I mean?"
"Yes, I know," Jerry said. "Maybe I know it better than you think. You kind of get to know these things automatically when you're colored. But you can't just let yourself go, honey. You got to get in there and push. Like, I like music. Music is the greatest with me. Sometimes I dig if they took away music from me I wouldn't be nothing, but when I set off I didn't plan to be a musician. Music was like something I was going to keep for me. That was how I was going to get my kicks. But my real dig was--I was going to be a doctor.
"All the time I was in high school I worked nights as a musician. That's where I got to know Frank, when I was in high school. When we both were. Then we got out and Frank went to college and I was going to take a premedical course, see. I had the loot all saved up. I made enough gold out of music so I could pay my way. But I wanted to do it the right way. No second-rate, all-colored medical schools for me. I was after the best and I had the loot to pay my way--and I couldn't get in. Not medical school, and not even the premeds that I wanted.
"So one day I sat down with me and I figured it out. If you're colored there are ways to get to the top. With the breaks I could make it as a doctor--but I just didn't happen to get the breaks. And the other way was, like, entertainment. You see what colored people make the real money. They're boxers, actors, singers, writers, and musicians. One or two others break out, sometimes. But they're the freaks. Like Ralph Bunche at the U.N., and a couple of scientists and people like that. But what I had to do was--like I don't have any talent for words, and I never was specially handy with my fists--so I like stuck to the thing where I had already got a ways."
It was the first time Joyce had ever heard Jerry talk about himself. "I didn't know that," she said. "I thought you always wanted to be a musician."
"Oh. I did. But the big deal was I was going to be a doctor. Once I made up my mind though. I forgot about the other and got right in there with the blowing."
"Does all right, too," Gin said. "He's right in there with the best." She leaned over from where she sat beside him on the divan and kissed his ear.
"All right. It's cool for me. I dig it. But you got to do what
The part that amazed her about them was that they seemed so glad to have her around, so willing to introduce her to their friends, so anxious to help her in anything she wanted to do.
It was more Jerry than Ginger who showed this concern for her future, because Ginger was, at bottom, an easy-going sort, given to immense indolences and occasional moods; but Jerry was a different cut--a strong, sure individual who knew where he was going, and was going there through the only channels he could find.
One evening, after they had been playing off some phonograph records on Ginger's changer, and while that talkative mood of the weed was still on them, Jerry asked, "Are you going to stick with that machine shop for keeps?"
"I don't know," Joyce said. "I hadn't thought about it."
"Well, you ought to quit," Jerry said. "That right, Gin?"
"Sure, man," Ginger said. "That place is the most uncool for you. You'll wind up so hung you'll flip. My dig is them cats up there got you working so you got no time for just plain grooving yourself."
"She means ..." Jerry started to say.
"I know what she means, Jerry," Joyce said. "But I don't know what to do about it. It's funny with me, I never felt till just about now that I really fit in anywhere. That's something you and Gin did for me. Made me feel--right in there. I never felt it before, I goofed off in school, because I couldn't really feel I was worth anybody paying any attention to because--well, nobody in my own family felt I was worth paying attention to. You know what I mean?"
"Yes, I know," Jerry said. "Maybe I know it better than you think. You kind of get to know these things automatically when you're colored. But you can't just let yourself go, honey. You got to get in there and push. Like, I like music. Music is the greatest with me. Sometimes I dig if they took away music from me I wouldn't be nothing, but when I set off I didn't plan to be a musician. Music was like something I was going to keep for me. That was how I was going to get my kicks. But my real dig was--I was going to be a doctor.
"All the time I was in high school I worked nights as a musician. That's where I got to know Frank, when I was in high school. When we both were. Then we got out and Frank went to college and I was going to take a premedical course, see. I had the loot all saved up. I made enough gold out of music so I could pay my way. But I wanted to do it the right way. No second-rate, all-colored medical schools for me. I was after the best and I had the loot to pay my way--and I couldn't get in. Not medical school, and not even the premeds that I wanted.
"So one day I sat down with me and I figured it out. If you're colored there are ways to get to the top. With the breaks I could make it as a doctor--but I just didn't happen to get the breaks. And the other way was, like, entertainment. You see what colored people make the real money. They're boxers, actors, singers, writers, and musicians. One or two others break out, sometimes. But they're the freaks. Like Ralph Bunche at the U.N., and a couple of scientists and people like that. But what I had to do was--like I don't have any talent for words, and I never was specially handy with my fists--so I like stuck to the thing where I had already got a ways."
It was the first time Joyce had ever heard Jerry talk about himself. "I didn't know that," she said. "I thought you always wanted to be a musician."
"Oh. I did. But the big deal was I was going to be a doctor. Once I made up my mind though. I forgot about the other and got right in there with the blowing."
"Does all right, too," Gin said. "He's right in there with the best." She leaned over from where she sat beside him on the divan and kissed his ear.
"All right. It's cool for me. I dig it. But you got to do what
Similar Books
