Reviving Ophelia - Mary Bray Pipher [150]
I asked about her parents. “About then, Dad’s company moved to New York City and he became a commuter father. I was mad at him and mixed up about myself. I got into trouble, which was easy to find. I smoked cigarettes and dope. I drank too. My parents were so trusting that I got away with murder.”
I asked Evonne to elaborate. “I knew this girl Missy whose parents were divorcing, and we sneaked around and screwed up at school. Eventually my parents caught on, but until then we did whatever we felt like.”
“What did your parents do when they found out?”
“They made up all kinds of rules and they took me to a therapist,” Evonne said. “It was a tough year. We fought all the time. They were disappointed in me and I was mad at them. Then Mom got a job offer and moved me out of Chicago.”
She paused. “That was good timing. I was almost raped at a party. I was sick of my racist school. Missy was turning into an alcoholic. I missed being in theater and music.”
Woody purred as Evonne rubbed his back. “We moved here the summer before I started high school. I had plenty of time to think. Did I want to be a rebel or a high achiever? I realized that I was happier as an achiever. I decided to go back to my straight ways. I stopped smoking to protect my voice. I decided I wouldn’t lie to my parents anymore. I’d study, make friends, try out for plays and choirs. I’d stay away from the druggies and boozers. I’d pick friends on the basis of interests, not skin color.”
“Did your plans work?”
Evonne said, “I’ve been happy here. The school has lots of black and Hispanic kids, also Asian-Americans. Race is an issue, but not a big issue. I liked leaving my past behind, but I’m glad I experienced it. I got all my wildness out before high school. I’m not that tempted by evil.”
I asked Evonne about dating.
She said, “I’m picky. I like guys, but nobody enough to date. I get mad at my friends who make a big deal of dating. I don’t feel ready. I am in two musical groups at school plus the gospel choir. I try to be involved in a theater production at all times. I don’t have time to date. I’d rather keep things casual.”
I asked Evonne about her parents.
She said, “They have a commuter marriage right now, which is hard. Dad flies here once a month for a weekend and calls home every other night, but it’s not the same. He likes his job, but I miss fishing with him and I miss him at all my performances.”
Evonne was proud of her mother, who had overcome many obstacles. Her mother’s father died when her mother was three. Evonne’s grandmother had to work two jobs to raise the four kids. Evonne’s mother studied so hard she needed special reading glasses in high school. She was one of the first black women to get a scholarship to Harvard.
I asked about her current life. “I’m happy now,” she said. “I think for myself. I don’t think any black person can say they have their racial issues worked out, but I like myself.”
MARIA (16)
Maria was late to our meeting at the coffeehouse. She rushed breathless over to my table and plopped her book bag and sheaf of flyers on the spare seat. Maria was a tall young woman with straight dark hair and serious eyes. She explained that her VW, with its 200,000 miles and painted flowers, had died as she drove downtown.
I bought us both Italian sodas. As Maria drank hers, she told me about the previous day’s march against the death penalty. Her talk reminded me of my friends from the sixties. I couldn’t resist asking her if she was a Grateful Dead fan. She loved the Dead, with their wild abandonment and their community of fans. Maria wished she had been a teen in the sixties when people were idealistic and free. She hated corporate America and our town’s emphasis on money.
Maria was the second child in a Hispanic family. Her dad was a social worker and her mother a schoolteacher. She had a brother, Alberto, two years older than she, and two younger sisters, Yolanda and Carla. Both her paternal and maternal grandparents lived in