Legend: The Rebelion

Title: The Rebelion
Rating:
Summary: Legend wants to believe in her boyfriends values, but her belief in him gets tested when she meets his aunt.
Notes: This story is the sequel to ‘Burning My Hair‘.
Warning(s):
Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction. Not intended to represent any real persons, places, events, or things. This story is copyright Dawn Kelley and all rights to these characters belong to me.


The thing I remember most about Mitchell wasn’t his eyes, how tall he was, how smart he was, or any of those little things. I remember his Aunt Zah. His Aunt Zah was a lesbian and made no apologies for it, nor did she let it diminish her consciousness. But as much as Mitch said he loved her, behind her back he clearly didn’t agree with her “lifestyle choice”. Zah came out to her family a few months after I met Mitch and I first learned about her through Mitchell. He was tortured over loving his aunt and just plain not accepting homosexuality.

“There’s an order to things Legend,” Mitchell would tell me. “And in that order, man makes woman complete. It also gives birth to the world.”

Mitchell had opened my eyes to so much I had no choice but to agree with his view. At least, I thought I did. He was a smart boy and I was infatuated with his mind. I folded under the power of it and questioned him on nothing. Until I actually met Zah.

I met Zah when I was sixteen, my junior year, the year my mother ripped me out of the school I loved and shoved me in the safe school closer to home. I was miserable as I couldn’t fit in there, not really. They criticized my “lazy” nappy hairstyle (“You’re so pretty, why would you want to look like that?”). They criticized my clothes (“You look like one of those kids from the ghetto.”). They criticized my friends from the other side of town (“I’m sure they’re nice, but they’re not like us.”) They criticized my music (“Rapping is not even singing, it’s talking“).

The kids there didn’t want to hear about black history, (“That‘s how it was then, it‘s not like that now. We‘re all equal. Don‘t blame me for what my grandparents did.”). I said “If we’re equal, why are most of the faces in the history book white. And why are all the faces in the bible white as well. They’re telling us we have no history.” No one had and answer and they all told me I was making too big of a deal out of nothing.

My brothers (who were both with Caucasian girls at the time) didn’t want to talk to me anymore. They even stopped playing basketball with me. Which was fine with me, I‘d play with Mitch‘s friends. My mother and father didn’t want to hear me, but I knew the world was far from equal. When we weren’t among “the familiar” people from home, I saw the looks my father got when he walked into a store. And in my own mother, I saw how she treated her children based on the color of their skin and straightness of their hair. In fact, I saw it in our whole family, in the girls my brothers dated, in the compliments family gave to the lighter grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. Basically I saw it in everything they did and it sickened me. I came to hate my family.

Mitchell was the only thing I honored at that time in my life. I adored the way he thought, the lessons he taught, and the way he loved me. He didn’t much care about my light skin (or at least I thought so), he cared that I was a black woman seeking enlightenment. He liked that I loved knowledge. He also liked that I respected myself enough to “cover up”. No mini skirts and halter tops for me. No short shorts and tight pants either. Jeans, sweatpants, T-shirts, sweatshirts, and jerseys were my friends. It was only later he began to associate this with something else. That later on started the day I met Zah.

The first time I met Zah was a night I ran away from home. I had a fight with my brother because he brought his little girlfriend home and I started in on her when she said “well it isn’t my fault white people have been so important in history.” I went off and my brother had the nerve to yell at me when I was defending HIS history too. My mother got in on it, said something about “Just because we don’t want to go back to Africa and run around with nappy heads like yours doesn’t mean we’re bad people.” I yelled at her and ran out the house. She knew exactly where I was going… they all knew… Mitchell.

When I got to Mitch’s house, he and his family were having their Sunday dinner ritual with all their extended family. I was shocked for a moment, because even though I knew about this family ritual, I forgot it was Sunday. Which was weird, because mom had forced me into a dress and dragged me to church the way she had EVERY Sunday of my life. In fact, my brother’s girlfriend had come home with us after church to share our Sunday dinner. We were waiting on dinner and innocently discussing our school essays when the argument started.

The first thing that hit me when I reached Mitchell’s house was the laughter. I had come from such a tense situation, it was almost unsettling to hear a family laughing joyfully at the family table. I was reluctant to even ring the doorbell when the sound hit me. And Zah opened the door and saw me standing there with my hand suspended in the air.

There are very few words for how I felt the first time I saw Zah. She was like something that stepped out of a dream. She had her hair braided into two afro puffs, giving her face enough freedom to show off it’s strong jaw line and the high cheekbones. In fact, her body was all strong lines, her arms and legs muscular without being masculine. Her dress was an earthy orange and it looked like it had been pasted to her various curves. Her breast weren’t big, no more than a perfect handful. And her skin was like some refined chocolate treat. My mouth went dry upon seeing her. And I suddenly felt like a fool in my stupid peach dress that my mother had picked out for church. I wished I had changed.

“Hello,” she said with a smile and her perfect white teeth created this beautiful contrast against her deep dark skin.

“H–h–hi,” I mumbled. “I’m…L..L.. Legend.” The name sounded stupider than ever on my lips. The name suited this exotic breathtaking beauty far more than myself.

“So you’re Legend? My little nephew has talked a lot about you.”

It was weird to hear Mitch referred to as someone’s ‘little nephew‘. First of all, there was nothing little about him. Secondly, he’d always had this energy to him that was bigger than life. It was hard to imagine anyone seeing him as something so small and insignificant as a nephew..

“Want me to get him for you?” she questioned.

I stared stupidly at her, unsure if I wanted to see Mitch right now or not.

“I’m Zah by the way,” she said. That shocked me. Lesbians were evil leeches out to convert women to their ways against nature. This beautiful woman could not be Mitchell’s Lesbian Aunt Zah.

“I’m Legend,” I said again, forgetting I had already introduced myself.

This time I stuck out my hand. She shook it and grinned. Then she locked in on my gaze, reading something in me that I had yet to even question within myself. She didn’t present the answer at that moment because I didn’t know the question to ask it.

“Legend… that’s a lot of name for a little girl.”

“I know. I hate it. It’s too much. My parents have issues.”

“Why do you say that?”

“They named me Legend… there’s nothing Legendary about me.”

“You have yet to live your life. You don’t know how Legendary you will be.”

“Well at the moment I’m disappointing them all anyway,” I told her, relaxing with this woman minute by minute.

“What did you do to disappoint them?”

“One of many things…loc my hair,” I confessed.

“They don’t like it?” she questioned. “But it’s beautiful.”

Her hand went out to caress my locs and I felt for sure the floor was going to fall away beneath me. The feeling of her running her fingers through my hair was the most heavenly thing I had felt up until that moment. My whole body was ablaze with her touch and I felt for sure I would fall apart if she kept going. Of course, I also felt I would fall apart if she stopped. It was a confusing feeling.

Just as her hand fell away, Mitchell stepped out the door. Well groomed in his Sunday best.

“Legend?” he questioned. “What you doing here?”

I had to struggle to remember why I had come. Time, as I knew it, had stopped when I saw Zah. Suddenly my earliest memory was her stepping onto the porch and speaking to me. For what seemed like forever, that was all I could remember.

Then life came spilling back in as if the flood gates had opened and I begin to tell him of the argument with my brother’s girlfriend. Zah listened attentively as well, looking positively shocked as I rattled on about my family. Mitch was ready to burn them for their closed mind as usual and I ate up every word he used to rip them apart. I wanted someone to justify my war against my family and Mitch gave me the best tools to fight them and their ways… knowledge.

I spent the evening with Mitch’s family and was absorbed in their boisterous energy. The house was alive with it. It was unreal for me. My mother was a fan of a peaceful home, especially on the “Lord’s Day”. But Mitch’s family saw the “Lord’s Day” as their day to celebrate love, life, and family.

It was my father who ripped me away from it all that evening. He knocked on the door, asked for me as formal as you please, and Mitch’s dad came to get me. I refused to leave and told my dad he really didn’t want me anyway and neither did my mother. He remained calm and insisted I was going home. I yelled and screamed I wouldn’t, unintentionally ruining the good vibes of the day. Mitchell joined in, telling my father how I was treated was just this side of abusive. I didn’t really believe that, but I agreed with him anyway. His parents, however, told him to butt out of it. That I was a minor had to go home with my father if he insisted I do so. I still refused and Mitchell stood by me.

Then Zah touched me on my shoulder and whispered to me. “Go home, fight this battle another day.” Her voice was gentle as it said this. Gentle in a way no one else in the room was. Mitch was angry and his voice was rumbling with it. My fatherly was angry and trying to hide it under an icy demeanor. I was angry and just full of resistance because of it. Yet, somehow, Zah broke through that with her calm suggestion. I stopped yelling and went with my father. But not before looking deep into Zah’s eyes and seeing a peace I envied. I heard Mitchell say the word “peace” often, but it never much fit into his Militant viewpoints on… well almost everything. But Zah had an inner peace I envied. I went home that day knowing I loved Zah. Not as a lover, that had never entered my mind, I just loved her as a human being. And the only thing I feared walking out that door is that I would never see her again.

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