It began after Amber’s second psychology mid-term. Their discussion class received their grades back. In a thick shiny green pen, the number eighty four was underlined and the letter B was circled. Perhaps if this was the only one, she would be fine. There’s nothing wrong with one B, right? Except this was her fourth B, and she hadn’t scored anything higher than a C on her assignment scores. Her discussion grade was falling. By November, her grade point average was carried by her straight A start to the semester. Overall, she had Bs in most of her classes. Her guidance counselor would praise her, of course. A freshman with grades above Cs is impressive. But that didn’t matter to Amber. Only two people mattered. 

Her mother called.

“Your grades are slipping.” She pays her tuition. She forced Amber to use her passwords. She could access everything.

“I don’t wanna-”

“No back talk. Your grades are slipping, Amber.” She paused. Amber waited. This was how it must be. “You are a young, black, talented lady. This world ain’t forgiving to us. Everything’s worse. That B is a C in the white world, girl.” Her accent began slipping into a mix of country and city Midwest.  “That C is failin’. Average black is failin’ white. You can’t be running around being a black failure, now. You understand?”

“Yes ma’am.” Amber had no strength. She’d been told this all her life and all she wanted was to let go and wallow. She couldn’t do it anymore.

“Now, I know it’s hard. College is different. You can do it. You’re smart. I don’t wanna see no failing grades from a girl as smart and beautiful as you. You’s my daughter.”

“Yes mama. I’ll do my best.” She was anything but beautiful. Her face has been distorted by anger and tears. Lines formed under her eyes. In class, she shifted back and forth nervously. She sat as far from Lionel as possible lest she lash out. In the same way water always seeps through the cracks, Lionel had finally struck her full force.

“I’ve gotta go, mama. I’m meeting with my academic advisor.”

“Alright, baby. You see what you can do about them grades.” 

“Love you, mama.”

“Love you too, pumpkin.”

Amber held the phone to her ear, cherishing those final words. Her mother always found a new pet name for her. Last time, it was darling. In the back corner of her mind, she knew that her mother would never say that she loved Amber, but that stray thought of her imperfection never breached the surface of her consciousness. The inner sector of her mind blamed Lionel. Lionel was the reason her mother couldn’t love her. Her mother was perfect. Perfect mothers love their perfect little daughters. To not love her would be imperfect. Lionel ruined her. He’s the only other person to her that matters (mattered!), so it is Lionel’s fault. Perfectly logical. 

He’s unavoidable now. The only spot left in class: next to Lionel. Who is on the bus next to the only open seat after her choir rehearsal that ends at 9:30pm. and usually goes late (and this time it was late) making her take the 9:47 instead of the 9:35: Lionel. Whose voice did she hear before her eyes slipped away to a restless sleep to restless, dreamless nights: Lionel. Each time, her heart tugged away at the infinitesimal strings between her logic and a brooding indignation.

That song was about Lionel’s mother. He whispered it so quietly it wouldn’t frighten a rabbit, but she had heard. Her musician’s ear picked at the childish fear in that single concealed word. He loved his mother and something had happened. When he left the humanities building wordlessly, she had remained and pondered. That tiny, soft sound was the sound of a lost child in a mall, so small and insignificant and terrified of being in the wrong place. He sang so she could hear, but he’d been lost for hours, years by now. It was for naught. That was all for his mother. How? Why? Of course, Amber loved her mother too. She wants her mother too. She needs her mother. She’s always right and there and nothing like Lionel’s mother at all. Why can’t I have that, this little indignant portion of her mind allowed her to think in the those tortured moments before she slept. Why can’t I know what that feels like. Mom has always been there. Ahh, the true issue at hand: not all mothers are created equal.

 Her heart ignored these impossible thoughts. It turned them into a broken, burning chasm and her quiet furor was near the tipping point. By the time she reached the elevator that would take her to the undergraduate guidance offices, her grim aura was palpable.

-

Lionel was in a good mood for the first time since his mother called. The guidance counselor would fill in the paperwork for a Leave of Absence. He needed to hide now and he couldn’t go to school with his father loose. His grades weren’t suffering, but he was too predictable. His father would have figured out where he is by now and be after him. The good news let him focus on what’s next in his life. 

He wasn’t paying attention. He opened the glass door to the hall outside the offices to a perturbed Amber who’s aura of fury and dread had not changed since she boarded the elevator. 

“Oh, hello Amber. They asked me to tell you to wai-”

“Don’t talk to me Lionel Nole,” Amber said. Lionel was bad with social queues, but even he could hear the bite waiting under the growl.

“What?” He furrowed his brow. 

“I said,” she stepped forward. “Don’t. Talk. To. Me. Lionel. Nole.” 

She almost stopped there. Almost told him to forget everything. She did not. “I loved you Leo.” Her voice was conversational, but the time bomb was ticking. So close to exploding, she crossed her arms holding it in. “I wanted to love you. And I thought you could love me.” 

She walked towards him. “Leo, why did you do this to me. Why are you like this.” 

It was at this second, that Leo noticed her pupils become tiny dots. Her hands untangled from crossing and were raised to her chest. Her lips curved into a daunting grin. Her hair was messy: a strange thought to him. Why would he notice hair? Oh, that’s right. Difference is noticed. Her face, hair, clothing and makeup, were always perfectly balanced before. She was still beautiful, but a tiger has a certain beauty before she mauls her prey

Leo’s animalistic instinct kicked into overdrive. Those eyes, that hair, those lips, he saw everything that was his father. And he felt his body morph back in time He was five years old again. He could hear their voice, their smile, and the smell of their breath. Their eyes focused on him with a fiendish evil gaze that children see when an adults logical functioning snaps in favor of some primal malevolent force. They encroached on him until he backed into the wall. He tried to turn away, but they pinned him with their left hand. They forced him to look into their eyes; their pupils were so small, so focused that all he could see was the brown of them. And then she broke, as his father did.

“I HATE YOU LIONEL NOLE,” she said as she slapped him. She used her whole hand and curved her palm just enough so as his face turned, and she followed through with her whole body, her fingernails dug into his skin. When he felt his face, he brushed away some of his own blood. 

Amber kept screaming at him. She kept at it for what felt like hours. He curled into himself. He had done everything right. He kept his distance. He refused to befriend others. He tried to be cold and calculated. But it did not work. She insisted on being his lover, and he showed no sign of reciprocating. He wouldn’t want to be anyway. He didn’t need this. 

At some point, someone had heard what was happening outside of her office and called the police. They pulled Amber away from him and took her away as quickly as they came. A few officers helped Lionel up. He let them. They wanted to take him to the hospital. He brushed them off. His tears gave them the answer his words couldn’t. One of the officers offered a towelette for his face, but he refused and ran away finding no comfort in all the world.