This is a story where I will have character development interspersed with erotic scenes, but it is intended to explore a mixed race couple and the difficulties they can face in life. As I usually state, if this kind of thing (interracial couples) is not your kind of thing, please find a different story to read - there are loads of stories here, you should be able to find something!
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I first met Celeste when we were freshmen at an Ivy League school. I did not come from an Ivy League family, but I had exceptional grades and test scores and a high school counselor who was an alum, so I got in and at a rate that my family could afford. So here I was at a Freshman mixer with a bunch of kids who had known privileges way (way, way) beyond my own, and feeling terribly out of place. Impostor syndrome in the most textbook example I could imagine.
To say that my first first time meeting Celeste was not "love at first sight" would be quite an understatement.
Looking around the place, full of dark wood, dark carpets and very high ceilings I spied her in a corner sitting alone and looking a bit like a similar fish out of water. I decided that rather than be alone wondering what the hell I was doing there, I'd at least take a chance.
"Hi," I said, walking up, "I'm Sean. Mind if I sit down?"
She gestured toward a leather bound, overstuffed chair next to her.
"You look like you feel as out of place as I do," I said to her. The look on her face told me that I'd just seriously put my foot in my mouth, though I was not sure why at the time.
"Look, cracker, I don't need that crap from you!" she said.
"What?" I asked. "Did you just call me 'cracker'?"
She lit into me about making a racist remark about whether she fit in or not, and implying that she didn't belong or she was just there 'because' she was a black woman. I was dumbfounded.
"Look, I'd like to apologize if I made you feel that way - I promise it was not because you're African American."
"Black."
"Black?" I asked.
"African American can seem kind of stodgy and formal. I just say 'black' most of the time."
I looked at her for a moment.
"I'm kind of confused," I admitted, "I don't know how to refer to people."
"How about as people? How about you try to find out what they prefer?"
"Are you suggesting that I should just walk up to people and ask, 'Say, how would you like to be referred to? As black, African American, or something else?'"
"No, just talk to them like you would anyone else!"
"Well that's just what I tried to do here with you, but you bit my head off!"
"Yeah, cause you said that I didn't belong here!"
"No, I said that you looked like you feel out of place - like I do. I said that you look like YOU FEEL out of place, not that you are out of place."
"You feel out of place here, too?" she asked.
"God yes, all these snooty kids who grew up like this - my whole house would easily fit inside this room - right up to the roof based on how high these ceilings are. I wouldn't be here were it not for a very generous scholarship."
"Yeah, me neither!" she replied.
She finally was looking at me less like I was a racist pig, and a little more gently. But only a little more gently.
"Geez, how did someone so stupid get a scholarship?" she asked.
"So stupid? You think I'm stupid?"
"Yeah, a white boy walking up to a black girl and starting out the way you did. It's a wonder I didn't knock you on your ass right then and there."
Looking at her, I had little doubt that she could easily knock me on my ass.
"I already apologized for that - I didn't mean anything by it, honestly!"
"See? Stupid! I bet you're all kinds of book-smart, but you sure got some way to go in the real-world department. Which school are you in?"
"Physics, and a minor in Music."
She looked a little surprised.
"Music and physics? Why Physics?"
"Because I'm always curious how the world works, and physics touches it all."
"Physics touches music?"
"Absolutely! All those notes - they're physical! Frequencies, tones, overtones. How to record it, reproduce it, store it. It's all there."
"Do you play an instrument?"
"Yes, I play several," I replied.
"Such as?"
"Piano, guitar, including bass and six string, trumpet and I can get by with any brass instrument, and I can play woodwinds, too, but I'm not very good. I can also fake it on a mandolin or a banjo or a ukulele."
"Well, damn, no wonder you're socially awkward, when did you have time to do anything else?"
"Who says that I'm socially awkward!"
"Do I need to remind you again how this conversation got started?" she asked me.
"Do I need to apologize again?"
"Maybe." she said, emphatically.
"OK, I'm sorry if I offended you, I promise that I did not intend it to be offensive in any way. You just looked like you were separating yourself from the crowd. And then I thought 'maybe there's a kindred spirit, I think I will go talk to her.'"
Again her look softened.
"So, what about you," I asked, "what school are you in?"
"Literature and the Arts," she said, "I write and I do illustrations. So, how does physics touch that?" she shot at me, "Mr. 'Physics touches everything'?"
"What do you write about?" I asked.
"You didn't answer my question!" she shot back.
"No, I'm going to help you answer your question. Now, what do you write about?"
"Feelings. Love. History. Where did we come from? Where are we going? Urban issues. Human longing. What the hell does that have to do with Physics?"
"Our feelings result in releases of dopamine and hormones and adrenaline. How will we get where we are going without this world to support us? What are the problems in urban areas, and how are we going to fix them? All of that is physics. It's at the nucleus of it all!"
About that time, a freshman faculty member walked up to the two of us.
"It looks like you two are having a lively discussion, but we'd like everyone to gather in the ballroom for a few minutes while we go over some things. Most everyone is there already, except for a few stragglers. So, stragglers, to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking? Please tell me your name, where you're from, and what you're major or school is. My name is Ms. Janice Martin, and I am a Freshman advisor in the school of Mathematics."
I nodded to Celeste to go first.
"I'm Celeste Franklin, I'm from Philadelphia, and I am in the school of Literature and the Arts."
"Wonderful, and you?" Ms. Martin said, looking my way.
"Sean Weeks, I'm from a small town, Wesley, Ohio, and I'm in the school of Physics."
"With a minor in music!" Celeste interjected when I did not include that part.
"Oh my! That's not an easy road to go down, both can be demanding, but I'm sure that you're up to the challenge, Mr. Weeks. Now, Ms. Franklin and Mr. Weeks, please head to the ballroom."
The ballroom was set with tables and a stage and, simply because we had walked in together, I sat down next to Celeste. There we had a presentation and discussion all of the class traditions - Freshman, Sophomore, Junior, Senior, and then back around to the Freshman. When the session finished it was late - almost 10:30 at night.
"Would you like me to walk you back to your dorm?" I asked Celeste.
Again I had a look from her like I'd put my foot in my mouth.
"I barely know you!" she said, "Why would I trust you to walk me anywhere, much less so you know where I live?"
I was stunned - I was simply asking to be polite.
"Look, I was just trying to be nice - you can say 'no' without taking my head off!"
I turned and headed toward the door.
"Sean, wait!" she said.
I stopped and turned, but I did not walk back in her direction.
"Look, I'm sorry if I seem sharp to you - when you live in a place like Philly, you learn to be forceful and cautious. I'm sure that you mean well, and well, like I say, I'm sorry to come off as curt. Tomorrow is Saturday, how about we meet for lunch at the cafeteria, maybe we can continue our 'lively discussion.'"
"You want to keep talking to me, even if I'm, how did you put it? 'Stupid? Socially awkward?'"
"Yeah," she said, smiling, "I was having fun sparring with you!"
"OK, how about 11:45?" I asked.
"Sounds good. And I'm never late!"
"Me, either!"
I almost asked again if she wanted to have an escort, but thought better of it.
We had lunch the next day, and we did continue our discussion. Although there was some sparring, in the end it was a good bit friendlier than the night before.
"So, do you have an instrument with you? Are you going to play in the band here?"
I told her that I had a guitar with me, but that my roommate had already forbidden me to play when he was around, but she said she'd like to hear me play sometime. Also, I was playing trumpet with the jazz band, and considered singing with one of the a capella groups on campus, but I needed to see if I could handle it all on my physics schedule.
I also asked about her writing and asked if I could read some.
She hesitated, then said, "I will have to pick some things for you. Some of it might be too much for a country boy like you to understand."
"Country boy!? I'll have you know that me and my family get into Zanesville at least once a month!"
I said it as a joke, but she didn't see it that way.
"Hmph! Zanesville, Ohio is not a city, there country boy! Once a month!?"
"It was supposed to be a joke!"
"Alright," she said, "I guess I missed that. But tell me, doesn't it bother a country boy from Bumfuck Ohio to be sitting here with a black girl?"
"Should it?" I asked.
"I thought everybody in Ohio was some kind of white bigot cracker?"
"Well," I replied, "I am white, and I am from Ohio, but no, not everyone there is a 'bigot cracker.' I think of myself as a bit more enlightened than that."
She just looked at me, then said, "Yeah, right!"
"Think what you want - I know who I am."
She looked at me for a couple of seconds.
"I don't know why you feel uncomfortable here, you are confident enough that you ought to feel comfortable anywhere. Just keep that attitude with the rich kids here, and I'm sure you'll do fine."
"And you," I replied, "keep those Philadelphia honed elbows sharp and I'm sure you'll do fine, too. Still, it's nice to have an ally, don't you think? Maybe we can get together occasionally and talk?"
"Am I being asked out by a midwest white cracker?"
"I didn't ask for a date so much as a conversation partner."
"So you wouldn't ask me out? Why not? Am I too much for you, or too black for you?"
