When Subria Goes to College (Kevin)

Summer is just about here, and along with that comes a slower pace, and opportunities to be more creative. It was challenging to keep up with writing after I went to the writers' retreat in February, but now I'm looking forward to revising again. I've signed up for a couple of local writers' mini-retreats and writing sessions this summer, and I'm looking forward to making progress with my story again.

When my accountability partner and I met not too long ago, I shared that I would really like to stop jumping around in the story in my blog posts so much, and yet, as I re-read, I have SO much work to do. There are parts of the story early on that require significant work, and I don't want to wait until that's complete before working on some other ideas in need of development later in the story.

After reviewing this section, here are the questions I have:

1. What more do you want to know about Subria's relationship with her mother?
2. What more do you want to know about Subria's friend, April?
3. Does the journal entry help you to feel more connected to Subria's character?

I'll post another couple of questions at the end after these excerpts (the first is a journal entry by Subria):

August 15, 1998

I've been on a plane before.  Not that many times, but I've been here before.  I like sitting next to the window, even though that means that I usually try to hold off on going to the bathroom so that I don't inconvenience the person sitting next to me.  I like ascending above the earth and watching the city disappear beneath the clouds.  I especially like the way the clouds look like a big, soft blanket.  But the more I think about blankets, the more I am reminded of my mother - how she cried when I left the terminal, how we won't be able to just go to the video store and get movies any more, and how I won't be able to make cookies for the two of us anymore . . . at least not for a long time.  My life will never be the same.  The more I think about my mother, the more my heart swells.  I feel the tears coming . . . falling, and I hope the flight attendant comes by to offer drinks soon so I can get rid of this lump in my throat.  I miss my mom.  

 * * *

There will be another section here about Subria arriving at Sinai University, moving into her dorm with her friend, April, and getting ready to go to the freshman reception. In this excerpt, she's already there:

Since Subria had arrived at Sinai, she had never been inside the All Purpose Building.  She heard all the rumors about how beautiful it was inside, but she figured folks were just exaggerating.  As soon as the greeters opened the doors, Subria realized that she had been wrong.  In front of them was a spiral staircase with marble stairs and golden banisters.  There were gold and silver mylar helium balloons everywhere, and a shimmering chandelier was hanging from the ceiling. 

"Welcome to the Freshman Mixer," one of the greeters said, as he took Subria and April’s arms, leading them over to where their table assignments were waiting. 

"Looks like we’re at two different tables, April," Subria said, disappointed.

"That’s okay.  We need to meet new people, anyway.  I’ll see you after the dinner."

Subria walked nervously over to table 7 to take her seat.  There was a name tag there for her, but she didn’t put it on.  She hated name tags.  Subria figured if someone wanted to know her name, they could just ask her.  She noticed that April walked right past her table over to a crowd of people to introduce herself.  Subria admired how outgoing April was, but she had absolutely no desire to go over there with her.  She looked down at her sequined handbag.  Her mother had given it to her for occasions just like this one, and although she usually hated carrying a bag, she smiled at the memory of her mom going into her memory chest to present it to her.

"You must really like that bag," a young man commented as he approached her and sat down next to her. 

"It’s not like that," Subria laughed.  "My mom gave it to me.  I was just thinking about her."

"I’m Kevin Adams.  What’s your name?"

"Subria Davis.  Nice to meet you," she said, extending her hand.  "Are you assigned to this table, too, or did you just come over here to harass me about smiling at my bag?"

"No, I’m assigned here.  So where are you from?"

"Brooklyn," Subria said, as she picked up the gold forks and spoons and shook her head in amazement.  "Do you think these are real?"

"Yeah," Kevin said, raising his eyebrows.

"Where are you from?" Subria asked.

"I don’t know if I should tell you," Kevin responded.

"Why not?" Subria asked.  "I told you where I’m from.  It’s only fair."

"Boston," Kevin said, sighing.

Subria smiled.  "No wonder you didn’t want to tell me."

"So, now that you know, do you mind if I stay at this table, or would you like me to leave?"

"Well, I guess you can stay, as long as we don’t talk about sports," Subria said, smiling again.

"You sound like my girlfriend.  She hates talking sports."

"Yeah, but I’m sure it’s for a different reason.  I actually do enjoy talking about sports, but I don’t want your feelings to get hurt."

"Ah," Kevin said, laughing.  "So it’s like that?"

"Well, I will say that I think that trading Armas and Pavano for Pedro Martinez was a good move."

"I think so too," Kevin agreed.

"Hey, at least you won the Wild Card," Subria said, taking a sip of what seemed to be a ginger ale and sorbet concoction.  She liked it. 

"Well, what good was it when we lost to the Indians?" Kevin asked.

"I guess.  I was just trying to be polite."

"Yeah, well, it looks like your team is headed for the World Series, so it’s probably best if we just stop talking about it," Kevin said, frowning.

Subria shrugged and took another sip of her drink as several other freshmen came over to the table, including three other handsome young Black men.  She felt relieved to see more students of color. 

"Whassup, Kev?" one of them said, greeting Kevin with the handshake that was unique to young Black men.  Subria always wondered how they all seemed to know that same hand grasping, finger snapping, shoulder bumping greeting no matter what part of the country they were from.  It made her smile. 

"Hey.  Are yall sitting here, too?" Kevin asked.

"Please," the young man commented.  "You know they had to parcel us out.  Can’t have us all sitting with each other.  Don’t even get me started.  Introduce us to your friend!"

"Oh, my bad," Kevin said.  Malcolm Warren, Marcus Phifer, and Amaru Strickland, this is Subria Davis."  Subria shook each of their hands.

"There are definitely more sisters here than I expected.  Serendipity," Amaru commented.

"There you go again with the big words, man.  You know all that a’int necessary!" Kevin said.

"Whatever, kid.  Don’t hate on me because my vocabulary is more exquisite than yours," Amaru said.  "I’m just happy to see you, Subria."

"I know what you mean," Subria agreed.  "I was a little worried when we came for the tour a few months ago.  I guess they’re really trying to diversify."

"Well," Kevin said to Subria, directing her attention to Malcolm, "The two of you should hit it off.  He’s from Brooklyn, too."

"Oh, really," Subria asked.

"Yeah, I’m from Flatbush," Malcolm responded.

            "So is my friend, April.  She’s right over there.  I’ll introduce the two of you later."

  * * *

Questions for you as a reader:

1. What impression do you have of Kevin?
2. What more (if anything) do you want to know or see here? More narration? More dialogue?
3. What questions do you have that you'd like to see answered here?

Kevin's character will play an important role later in the story when Subria and Shiloh experience a significant challenge in their relationship. More about that next week . . .