He was passing me a flyer. “I’d like to invite you to a meeting in theWest Egg Chronicleoffice. I am the new editor in chief and I’m looking to publish more interest stories about Negroes. Since you’re always writing things down anyway, it might make a good use of your time.”
This was surely a joke. “Is that so?” I asked, taking the flyer, looking at him sideways.
“Follow me quickly, will you?”
I turned to look at Jay and found he’d paused, appearing confused as to why I was talking to Charlie. I was too—for now. I gave him a wave, and he waved back with a slight but disappointed smile. His eyes followed me as I walked with Charlie into a classroom building.
I was pulled by the sudden switch in Charlie’s demeanor. Hewas being...niceto me now, in a way that felt like a trap but piqued my curiosity.
We reached his office at theWest Egg Chronicleby way of a room full of white writers—and Artie. Charlie’s office featured a window that looked into the writers’ room. I reckon so he could watch his factory as it produced.
Charlie sat down in a swivel chair behind his desk. “I think we started off on the wrong foot,” he said, with a performed smile.
“Yes,” I sat quietly in the chair across from him, ready to perform in return. “I would agree.” This felt strange, but Charlie was a curious person in general. He had a sense of humor that threw me off the scent of his terrible spirit.
“Don’t mind the locker room humor,” he said. “It’s time to talk business. Jay mentioned you got into West Egg because you’re gifted in writing. So, if you have something to offer to theChronicle, you should write me something, as a trial run.”
“I don’t know what I would write,” I said.
“Whatever’s newsworthy to you,” Charlie said. “Keeping with the mission of West Egg, we want to make sure the Blue boys are represented in the paper, and God knows good writers among you are one in a million.” He laughed at himself.
Ah,therewas the race bait I’d come to expect. Charlie was hateful, but I did want to do something at West Egg other than man the elevators. And writing was what I genuinely wanted to do before the mob came to Greenwood.
“I guess I could write something,” I said, small ideas already rattling in my brain.
“Deadline’s Friday.” Charlie leaned back. His eyes gleamed as if he was already picturing the headlines. “Give me something that’ll make peopleneedto read it. Something that’ll get theChroniclebuzzing. If you can pull that off, we might let you publish again.”
I nodded with acceptance and then left Charlie’s office feeling excited and uneasy. He was mean, but the opportunity to write felt like a gem under a lot of dirt. And it gave me the stirrings of purpose.
The halls were quiet as I walked back to my dorm. Students were either going back to their rooms or milling around common areas.
When I stepped into my room, silence greeted me, as Vinny was off somewhere else. I took a seat at my desk and opened my notebook.
Here was a chance to show something real to the students who read theChronicle.
What could capture people’s attention?Something that spoke to the Blue boys like me, who were still trying to figure out where we fit into the school.
I came up with the story in real time as I penned my thoughts straight from the heart.
Does West Egg Deliver on its Promise?
By Nick Carrington
West Egg. What to say about West Egg?
When I first got here, it felt like a chance—likethis was a place where Colored boys like me could get the same opportunities as white boys, where we’d have a fair shot at building our futures. But now that I’m here, I’m starting to wonder: Has West Egg kept that promise? Are they really giving us the same space to grow and succeed?
It’s hard to buy into the “elite education” thing when, for a lot of us, the only jobs we’re being prepped for are the ones they think are good enough for us—like manning elevators or waiting tables. What good is all this education if we’re only ever going to be stuck doing jobs that don’t let us reach our full potential?
Look at my roommate, Vinny. The guy can play the tuba like nobody’s business, but how’s he ever going to make a career out of it when he’s stuck pushing buttons all day? Our talents, our ambitions—they’re bigger than this!
If West Egg really cares about equality, then we should all have access to the same classes, the same opportunities. They talk about integration, but I see segregation, just in a different way. If West Egg is serious about giving us a fair chance, it needs to open the doors wider.
We should be able to learn more than just what’s “acceptable” for us. If West Egg wants tohelp us, it can’t just want us to be useful—it’s got to let us be whole.
After finishing my piece, I had to take a walk to weigh the consequences of showing it to Charlie. He wouldn’t want to publish something that worked in opposition to his elitist attitude. And yet, I could only write what came from the heart, so I was hopeless to change it.
Pa’s words before he died thrummed through my head like a shooting ache:Don’t ever hold your tongue, no matter how afraid you might feel.
