Estelle Dinkins, on Monday afternoon, casually waited by Richie’s school locker chatting with a female friend from French class. A stylish dresser and a fan of Villager Clothes, she wore a slate blue A-line skirt and a matching cardigan sweater over a Peter Pan blouse. With a devilish grin and in dramatic fashion she said, “In French class, Miss. Stone talks about French architecture, the allure of the French countryside and the beauty of the Gallo-Romance language. Estelle arched her eyebrows and with a graceful movement of her hands and arms that seemed effortless, she perfectly imitated Miss Stone’s theatrical flair. Then in a Parisian accent she said, “Our teacher is attractive, twenty-six, years old with a great figure, speaks five languages, a stylish dresser, and has an advanced degree from the Universite de Paris Sorbonne.” Then dropping the accent she continued, “That girl has everything going for her. With an inquisitive look on her face she asked, “You know what I would really like to learn about from, “Mademoiselle Stone”---French men. Are they really that sexy? Are they great lovers and are they as romantic as they are portrayed to be….’grands amoureux”?”
While her friend laughed, Estelle’s active mind thought about how the French respected the negro, especially those negroes in the arts. France, according to what she had read and had been told by her Uncle, who lived in Paris after the Second World War, was a haven for negroes where you could date whomever you wanted. Now that’s a novel idea, she thought, one she would like to experience firsthand.
Both her Mom and Dad were graduates of an all-negro college. Honor students, each rated at the top of their high school class. They were banned from enrollment at an overwhelming majority of predominantly Caucasian colleges and universities due to segregation, especially in the South. Determined to make their way in the world, they both received graduate degrees and became professionals. Her Dad worked for the federal government in Philadelphia in administration, and her mother, who spoke multiple languages, taught French and Spanish at the city college. Estelle inherited her aptitude for languages and inquisitive nature from her mother, and her drive from her father. In order to fit in, she carefully hid her intellect from her friends, choosing humor outside the classroom as a form of socializing.
Like Jimmy Holt, Estelle lived in the Montville section of the township. Her parents emigrated from West Philly during the great white migration. Leaning against Richie’s locker, she saw him heading down the hallway, talking with some of his upperclass football teammates. At 5’9” tall, she was an inch taller than her Mom and three inches shorter than her Dad.
Richie usually dated girls with small, petite features who wore either a bob or a pageboy hairstyle. Estelle was neither; her shoulder-length black hair had a natural wave to it. She had small breasts on a lean, angular body frame, which was complemented by a slender, narrow waist and beautifully shaped, long legs. She had pronounced facial features, which included high cheekbones, a nose that wasn’t aquiline, yet was in proportion to her visage, light brown skin, and dark brown eyes that revealed a desire to learn. Richie only saw the complete package as he greeted her and her friend with, “Waiting long?”
As they made their way down the school corridor, Richie and Estelle, feeding off the others' energy, were oblivious to their other classmates as they headed towards study hall. When they reached the auditorium, they found a section in the back, away from their fellow students, where they could talk.
“What did you do over the weekend?” asked Estelle, always anxious to know how Richie lived his other life without her.
“Saturday night, I went into Center City with the guys and caught a Palestra double header, Penn versus Princeton and LaSalle against Temple. You’d love the atmosphere, unbelievable school spirit. It’s the best place to watch a basketball game and it’s right on Penn’s campus. You should go there sometime. Is your Dad into sports?
“No, cars.”
“Oh well, then Sunday, nothing special, church as usual. Then afterwards, one of my cousins had a birthday party, a typical family gathering, boring. And you?”
Estelle lowered her silky smooth voice, and in the process, her bubbly personality became suddenly subdued. “Jimmy drove me home after the Mayfair game, and instead of going straight to my house, we pulled off to the side of the road, in a secluded area, and for the first time, he told me how he felt about Sally Dill. They were holding hands on the team bus on the ride back from Mayfair. She let her words sink in and continued. “He’s confused and doesn’t know what to do.”
Richie took Estelle’s hand in his for the first time, albeit briefly. “I know, I talked to Sally after the game, and she’s as bewildered as Jimmy. She’s concerned about how her parents will react. And to be honest, so am I.” Neither said a word until Richie spoke. “I’ll try to talk to Jimmy after practice to see where his head is.” And then opening up his English book, he looked away from Estelle under the pretense of studying.
Estelle watched Richie closely, hesitated, then said, “This isn’t just about Jimmy and Sally. Unable to ascertain if Richie, who hadn’t taken his eyes away from his book, was willing to deal with their situation, regained his attention by reciting the following passage from memory from one of his favorite poets, Frost. “Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I---I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” With that, Estelle got up from her study hall seat and left the auditorium.
STOP