Passin'
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A Novel
by Karen E. Quinones Miller
Novella Alexander
Ms. Novella Alexander was a lovely woman, whom I had the pleasure of interviewing while she was a resident at a nursing home when she was aged 102.
We spoke about a number of things before she leaned toward me, and said with a twinkle in her eye: "You know what’s funny? Here in this place, the white people who work here, when they first get here, they think I’m white, and they treat me good. The black people, they start out thinking I’m white, and they don’t always treat me so good. But then I make sure I let them know I’m black, too, and I show them a picture of my husband who is brown-skinned, and they start treating me better."
She then pointed to another woman in the center's dayroom. "Now, she. She's black and doesn't think anyone knows." Then Novella let out a little laugh. "She doesn't think anyone knows."
Sadly, Novella died a couple of years ago, but I want to share with you part of the interview we conducted that day back in 2003.
When I was younger, I was friends with a white lady. A lovely, lovely woman. She wasn’t segregated, she loved black people. She loved all peoples, she was like that.
She said to me one day. ”You know Novella, I want to ask you something. I know you won’t like it, but I’m going to ask you anyway.”
I said, “Go ahead and ask it. I can hear it.”
She said, “Now you know I love Negro people. I love all them. But you know how the white folks treat them. Why don’t you go in there with the whites? They’ll never know the difference.”
I said, “You should damn in hell.” I didn’t curse in my life, but I did then. I said, “I would never do that stuff in my life. I love my people. And I love myself. I don’t want to do that.”
She said. “Well, don’t get mad at me. I just wanted to tell you that you might want to give it a try. ‘Cause you know how they treat coloreds, and you know you could get by with it.”
One day I did go to lunch with a white boy, though. I was up in some other town for some event or another, and he and I got to talking. So then he said, “How about you have lunch with me?”
I said “I’d think I’d love it. I’d love to have lunch with you.”
So we went and had lunch. And oh, I was miserable ‘cause I was so scared. I was scared someone I knew was going to see me. I was scared that even the Negroes I didn’t know was looking at me knowing what I was doing. I was glad when that lunch was over and I could get outta there. Anytime I saw that white guy after that I just dodged him. There was some folks who chose to pass, but not me. I couldn’t live like that. But some folks felt they had to because of how things were. It’s a terrible world.