Boston Polkasnots

Rushmore was an all-girls private university where covert lesbianism was rampant. Ella's sister Charlotte had a semi-secret relationship with a dread-headed woman named Kenzo, who had just moved back from studying abroad in Prague. Kenzo had many stories about her travels overseas, talking of language learned and time spent dreaming of castles in Old Town Square. Ella vaguely heard Kenzo mention something about the Astronomical Clock, which intrigued her, but she was distracted by the propensity of evening plans. She quickly threw on a snakeskin print skirt and a polka-dot blouse with flats. Mission Hill campuses were only 2 miles from the heart of Roxbury. Still, with buildings popping up left and right, she hoped to avoid city traffic. Maximalism was evident everywhere.

Maxwell vibes and "Urban Hang Suite" was the album of choice for Ella's first date with her Art History professor, James Infinite. His online dating profile alleged that he was more into the likes of Billy Joel, but she played it on the car ride to pick him up anyway. They went to Backspace, an underground pool hall and jazz club in Roxbury on the corner of Mass Ave and Columbus. James wore a Lacoste double zip sweater with boat shoes, and she was thrilled yet comfortable with his preppy demeanor. Luckily, he paid for everything as he should. Ella drank one too many glasses of Sancerre, and James had to drive her car home.

Ella dreamt that night she had twins, two daughters. In a dream-like state, she decided she'd name them Martha and Fable. Fable was her great grandmother's name and likely the name for a butterscotch-skinned child. She woke up terrified with full sweat and glanced to her left. She was barely able to move or open her eyes because her head was heavy with hangover. She forgot that James had spent the night, and she was instantly regretful but likely overthinking.

She never wanted children and had always thought herself unfertile. Her fear and disdain of childbirth had always run six feet deep. And, was she weak for feeling this way? She knew she couldn't understand the experience of labor pains until felt. Perhaps she was jealous of women who knew without reserve that they wanted to be mothers and wives, and she was unmistakably unsure.

She had many men yet had never been pregnant. Thankfully, birth control and contraceptives were the norm. She pretended her promiscuity didn't bother her. Her family thought nothing of it, which insulted her to no end, yet she was well aware they'd never accept her having a child out of wedlock. Every month her menses was irregular, and this worried her, rightly so. She had to remind herself that her body had been out of sorts for some time, and she was questionably grateful.

She shook the night terror off and made herself a cup of Earl Grey tea. She knew she needed to get ready for work. Begrudgingly, she put on a white ruffled button-down as she sighed. She fixed herself in the mirror, pulling her shirt down to cover her jelly rolls, turning side to side, checking herself out, and fixing her lifeless hair. She hated the sight before her. She felt awkward and overweight, which was nothing new. She hadn't slept well in days. Possibly, she had stopped taking her Zoloft, which made her feel blunted, apathetic, and lifeless. She wondered if she should lie on her next psychiatric zoom when asked if she was still taking them.

In all of her waspy perfection, Charlotte called at just the wrong time. "Ciao! I texted you a picture of the outfit I want to wear to Suzette's gender reveal. Did you see it? What do you think? Do you like it?" Charlotte said in her usual cheerful and oblivious tone. Ella, barely awake and still feeling surreal, responded with a drawn-out monotone, "Heyy, how's it going? Nah, I didn't check my messages yet today". Gender reveals weren't Ella's jam. Ella was preoccupied with the scruff on her Frye wedges and the temptation of calling out of work. Distracted, she responded, "Char... I have to finish getting ready for work. Can I call you later?" Char's eye roll was almost audible. "Whatever?", she said which left Ella questioning Char's priorities as she hung up the phone.

Charlotte's attitude propelled just enough irritation for Ella to pull the trigger and take the day off. She had been calling out periodically and possibly more often as of late. She couldn't bear listening to one more client rave about wanting open-concept spaces and stereotypical brick relief. She'd rather spend her time day drinking and putting it in the bag rather than working for a living. Sometimes she thought it would be fruitful to migrate north, with high probability to Vermont, at the first sight of the right gingham coupled with a ring. This left her contemplating her newly found feelings for James and the giant peach.

Ella found herself falling into a depressive spell wishing she was more like the hipsters of Jamaica Plain rather than her Roxtrudary self. More like those who saged their trustafarian condos and pretended to care about social issues rather than their parents' wallets. Sometimes Ella's contemplative thinking made her nauseous. Fort Hill women seemingly couldn't release their need to be stiff and feel free to explore outside of the confounds of new black culture. She never wanted to be anything like her mother and somewhat disliked who she was raised to be. Someone with pretense, insecurity, and far too many masks. She feared slipping up inside the poise she believed she needed to uphold and was taught to pretend that grandiosity was the key to success.

Both Ella and Charlotte despised their parents' desire to disguise their blackness. Still, they were grateful to benefit from the privilege they embodied and were surrounded by. How black was Charlotte, and what did that mean for Ella's black-boned nature? This led to feelings of shameful imprisonment for both of them. They were inextricably connected both genetically and financially, yet there was much difference they experienced. Ella had the depth of insight to know how much they had in common as sisters, and she wished Charlotte felt the same.

She poured herself a glass of wine and smoked a bowl to remedy her hangxiety as she flipped through the pages of Jung's "Red Book." After reading for a few moments, she wondered if she was having tactile delusions. Was the existential content too much? For a moment, she found this fitting as a result of exploratory madness. Maybe sometimes words stuck out on pages like illness or braille. Why was she experiencing such a dichotomy as a result of being black and wealthy? Much heartache came from the separation of soul and ancestral identity, which often made Ella feel lost. The depth of her complexity annoyed her.

This led her to various closing questions: could she thrive in suburbia single? She thought about whether or not being unwed while at childrens' birthday parties would be more fun without overflowing glasses of sauv blanc? She wondered who would be worthy of marrying Polkasnots like herself: young black women who wore headbands and polkadots. Hopefully, someone just as sophisticated as James, intelligent yet poor, not a pauper, and definitely not a bore.