Friends: A Love Story by Angela Bassett Read Free Book Online Page A

buddies and I had been noticing girls since we were six or so. The first love of my life was a pretty little girl named Gina. She and I developed a crush on each other and everyone thought it was cute.
    Now I’m sure Mom sat Cecilie down on several occasions and went through the birds and the bees speech, but Dad never said, “Son, let’s sit down and talk.” Instead, he put the burden of whether or not we’d have “the talk” on my shoulders. Because I had no intention of bringing it up, I missed out. I effectively avoided that speech for my entire childhood.
    I had, however, stumbled onto my father’s stash of Playboy magazines back when I was six. Dad hid the magazines in the basement in his office. Back then, Playboy was soft-core porn—breasts, side views, hands strategically placed. But no genitalia. Still, the centerfold was enough to make me say, “Whoaaa… This is cool!” They were secret. Taboo. And they were in our house! Of course, the fact that I was secretly peeking at my father’s hidden pornography only made me feel more uncomfortable about talking about my sexuality. But today I realize that his difficulty getting below the surface was chiefly because of his background. There was an unspoken understanding when I was a child that certain questions about his childhood were off-limits. As I got older I became curious about finding his parents, but although I suspect Dad knew some things about them, he never expressed any interest in finding them.
    My mother was very nurturing and always took care of us. She was the family’s implementer, following up behind the scenes after my dad gave his directives or did his life-of-the-party thing. She made sure we did our homework and finished our chores. Mom was an educator and a librarian. She was always reading books. To this day she reads or listens to more books than anyone I know. We were always around books. In our home there was an unspoken rule that you’d better read and do well in school. After school, Cec and I would usually hang out at the library where she worked. The library was our touchstone, our sanctuary—and the place we went to bug her, especially after she transferred from the main library to a local branch five minutes from home.
    â€œMommy, Cec is doing this…”
    â€œMommy, Courtney’s doing that…”
    Physically and educationally, the library was huge in our lives. I used to explore the stacks and try to figure out where books on different topics were located. There were fun things to do there after school and on Saturdays. When I got older I’d write my school papers there. As a librarian, Mom was involved with all kinds of groups all over the city—literacy groups, homeless groups, Habitat for Humanity, book clubs. Long before publishers sold books on tape, Mom would read aloud and tape stories so people could hear them. A whole community of people in that library system supported each other and helped lift us up.
    Cecilie and I didn’t always go to the library after school. When we were younger, we might stay home with a babysitter. When we were older, we’d stay by ourselves. Sometimes when we didn’t go to the library, we would sneak and watch General Hospital and Dark Shadows. Cec was a TV junkie. But the only time we were actually allowed to watch TV was cartoons on Saturday morning and Jacques Cousteau, Wild Kingdom and Disney on Sunday nights. From the example my mother set, I learned the power of lifelong learning.
    Because my mom was so nurturing, I felt that I could always go to her and just talk about whatever was going on—I didn’t have to have a debate. If Cecilie didn’t do what she was told, I would go to Mom and tell on her. Cec was a little fireball. You couldn’t tell her or make her do nothin’. When I was eleven we got two dogs, Rana and Pepper. We were supposed to walk and feed them, but when it came