Array Seka - Inside Seka

Then they called the first place runner-up, which was the girl everyone thought was going to win.

There I was, standing next to the last remaining girl and the first thing that went through my head was that maybe being blonde wasn’t so bad. Debbie was blonde, too. But I was getting ready to walk off the stage.

And then they called my name. Yes, my name.

It was like something out of a dream. Everybody’s jumping on me and kissing me and putting a crown on my head and I actually said, “Debbie, what’s going on?” I just didn’t absorb it.

“You won, you crazy person.”

It didn’t sink in for two or three days, but it felt pretty damn good. I was starting to accomplish things. My time served had started to pay off.

I was instantly popular. My picture was all over the school and local newspapers and suddenly everyone knew who I was. People acted like they liked me because I was the beauty queen. Ironically, this made me feel awkward because I felt I was on display all the time. I wasn’t a feminine, prissy girl. I was still a tomboy and I liked it that way. But whenever I walked by I would hear, “There’s Ms. Hopewell High School.”

People would point and whisper and I had no idea what they were saying, but I assumed it wasn’t good. I was suspicious and not at all used to being treated like a beauty. I never had any positive reinforcement that I was pretty. Being abandoned doesn’t exactly make you secure.

To me, all this fuss was over nothing. I just walked out on stage and people stared at me. They weren’t judging me on my abilities or anything like that. Going out for basketball, you were picked because you were good. But being picked on your looks, you didn’t have much to do with that except for genes, personal hygiene, and maintenance. I guess I cleaned myself up pretty good for that pageant.

I’d have lunch with a group of students, but except for Debbie and some of my teammates, I didn’t have a lot of people I considered friends. And I certainly didn’t have a best friend.

Looking back, I probably chose not to get close with anyone because it seemed that everyone who was close had abandoned me. I wasn’t going to let that happen again. There was always a simmering anger over what my family had done to me. Sometimes I was aware of it, other times it was subconscious. Teammates and opponents saw this and knew not to get in my way on the field because I’d kick their ass. And at five-eight and one hundred fifty-five pounds with big legs from running all the time, those little girls didn’t know what hit them. But mostly I directed it towards my mother, and even my brother and sister for not standing up for me. Why didn’t anyone ever say, “Where’s Dottie? How come she’s not with us?”

My aunt went to get her hair done every week and she found out about the Miss Southside Virginia Pageant. This event didn’t involve just girls in our high school but also from neighboring towns. The beauticians put it together to showcase their hairdos and such. My aunt had her heart set on my entering it. Reluctantly I agreed, especially since there was a bathing suit competition I wasn’t happy about. If I could have worn one of those big, long bathing suits from the twenties I would have. I knew I wasn’t ugly, but I didn’t instantly think I was pretty because I won Ms. Hopewell High. I picked a one-piece turtleneck bathing suit. I accepted that I had good legs. The rest of me, I didn’t want anyone to see.

It was in a small meeting hall. There was no stage. Chairs were lined up on either side of the runway. There were maybe fifty to seventy-five people in the audience. Nothing too glamorous — far from it. I was scared and I still wasn’t used to walking in high heels, but I was told they should to be very high because it made your legs look even better.

There were around twenty to twenty-five contestants and most of them were not very attractive. I kind of felt bad for them, and then I felt worse because I thought I was being egotistical.

I won.

I thought to myself, “I’m just glad it’s over. I want to go home.” I’d fulfilled my duties.

Now even more people knew me, but it didn’t change me in the least because it was more about making my aunt happy.

In the fall of 1971, I was still a junior, and as Ms. Hopewell High School I was expected to be in the Thanksgiving homecoming parade. My aunt had an old Cutlass convertible so she volunteered to drive me in the parade. As we were all getting lined up, out of the corner of my eye I saw a group of men in white outfits and hoods. I tapped my aunt on the shoulder and said, “Hey, what’s that?”

She said, “Don’t look. You don’t need to bother with that.”

She didn’t really look around, which I thought was pretty odd. They were all men and I looked again in spite of my aunt. When I did, one of them took off his hood and it was my aunt’s boss. He looked directly at me and it was the coldest, blankest stare I had ever seen. He had always been so nice to me. I turned back around, did not wave, and stared straight ahead.

I didn’t have a clue who they were or what they did. I was very naive. We didn’t study them in school or see a lot about them on TV back then. I knew the Klan existed, but I didn’t quite know what they looked like and never imagined they were in my town.

Although a lot of the townspeople and students were prejudiced, I never was. I may not have had much exposure to people of different races, but I would talk to anyone. I like everybody unless they prove to me they’re a blazing jackass. But I knew this wasn’t good. Deadness had come across the air. Somehow I knew they weren’t supposed to be part of the parade, but it was eerie with them standing there waiting. They seemed ready to march. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be part of this.

We got the signal to start and I went with the flow. As people clapped and shouted for the teams and bands and cheerleaders, in my youthful excitement I pretty much forgot about the Klansmen. When it was over and we ended up on the other end of town, I saw that they hadn’t been in it at all. I had no idea why.

When I went into the store afterwards, my aunt’s boss was never rude or mean to me, but he looked at me differently. The Klan didn’t want people to know who they were. That was the day I realized there was evil everywhere, even in small town America.

Living with my aunt wasn’t exactly carefree. The oldest of four girls and four boys, she was sort of the matriarch of the family after my grandmother passed away. She was “Big Mama.”

There were certain obligations. I had to get good grades. Be a good girl. Not have sex. Not even think about sex. Be a nun, a vanilla wafer.

I think this was important to her because her reputation was so good. She could prove to everyone in the family that she was able to raise a decent kid — that I wouldn’t turn out like her sister, my mother.

My second cousin Diane introduced me to a nice young man at church. He was everything my aunt thought a boy should be. He came from a good God-fearing, law-abiding family. His name was Woody. She was comfortable with him because she felt he was “safe.” And he was. I still have the first piece of jewelry he ever gave me, a little pinky insignia ring. I really liked him. He had a great sense of humor and was a nice young man. I was even allowed to date him. Of course, I had to stand on the bottom step for him to kiss me good night because I was a head taller than he was. But I wasn’t looking for a future with him. Getting married to your childhood sweetheart and having kids and a white picket fence just never entered my thought process. I cared about him, but at that age I didn’t know what love was. I don’t think anyone my age did.