Life on the Edge
The discovery of who occupies the fringes of my suburban college town
It’s important to start this off by mentioning that I’m best described as a panda: I’m black and white, and at any given hour I’m either eating or sleeping. I also had a normal, middle-class upbringing. My mom loves HGTV and lives at Target, while my dad watches NASCAR and frequents Lowe’s. My hometown is pretty average, consisting of seemingly alternating pockets of urban, suburban and rural. I got my first taste of freedom on Christmas Day 2013 when my parents presented me with a bright yellow Cabriolet, complete with a bow on top. I zipped around streets previously unknown and allowed myself to get lost in the place I’ve always called home. Unfortunately, the good times came to a rolling stop when the motor blew up. I have since upgraded my ride to a royal blue PT Cruiser and learned to listen to my dad when he reminds me to check the oil in my car. While my wheels have changed, my love of exploration hasn’t. So naturally, when I transferred to a college located in a Philadelphia suburb, I was eager to check out my new habitat and take myself on the grandest adventures that the pocket money from my hellish summer retail job could afford me.
“I was down in the wine cellar last night, and I found a bottle from 2003.” Her voice was low and her tone reminded me of someone reading aloud a CNN news alert from their phone. I sat in in the dimly lit Italian café and listened to this complete stranger tell her friend of this most fascinating discovery. As I twirled my pasta, I tried to think if I personally know anyone who has a wine cellar. I do not. With a median income of $85,000, Chester County is the wealthiest county in Pennsylvania. Within it sits the college town of West Chester. Here, you never see an old beater drive by, nor do you walk by any dilapidated buildings. The Escalades and Priuses roll through the narrow streets and well-dressed men and women pop in and out of the upscale boutiques. West Chester is also predominately white. Like, I’ve literally seen only a handful of black adults around town after living there for almost a year. Needless to say, this surplus of capital and lack of melanin provides a complicated existence for those on the margins.
West Chester University is home to an incredible past. A statue of Frederick Douglass commemorates his public speech given there in 1895 and former Second Lady of the U.S., Dr. Jill Biden, spent her graduate years as a Golden Ram. It boasts stunning architecture and a great academic reputation. And, unlike in town, black people actually exist on campus. Though I’m biracial, I’ve had limited exposure to the Black community. So when my wandering led me to the hall of a Black choir performance, I was grateful that the greeters assumed I had come on purpose and ushered me in. The music started, but quickly faded into irrelevancy when the first note was sung. The deep, rich sound of their voices reverberated from the walls and flooded directly into my — admittedly — uncultured soul. For this one night, the relatively few Black students who attend WCU were able to gather and boldly celebrate the music that pulses so deeply through their veins.
Like this story? Check out this must-read suggestion from the Rover editors:
The Diner is one of the main eateries on campus, but its importance goes far beyond milkshakes. The majority of the workers there are Black. Some of them commute from Philadelphia, which is at least a two-hour bus ride each way. When I asked one woman why she works in West Chester if she lives so far away, she simply replied: “A job is a job.” During the day, the boys of Kappa Beta Si Apple Pie stand around in their Sperrys and pastel Vineyard Vines shirts recounting the weekend’s frat party. They lament the amount of “jungle juice” they consumed and brag about being featured in hot Samantha’s Snapchat Story. But then, much like the slow, gradient shift from day to night, the Diner undergoes a similar transformation. By the midnight hour, The Diner is mostly populated by Black students. The atmosphere is suddenly abuzz with unrestrained laughter and friends greeting each other with exaggerated handshakes. Workers blast hip-hop and mingle freely with the students. This nightly gathering almost feels like a reunion. As the burgers are served, so is a mutual understanding and a sense of belonging. After a long day in a place that is inaccessible to them in most every way, this blend of young and old comes together to immerse themselves in a community of commonality that is absent for most of them otherwise.
I spend every Saturday studying and doing homework at the local Starbucks because that GPA isn’t going to raise itself. I’ve come to understand that the famous coffee shop really serves as the great equalizer. Black or White, rich or poor, everyone loves Starbucks. But that doesn’t mean everyone has the same experience there. For lower-income residents, Starbucks acts as a refuge from the overpriced world just outside the door. These people are the regulars, and the people I’ve come to count as friends. They are the ones that sit there all day long, taking advantage of the free refills Starbucks offers. Some listen to music on their phones, some write poetry, and others simply stare at the wall. It’s clear that they all share a common purpose for being there: they simply cannot afford to participate in West Chester life. I know this because they tell me so. As soccer moms donned in yoga pants flit in and out to scoop up the caffeine they need to survive a day of bustling the kids to and from activities, I chat with those who have nothing to do and nowhere to go. The younger crowd also has no place to call their own. So, around 7:00pm every single Saturday, a group of tweens — that I swear can be heard from all the way in Center City — comes in and savagely destroys that calm and mellow vibe Starbucks tries so hard to maintain. Apparently, a cheap movie theater or park would ruin the aesthetic.
West Chester exists as a world within a world. While I have never experienced or witnessed any overt discrimination based on color or class, the distinctions are still painfully evident. Those who don’t fit in are relegated to the proverbial edge and cannot fully enjoy the excitement and opportunities available to the majority. But, whether in concert halls, diners, or coffee shops, all over, racial and economic minorities are carving out their own space in the midst of one that doesn’t belong to them.
