ABOUT: ZORA DAVIS JOHNSON.
name: zora davis johnson (”z”)
sexual orientation: bisexual
occupation: business owner
education: b.a. in community development from howard
Zora Neale Hurston & Angela Davis. Her father’s plan for her life was pretty obvious; her mom was Jewish, so she had her own skin in the game, too. Zora was to be one of the Greats-- the greatest activist of her generation, a community builder, a warrior for justice. She was the lovechild of two old hippies who would lead their people into freedom, finally. If only Freddie and Mags could see her now.
Zora grew up on the Southside of Chicago, where Freddie Johnson had spent his youth riding the wave of the Civil Rights movement. She grew up hearing stories of her dad being thrown into jail, just like MLK, giving up every comfort for the betterment of humanity. Her mom was from upstate New York, but art school and then her infatuation with Eddie kept her in the windy city. Mags’ activism was softer, but no less radical-- it seemed every week there was another battered individual making a home out of their guest room, for whom Mags was always armed with hot chamomile tea (her signature, with local honey and rosemary grown out of the herb box on their fire escape).
She was homeschooled, her parents’ attempt to shield Zora from the anti-blackness of American culture. Spoiler alert: it’s inescapable. Tuesdays she would go with Freddie to his Black liberation meetings, and Friday she would tag along to Mags’ Planned Parenthood luncheons. Zora was nine when she started finding her own strand of activism-- volunteering at the community garden (though, you could hardly call two green patches in the atrium of the community center a garden). The garden felt more her pace, akin to her affinity for nurturing and growth.
At seventeen, she was accepted to Howard University. Her parents couldn’t be more thrilled-- and after that, it became the first thing they said about her. “Have you heard about Zora? She’s going to Howard.” Higher education would fix everything, or something like that. But Howard, and D.C. in general, was fast-paced, to say the least. Everyone was in a rush to pass a new policy or yell at a cop or organize a march-- all worthy endeavors, mind you-- but Zora watched as classmate and professor alike burned out. So, in between community development classes and student action committee meetings, Zora took time for herself. This usually looked like smoking a joint in a friend’s van.
Against all odds and any desire of her own, Zora graduated. She packed up her things (along with a well-worn bong, made by a local glass artisan) and took her fancy Community Development degree back to the Southside. She soon fell into a routine: check on the community garden (which had taken major damage since she was away in D.C.), accompany her parents to their community meetings, work with the kids in the Boys and Girls club, visit family, rinse, repeat. After the summer, Zora got a job at the Southside Food Bank, where she’d been volunteering since she was a kid. She spent her weekends lobbying at the capitol. Like her parents, Zora spent every minute of everyday working for the good of the community-- only it never let up. There was always something to do, and everyday felt like she was fighting against millions of legislative decisions.
But, her parents had done it all their lives. They had created her for this lifestyle. To be clear, Zora’s parents were incredibly loving and present and doted on Zora-- but they were controlling in their own moral-high-ground, fight-the-fight kind of way. Secretly, she wanted an out. Something to preoccupy her parents so Zora could have the life she always wanted: slow, easy, steady-- not constantly burning out for the good fight. So, she planned a vacation. Her mom’s sister Ava still lived in upstate New York and had a bit of land, so Zora figured that a week away from the city would do them good. Freddie and Mags begrudgingly piled into the car and began the journey to Lake Placid (fitting name, right?).
But, they never made it there. Just outside of Eerie, PA, the Johnstons’ hatchback got into a freak accident with an eighteen-wheeler. Zora’s mother died on impact. She and her father were careflighted to the nearest emergency room. The accident had triggered an internal bleed in her father, who later died on the operating table. Only Zora survived, with a few broken ribs and a severely broken femur. She remembers the way the morphine made her feel, like jell-o and Nirvana all at once. In a drug-haze, Zora returned with Ava to Chicago for the funeral, packed her things (really, Ava and the neighborhood boys did all the packing as she was wheelchair bound), and moved to Lake Placid. The guilt plagued her: she’d gotten the slow life she wanted after all.
At 25, it was hardly ideal to move in with her 60-year-old aunt, but Zora needed a consistent ride for checkups and physical therapy appointments. Ava never had kids, so she was happy to dote on her niece for a year or two. Besides, Lake Placid wasn’t all that bad, and the oxycontin made it easier to forget all that had happened. That quickly became a problem. The pills were prescribed for physical pain, but they sure as shit helped with the emotional pain, too. So Zora leaned on them. After the first time she asked for an early refill, she quickly figured that that wouldn’t help. And it’s not like the shit was unavailable in a quiet town like Lake Placid-- she soon figured out who had what.
The next two years were filled with scoring oxy off 19-year-olds, going to work high, dodging her aunt, promising herself she’d get clean and then not. Deep within herself, Zora knew it would take another low to get her clean-- but why would she dwell on that when it felt so good to be high? But the low came crashing, as promised by the Universe. On the two year anniversary of her parents’ death, Zora was “celebrating” with some H. When her aunt found her that night, blue lips and short of breath, Zora was revived at the emergency room and immediately checked into a local rehabilitation center. She vaguely remembers her aunt’s threats, something about keeping her parents’ life insurance money from her so she didn’t waste it on drugs, something else about partaking in the vice that had historically decimated the African American community (that one must have come from her dad, Zora figured).
Rehab was, in short, miserable. She was surrounded by a bunch of overly Zen people talking about God and His plan for her life. Just once, could she not be held to someone else’s plan for her life? Though, all the talk about a Higher Power did interest her-- she never believed in God in the traditional sense, but in college Zora had taken a class on astrology. Alas, Zora persevered and learned the steps-- she picked up a healthy coping strategy or two-- and gave all the right answers so she could be released. Spiritually renewed and chemically un-dependent, Zora had to face the final boss: Aunt Ava, who was tired of her shit.
After months of proving herself and sketching out a “life plan,” Ava finally agreed to give Zora the rest of the money. They both viewed it as a way for her to start over, away from Lake Placid and Chicago. Zora’s college roommate had moved to a city in California a few years back and bought a few commercial properties. The stars aligned, and Zora was able to put a down payment on a retail space with an adjoining loft. And thus: Z’s was born.
So, Zora packed up once more and moved down to Charming, California. It was a cute little town, and the slow pace suited her. She opened up a storefront, part crystals/part bookstore/part produce and natural remedies, and called it Z’s. There wasn’t a rhyme or reason, it was for her to sell seasonal items that one might not find elsewhere in Charming. And sure, she sold weed out back every now and then, but never to anyone under 18. On any given weekday, you’ll find Zora at Z’s, smoking a cigarette and entertaining the neighborhood cats. On weekends, she runs a small booth of fresh produce and houseplants at the farmer’s market, where, again, you’ll find her with the neighborhood cats. Zora loves the quiet life she’s found in Charming-- quiet enough to fly under the radar for a while.
