"No," I said, my eyes stinging with angry tears. "Mama never went on welfare. Ken took advantage of everything he could, but Mama refused. And I am not afraid of hard work and making an effort. Do you actually think it was easy for me growing up in that neighborhood, trying to learn something in that school? My grades weren't gifts," I emphasized. "No, nothing's been handed to me on any silver platter?'
I held my breath, expecting her to explode at my outburst. Her tight lips softened as she pulled the corners up gently and her eyes seemed to sparkle with pleasure. What a confusing woman, I thought.
"If, as you say, you've had to battle against such terrible odds to accomplish what you have
accomplished, why does accepting the role in a school play look like such a Mount Olympus to climb? Why isn't it a piece of cake?" she added.
"Because...because I've never done this before," I stammered.
"So? Are...you going to run away from every task you've never done before? What sort of grit and backbone does that exhibit? I'll say one thing for your mother," she continued, "I didn't approve of her activities in college, but she didn't shy away from challenges, even if it meant she had to suffer indignation and share poverty, things she never had to suffer and share before.
"Of course," she added, "you'd never know she was the same woman today?'
"What about my father?" I dared to ask. "What about him?"
"I don't know very much," I said.
"That makes two of us," she said, "and for my part, I'd like to keep it that way."
There would be no more discussion of that, I thought.
When Grandmother Hudson slammed a door closed, it was closed.
The next day, the cast list was posted on Mr. Bufurd's door and everyone knew I had been given the coveted role of Emily Webb. The girls who were jealous of my having Mr. Bufurd for an adviser were absolutely erupting with envy. Most just gazed at me with green eyes, but Maureen Knowland put the first glass of ice water on my accomplishment when she said, "I wonder what Corbette Adams is going to do about this."
"What do you mean?" I asked. Corbette, who attended Sweet William, had been cast as George Gibbs opposite me. Emily and George are in love and marry in the play.
"I think what I mean is obvious," Maureen sailed in my direction as she entered the classroom. All the girls but Audrey followed like a tail of cans tied to the rear bumper of a car, bouncing their laughter along after her.
I looked at Audrey.
"Did you understand that remark?" I asked her.
She raised her eyes to me and then shifted them to the cast list. She had been cast as George Gibbs's mother. "You're an African-American," she said. "You have a light complexion, but you're still--"
"What?" I demanded.
"Black to them, I guess," she said shrugging.
"Oh' I said looking at the cast list. What would Grandmother Hudson think of this? Would this make a mountain out of that molehill of Mount Olympus she accused me of falsely creating? "Do you know this Corbette Adams?" I asked Audrey.
"A huh," she said. "He was in a play with me last year, Harvey. He played Elwood and I played Elwood's sister."
"Well, what's he like?" I asked her.
"I don't know. We were only in a play together," she replied, as if I had asked her to reveal her deepest, darkest secrets. She looked down and then hurried into the classroom.
I stared at the cast list for a moment longer. If Mr. Bufurd thought I could play the part, he must not have been worrying about my being half AfricanAmerican, I thought.
But that didn't keep me from worrying about it all day and trembling as I strolled over to the theater building after school to be in my first rehearsal in any play ever. I didn't walk like someone determined and excited. I was still a little indecisive. I told my pounding heart I could still back out.
All of the rest of the cast was already there when I arrived. They had the advantage of already knowing each other and needed no introductions. From the way they looked at me, I felt confident I was the subject of their conversation. After all, who was this girl who came charging through the venerable corridors of Dogwood to achieve such dramatic successes so quickly? Did I have political influence? Did I deserve the role? What was Mr. Bufurd thinking of? How would Corbette play lover to me?
I slowed as I approached them. Colleen Littlefield, Mr. Bufurd's production assistant, stepped out of the group.
"You're late," she pounced, wagging her head. "Mr. Bufurd insists we all be right on time. Being on time for an entrance is crucial to the theater," she continued in a lecture mode. The others froze their faces, their frightened eyes directed at me.
"I'm sorry," I said. "But I can't be very late."
"Late is late. That's like saying I'm not very pregnant," she added and there was a ripple of nervous laughter. "What does the rest of the cast do if someone misses her entrance?"
"Punt," one of the boys remarked and they all laughed so simultaneously and so hard it reverberated like a television sound track through the auditorium.
I gazed around.
"I don't even see Mr. Bufurd," I said.
"He'll be here shortly. I get things started every day. That's my job," she said smugly.
"So do it," I fired back at her. If she considered herself tough and nasty, she should meet Nicole, I thought. "You're just wasting more time with these histrionics."
The smiles on some of the faces vanished instantly. A few turned to Colleen to see what she would do. Audrey was the only one who looked happier, her smile widening.
"Good afternoon, gang," we heard Mr. Bufurd call from the rear of the theater before Colleen could get her jaw unlocked. "Sorry I'm a little late," he followed. He started down the aisle.
I walked up to Colleen.
"Doesn't he know better than to be late? What's the cast to do?"
A tall boy laughed loudly, his sapphire eyes brightening. He had broad shoulders and long legs. Under the spill of the stage lights, his dark brown, unruly hair held hints of copper. It reached the nape of his neck and curled upward, barely brushing the white collar of his thin shirt. No girl in her right mind would deny he was good looking, I thought. He tilted his head just a little to the right as if waiting to see what I would do or say next and our eyes met.
His didn't falter; they held as his strong lips opened slightly. He had a straight, Roman nose in perfect proportion to his other facial features. I saw a self-assurance in his eyes, a strength that was different from the strength I always saw in Roy's eyes. This strength came from a deep well of confidence and not from anger or pain. His eyes left mine first, but not to turn away. On the contrary, he took in the rest of my face slowly, moving to my throat, lingering at my bosom, and then traveling down to my waist, hips, legs and then back up again, just as slowly until he found my eyes, his now changing to reflect more curiosity and even appreciation, I thought with a small trembling beneath my breast.
"Good, so you've all met," Mr. Bufurd declared, dropping his briefcase on a chair. "Did you introduce Rain to everyone, Colleen?" he asked her.
"Not yet, Mr. Bufurd. She arrived only seconds before you did."
"Oh, okay," he said. "Gang, this is Rain Arnold, our newest discovery. I hope you'll all make her feel at home and quickly make her part of our little family. As some of you who have been in one or more of my productions know, it doesn't take long for all of us to bond in a special way, and if we don't have that bonding, the production suffers. From this day forward, we all pull hard for each other to be successful.
"Everyone have his or her script, Colleen?" he asked, turning to her.
"Everyone but Rain Arnold, Mr. Bufurd," she said with syrupy sweetness.
"Well let's get to it," he said clapping his hands.
She thrust a script at me as if she imagined it was a knife. Everyone sat.
"Let's begin with an introduction of players and then a read-through. Why don't you start, Gerald," he said.
"Gerald Longchamp," a sto
ut boy with dark brown hair responded. "I play Mr. Webb." He looked over at me with a tight, crooked smile. "Emily's father."
Moments later, I discovered that the handsome boy was Corbette Adams, playing George Gibbs.
"For those of you who have never seen this play performed, I'll first describe the staging," Mr. Bufurd said.
"Mr. Bufurd," Maureen Knowland called out, her hand high. She was playing Rebecca Gibbs, George's sister.
"Yes, Maureen?"
"Before you arrived, we were all wondering how you were going to solve the problem," she said.
My heart, as though it was attached to rubber bands, felt like it bounced in my chest because of the way she pronounced "problem" and looked at me when she said it.
"Problem?" Mr. Bufurd said with a small smile of confusion. "Which problem? I've got about two hundred."
"The biggest one, Mr. Bufurd," she sang. "We all read Our Town in class of course, and we know it takes place in a small New England town. I don't think people had mixed marriages then, do you?"
You could hear the stillness, the holding of breath, the tightness in everyone's body, not a leg or arm moving, not even the wispy sound of clothes creasing. Mr. Bufurd stared at Maureen for a moment as if he was still trying to understand her question.
"Oh," he finally said as if he just realized it. He was a good actor himself, I decided, "you mean the fact that our George Gibbs and our Emily Webb are a little different from the traditional?"
"A little different?" She smirked and looked at the others, but most let their eyes drop except for Colleen Littlefield, who was standing beside Mr. Bufurd. She pulled the corner of her mouth into her cheek and gazed at me as if I was some smelly homeless person who had wandered in from the street.
"Well, that's a good question," he said. "I don't want to get into a lecture today, but you all know that America has always been what we call a melting pot. The great thing about Our Town is how well it lends itself to changing times. It's not a period piece, so put your mind at rest, Maureen. In fact, I was thinking of adding a line at the end to make the point that skin color is just one of the 'layers of nonsense' in our lives.
"Anyone uncomfortable with that?" he concluded.
I couldn't help but glance at Corbette, who glanced at me and then stared forward.
"Good. So let's begin," Mr. Bufurd said and started the rehearsal.
We read through the first two acts with Mr. Bufurd stopping us occasionally to explain a line or what he envisioned would take place on the stage. While I read my lines to George Gibbs, I could feel Corbette Adams's eyes on me. I glanced up to see a small smile on his lips before he started his lines. Amazingly, he seemed to have his part already memorized. When the rehearsal ended, I couldn't help but ask him about it.
"I guess I always assumed I would get the role," he said, "so I took the chance and began memorizing. Are you a hard study?"
"Pardon me?"
Most of the students were leaving slowly, lingering to watch us talk, especially Maureen.
"Is it hard for you to memorize lines?" he explained with just enough of a condescending tone in his voice to make my spine stiffen.
"I don't know, but I don't think it will be. Of course, I never anticipated being cast as Emily Webb. The truth is, I never even expected to go out for the play. I just enrolled at Dogwood?'
"I know," he said still holding that selfsatisfied, impish grin. I felt like slapping it off him. He leaned closer to me. "You've stirred up Mr. Bufurd's melting pot. I think this is going to be lots of fun," he added and turned to catch up with the other boys from Sweet William.
When I turned around, I saw Colleen Littlefield glaring at me with eyes so full of fury again I imagined I was the most distasteful thing she had encountered. Rather than put fear in me, it lit a fire under my simmering sense of outrage. Maybe the Grandmother Hudson in me was awakening after a lifetime of hibernation. I walked right up to her.
"You and I got off to a very bad start today," I said, "but if you're really concerned about the play and helping Mr. Bufurd, you'll put aside your stupid prejudices and help me, too."
"I am not prejudiced," she wailed, looking toward Mr. Bufurd to be sure he hadn't heard. "Why is it you people always use that excuse whenever you're criticized?"
"Maybe because it's all we've experienced for the last two hundred years," I said. "I'm not leaving this play unless Mr. Bufurd decides I should, so get used to me," I told her. Remembering Nicole's aggressiveness, I put my face right up to hers and she nearly had heart failure. Then I screwed my eyes into hers and added, "Don't get me angry again."
Before she could blink twice, I turned and marched up the aisle, holding my breath and hoping she wouldn't challenge my threat. I burst out of the building into the late afternoon sunshine and let out my hot breath.
"You're good," I heard and turned to see Audrey lingering in the shadows.
"Thanks. So are you."
"No, I mean it," she said coming up to me slowly. "You read with feeling. Most of them just read. I can see why Mr. Bufurd cast you as Emily."
"Thanks? I said with more sincerity, but still a little cautious. The girls Mr. Bufurd called his bubbles had a way of hiding their true feelings behind a lot of sudsy smiles. Not one of them had come to my aid in there, and most looked like they enjoyed seeing me uncomfortable.
"Don't let Colleen bother you?' she advised as we started down the pathway. "She's nasty to everyone."
"It doesn't excuse it and frankly, I don't let people like that push me around. My brother Roy always says if you act like sheep, they'll act like wolves," I told her.
She smiled.
"Where is your brother? Does he go to Sweet William?"
"No," I said laughing at the very thought of it. "He's joined the army."
"I'm an only child. Do you have any other brothers or sisters?"
"No. I had a sister but she was killed," I said.
"Killed? You mean like in a car accident?"
"No," I said. I hesitated. If I told her anything about myself and my other family, would she run to the others with stories? I wondered. "Are you just fishing for gossip?" I demanded. She looked terrified.
"No," she said quickly. "I was just ...I was just ..." She walked faster rather than finish her sentence. I felt sorry for her and the way I had snapped.
"Audrey," I called. She turned. "Wait up."
She did, but she still looked like she was trembling.
"I didn't mean to snap at you like that," I said. "It's not easy for me to talk about it and the girls here don't seem very sincere to me."
She nodded, her eyes softening.
"They're not," she said. After a beat she added, "I don't have a single friend here." Before I could say another word, she said, "There's my mother. I have to go?'
I watched her practically run down the pathway toward a black Mercedes sedan. She rushed around to the passenger's side and got in quickly. A small woman with dark hair and sunglasses rolled down her window and looked my way. Then she rolled the window up and drove off.
Moments later, Jake pulled up and I was on my way home, too. Jake talked his usual blue streak, peppering his conversation with little questions. I just couldn't imagine Grandmother Hudson putting up with him. He was too much like real people, spontaneous and uncomplicated. Mama would like him, too, I thought.
When we approached the house, I saw another vehicle and Jake told me the doctor was there.
"What's wrong?" I asked quickly.
"Mrs. Hudson never told you she has a chronic heart problem?" he asked. "No:' he answered for himself quickly, "I don't imagine she would share that with you. She doesn't acknowledge it herself."
"What sort of heart problem?"
"I don't know all the details, but from what I understand, she needs a pacemaker but keeps putting it off. That woman won't admit to any weaknesses or failings. It's not in her nature?' he said, but he said it with admiration and not criticism. "Maybe you can get her t
o take better care of herself."
Me? I thought with a laugh. I would have as much influence on her as a girl living in China.
The doctor was just coming down the stairs when I entered the house. He was a tall, thin man with a reddish-brown mustache and dark brown hair. _
"You must be Rain," he said. "I'm Doctor Lewis. Mrs. Hudson's daughter told me all about you."
"Hello," I said. "Is she all right?"
He paused at the bottom of the stairway and glanced up before turning back to me.
"I have never met anyone who confronts illness the way she does. She treats it as if it were an insult, an affront to her good name and character. She practically defies disease, infection and malfunctions to show up in her body, and when they do, she declares them personae non gratae," he said with a laugh. "I'm sorry," he followed. "I shouldn't be lighthearted about this. It's just that every time I come here, I leave frustrated. Mrs. Hudson needs a pacemaker," he told me, "but no one in her family has ever had one so..?' He reached into his inside pocket and produced a card. "Although she won't approve of this, I would like you to have my telephone number. Should she get weaker, please call. As I understand it, Mrs. Randolph wanted someone besides the maid to be in the house. I think that was a good idea. Well," he concluded, gazing up the stairway once more, "I'll be back in a week if I don't hear anything otherwise."
He started for the door, paused to smile at me, and then left.
I gazed at the card, noting the telephone number. How was I to know when she was sick or weaker? What an awesome responsibility, I thought. Why wasn't Victoria or my mother looking after her more?
I hurried up the stairs. When I reached the landing, I heard my grandmother call my name and went to her bedroom doorway. This was the first time I had actually seen her room. I had thought mine was big, but hers was at least three times the size with a part of it serving as a living room, containing two matching sofas, a reclining chair, a television set, tables and lamps. Her bed was a high post, dark maple wood with branches and leaves carved into the headboard. The room was thickly carpeted in light blue and the walls were painted a powder blue.
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