The People in the Park

by Margaree King Mitchell

  I stopped abruptly and tried to play it off by pretending I was looking at something in a store’s window.

  I hadn’t realized their marriage wasn’t on track.

  38

  Monday night Mom came into my room with a box of black walnut ice cream and potato chips and cookies. She loved to crumble Oreo cookies into her ice cream and I loved my ice cream with chips. We watched an old black and white movie on TCM and ate our decadent treats.

  After the movie Mom stayed around, so I knew she wanted to talk. She told me how excited she was about moving to Atlanta. She said she had thought a lot about our conversation with Dad, and she agreed the entire family needed a new start.

  “I want you to come to Atlanta with us,” she said.

  “Mom! You just got through saying we needed a new start,” I protested.

  “We can start anew together!”

  “Come on Mom! I’ve gone through this with you and Dad. I want to stay here and go to Lincoln Prep. I want to stay with Aunt Ira so I can get to know Tiffany better. I want to learn who I am and what I want out of life.”

  “You can learn all that in Atlanta,” she countered.

  “No, I can’t! I don’t have relatives in Atlanta. I can’t learn what it’ll be like to be close to relatives there.”

  “Your Dad and I have tried to give you the best of everything. Don’t you appreciate the sacrifices we have made for you?”

  Mom didn’t understand after all. I looked at the hurt in her eyes. She seemed afraid that I was abandoning her.

  “Mom, I’m not leaving you,” I said. “I don’t know who I really am. Everything has been handed to me. With this situation with Dad I’ve discovered there’s another way of life, a life of cutbacks and not having everything I wanted.”

  Mom looked at me. Her eyes pleaded and her words hit home. “Can’t you wait another year to experience life on your own? You’ll be going off to college then. Come with us to Atlanta, or go back to Fairfield Oaks.”

  I tried to keep the tears that were in my eyes from falling to my cheeks. I whispered, “I don’t feel like I belong at Fairfield Oaks anymore.”

  “Is this because of Jay?”

  “No, Mom, it isn’t. Everything is not about Jay!” I took a bite of ice cream and chips, trying to calm down. I needed to make her see my point.

  “When I was with Tiffany, I felt like I belonged. I can’t explain it. I was with people who understood me. I didn’t have to be the novelty that everyone wanted to befriend. I was just me.

  “And when I’m with you and Dad and at school and around here, I feel like I belong, too. I want to find out more about the part of me that feels like I belong when I’m with Tiffany and Aunt Ira. Can’t you see what I’m trying to say?”

  Mom pulled me close and hugged me. “Of course, I understand,” she said. “I just feel like I’ve failed you. With wanting to shelter you and give you the best in life that we could afford, I didn’t keep the connection open to your family.

  “We saw your Aunt Ira and Tiffany when we could or when we didn’t have anything planned, which wasn’t often. Instead of making sure you visited your grandparents every year, we took you traveling around the world. I wanted you to have the same experiences as your classmates. We moved out here to Fairfield and gave you everything, but somehow we didn’t give you what you really needed.”

  Tears rolled down Mom’s face. “I failed you,” she continued.

  Now I felt really bad. “No, you didn’t. I’m happy living here. I really am. It’s just that I only have one more year, and if I move to Atlanta or stay at Fairfield Oaks I might never get to really know my family and form a bond with them.”

  “Your Aunt Ira and I are close,” Mom continued. “We talk on the phone practically every day. You and Tiffany were so busy with your own activities and friends that we just thought you would eventually find each other, maybe in college or after.”

  “I want to do it now,” I said. “It seems like a good time with everything that’s going on.”

  I paused. “There’s something else I haven’t told you yet. During altar call at church that Sunday, I gave my life to Christ. I want to be part of their church before I go off to college.”

  Mom didn’t say anything. She brushed her head against the top of my hair. But I sensed we had come to an understanding. She might not agree with my position, but at least she knew I didn’t arrive at this place in my life without a lot of thought. And now I could see her objection better. My last year in high school was coming up. And she wouldn’t be around for it.

  “Mom, I love you. I’ll visit you and Dad in Atlanta. You’re not losing me.”

  When she left my room her spirit seemed deflated. I guess it was too much to ask that we all be happy about the changes ahead for our family.

  “I’ll find solace at the park tomorrow while letting the sound of the river wash over me,” I said to my reflection.

  Mom had stopped going to the park when I needed her most. She had abandoned me first. “She’ll probably immerse herself in the rituals of moving and selling the house. Activities relating to moving will keep her going until she starts her new life in Atlanta.”

  39

  The trees in the park fascinated me.

  Some stood tall, straight and majestic. Others stood, but somehow through the years had become crooked. A certain group of trees fascinated me. Three trees had started out separately but their trunks had fused and they’d grown straight up together. This group always reminded me of my family: Dad, Mom, and me. We were strong like that.

  “Trees are like life,” said a voice behind me.

  I whirled around. Hale and Hardy stood looking at the trees.

  “Good morning, Mr. Jones.”

  “Call me Ted, young lady.”

  “Lauren.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Lauren. I’ve seen you out here looking at the trees. There are lots of lessons to be learned from trees,” he said, pointing to a crooked tree that reigned majestically in the park, spreading its limbs as if overseeing all the other trees.

  “A strong storm probably came through the park decades ago and ravaged the trees here. But this one survived. It was bent over but it still grew. Even though it’s crooked, there’s a certain beauty about it. In lots of ways it’s more beautiful than the trees that grew straight.

  “You see, life deals all of us blows. It’s how we deal with them that matters. You can lay over and die. Or you can keep living and let your scars show but not let them hold you down.”

  I smiled. Everybody else told me about their lives. But Ted was telling me about the trees.

  “Do you know something about dealing with life’s blows?” I asked.

  “You better believe it! I identify with the crooked tree, how it started out strong, but something happened that caused it to bend. But it didn’t quit growing. It found a way to grow upwards in spite of the trouble that came upon it.”

  I stared at the tree. It did have a beauty that the others didn’t have. It captured your attention through its bent trunk that eventually straightened. Its limbs spread wide to disclose its flaws and beauty at the same time.

  “You have a good day, Lauren.” Ted walked away.

  He was right. The crooked tree was eye-catching. As I looked at the other trees in the park, I saw that many were crooked. They didn’t all grow straight up. A few trees had long streaks down their sides where lightning had struck and torn the bark off. The crooked trees were vital to the whole makeup of the park, even though they’d been wounded in some way. Very few trees grew straight up without some form of imperfection.

  I wanted to be like the crooked trees. Able to withstand anything and keep growing.

  ****

  Dad arrived home for the weekend and expected everything to be solved concerning my wishes to remain here. When he discovered otherwise, we avoided the topic.

  Saturday, Callie called and wanted to hang out at the mall. She picked me up in her sports ca
r. We purchased accessories to wear with our prom dresses. I could shop again without a dire warning going off in my head. Still, I made sensible choices, not spending more than fifty dollars for earrings and a necklace. Later on we stopped by Melanie and Stacie’s house and watched movies in their home theater, replete with popcorn and deli-style sandwiches made by their mother.

  40

  Mom and Dad discussed the house in Fayetteville.

  Calls between them and the realtor and the homebuilder regarding changes they wanted to make in the plans took up much of the weekend.

  Sunday morning we could avoid each other no longer. Mom had prepared brunch on the patio, and we hung out there reading the Sunday paper while we ate. We didn’t go to church often, the church Mom liked was over a half hour away. I used to participate in a Teen Group at Callie’s church, but I hadn’t gone in months. This Sunday morning I longed for the atmosphere of Tiffany’s church.

  After we had devoured the newspaper and finished eating, it was time to talk.

  “Your Mom tells me you are adamant about not going to Atlanta with us.” Dad spoke, his tone thick with displeasure.

  I nodded. “I want to be here. Please let’s not fight today.”

  “I don’t want to fight either, Kitten,” he said. “I just need to understand what it is you want to accomplish by staying here.”

  “I thought we had settled this when we last talked. I want to get to know my family. You’re always telling me that we should be able to depend on each other and be close. How can I depend on somebody I don’t know?”

  Mom and Dad were quiet, yet they looked at me like I had grown horns or something.

  “How can we really relate to each other unless we have common experiences?” I asked. “Years in the future we can always talk about the year I spent with them. I just want to walk in Tiffany’s shoes. I want to really know what it’s like being a black person in America.” The right words to describe what I wanted had finally come to me.

  “It seems to me that you should know that already,” Mom said, with unexpected bitterness. “Jay’s family cut you off at the first sign of trouble. Jay’s friends, who are white, by the way, wrote all over your car. If he had been in town, he probably would have helped them.

  “Steffy, your quote unquote friend delights in tormenting you by driving your car.

  “And your father, well he was splashed all over the media in a scandal that he had nothing to do with. He was guilty by association before the facts were found out. I can only think it is because of the color of his skin.”

  If her plan was to make me feel bad, she succeeded. I lowered my head and tried to remain calm while she finished her tirade. When she was done I lifted my head and looked directly into her eyes. “That’s why I want to discover what it’s like to have positive experiences as a black person. Tiffany and her friends are happy. They…”

  “Hah! There’s nothing positive about being a black person in America!” Mom said with derision, cutting me off mid-sentence. “We tried to soften the cushion for you by bringing you out here where you’re only one of few. But it didn’t work. Don’t fool yourself. You’ll see. After a few months you’ll be begging to come to Atlanta with us.

  “You think I don’t understand what you’re trying to do? I do. More than you think. You thought I stopped going to my committee meetings and fundraisers because I was ashamed of what had happened to your father. Far from it. I was called on the telephone and told not to come back.

  “All the years I put in working to make those events a success and I was told not to come back. All the money I raised and it all came down to being black in America.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I’d never heard Mom talk like that, ever. Dad’s jaw was throbbing like it did when he got upset and wanted to measure his words.

  “The people in the park have been good to me,” I said, whispering. “And they’re white.”

  “I know they have, baby. But I just couldn’t face them. I admit I was ashamed to go to the park. I was afraid they would see the truth in my face. I couldn’t face them, because I had been rejected by people who I thought were my true friends.”

  Dad pulled Mom to her feet and held her in his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You had enough on your plate,” Mom said. She tried to regain her composure. “It doesn’t matter. It’s all over now.”

  “Is this what’s been causing all the tension between us? Rejection from committee members? I thought you blamed me for this financial mess. I sensed you thought I was guilty.”

  “I didn’t know what to think. Everything was going wrong at the same time.”

  Dad tenderly raised Mom’s face to his. “I would never endanger our family or our future by getting involved in quick money schemes.”

  “Deep down inside I know what type of person you are: honest to a fault. But I was afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “I was afraid life would never be the same for us again. I was afraid that what I heard on the news might be true.”

  “I asked you to trust me.”

  “But you wouldn’t talk to me. You locked yourself away in your study.”

  “I was trying to clear my name! And I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to. I didn’t want to show you my fear, so I put my head down and worked day and night going through my files.”

  All the pain and heartache of the past months came rushing back, for all of us. Each of us had locked ourselves away in our own world.

  “Did we make a mistake by moving here in the first place?” Dad wondered.

  “No, honey, don’t think that. It was a learning experience.” Mom tried to put on her best smile.

  “I wrote about our family for an article I’m writing for the school paper, what happened and all.” I figured now would be a good time to let them know.

  Mom gasped, horrified. Dad’s jaw throbbed again.

  “You wrote about us and this ordeal?” Mom asked, holding onto the back of her chair for support.

  “Not exactly,” I tried to explain. “You see, I, well, Mrs. Stevens assigned me an investigative story for the last issue of the year. I’m writing about how the recession has affected people at my school. I interviewed students and even a couple of teachers. They were upfront with me. Everyone knew what happened to us, so I didn’t think it would be fair unless I started the story with how we had to cut back, but it wasn’t because of the recession.”

  I thought Mom was going to faint right then and there. All color seemed to disappear from her face, if that’s possible.

  Dad put his hand on my shoulder. “It’s OK. You’re a journalist. You had to give full disclosure.”

  “I didn’t do it to hurt anybody.”

  “I know.”

  Mom kissed the top of my head. “We’re moving away. I won’t have to see anybody here ever again.”

  Dad said, “This whole thing has affected both of you in ways that I never imagined. I was so busy trying to clear my name that I barely noticed what you were going through.”

  This wasn’t the time for recriminations. We all had to come together and support each other if we were going to start new lives. The fabric around our perfect family seemed to be fraying. I hoped it wouldn’t be a permanent tear, just a rip in the seams that could be put back together again.

  The issue of race had been swept under the rug. Mom’s disclosure about being rejected by Fairfield society wasn’t discussed anymore. The hurt she must have felt!

  Dad went inside himself and blamed the desire for a better life for me as the culprit instead of seeing the truth, which was the action of snobby, petty people. We had never addressed issues head on. If we had, we might see that the life we had crafted for ourselves had cracks in it.

  As I thought about everything, I realized Dad had come out better than Mom and me. After the files had been sifted through, everybody knew he was an honest person who just happened to be working for someone who wasn’t so hone
st. He’d even been recruited for a better position.

  Ted had been right. How we reacted when storms arose in our lives showed our true character. Dad was standing tall and flourishing. Mom was bending with the wind. Me? I was in danger of being uprooted.

  Our faith had definitely been challenged by Dad’s situation. Why did God let this happen? Why didn’t He keep it from happening? Hopefully, learning more about God would help me understand.

  41

  The week leading up to the prom at Patrick’s school was a happy time.

  I busied myself with appointments for hair, nails (manicure and pedicure), and makeup. Of course I did it all with Callie, Melanie, and Stacie. After school they accompanied me to my appointments even though they weren’t going to Patrick’s prom. They made sure I had everything together. I think they were just glad I had found somebody to go to our prom with other than Jay. I was pretty glad of that myself. My friends felt they had a stake in my happiness, besides they had seen Patrick first and introduced us at the restaurant. They wanted to make sure I would be looking my best.

  Even though I talked to Patrick on the phone every night, his prom would actually be our first date. Coming home every evening was a happy time, too, at least until the middle of the week when Mom stopped me.

  Wednesday night I breezed past her in the dining room where she was going over one of her many moving lists. I was anxious to get to my room and finish homework so I could talk to Patrick when he called.

  “Dinner is on the stove,” Mom said.

  “I ate with Callie, Melanie, and Stacie. We picked up a bite to eat after getting our makeup done at Nordstrom’s.” I carried bags of newly purchased cosmetics and perfume.

  “You’ve been late getting home every night. You’ve gotten your nails done and a pedicure. Today makeup. What’s next?”

  “Tomorrow I have a hair appointment.”

  “Good! I’m glad your life is getting back to normal. You used to do all these things with your friends before the situation with your Dad. You look really happy.”