Have No Shame

by Melissa Foster

  “It’s just that it’s…”

  Maggie twirled around, her arms almost hittin’ the wall. “Small? Old? Ugly? I know, and I still love it!”

  I sat down on the only piece of furniture in the room, a ratty, old couch. I sank all the way down to metal.

  “Careful, that’s our bed you’re sittin’ on,” she said.

  I stood and Maggie lifted the cushions to show me the convertible sofa. “The guy next door was givin’ it away when I moved in. It suited my purpose just fine.” Maggie poured us each a glass of lemonade and sat down beside me.

  “Wow, you really are pregnant.” She rested her hand on my stomach.

  “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “I guess I had you pegged wrong, Pix. I got the feelin’ you weren’t even sure about gettin’ married to Jimmy Lee. Are you happy? Does he treat you right?”

  I nodded, feelin’ the burn in my cheeks, tryin’ to feign a smile. My sister saw right through my façade. She squeezed my hand and put an arm around my back.

  “Oh, Pixie,” was all she said. I laid my head against her shoulder and breathed in the floral scent of her perfume. Tears bubbled up from within my chest and I tried to bite them back, tensin’ my muscles and swallowin’ the sound of my sobs. I must have cried for a full five minutes before I pulled back and wiped my eyes, snifflin’, my cheeks growin’ redder by the second.

  “What is it? You can tell me, Pix.”

  “He found your letters. He—” I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about him attackin’ me. She’d be furious. She’d never have been that weak.

  Maggie brushed my hair off my shoulders and held my hand. “Okay. Okay, so he knows…what? You’re involved? I’m involved?”

  “I don’t know. That you’re involved, and that I wanna be.”

  “Damn.” Maggie drew in a breath and let it out quickly. “Well, then, we gotta figure out what’s next. Do you think he’ll tell anyone? This could be very dangerous if they know what’s comin’.”

  “What’s comin’?”

  “Pix? Did somethin’ else happen? Did he do anything to you?” Maggie skipped right over my question.

  I turned away.

  “Pixie, if he touched you, so help me.”

  I nodded with my back to Maggie.

  “Damn him. Well, you’re not goin’ back there. No way, Pixie.”

  I spun around. “I have to go back. He’s my husband. Mama and Daddy are there.”

  “What kind of husband hurts his wife?” Maggie paced, her arms crossed. She stopped and put her hand to her chin. When she got that determined look on her face it could only mean one thing. The wheels of her mind were churnin’, plannin’.

  “He didn’t really hurt me. He just, he…he held me down and called me a Negro lover.”

  “Oh, I’ll show him a Negro lover all right,” Maggie fumed. “I can’t let you go back there.”

  “I’m goin’ back, Maggie. I have to.” I laid my hand across my stomach. “I’m havin’ his baby. It’s my duty.”

  “Damn it, Pixie, now you sound like Daddy. Your place is not to be held down by an ignorant redneck.”

  In my heart I knew she was right, but in my mind, I couldn’t take his baby away from him even if he didn’t want it. He’d grow to want it. Mama said all men did, that they were just scared of the responsibility, but once they see the little baby’s face, they melt like butter. I was learnin’ that marriage was hard, and stayin’ in my marriage was what was expected of me by Mama and Daddy, no matter how much it hurt or how hard it was. I found myself stuck between runnin’ from a man I no longer loved or respected and confessin’ my failure as a wife to Daddy, or stickin’ with my weddin’ vows, for better or worse, and remainin’ the sparkle in Daddy’s eyes.

  Maggie stomped across the floor and took my face in her hands. I had nowhere to look besides into her angry eyes.

  “Pixie, you listen to me. I know you, and you know this isn’t right. It’s not okay for you to be treated this way.”

  “He was just angry. It’ll pass. He’s never hurt me before.” At least not physically.

  “It’ll pass? Pix, you’re not a little girl anymore. You’re gonna be a mother. You need to think about more than just yourself.” Maggie put her hand to her eyes. “What happened? How did he go from sneakin’ out with you to this?”

  If only she knew.

  “Promise me that if he touches you again, you will leave immediately. Go stay with Mama and Daddy. Come here. Hell, go anywhere you need to, but do not stay with him. I swear to God I will kill him if he touches you again.”

  I gave her my word, then wondered if I were strong enough to keep it.

  Maggie pulled a flyer out from beneath a stack of papers. “There’s a meetin’ tonight about the boycott in Forrest Town.”

  “Wait, you didn’t tell me about a boycott there. You said they were makin’ headway with civil rights, but you never mentioned Forrest Town. Maggie, I said I wanted to be involved, but a boycott, where I live? I don’t think that’s smart.”

  “I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d cancel, Pix. They’ve been workin’ on this for months. They were gonna have the meetin’ last month, but I asked them to wait.”

  “You tricked me!”

  “No, I opened a door so you could make a decision for yourself. You don’t have to do a damn thing. There are groups comin’ from all over; Mississippi, Chicago, New York. Pix, this is huge. They’ll be boycottin’ the major stores and—”

  “Wait,” I said, panic thumpin’ against my chest. “Boycottin’ the major stores? Why? Jimmy Lee’s furniture store? It’s the biggest store in town. Why are you doin’ this to me?”

  “Oh, my God, Pix, have you lost your mind? Doin’ this to you? Think about it, they don’t let coloreds work in the showroom, only in the stockroom, and for peanuts!” She paused, lettin’ her words settle on my shoulders like a weight. “Hell, they don’t even let them shop in the front of the stores or eat in the diner. If we don’t take a stance now, when will it happen? Do you see any changes occurrin’? Do you see Jimmy Lee openin’ his shop to Division Street families?” Maggie ran her hand through her hair. “Do you want your baby to grow up like we did? Afraid to talk to the little colored girls in town? Come on, Pixie, do the right thing.”

  The tiny room was closin’ in on me. Jimmy Lee’s store, boycotted? “If the coloreds boycott, how will that help make any changes?”

  “Not just coloreds, Pix. This is bigger than you and me and Division Street. There are whites from all around who are takin’ part in enforcin’ integration.” Maggie spit her words out fast, smackin’ the back of her hand in her palm for emphasis, as if everything she said was the most important. “Think about it. No one will come from other cities to shop there. People will be afraid to cross the picket lines, afraid of fights and trouble.”

  “Maggie—”

  “I know what you’re thinkin’. Not trouble like violence trouble, but trouble like yellin’ and name callin’.”

  That didn’t feel right. I’d heard about the riots, the fights, coloreds gettin’ beaten. “How can you say that? You don’t know,” I said. “You have no idea what might happen, and you know what they do to coloreds there, for nothin’ more than breathin’—this could cause all sorts of trouble for them. And what about you? What will you do in all of this?”

  Maggie sat down and crossed her long legs, her short skirt barely coverin’ her thighs. “Alison, listen to me. You can live in your little daddy bubble all you want, but I can’t. I thought you wanted to help.”

  I sat next to her. “I did, but—”

  Maggie shook her head. “You did when it was removed from where you were, when you could hear about it, but not really be affected by it. I get it, you know? I was that person. But now,” she looked around the apartment. “Things are different. I have friends who are colored. I have met wonderful men and women who are colored. I can no longer turn a blind eye to things. Even if things are better h
ere, and in bigger cities, I can’t pretend they’re that way everywhere.”

  I closed my eyes and just breathed. I couldn’t make any decisions, my mind was too full of information, right and wrong, segregation and integration, tangled together like a convoluted web of confusion.

  “Why don’t you rest for a few hours before we leave for the meetin’.”

  Nothin’ could have sounded more invitin’ at that very moment. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The only thing that separated night and day in New York was the color of the sky. There were just as many people walkin’ around the streets at night, comin’ in and out of stores and restaurants, as there were durin’ the day. Some were dressed in fancy clothin’, others wore everyday jeans. Comin’ from a family where goin’ into town was a big deal, seein’ children millin’ about at eight o’clock at night with their parents made me wonder what type of parents those people were. Children sat in restaurant windows, their parents smokin’ at the dinner table. Daddy would have none of that. Daddy was all about family bein’ home, safe, together. Forget the fact that we couldn’t afford fancy restaurants. Even if we could, I think Daddy would want Mama’s down home cookin’ warmin’ our bellies.

  “Don’t these kids have to get to bed? Don’t they go to school?” I asked

  Maggie laughed at my ignorance. “Of course. It’s just different here.” She pointed to a brightly lit sign above the restaurant that said, Anyone with cash is welcome. “You don’t see that back home, huh?”

  Maggie pulled me down an alley and then down two more quieter streets. I began to worry when I realized we were suddenly alone. The noise of the city fell away behind us, and suddenly everything seemed too big. Two colored men came around the corner, headin’ in our direction. I grabbed Maggie’s hand.

  “Relax,” she said with a smile. “You’re not in Arkansas anymore.”

  I watched them descend a stairway and disappear, and then I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holdin’.

  Two minutes later, we were headin’ down the same set of stairs. I clung to Maggie’s arm, beggin’ her to turn around. “Trust me,” she answered. The stairway led to a small, dead-end alley. Maggie knocked three times on a dark-green, wooden door. She knocked two more times in rapid succession, and the door swung open.

  A colored man with an enormous Afro and crooked, yellow teeth stood before us. Maggie embraced him. I closed my mouth tight, my eyes dartin’ around the inside of the buildin’. The alley behind me was dark, the room before me was not much lighter. I wanted to run, to find a modicum of somethin’ familiar, but there I stood, mesmerized by the sweet and pungent aroma that filtered out the door.

  “Marlo, this is my sister, Pixie. Pixie, Marlo.”

  “H...hi.” My voice shook. It took all of my will to follow Maggie into the dark, low-ceilin’ed room. Cigarette smoke and somethin’ more acerbic filled the air. Music played low in the background, the beat fast and inconsistent. My hand was glued to Maggie’s arm. She pulled me forward, embracin’ each person, colored or white, introducin’ me as her little sister. I’m not sure what I expected, but the closeness of the coloreds and whites, sittin’ on the same couches, white girls with their legs stretched across the colored girls’ laps, passin’ cigarettes back and forth, took me by surprise.

  “Drag?” A stick-skinny, dark-haired girl held out some sort of thin cigarette toward me.

  “No,” Maggie said, and pushed her arm away. “Darla, this is Pixie, my little sister. She just ‘bout choked when she tried smokin’ with me.” Maggie winked at me. “She’s not smokin’ and she never drinks, so she won’t be playin’ any of those reindeer games.” They laughed like schoolgirls.

  “Sit down. Take a load off,” Darla said. I wiggled in between her and the end of the couch. The biggest colored man I’d ever seen came over and sat on the arm of the couch. I leaned toward Darla, my heart goin’ thump, thump, thump real hard.

  “That’s Bear,” she said, and tapped Bear on the back.

  “You’re scarin’ her. Move your ass,” she said.

  Bear grinned at her, then turned very serious, threatenin’ eyes toward me. “I scare you?”

  I swallowed hard, instinctively reachin’ for Darla’s arm as if she were Maggie.

  “Relax,” Maggie smacked Bear’s arm. “He’s teasin’ you, Pix.”

  “I thought I was gonna have a heart attack,” I whispered harshly to Maggie, which only made Bear laugh harder than he already was. I inched closer to Darla.

  “She’s straight off the train from Arkansas,” Maggie explained. “Be nice, will ya’?” Maggie sat at my feet and said, “He’s sweet as a teddy bear, hence the name Bear. Nothin’ to worry about, Pix.”

  I grabbed Maggie’s shoulder and hung on tight. Bear got up to answer the door, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Can we go home, please?” I whispered to Maggie.

  Maggie squeezed my hand and shook her head. “I’m here, you’re fine. Trust me.”

  The door opened and I heard it slam closed. Several colored men blocked the doorway, murmurin’ somethin’, then makin’ a hole between them. Two white men in business suits entered the room, movin’ toward the front of the crowd. All eyes were on them, includin’ mine. I wondered if they were courageous or stupid. In Forrest Town this mixin’ of the races, where there were more coloreds than whites, might render these men in trouble. They showed no fear, which made me wonder again if this was the type of thing Jackson had been referrin’ to.

  Marlo held his hands up and shushed the crowd. “Let’s come to order, please, we have a lot of ground to cover today. Mr. Nash and Mr. Grange are here to fill us in on what we can expect, legally, from the boycott.”

  We listened as the lawyers described violent riots, with protesters of all races bein’ beaten, some near death, colored men goin’ missin’, and even reports of women bein’ manhandled. Arrests, they said, were sure to happen, by the hundreds. I clawed Maggie’s shoulder. She put her hand on mine and patted it. I could feel her digestin’ all of the dangers as her shoulders tensed beneath my fingers. Darla reached over and laid her hand on top of ours. I looked at her, and she mouthed, It’s okay. Change is good.

  There was beauty in the mixin’ of the races in the room. I sensed a meshin’ of strength and hope. What was missin’ was fear. The coloreds in Forrest Town carried fear in their tentative gaits, embarrassment clear in their rearward glances when they headed toward the back doors of the buildin’s. The lack of that type of fear was evident in that jam-packed room where I sat clingin’ to my sister’s shoulder. I still didn’t trust this change, though the enormity of the hope rose above the horrific odors of perspiration and cigarettes that lingered like thick fog in the tiny room. I laid my hand across my belly, and slowly came to realize how much I wanted my baby to grow up in a world of hope, not a world of oppression—even if that oppression might not be pushed upon a white child, it still had an unforgivable impact.

  “We’re scheduling the boycott for Forrest Town for late fall. As you know, the white children go back to school in September, but the colored children are forced to pick cotton in the fields, and they don’t return to school until after picking season. We want to hit at a time when those white folks need the colored labor. The goal is to stop all purchase power in the white stores and all picking power on the farms. This will have the greatest impact.” Sweat glistened on Mr. Nash’s forehead, the pits of his white shirt soaked through.

  His words hit home, and I worried about my daddy’s farm, and how he would make it through the winter without his income from the fields. There had been years when he had to borrow money for cotton seed, and I remembered those years with less food on the table and restrictions on how often we could go into town with the truck. One year we all helped Daddy cut down all the trees in the lower five acres of our property and brought it to the mill to sell. My memory of that year was dull. I scarcely remember anythin
g more than constant fatigue. I worried about Jimmy Lee’s job and his uncle’s furniture store, but that worry was too cloudy with hurt to be anything more than an obligatory thought.

  “Forrest Town families rely on the income from the fields, both colored and white families. Retailers rely on the income stream from neighborin’ towns. Without it, the stores will shut down.”

  The voice came from behind me and stole my very breath. Jackson. I turned toward his proud voice, my hand slippin’ from between Maggie and Darla’s safe grip. I stared into a thick crowd of bodies, my heart slammin’ against my ribs, and I wondered if I’d somehow merely wished his voice. Then, the crowd split, and Jackson, in all his handsomeness, stood before me. His eyes were locked on the lawyer in the front of the room. Each step he took brought with it a memory; his scent, his touch, the thick deliciousness of his kiss. The urge to reach for him was strong. I clasped my hands in my lap, hopin’ to quell my sinful thoughts. The love that I thought I had given up, forgotten about, maybe even only dreamed existed, reared its powerful heat within me.

  “There’ll be coloreds who won’t take part. They won’t work against us, but they’ll be too ‘fraid of what comes with fightin’ segregation.” He stood beside Mr. Nash, his shoulders and chest thicker than when I’d last seen him, five months ago. His face was stronger, his eyes more determined and focused than I’d remembered. Under my hand, somethin’ in my stomach moved. My baby. Jimmy Lee’s baby. The doctor estimated twelve weeks when I had the blood drawn. Twelve weeks. My weddin’ night. There was no turnin’ back, now just shy of five months. I’d made my choice, and now I felt sick to my stomach instead of excited by the first movements of the child that grew within me.

  “Are you okay, hun? You’re shakin’.” Darla put her hand across my shoulder.

  Maggie spun around. “Pix, you alright?” she whispered.

  I didn’t mean to shake my head instead of nod, but that’s what happened. Maggie helped me stand from my perch on the couch. Darla put an arm around my waist as they led me away from the group. I turned and looked over my shoulder, meetin’ Jackson’s confused eyes.