Have No Shame

by Melissa Foster

He grabbed my hands. “Things are changin’. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but they are. Look around you. You’ve seen how different New York is from Arkansas.”

  “Yeah, it scares me a little,” I admitted.

  “It scared me, too, when I first got here, but I can’t ever go back to livin’ how it was in Forrest Town.”

  I tried to process what he’d said, but Mr. Bingham’s dead body kept floatin’ into my mind.

  “I can’t imagine Forrest Town ever bein’ any different.”

  “Baby steps. That’s all we can do. We can try, and if we fail, we fail.”

  “But what if failin’ means you get killed?” The reality of that possibility loomed between us, thick and uncomfortable.

  “I fought for this country. Doesn’t it make sense that I’d fight for my hometown, where my family lives?”

  We walked through the dark streets of the projects, passin’ old men and women sittin’ on the concrete steps, cigarette smoke cloudin’ around them, open bottles of alcohol by their feet. Children moved about, carefree and seemin’ly undaunted by what I found desolate and depressin’. There were small clusters of young colored men and women hootin’ and laughin’. I grabbed Jackson’s hand, then wrapped my free arm around my belly protectively.

  Jackson leaned into me. “Don’t worry, nothin’s gonna happen.”

  We turned down an alley and entered a courtyard with a small, grassy area. Eight or ten men and women were performin’, their arms swayed in the air and they jumped about with great, dramatic flair, but they didn’t speak. I had never seen such a performance. Some moves were as graceful as a dancer’s, while others were sharp and angry. The crowd moved to a strange musical rendition of guitars and tambourines.

  People sprawled on blankets on the grass or leaned against the buildin’. Many held cigarettes, and I recognized the same sweet aroma that I'd smelled at the meetin’, which Maggie explained was marijuana. The moon shone down on the performers like a spotlight, and we sat on the grass and watched the performance unfold. It seemed everyone held either a can of beer or a bottle of alcohol, and it reminded me of the night that Albert was beaten, further confirmin’ my desire to be part of the Forrest Town desegregation efforts.

  Darla came and sat next to me, pullin’ me into her thin chest in a deep embrace. “So glad you made it, Pixie,” she said with a coy smile. “I hope you don’t mind, Maggie shared your nickname with me. I love it. It suits you perfectly.” She touched my belly. “You’re such a tiny, little thing.”

  “I don’t feel so tiny,” I answered. I wasn’t used to people touchin’ my stomach. I’d lived such a solitary life with Jimmy Lee that my shoulders relaxed, the knot in my stomach loosened, and it felt good to let Darla in. It had been so long since I’d had a friend, that I was almost afraid to believe in it.

  “Aw, come on. You’re a pixie. It suits you.” Darla sat next to me and began swayin’, her arms held high above her head. I turned to find Jackson starin’ at me. He nodded, and then put his own arms up in the air. I followed, tentatively, lettin’ the soothin’ guitar rhythm move me.

  “Pix, you made it! Groovy to see you!” I opened my eyes to find Marlo, yellow teeth and big hair, crouched in front of me. His stringy arms hangin’ by his side.

  Darla shrugged. “I said Pixie suited you. So I shared, shoot me.”

  “It’s okay, Darla,” I said, coverin’ my blushin’ cheeks.

  “Nah, don’t be embarrassed. Know why they call me Marlo?”

  “Uh, it’s your name?” I said.

  “Are you kiddin’? My parents would never call me that. My name is Martin Riley Logan, after my pop. Never been called Marlo ‘til I met these fine folks. They gave me an identity all my own.”

  I liked that. Maybe it was time I had my own identity.

  “Right on, sista’,” Marlo went off to greet another friend.

  I turned toward Jackson. “Thanks for bringin’ me. I’m really glad I came. This is so different than anything I’ve ever been around.”

  “This is the new world, Alison.”

  He wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I stiffened.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, withdrawin’ his arm. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I just got too comfortable.”

  I looked at Darla, worried she’d seen and would think I was some sort of loose woman. Her eyes were closed, her hands wrapped around a beer bottle. She swayed back and forth, seemin’ly oblivious to the rest of us. Completely absorbed by the music.

  “I overreacted,” I said. “I just don’t want to cause undue trouble. That’s all.”

  In protectin’ my own emotions by tryin’ to remain at a distance from him, I’d hurt his feelin’s. I reached for his hand. To hell with what others thought. Jackson was my friend, and if this wasn’t someplace we could show that, there would never be a time or place where we could. Even if for only a few minutes, I wanted to feel the sense of bein’ with him, alive, in public. Jimmy Lee was so far away that it was like he existed in some dream I’d conjured up long ago.

  After the performance Jackson and I held hands as he walked me home. My back and legs were tired, but I felt free from the shadows of the past. Strangely, I didn’t feel as though I was cheatin’ on Jimmy Lee by holdin’ Jackson’s hand, and the worry of what Daddy might think was fleetin’ rather than all-consumin’. I did wonder what Mama might think, if she saw me now. She’d be disappointed, of that I was certain. Not because the color of Jackson’s skin, but because of the vow that I had taken with Jimmy Lee.

  We stopped at a coffee shop, and I waited out front at a small, round table while Jackson went inside to grab two cups of hot chocolate. Car horns honked as they passed. How different New York was from Forrest Town. If I were home, I’d be sleepin’ beside Jimmy Lee, waitin’ for the next uneventful day to unfold. A cool breeze wrapped itself around me. Jimmy Lee. I was havin’ his baby. What was I doin’ here with Jackson? I watched him through the glass storefront, payin’ for the hot chocolate. He looked over and smiled. I turned away. Why was life so complicated? Why had I not stood up for what I felt back home, all those months ago? How would I ever get out of the pickle I was in? Maybe I couldn’t. I’d chosen my life, what right did I have to try and change that now?

  “Here you are,” Jackson said as he set down the hot cocoa. “You alright? You look kind of, I don’t know. Sad?”

  I sipped the cocoa, lettin’ the warmth of it soothe my worries. “I’m alright. This is all so new to me.”

  “That it is,” he said, and reached for my hand.

  I looked around. No one there knew me, no one would run back home to tell Jimmy Lee that they’d seen me, but I worried about Maggie—what would she think? I withdrew my hand.

  “Alison, I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m not tryin’ to take you away from your husband.”

  “You’re not?” Now I feel stupid.

  “I love you. I do, but I’m not a kid. I know what trouble it would cause for you to leave your husband and come to New York, or for me to come back to Forrest Town—I’d never survive. It’d be my body they found next in the river.”

  “Don’t say that,” I said.

  “It’s true.”

  How we’d gone from bein’ apart to bein’ this close in one evenin’, I had no idea. We drank our hot cocoa, then walked the rest of the way home in silence. The lights were on in the apartment. Maggie was home. A relieved sigh blew through my lips. I didn’t want to be in the position to have to decide where to go from there.

  Jackson took my hands in his.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “Now, we work to make things better for the folks back home.”

  “Right, through your mama. But—”

  Jackson put a finger to my lips. “Don’t. I know what happened. She told me.”

  “But you told her—about us? How could you?”

  “How couldn’t I? I trust Mama. She raised me. She loves me.”

  “She hates me
.”

  Jackson shook his head. “She hurts for you. She knows there was no way we could be together, but I needed to tell someone.” He looked down, rubbed the back of his neck. “The hurt was so deep, Alison. I wasn’t eatin’, wasn’t sleepin’. Mama knew without me tellin’ her. All I did was confirm who I was pinin’ for.”

  I wanted to run away and hide in a hole. His mother knew how much I had hurt him. I was just as bad as Jimmy Lee. I’d hurt one of her boys. What would my own mother think?

  Jackson touched my cheek. “Alison, now we go back to our lives. You have your baby, I have my life.”

  I was thrown right back into that night at the creek, when I chose Daddy’s love over him. Fear tiptoed up my nerves and clasped around my heart. That all-consumin’ emptiness I’d felt as he walked away shrouded around me. I squeezed his hand; my heart pullin’ my lips toward his, my mind tellin’ me to beware. I shook my head. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

  His eyebrows drew together. Jackson shook his head, his confusion stretchin’ between us like a bridge I wanted to cross.

  I pulled him gently toward me and kissed him, long and slow, like he’d kissed me all those months ago. His hands slid around my waist, my pregnant belly pressin’ against him. I ran my hands up the back of his neck, feelin’ the pulse of his heart against me. The world fell away. “I want to be here with you,” I whispered.

  He kissed my cheek, my neck, then whispered in my ear, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  “I can’t promise, but I can try,” I whispered. All I knew was that I wanted to be right there forever. I never wanted to go back to Forrest Town. I didn’t want to see, much less be with, Jimmy Lee. I didn’t want to watch Jake vyin’ for Daddy’s attention, or see the hurt look in Daddy’s eyes when I spoke of Maggie. I didn’t want to think about Clara bein’ forced into a sexual relationship with Jimmy Lee’s uncle, that would lead to the death of her husband and her fleein’ from her family and friends to save her own life. I wanted to remain in New York, in Jackson’s arms, far away from the reality of life that scraped at my very bein’ every second of the day.

  The doorknob rattled, startlin’ me out of my fog. I stepped away from Jackson.

  “There you are, Pix!” Maggie was dressed in an oversized t-shirt I didn’t recognize and cotton pants. “I was worried. Jackson, did you take good care of my little sis? Wanna come in?” She swung the door wide open.

  My cheeks burned as I slipped by her and into the apartment. I sat on the couch, my arms wrapped around my middle, and my heart tied in knots.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The week after I returned from New York, I was settin’ out the chocolate pie Jean had made, when there was a rap at the back door of the diner. It was Friday, and I grabbed a lollipop from the counter and headed toward the back door, lookin’ forward to the one happy moment in my world of disappointment. Jimmy Lee hadn’t asked me about my trip, and he hadn’t been spendin’ much time at home. Seein’ the little boy’s face light up would be a real treat.

  I pulled the door open and Mrs. Johns stood before me, her thick middle bubblin’ over the belt of her dress. I blinked a few times, lookin’ from side to side, our previous confrontation rushin’ back. My heart slammed against my chest as if seekin’ escape.

  She dropped her eyes to my swollen middle.

  I put my hand over my belly. “Ma’am?”

  She reached into her purse, shakin’ her head and pursin’ her lips.

  Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.

  She took a step toward me, leanin’ in so close that I could smell the coffee on her breath. She took my hand in hers, then curled my fingers around somethin’ and pressed in tight. “Be careful,” she whispered. She turned and hurried down the steps, disappearin’ around the side of the buildin’.

  “Was there an order?” Jean asked from behind me.

  I slipped my hand into the pocket of my uniform. “Uh, no, she was mistaken. Her husband didn’t order anything today, I guess.” I kept my back to Jean, worried my eyes might reveal my lie.

  As Jean’s footsteps retreated, I hightailed it into the bathroom and locked the door. The sealed envelope was small and stained. I ran my fingernail along the underside of the flap and withdrew the single-paged letter. I brought the paper to my nose and inhaled, hopin’ for a scent of Jackson. There was none.

  Dear Alison,

  I know you’re scared, afraid you’ll be caught writing to me, or that Mama will be caught giving you the letters. Have faith. Be strong. I will wait as long as I have to, until your trying can become your promise.

  Love, Jackson

  Jean jiggled the doorknob. “Alison? I gotta go, hun.”

  “I’ll be right out.” I looked around the tiny bathroom and saw no place to hide the letter. Afraid of bein’ caught with it, I tore it into tiny pieces, wrapped it in toilet paper, and flushed it down the toilet.

  For days I’d wished I’d kept the letter, if only to see the easy slant of his handwritin’ or to be sure I remembered each word correctly, but gettin’ caught weighed heavily on my mind. I watched the face of every person who came into the diner, and watched Jean for an inklin’ of her knowin’ the truth.

  Main Street was empty as I walked toward my apartment. I had no idea if I could safely send letters to Jackson, but it didn’t matter. I was high on the fact that he hadn’t forgotten about me or moved on, or even hated me for what I’d done before.

  Mama was expectin’ us for dinner at five thirty, and Jackson’s letter had filled me with purpose, strengthenin’ me over the days since receivin’ it. I felt as if I might finally be becomin’ a woman rather than a little girl goin’ home to see Mama and Daddy.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Six o’clock came and went, with no sign of Jimmy Lee. I phoned Mama to let her know we’d be late, and she said she’d hold dinner for us. Each passin’ minute fueled my annoyance. Between Jimmy Lee’s drinkin’ and his disregard for me, I'd wondered if he’d show up sober for the sake of my parents. I hadn’t thought he would not show up at all.

  I dialed the furniture store’s phone number and asked Mr. Kelly if I could speak with Jimmy Lee.

  “Oh,” he said with surprise. “Hold on just a moment, please.”

  Silence stretched long and painful. Just when I thought he’d forgotten about me, Mr. Kelly came back to the phone. “Alison, did you speak to Mr. Carlisle the last time you came in?”

  “No.” I tried to keep the annoyance out of my voice, and failed miserably.

  “I think you need to speak with your husband about his whereabouts.”

  What did he think I was tryin’ to do? “Yes, thank you. Is he there?”

  “No, he’s not.” He paused, then hissed into the phone, “Perhaps you should try The Waterin’ Hole.”

  The line went dead. The Waterin’ Hole? I stared at the telephone, as if it held the answers of my husband’s whereabouts. The Waterin’ Hole was the nastiest bar around. Located at the edge of town, it was rumored to be where bored husbands went to fill their sexual needs with some of the dirtiest, lowest women in Forrest Town. It was too far to walk at that time of night, but even if it was closer, I wouldn’t stoop so low as to go traipsin’ after my husband like the pathetic wife, even if I was startin’ to feel that way. No, I couldn’t believe it. There was no way Jimmy Lee would lower himself to that. He wasn’t bored. I was home all the time, with dinner ready, and a clean house. I wasn’t sure what made me feel sicker—that I was always home waitin’ for him or that he might actually be with another woman.

  I dialed my parents’ number and told Mama we would not make it for dinner after all. I feigned fatigue and said Jimmy Lee was workin’ late. The more I thought about where he might be, the easier it became to believe him that he’d been spendin’ time with Corky. They both like to drink and chase coloreds. That thought didn’t sit any better in me than him bein’ with some nasty other woman.

  “Do you want me to come by with s
ome dinner for you?” Mama asked.

  “No, I’m just gonna go to bed.”

  “Are we still bakin’ tomorrow?”

  Damn, I’d forgotten. “Yes, of course. I’ll be there ‘round noon.”

  That night, I penned my first letter to Jackson. I had no idea if he would receive it or not, and I knew if Jimmy Lee found out we’d both be dead, but with hurt coursin’ through my veins, and nowhere else to point my anger, I let it fuel my writin’.

  Dear Jackson,

  I’m changing. I can feel it in everything I do. When I serve meals at the diner I can barely look into the eyes of the men who I know have made things hard for the people of Division Street. When I inhale, there’s a charge of hope in the air that I’m sure only I can feel, and that pulls me forward and takes me to the next task at hand. I want things to be different for my baby—I want things to be different for me, and yet, I know how selfish that sounds, but as much as integration will change things for coloreds, it carries over into a freedom that impacts everything in life for all of us, and I look forward to that change.

  I’m seeing Daddy this weekend, and I pray I’ll be strong enough to start being myself, instead of his little girl. I’m not sure if you can understand that, but I don’t know how else to say it.

  Stay safe.

  Love always, Alison

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The faintest outline of dark circles shadowed Mama’s eyes as she rolled the crust for the pecan pie.

  “Mama?” I asked.

  She stopped rollin’, wiped her brow with her forearm, and lifted her eyebrows in answer.

  “Can I talk to you about somethin’?”

  Mama set down the roller and pulled out two chairs from the kitchen table. I sat down, fidgetin’ with a dishtowel. My father’s tractor roared as it neared the house. Jake sauntered into the kitchen.

  “Alison, wow, you’re as big as a house,” he said, and grabbed an apple from a bowl on the counter.