by Lynn Moon
I needed to visit my locker for books and homework. Rounding the corner, I knew trouble had visited me again. A note, taped to the locker, felt like another slap to my face. My anger roared as I yanked it down. On the paper, my printed name almost blinded me. My name didn’t hurt as much as the words written under it. Those few words destroyed what little self-esteem I had left.
PETUNIA CROCKER—MADE FROM
FRESHLY SQUEEZED NIGGER JUICE.
Tears again filled my eyes. Glancing around to make sure I was alone, I slowly unfolded the note. The horror of not knowing what it said was worse than knowing. As I read, my hands shook so much I could barely read.
It’s a simple thing, Powder Puff. We wanted to see if you were the same color inside. If white on the outside, then maybe you are black on the inside. So sorry, NOT!!! PS. Check the school’s social website for some great stuff.
I cringed as a chill ran up my back. Who was writing this stuff to me? The hallway looked empty, innocent enough. Refolding the note, I slid it into my back pocket. After sorting through my books, I wiped my eyes then limped down the empty hallway. Not knowing exactly how I felt about things, I left the school.
I climbed into Charles’ back seat. Staring out the window, I had to accept that things were not going to change around here.
CHAPTER 16
UNCLE TED
AT MY LAST APPOINTMENT, the doctors excused me from gym and riding for the remainder of the school year. We were near the end anyway, so my reprieve only lasted a few weeks. Anytime away from the other students, however, gave me great happiness. Sitting in the office turned out to be a good thing. Lera, the school’s secretary, made the time fun. She told me all about Texas, where she grew up. We spent the time searching the Internet while talking about what ever came to us.
One afternoon, I complained about being bored, which turned things even more to my favor. Lera taught me how to file records and make copies on the copy machine. I felt honored to hold the keys to the school’s bulletin boards. I even changed the school’s announcements every afternoon. The time I spent in the office wasn’t punishment after all. One afternoon, a conversation with the administrator opened my eyes to a lot of what was happening.
“Hi, Pete. How’re you feeling?” Dr. Wiltshire gave me the weirdest looks these days. I wasn’t sure where to place her in regards to my welfare. Sometimes she acted as if she cared. Other times, I was obviously a problem for her to solve.
“I’m okay. My skin’s tight. At least my legs don’t hurt as much anymore.”
“That is good, real good,” Dr. Wiltshire said. “May I speak with you privately for a moment?”
As I entered her office, I couldn’t help but think of when the other principal told me about my parents’ death. Because of that one day, I no longer liked walking into these offices.
“Petunia,” she said, as she sat in her chair. “I’m really sorry about what’s been happening to you. I want you to know, I do not approve of bullying no matter what the form.” She stopped talking and clasped her hands together. Her eyes drifted from me to her hands and back again.
Bullying? I was being bullied? Why was she just calling it that? Didn’t she care about what they were doing to me? Then again, what could she do to stop it?
“I’m not sure if you are aware or not. I hired a private investigator. Rest assured, we will put a stop to this. I just wanted you to know that.”
“Thank you, Dr. Wiltshire.”
What could I say to her? I knew, deep down, that no one could stop what was happening. The more pain I suffered, the happier it made those kids. They seemed to receive a sick pleasure from hurting me. I could still hear their laughter when I collapsed by the pool. Knowing their happiness directly related to my suffering gave me the worst feeling ever. Chills ran up and down my spine as I replayed that terrible day inside my mind. No, the students at DA definitely wanted me to suffer. But why? As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew. They hated me because I was of mixed races, and because my father represented white people. Again, none of that was my fault.
With nothing left to say, I left Dr. Wiltshire’s office. Lera waved as I walked past her desk. Not wanting to lose it in front of her, I nodded and hurried out.
As the days passed, my grandmother became one of my biggest disappointments. I somewhat understood my father. After all, he felt betrayed by my mom and was probably taking it out on me. However, not once did my grandmother act as if she cared about what was happening to me. I didn’t expect her to show me any pity. A little compassion would have been nice. Every time I complained and wanted to give up on my physical therapy, she ordered me to work even harder. I hated her for that. Physical therapy hurt so much. They would pull on my legs and stretch out my skin until I’d scream. Only when they put me into the whirlpool bath would my nerves finally calm down. I tolerated the pain just to prove I could do it. I was not going to give her the satisfaction of watching me fail.
June was going to be a great month, though. Only two more weeks and I’d be out for the summer. Uncle Ted would be arriving any day now. And my grandmother had arranged for me to fly home to New York. For two whole weeks, I’d be staying at Kendra’s house. My days would again be filled with happiness. I wasn’t sure which was better: getting out of school, seeing Uncle Ted, or going home. The only negative part to all of this: my mother and Hank would not be there to greet me.
My legs finally healed enough for me to sit on Saddlebag. I couldn’t gear him up, nor could I raise my legs very high. Joe had to hoist me up. With a lot of effort and holding back the screams, I finally sat proudly in my saddle, looking down at Joe. It felt great to be back on my horse. Joe held the reins as he guided us around the corral. I wasn’t sure if I should shout for joy or yell out in pain. Either action, I was sure, would be justified.
“We haven’t talked much lately,” Joe said, glancing up at me. “Tell me, are the other kids leaving you alone?”
“Pretty much. I’ve missed so much school that I’m still behind a little. I don’t have time to pay much attention to what the other kids are doing.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” he said, adjusting the reins.
“Maybe.”
Joe stopped walking and stared into the tall pines that lined the corral. Was he gathering courage to say something? Although we talked about a lot, Joe never did like confrontation. Things that bothered him, he had to think about first. Obviously, this was one of those times.
“Pete, if anyone, and I mean anyone, says anything to you that’s not right. If anyone threatens you in anyway, you would tell me or your father? Yes?”
What was Joe referring to? The note taped to my locker wasn’t exactly a threat, was it?
“You would tell us, yes?” Joe stared up at me, again. He almost looked afraid. For what, me?
I nodded.
As we walked and he talked, a deep voice echoed through the corral. My whole body froze as I concentrated on that deep and familiar voice.
“Hello! You there on that shiny black horse.”
“Uncle Ted?”
The shadowed outline of a man standing in the barn blasted me with a burst of renewed energy. Joe helped me down. I did a lousy job of pretending to run. More of a limp and hop, actually. Uncle Ted caught me in his arms just before I fell.
“My poor baby,” he said, holding me tight.
I remembered and missed these arms. Maybe I was safe at last.
“I’m okay, really, Uncle Ted.”
“No, you are not.” He sounded angry. “My brother should be taking better care of you. Maybe I should have kept you with me in New York.”
“New York? I thought you sold the houses in New York?”
“I did and I’m here now. I was going to rent a place in town, but with everything going on, I’ve decided to live in this house, with you.”
“You’re going to live here, with us?”
“Yep.”
I felt even safer now. All the bad
guys in the world couldn’t touch me if my Uncle Ted lived in the same house with me. Uncle Ted would somehow protect me, even at school.
CHAPTER 17
VACATE
WHAT A RELIEF. SCHOOL finally closed for the summer, and I was going home. My trip to New York, mixed with happy and sad thoughts, filled me with confusion. I couldn’t wait to see my friends. At the same time, knowing my mother would not be there hurt beyond anything imaginable. Since the intention at the pool, that was what I called it, I walked with a slight limp. Each time I moved, my scars tugged at the tender new skin growing underneath. I tried not to let it show. Sometimes the pain tore through me like sand paper on a watery blister.
In order to board the plane, an airport attendant had to push me through the airport in a wheelchair. I just didn’t have enough strength to walk very far. We passed a security guard who nodded at me. Seeing his uniform reminded me of when the police visited me at the hospital. They said how sorry they were for my injuries, but the chance of them discovering who placed the glue on the bench was slim to none. Why have a police department if they can’t protect anybody?
As I sat on the plane, I stared at the empty seat next to me. I almost expected the man with the French accent to show up. He never did. I missed him—a little.
After landing in New York, a different airport attendant pushed me through the airport lobby. People walked and ran around us like crazy. As fast as the attendant pushed, the faster they jumped in front of us. I just knew he’d run over somebody. He didn’t. When I finally saw my two friends, all my fears disappeared. The three of us screamed as soon as our eyes met.
“Pete!” Wendy yelled out first. She grabbed me around my shoulders so hard the wheelchair almost tipped over.
“We’ve missed you sooooo much.” Kendra shouted so loud that several people stared at us.
Kendra’s mother gave me a gentle hug around my shoulders and a little kiss on my forehead. Was she too afraid to touch me?
“How are you, sweetheart?”
“Okay, I guess. I stretch at night. So, I’m getting better.”
“We were so sorry to hear about the …” Kendra’s mother looked upset enough to cry. I was glad she didn’t. “Your uncle told us all about the … the accident. If only we had known.”
I shook my head. Accident. It seemed that everyone was calling it an accident. Only I fully understood what really happened to me. It was no accident. It was an intention. Someone intentionally wanted to hurt me, to humiliate me, and they did.
“I’m fine, really. And thanks for the beautiful flowers. My grandmother said it was kind of you to send them.”
The look on her face told me a lot. She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It resembled an everything’s-so-wrong smile. We stared at each other for a while before Kendra jumped in, breaking the spell.
“Mom, can I push her?” Kendra grabbed the handlebars, twisting them so hard she almost tipped me over again.
“You better let me do it,” her mother replied.
Kendra’s mother pushed me through the airport all the way to her car. I hated sitting in that wheelchair. Strangers kept staring at me. I hated strangers.
Although it was just a back seat, sitting inside the car felt wonderful. Together, we three explored many places from this seat. With each breath, my memory savored the familiar odors sending me deeper into my enchanted comfort zone. The smooth, familiar texture of the seat sent tingles throughout my body. Everything around me suddenly felt real again. It was as if I had just woken up from a long-lasting nightmare.
We gossiped the whole way to Kendra’s house, and her mother didn’t object even once. My happiness soared to new heights. No one called me nasty names. No one played evil tricks on me. I actually started to relax and let my guard down for the first time in months.
The first few nights, we stayed up late eating popcorn and watching scary movies. Every subject matter we opened up to discussions, every subject except for one—the intention. In other words, what happened to my legs. Without knowing it, we created a silent contract to respect my privacy and protect our friendship. What we were protecting it from, I had no idea. We kept busy every second of every day. On the fifth day, Wendy’s parents treated us to a few rounds of putt-putt. We stopped at a local restaurant before heading for the park. As Wendy’s father hit golf balls into a distant net, her mother walked us through the green-carpet maze.
“I bet you can’t get past that first trap.” Laughing, Wendy rested her hands on her hips, challenging us.
With squinting eyes, Kendra studied the huge windmill. As the blades rotated, covering the small door every few seconds, she shook her head. “I’ve gotta time this just right. Hmmm, I can make it. I know I can.”
“Ha. I don’t think so,” I said, studying the movement of the wheel as it revolved. The evening light reflected off the long slender panels with a steady on-off pattern.
“I can do this,” Kendra said, again. Tightly gripping the club, she hovered over the tiny dark green golf ball. She reminded me of a cat readying to pounce on an unsuspecting mouse.
Wendy waited for her turn, playing with a red ball between her feet. I tossed a yellow one from one hand to the other. Kendra’s mother gripped a dark blue one, so tightly, that her knuckles had turned white. She sure looked nervous.
With her club resting against her knees, Kendra pulled back her dark hair and wrapped it into a bun using the bungee-tie she always kept on her wrist. Satisfied that her hair would not block her view, she counted silently to herself as the windmill’s blades turned. I knew she was counting inside her head because her foot kept tapping the ground. Obviously, she wanted to match the rhythm of the blades with her stroke. Kendra pulled back on her club and swung. The ball darted down the short but narrow path sliding effortlessly between two blades and into the small doorway.
“Oh yeah,” Kendra yelled, jumping up and down. “I did it, I did it.”
Wendy and I rolled our eyes.
“You’re turn,” she said, with a smirky grin.
“I’ll go,” I said, dropping my yellow ball. It bounced twice before resting near my left foot.
Since it worked for Kendra it should work for me. I counted as the blades turned and I too noticed a pattern. If I could keep count and swing at just the right time, my ball should miss the blades and follow Kendra’s ball directly through the little door. My heart raced as I counted to myself, then whispered, please go through, please go through.
Slowly I pulled back my club, and watched and waited. When the blade covered the small hole, I swung. The yellow ball sped down the narrow path, missed the blade by only millimeters, and entered through the opened door.
“Oh yeah, oh yeah,” I chanted over and over again. “I did it, I did it.”
“You go girl.” Kendra held up her hand. I gave her the high-five as we both stared over at Wendy with a you not so special look.
“Fine,” Wendy snapped, then whispered, “show-offs.”
Not counting or waiting, Wendy dropped her ball and swung. The small red sphere shot down the slender path just barely missing the blades. As her ball entered the small door, her deafening scream made all the other customers look over at us.
“Ah hah, look at that. Will yah, look at that?” Wendy danced around flailing her arms high in the air.
Kendra’s mother grinned then glanced around the small park before stepping up to the green. “I guess it’s my turn.” She spoke so softly it was hard to hear her.
The blue ball bounced once before settling down between her feet. She took a step back and placed her club next to her ball.
“Well, here goes nothing,” Kendra’s mother said, taking a hard swing.
The little blue ball raced down the tapered path much faster than the other three and slapped directly against a rotating blade. The strong downward force of the windmill striking the speeding ball shot the little blue sphere off the green and high into the air.
“Fore,” Kendra scr
eamed out laughing.
“Watch it,” Wendy yelled, as the ball bounced along the concrete, sending it even farther across the park.
“Oh my,” Kendra’s mother whispered.
Kendra laughed as she ran after her mother’s speeding rogue ball. Several other putt-putters had to jump out of the way as the ball bounced past, just missing them.
“Hurry Kendra,” Wendy yelled, “before it lands in the …” She didn’t have time to finish her sentence. As the ball splashed into the tiny manmade pond, she whispered, “lake.”
“Oh my, now what do I do?” Kendra’s mother lowered her eyes and frowned. She stared toward the rippling blue water as if she’d just lost her most precious object.
Kendra ran back, shaking her head and laughing. “Wait here, Mom. I’ll get another one.”
“I guess she’s going to get me a replacement ball,” Kendra’s mother whispered, glancing around the park. “I’m so happy my ball didn’t hit anybody.”
With that statement, Wendy and I couldn’t hold back our laughter any longer. We fell over grabbing our stomachs.
“It wasn’t that funny,” she said. As she lifted her eyebrows one at a time, we laughed even harder.
Not once in the last few months had I laughed or played this hard. My senses ran at full throttle as I savored every wonderful moment. I honestly thought I’d never be this happy again. Not after my mother died and all. This special time with my friends made me realize that I could be happy again.
The following evening, Wendy’s parents dropped us off at the movie theater. The movie was the best I’d ever watch in my whole life. I was happy.
My friends took special care to ensure I did not see my old house. Their parents always drove the long way home. They made double sure we didn’t drive past our old school, either. Having someone care about me for a change reawakened the security I had experienced with my mother.