Loving vs. Virginia
Page 2
I’m up
and I kick the ball right
through the branches
of the apple tree.
One of the big boys catches it.
He’s not even in the game.
He throws it to the pitcher,
she throws it to first.
Too bad, I’m already at second
on my way to third
but I yell bloody murder
at that big boy
’cause he’s not part of our game.
Because of him
I don’t get
home.
I backtrack fast to third.
He’s laughing like a hyena.
The game’s over anyway
’cause the grown-ups want to
play softball with us.
And that’s fun.
So we cross over to the field
where there’s plenty of space
and the tall grasses
are trampled down.
I’m on a team
with Daddy, Otha,
and two of my much older
half brothers.
What makes them half brothers
is their mama, Daisy,
she died.
And then Daddy married
our mama.
Anyway, Eddy and Button
and a whole lot of more folks—
little and big—
are on our team.
Garnet’s on the other team.
She hits a high ball
and I catch it on the fly.
Sorry, Garnet,
you’re out.
She yells,
“NO-O-O” real loud.
But she’s a good big sister.
She says,
“Nice catch . . .
String Bean.”
I don’t mind her calling me
String Bean.
Because she said
it was a nice catch.
And it was.
Still, we lose.
But the best is yet to come.
More and more people come over.
They bring food too.
When it starts to go dark
Daddy brings out his banjo
and starts strummin’ and pluckin’.
So Theo joins in on his guitar.
Eddy, Button, Doochy, and Dump—
That’s all o’ my big half brothers—
They all play fiddles and mandolins.
Really they are
Edward, Richard, George, and James.
The Jeters always play music
in the neighborhood
and make jokes—
make people laugh.
And DANCE.
One of the fathers calls
a square dance
and everyone joins in.
Otha dances
Mama dances
Lewis dances.
I surely dance.
Some of the big boys dance.
Mr. and Mrs. Loving—
eyes fastened on each other
even when they’ve been passed
to the next person—
their names are
Twilley and Lola.
I love their names.
But we call them
Mr. and Mrs. Loving
of course.
And they pretty much are.
If I stop and watch
I see young and old—
Indians, Negroes, Whites—
all mixed together.
Everyone likes each other
in our neighborhood.
Everyone dancing
TOGETHER.
Whites and coloreds—
we go to different schools—
to different churches,
drink from different water fountains.
But our section is different.
My world is right here
in Central Point.
That’s what it’s called.
Central Point,
the center
of my universe.
My family.
My world.
RICHARD
FALL 1952
Saturday morning,
I was under the hood screwing with the carburetor
of my ’41 DeSoto.
Ray drove up. Looked over my shoulder, said,
Your car it been loadin’ up on fuel.
I’d adjust that on the lean side.
Yeah, yeah, I say. That’s what I did.
He said,
It’s the weekend. Let’s go.
So we drove in Ray’s car over to Jeters’
to see Doochy and Button and the rest.
They was sure to have good food.
We ate, played some ball.
I caught a kickball that went flying behind their apple trees
and their little sister went bananas.
Seeing her catch on fire was almost worth the hell
Doochy fired at me.
I didn’t mean anything by it. Just having a little fun.
I apologized to the kid, though.
Then on Monday, me and Ray were driving the hardtop
toward home.
Here comes the flashing red light,
the wheezing of that siren.
Yep, Sheriff R. G. Brooks.
Ray stopped, of course. Sheriff is the law.
Let me see your license, Boy.
Called him Boy. Hell, Sheriff calls Ray’s father Boy.
I saw Ray roll his eyes—but Sheriff don’t see it.
Ray’s license, it says “COLORED.” Sheriff hates “coloreds.”
Sheriff—nasty as anything ever been—
leaned in the car, saw me, said,
What’re you doin’ here, Son?
Not Boy. I’m SON.
Thank God, not his.
I am coming home from work, Sir, I say, slow and careful,
so he don’t misunderstand any part of it.
What Sheriff means is
Why is a white boy in this car with a colored?
We never went to school together—Ray and me.
Before he dropped out
Ray went to Union, for coloreds.
I went to Caroline, for whites.
Before I dropped.
I hate this bastard sheriff.
But I make him think that ain’t the case.
No use having the law on your tail.
I said,
I was walking down the road, Sir, and my friend here
he offered me a ride.
Sheriff nodded his ugly mug, sneered like a toad.
Stared up into the air.
I looked over at Ray. He was seething, but got it all corked up
like he can do.
Sometimes.
Lookin’ cool. Me too, I can be cool.
Me, I’m white, but my daddy,
he drives a truck for P. E. Boyd Byrd—
maybe the richest roundest jolliest “colored” farmer in the section.
In other parts, a white man working for a colored man—
that would be unusual.
But that’s how it is here in Central Point.
Sheriff don’t like this one lousy bit.
White man puts hisself beneath a colored man?
Workin’ for him?
Worse than being colored, right, Sheriff?
’Course, I didn’t say that.
Just thinkin’.
Sheriff looked like he was chewin’ on his teeth,
kept turnin’ over that itty-bitty license,
trying to figure out what mean thing he could do to us.
We wait quiet
while he walked back to his car.
To Sheriff Brooks there are only two races—
white and colored.
In all of Virginia, just two races—
white and colored.
We know Sheriff ain’t done with us,
but he let us go for now.
>
BROWN VS. BOARD OF EDUCATION
MAY 1954
In 1951, thirteen parents filed suit against the Topeka, Kansas, Board of Education, protesting the policy of racial segregation. The Kansas District Court ruled against the plaintiffs.
The parents appealed to the U.S. Supreme Court. In 1954, the Supreme Court gave its verdict, banning racial segregation in schools.
“WE CONCLUDE THAT, IN THE FIELD OF PUBLIC EDUCATION, THE DOCTRINE OF ‘SEPARATE BUT EQUAL’ HAS NO PLACE. SEPARATE EDUCATIONAL FACILITIES ARE INHERENTLY UNEQUAL.”
—U.S. Supreme Court Chief Justice Warren, Brown vs. Board of Education verdict
Even so, it would be more than fifteen years of struggle and protest before the last American school desegregated.
MILDRED
THREE YEARS LATER
OCTOBER 1955
I like Union High School okay.
I did eighth grade here,
now I’m a freshman.
Garnet’s a sophomore.
If Otha hadn’t gone and dropped out
he’d be a junior.
Theo dropped too.
My brothers’d rather work.
ME,
I’d rather study civics
science
history
English
even math.
I am surely going to graduate.
Union High School is
a far cry from Sycamore’s one room.
It’s a real school with classrooms
and a different teacher
for each subject.
I like walking from class
to class.
Each school day this week
after it’s gone dark,
Theo, Doochy, and Dump
come home dog tired
after a day of helping
the Fortunes—
our neighbors—
killing hogs.
They’re spattered with blood
and they smell pretty much
like hogs themselves.
Mama won’t let them in
the house
till they first wash
out by the well.
What it comes down to?
They’d rather smell like pigs
than go to school
I guess.
The weekend comes,
we all go down the road a piece
over to Fortunes’.
When it starts getting dark
Daddy pulls out his banjo,
my brothers take out
their guitars, mandolins
and all set to playing
hillbilly music.
No one calls a square dance this time
so we just sort of dance around
doing steps, turns, and dips.
When they take a break,
Percy Fortune pulls an electric cord
through the back door
and sets down a record player
on the back stoop.
He lowers the arm and
out blasts
“Rock Around the Clock.”
I set to dancing with my brother Otha.
Garnet dances.
So do lots of other people.
But after a few tunes
only Otha and me are still hoppin’.
We dance CRAZY.
He swings me out and reels me in.
My skirt swirls.
I throw back my head and laugh.
Someone says,
“Look at that String Bean dance.”
I don’t even care.
Nope, not at all.
I know the boys are looking at me.
Sometimes that would be embarrassing
but not tonight.
I’m on FIRE. Happy.
Otha and I dance
tune after tune
until we are dripping
sweat.
When some folks start leaving
one of my brothers’ friends,
Richard, says to me,
“I’m drivin’ you home.”
I feel this rush of heat
rise up my already-steaming face.
He’s sending me home?
Have I done something bad?
Then I think,
Well, who do you think you are?
Ordering me home.
Those thoughts all happen
in one quick flash
and I blurt out,
“Well, is that right?”
But Otha is there, saying,
“Come on, Millie.
He’s driving us all home.”
Oh. Okay, well that’s different.
On the way to the car,
Richard says,
“Millie, sit in the front.”
I sort of drop my jaw
’cause I don’t like being ordered around.
When I look at Garnet
she shrugs and kind of grins.
When we get to the car
Mama says, “HURRY UP girls,
let’s get going.”
Mama on Daddy’s lap,
and three boys all stuff themselves
in the back.
I push Otha in ahead of me,
climb on his lap
and Garnet squeezes in,
we shut the door.
Richard gets in and we take off.
He looks at me
where I’m sitting
real close to him.
I look away and invent
something to say to Garnet,
“Wasn’t it fun dancing?”
She gives me a funny smile
and says,
“Yeah it was.”
It doesn’t take long to get home
and we all kind of pop
out of the car it’s packed so tight.
They get their instruments
out of the trunk.
On my way into the house
I look behind and Richard
is grinning at me.
I turn around quick
and go inside
and let the screen door
slam.
Garnet and I only have energy
to splash our faces
before rolling into bed.
I’m facing the edge
but Garnet’s facing in
so I hear her whisper.
I think she says,
“He’s cute, Millie.”
“What?”
She says, “That sandy hair?
He’s strong.
Taller than you.
He likes you.”
“Who?”
“Pfff.” She kind of poofs.
“Who do you think?”
“Richard Loving?” I ask.
“Yeah, Richard Loving.
You’re just being shy.
He’s nice.”
“Isn’t he pretty old?”
“Not that old. Maybe Theo’s age.
He works, laying bricks.
What’s wrong with that?”
I don’t say anything
’cause I’m thinking.
And Garnet goes on.
“You were pretty snotty
to him.
He even thinks
that’s cute.”
“How do you know?”
“I can tell.”
Garnet has had boyfriends.
She knows these things.
“You should be nicer to him,”
she says.
I’m thinking about that,
and I want to ask Garnet
something—I don’t even know what.
I just want to keep her talking.
But I can tell by her breathing
she’s asleep.
RICHARD
OCTOBER 1955
Saturday morning, wasn’t in no mood to work on my car.
Wanted to find some reason—any reason—
to go over to Jeters’.
By and by, R
ay drove up with Percy—
Otha, Doochy, and Theo in the back—
said, Hop in.
Good deal. I could maybe ask Otha about his sister. Or Doochy.
Otha might be better.
But I had to do it right.
Ray drove for a piece
then turned direct into the woods,
slid his old Chevy right over some brush,
turned off the motor
deep in the green
so the car was completely hid from the road.
We all got out,
followed Ray single file along a deer path
way back in the woods—
not saying nothin’.
I saw this big old oak we used to climb.
Shoot, we used to come here as kids.
We had a fort back here.
Ray said, Check it out.
Hah! Right here in the clearing,
Ray, he’d propped up an old pickle barrel on blocks
fitted it with copper tubing so it dangled in a copper vat.
What da’ ya’ know?
A STILL.
He was right proud showing it off.
He already done mashed the corn, sugared it
so’s it was dripping clear as water
into a half-gallon fruit jar.
Ray said, Purest moonshine in Caroline County.
I said, You son of a—
Watch it, Man, he said, laughin’ all goofy.
He sent around the jar.
Percy sipped, hooted, dragged his wrist across his mouth,
coughed,
said, Yeah, that is fine.
Doochy swigged, said, Yep.
I took a whiff. Smelled like it could take the finish off your car.
I took me a sip.
Turned aside and spat,
just barely missing Doochy.
That is GODAWFUL.
They all laughed. The stuff was making them stupid.
They clapped me on the back.
When I could breathe again, I said,
This is honest-to-god rotgut. Got any beer?
Ray said, No, Man, this here is a moonshine party.
Stop spittin’ out my fine corn liquor.
We was sittin’ laughin’ and someone, probably Theo,
told this story we all knew—
but Theo tells it real good—
about Sheriff Brooks
planting a gallon jar of moonshine
in old man Johnson’s shed.
Everybody knows Johnson don’t make moonshine.
He don’t drink it, neither.
But Sheriff just walks into Johnson’s house
like he walk into any colored person’s house
without knocking
without calling,
and he picks a fight.
Old man slugs Sheriff, Sheriff arrests Johnson,
takes him to jail
then beats the hell outta him with a rubber hose,
saying, You use this hose to make moonshine?
Ray said, Dumbass Sheriff,