Neighbors come by and help
with the work
so ’course, we get together
on the weekend.
While Daddy
and my brothers
play music,
I take Richard
by the hand.
“Come on.”
I lead him to the woods,
toward the creek
where I’ve played
my whole life.
Richard and I
are protected by the dark.
Hearing my family’s music
makes me feel safe.
I feel DARING
in the woods tonight.
I find a particular
old oak tree,
reach up into the hole
and pull out
my clothespin doll
that I won at the carnival
years ago.
The cloth of her dress
is browned and brittle.
Her face has faded.
I show her to Richard.
“She’s lived in this nice
oak house for years.”
I want him
to know my secrets.
He smiles
like he gets it.
RICHARD
A FEW WEEKS LATER
DECEMBER 1955
No one else at Jeters’ wanted to see a movie
so it was just the two of us,
which was fine by me.
We headed for Daw Theater in Tappahannock.
Damned if we don’t see the sheriff sliding by
like a snake
right when we turn onto the hardtop.
It’s like he’s everywhere.
But we’re going the other way.
I bought tickets,
Millie headed for the side entrance.
Oh, right.
I seen movies from the balcony before
upstairs with Millie’s brothers.
Percy Fortune.
Ray Green.
But not in a long while.
Up the dark stairs, one flight, another, another—
the higher we went the more it smelled like piss.
Millie saw my face all screwed up—disgusted-like.
She said, Colored bathrooms don’t always work.
She shrugged, Women’s toilet doesn’t always flush.
They say the men’s is worse.
No one likes to use them.
But and we’re still climbing stairs,
they should take care of their business
at home.
I tucked her arm in mine, pulled her close
feeling her warmth.
We watched East of Eden.
Two brothers, Cal and Aron,
can’t do nothin’ but fight—
might as well be Cain and Abel.
Take it easy, I wanted to tell those brothers.
Life don’t have to be
so difficult.
Maybe life is complicated when you have a brother.
But I don’t see it in Millie’s brothers—
all that sadness? No way.
Best part was the cartoon.
No.
Best part was my arm around Millie for a couple hours.
SENATOR HARRY F. BYRD, SR., OF VIRGINIA CALLS FOR “MASSIVE RESISTANCE” TO SCHOOL INTEGRATION
FEBRUARY 1956
Protesting the Brown vs. Board of Education ruling that segregation of schools was unconstitutional, Byrd and other southern politicians began a campaign to undermine and resist integration.
In the following two years, they signed into Virginia law measures that made it possible for counties to close public schools—even whole school districts—rather than allow black students and white students to share a classroom.
In one county, ALL PUBLIC SCHOOLS WERE CLOSED FOR FIVE YEARS.
“WHETHER VIRGINIA’S HIGH SCHOOLS, WHICH CLOSED ON A SEGREGATED BASIS, ARE EVER REOPENED ON AN INTEGRATED BASIS, OR INDEED EVER REOPENED AT ALL, WILL DETERMINE WHAT HAPPENS IN THE REST OF THE SOUTH. ONCE AGAIN, VIRGINIA IS THE BATTLEGROUND.”
—Edward R. Murrow, reporting for CBS
MILDRED
FIVE MONTHS LATER
MAY 1956
Missed a lot in the fall
but I’m going
to school
steady now.
Didn’t see Richard for awhile.
I missed him.
But he’s coming steady again,
picking me up after school
sometimes.
Taking me home.
This beautiful spring day
he says, “After everyone goes to bed,
sneak out of the house,
come down the road,
meet me at the oak tree—
you know the one.
I’ll be there at midnight
waiting for you.”
I wait for Garnet to snore her
soft little snore.
Everyone else has been asleep for ages.
I stay awake counting my breaths.
I pull on my pants
tiptoe down the stairs
carrying my shoes,
avoiding the places I know squeak,
pass my parents’ room,
out the door
and I step into my shoes.
The stars sparkle.
The grass is wet.
I get to the road
and tear down it.
I hear an owl hoot
in the woods and
the flutter of leaves,
some squawks,
cackles,
the cry of some animal
who just lost
to another—
coming from the field
across the street.
The night belongs
to the animals.
It could be scary,
but any scariness
goes into my
running.
The dark of the night
is protecting me,
making magic.
I’m nearly at the oak when I hear
an owl hoot
right nearby.
I startle.
Richard comes
out of the woods.
Richard is the owl,
and now he’s
FLYING
alongside me.
We’re not laughing—
just breathing together.
He grabs my hand
and guides me to the car.
We get in
still don’t say a word—
just breathe.
He drives to another spot
further down the road
and pulls
right into the woods,
so the car is
hidden
from the road.
We get out
and pick our way
through the woods—
brambles and twigs
snagging
at our clothes.
Then we’re on a path
where Richard pushes
me ahead
and he trots behind.
You can hear
a million chirping
tree frogs,
the low moan
of a bullfrog.
Must be a creek nearby.
The night might belong to the animals
but it’s ours too—
Richard’s and mine.
I’ve never loved to run.
But TONIGHT
I could run all night long.
We break into a clearing
with a creek running through.
Richard pulls me into his arms
and I snuggle
under his chin.
The night is cool
but we are steamy.
A small breeze
tries to dry
the damp off our skin—
tries to cool
the impossible
/>
heat.
I slip off my shoes
roll up my pants
and wade in
the icy water.
Richard follows me in.
I flick a little water at him
with my fingers.
He flicks back.
Just a little.
We’re laughing.
He takes my hand
and we’re
on the bank
sitting on a thick log.
Richard kisses
the top of my hair
my ear
my collarbone
my shoulder
then my mouth.
We’re still breathing from
all the running
and because
we
are
JUST
breathing.
Until we’re
breathless.
And
gasping.
We pull on our shoes,
take hands
and make our way
back to his car,
drive to the oak
where he lets me out. I sort of gallop
along the road
like when I was
a kid
playing horses.
When I get to my house
just as I reach the door
his car passes by
real slow.
I tiptoe upstairs
take off my pants,
carefully crawl into bed
alongside my sister,
let my
breathing
slow down,
not touching her
with my hot sweaty
self.
Richard and I
never said a word.
RICHARD
A COUPLE WEEKS LATER
MAY 1956
Millie and me went to the drive-in up in Fredericksburg.
Ray and Annamae came along.
Garnet and her boyfriend too.
The car was packed and it being cold out
that night,
we really steamed up the windows.
Saw Ain’t Misbehavin’ so we all joked about whether we was.
Bean said,
I don’t think you are misbehavin’
if you love the one you’re with.
She’s right.
And I’m the one she’s with.
She takes her hand in just such a way, pulls her fingers
through her hair
to take the curls off her forehead.
And I fire up like a SPARK PLUG.
Just seeing her hand move through her hair.
MILDRED
TWO MONTHS LATER
JULY 1956
Outside our neighborhood—
like in Bowling Green—
some people look at us
and SCOWL.
If Richard sees it
he holds my hand tighter.
After they pass by
he’ll lift my hand,
kiss it and say,
“Caramel.”
Tappahannock’s carnival
is bigger and better.
Here we won’t
see so many folks we know.
The air is sweet with cotton candy
and salty with popcorn.
We hold hands,
swinging our
clasped fists.
I say, “Let’s go on the octopus.”
Richard isn’t crazy
about fast rides
but I love them.
So he has to be brave.
We get squished together
careening, soaring.
I scream.
He laughs
of course.
I know he did this for me.
When we’re on solid
ground again
he says,
“YOU’RE the brave one.”
Sometimes we don’t hold hands
just so people don’t stare.
But sometimes—
SOMETIMES—
you just have to hold on.
Richard puts his arm around my
shoulders,
pulls me close
for a kiss,
and some fool
passing by
says,
“Nice piece o’ colored ass.”
Richard tenses up—
balls up his fists—
like maybe he’s even gonna
haul off
and slug the guy.
I pull him away.
Pull hard—
drag him away
really
till we are running down
the street and
laughing
again.
It’s not like it happens
all the time—
cruel people.
The drive-in is good
’cause no one can see us.
And we always fill
the car
with family and friends.
It’s like taking
Central Point
with us to the movies.
Richard once said,
“It could be worse, Bean.
If you was the white one
and I was the colored one,
people saw us together?
They’d lynch me.
We can do this.”
I’m not real dark—
’bout the color of a grocery sack—
and I have good hair,
but I surely
couldn’t
pass.
There are plenty of people
from our section,
who are mixed like I am—
and one day,
when they’re grown,
they leave home
and never ever
come back.
And we know they
passed
into white society—
away from
where everyone knows you,
where everyone truly
cares about you.
I feel sorry for them
who pass—
and don’t come
home.
1956–1957
“What good is it doing to force these situations when white people nowhere in the South want integration? What this country needs is a few first-class funerals.” —GEORGE WALLACE, GOVERNOR OF ALABAMA
1956 to 1957 Black teens attempt to attend previously all-white schools
MILDRED
TWO MONTHS LATER
SEPTEMBER 1956
I sit in class,
but I don’t care about
Great Expectations.
I don’t care about graphs.
I don’t care about the three branches
of federal government.
I’m thinking
the longer I wait,
the worse this is.
No matter how much I jump up and down,
stand on my head,
grip hold of my guts and press,
this isn’t
going
away.
Oh God Oh God.
Please.
I don’t know what to do.
I haven’t even told
Garnet.
She’d say,
“I told you so.”
Ignoring it
didn’t make it go away.
Wishing it wasn’t there
didn’t make it go away.
I don’t want this.
What will Richard think?
What will Richard do?
I don’t want to lose Richard.
I can’t go to the midwife
and ask questions—
find out what I might do—
’cause the midwife
is Richard’s mama.
This is bad.
I don’t show much.
I can still change into my gym suit,
/> take a shower with the other girls,
no one’s going to see,
but for how much longer
is that going to be true?
I can feel the difference.
I am so scared
I sweat all the time
and even my sweat
smells different.
I sit in English,
and we discuss Pip.
Does he want to be
poor, ignorant, immoral?
That was a century ago.
In England.
I don’t care.
I’m thinking
the girl in back of me
the boy in front of me
can smell
my fear
my difference.
They’ll know.
I’m in trouble.
What
What
What am I going to do?
Oh Lord, help me.
RICHARD
ONE MONTH LATER
OCTOBER 1956
I drove up to Ray’s. He’s got my DeSoto up on blocks,
says, Wanna race this heap?
Take off the bumper, lighten it up?
Percy can drive it. Over at Sandbridge?
You in?
I said, Yeah, sure.
His place looks more junkyard than anything else.
I said, You oughta’ clean this place up.
You’re a fine mechanic.
You could make yourself a living.
Ray shrugged.
It’s time Ray settled down, acted more responsible.
I said, Me and Millie going to Sparta dance tonight.
You coming?
Sure.
MILDRED
Richard still doesn’t know.
I can’t tell him.
Saturday night,
Daddy and my brothers
are the band
for a square dance
at Sparta School—
the elementary school
where Richard went—
the white school.
Colored people
aren’t allowed in.
Light and music
spill out the open door.
Me and Richard are milling around
with a bigger group of coloreds
outside
where we’re allowed
to listen
and dance
if we want.
Richard and his
car buddies,
Ray and Percy—
and Ray’s girl,
Annamae—
are with us.
Ray, Annamae, and Percy,
being colored,
aren’t allowed in, either.
White guys
with white girls on their arms
say
“Hey” to Richard
on their way in.
He “heys” them back.
Everyone likes Richard.
He says to me,
“Let’s go in.
They won’t mind.”
“We can’t go in there.
Loving vs. Virginia Page 4