Being Clem

by Lesa Cline-Ransome

  I swear, there were days I just knew God had a seat waiting in heaven for making me have to deal with Errol every day.

  We came up behind the new boy. He was smaller than I thought, closer to my size than Errol’s.

  “You the new one, right?” I asked him.

  “Yup,” he said. “Lymon.” No more than that.

  Please God, I thought to myself. Not two Errols.

  I tried again.

  “You best not mess with Curtis,” I warned him.

  “Who, Fat Boy?” He laughed. “He don’t scare me.”

  There was something about his laugh, and his eyes, one a little smaller than the other, made me laugh right along with him. I stepped in closer. Me and Errol introduced ourselves. When Lymon told me he was from Milwaukee, I couldn’t get the words out fast enough trying to figure if he knew Uncle Kent, Aunt Thea, and of course, Kendrick. By the time I ran down everybody’s name and realized he didn’t know not one, I was just about out of breath. The whole time I was talking, he was smiling at me, with those squinty little eyes. Errol stood there watching, not saying much as usual. When the school bell rang, the three of us walked back in together. I had a lot more questions for this new boy, but I figured I asked enough for one day. I thought then about my sister Annette and how sometimes maybe the best way to get the answers you want is to keep quiet, listen, and watch.

  Lymon Caldwell might have been from Milwaukee, but he sure loved Chicago like he was born here. Lymon asked if he could walk with us home from school since he lived a few blocks over on St. Lawrence, and when he walked, he still looked around like it was Christmas morning. He’d look in the doorways of every pool hall and stop dead in the street if someone walked by in a fancy suit.

  “Close your mouth, you’re letting flies in,” I told him, laughing at the way his mouth hung open wide when he saw something he liked.

  “What’s that over there?” he asked, pointing at a building on the corner.

  “Forum Hall,” I told him. “It’s a jazz club. You know—scoot dee doo, scat doo watt…”

  He laughed. “Fool, you don’t know nothing ’bout no jazz.”

  “Tell me I didn’t sound like Pops himself,” I said. I made my voice low as I could and started scatting again in my Louis Armstrong voice.

  “Me, I got music in my blood,” Lymon told us.

  “How’s that?” Errol asked.

  Now it was my turn for my mouth to hang open. Errol was asking questions?

  “Back in Mississippi—”

  “Mississippi? I thought you said you was from Milwaukee?” Errol asked his second question of the day.

  “So you’re a country Negro?” I laughed.

  Lymon stopped and his eyes got smaller. “Who you calling country? I didn’t say Mississippi. I said Milwaukee. You can’t hear?”

  I looked at Errol, and Errol looked at the ground.

  I put my finger in my ear. “Maybe I got a little wax in my ears,” I said, laughing.

  “Maybe you need to clean ’em out,” Lymon said, and smiled a little. We kept right on walking.

  Seemed like overnight it went from me and Errol to the Three Musketeers. With me talking all the time and Errol hardly at all, Lymon fit right in between. I was the only one with sisters. Lymon had two little brothers he called Bad and Badder, and Errol didn’t say much about being home all by himself, but together, all hating on Curtis Whittaker, we made out fine.

  “Why don’t you sit in back with us?” Lymon asked one day at lunch when we were going down the list again of the most beautiful women, starting with Miss Lena Horne.

  “I can’t see too good,” I told him. “I need to sit close to the board.” Errol looked up from his sandwich, like he was about to say something.

  “Last thing the Professor needs is glasses too,” I said, laughing.

  After Curtis made his introduction to Lymon, and Lymon didn’t look like Curtis made any difference to him one way or another, I told Lymon, “You better watch your back with Curtis.”

  Much as I loved being the Three Musketeers, with finally someone who said more than two words a day, what I loved most about being a threesome with Lymon was that it kept Curtis away. I think he was watching Lymon just as close as I was, not sure yet what to make of him. Something about Lymon seemed familiar to me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.

  “Yeah? What’s Curtis gonna do to me?” Lymon asked.

  Errol just shook his head. “You seen what he does. He start in on you, he ain’t never gonna stop.”

  “He start in on the two of you?” Lymon asked us. We didn’t say nothing.

  “And you didn’t fight back?” He looked surprised and mad at the same time.

  “You sound like my sisters,” I told him. “What do we look like tryin’ to fight Curtis Whittaker? He’s big enough to be somebody’s daddy.”

  Lymon laughed out loud then.

  “The bigger they are, the harder they fall.” Lymon looked like he meant it.

  And Errol looked impressed. “Sounds like you got a plan.”

  “A plan to get killed,” I told them both.

  I couldn’t tell if Lymon Caldwell was scared, stupid, or brave. Didn’t take long before I found out that he was just maybe all three at once.

  SEVENTEEN

  Wasn’t none of us expecting for it to happen the way it did. Especially not Curtis. The three of us had gotten used to not having to worry about Curtis anymore out at recess or after school. We sat over in the corner of the school yard, where it was quiet and out of sight. Sometimes Errol brought cards for us to play, but today he and Lymon stood listening to me tell them about Clarisse and how we had another fight that Annette had to break up. I added in all kinds of good lines I got in about Clarisse’s face and the pimples she sometimes got. Of course, Errol was all ears, because wasn’t no one more interested in hearing stories about Clarisse than Errol, but I could tell Lymon was only half listening. Just as I was acting out the part where Clarisse came running after me, I looked up to see Curtis standing right behind Lymon. I didn’t have time to warn him, but when I stopped talking and Lymon looked in my face, he knew right away who I was looking at. He didn’t turn. Just stood still waiting.

  “Le-mon,” Curtis said, leaning into Lymon, like they were going steady and he was whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

  Errol tried to pull Lymon away, but he didn’t move. Now our quiet corner was starting to get crowded with everyone coming over to see what was going to happen.

  “Go on and hit him, Curtis,” I heard one of his army tell him, and I knew Lymon was in trouble then.

  Lymon finally turned around and stood facing Curtis. He shoved Lymon hard in the chest, but Lymon didn’t go down. I stepped closer to see for myself why Lymon wasn’t backing away.

  “Hurry, teacher’s coming!” a boy named Russell yelled. And by the time we all looked over to where he was pointing, Lymon had swung on Curtis so hard, he nearly broke his nose. Blood went flying everywhere. One of the girls screamed.

  “He got him!” I yelled, not really believing what I just saw.

  Lymon and Curtis stood face-to-face, breathing hard and staring each other down. Blood was dripping from Curtis’s nose. And we all just stood quiet watching to see Curtis’s next move, but he didn’t have one. Now I remembered why Lymon seemed so familiar. Not since Kendrick had I met someone who didn’t let anything scare him.

  By the time the teacher got to them and snatched them both up, everybody knew it was Lymon who was in charge now. And with me and Errol, his two new best friends, I guess that meant we were in charge too.

  We stayed the Three Musketeers, but with Lymon and Errol in the back of the class and me in the front, it felt more like Three Musketeers minus one. Sometimes I’d turn to see the two of them sitting in the back of the classroom, Errol laughing good over his shoulder at something Lymon said. All of a sudden, the Errol I thought I knew, the Errol who could barely spell the word joke, was laughing at everyt
hing Lymon said. I thought Lymon was funny and all, but he wasn’t no Eddie Rochester. Since Lymon’s fight with Curtis, we stuck closer to him, but just about everybody else steered clear.

  “They think I got the plague or something?” Lymon once asked at lunch, when we three were sitting all alone.

  “Nah,” Errol told him. “They just scared of you is all.”

  “Because of Curtis?” he asked.

  I sat listening and wondering how it would feel to have everyone in school afraid of you. But Lymon seemed like it wasn’t what he wanted at all. I sat watching him eating his sandwich like he didn’t have a care in the world. Not afraid of anyone or anything.

  He looked up at me. “You gonna eat your lunch or ask me to go steady?” Errol laughed loud.

  I smiled. “I heard you and Curtis were already dating.” I held my breath and waited until he smiled back.

  There were days I couldn’t tell what Lymon was thinking. One day he’d laugh all day long and the next he’d look like a pot about to boil over.

  “I see you took my advice,” Annette said to me one day after the fight with Curtis and Lymon in the school yard.

  “Huh?” I asked her, working on my schoolwork.

  “My advice? About standing up for yourself.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked her.

  “Well, let’s see.” She held up one finger, “No more busted lips.” Then she held up a second finger, “No more black eyes,” and a third, “No more—” I stopped her.

  “That ain’t me. It’s Lymon, the new kid me and Errol are friends with.”

  “Lymon? Kind of name is Lymon?” she asked, digging through the icebox.

  “He just moved here from Milwaukee. Curtis is scared of him.”

  “So he’s bigger than Curtis?”

  “Not bigger, he just put Curtis in his place.”

  “So what you’re saying is, he stands up for himself,” she said, staring at me with her hand on her hip.

  “Not now, Annette,” I told her.

  “But I was right, wasn’t I?” Annette bit into her apple. And I kept looking at my paper.

  “So, you like this Lymon?” she asked me, nicer now.

  I looked up at her. “I think so. I—”

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Yeah, I like him. Curtis doesn’t even look at me anymore.”

  “Well, you showed Curtis, didn’t you?” Annette said as she turned to leave. “The way you’re going, you’re gonna earn a Purple Heart in no time.” I could hear her laughing all the way to her room.

  Lymon Caldwell might have saved me from Curtis, but he could never save me from my sisters.

  The truth was that for the rest of sixth grade, being safe from Curtis wasn’t the best part about having Lymon around. The times with Errol, like lunch and recess and walking home from school, Lymon made better, just by being in between the two of us. He made Errol talk more and that meant I could talk less. And somehow it all just worked together.

  EIGHTEEN

  The night before my last day of sixth grade at Lincoln Elementary, Momma opened the front door in a hurry, holding a paper sack. “I got a surprise for you,” she told me when I went to give her a hug. She was smiling big, and I was hoping the Franklins had some of their fancy dinner company over and Momma had brought home a piece of one of their pretty desserts. Maybe the lemon cake with the sugary frosting and the raspberry filling in the middle. But it wasn’t no dessert, I could tell by how big the bag was.

  Clarisse and Annette were at the kitchen table, and they were supposed to be doing homework. But I could hear them whispering so I knew that meant I couldn’t go nowhere near the kitchen because they were talking about girl things, which really meant boy things, and I wasn’t in the mood to hear any of that. Like I always did, I made a big deal about Momma being home, so they would know and cut out the whispering and get back to their schoolwork before Momma came in the kitchen. But this night Momma wasn’t her usual tired self. I wasn’t sure Clarisse and Annette heard Momma come in, so I was talking extra loud hoping they’d cut out the whispering.

  “So I just open it up right now?” I asked her.

  “Lower your voice, Clem. And yes, open it now.” Momma nodded, smiling.

  I dug down deep in the bottom and pulled out a pair of slippery tan shorts with a wide white belt at the waist.

  “Shorts? Thanks, Momma,” I said, wondering why Momma thought this was a special surprise. I already had about four pairs plus one pair of dungarees, and I knew with Momma not buying any more clothes now, it took a lot for her to buy me these.

  Last Saturday, before Momma went off to her Saturday shift, and before Clarisse and Annette woke up, I heard her talking to Dr. Stanford out in the hallway.

  “Mrs. Thurber, I think we can both agree I have been very patient,” he said to Momma, but he didn’t sound like he was being patient. He sounded mad.

  “Yes… very patient… husband… more time.” Momma’s voice kept going in and out, maybe because she was crying, maybe because she was trying hard to make sure we couldn’t hear any of the conversation in the apartment. But whatever she was doing to keep things quiet, Dr. Stanford didn’t seem to notice.

  He spoke a little louder. “I understand your circumstances, and while I respect the sacrifice of your husband, I cannot continue to overlook the fact that you are a month behind on your rent. I will give you two weeks, Mrs. Thurber. Two weeks to have my rent. If at that time you are unable to come up with the money, I will have no choice but to ask you to move on.” Sounded like now it was Momma who was asking for a rain check and it was Dr. Sanford who was saying no.

  Momma went on down the steps after Dr. Sanford left, off to the Franklins’, and I went into the kitchen to eat breakfast. When I finished, I sat quiet waiting.

  Annette walked in an hour later, rubbing her eyes, and jumped when she saw me sitting there.

  “Are we going to have to move?” I asked her.

  “Clem, it’s too early,” she said to me, putting water on the stove for tea.

  But when I didn’t say anything else, Annette looked over at me. I could feel the tears starting, but I kept the thought of Dr. Stanford’s mean voice and Momma’s crying in my head to make me mad, and that held them back.

  “Momma can’t pay the rent,” I said, not sure if I was asking Annette or telling her. Even though the tears didn’t come, I could still hear the shakiness in my voice. Annette pretended she didn’t notice and sat down across from me.

  “I don’t think we’re going to have to move,” she said.

  “You don’t think so?” I almost yelled.

  “Lower your voice, Clem,” she said. “You want Clarisse in here?” I shook my head.

  “Momma got a little bit behind is all. But, you know, things have been tough since Daddy passed. She’ll most likely have to do what she always does.”

  “What does she always do?” I asked.

  Annette breathed in deep. “She asks her sisters for help. She doesn’t like doing it, but Aunt Dorcas and Aunt Bethel send her money from time to time when things get tough. They know Momma’s got a lot on her plate.”

  “A lot on her plate like the three of us?” I asked.

  “Like the three of us,” Annette said. “We all gotta make sacrifices is all. But she’ll get caught up.”

  I nodded. “But why didn’t anybody just tell me that?”

  “Maybe you just weren’t listening.” The kettle started whistling and Annette stood up again.

  NINETEEN

  “

  Those aren’t just any shorts, Clem. They are swim shorts.” Momma was going on about the shorts and I hadn’t seen her look this happy in so long, it was making me happy too.

  “Swim shorts?” I didn’t understand.

  “Sit down,” Momma told me. She fell back on the couch, taking off her clunky work shoes.

  “Hi, Momma.” Clarisse and Annette came in. Annette kissed Momma on the cheek. Clarisse just smile
d.

  “Show them what I just brought you, Clem,” Momma told me.

  I held up my swim trunks.

  “Oooh yay, Clem is going to drown,” Clarisse said, laughing.

  “Not with swim lessons he’s not,” Momma said, proud.

  “Clem’s getting swim lessons?” Annette sat down next to Momma.

  I don’t think we’d ever heard of anyone colored getting swim lessons before. Out at the beach on Lake Michigan, folks went and splashed around. Some swam, but far as we knew, nobody was giving out lessons. Either you knew how to swim or you didn’t. Those who didn’t stayed close to the edge. Those who did swam out far. If you didn’t and were stupid enough to swim out far, you drowned. Simple as that.

  There’s nothing Momma loves more than telling a story, so the next thing I knew, Momma sat way back in the cushions and started in.

  “You know how Mrs. Franklin is always in my business? ‘Does Clarisse have a boyfriend yet? And isn’t Clem going into fifth grade this year?’ She nearly had a fit when I told her he skipped a grade.” Momma stopped to laugh. “Skipped a grade?” she said in her Mrs. Franklin voice, high and squeaky, with the fingers of her hand spread out across her chest like she was about to faint. “‘Why, that must mean he’s very smart.’ Do you know she had the nerve to ask me where he got his intelligence from?” Clarisse stopped her.

  “Momma, you know you told us this before, right?”

  “Shut up, Clarisse, and let Momma tell the story the way she wants to tell it,” I said.

  “Oh, that’s because it’s about you being so smart—”

  “Can we please hear the story?” Annette said.

  “Well, this morning, Mrs. Franklin came into the kitchen while I was preparing lunch. And she said, ‘CeeCee, would you mind making a couple of extra sandwiches for this afternoon? Matthew will be heading over to the club pool today. He has swim lessons this week before he heads off to camp and I’ll need you to pack extra sandwiches for his instructor.’ Now you know the last thing I want to do is have any kind of conversation with Mrs. Franklin, so at first I said, ‘Sure thing, Mrs. Franklin. I hope he likes tuna fish.’ And then I thought about Clem wanting to learn to swim.” Momma looked at me with wet eyes. “And I thought, God gave you a mouth, and Cecille Thurber, you better go on ahead and use it. So, just as she was about to leave the kitchen, I said, ‘Excuse me, Mrs. Franklin. How much do those swim lessons cost? Because since my Clemson died serving this country, all my Clem can talk about is learning how to swim.’ I think she was so shocked, she said yes to the lessons before she had a chance to think about it. Even offered to pay. Of course, she’ll get it out of me one way or the other with her ‘Do you think you could come in just a little bit early tomorrow morning because Mr. Franklin one thing or the other,’ but—”