On Zion's Hill

by Anna J. Small Roseboro

  “Yes, ma’am, we have cups. What flavor ice cream do you want?”

  “Well, since Hattie is having black cherry, maybe I’ll have me some of that, too. Just to taste, you know. But I really like plain vanilla. Hey, Hattie, you think that kind taste good with vanilla?” Turning to Angie, “What’s your name, sweetie?”

  “My name’s Angie,” she replies as patiently as she can with six eager customers in line behind this duo. “My name’s Angie and I’d be happy to give you a scoop of each if that’s what you want. That’s one plain vanilla and one black cherry in a cup, right?’

  “Hattie, what you think? Think I oughta just stick with the plain vanilla? I know I like that.”

  “Well,” Angie says in hopes of moving things along, “while you’re making up your mind, I’ll get the ice cream for your friend, here. Miss Hattie, you want that in a cup or on a cone?”

  “What kinda cones you got this year? Last year you had two kinds – that flat bottom cone and that pointy bottom cone. What kind you got this year?

  “Both.”

  “They the same price? I’m on a budget and can’t afford no extra for special cones if I’m gonna be buying for the two of us.”

  “Now Hattie, I told you. I’m buying my own. I got my money right here.” Lucille holds up her bulging change purse.

  “Ladies….” Angie calls out. The folks in line peer around looking at Angie, signaling her to get the line moving. “Ladies.”

  Even Christians run out of patience some time, she mumbles. Even Christians on Zion’s Hill.

  “OK,” Lucille concedes, slipping her change purse back down inside her bra. “You buy today, but it’s my treat next time.” Turning to Angie, “All right, since she’s buying, I’ll have me one scoop a black cherry and one a plain vanilla in a cup.”

  “I’ll have two scoops of black cherry on one of them pointy bottom cones since you say they don’t cost no more. Give us a couple extra napkins, too. We gotta keep ourselves nice for service tonight. Right, Miss Hattie?”

  Chattering and daintily slurping their specialty flavor and plain vanilla ice cream, the two leave as the nearly exasperated next customer steps up to the window.

  And so begins the afternoon shift for Angie. For the next three hours, she dips the cream, collects the money, and daydreams about Ken, who’s off playing ball with the guys.

  KEN SELDOM WEARS A HAT, even in the bright noon sun, but he does put on a sweat band when he plays basketball. On the way back down the hill to his car, he checks his pocket for the blue and white Penn State band he thought he’d put there when he left the house this morning.

  “Good, I got it,” he says aloud, then ponders silently. He’s got a couple hours to shoot hoops and then plans to return home to clean up and have a bite to eat before coming back up here to the campgrounds. “Thia has to work tonight, but she better not hog the bathroom and use up all the hot water.”

  Ken opens the car door and trapped heat smacks him in the face. He swings the door open wide and stands outside a couple of minutes before getting into the metal sauna on wheels. He leans with one hand on the top of the car, then jerks it away, checks for blisters, sees none, and ruminates about the afternoon with Angie.

  She sure liked those grapes. Doesn’t take much to please her, does it? That’s a good thing. he doesn’t need to be getting himself involved with some princess expecting to be treated royally right now. “Can’t do it. Don’t want to do it. I don’t mind spending something on the ladies, but I don’t want to have to lay out big bucks all the time just to have a good time with one of ‘em.” Checking the time, Ken realizes he’d better get a move on, then looks around and sighs, glad there’s no one nearby listening to him talk to himself.

  He slips into the seat and starts the engine, leaning forward to keep his back off the sizzling vinyl upholstery. He uses just his fingertips on the still hot steering wheel. In seconds, the wind whooshes through, cooling the inside enough to settle back. He now grips the wheel and maneuvers down the unpaved road of the campground and out onto the oiled one down the hill.

  “Why am I even thinking about all this? From what I heard from the other counselors, nothing comes of these dalliances anyway. You meet someone, spend the week getting to know each other, exchange addresses, write a couple of times, things taper off, and you go on with your life.

  “That’s fine with me. I’ve got three to four more years before even thinking about getting married. Married???” He stomps on the brakes, nearly skidding off the road. “Where’d that come from?” He nearly careens into the mail truck stopped at a roadside mailbox. Ken regains control, steers around the truck, mouths an apology to the startled driver, and continues to the gym, trying to pay more attention to the winding road leading into town than to his thoughts of Angie.

  “Yeah,” Ken rationalizes aloud, “but I remember what I heard in my head Sunday night when Angie sat down in front of me. Something about ‘She’s the one for you.’ Hah! Maybe God didn’t mean she’d be my wife. I’m not even thinking about getting married. Still, if I were, Angie’d be on my short list.

  Ken turns onto the main street and enters the flow of traffic, cruising slowly behind the eighteen wheeler signaling a turn at the only stop light on this end of town. Ken decides to go that way, too, and take that road over to the high school.

  Once Ken makes the left and revs up to speed, his thoughts resume. She has plans for the future, too. She already told Ken she doesn’t plan to even date seriously any time soon. Well, that’s fine with him.

  She seems comfortable with her relationship with God and doesn’t mind talking about it. That’s a good thing, too. When he does decide to get married, that’s a quality he’ll be looking for. A nice looking, confident woman, who’s a Christian. Like Angie, but not now. No, not now. It’s too soon. Way too soon.

  In another three minutes or so, Ken reaches the high school and pulls into the parking lot nearest the side door. On really hot afternoons, Coach Mac opens the gym for college athletes in town for the summer to come practice. It’s one of several places the variety of ethnic groups that settled the Shenango Valley meet and play as equals. He believes iron sharpens iron so he makes it possible for top players from the Valley to play against each other. Nice how he calls all of them his guys whether they’re from his school or not. Ken gets out, grabs his gym bag and locks the car. Taking a deep breath, he strides through the door nearest the gym.

  In the boys’ bathroom, he changes from his slacks and loafers into shorts and sneakers and carries his folded clothes and lays on them on the bleachers. Coach opens the gym, but not the locker room.

  “Hey, Ken. What’s up, man? You ready to get blown out the gym?” challenges Scott, running the ball down the court, dribbling a couple of crossovers to show-off his skill. He slams the ball into Ken’s chest, signaling that he’s ready to get it on. Ken catches the ball, controls the bouncing down the court and swishes in his first attempt at a basket. He’s ready to get his mind on to the game and off of Angie.

  Back and forth, up and down, left and right, non-stop for nearly an hour, the ball players dribble and pass, shoot, block and stuff the ball, first at one end of the court, then the other. Seldom a miss and seldom a foul. There’s no one to call fouls anyway. Sweat-drenched bodies raise the gym temperature nearly as high as the outdoor temperature. Still, they play on, each player keen to show his stuff, to prove he’s playing a higher level of ball than those pickup games at the neighborhood parks.

  These are the starters from top collegiate teams across the Midwest and as well as from Southern Negro colleges. They’ve honed their skills in the Valley of Champions here in Western Pennsylvania. It’s all in fun, though. These guys have been playing against one another since their junior high days. Now playing in Coach’s gym brings back the old days and brings out the new skills.

  “This is great!” Ken calls out jubilantly. He remembers how torqued he’d been when his parents decided to buy their own pro
perty across the school district line. He’d grown up planning to play for Coach. Ken seldom spends much time thinking about the past, but occasionally, the thoughts creep up on him and he indulges himself in a moment of melancholy. But now the game is moving too fast for more than a nanosecond of negative thought.

  “Hey, dude!” huffs Junior, lunging to snatch the ball from Ken. “What’cha trying to do? You forget you playing against the state finalists?”

  “Yeah,” Ken dredges a deep breath and slings back, “but that’s because I’ve graduated. We beat you guys bad when I played for Hillside High!” Ken snags the ball, pounds down the court and hits it from midcourt. Smacking high fives with his teammate, Bob, the two sprint back down the court to guard their team’s basket.

  “Still got the legs. Still got the moves. Still can lay it on,” Bob grins as they set up to defend their territory.

  “You got it, man. And it sure feels good to be out here.” Ken gets set in defense stance, knees bent, arms up, ready to pounce and protect, grabs the ball and runs back down for another attempt at scoring.

  All too soon, however, he notices the time and signals the guys that he has to go. They nod and he leaves the court stating the obvious. “I’m really funky now and thirsty as all get out.”

  Since the guys didn’t have access to the shower room, Ken grabs the shoes and folded clothes he’d left on the bench, and heads out to the drinking fountain out in the hall before going out to the car.

  “Yuck!” The water is just wet; tepid and not at all refreshing. Still, Ken drinks deeply, knowing he has to rehydrate after all that sweating. He pauses a few seconds, takes a couple of deep breaths, and strolls out to the car, pleased with the game he’d just played. Then his thoughts project forward. Three years of college to go or not, he’s going to see where this relationship with Angie is going to go…tonight.

  KEN WILL BE TICKED IF THIA’S STILL IN THE LITTLE TOILET and there’s no more hot water, so she aborts her showering and goes to dress in her parents’ room. They have a bigger mirror in there anyway. That’s important because Melvin’s coming to drive her up to work, and she wants to look her best for him and for the job.

  Yesterday, at dinner, Ken told her about Angie, and this raises Thia’s curiosity. In high school, Ken had been so focused on his basketball and now the same in college that he’s not dated much. Other than a couple times to the movies, he’s mostly been working and studying all summer.

  That engineering program at Penn State is particularly demanding, especially for someone playing varsity basketball. He’d explained when she’d complained about his non-existent social life. “Coach keeps up with our grades, and if any of us get into academic jeopardy, Coach’ll red shirt us. If I get benched, I could lose my scholarship. No point in risking that if a little boning up during the summer can prevent it.”

  So, most evenings this summer, when he gets off early, Ken eats with the family and then heads off to the library riding his old bike. Dad is particular about anyone using his car every day. This week, without much hassle, though, he’s letting Ken drive it for camp meeting. Dad’s even been carpooling to work. Ken and Thia, however, had better make sure the gas tank is full Sunday night. You borrow something, you return it like you got it.

  “Thia, you want me to drive you? Looks like Melvin’s not coming. I can swing by and drop you off on the way back up the hill,” Ken invites, reaching for the door handle, and looking down at the one step leading from the trailer into the yard where he’s parked the car. It’s a little cooler now, and Ken doesn’t expect the car to be the sauna it was this afternoon. He’s fresh now and wants to stay that way.

  After years in the Air Force wearing uniforms most of the time, and not wasting money on civilian clothes, Ken has a limited wardrobe. Tonight he’s wearing pressed navy slacks and a light grey golf shirt…just a plain one from Sears without one of those alligators or polo players. He’s got a muscular physique and his clothes look good on him, but he’s not really a clothes horse like the women in his family, all into name brands and the latest fashions. That’s fine for them, but he’s not willing to spend hard earned cash or hard to come by time to shop for bargains on clothes. The females, though, seem to love it. They like shopping and get a kick out of catching stuff on sale.

  Thia bragged at dinner how much she’d saved on the outfit she’s going to be wearing Sunday. That’s one of the things that bothers Ken about camp meeting…so much emphasis on outward appearance. Few of the women wear gaudy earrings and necklaces, but they sure go in for flashy brooches, flamboyant hats, and fancy dresses.

  The men are little better. He remembers the couple of times he’d gone in earlier years that Sunday seemed to be a fashion show with much more strutting and preening than one would expect on the Lord’s Day. “But maybe I’m just jealous.” He concedes that and vows to waste no more time on the sartorial splendor of the guys on the campgrounds.

  “Thiaaaaa. Last call or I’m leaving!” Angie probably will be late for service, but he wants to be there at the back of the tabernacle when she arrives so they can sit together again. He’s not sure why he’s so eager to do that. Once the service begins, they both seemed to focus on the singing and the preaching.

  It would feel good walking in with her, sitting next to her, hearing her joyful singing, and sensing her attention when the preacher speaks. It’s just good being with someone who enjoys so many of the same things important to Ken.

  Thia prances out the door, tipping carefully to avoid scraping her heels in the gravel walkway. “Well, aren’t you going to open the car door for me? I know I’m just your sister, but this will give you good practice for when you go out with Angie,” Thia teases playfully when she finally joins him next to the car.

  “Sure,” Ken says, opening the door and bowing to his sister. He chuckles, closes the door, and walks around to get in and get going. Thia’s taking Melvin’s absence in stride. That’s unusual.

  Ken backs in a Y turn and steers out of the yard onto the private drive in front of their family homestead. So far there is just one other house on the road. The Coopers, friends of his parents, bought their corner lot at the same time Ken’s folks bought theirs. The Coopers, though, already have their basement in, the first floor framed and roofed. At this pace, they’ll probably move in by Christmas. Ken wonders how Thia feels about living in a trailer for so long and maybe in a basement until she gets her secretarial certificate. No point asking. He can’t do anything about it anyway.

  He hangs a right up the half block to the main street and turns left onto the main road. They only have a short drive to the department store where she works, and being Tuesday, the traffic’s not too bad.

  “Thia, why in the world are you wearing those high heels? You could walk to work if you’d wear your Converse or flat shoes,” he teases knowing she’d never wear either kind of shoes when she considers herself dressed up.

  “Hey Ken,” Thia probes, ignoring his questioning her fashion sense. “What’s so special about this Angie? I thought you’d sworn off girls until you graduate. You haven’t talked this much about one since high school when you dated Jackie for a couple of months.”

  For the remainder of the trip, Ken tries to articulate for himself and to his younger sister what’s so special about Angie. “I’ll introduce you when you and Melvin go up to Zion’s Hill on Thursday.”

  That will be Thia’s first time back on the grounds since she was a camper in junior high school. Once she got into high school, she no longer could stand the griminess of camp, and camp culottes and T-shirts just don’t make the grade for Thia. With her weird work schedule last year, she hadn’t come even on the weekend. Her sales job in Wilson’s Better Dresses has turned out to be a thrill and a waste. Once in the car, their conversation continues.

  “Oh, Thia. Better roll up that window.”

  “Sure. Gotta keep my hair nice until I get to the back room. I gotta get to work early to change. It’s my evening to work in t
he stock room. Gotta unpack, label and hang up the new fall line of dresses for our sale this weekend.”

  “I thought you’re a sales clerk in the Better Dresses department. Mom says your boss was pretty impressed when you interviewed and has already promoted you. You must a been looking pretty sharp.”

  “I am. She was. She did and I did. But we have a small staff. We all have to do everything.”

  “Isn’t that dirty work back there?”

  “Yeah, it is. But, working in the stock room is okay. I get to see the latest fashions as soon as they come in.”

  “Well, I know you love that! So how’d you get promoted so fast? She must have been keeping an eye on you.”

  “You’re right. After a week or so she asked me why I spend my breaks wandering around in other departments.”

  “Well, why do you? You should be putting your feet up and sipping a cool drink”

  “Oh no, Ken. I gotta keep up with the latest shoes, gloves and hats.”

  “So, your boss thought you were looking to get a job in another department?”

  “Maybe at first. But, she doesn’t mind any more. You see, lots more return customers are starting to ask for me. Especially when they’re shopping for a special occasion. Once we find a dress they like, I walk them down right down to find shoes, hats, and gloves, suggesting the right colors and styles to round out their ensembles. I’m even getting to know what costume jewelry to recommend.”

  “Aw come on, Thia. You’re just a teenager! Where’d you learn all that?”

  “Trailing behind Mom and Joan. All those weekends we spent walking around the stores downtown and at the new shopping center. You know Joan skips lunch just to check out the sales. Then, when the markdowns hit bottom, Joan asks the clerk to hold the items till she gets paid on the weekend.”