On Zion's Hill

by Anna J. Small Roseboro

  Swishing the cloth, wringing it nearly dry, Angie carefully wipes the edges of the freezer they’d missed when clearing up last night. It’s monotonous work, and her mind meanders back to an afternoon in college. Following Miss Wicks’ advice, Angie had used the summer session to begin taking classes leading to her teaching credentials.

  EDUCATION 101 HAS NO PREREQUISITES and is an exploratory course designed to help new students decide if they’d really like to follow education a career path. Some of the students only enrolled because they thought it would be an easy “A”. It wasn’t. And it certainly gave many of them pause.

  For one assignment, the professor had them visit schools and observe classes. He’d made arrangements with teachers in private, public, parochial, inner city, and suburban schools that the college students could reach by carpooling or taking the city bus. They were to visit at least three different school settings.

  Most of the students admitted to being somewhat dismayed after viewing various schools from the perspective of a teacher rather than that of a student. While some of her classmates questioned their choice and decided to pursue other professions, the summer experience confirmed Angie’s commitment to follow in Miss Wicks’ footsteps and become an English teacher who also teaches French.

  One class day the professor asked them to talk about experiences that influenced them to prepare to become teachers of English. Angie had volunteered and told her story of winning the contest in fifth grade for reading the most books. Her teacher, Mrs. Wheeler, had taken her downtown, bought her a chocolate sundae and Myths and Enchanted Tales, the first book Angie had ever owned. She had been enchanted with reading and writing ever since. She was not sure whether the book or the chocolate sundae was more influential, but that this particular literary experience made her want to be like Mrs. Wheeler…a lover of books and buyer of chocolate sundaes. Now here Angie is dipping ice cream to earn money to become a teacher and having almost no time for recreational reading. Go figure.

  THOUGHTS RETURNING TO THE TASK AT HAND, Angie contemplates her wardrobe. Now what will she wear to work this afternoon? Just in case one of those fancy dancy cars is bringing up a new guy for her…just in case Ken doesn’t come back Sunday. They hadn’t had much time to talk yesterday after service. And he said he was going to Cleveland for a pre-season football game with his dad tonight.

  Locking up the stand and walking back to her room, Angie takes one last look down the hill. What’s with those continental kits? Maybe having those external mounted spare tires gives them room for more clothes in their car trunks. Who are these weekend folks trying to impress anyway? Angie is resistant to their displays of wealth. Or so she tells herself as she reaches the top step and opens the door into the dorm hallway.

  Back in the room, having grabbed a hamburger from Liz’s stand, Angie quickly eats and continues to consider her limited clothing options. Eventually, she pulls out her perma-pressed A-line skirt. This Madras print will show fewer stains if she happens to dribble ice cream on it or if Randy splats her in his haste to serve the teeny-boppers.

  She pulls out a creamy green top with cap sleeves that complements the darker green of one of the broad crisscrossing plaids. Angie’s trying to plan ahead. With the short sleeves, she’ll be cooler and can just wipe ice cream off her arms before leaving work. Even though the front of her clothes will be covered with freshly laundered aprons, she wants to look good now and later. Those comfortable green Reyers’ sale flats will work with this outfit, too. Good planning.

  Before leaving the room to go get washed, she decides to take advantage of the nail holding up the window curtain and hangs up her dress for tomorrow. No hanger, but the creases may fall out anyway. She wants to look good for Sunday service, and fewer wrinkles certainly will help.

  CUSTOMERS HAD COME. In swarms. She had endured another day with Randy. Now, she’s pooped and hauls her tired self back up to her dorm room. Gathering her things, Angie heads down to the bathroom to go through her evening wash-up. Her mind keeps jetting back to this afternoon. “It was weird!”

  Angie looks around. She’s a little embarrassed to be talking to herself in the mirror, but thankfully, no one has come in. She washes her face, moisturizes with a little Jergens Lotion, and then brushes her teeth. Almost out of Ipana toothpaste, she just squeezes on half as much as usual. She dons her gown. Then, she meticulously parts her hair and oils her scalp with Dixie Peach pomade and rolls up her hair with the pink sponge rollers. Angie ties these awkward looking curlers with the head scarf to keep them from working loose as she sleeps.

  She grabs the clothes she’d just stepped out of and left on the floor. She’ll just lay them across the foot of her bed till morning. No point in being noisier than she has to be. It’s late, and she’s sleepy, and she’s puzzled. Once in bed, she just lies there; sleep eludes her as she tries to process recent events. The past twenty-four hours have been strange.

  Yesterday evening Randy hadn’t bumped into her even once or sloshed much when rinsing the scoops. Clean scoops, Stella taught them, make neat balls of ice cream and help keep them from mixing flavors. Keeping them clean can be messy. Yesterday, when they closed, it probably only took ten or fifteen minutes to clean up. Then there was this afternoon.

  THIS AFTERNOON, SHE HAD WORKED ALONE and overheard lots of teen talk. Angie also wondered what she’d missed when she’d scooted out of the service early last evening. This gaggle of girls at the window is neither giggling nor gossiping.

  “You goin’ to service tonight? You think Sara n’ose be coming tonight?” one queries casually.

  “I don’t know. You know her and her brother was in them sit-ins in Birmingham. They had to pay some pretty stiff fines to get her brother out of jail. I haven’t seen her and n’em this weekend. So, I don’t think they coming this year.

  “Really? I guess that’s why my cousin’s not coming either. She go to Tougaloo College. You know where students did them sit-ins at the Woolworth’s down there in Jackson. They family been helping raise money to pay bail bonds to get her brother n’em outta jail. My mama getting scared all that gonna come to our town. What you still frowning about?”

  “I guess ‘cause I can’t feel sorry for them right now. It’s they choice. I don’t have one. I don’t want to be going in there to service,” she whines, selfishly.

  “What you mean? It’s Youth Night! You always go.”

  “I know. But I don’t want to tonight.”

  “Why, not? The choir’s gonna be good.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I’m too bummed.”

  “What you upset about? You in the choir aren’t you?”

  “No, not this year.”

  “Why not?”

  “We was late getting here. Daddy nearly blew a gasket when Mama made him go back and check the lock on the back door. She get so uptight every time we go somewhere overnight. You know she always telling us not to sweat it ‘til she forget something.”

  “So…what that got to do with you not singing this year?”

  “Daddy so ticked he threatened to hang his Christian suit on the fence and give her what for! He didn’t though. Daddy just a lot of lip.”

  “So? Your dad ain’t mad at you, is he?”

  “No. It’s just we didn’t get up here in time for me to go to rehearsal this morning. So I’m not singing in the choir this year. Last year we nearly blew off the roof we was so into it!”

  “Really, girl? What y’all sing that did that?”

  “Last year we sang ‘It’s a Highway to Heaven’ Them ole sisters walked the aisle almost the whole song! The men was running around like they was at a track meet. And then we sang ‘I Got a Telephone in My Bosom’”.

  “You sing the solo?”

  “Nah. They didn’t give me the solo like they do at home.”

  “So that why you don’t wanna go to service tonight?”

  “I’m going. I gotta, but I don’t really wanna. Daddy, he don’t give me no choice. He so suspicious.
Thinking I’m up to some kinda hanky-panky now I’m sixteen.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. He so lame. You know he almost didn’t let me have no boys to my Sweet Sixteen party! Can you imagine that?’”

  “No, girl!”

  “Yeah, but what Daddy have to worry about? Mama just last month bought me a pity bra.”

  “A pity bra? You mean a training bra?”

  “Yeah, you could call it that, but I don’t have nothing to train.”

  “But, you had a party! Did you bring Polaroids? I wanna see the pictures of who was at your party.”

  Dipping their ice cream for a cone and a cup and overhearing their talk about sweet sixteen parties takes Angie back to her own, but she only has a moment for memories before the next group, how guys, is at the window.

  They’re preening like peacocks! They think they’re so hip! Angie usually avoids speaking slang on the job. But her jive talking sometimes loosens the grip on their money. Why not get as much out of them while they’re here instead of hoping they’ll come after the concert tonight to impress the girls.

  “What can I get for you studs?” Angie asks with her Handy-Randy grin.

  “Gimme a double chocolate on a sugar cone,” one stud croons, posturing for his peers. “I shore like me some brown sugar sweetness, especially from a foxy lady like you,” the boy crows, more to his buddies than to Angie.

  “Sure thing,” she acknowledges, catching a whiff of his Murray’s pomade slicked back hair and noting the stocking cap crease above his eyebrows. He’s going to be on the prowl tonight. Angie grins as though flattered, and dips.

  “Say, man,” he asks turning to his peers, “You staying for the sermon tonight? I hear Doctor. Jamieson is speaking.”

  “Yeah, I heard. I might just leave after the singing. You know Doctor. Jamieson just reads his sermons straight from a manuscript.”

  “He does. That gonna bother you?”

  “Well, I heard he so intellectual. They say he hardly even moves one step from the podium during the whole time he up there.”

  “I bet it hard to get into him sometimes,” a third teen interjects.

  “Yeah,” another adds. “He don’t hop around hardly at all.”

  “That don’t mean nothing.”

  “Yeah,” a fourth interjects, “I heard them guys down at the hoops say Reverend Peter Clarkson, he a rocker, but Reverend Doctor Matthew Jamieson, he a crooner.”

  “A intellectual crooner. That sound kind’a funny. Man. I don’t know if I’m up to paying attention to all that high-falutin’ talk from some college professor.”

  “Me neither, man. How come they didn’t save Reverend Clarkson for Youth Day? I heard he was cooking last night.”

  “I know ‘bout last night. But Mama say I gotta go tonight, too. She got such a headache, she not even coming outta the cabin tonight.”

  “So that mean you gotta stay?”

  “Yeah. She say I gotta bring her back the lowdown. So, yeah Man, I gotta go.”

  “Me, too,” the third admits. “My Dad’s ushering tonight. Up in the balcony, too. He got eagle eyes. If I ain’t there, he gonna know. If he think I cut outta there to go play cards in Tim’s cottage, Dad’ll ground me a whole week when we get home.”

  “Yeah, I’m bummed too. But Mama, she say I gotta be her eyes and ears. She really like Doctor. Jamieson, though. She say he a real meat and potatoes preacher. No fluff about him.”

  “Fluff is okay. Leastwise you can see it moving.”

  “Man, I wish I had me one of them cassette recorders. I’d just set it up in the back of the tabernacle and slip out with one of them skirts I seen up the hill last night.” The four snicker at the thought, take their cones, and move on.

  Though the teens don’t really appreciate that the Reverend Jamieson will be the speaker for Youth Night, they all stream into the tabernacle in time to hear the opening songs. Their curiosity is stronger than their reluctance to listen to the gentle speaking college professor present the Word.

  Stella dismisses Randy and Angie at the same time, and he offers to walk with her to the service. She’s tempted. Ken won’t be there tonight. But even though Randy had been more considerate, Angie feels she’d be cheating on Ken if she sits with Randy. So she declines, saying she’s got to run up to the dorm to get her Bible.

  To make that claim the truth, Angie does take a detour back up there to tidy up a bit and get the Bible. Even though Stella has let them out a little earlier, they’ll still have to wait in back until after the opening prayer. Tonight the wait will just be shorter.

  On her back to the room, Angie puzzled about what her young co-worker had revealed during one of the few breathers they had had during the afternoon when Stella had gone to take a break in their nearby trailer.

  “ANGIE. YOU SAVED, AREN’T YOU?”

  Startled at the Randy’s off-the-wall question, Angie retorts in a condescending, un-Christian-like manner, “Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, you know it’s sometimes hard to tell up here on Zion’s Hill. Most everybody been coming to camp meeting so long they know how they’re supposed to act. It’s hard to tell if they’re looking the life or living it! You a Christian, right?”

  A little embarrassed that he has to ask, Angie eases off her high horse, and answers with calm assurance and humble honesty. “Yes, Randy. I accepted Christ as Lord of my life at youth camp a few years ago. It’s been a tough go since then. Once I left the rarefied air of Zion’s Hill, I found it a challenge to keep my commitment to Jesus Christ. I’ve had my ups and down.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. I made that commitment at camp when I was thirteen. Cap’n Ike convinced me it might save my life if I gave my heart to the Lord. I was kinda wild back then,” admits with a grin.

  “I can just imagine you back then. I know about Captain Ike. He was at camp this year, and Ken told me about him. You know Ken, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I know him. We pretty much grew up in the same congregation. Well, anyway the summer I was thirteen, Mom made me go to camp. I’d been giving her a lot of grief. She was hoping I would get my head on straight. She was right. Some of Cap’n Ike’s stories scared me straight. I did okay in high school, ‘cause our church had a pretty happening youth group. But even then, I wasn’t all that consistent. And I certainly didn’t stay on the straight and narrow once I got to college.”

  Sensing a different tone in his speaking, Angie decides to let the conversation flow and confesses, “College can be a difficult place to live holy, can’t it? It’s been more trying than I thought it would be. I hope I can hold on in the fall when I move on to campus.”

  “You know, Angie, I’m wondering if I even made a real commitment to the Lord. It was easy to say so at camp. While I was at home, it was easy to follow the Christian rules. I just pretty much did what Moms and Pops expected of me when I was in their presence. Out of the house, though, I was something else. I doubt any of my classmates even knew I was supposed to be a Christian.”

  “Yeah, I got hung up on the rules too, at first. But, at home, our new pastor’s a teaching preacher. He’s always telling us it’s not rules; it’s relationship. We have to believe we are children of God and be patient as we grow. It takes time to grow and mature.”

  “Really. How much time?”

  “Well. He says, ‘Though accepting Christ as Savior is an act of the moment, becoming Christ-like is the work of a lifetime.’ And then, our pastor pauses and adds dramatically, ‘It takes longer to develop than a Polaroid picture.’ Relationships take time.”

  “Really? Relationship, not rules? That’s a new one. I thought getting saved was it. You know, like fire insurance against going to hell. I got so bummed when I didn’t measure up to the rules that I just stopped trying.”

  “Randy, don’t be so hard on yourself. God understands. Remember He is both merciful and forgiving.”

  “Yeah, but He probably won’t forgive me for the mess I been into
since I been in college. I been doing some dumb things.” He glances up to see if Angie’s condemning him with her eyes.

  “Dumb things? Like what?”

  Not sure, he’s ready to trust her, he clams up. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Moms and Pops been talking enough.”

  “Well, you brought it up. Sounds like you want to tell somebody else. I’m all ears. And I can keep a confidence,” she invites and then is silent. She notices a customer approaching and gives Randy a nod.

  Randy looks up; seeing it’s a lady, he steps up with his smiley face, dips her two scoops of strawberry ice cream, and hands her a cup and a spoon. He steps aside for Angie to hand the lady a napkin. No other customers are at the window. Randy turns back toward Angie, drops his shoulders, and erases his smile. Angie’s warm eyes invite his confidence.

  “What mess you been into, Randy, that’s got you all wound up this afternoon? You’ve been awfully quiet…almost nice,” Angie teases to ease the tension a bit.

  “Just almost?” he questions, hoping to redirect the conversation to his charms.

  “Yes, just almost,” Angie goes along. To keep from watching him, she wrings out a cloth to wipe up the few spills around the edges of the freezer of ice cream tubs. Dropping the cloth back into the pail and swishing it around so it’ll be fresh next time, she gently probes, “What happened?”

  “Well, last night Reverend Clarkson’s sermon got to me. I know I haven’t been living right, but I thought I was impervious to sermons. I been hearing them all my life. I know how to front like the best of hypocrites.”

  “Randy you may be a show-off, but you’re no hypocrite. I’ve never even heard you claim to be a Christian. Since I’ve seen you in action, I didn’t believe you were. But not everyone up here on Zion’s Hill is. Folks pretty much act the same in public. We’ve all been taught to respect our elders and all that. But when I think about it, you’ve always had a sharp edge like you’re ready to slice out of the box.”