by Robin Talley
Mr. Lewis sits down at the piano in a hurry and plays the opening notes of Patricia’s song, “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.”
It’s too late. She’s already running off the stage.
Lie #20
THE AUDITORIUM IS silent.
Mr. Lewis has stopped playing. He’s staring offstage after Patricia.
I look back and forth from him to the audience to Linda. Everyone looks as lost as I feel.
Finally Mr. Lewis gestures to Miss Jones to send the rest of the choir back onstage. He plays the opening notes to the last song of the show, “And Now Another Day Is Gone.”
I start singing automatically. So does Linda.
For the first verse of the song, while the rest of the choir hurries onto the risers, straightening their robes and looking back for Patricia, Linda and I sing alone, together.
It feels strange.
It feels wrong.
It feels right, too.
I can’t help noticing our voices go together very well indeed.
With cheerful heart I close my eyes,
Since Thou wilt not remove;
And in the morning let me rise
Rejoicing in Thy love.
We finish the song with the rest of the choir. The crowd applauds, much harder than it did for me, but the applause isn’t as loud as it was for the first part of the show. No one knows what to think of what just happened.
When the show ends I stumble offstage with everyone else, trying not to trip in my too-high shoes, and look for Patricia.
But everyone else already found her.
She’s in a far corner surrounded by a group of girls from the band. Before I can get through, half the Glee Club and the Girls’ Ensemble are around her, too. Even the Balladeers join in. Five girls throw their arms around Patricia while she sobs.
I want to tell her it’s all right, that everyone gets nervous, but I can’t penetrate that circle of white girls.
Before I can figure out a way to try, one of the Balladeers—a crooked-nosed friend of Linda’s whose name I’ve never learned—separates herself from the others and takes a step toward me.
“Why couldn’t you leave her alone?” she says.
“What?” I sputter. “I only tried to help!”
“You had to show off, didn’t you? Couldn’t you tell she was already nervous enough?”
“I didn’t have any choice,” I say, even though the girl is partly right. It was prideful, the way I sang out there. Pride is a sin.
The girl ignores me and goes back to the circle. I catch Patricia’s eye, hoping she’ll defend me. Instead she scowls.
She detests me just as much as the rest of them.
Backstage is nothing but hateful faces. Soon the parents will come in and it’ll be even worse. I have to get away.
There’s a girls’ bathroom to my left. I duck inside before I can think of a better plan.
The room is empty. Everyone else is still too interested in gossiping. I lock myself in a stall and climb on the toilet seat so anyone looking underneath won’t see my dark ankles.
Only a second goes by before the first wave arrives.
“Can’t believe she would do that,” one girl is saying. “Patricia’s so sweet. She didn’t deserve to be treated that way.”
The door swings open again. More voices, more giggles. The bathroom is full. I recognize Linda’s voice in the crowd, and Judy’s, but they aren’t talking to each other.
“Well, I can believe it,” another girl says. “They’re a nasty people, all of them.”
“Maybe the Nigra didn’t do it to be nasty,” an unfamiliar voice says. “We don’t know if—”
The other girls talk over her.
“Oh, she meant to do it, all right,” the first girl says. “My mother says there’s nothing wrong with most colored people, but these integrators all take after their parents and the NAACP. All they want is to stir up trouble.”
“They’re Soviet infiltrators, that’s what I heard,” another girl says. “Like the Rosenbergs.”
“I thought the Rosenbergs were white?” someone asks.
“I can’t even keep track of what they’re after,” another one says. “I’m just angry they ruined our senior year.”
Then everyone is talking at once, about me and my friends, and how integration will be the end of their town, and how it’s ruined their whole year, until I can’t understand the words anymore. At first it’s a relief. Then one voice rises above the rest.
“Why, whatever do you mean, Donna?” Linda says. She sounds light and good-humored. It’s strange—I’ve only ever heard her arguing. She sounds like she’s acting in a play. “I’d hardly say the integration has ruined your senior year. When you and Leonard were out at Bailey’s the other night, it looked to me like you were enjoying yourselves just fine. I bet you weren’t thinking about integration then.”
Everyone laughs. Donna says, “Well, no. That night, I had other things on my mind.”
Another girl says, “I bet you weren’t talking about integration in his car later, either.”
Donna protests, and everyone breaks into scandalized giggles. I’m glad they can’t see me roll my eyes.
Still giggling, the girls splash in the sinks, fix their makeup and pat their hair. The door opens and closes again and the sounds fade until there are only two sets of feet left in the room. I recognize those feet.
I peek through the gap between the stall doors. Judy is leaning into the mirror, compact in hand, sliding on her makeup with painstaking strokes as Linda watches.
“You can go,” Judy says. “I told you, I don’t need your help anymore.”
Linda tugs at her hair. “I miss talking to you. That’s all.”
“I wish you’d leave me alone,” Judy says. “I told you, I don’t like it. If people find out we’re in here together—”
“No one cares.” Linda tosses her hands up. “No one else knows about that, all right? No one’s going to say a word if they see you with me.”
“Well, I know what you did. And it’s wrong.”
“I know,” Linda says. “You’ve told me a thousand times already.”
I can’t believe it.
They’re talking about that.
It’s the first time I’ve heard anyone say it happened. That I didn’t just dream it.
There’s no way I can come out of this stall now.
“You’ve got to be careful,” Judy says. “Everyone will talk about you.”
“No one would’ve found out.” Linda fiddles with the taps, turning them on and off again. “I’m not stupid enough to let that happen.”
“I found out,” Judy says. “I wish I hadn’t. Don’t bother asking me to forgive you, because I won’t.”
I don’t understand. Why is Judy upset with her? What happened in the back room was my fault, not Linda’s.
“I’m not asking that,” Linda murmurs.
“Good. Now would you please leave? I don’t want somebody finding us in here alone.”
“You’re being silly,” Linda huffs.
There’s a long pause where Linda watches Judy in the mirror. Judy doesn’t say a word. She keeps her eyes fixed on her reflection and strokes her makeup into place.
Linda bites her lip. Then she’s gone, the bathroom door swinging behind her, the click of her high heels on the tiles fading into silence.
I keep watching Judy in the mirror, waiting for her to leave so I can go, too. Then she turns around.
“You can come out, Sarah,” Judy says. “I saw you looking through the door.”
Oh.
I come out of the stall. Judy’s makeup is done now. She watches me in the mirror, her eyes tracing my every movement.
At first I wasn’t sure what to make of Judy, but once we started spending time together those afternoons at Bailey’s, I got to like her quite a bit. She was sweet, and she could be very funny sometimes. It got so I could always relax around Judy.
That’s long over now.
“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry about Linda,” Judy says after a second. “I didn’t know, or I’d have warned you. I mean, I wouldn’t have been friends with her in the first place if I knew, of course, but—oh, you know what I mean.”
I blink, lost. “What?”
“It’s all right. You don’t have to pretend it didn’t happen. I was there. And anyway, she told me all about it.”
“She did?” I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping the pain will make me forget the sudden pounding in my chest, the ringing in my ears.
“Yes,” Judy says. “I can’t even imagine how awful it must have been for you. I mean, that sort of thing isn’t normal. It isn’t natural.”
Wait.
Linda told her all about it?
All about what?
Because it sounds like Linda might have said—
Like maybe, just maybe—
But I can’t ask. Not without giving something away. I have to play along.
That’s easy. I don’t even have to lie.
“I know,” I say. “Of course it isn’t natural. It’s not Christian.”
“That’s right.” Judy snaps her compact closed. Her frizzy brown hair falls across her thickly made-up cheek. “Ugh, I can’t even stand to talk about it. It’s revolting.”
“Yes, it is,” I say. “It’s just plain wrong.”
“I don’t know how you even endured it.” Judy fiddles with her compact. Her hands are shaking. “I swear, I had no idea Linda was like that. Please, you have to believe me.”
She meets my eyes. Her lip is quivering.
“Of course I believe you,” I say.
“You’d think if you knew someone long enough, you’d—well.” She shakes her head. She looks about to cry. “But she promised me she’d leave you alone from now on. You should be safe.”
I don’t understand Linda’s trick at all.
Why would she lie to Judy? Say it was her fault?
What could Linda possibly stand to gain from that? She lost her best friend. She may well lose her reputation.
“Did you tell anyone?” I ask. “About Linda, I mean.”
“No.” Judy laughs without humor. “Are you kidding? Ugh. I don’t want anyone thinking I’d be friends with someone like that.”
I’m safe.
I’m safe.
I’m so relieved I could hug her, but when I reach for the tap on the sink to wash my hands, Judy edges her arm away from mine.
She never used to do that before. She was one of the only white girls who didn’t shy away when I passed her in the hall.
She didn’t mind when I was only colored, but now that I’m tainted with something else, Judy’s not taking any risks. Whether it was my fault or not.
I can’t blame her. I’d do exactly the same thing.
“Thank you,” I say. “For telling me, I mean.”
“You’re welcome.” She turns on the tap two sinks down from mine and sticks her hands under it, even though she washed them before she did her makeup. “I also wanted to say, it wasn’t right what they were planning tonight. That’s why I got rid of Gary. I’m sorry about how it turned out, though. I didn’t know Mr. Lewis didn’t have the music.”
“You got rid of Gary? I thought he got rid of himself. Wasn’t that what Linda meant yesterday when she tried to—”
I stop talking when I see Judy cringe. I shouldn’t have mentioned Linda. Now Judy thinks we were up to more of that unnaturalness yesterday.
“I thought you would’ve heard,” she says. “Everyone was talking about it. Gary’s plan. It wasn’t even his idea, it was his girlfriend, Carolyn’s. She told Gary to play your song wrong. Move the notes on the piano up until they were so high you couldn’t sing them. So you’d sound bad. They were talking about it all through rehearsal before you got there.”
Oh. That’s what Linda was trying to tell me.
I wonder what would’ve happened if Carolyn and Gary’s plan had worked. Maybe I would’ve broken down onstage like Patricia. I shiver.
Why did Linda try to warn me? Why did she lie to Judy about what happened?
What in Heaven’s name has Linda been thinking all this time?
I’ve missed her so much.
Those long afternoons arguing with her. Laughing at her frustration as she tried so hard to make an argument she didn’t even seem to believe.
I told Linda things. Things I don’t tell my other friends.
I’ve always kept to myself. I never really talked much with the girls at Johns about what I was thinking or feeling. We just talked about school, and television shows, and what we’d do that weekend. I never talked about much more than that with my friends back in Chicago, either.
I talk to Ruth the most of everyone. And Mama. But they’re family. I worry too much about disappointing them to tell them what I’m really feeling.
I thought it had to be that way. That I had no choice but to stay quiet, with only my own thoughts to keep me company. I never thought there was any other way to live.
Until I met Linda.
Of all people, I had to pick her.
Except I didn’t pick her. I didn’t plan any of this. It just...happened.
There’s so much I don’t like about her. She’s absurdly stubborn. She’ll say anything it takes to make her point. She’s determined to prove herself right, no matter the consequences. She’s far too opinionated for a girl.
But...I’m all those things, too.
That’s why Linda and I argued so much. That’s why I liked it.
It was fun, in a strange way. It distracted me from everything else. From all the hard parts.
With Linda I didn’t have to put on a brave face and pretend none of it bothered me. I didn’t have to play the nice girl or the big sister. I didn’t have to be anyone but me.
I miss that. Even though it was wrong, I miss spending time with her.
But what if it wasn’t wrong?
No. That’s foolish to even think. It’s wrong because God says it’s wrong. Who do I think I am, questioning the will of God?
But thinking about Linda doesn’t hurt the way it used to. There’s none of that wrenching feeling that used to come every time I remembered that afternoon. I wonder what that means.
Judy is looking at me in the mirror, her eyebrows raised. I struggle to remember what we were talking about.
“So where was Gary tonight?” I ask.
“I, uh.” Judy smiles, but only for a second. Then her face goes cold again. “He lives in my neighborhood. So I told Mom about how Gary put ants in Miss Whitson’s soup last week. Mom told Gary’s mother, and she grounded him for two weeks.”
“Oh.” That almost makes me laugh. I hadn’t heard about the ants in Miss Whitson’s soup. “Won’t he know you’re the one who told?”
Judy shrugs. “Maybe. But someone had to. It isn’t right, the way they treat you and the others.”
I want to hug her again.
I wish I could still be friends with Judy, but that’s over now. All because of one mistake.
“Thank you,” I say. “That was really, really nice of you.”
“Tonight,” she says. “You sounded—good.”
“Thank you.”
I want to tell her I’ll miss her, but there’s no point.
She won’t miss me back.
Lie #21
WHEN I GET backstage, they’re all there.
Mama, wrappin
g me in a tight hug. Bobby, wanting me to pick him up. Frances, smiling awkwardly. Ennis, squeezing my hand and telling me I sounded beautiful. Ruth, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one is sneaking up behind us.
They’re so happy, and I’m so lost, and all of them are talking at the same time, and there’s so much noise and confusion I almost don’t hear the man off to the side saying, “Bunch of Communists.”
Daddy hears, though. He stiffens and turns toward the man. It’s the father of one of the girls in the ensemble, Brenda Green. Brenda is cowering next to him. At first I think it’s because she’s embarrassed for her father. Then I realize she’s just scared of Daddy.
“Robert, don’t,” Mama murmurs.
“I’ll have you know my family are all God-fearing Christians,” Daddy says to the man.
The man looks less sure of himself now that he’s face-to-face with Daddy, but he shakes his head. “I know who you are, boy. I read what you wrote in the Pilot. Sounded socialist to me.”
“What I wrote about in the Pilot was equality,” Daddy says. “Equality is an American principle. It’s what our nation was founded on.”
Mr. Green scoffs.
“It’s the truth, sir,” Ruth says. “It’s in the Declaration of Independence. ‘All men are created equal.’ Thomas Jefferson wrote that, and he was as American as American can be.”
Mr. Green stares down at Ruth, speechless.
“Ruthie, honey, hush,” Daddy says, putting his hand on top of Ruth’s head the way he used to do when she was little, crushing the pink bow she’s tied into her hair.
The fight has gone out of Daddy’s eyes. He just looks tired.
Mr. Green puts his arm around Brenda and they turn away. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
“All right, it’s time for us to go,” Mama says as though none of that just happened. “We’ll celebrate Sarah’s success over at the Morrisons’. You ought to come, too, Ennis, and your parents of course.”
No. Ennis can’t come. I can’t sit next to him on a sofa and pretend to feel something I don’t. Not tonight.
“That’s very nice of you to extend the invitation, Mrs. Dunbar,” Ennis says. Out of the corner of my eye I see Linda and her parents walking toward Brenda and Mr. Green. I look away fast. “I’ll have to speak with my mother, but I’m sure we’d be happy to.”