by Scott, Jamie
‘Well, Mirabelle, welcome. And this must be your young man we’ve all heard so much about.’
Henry bowed deeply and introduced himself. Mirabelle flushed with pride.
‘Everyone loves you, Henry,’ she whispered.
‘Everyone?’
‘Um hmm.’
‘Well that sure is good news to hear.’ He guided her on to the dance floor. ‘Say, how about if we take your parents over to Tybee Island tomorrow? Do you think they’d like that?’
She smiled yes, from the end of her tether. Despite barn–sized hints about their future, she remained unable to persuade her heart’s desire to utter the words she so longed to hear. She knew he loved her. Otherwise he wouldn’t keep courting her. And he showed her his affection in a thousand little ways. She wished she could just come out and ask him his intentions, but that flew directly in the face of good manners. So she redoubled her efforts to be irresistible to him.
Chapter 18
My parents were whispering again. They should have known that their amateur attempts to keep things from me only sharpened my resolve to hear them. I watched their fight through the balusters at the top of the stairs.
Duncan paced a hole in the living room carpet, forcing his voice into a crouch as he ranted. ‘...I couldn’t stand by and listen to her any more. The things she was saying! You know, we’ve been lucky here. I was starting to think things weren’t as bad as we thought. But to hear that ignorant woman! It really made me see red.’
Ma’s reasonable voice interceded. ‘Duncan, just please be careful. You can’t expect to get away with badmouthing a tenured professor. Come on, you know that, you’re smarter than that. What did you say to her?’
‘I wasn’t impolite but I made my point.’
‘How not impolite?’
‘I told her she should stop a minute and think about the feelings of the men and women she was running down.’
‘What’d she say?’
‘Nothing.’
‘That’s good. What’d she do?’
‘She didn’t do anything, not in front of me anyway. I bet she made tracks to Hawes, though, and let him know how she felt about me.’
‘Duncan, this isn’t the way to change things. Hawes can fire you if he wants to. Then where will we be?’
‘I’d get another job.’
‘Oh for Pete’s sake, where? How long did it take you to find this one? Who else’ll hire you without any references? Think what we went through before. Honestly, I don’t know about you sometimes.’
‘What am I supposed to do, Sarah? Don’t you believe in what we’re doing any more? Is that it? Should I just sit back and tolerate what I see? Is that what you’d like?’
‘No, of course not. You know it isn’t. But you’re not doing anyone any good, not yourself, not us, and not the people you’re standing up for, by picking fights with the faculty. You told me you wanted this job because you’d have the chance to change the students’ minds. That you have to get to them while they’re young to have any chance at all. So don’t worry about the adults. Their ideas are their ideas. They’re not likely to change. Work on the students. That’s what you wanted to do in the first place, wasn’t it?’
‘Sarah, what’s wrong with you? You’re changing.’
‘I’m not changing, Duncan, and you know it. I’m the same as I’ve always been. You’re the one who only sees things in absolutes. All I’m trying to do is help us live here peacefully. That’s all.’
‘We can’t compromise on this, Sarah. We can’t give in, not one inch, or we may as well not do anything at all.’
‘I’m tired, Duncan. Why can’t you see that? We’re not twenty any more. This isn’t Boston and you’re not your brother. There’s May to think about.’
‘For the love of Mike, who do you think I’m thinking about! I don’t want our daughter growing up in a world where people are murdered for the color of their skin.’
‘I know that. You’re a good man, a good father. I’m just tired of fighting so hard against everything. I’m not suggesting that we give in, but we have to choose our battles here. For my sake, as well as for theirs. Otherwise we’ll fail before we’ve started. That’s all I’m saying.’
After a long time, Duncan sighed. ‘Okay. You’re right.’
‘We need to be reasonable.’
‘Reasonable.’
‘Okay?’
‘Okay.’
They looked at each other across an expanse much wider than the couple feet of carpet between them.
Their fight worried me. Ma had backed Duncan’s schemes my whole life but there had to be a limit. If she got fed up she might make us leave him. Or she might just leave us. I didn’t think she’d really do that, but who knew? I worked myself into a tizzy over being a child from a broken home. When Fie wanted to know what was wrong I told her everything. She wasn’t the least bit worried. Did they sleep in the same room? Yes. Kiss goodnight? Of course. Speak to each other? What a question.
‘You don’t have anything to worry about, May. Your parents are normal. Better than normal. Be happy you don’t have my parents. They hate each other.’
‘Truly?’ She’d never let on that her home life wasn’t a happy one. She always seemed cheerful, though thinking about it, I’d never been to her house and the one time I met her mom I wasn’t overwhelmed by her warmth.
‘Truly. They don’t even speak most of the time, except through me.’ I prompted her for details.
‘“Fie, tell your father we’re going to Reverend Wood’s pot luck dinner tomorrow night. And he better not dare have a drink before he goes.” “Fie, you tell your mother she can go scratch. I’ll have a drink with my pals if I want to.” I’m always in the middle.’
To tell the truth I asked more out of curiosity than anything, hoping to be titillated with horror stories. I didn’t have the vaguest idea how to comfort her. ‘Has it always been like that?’
‘Um hmm, for as long as I can remember. Once my mother told me that she married my father because she was scared she’d end up an old maid otherwise.’ My friend’s eyebrows knitted together. ‘I swear, I’m not going to marry anyone unless I’m head over heels in love with him. Like Mirabelle loved Henry. Even if I get really old I’m not going to settle.’ Really old for us was the unimaginable chasm past thirty.
A dark thought niggled my conscience. My parents had married because of me. Maybe they wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t come along. Fie listened without interrupting while I told her about the shotgun wedding that marked my family’s beginning.
She stayed unconvinced that my parents wouldn’t have pledged their troth anyway. ‘You told me that your parents embarrassed you because they kissed and hugged in public right?’ I agreed. ‘Do they still do that?’ They did. ‘So how can you doubt that they love each other?’
I let Fie comfort me. They’d been through an awful lot together. If they didn’t bust up when Duncan was looking for another job and none of our neighbors were talking to us, there wasn’t any reason to think Ma was going to reach the end of her rope now. She must have believed in what Duncan was doing or she wouldn’t be teaching Eliza to read despite my griping. In the wake of our introduction neither of us saw the need for further pleasantries so mainly we left each other alone. She was a smart girl, Ma said, and was coming along quickly. I couldn’t care less if she’d been nominated for the Nobel Prize for literature. I didn’t want her in our house. Savannah had nine institutions of learning for blacks in nineteen forty–seven. Surely one could find it in its heart to accommodate Dora Lee’s daughter and her inconvenient work schedule.
My father must have thought that libidos only worked in the dark. He didn’t object to my weekend dates but drew the line at letting me see Clay at night. We made the most of our afternoons, Clay and I, rambling home through the Southside, stealing kisses in broad daylight. Every so often we went to Duke’s to dawdle over empty glasses until the clerk told us to leave the stools for paying customer
s. The weekends were for honest–to–goodness dates.
The Lucas Theater saw a lot of me on Saturdays and I kept my promise to stay out of the balcony, in word if not in deed. Cinemas were the wellspring of teenage romance all over the country and we did our part to uphold the tradition. Clay generally threw himself on me before the opening credits rolled and he got bolder over time. The elasticity of my fortitude didn’t do my credibility any favors, but eventually I decided enough was enough.
His hand was gamely finding the limits of my patience on the front of my blouse. I pulled my face away from him.
‘What is it?’ He whispered.
‘Clay, stop being fresh. I mean it.’
He unwound his arm from my shoulders. ‘I didn’t mean to make you mad. It’s okay, we’ll just watch the movie.’ With a prim pat on my knee he sat straight in the seat, looking awfully interested in the film.
Like most sixteen year olds I was just starting to catch on to why women made such a fuss over men. It was exciting beyond description. I certainly didn’t want Clay to stop kissing me, only to cease his dogged exploration of my torso. I held out the hope that his arm would resume its familiar position. When it didn’t, I settled into him, leaning my head on his shoulder. He took my none–too–subtle hint and rested his arm across my neck. But he didn’t kiss me again until we said goodbye on my doorstep.
Ma liked to think that because she wanted to talk about boys, I’d feel inclined to do the same. Fat chance. Nobody suffers that mortal embarrassment for a parent’s wise advice. Teenage discussions about sex were the exclusive domain of friends. One afternoon, while pretending to study in my room, I asked Fie how far she’d go with a boy.
She instantly deserted her algebra for the more intriguing subject. ‘That depends, do I love him?’
‘Let’s assume yes.’
‘Are we engaged?’
‘No. But you’ve been out a lot.’
‘Are we going to be engaged soon?’
‘For Pete’s sake, Fie, we’re sixteen! We have to go to college first.’
‘Right, well you didn’t say how old we were, did you?’
‘We’re us, now. How’s that?’
‘I’d kiss him, certainly.’
‘What else?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What ... other stuff? You know.’
‘I’d French kiss him.’
‘And?’
‘I’d hold hands?’
‘Would you do anything else?’
She giggled.
‘Come on Fie, this is important. Let’s say the boy was getting fresh, trying for more than kissing. Would you let him?’
‘You mean like touching me under my blouse?’ Red blotches grew on her cheeks.
‘Yes.’
‘Under my bra?’
This was no trifling achievement in those days of wires, wadding and whalebones. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m not sure. I think he should love you very much to do that. Is Clay trying to, do that?’
He was. And he’d nearly made it before I stopped him. I knew he’d try again. I wanted him to try again. There was something wrong with me. My parents had done their best, but they’d raised a pervert.
A few days later, Clay offered to walk me home after our Saturday rendezvous. Now that autumn was upon us, dusk came quicker, and by the time we got to Forsyth Park the light was beginning to bruise. We walked hand in hand, passing only a few people hurrying along the path.
He ushered me to a bench secreted away under a stand of ancient oaks. We sat close watching the evening gather together.
‘This is nice, May. All of it. I’m really happy to spend time with you, you know... I like you a lot.’
My feelings jumped to attention. He was only the second boy in the world who’d shown the slightest interest in me, though I’d pined for my fair share of them. Tingles rolled around in my belly and forced a smile out of me. I thought this must be what love feels like, and bit my lip to keep from blurting out words to that effect. We sealed our affections with a kiss, and then another. Warming up in the cinema seats gave us a head start, and before long we were necking on the bench. I didn’t give a hoot who saw us. Clay stroked my arm. Then his thumb brushed against the cup of my bra. Through all the padding, I could just feel it. I let him. He held steady for a few moments before giving my blouse an experimental tug. I didn’t resist. His stroking became more diligent beneath my blouse as he rooted around under its cotton. Clay was rounding second base! I pushed the thought from my head and kept kissing for all I was worth.
We were lying almost flat on the bench when he started to reach under my skirt. I batted his hand away a couple of times, but without much conviction. Each time, he occupied himself again with the mysterious workings of my bra before redoubling his efforts a little more insistently. When he reached my underpants I sat up and told him to stop. My voice let him know I meant it.
‘Sorry, May, I thought you liked it.’
I did, and said so. It just seemed a little premature given that we weren’t even officially an item.
‘Fine. Suit yourself.’ He shifted to one side of the bench and sudden modesty rushed to cover me. I scrambled to right my disheveled ensemble.
‘Clay? Say something. Are you mad?’
‘No.’ Yes, definitely.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes! We’d better make tracks. It’s getting dark.’ Our walk to my house wasn’t far, but Clay’s footsteps were heavy with censure, mine with amends.
Chapter 19
News spread like chicken pox through the school as the kids infected each other with whispers about me. In each class I stepped over the threshold into sentences stopped dead, hushed by guilty voices. I asked what was going on, but no one would let me in on their secrets. I was hounded by the idea that Clay had been ungentlemanly in his recounting of our date. By lunchtime I saw my guilt in every pair of eyes averted at my glance. I had to ask Jim what was going on.
‘They know what Duncan said to his student.’
I stopped chewing my sandwich, foreboding trickling between my shoulder blades. What was he talking about?
‘Last week. In his class. He told Jimmy Seibert’s brother he was an ignorant bigot for his views on Negroes. Personally I think he was probably right, your father I mean, but he wasn’t very smart talking to folks around here like that. It’ll get him into hot water before long.’
It had me in trouble already. I couldn’t finish my sandwich. Jim watched me with his eyebrows knitted together, but didn’t say anything else.
I had class with the girls after lunch, where my small talk met only with cursory acknowledgments. I tried to goad myself into not crying, but my tear ducts had other plans, spilling warm droplets over my cheeks. I wiped them away, but once they started, they wouldn’t let up. With what little dignity I had left I walked out of class. The hallway blurred as I stumbled to the bathroom. Duncan was bent on ruining my life, and I hated him for it. I stayed in that tiled haven for an hour thinking of all the reasons I had to despise my father. By the time the bell rang, I had no tears left. My eyes made no secret of their recent undertaking. They were puffy and red. I thought about hiding in my safe little stall for the rest of the afternoon, but knew I couldn’t, so I took a deep breath and walked back among my classmates.
I don’t know who started it. A whisper caught me as I moved to my locker. ‘Nigger lover.’ The hair stood out on the nape of my neck. Another voice chimed, this time louder. ‘Nigger lover!’ More followed, chanting. The kids had stopped their hurrying, stopped and were looking at me. ‘Nig–ger lov–er nig–ger lov–er nig–ger lovv–errr.’ Maybe all the kids joined in, maybe some kept quiet. It didn’t matter. The message was unmistakable. And aimed at me. One of the boys, Clay’s friend, addressed me. ‘May, are you a nigger lover like your daddy?’
My world hinged on that question. Was I like Duncan? Was I? ‘No!’ I shouted at the faces who accused me.
Min
ty was at my elbow. ‘No, what, May?’ Her voice wasn’t unfriendly. And I said the words my classmates wanted to hear. The words I wanted them to hear. I’m not my father so please don’t punish me for his crimes. I want to be your friend. I need you to accept me. ‘No, I’m not a nigger lover like my father.’ The words were sour in my mouth, but I kept them out there for my friends to see.
They forgave me my father’s trespasses. That afternoon, and the ones that followed, were tinged with relief on all sides. They made jokes and explained why what Duncan said was so wrong. I laughed and sympathized along with them all, my friends.
Duke’s belonged to my classmates long before I ever set foot across Georgia’s borders. The stalwart class of some–time–well–before–my–time staked Savannah High’s claim on its gleaming counters and vinyl stools probably not too long after the first soda fountain was installed. It wasn’t that the Commercial High kids, or those from Cathedral or St. Vincents couldn’t come in. They could, and sometimes did. Presumably, though, they had their own gleaming counters and vinyl stools to call home. So we were mainly kindred spirits enveloped in the froth of fountain drinks. Not all of our classmates had the money or inclination to sit inside, though. The troublemakers liked to dawdle out front. They were the kids who smoked, got detention and had parents who spent a fair amount of time talking with the Vice Principal. They were po’white trash. Mostly we ignored them and they us, at least until their shouts caught our attention, as they did one Friday afternoon. Some of us stood up, craning our necks to see who was making all the noise. Angry voices became more insistent. A current ran through the group. Everyone moved for the door.
The existence of two black boys in the road was the cause for all the fuss. I relaxed a little and tried to hear what everyone was exercising their vocal chords so strenuously about.