The Girl on the Outside

by Walter, Mildred Pitts;

  “I hope you don’t have any trouble going home. And don’t you worry one bit about being late getting here.”

  Eva rode beside her father, sensing the danger they were in. They could be followed, forced off the road, even shot at before they got home. Only the sound of the motor interrupted their silence.

  Her father knew every street in Mossville and several routes to their house. Now they took only side streets driving with their lights out. Slowly, slowly they made their way home.

  Would they ever get home through those dark side streets? Eva leaned forward, her body willing them home.

  Just as they neared the turn-off on the road leading into their section of town, a car came up behind them. Her father speeded up and turned. The car followed. Headlights glared in their rear-view mirror.

  Cold sweat rolled down Eva’s sides. She looked at her father. He kept his eyes fixed on the road. They were almost home.

  Suddenly the car cut around them with the horn blowing. “Turn on your lights, Roger,” someone shouted.

  Eva and her father laughed with relief. They had been followed by a friend. Her father turned on the lights and drove home safely.

  The house was dark, but her mother met them at the door. She breathed a great sigh and said, “Thank God, I thought y’all would never git here.”

  “Blood will flow in the streets.” The radio news used those words again and again. Eva sensed her mother’s fear as she watched her pace up and down from room to room.

  “Did Aunt Shirley go home?” Eva asked.

  “Yeah, and took Tanya, thank God. I’ll be so glad when this is all over. Oh, Eva, I wish … I wish.…”

  “Turn off that radio and don’t listen. That’s nothin’ but confusion,” her father said.

  “How we gonna know if we don’t listen?” her mother asked.

  “We heard what the governor said with our own ears. That is just a rehash and a lotta hearsay,” her father said. “Let’s now wait for the word of the judge.”

  “Mrs. Floyd said she will come and tell us any change in news, Mama. Try to calm yourself. Everything is all right,” Eva said.

  “Oh, you and your daddy. I just wish you two wasn’t so stubborn.”

  “You call it stubborn, Mama, some people call it hopeful.”

  “Like a bee buzzing ’round a tar bucket,” her mama said.

  “Oh, Mama,” Eva cried in anguish.

  “Baby, I didn’t mean it like that. But I’m scared and worried. How do we know if them soldiers here to do a job for us, or on us?”

  “We’ll have to see what the judge says tomorrow, Mama. If it’s not safe, I promise I won’t go.” All at once, Eva felt exhausted. “Let’s go to bed. I just might have to go to school tomorrow.”

  She lay in bed listening to the crickets. A dog far away howled at the stars and the sound of neighbors’ muffled voices floated through her window. Lying still, Eva tried to force sleep.

  But sleep wouldn’t come. She tossed and turned. She dozed, but awoke immediately with a start, her eyes having lost the sleepiness. A mockingbird sang trill after trill. Eva marveled at such a powerful sound coming from so small a throat.

  Finally the heat drove her from her small bed. She stood in the window bathed in the light of the million stars and the song of the mockingbird. For a moment she felt a surge of joy. It was as though she were one with the stars and the bird’s song. Nothing else mattered. Oh, what peace! But it lasted only for a moment.

  Then she thought of Grandma Collins and how she had known peace and happiness with her. But that was before she knew that drugstore ice cream could be as good, or better, than that made at home. When had she learned that? She could not remember the exact time or place. Nor when she had learned that she was different and that the difference was measured only by color. She did not know when she had learned that no matter what she did she could not overcome that difference for she could not shed her skin. But she knew that after knowing, her world changed. She learned to be comfortable with herself and to expand within those boundaries of her dark hue. It was like attaining the security in learning to read a map. Once you know, you can never get lost again.

  The song ceased. Only the silent stars remained. The dark, hot night closed in on her and she longed for the peace of sleep. Back on her bed, Eva floated between sleep and wakefulness. Then she was in a place where doors were wide, tall, and strongly built with small windows too high up to peep through. She was going from door to door knocking—knocking wildly—feeling an urgency to get inside. But there were no answers. She became frantic, running from door to door, knocking as loudly as she could. Then just the sound of knocking seemed to be all around her, pushing through her window and beneath the door, raising her up. She started up. The knocking was at their front door.

  Eva jumped out of bed. “Daddy, Daddy,” she called. “Somebody’s at our door.”

  When she entered the living room, her father was standing with the gun in his hand. He was about to open the door.

  “No! No, Daddy, don’t open the door,” Eva shouted.

  “It’s me, Mr. Collins,” a voice rang out.

  “Who?” shouted her father.

  “It’s me, Mrs. Floyd.”

  Eva stood in the middle of the room shivering. Cold sweat poured off her, even though the night was hot.

  Tension showed in her father’s voice. “What is it this time o’ night?”

  “Tell Eva she is not to go tomorrow. Our lawyers and the superintendent will let us know when, after the judge has made his decision.”

  Oh, no, Eva thought, but she could not say a word. She listened until the sound of Mrs. Floyd’s car was lost in the distance. “Poor Mrs. Floyd, out here this time of night,” she said. Then Eva went back into her room.

  She heard her father moving about and wondered what time it was. Just then the cuckoo clock struck two. She sighed, knowing there were still hours ahead for troubled sleep.

  Chapter 12

  The ringing telephone woke Sophia and stirrings below indicated the household was up and about. The news on the radio immediately recalled last night’s shattering spectacle. Sophia turned over in anger, her throat and chest tightening.

  A door closed below and the sound of Burt’s car made Sophia look at the clock. Six-thirty. The morning news continued to spiral upward to her room, and even though she could not clearly understand all that was being said, she knew this morning was not a usual first day of school.

  Again a door closed. Soon the sound of her father’s car backing out of the driveway came simultaneously with a flash of light shimmering on her wall—a reflection of the sunlight on the moving car. Already the sun was fierce.

  Sophia stretched, feeling she had not had a moment’s sleep. She lay trying to understand her unexpected exhaustion. Never before on the eve of the beginning of school had she gone to bed so unhappy and awakened with such a bitter feeling, regretting the day.

  She loved school, and always before she had looked forward to its opening, preparing days ahead what she would wear, with whom she would walk, and what the whole day would be like. But this morning, she had no rousing enthusiasm. She did not want to go.

  A delightful aroma floated around the room as Sophia drifted between sleep and wakefulness. M-m-mm, she thought. She sprang up—waffles! All the hunger of yesterday forced her out of bed. Suddenly she felt a welling up of happiness. Ida was back.

  Clad only in her pajamas, the trousers cut off to her thighs, she raced down the stairs, her hunger mounting. The pleasant aroma engulfed her as she drew closer to the closed kitchen door.

  She burst through. “Good morning. Gee, I’m starved.”

  Her mother was sitting at the glass-topped table on the back porch adjoining the kitchen, writing on a small notepad. On the kitchen countertop, the old-fashioned, round waffle iron gleamed as steam from cooking waffles poured out of its sides. Atop the stove, crisp strips of bacon were placed on paper towels, with little bubbles of fat s
till waiting to be absorbed. The sun shone through the window reflecting on the yellow curtains, brightening the whole room. Everything was in place.

  Ida was pressing a garment, her body positioned with her face toward the back porch. Suddenly Sophia had a strange sense that she was seeing this room and Ida in it for the first time. Then she remembered Rod and what she had felt when Grit bolted. That feeling had been fear, but what she felt now was different. She was not only seeing Ida as she was at the moment, but as she had been over the years.

  It was Ida who wiped up spills, kept their clothes clean, and cooked the best meals. It was Ida whose parties were always a success, and Ida who was there to nurse them through illnesses, and to share their trials and triumphs. Only once in twenty years had she refused to come in every day of the week. For that she was fired. A storm of fury swept the house when Sophia’s father demanded that her mother call Ida back.

  Now as Sophia stood there she looked at her mother, trying to see the woman who had resisted and lost, who finally, in tears had asked Ida to come back.

  Just then, Ida turned and flashed a smile. “It’s about time y’ was up, lady.”

  Sophia looked into Ida’s black, almond-shaped eyes and at her dark, smooth-skinned face with its chiseled nose and well-shaped mouth.

  Why hadn’t she seen this exotic beauty in Ida before? Suddenly she realized that she knew nothing at all about this woman who had been in their household ever since she could remember, intimately bound up in her life. Surely Ida must know everything about her. Again she thought of Rod.

  How could it be that she had not really seen Rod before? But she had seen him. He was there, to her, in the same way Grit was there. The way the tack room, the reins, and saddle were there—for her use, for her convenience.

  Is that the way it was with Ida, too? No. She would not see Ida as one of them. She would not be afraid. She stood still, trembling, telling herself straighten up, walk past Ida, sit down at the table, and act natural.

  “I didn’t sleep at all. I’m exhausted,” she said falling into a chair at the table with her mother.

  “Y’ might be exhausted, but it sho’ ain’t from no lack of sleep,” Ida said and laughed.

  “You calling me a liar?” Sophia shot back. She saw the surprised look on Ida’s face, but she didn’t care. She knew there was no cause for the anger rising in her. Still she let it take control. “How’d you know whether or not I slept?”

  “Y’ was either sleep or playin’ a mighty good game at it when I was in y’ room this mornin’,” Ida said matter-of-factly as she prepared a plate with waffles and bacon for Sophia.

  “And what were you doing in my room?” Sophia asked angrily.

  “I asked her to get your dress and press it,” her mother said. “Now you behave yourself.”

  Ida set the plate before Sophia.

  “I refuse to eat waffles without syrup,” Sophia said without looking up.

  When Ida placed the syrup on the table, she left the kitchen.

  “You don’t walk out while I’m talking to you,” Sophia shouted after Ida.

  “Sophia!” her mother said.

  “Come back here this minute, Ida,” Sophia screamed.

  “Sophia, now stop that nonsense,” her mother said softly but firmly, when it was clear Ida was not coming back.

  “Who does she think she is, calling me a liar.”

  “What is wrong with you? Ida was in no way hostile to you.”

  A voice on the radio interrupted the music with a news bulletin:

  The superintendent of schools has announced that the nine Negro students scheduled to enroll at Chatman will not report this morning. I repeat … will not report.… All other students are expected to attend school as scheduled.

  Sophia’s anger left her no energy to hail the bulletin as good news. She was so overwhelmed the food turned her stomach, and she pushed away from the table, feeling weak. The stairs were difficult, but she made it to her room determined that if Ida were there she would invite her out.

  Alone, she sat on her bed trying to understand what was happening to her. Her world was sharply divided between whites and coloreds. It had always been that way. It was supposed to be that way. “But why didn’t I know it?” she asked aloud. Why didn’t someone prepare me for all of this?

  A knock on the door made her freeze. Her heart pounded and her palms were clammy with sweat. It’s Ida. What will I say to her? Don’t let her in. Finally she answered, “Yes.”

  “I brought your dress,” her mother said. “May I come in?”

  “Come on.”

  The soft white shantung skirt and brown chiffon blouse with large white dots were pressed to perfection. Sophia remembered how she had asked Ida to help her choose a dress for the first day of school. They had chosen that one, and Ida had not forgotten. Suddenly the anger returned in full force. Tossing the garments aside she said, “I’ll not wear this today.”

  She charged into the closet to make another choice. Everything seemed out of place. The heat compounded her frustration and futility as she rummaged through the clothes. She breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed on her mother’s departure.

  It was now seven-thirty. Five outfits were scattered over the room and still she couldn’t decide on one. Why am I acting this way, she asked herself as she picked up the outfit Ida had pressed. It was, by far, the nicest. Why not wear it? No, she told herself, flinging the skirt aside. Ida must not be in control of my life. No longer will I be dependent on her.

  Finally, she settled upon a multicolored, striped cotton dress and rushed into the shower.

  Later, as she hurriedly put on the dress, she remembered, to her dismay, it was much too long and too big. Cinching a belt tightly at her waist, she glanced at herself in the mirror. She hated the way she looked, but now she had no time to change.

  As she did her hair, the phone rang. She thought of Arnold and grimaced.

  “It’s for you,” her mother called.

  Terribly excited, she almost tripped over her feet as she bounded down the stairs. It was Marsha. To avoid missing one another, they agreed to meet in the gym at first period.

  Hurt and disappointed, she dashed up to her room. The face that looked back at her from the mirror did not invite a pleasant smile, but Sophia tried. It was no use. She concluded that if the way she looked and felt was any indication of what her day would be, she was doomed.

  Sophia held her purse and notebook on her lap, as her mother maneuvered through the unusually crowded streets. Cars from out of state, mostly Louisiana and Mississippi, were everywhere. The heat was stifling and the glare from the bright sun hurt Sophia’s eyes. Wet with sweat, she felt weak, not only from the heat but also from not having eaten. Yet the choking fullness, the lump in her throat, refused to go away.

  Her mother kept her eye on traffic, looking calm and poised. The unbothered manner made Sophia uneasy; she wanted to scream at her mother, “Help me!” Instead she said, “I wish I never had to go to Chatman again.”

  “I know how you feel, dear. But I wish you wouldn’t worry so.”

  That response gave Sophia courage. She detected no pity in her mother’s attitude, but a feeling of alliance. She had expected some chastisement and was surprised but grateful that her mother understood.

  “How can I help worrying?” she said, not looking at her mother.

  “Your father is doing all he can to help the governor, legally, to avoid this.”

  “But what can be done?”

  “Be patient, dear, at least until the judge announces his decision today. I have hope. I don’t think he’d dare undo our way of life.”

  Her mother’s words made her happy. There was still hope. And maybe the soldiers were there to protect them as Burt had said. Actually, who were the outsiders? She wished she could be sure.

  By the time they came within two blocks of Chatman, traffic had slowed to a crawl. The heat in the car was unbearable. Sophia decided to walk. She
was amazed by the crowds on the street leading to the school. Sophia had never seen so many people, even on days of the most popular school events.

  Newsmen pushed in the crowd. National television crews, with cameras in hand, were all over the place. The crowd was tense but mostly quiet. As Sophia neared the building, she saw the soldiers spread in a line covering the front, their bayoneted rifles by their sides. Her heartbeat quickened and she flushed with anger.

  A tap on her shoulder forced Sophia around. It was Burt. Beside him was a young man with a light, reddish-brown beard. His brown eyes twinkled as he smiled at Sophia.

  Burt introduced her. She noticed the name, Per Laursen, Denmark News Service, on the badge the young man wore. When Burt announced the name, Sophia smiled and said, “Welcome to Mossville.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Knowing your brother, I guess it’s safe to assume you’re in accord with Negroes coming to your school.”

  Sophia looked at Burt. The beaming smile on his face when he had introduced her as his sister was still there. She wanted him to remain as proud of her as he seemed, standing beside this newsman from a foreign country. For the first time ever she felt ashamed of what she thought about Negroes coming to Chatman. But she would not lie. She gave a little laugh. “My brother always told me good newsmen never assume. They search for and find the facts.”

  “Give me the facts, Sophia,” Per said, laughing.

  “Ask my brother,” she said and darted through the crowd into the well-guarded building.

  Compared to the crowd outside, the building seemed deserted. Sophia suddenly felt sad and alone. What if the white students didn’t come? She made her way toward the gym to meet Marsha. She recognized no one about. Where was everybody? She thought of that crowd outside, of Burt and his foreign friend.

  The shame she had felt when asked the question rose in her again. It was quickly replaced by anger. Why should I be ashamed of not wanting them here? Suddenly she saw Ida’s face as it had been when Ida placed the syrup on the table. What was in that face? She tried to recall but could not. And what had Rod felt when Grit almost ran him down? Were they angry, hurt, humiliated? Rod had said nothing, as if the incident had never happened. Ida had only left the room.