Rush

by Lisa Patton

  “I think that’s ridiculous. If the person is qualified she should get the job. Regardless of the color of her skin.”

  “I never said anything about the color of her skin being the reason. I said she doesn’t have a college degree.”

  “Yes you did. You just said there are no other black House Directors at Ole Miss.”

  She’s playing with her hair, looking out the window. From where I’m sitting, I can see her breathing accelerate. After a few moments she turns and looks me at me with ireful eyes. “She is unqualified, Wilda. Our bylaws require that she have a college degree. End of story.”

  “But we could amend the bylaws if we found a candidate with all the other necessary qualifications. Surely.”

  “Are you honestly telling me you’re okay with this?”

  With my eyes locked on hers I say, “I’m not only okay with it. I’m one hundred percent behind it. Miss Pearl is smart, dedicated, organized, polite, witty, and a great influence—not only on the Alpha Delts as a whole, but, more important, on our own daughters. I haven’t noticed one thing that would tell me she’s not qualified.”

  She tsks again. “I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree. Obviously we place different values on a college education.”

  My pulse is throbbing in my temples and my poor heart is trying desperately to leap out of my chest. I vowed to stay calm, but now it’s impossible. I had a feeling that’s where she was headed, but actually hearing her say these things has made me sick, and sad, and frankly this is where the rubber meets the road, as my grandmother liked to say. You either stand up for what’s right, or you don’t. My wuss has morphed into a warrior. “I have to be honest with you, Lilith. I don’t care about the color of her skin. I am not a prejudiced person.”

  Lilith gasps.

  The dead air stretches on for an excruciating thirty seconds while the hair on my arms stands straight up.

  “I am not a prejudiced person, either,” she finally says. “For your information, I have given plenty of our hard-earned money to blacks. Have you forgotten I employ a black woman in my own home?”

  “No, I have not. I—”

  “And—for your further information—after Katrina hit, our church took up a special donation for the poor black people of the Lower Ninth Ward. I”—she taps on her chest several times—“was the very first person to stand up in front of the congregation and lead the way to the collection box.”

  Lilith’s stab of pathos hits me harder than it should. I’ve heard of people snapping over the small stuff, but this comment sends me sailing over the edge. “I’m sure you did. As long as you knew people were watching.”

  By the look on her face, our friendship, or what she perceived as friendship, has just ended. “I should have never nominated you for the Advisory Board.”

  “You’re right. It was your fatal flaw. I know exactly what you did.”

  “What are you talking about now, Wilda Woodcock?”

  “Your little switcheroo,” I say, holding up my hands and fluttering my fingers.

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Of course you do. I know what you did, Lilith, and so does everyone else on the Rush Committee. We can’t prove it, but we all know.”

  For a brief second, and I mean brief, it appears as though Lilith regrets her indiscretion. Her shoulders slump and her eyes close. But a moment later, she stiffens. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. This conversation is over!” The force of the wind whirling outside is no match for Lilith’s will. She lifts the door handle, uses her Prada heel to shove the car door open. Then she steps out onto the pavement, slamming the door shut behind her.

  FIFTY-FOUR

  CALI

  Right after Miss Ophelia’s burial, Ellie and I head back to the dorm, straight up to my room. I remember Jasmine telling me she had a big English project today, and would be in the library most of the afternoon and into the evening. The room is dimly lit from the thunderstorm outside, but I don’t bother to turn on the light when we walk in the door. Somehow it feels appropriate to embrace the weather today. The darkness makes me ponder the funeral and how sad Miss Pearl looked in her black clothes walking down the center aisle of the church. Afterward, everyone was saying it was like Miss Ophelia was here one day and gone the next. No one even knew she had cancer. And now our pledge class will never get to know her.

  Between the wind and the rain and the sudden drop in temperature, both Ellie and I are freezing. It’s hard to get warm. So we pile up in my bed, and pull the comforter on top of us. “I feel terrible for Miss Pearl,” I say once we’re settled in. “Miss Ophelia was like her mother.”

  Ellie’s lying on her back, sharing my pillow. “I don’t even want to know how I would feel if my mother died.” Suddenly she turns her head toward me. “I’m sorry, Cali. I shouldn’t have said that. You know exactly what it feels like.”

  I’m still staring straight up at the ceiling, dying to tell her the truth. What’s holding me back? Am I afraid she won’t be my friend? “It sucks,” I simply say.

  “But your grandparents were just as good. Isn’t that what you told me?”

  “They were better, actually. Way better.”

  She turns to her side, facing me, propping herself up on her elbow. “What was your mother like?” She asks me this question with hesitancy, like she’s not sure if she should.

  I breathe in and breathe out. “I hated her.”

  From the corner of my eye I see her flinch. “Why?”

  Turning my head toward her I say, “Do you really wanna know?”

  “Only if you wanna tell me.”

  “She’s a meth head.” Surprisingly, I don’t freak out when I say it. I stay calm.

  “Was a meth head.”

  I shake my head. “I lied. She’s alive. At least I think she is.”

  Her eyes are as big as pumpkins now. I’ve no doubt shocked the shit out of her.

  “She lives in California, where she ran off with some guy when I was five years old. We really don’t know if she’s dead or alive. I lied because I’m so, so embarrassed and ashamed of her.” Shame is rolling around inside my gut, the way it has a zillion times before, but I’m still unruffled.

  When she reaches out to touch my shoulder, Ellie’s face is painted with compassion. “Don’t be embarrassed. I don’t care. I mean, I do care about you.” By the sound of her voice, and the way she’s trying to assure me, I can tell she’s sincere.

  “Yeah, but what about the rest of the girls in our sorority?”

  “We don’t know them yet, but I can’t imagine any of them would care either.”

  “When I got dropped from Rush I was sure it was because someone found out about her. And held it against me.” An image of my mother, the last time I saw her, floats across my mind. She’s in our living room looking pretty, the way I remember her, until she opens her mouth and I catch a glimpse of her teeth, chipped and black.

  “Like who?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But I have a theory.”

  Ellie leans in curiously. I’ve got her attention. “What’s your theory? Tell me.”

  “Remember when Mrs. Whitmore asked me if my name was California, back at the first football game?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She was right. My real name is California. My mother named me that because she always wanted to live there. On Bid Day, Mrs. Whitmore lied to my grandparents. She told them I wasn’t pledging Alpha Delt and called me California to my face. I’m convinced she went poking around Blue Mountain to find out about my past. I’m almost positive.”

  “Oh my God. I can’t imagine she would do something that mean.”

  I shrug. “Like I said, it’s just a theory. Maybe I’m wrong.” Looking straight at her, I say, “Please don’t mention it to Annie Laurie.”

  Her mouth gapes open. “Are you kidding me? Of course I won’t.”

  A loud bang followed by a chorus of giggles out in the hall—a p
erfectly normal occurrence for Martin—momentarily stops our talk. Any minute now someone will barge into my room, but I want to continue our conversation. It feels like I’ve lost fifteen pounds admitting the truth to Ellie. “I’m sorry I lied to you, El. It’s just been so damn hard. For me … and my grandparents.”

  With an understanding nod, she clasps my wrist. “What about your dad? You never mention him.”

  “Never met him.”

  Her eyebrows bounce on her forehead. Now I’ve really shocked her.

  “Nope. My mom got pregnant with me her senior year of high school. She never told me or my grandparents who my dad is.”

  “Oh, Cali. I’m sorry.”

  “I overheard my grandparents talking one time. They think they know who he is. There was this older, redheaded guy who taught at Blue Mountain College named Will Smith. I remember his name because of the movie star. They suspect it was him, but no one knows for sure. Somewhere along the line my mom became rebellious because of her strict religious upbringing. At least that’s what Papaw thinks.”

  “Do you want to find out who he is for sure?”

  “Sometimes, but I’m not burning to know. Maybe one day. I wish my mom had put me up for adoption. But then again, I have the greatest grandparents in the world. If I’d been adopted, well, you know. I wouldn’t know them.”

  “You’re lucky there. I love my grandmother, but she’s a piece of work. And I never knew my grandfather. What little my mom remembers of him is great, though.” She slips out of the covers and moves off the bed. “I’ve got to get out of this dress. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay. Shut the door behind you, please.”

  The click of the door brings silence back into my room and as I lie here waiting for Ellie to return, the day my mother left me is as vivid as it was thirteen years ago.

  “Just stay right here on the porch till I get back, okay?” Mama said, handing me the worn, dirty stuffed pony I’d had since I was born. “Neigh will keep you company. Don’t move off this porch, California. Do you hear me?”

  While my chin quivered, I poked my bottom lip out. I had no other response.

  “Do you hear me?”

  A man she called “Babe” had his head in the trunk of a beat-up Mustang, rearranging all kinds of stuff to squeeze in my mama’s suitcases, her boom box, and a picture of the California coastline she had painted in high school. Our only pet, Frisco, the eleven-year-old beagle I loved with all my heart, hopped into the backseat and settled against the rear window. He had been my mother’s thirteenth birthday present from my grandparents.

  “Mamaw and Papaw will be home from work in fifteen minutes, okay?”

  “Where are you going?” Clutching Neigh in my arms, I stepped toward her.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She hurried back inside the house. Seconds later she was running down the front steps with Frisco’s dog food. And his bowls.

  “At this rate it’ll take us a month to get there,” Babe said impatiently, never once bothering to look my way.

  “Who’s he?” I asked, pointing my finger right at him. My left thumb was in my mouth, fingers gripping tightly around Neigh’s tail.

  “Just a friend.”

  I saw him cut arrogant eyes at her. But I didn’t know why.

  Mama knelt down in front of me at eye level. Put her hands on both my arms. “All you have to do is climb up in this chair.” She patted the seat of the rocker. “Sing your songs till Mamaw and Papaw get here, okay? The time will go by like this.” She snapped her fingers. Her eyes were watery and red. I didn’t think she looked pretty.

  Babe folded his arms, tapped his foot. “Any day now, Jennifer.” I didn’t like him. Or the way he was dressed. Dirty. Ugly. Mean man.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Quit your whining.” When she coughed, it lasted longer than normal.

  “Are you okay, Mama?”

  Pulling me into her chest, she wrapped her arms around me. With my face buried inside her hair, the smell of smoke filling my nostrils, I could hear Babe start the car engine behind us. When she let me go my eyes filled with tears.

  “Listen here. There’s nothing to cry about, okay? You’ll only be by yourself fifteen minutes.” She backed her way down the steps and out to the car.

  “No, Mommy. Please don’t go.”

  After sitting down in the front seat and closing the door, she rolled down her window. At first I thought it was so she could stick her head out and wave. But I was wrong. She put one of those smoky sticks to her lips and propped her elbow on the windowsill.

  The engine roared as Babe screeched down the road and made a left on Mill Street toward the highway.

  Suddenly the door flies open and Ellie hops on one foot back into the room wearing sweats and a long sleeve T-shirt. “Uhhh,” she moans, holding her toes.

  “What happened?”

  “I stubbed my big toe on Annie Laurie’s stupid orca. There’s no room for that giant thing and it’s totally in the way. She just uses it as a catchall for her dirty laundry.” She closes the door then crawls into her spot on my bed, against the wall.

  I wrinkle my nose. “Poor you.”

  She sighs, wraps herself underneath my comforter. “Oh well. What can you do?”

  After a few seconds I look straight at her. “I’ve been thinking about how Miss Ophelia had cancer and didn’t know it. That’s, like, insane scary, Ellie.”

  “I know.”

  “Miss Pearl said something about her not having health insurance so she never went to the doctor. But she also said Miss Ophelia was stubborn. ‘Stubborn as an old grape-juice stain.’”

  “Not even Obamacare?”

  “Evidently not.” I reach over for the cooler cup resting on my nightstand and take a big swig.

  “I wonder why she didn’t have health insurance. Does Miss Pearl have it?”

  Swallowing in a hurry, I say, “I asked her that and she said no. Nobody on the staff has health insurance. Except Mama Carla.”

  “Do you know why?” Ellie’s brows are knitted together.

  “I asked her that, too. She said it’s not offered.”

  Ellie scrambles up, leans her back against the wall. “That’s, like, so wrong. I wonder why that is?”

  “I don’t know. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.” We sit in silence another minute without talking. “Ellie?” I finally say.

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe we could, like, do something about it.” I sit up to face her.

  “Like what?” She leans in toward me as if she can’t wait to hear what I’m thinking.

  “What if everyone agreed to make benefits for our staff our pledge-class philanthropy project? I mean, think about it. They work so hard. They make sure everyone has amazing food—three meals a day—and that the House looks like a showplace. I know this is, like, an intangible, but look at Miss Pearl. She’s like a mom and she’s probably the nicest lady I’ve ever met. Honestly, and I’m not just saying this, I wish she was my mom.”

  Ellie reaches over and touches my knee. “I’m glad you have her.”

  “Wait till you get to know her. You’re gonna love her.”

  “I know I will. My mom adores her. I can’t wait to know everyone who works at the House. Staff benefits is such a great idea.”

  I take another sip of water. “I was thinking we could raise the money ourselves. At least for their health insurance.”

  “How would we do that?”

  “I don’t know, a big car wash, maybe? We did those for our high school cross country team.”

  “Nah. That wouldn’t make enough. How about yummy Krispy Kreme doughnuts?” She laughs, pulling her knees to her chest. “I don’t know. There has to be something we could sell.”

  “We need something big. I have no idea how much we need to raise, but it’s more than likely going to be several thousand dollars.”

  “I have an idea,” she says, sitting up straight. “Maybe we could pick out the pret
tiest tree in the Grove and sell the chance to name it. How about we make an appointment with Jeff Vitter—the Ole Miss chancellor—and ask him for permission? We won’t know unless we try.”

  “That’s a great idea! Who knows, maybe he would donate his time and let us add a dinner out with him and his wife? I bet all the parents would be willing to buy a ticket.” All this talk is igniting a spark I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to quench. It’s, like, the very thing I’ve been searching for.

  “My parents would buy ten,” Ellie says.

  “How much do you think we could sell them for?”

  Ellie shrugs. “I don’t know. Twenty dollars apiece?”

  “Surely, that would be an easy sell. I mean, if there are, say, four hundred fifty girls in the sorority and every parent bought one ticket, that’s nine thousand dollars. That would go a long way.”

  All of a sudden Ellie gasps. I mean, I’ve never heard her make a sound like this. Her face lights up like she’s just won the lottery. “Cali! I just thought of something big.” She drums her feet on the mattress as fast as a hummingbird flaps her wings.

  “What?”

  She squeals. And throws her arms up in a vee.

  “You’re killing me. What?”

  With elation on every inch of her face, she beams at me. “Eli Manning. We could sell tickets for an evening out with Eli Manning!”

  I rear back. Look at her like she’s gone mad. “I mean, come on, Ellie, Eli Manning? How in the world are we gonna get him?”

  “My dad. He’s met him before. They were both Sigma Nus. Not at the same time, but they’re still brothers.”

  “Okay, so what makes you think he can swing something like that?”

  “If you knew my dad, you wouldn’t even have to ask that question.”

  FIFTY-FIVE

  CALI

  We head straight to the House to find Selma James. The whole way over from Martin, Ellie and I had our fingers crossed hoping and praying she hadn’t left for dinner. There’s no meal tonight. In honor of Miss Ophelia, Mama Carla gave the staff the day off.

  After skipping every other step up to the second floor, we actually find Selma in her room with the door open. She’s sitting quietly on her bed reading. After knocking softly, we poke our heads in and wave. I think she’s surprised to see us. She motions us in, then slides off her bed. “What’s up, you two?” she asks while walking toward us. The first thing she does is give us hugs. “It’s been a hard day, huh?”