Fire from the Rock

by Sharon Draper

  “You have to make this right, Reggie.” Sylvia sighed, knowing that things had forever changed between them. “Somehow you have to fix what you messed up.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” he said helplessly. “Maybe I ought to just leave town like my dad says. I’ve got relatives in Cincinnati. If I stay, I’ll go to jail. I’m not scared to face my punishment, but I can’t help anybody if I’m locked up.”

  The thought of Reggie in jail made her head swim, but the idea of him cutting out on his responsibility made her ill. “You can’t run away from this,” she said. “That really would be the coward’s way out.”

  “I’ll be back one day,” he said vaguely. “But not until I make my parents, and you, proud of me again. I’m going to get a job—maybe two jobs, and I swear, even if it takes a hundred years, I swear I’ll pay them for what they lost.” For the first time, Sylvia noticed, he held his head a little higher. “I promise on my life.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Sylvia said sadly. “I had such stupid teenaged dreams about you and me. Lace curtains and picket fences and flowers in a garden someplace in a make-believe world. You’ve spoiled it, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. But those dreams weren’t stupid,” he told her, his face drawn and serious. “It’s just that the real world isn’t as pretty as we hoped.”

  “But we can try to make it better,” Sylvia insisted. “Come in the house and talk to my dad,” she said. “He might be able to figure something out.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t. I’d be ashamed to face him.” Reggie turned away from her.

  “Be a man, Reggie!” Sylvia’s eyes flashed with anger. “The whole town is going to know what you did very soon. There might be a better solution than running away with your tail tucked. White folks expect the worst from us anyway. Don’t give them the satisfaction of being right.”

  Monday Night, August 19, 1957

  Daddy is a miracle worker. He convinced Reggie to confess to the police, and apologize to the Zuckers and the Cobbs. They aren’t pressing charges, but Reggie still has been charged with vandalism. Daddy says he’ll be tried in juvenile court, and he’ll probably only have to do community service, or pay something toward the damage. He’ll have to drop out of school, for now, at least, I suppose. I’ve never known a dropout. I always thought they were bad kids who got in fights and skipped school and made bad grades. Not kids like Reggie who I’ve known all my life.

  He has already promised to work and give his paycheck to the two families every week. Like his little dollar-an-hour job is going to make a difference! They’ve got lives to rebuild. Reggie can’t pay for that. It’s amazing how families in the neighborhood, both colored and white, are kicking in to help them rebuild. Mr. Herman from the hardware store gave them lumber; Mr. Massey from the dry goods store offered paint; and women from all over have been taking the two families food. That makes me feel good, especially with all the ugliness still burning in the city. The Mothers’ League is still stirring up hatred, and the newspaper is still printing articles that predict World War Three if integration happens.

  The past two nights I’ve had terrible dreams about the fire and explosions, about how close I came to death. Everything was so hot, so very red. It’s like my brain is full of color and smoke. I wake up screaming and Mama comes in to soothe me.

  Reggie is out of my life. I won’t be seeing him anymore. That hurts, but only a little. Too much real pain floating around. I want to feel sorry for him, but he went too far. I finally get a boyfriend and he turns out to be all mixed up. Maybe Rachel was right—he was just training wheels for the real thing. All I know is I have a big burning hole inside of me. I feel like a dancer with no partner.

  dance with me my agony

  brittle on a shelf

  dance beyond my misery

  lost within myself

  tears and pain tears and pain

  memories return

  dancers never leave the stage

  fires always burn

  dance away dance away

  dance away from fear

  spin around spin around

  spin and disappear

  mama! mama! hug me quick!

  i dreamed you flew away!

  you perched on the back

  of a large green bird

  with feet like clumps of clay

  mama! mama! hug me tight!

  and wake me from my sleep!

  you smile as i dance

  to a dark stale song

  and tears like mud i weep

  mama! mama! hug me now!

  i dreamed of shadows past

  you watched as i burned

  in the cold dark fire

  like hope that could not last

  WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 21, 1957

  Dressed that morning in a new blue and white sailor-styled blouse and navy blue skirt, Sylvia felt refreshed. Her mother, who always sensed exactly what her children needed, knew that for once, homemade wouldn’t do. Instead of making the outfit on her sewing machine, she had brought it home from the department store and left it on Sylvia’s bed the night before.

  “Thanks, Mama,” Sylvia said with pleasure as she twirled around in the full skirt in her parents’ bedroom. “It’s beautiful!”

  “It’s a back-to-school outfit,” her mother replied, her tone practical, but she smiled as she said it. “Don’t get it mussed and dirty before the first day. You’re going to school with white children—I expect you to act as pretty as you look.”

  The thought of going to Central made the sunny day seem suddenly cloudy, but Sylvia refused to focus on that today. “You know I’ll always do my best to make you proud, Mama,” Sylvia said, sitting on the edge of her mother’s bed.

  “You always do, child. Maybe I don’t tell you often enough how proud I am of you.” She reached over and squeezed Sylvia’s shoulder. “You shine in school, and you make good decisions, even if they’re difficult sometimes. Sometimes my heart can’t hold all the joy you bring me.”

  Sylvia glanced at her mother and was amazed to see she was blinking away tears. She shifted on the bed, unused to emotion from her strong, practical mother. “Can I ask you something, Mama?” Sylvia asked softly.

  “Of course.” Her mother got up, sniffed, and fluffed a pillow.

  Sylvia took a deep breath. “Reggie looked like a piece of carved chocolate candy to me. The sound of his voice made me shiver. He even smelled like something good enough to lick off a plate. So if I’m so smart, why couldn’t I figure out he was just a piece of cardboard?”

  Her mother laughed out loud. “Oh, Sylvie, women have been asking that question since Adam and Eve! It sometimes takes a lifetime to figure out men. You’re young—you’ve got plenty of time to find the right one for you.” She gave her daughter another squeeze. “Any man who wins your heart is a lucky fellow, you hear me?”

  “How did you know you were in love with Daddy?” Sylvia dared to ask. She didn’t want anything to disturb this moment of closeness with her mom.

  “It happened two weeks after our wedding day.”

  “After you got married?”

  “Well, I knew he was special, and I knew I cared about him deeply—deep enough to promise the rest of my life to him, but love is not bells and flowers and a pretty white dress. It’s something deeper.”

  “I don’t get it.” Sylvia was fascinated.

  “We’d been married two weeks and it was pouring rain that day. I was on the bus, coming home from work, and all I had on was my new pink cotton dress. I didn’t have a coat or umbrella or hat. We lived in a tiny apartment three blocks from the bus stop. I just knew I’d be soaked by the time I got home.”

  “So what happened?”

  “As the bus approached my stop, I could see your father standing there, sopping wet, with a puppy-dog grin on his face, holding a big black umbrella, a shiny yellow raincoat, and a bouquet of red roses. It was then that I knew I loved him. And that he loved me.”

&nb
sp; “Wow. That’s a really good story. Why haven’t you told me before?”

  “I don’t know. You were too young to understand, I guess.”

  Sylvia almost didn’t recognize the soft, dreamy woman who was smoothing the covers on the bed. Surely this couldn’t be her prim and proper mother. Sylvia wished this conversation could last forever. “Did you and Daddy meet at church?” she asked.

  Her mother laughed. “I never told you where I first met your father?”

  Sylvia shook her head. Her parents rarely talked about their youthful years. All Sylvia knew of her parents’ marriage was the black-and-white photo on the mantel. It showed two serious-looking younger versions of her parents standing stiffly in her grandmother’s living room. Her mother, slim and smooth-cheeked, dressed in a high-necked, white lace dress, stood next to a very slim young man with dark, curly hair and a look of fierce determination on his face.

  “I met him at a jitterbug contest!” Sylvia’s mother admitted with a grin.

  “You’re kidding!” Sylvia almost fell off the bed.

  “I was sixteen, and he was the best dancer in the county. All the girls wanted to take a spin on the dance floor with that handsome hunk, Lester Patterson.”

  Sylvia couldn’t picture it. Not her solid serious father. “Grandma let you go to a dance contest?” Sylvia asked incredulously.

  “I was supposed to be at the library, but Bessie let me tag along that night. Even she wasn’t supposed to be there, but she was older and always has been the saucy one. Grandma would have killed us both if she had known.” She chuckled at the memory.

  The image of her mother being a teenager and sneaking into dance halls was almost too much for Sylvia to handle. “Did Grandma ever find out?”

  “Yes, eventually. Mothers have a way of always figuring out everything. But by that time he was courting me proper, and coming to church with me every week. Grandma was crazy about him. She told me, ‘That boy is more than breath and britches, Leola. Hang on to him.’ She was right.”

  “When I find a boy like that, will you tell me?” Sylvia asked.

  “Absolutely! I guarantee to make sure you know my opinion on every young man who shows an interest in you from now on.”

  “I shoulda kept my mouth shut,” Sylvia said with a grin, feeling easy and comfortable with her mother for a change. “Not that there’s much chance of me finding a boyfriend at Central,” she added ruefully.

  “You’re going to school to learn, not find a husband,” her mother replied, a briskness returning to her voice. “I want you to stand tall, walk with dignity, and feel the pride the whole community carries for you.”

  “Not everybody thinks this integration stuff is a good idea,” Sylvia said carefully.

  “You have to live by your own set of standards, Sylvia. You can’t let others make decisions for you.” Mrs. Patterson tidied up the room as they talked, picking up her husband’s socks and tossing them into a laundry hamper.

  “I feel so stupid sometimes—like I’m walking around knee-deep in mud and haven’t got sense enough to get out of the cornfield.”

  “Like I’ve been trying to tell you—your father and I were young once, Sylvia. And we made lots of mistakes. Your road is not an easy one. Nobody expects you to travel it perfectly.”

  “It’s hard to imagine you and Daddy as ever being young and foolish. I figured you just appeared one day, fully grown and knowing all the answers,” she teased.

  “I was silly and headstrong like you can be sometimes, and your father was very much like Gary—always conscious of insults and discrimination. Your father rarely did more than complain, however. Gary’s got more guts.”

  “What about DJ?” Sylvia longed to keep her mother talking.

  “She’s a great mix of both of us—opinionated and outspoken, but needing constant reassurance that she’s on the right track. She’ll be the lawyer of the family.”

  “We’ll probably need her to get Gary out of jail one day!” Sylvia said, only half-joking.

  Mrs. Patterson sighed. “I hope not. Maybe this whole situation with the fire has calmed Gary down a little.”

  “Would you be disappointed in me if I ran away from all this racial confusion and joined the circus?” Sylvia asked.

  “Now your brother I’d almost expect to see on the back of a decorated elephant,” her mother replied with a smile. “But I would expect you to be in the front office of the circus, running the show and collecting ticket money. You’re just that kind of young woman, Sylvia.”

  “What’s this I hear about a circus?” Gary asked as he popped his head in the bedroom door.

  “Want to run away with me to perform for Barnum and Bailey?” Sylvia asked. “I hear they have openings for flame-throwers and trapeze artists. We could be a dynamic duo!”

  “Would Mama come with us?” Gary asked with a grin.

  “What’s the sense of running away from home if you take your mother with you?” Sylvia asked, feeling silly.

  “Well, who would fix us blueberry muffins every morning?” He strode across the room and enveloped his mother in a bear hug.

  “Quit, boy,” she replied, but it was clear she was enjoying the moment.

  He released his mother and looked at Sylvia. “I’d love to run away with you, kid, but I gotta stay here in stupid old Little Rock. This is my senior year and I’m gonna fool everybody by settling down and graduating!”

  Mrs. Patterson beamed. “That makes me real happy, Gary.”

  “I know, Mama. But I’m still gonna keep an eye on Sylvie and all the folks who plan to use violence to stop integration. I’m not going to let anybody at Central hurt her. The circus might need her one day.” He winked at his sister.

  In spite of the lightness of the conversation, every time the mention of Central High School came up in conversation, Sylvia felt the mud thicken around her.

  FRIDAY, AUGUST 23, 1957

  The weather had been amazingly hot and humid all week. Sylvia and DJ took turns trying to cool each other with a cardboard church fan, but all it did was stir the hot air around their faces.

  After dinner, when the family was well-fed and relaxed, Sylvia decided it was time to tell them her decision. She smiled to herself, marveling over how many important discussions in their family were settled over plates of macaroni and roast beef. It’s a good thing we eat so much—we’d never get anything figured out in this family otherwise!

  “I’m going to call Miss Daisy Bates this afternoon,” Sylvia began without introduction, “and have my name removed from the list of students who will integrate Central High School.”

  “I’m glad,” DJ whispered.

  Sylvia’s mother moved next to her daughter and hugged her. “You know you’ve got your family behind you, no matter what you decide.”

  “I know, Mama,” Sylvia said, her shoulders shaking.

  “Did Reggie have something to do with your decision?” Gary asked.

  “Probably a little. But this is about me, not Reggie.”

  “You know you’re smart enough and brave enough, and probably even cute enough to make it at Central,” Gary teased. “Are you sure you want to drop off the list?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” Sylvia looked at her brother, her head tilted to one side. “You know, Gary, although I really wanted you to be the one they chose, there’s a reason they didn’t ask you to be one of the students to go to Central.”

  Gary started pacing, his long legs striding nervously across the floor. He grabbed the broom from his mother and started sweeping. “I know. Too hotheaded for my own good,” he mumbled over the swooshes of the broom.

  “Reggie looked up to you and your friends. He wanted to be like you—a quick-change artist of problems that have been around for hundreds of years. I don’t think he was ready for the big time. He’s just a kid.”

  “Is Reggie still your boyfriend?” DJ asked.

  Sylvia smiled sadly. “I guess he’ll always be my very first love. But he can’t
be my today love. It’s not like in the songs on American Bandstand, DJ. Sometimes love gets all messed up.”

  “That’s the saddest thing I ever heard,” DJ said wistfully.

  “But I’m not leaving the list because my boyfriend was the one who tried to burn down Little Rock. It’s because of me. I’m not the person I thought I was. I’m not brave and noble, like everybody seems to think.” She took the broom from her brother. It gave her something to do.

  “What do you mean, Sylvia?” her father asked. “Nobody could ask for a finer young lady than you—you’re smart and pretty and poised and confident. Those Central people couldn’t find a better prospect than my Sylvia,” he said with sincerity.

  “Thanks, Daddy. That means so much to me.”

  “So what’s the real reason you’re not going to try to be one of the integrators, Sylvia? Is it because of the fire? Because of people like the Crandalls?” Her father leaned forward in his chair.

  Sylvia took a deep breath and leaned on the broom. “I almost died in that fire. Even though I was really scared, I found out I’m not afraid to die, which really surprised me. And I’m not afraid of the Crandalls or people like them. What terrified me when I was lying on that floor is that I’d never get the chance to learn what I needed to learn, never have the time to do what I needed to do.”

  Her father beamed. “That’s my girl! You’ve been paying attention to my sermons, haven’t you?”

  “Not really, Daddy,” Sylvia admitted with a chuckle.

  “I don’t get it,” DJ said.

  “I need what the colored school will give me for the next four years. I have to suck up as much pride and dignity as I can while it’s there for me. Integration will happen eventually, and we’re gonna lose something when it does—that feeling of being special when we walk in the school yard because it’s just us.”

  “Isn’t that what I’ve been saying all along?” DJ screeched. “Nobody listens to me!” She rolled her eyes dramatically and flopped on the sofa.