Flygirl

by Sherri L. Smith

  Jenkins looks at his clipboard. “Oh, and one more thing.”

  We hesitate. His face is so serious, my stomach starts to sink.

  “Ladies?” he calls out.

  From out of nowhere, the rest of Flight One comes running, Patsy at the forefront, grinning like a maniac. They hoist us up onto their shoulders and bodily carry us to the wishing well in front of the ready room.

  “Congrats, ladies. You’ve made it!”

  They toss us unceremoniously into the water. It’s the happiest moment of my life. Although the water’s barely knee deep, we cause enough of a splash to make me grateful for my tightly braided pigtails and all of my time in the pool. Without hesitation, I reach down to the bottom and scoop up a few lucky coins to give to Instructor Jenkins. Even after the other girls pull us out, I can’t stop laughing.

  Christmas dawns cold and clear at Avenger Field. We have the day off. The cafeteria is decorated in red and green garlands that remind me of decorations in an elementary school. I’ve sent the awl off to Grandy, along with the chain and a new lock. Abel’s got two new pairs of wool socks for the winter. For Mama, well, I know she’s been praying over me and Thomas both, so I bought her a new hat for church. And for Thomas. Well, the last we heard, he was in someplace called Manila in the Philippines, south of China somewhere. I guess signing up for the WASP is the best present I can give Thomas. Anything to help him come home sooner.

  Instead of joining the other girls for breakfast, I drag a chair outside to the Beach to be alone. In the soft silence between the barracks, my eyes lose focus as I try to picture my family’s usual early, messy Christmas mornings, with Mama frying ham in the kitchen, me making biscuits, and Abel hopping around in a pile of wrapping paper. Thomas usually had some girl or other he’d beg Mama to let him go see that afternoon. Mama would say, “Christmas is for family,” but by three o’clock, she’d be glad to have him out of the house. The house was so full of noise and people on Christmas.

  But today, it’s quiet as a grave out here between the bunk-houses. Too cold for the sunbathers to make an appearance. And at home, I know it’s just the three of them now, with our usual pile of presents dwindled down by the war effort. There will be no new silk stockings for Jolene or bicycle tires for Abel, and no candy canes.

  “Boy, you look long in the face,” Patsy says. “You’ve been staring at the clouds all day.” It’s true. I’ve been hiding out here. Bundled up in a coat and hat, I’m not exactly worried about getting too much sun today.

  “With the planes grounded for the day, it was the only place I could think of to get some peace and fresh air.”

  “That doesn’t explain the sad face,” Patsy says.

  I shrug. “Been thinking about my family, I guess.”

  Patsy drags another chair behind her. She plunks it next to mine, sits on it backward, and joins me. “Oh, I gave that up a long time ago. But I do think about Mrs. Harper. And the boys at the air show. That was a great time for a while there. A really fun run.” Patsy holds up the scarf around her neck. It’s a nubby mix of purple and lilac.

  “Mrs. Harper made this for me during the last cold snap in Florida. She was everybody’s mother at the boardinghouse. You meet all kinds of people on the road, Ida Mae.”

  I nod, caught up in my own memories. It takes a moment for me to register her words. “Patsy Kake, that’s the first time you’ve ever called me by my Christian name.”

  Patsy smiles at me and shrugs. “It’s Christmas. When else am I gonna do it if not today? So, are you gonna sit out here all day, or tell me what’s on your mind, or neither? In which case we should go inside. There’s cocoa and coffee in the mess.”

  I laugh. “Hmm. Well, I guess I should make some sort of decision here.” I shake my head, at a loss for the right words. “Well. It’s just, we’ve been here for months now and it looks like we’re making it, Patsy.”

  My smile is wistful. She shares it with me.

  “And I haven’t said it until now, because being a WASP means everything to me.” I hesitate. “Almost everything.”

  Patsy’s face gets very serious, and I feel sad inside. “I miss my family,” I say.

  Patsy stares at me for a long time.

  “Oh, honey,” she says at last. “You really are green. It only hurts on major holidays. Besides, we’re your family now. Let’s find Lily and open presents. That always helps.”

  I can’t help but laugh at my own moodiness. “All right. As long as I can have marshmallows, too.”

  We get up and drag the chairs back to the door. “Marshmallows?” Patsy says in feigned surprise. “There’s a war going on, missy. We need those marshmallows to make bombs and fight the war!”

  The tension in my shoulders eases as the day carries on. There are Christmas carols in the rec room and a few games. Patsy gives me a handkerchief with the name Jonesy embroidered at the edge in the WASP uniform color, Santiago blue.

  “Something to remember us by,” she says. “Wipe the tears away at graduation in style.”

  Lily gives me a small bottle of perfume. “My mother swears by it,” she assures me.

  As for me, I give Patsy a new red lipstick “for after the war.”

  “Or just after finals,” she says with a wink.

  And to Lily, I give a set of hairpins to help tame her curls.

  “Oh, thank you, Ida. I’d be lost without at least seven bobby pins on either side. You’d think those turbans we wear eat them up, I lose so many of them.”

  All in all, the evening is homey and wonderful. After a big meal of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes, we wander back to our bunks, singing “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,” with some of the lyrics confused.

  No sooner do I sit at the foot of my bed than one of the beginning trainees comes to the door.

  “Is there an Ida Mae Jones here?”

  “That’s me.” I stand up, wondering what it could be. I hope it’s not something at the administration building. Post-holiday meal, my khakis are wrinkled and my clothes are simply too casual to have to take into Mrs. Deaton’s office.

  “There’s someone at the gate for you.”

  “Who is it?” I don’t know anyone in Sweetwater that doesn’t live on base.

  The girl shrugs, brown curls bouncing with the motion. “Don’t know. A nigger woman. Maybe your housekeeper?”

  She turns and leaves without another word. I do nothing but stare after her. Just nod and say nothing.

  “Well?” Patsy says. “You gonna go see who it is, or do I have to?”

  Her words shock me out of my thoughts. “No, no. I’ll go. See you soon.”

  “I hope everything’s all right,” Lily calls after me. “If our maid, Dorcas, showed up at base, I’d think it was the end of the world,” she whispers to Patsy. Her voice carries in my ears as I go out the door. End of the world. What would be the end of the world . . . ?

  In a rush, I realize who is at the gate and what it might mean. I break into a run, trying not to worry, not to think, just to get there.

  The MP points to the side of the guardhouse. I slow down, take a breath, and turn the corner.

  Mama is sitting there, on the little block of concrete that serves as a bench. She stands up when she sees me, and we stand there, looking at each other like each of us has never seen another human being before.

  I’d forgotten how beautiful she is. Her warm coffee-colored skin seems so dark to me after so many months away from home. I reach out and touch her arm.

  “Mama,” I whisper.

  Something, whatever it is that’s been building inside me all day, breaks in a great wave. I throw my arms around her, but she stops me. Her eyes dart over my shoulder, and I understand. The guard is watching us. I force myself to laugh and pat her on the back.

  “Mama Stella, how are you?”

  “Fine, fine, Miss Ida Mae,” Mama says in a voice so meek, so . . . Southern, it makes me feel sick to hear it.

  “What brings you to Sweetwater
?” I ask, as lightly as I can. “Is my family all right?”

  “Fine, fine,” Mama says in a high, wavering voice. “Your granddaddy sends his best and your baby brother, too.”

  Aware of the guard at our backs, we fall into the pattern of mistress and maid. Watching my mother play the role of servant, I feel a sour taste in my throat. I never meant for my own role-playing to bring her such humiliation.

  I don’t know this guard. He gives us a suspicious once-over, the look of someone trying to earn his status. “It’s all right,” I tell him. “She’s our housekeeper.” The word burns my throat, but we can’t afford his wariness. “We won’t be long.”

  Mama and I both smile at him. At last, he nods and disappears into the booth.

  “How’s Thomas?” I ask quickly.

  “Oh, Ida Mae,” Mama says, her voice strong and warm once again. Her eyes fill with tears. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a letter.

  “This came last week. From the army. They say that Thomas has gone missing. And you know, they don’t go back looking for colored boys.”

  My heart drops to my feet. “No.” I clutch Mama’s hand, still holding the letter. “No.” It’s like Daddy dying all over again. The world shrinks and it’s just me and Mama and fear and an agony of sadness. My heart stops beating. I can’t breathe.

  Mama shakes my hand, brings me back to her. “Ida, listen to me. They don’t go looking for colored boys just because their mothers ask . . . but they might do it for you. You’re a white woman now, and you work for the army. If that means something, if that means anything, then use it to help Thomas.”

  My head spins. Could it work? What would I say? I can’t call him my brother. A family friend? The son of my maid? Would they see our shared last name and know I am passing? Tears of shame sit heavily beneath my eyelashes. I feel like Judas to my own family.

  She steps back. “Look at you. You look every inch the lady. I can’t claim to understand what you are doing, but the day this letter came, I felt so helpless. Grandy went into town to see what the local recruitment office could do. All they offered was help with funeral arrangements, like he was already declared dead.

  “Every day I collect bacon grease for the war, but it’s useless, isn’t it? We can’t fight the war with rationing stamps and canned vegetables. We can’t save our sons by planting gardens. No matter what they say, we can’t. It’s not enough. My boy could be dying overseas, and I will not sit in the kitchen waiting for them to send his body home.”

  She reaches into her purse again and pulls out a handkerchief. She wipes her eyes. “You do this one thing for me, baby. You help bring Thomas home.”

  “I will, Mama.” This time, I don’t care if the guard is watching. I throw my arms around my mother and hold on to her like I’ll never let her go home. Tears flow down my cheeks, into her hair, onto her collar. She shushes me, like when I was little.

  “It’s gonna be all right, Ida Mae. Thomas is alive. I’d know otherwise. It’s all right.”

  And I pray to God that it’s true. I pray for my brother to find his way to safety. I pray for the strength to make it through this war, through this year, through this night. Hour by hour. I repeat the words.

  “What’s that, honey?” Mama asks.

  “Hour by hour, Mama. That’s how we’ll win this war.”

  Mama smiles at me. Slowly, we let go of each other until we are standing there again, staring like it’s the very first time.

  “What was it, that song you and Thomas used to sing?”

  I laugh, but it turns into a sob. “Shoo, fly.”

  Mama nods. “That’s right. How’s it go?”

  I shake my head, smiling sadly. She knows exactly how it goes. “You’re not gonna make me sing it.”

  Mama gives me a look, and I know better than to argue. She’s trying to make me feel better. I take a deep, shuddering breath.

  “Shoo, fly, don’t bother me. Shoo, fly, don’t bother me. Shoo, fly, don’t bother me. For I belong to somebody.”

  Mama joins me. “I feel, I feel, I feel like a morning star. I feel, I feel, I feel like a morning star . . .”

  I turn around. The guard has come back out of the guardhouse. I smile and wave, but we stop singing. He shakes his head and goes back inside.

  “I’d better go,” Mama says.

  Suddenly, I have so much to say. She can’t leave me. “Where are you staying? Are you in town?” I think of how hard it must be to find a hotel for coloreds out here.

  “Oh, no,” Mama says. “Don’t worry. I’ve got my train schedule right here. I’ll be heading back home in a few hours. I just needed to see you. And tell you about Thomas. This is the first Christmas we’ve all been apart.”

  “I know.” I pause, feeling like anything else I say will be useless. “Did you get the hat I sent you?”

  “I did. I won’t wear it until you both come home again.”

  “Oh, Mama, I meant for you to enjoy it now. Wear it and think of me.”

  Mama huffs. “Girl, I don’t need a hat to think of you. I never stop thinking about you or any of my babies. Now, finish up your work here and come home as soon as you can.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I salute her.

  “Merry Christmas, Miss Ida Mae,” she says.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  I think we might stand here for hours, just to be together again, but the guard sticks his head out of the box, and Mama looks at her watch.

  “I’ve got a train to catch.”

  She leaves the gate and climbs into a truck that I’ve only just now noticed has been waiting. Before I can even ask her who it is, I see the driver. An older, colored gentleman in overalls. It’s MacIntyre, the farmer from the hardware store. The man who saw right through me and made sure I knew it. I shiver at the memory of his warning.

  Mama turns and nods at me. “Grandy knows folks all over,” she says. And they drive away into the night.

  I stand there, bewildered, as they disappear into the deep black-blue of the nighttime grassland. It feels like a dream. And then I think of Thomas, and it becomes more of a nightmare. It’s several long minutes before I willingly leave the cold air of the gate to find my bed.

  “Is everything all right, Jonesy?” Patsy asks in a quiet voice when I reenter the barracks. I’ve missed lights-out. Everyone’s in bed except for Patsy and Nancy Howard, who is trying to read a book by flashlight three cots away.

  Patsy sits up when I come in. The light from the bathroom casts a dim glow across the bunkroom floor.

  “No,” I whisper, and sit on the edge of her bed.

  “Well, who was it?”

  “My mother . . .”

  I say it without thinking. Patsy looks at me, but I can’t read her face. Across the room, I can hear Nancy Howard sit up on her cot.

  “I thought that girl said there was a nigger out there,” Nancy hisses. She folds away the book she was reading and starts to stand up. My skin goes cold.

  “Sit down, Howard,” Patsy says. Her voice is low, but still sharp enough to make Nancy hesitate. “Can’t you see she’s upset?” Patsy puts her hand on my arm.

  “What happened, Ida?”

  “My mother’s maid came to tell me some bad news.” I take a deep breath and hate myself more than I ever thought possible. I shrug nervously. “She wanted my help.”

  “I thought you were a farm girl,” Nancy snipes. “Must be some farm if your mother’s got her own maid.”

  I press my hands to my cheeks as if I can hold back my blush. I’m too rattled to lie well.

  “I said leave her alone,” Patsy snaps at Nancy. “So what if they have a maid?”

  I don’t know if Patsy really believes me, but if she doesn’t, she never lets on. Nancy Howard sits back down on her cot, but I can feel her eyes boring into me.

  “What did she come to tell you, sugar?”

  I close my eyes and try to find the words. I will go to hell for this, I think. I should go to hell. My mother�
��s face looks back at me in the dark, my own mother who let me treat her like a servant just so she could talk to me. When the first tear rolls down my face, I can’t tell if it’s for Thomas or for pure shame.

  “To tell me her son is missing in the South Pacific. He . . . we grew up together.”

  Patsy says nothing. She looks past me at Nancy Howard. I’m glad I’m not on the receiving end of that look. Nancy sniffs and lies back down on her bed. “Didn’t take you for a nigger lover. Tough luck, Jones,” is all she says.

  My face burns and I stifle a sob. Yeah. Tough luck.

  Patsy takes my hand. Her fingers are still as cool as that first day we shook hands on the bus.

  “Don’t you mind her. You were raised with your mammy’s son. She was raised with snakes. What kind of help did she need?”

  “Finding him . . . Do you suppose I can put a request in with Mrs. Deaton tomorrow?”

  “Sure, honey. If not, she’ll know what to do. Now, where’s that kerchief I gave you?”

  “What?” I blink up at her. “Oh . . . here.” I reach into my footlocker for the embroidered cloth and start to wipe my eyes.

  “No, give it here. I’m gonna teach you something.” Patsy takes the handkerchief and ties one of the corners into a knot. “This is a worry knot. You’re a WASP now, and that’s a lot like being a carney. We’ve got to travel light, light bags, light worries. Tie up all your cares into this knot, Ida. It’ll be there for you when the war is done. You’ll untie it when that boy comes home. No point in carrying it on your shoulders.”

  She hands me back the handkerchief and I finger the little knot. It’s hard and tight, not likely to come undone anytime soon. That feels just about right.

  “Thank you, Patsy.” I want to say more, but Nancy Howard is listening. All I can do is squeeze Patsy’s hand and hope she understands.

  “Sure, kid. Good night.” She kisses me on the forehead and goes back to her bed.

  After a long moment, I get up again and brush my teeth, wash my face, change into my pajamas, and crawl into bed.

  Thomas has to come home. And so do I. Becoming a WASP was selfish. Selfish, stupid, and dangerous. God, Nancy Howard almost had me tonight, and in Texas, that could cost me my life.