by Jan Morrill
“What’re you drawing?” asked Carter.
“A cat. Today is Patty’s birthday.”
“How old is she?”
“Thirteen.”
“A teenager, huh?” Carter’s voice got quiet and he stared out at the corridor.
“How old’s Jenny anyways?” Terrence asked.
“She’s nine. Be ten next month.”
He could tell by the distant look in Carter’s eyes—sad and mad at the same time—he was probably thinking about his daddy doing things to Jenny.
Time to change the subject. He didn’t want Carter dwelling on it and he for sure didn’t wanna let it ruin Patty’s birthday. “Man, this is one time I think I’m glad to be holed up in this place. Can you imagine having a teenage sister? All that time she’ll be spending in the bathroom, trying to make herself pretty for all the boys?”
Carter flashed a toothless grin. “Yeah. Sometimes girls aren’t much fun to be around. One minute, they’re happy-go-lucky. Next minute, they’re little witches.”
Terrence had already seen some of that moodiness in Patty. Like that time she scowled all through dinner, then left the table crying when he took a carrot off her plate. Heck, she didn’t even like carrots. He thought he was doing her a favor.
“Momma!” she had yelled, tearing away from the table. “Make him stop!” Then she stormed off to her room.
Momma just shook her head and smiled. “Don’t pay her no mind, son. It’s just she getting ready for the monthly curse. You best get ready for it, too.”
He didn’t know nothing about the monthly curse, but he’d seen enough to decide not to touch it with a ten-foot pole.
Grinning at Carter, he clasped his hands and stretched them over his head. “Like I said. I’m sure not gonna miss being around my sister during her crazy times.” He drew Cleopatra eyes on Mehitabel the Cat and held it up for Carter to see. “Finished.”
“Patty like cats?”
“Yeah. We got one at home named Clyde. But this here is Mehitabel. She’s Archy’s friend. I’m giving her my copy of archy and mehitabel for her birthday.”
“Why don’t you give her your pet cockroach, too?” Carter shuddered. “’Fraid I can’t take the same liking to Archy as you.”
When Terrence walked into the visitor area, he slowed his pace to study Patty. She looked all grown up, sitting next to Momma and Missy. Dressed all pretty in her birthday dress. How was it that turning thirteen could make her look so different, not like a little girl anymore? He kind of missed his little-girl sister. All of a sudden, she was gone.
But it wasn’t just that she looked older. She had some kinda weird, dreamy look in her eyes, like she was in some faraway place. Had Momma seen it, too?
Momma turned in his direction and flashed a big smile that made her cheeks even rounder. It always gave him a happy feeling inside. He pulled out a chair. “Happy birthday, Sis.”
Patty giggled, and for a second, she looked like the little girl he remembered.
“Got something for you.” He flashed his gift, then hid it under his shirt again. “Gonna have to give it to the guard to bring around to you.”
Patty’s eyes got real big. “Really? What is it?”
Missy’s eyes rolled, an unmistakable message. He shoulda brought something for her, too. “I got a big surprise for you next time, little Miss. But this time it’s Patty’s special day.” He held up a finger—a motion to wait—and left his booth to give Patty’s present to the guard.
When he returned, he found Patty whispering in Momma’s ear. Though curious as all get out, he pretended not to see. They jolted back to their original positions when he sat again.
“The guard’s bringing your present around,” he said.
Patty nudged Momma.
“Son,” Momma said, “Missy and me’ll go after the guard bring your present. Patty say she wanna have some time alone with you.” She frowned at Patty and shook her head. “Don’t like cutting off my time with you, but it’s her birthday and all.”
Prison had sure enough changed things in the Harris family. There was a time when Patty didn’t want anything to do with Terrence. Now she was asking to be alone with him.
The guard arrived on the visitors’ side with the gift. Missy jumped out of her chair to see what it was, then grabbed for it.
Patty whined, “Hey, that’s for me.”
Some things hadn’t changed.
Patty crinkled her nose. “Archy and Mehi … Mehi?”
“Archy and Mehitabel,” he said. “Mr. Blake gave it to me.”
She flipped through the pages, Missy gawking over her shoulder.
“I think you’ll like Mehitabel. She used to be Cleopatra, you know. Me? I like Archy. Matter a fact …” He hesitated.
“What?” Patty and Missy asked at the same time.
Terrence leaned in. “Now, don’t laugh, but I got a pet cockroach. Named him Archy.”
Momma slapped her hands on the table. “Terrence! You got a pet roach?”
His sisters giggled.
“Hey, now. Don’t knock it. It ain’t—I mean it isn’t—like I can have a dog or a cat for a pet. We make do with what we got around here. Anyways, Patty, that’s one of my favorite books. I expect to see it taken care of real good when I get outta here.”
Missy tried to pull the book closer.
“Careful now, Missy. Sis will read it to you. Right, Patty?”
“Yeah, I guess,” she mumbled, then glanced at Momma with raised brows.
Momma clucked her tongue. “Guess me and Missy will leave you two alone now.” She blew a kiss to Terrence. “See you next week, son. Take care yourself.”
“Okay, bye, Momma. Bye, Missy.” He watched Patty, waiting for her to say something.
She stared at her hands, folded on the table and bit the corner of her lip.
The silence seemed too long. “What’s going on, Patty?”
“Terrence?” She bit her nails.
“Yeah?”
“You ever had a real bad crush on someone?”
He exhaled, relieved and tickled, and stifled a chuckle. An urge to tease struck him, but right now he had to be a good big brother. “Yeah. ’Course, it’s usually the girls that have a crush on me.” He winked.
“Well, actually, I think he—his name is William—William has a crush on me, too. Anyways, he keeps smiling at me from across the classroom.” She twirled her ponytail around her finger and had that faraway look in her eyes again.
He tried to remember his first big crush. Maria. Man, she was pretty. Not as pretty as Patty though. Sure, that first crush had been a big deal, but he still didn’t know why his sister needed to talk to him alone. Momma would’ve understood.
Sitting back in his chair, he waited, trying hard to be patient. Girls!
“Well …” She seemed to be avoiding looking at him.
He checked the clock on the wall. “Patty, I don’t wanna rush you, but my time is almost up. You need to talk to me about something?”
“Terrence, now don’t you get mad at me.”
Uneasiness swiped at him. What was going on? “I ain’t gonna get mad at you, but you best tell me quick.” He glanced at the clock again.
She took a deep breath. “Well … what would you say if I told you … William is, well, he’s white?”
Chapter 60
Sachi
August 18, 1943
Obon! The Buddhist custom was one of Sachi’s favorite times of year. Strange that honoring the dead could be such fun. Three days of beautiful colors and yummy delights, when all the women would gather to prepare the Japanese food she had missed so much since being in camp. She giggled, listening to them whisper about secret stashes of special spices they’d carried from California. But her favorite part of the celebration was bon-odori, the dance.
Oh, the beautiful kimonos! The sight of silk pastels—yellow, pink, blue—floating and drifting with each dancer’s movement. It made the hot, sticky summer air feel a
little cooler.
Best of all, now that she was eleven, she truly felt a part of the ceremony as she danced with the women. There had been no Obon celebration at the Santa Anita Assembly Center the year before. Too many disrupted lives and nobody to organize the event. All the years before that, Sachi was just a little girl. She’d looked silly then, following the women in kimonos as they danced around the large circle. How clumsy she was in her dance, though she tried to copy their graceful motions. For Rohwer’s bon-odori, she remembered all of her dance lessons and no longer felt awkward like before.
Nothing made her feel more grown up, more proud, than the look in her mother’s eyes as she watched Sachi dance. When she caught Mama smiling, a little teary-eyed, Sachi decided all of the boring practices she’d complained about had been worth it. It was good that she had changed her mind about asking Jubie to celebrate Obon at the camp. If Jubie had come, it might have ruined everything.
Still, wishing Jubie could be there to dance with her and the other women was a dark cloud over the celebration. She imagined seeing Jubie move in the circle with them, while chastising herself for her slipup.
Jubie had become so good at Japanese dancing in the last few months that Sachi had the brilliant idea to invite her to Obon, not even thinking about how she’d explain it to Mama when Jubie showed up for the dance. She’d been so excited she simply blurted out the invitation. Brilliant idea? No. Brilliantly stupid? Yes.
For several weeks, Sachi worried about how to get herself out of the mess without hurting Jubie’s feelings. Finally, she realized she didn’t have to withdraw the invitation. She could change it instead, and decided to do it on a hot afternoon the week before, when Jubie walked Sachi back to camp. All the while, Sachi’s stomach had tickled with nerves about Mama seeing them together.
“Hey, Jubie,” she’d said, picking up a round stone from the side of the road. “Instead of coming to the camp to celebrate, what do you think about having our own Obon celebration?” They could honor the dead in private. Two friends—two sisters—honoring their dead fathers.
Sachi turned the stone in her hand and felt its warmth. “We could have a picnic and dance in the shade by the creek. It’s going to be so crowded in camp, and all those people will make it feel even hotter.”
But sometimes Jubie was too smart for her own good. Sachi could tell when she’d been “figgered out,” as Jubie called it.
Her friend was silent as she walked next to Sachi, and that wasn’t good. She was hardly ever quiet, and it was a sign that something was wrong. So, Sachi talked for both of them, speaking faster, like she always did when she got nervous.
“I’ll bring some special Japanese food—it’s so funny how the ladies in camp compete to see who can make the best rice rolls. We can have a picnic.” She stopped for a second, only to breathe, then continued. “Then I’ll show you some new dances and we can practice in the shade and maybe even take a little swim in the creek if we get too hot.”
Jubie stopped walking and stared at her. She didn’t have to say a single word for Sachi to know what she was thinking.
You think you hiding something from me, but you ain’t.
Finally, Jubie spoke. “I ever tell you about Auntie Bess not allowing no phony faces around?”
“Phony face? No. What’s that?”
“Auntie Bess say you wearing a phony face anytime you ain’t being truthful about something. She catches me ever time. She say she got some secret way of knowing. I didn’t believe she knew what she was talking about, but I do now, ’cause I’s catching you with a phony face. What you hiding? Might as well spit it out, ’cause I’m gonna find out one way or the other.”
Sachi’s unease erupted in a giggle. “What makes you think I’m hiding something?”
“I just know it. It’s coming out loud and clear as them jar flies making them buzzing noises ever where. Come on, you can tell me. What’s wrong?”
Whatever Jubie thought Sachi was hiding, it couldn’t be as hurtful as what it really was. How was she supposed to tell her best friend that her mother didn’t like her, just because she was colored? But, she’d been “figgered out,” and there was no sense trying to hide behind her phony face any longer.
She took a deep breath. “Jubie, you know it doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks, you’re my best friend, my sister. Right?”
Jubie opened her eyes a little wider. “Yeah.”
“Well, my mother … she—” Sachi bit her lip.
“What is it? You can tell me. What’s wrong with your mama?”
The alarm in Jubie’s voice made Sachi’s heart ache, but she forced herself to spit the words out. “She doesn’t like us playing together.”
Confusion and hurt flashed in Jubie’s amber eyes. There were some things Jubie couldn’t hide, either.
“I’m sorry.” Sachi panicked and started talking fast all over again. “But she doesn’t know you. And, she doesn’t know I still see you, either. When I’m with you, she thinks I’m with my Japanese friends.” She couldn’t bear to see Jubie’s reaction, but couldn’t turn away, either.
“You been lying to your mama about us?”
She’d never looked at it as lying, but of course it was. Just because Mama was being unreasonable didn’t make what she was doing any less a lie. “I guess so,” she said softly.
“Why your mama don’t like me?”
Sachi pointed to the shade of a big tree at the side of the road. “Let’s get out of the sun and I’ll try to explain it to you.” She shook her head as they crossed the road. How in the world would she explain this to Jubie? It was a conversation she’d hoped she’d never have to have. But, how could she think she’d avoid it either?
They sat down and leaned against the trunk. Above, the tree buzzed with cicadas.
Sachi picked up a stick and scratched the dirt. “Remember when I told you three boys killed my papa because he was Japanese?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, what I never told you was … one of those boys was colored.”
Jubie looked up. It was quiet again, except for the whispering sound of the wind in the leaves and the noise of the awful, ugly cicadas. Sachi usually hated the constant buzzing, but as she waited for Jubie to say something, she was glad it filled the uncomfortable silence.
Zzzzzz. Zzzzzz. Zzzzzz.
Sachi had to try to explain, fill the big quiet. “My mother holds Papa’s murder against all colored people. That’s why she doesn’t want me to be friends with you.” She leaned toward her friend to watch for an expression. Jubie wasn’t saying anything to help Sachi figure her out.
Finally, Jubie spoke. “She hold it against white folks, too? After all, two of them boys was white.”
Sachi had never looked at it that way. Why did Mama only hold it against Terrence? “I don’t know. But I think she’s wrong, Jubie. That’s why I’ve been hiding our friendship. I know you no more had anything to do with my papa’s death than I had anything to do with the bombing of Pearl Harbor. It doesn’t make sense that some people—my mama included—hold the act of some against those who had nothing to do with it.”
“No, but it do happen a lot. What we gonna do about it?” Jubie asked.
Sachi thought for a minute before realizing she had no real answer to Jubie’s question. She stood up and dusted herself off, then smiled at her friend. “There may be nothing we can do about all those other people, but you and I can do something on our own. You know what we’re going to do?”
At last the sparkle returned to Jubie’s eyes. “No, what?”
“We’re going to have our own celebration by the creek! That’s what we’re going to do. And no matter what all those other people think, we’ll have a great time, even if you are colored and I am Japanese.”
Chapter 61
Terrence
November 17, 1943
Terrence stared at Patty’s letter. God, he couldn’t wait to get out of that miserable cell. Helplessness overwhelmed him and se
ttled heavy as the biscuits and gravy he’d had for breakfast.
Dear Terrence,
I got a problem, and I need you to tell me what I should do. You see, William and me had gotten to be friends—just friends, cause I know Momma doesn’t think I’m old enough for anything else. I guess that was fine, at least for now, cause it was nice just talking with him.
Yeah, I said “it was nice.” Because one day we were walking down the hall, minding our own business, when these bullies grabbed both of William’s arms and pulled him outside. I followed cause I was scared what they might do to him.
Anyways, they started punching on him, calling him a nigger-lover. Other kids started coming up and watching, then they started calling him names, too. Poor William. He tried to fight back, but those bullies were a lot bigger.
No matter how hard I tried not to cry, I couldn’t help it. And that just made things worse. They started teasing me, too, but that didn’t hurt near as much as seeing what they were doing to William. He didn’t deserve any of that.
I begged them to stop, even begged the kids watching to help me make them stop. But they just stood there. Some even laughed.
It’s not fair, Terrence. I know how it feels to be called a nigger, but I’m guessing poor William never had to deal with being called names before.
Terrence stared at his clenched fist.
Now, he stays away from me. But I can tell by the look in his eyes, he feels bad about it. I guess I understand. What else can he do? Anyhow, it hasn’t really helped much. Those boys still call him names.
I wish you were here, Terrence. What should I do?
Love,
Patty
How could she ask him that question when he was in jail for doing the very same thing those bullies did to William? What was he supposed to tell her?
He hung his head in his hands. What would Daddy have said? Nothing but a blank, dark space occupied his mind. Then, a memory from a night a long time ago began to creep in—when he’d overheard one of Momma and Daddy’s conversations from their bedroom next to his.