Seeing Red

by Kathryn Erskine

  “Well, you’d start by contacting your local historical society—”

  My hand shot up again. “Do we have a local historical society?”

  She looked at me like I was fooling with her. Me. Historical society. It did seem kind of strange. “I’ll talk with you at recess, Red.”

  When recess came, I explained about getting our shop and the What-U-Want on the historic register. She explained that those weren’t exactly the kind of buildings they usually preserved, but she took me to the office with her to make a call to the historical society people, just in case.

  By the time she hung up I knew it was bad news. “I’m sorry, Red. They’re focusing on preserving stately homes. Besides, it sounds like there’s already an older store in the county.”

  It sure would’ve been nice if someone else, like a historical society, could’ve told Mama we had to keep our place just the way it was. I followed Miss Miller back to the classroom because I didn’t feel like being outside with a bunch of yelling, happy kids.

  She sat down and motioned me over to her desk. “Red, why is your mama wanting to sell?” Miss Miller was tilting her head at me. Not mean, but concerned. I noticed then that she started off in the mornings like a jumpy Chihuahua but later in the day she looked like a droopy basset hound. I guess we tired her out. Maybe her basset hound look was why I spilled my guts. I told her all about Mama trying to sell our place and me trying to stop her, without the parts about the For Sale signs and spray-painting.

  “I see,” she murmured, twisting her necklace in her fingers. “That explains a lot.”

  “And Mr Reynolds is part of the problem.” I figured she should know what he was really like so she’d quit thinking he was so wonderful.

  She stopped fiddling with her necklace. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he’s trying to sell my place, that’s why! And he’s trying to sell it to our neighbour, who comes from a whole line of bad blood.” I told her all about what Mr Dunlop was like, giving her example after example, because there were a lot of them.

  Miss Miller was leaning back in her chair and I realized I was bent forward and practically spitting on her, so I stepped back. She cleared her throat. “I-I wouldn’t necessarily believe that Mr Reynolds is involved in something so…so…”

  “Slimy?” I said. “He’s a lawyer, Miss Miller. No offence, but you can’t trust them.”

  She blushed and smiled just enough for me to see her dimples. “I think I know this one pretty well. And I don’t think you need to worry about him.”

  “You mean, you think you can stop him from selling my place to Mr Dunlop?”

  She sighed. “Red, sometimes change is mysterious and complicated but it can be good. Change is just a new chapter in your life.” She twisted her peace necklace and looked at the Marvin Gaye album on her desk. “Change can be a very good thing.”

  I stared at her as the bell rang and kids came back inside the classroom and took their seats. Change, Miss Miller? I guess change could be a good thing. Because I thought of a big change I could make, and it was a very good thing.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Change

  On Monday morning I made the change that I wanted. Mama went to town early, before the bus came, so she could take care of something about Daddy’s will at the courthouse. I skipped school. I had to. Mama didn’t think we could handle the whole business, both the repair shop and the What-U-Want. But if I stayed home, at least sometimes, we could hack it.

  I told J that I was getting a ride to school and he was just as happy that his stupid brother wasn’t going to be riding his bus. Then I put on Daddy’s work shirt, the one with his name on it in , even though the sleeve was torn, because it made me look official.

  When I walked into the What-U-Want, Beau tilted his head at me and I don’t think he quite believed my story that it was a teacher workday. “How come J’s in school, Red?”

  “Uh…this is just a special day for the sixth-grade teachers. Something about getting us ready for junior high, I think.”

  “Oh.” Beau scrunched his nose up like he was still confused, but he didn’t say anything to Mama.

  He didn’t have to. Miss Miller called her up and ratted on me.

  When Mama asked me why I skipped school, I think she was surprised that I didn’t look scared. I didn’t feel scared. Just ornery. “You want to yank me out of this school and start me in a new one somewhere else, anyway.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that. Before I went to bed, though, she told me she didn’t expect it to happen again and she’d better see a change in my behaviour.

  Well, like Miss Miller said, sometimes change is mysterious and complicated, so I stayed home again the next day. This time I hid in the shop because I didn’t feel like answering Beau’s questions. I sat at Old Man Porter’s desk. My desk. I’d inherited it just like Old Man Porter’s name, even his nickname. He’d had red hair, too, and Daddy said the Porter way was for it to skip a generation but when it came out it was “a shock of red”. Old Man Porter had red hair, then my grandaddy, and now me. Frederick Stewart Porter.

  I didn’t care what Mama said, there was no way I was leaving my desk behind. She’d taped a PLEASE MOVE note on the bookcases in the living room that looked built-in but weren’t. She didn’t want to forget to tell the movers, when they came, that those bookshelves were coming with us.

  I looked through the drawers of the desk until I found a blank piece of paper and a marker and wrote in big letters, ON PAIN OF DEATH THIS DESK HAS TO BE MOVED! and taped the paper to the top of the desk. “There,” I said. If Mama had her way and we really did move, at least I’d have my way and take the desk with me. It was my legacy.

  When Miss Miller called that night, Mama was spitting nails. “Do you want this on your permanent record, Red? That you’re a truant?”

  Truant sounded like such a bad word I figured it must mean a kid like Darrell, and I wasn’t doing anything that bad. “I’m not causing any damage.”

  “Just to yourself, Red. Think about it.”

  I had to think about it for maybe two seconds. Manning the store was something that Daddy would call “productive”, not like what I did on the mountain behind Kenny’s. I had to go to school the next day, though, because Mama decided the courthouse stuff could wait and she’d best be hanging around the house for a while.

  At school Miss Miller said, “We’re glad to have you back with us, Red.”

  I doubted she was really glad. I sure wasn’t, and I don’t think any of the kids cared if I was there or not. And I got a D+ on my Edwin Starr paper, which said, “The subtext of ‘War’ is that war is bad,” so it didn’t take very long for me to be sick of school.

  A couple of days later Mama went back to the courthouse and I put on Daddy’s shirt and skipped school again. Beau tried to talk me out of it. He even talked to Daddy about it. I heard him out back while I was loading boxes of TV dinners into the freezer.

  “I tried, Mr Porter, honest, but he won’t listen.” There was a pause as he let out a little moan, and I could just picture him tugging on his hair. “I’m sure it’s on account of how much he misses you but Miz Porter’s gonna be real upset, I just know it.”

  I was still distracted by Beau when I heard the bell on the door jangle and a stuttery voice call out, “H-hello?” Mr Reynolds. What was Poindexter doing back here again?

  I was about to go to the front of the store when Beau blocked my path. He motioned me to lay low and whispered, “You shouldn’t let a lawyer see you out of school.”

  Beau lumbered to the front. “Well, good morning, Mr Reynolds. How is the law business today?” I rolled my eyes because I wasn’t scared of old Poindexter. Being a lawyer didn’t exactly mean you were the law.

  I heard Beau and Poindexter talking as I kept stacking the freezer, and then Beau raised his voice, saying, “Well, good morning, Sheriff! How is the law business today?”

  “Beg your pardon?” Poindexter said
.

  Poor Beau. He was trying so hard to scare me into being good, but the bell hadn’t even jangled on the door, so I knew the sheriff wasn’t there.

  I stepped into the aisle and called out, “Nice try, Beau,” just as the bell on the door jangled, the boots stepped inside, and I heard the Kiss of Death.

  Sheriff Scott stared at me. “You was just on your way to school, wasn’t you, Red?”

  “Uh – yes, sir,” I said, tripping over my own feet as I headed for the door.

  “Get in the patrol car. I’m driving you.”

  My voice was as high as a little girl’s. “That’s okay. I can walk.”

  “Didn’t you hear me, boy?”

  I nodded and wobbled all the way over to the patrol car like the gravel had turned into slippery marbles.

  I swear, as fast as the sheriff drove, it must’ve taken all of ten minutes to get the ten miles to school, even with all the twists and turns. It still seemed like for ever.

  Every time Sheriff Scott took the toothpick out of his mouth he’d take a deep breath, and I was sure he was about to holler at me. It smelled like sweat in the patrol car, and I was sticking to the vinyl in the back seat, wondering if all criminals felt like jumping out of their skin and throwing up at the same time.

  When we peeled into the school parking lot, I tried to open the back door before he even stopped. When I realized he had me locked in I almost wet my pants.

  He turned around in his seat and gave me a stare that just about melted me. “Tell me you ain’t gonna be skipping school again.”

  I still had that baby girl voice. “No sir, never.” And I meant it. I’d have to find another way.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Retribution

  On Monday morning I had to meet with Miss Miller before class so she could tell me what my punishment was going to be for skipping school. Mama drove me in early, telling me all the way how disappointed she was in me and asking me what Daddy would say, reminding me how he always said he could depend on me. I’d rather have had ten rides to school with the sheriff than one ride like that one.

  I stood slumped in front of Miss Miller’s desk and got ready for a long lecture from her, too. She was taking her sweet time writing stuff down while I sweated. I stared behind her at the quote she put on the top of the chalkboard the first day of school and still hadn’t erased. The truth will set you free.

  “I don’t condone what you did,” she said, finally, her head still bent over her papers, “but I do admire your persistence. It’s very important to you to preserve your heritage, isn’t it, Red?”

  I tried to be truthful like the quote said, but I wasn’t sure I understood her. “I guess, if that’s what you mean by my house and the shop and the What-U-Want.”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.” She smiled and looked up at me. “That’s your history, and you don’t want to lose it. In fact, you’ve given me a wonderful idea for a class project!” She held up a piece of paper that said FOXFIRE: STONY GAP, and it had a lot more words but she laid the paper down again. “There’s a high school teacher in Georgia who published some articles in a magazine about his students interviewing people in their Appalachian community so they can preserve their heritage. The articles are so popular, they’re being made into a book called The Foxfire Book. And we’re going to do the same thing – record and preserve the history of this community. It’ll be a class project that’ll go on all year! And it’s all thanks to you.”

  I groaned inside, and I could already hear the groans of the whole class, too. “You won’t tell anyone it’s all my fault, will you?”

  She rolled her eyes like a teenager. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” I turned to leave, but she cleared her throat real loud and I turned back around.

  “There’s also the matter of punishment for skipping school. Your mama and I discussed it, and we’ve decided retribution here at school would be best.”

  I found out that retribution is just another word for punishment or, as Miss Miller put it, “paying back to your community”. Lucky for me, the paying back was helping Mr Walter rake leaves for three hours after school the next day. I tried hard not to smile.

  Miss Miller read to us some more from her Animal Farm book. It turned out, there was a lot more to it than a bunch of talking farm animals. She explained that the book was criticizing how societies tell people what to do and how to think.

  When we reached her favourite part Miss Miller slowed down and looked around the room at us before she said, “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.”

  I thought it was a pretty dumb line because equal meant exactly the same. How could some animals be more equal if they’re all exactly the same?

  Lou Anne laughed out loud. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

  “Excellent, Lou Anne!” Miss Miller’s smile was so proud as she gazed at Lou Anne that I wished I’d said it first.

  After that we talked about our society and our rules, in the Miss Miller way, which meant we could mostly shout out our answers without raising our hands.

  “We had to pass a law to have equality,” Lou Anne said, “because women and minorities weren’t allowed to do the same jobs as men.”

  Bobby Benson snorted. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “It was on the news. You know, that TV show we’re supposed to watch for homework,” Lou Anne said with a smirk. I had to smile myself because it shut Bobby up. “The president signed the law this year that says women and minorities have to be treated just the same as men.”

  Some of the boys had stuff to say about that, and Miss Miller smiled and even laughed about our “lively discussion” until the door opened and the principal walked in, her lips puckered up so tight I swear a Kiss of Death was about to come out.

  “What is going on in here? I can hear you all the way down the hall!” Mrs Pugh’s nostrils flared as she looked at Miss Miller and then at all of us. I noticed Miss Miller slide her copy of Animal Farm under a folder on her desk before the principal looked back at her for an answer.

  Miss Miller twisted her peace necklace. “We’re talking about democracy, Mrs Pugh.”

  “And equality for women and minorities!” Lou Anne said, but shut up quick when the principal narrowed her eyes at her.

  Still looking at Lou Anne, Mrs Pugh said, “Miss Miller, I never hear disruption from other classrooms. You need to learn to control these children. I’ll see you in my office after school.” And she slammed the door.

  The class was real quiet. Miss Miller’s face was pink. When the bell rang at three o’clock, she headed for the principal’s office and I knew her punishment was going to be a whole lot worse than staying after school one day and raking leaves.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Catch-22

  Mr Walter looked like he was about to bust out laughing when I walked over to him in front of the school, dragging a rake. He tightened up his face enough to say, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company today, Red?” even though his eyes were still smiling.

  I grinned. “I skipped school. Three times!”

  I swear he looked like I’d punched him in the stomach. He bent over a little and his eyes lost any hint of a smile. He didn’t say a thing, just raked for a while in the same place, over and over, long after the leaves were off that patch. I was watching him because if he raked any more he’d pull up what little grass was left.

  Finally he stopped, took a wallet from his back pocket, and pulled out a photo.

  “You in sixth grade, right?”

  I nodded and he handed me the photo.

  “This is my grandson when he was about your age.”

  I looked at the school picture of a boy in a jacket and tie, smiling.

  “He was a lot like you – real smart and had some spunk. He knew what he wanted.” Mr Walter took the photo and stuck it back in his wallet. “ ’Course what he wanted was to get an educat
ion. We all figured he’d be a teacher or a lawyer or maybe even a doctor for sure.”

  I started raking alongside Mr Walter because it sounded like he was on a roll.

  “Yep, smart as a whip, that Leroy.”

  I kind of tuned out and just raked until I heard him say, “Stopped going to school right before sixth grade.”

  I stopped raking. “He quit?”

  “I didn’t say he quit.”

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, there was a time…you were just a baby…when schools closed for years.”

  “What?”

  “Well, for some folks. Like my grandson.”

  “Where was this? ’Cause if my mama’s going to make us move, I’d like to move there!” I was joking, but he didn’t even smile.

  He gave his head a nod to one side. “Farmville area. Over towards Richmond. They didn’t want him in a white school.”

  Then I understood. It was because his grandson was black. Mr Walter raked the long line of leaves we’d been gathering over towards the woods where he always dumped them.

  I followed him. “Didn’t they have one of those Rosenwald schools?”

  “It was shut down back in ’58 or ’59.”

  “How come?”

  “Because the Supreme Court said there wasn’t supposed to be separate schools, so the state didn’t have to provide teachers or anything for the Rosenwald school.”

  I stopped raking again. “But they wouldn’t let him go to a white school.”

  Mr Walter nodded and kept raking. “Catch-22.”

  “Catch-22?” I said. “Isn’t that a movie?”

  “Sure is.”

  I remembered Daddy telling me about it. This World War II pilot pretends to be crazy because he doesn’t want to fly any more missions, knowing he’ll get shot down. But they told him, if you know it’d be crazy to fly those missions then you must be sane, and since you’re sane, you can’t get out of it.

  Mr Walter gave a little laugh, but he wasn’t smiling. “Caught between a rock and a hard place.”