“Why, home and to bed, I ‘spose. Christmas Eve’s a dangerous night for those of us trying to stay off the drinks.”
“I got me an idea,” Mama said. “That ham in the oven’s too big for me and Emmy. How ‘bout you and Eddie comin’ here after your meetin’ and helpin’ us polish it off?”
Daddy thought it was one of the best ideas he’d heard in a long time, and he knew Eddie would like the idea, too. So they did come back, and they brought with them some cold Coca-Colas from the cooler at Eddie’s Car Care.
As a matter of fact, Daddy came back often after that. And with Daddy being off the smokes and the drinks and Mama’s tips coming in regularly, they eventually saved enough money to buy a small house in a better neighborhood.
Their first Christmas in their new home, Mama invited the Feldmans to eat Christmas dinner with them. Mrs. Feldman brought a chicken, because she knew Mama would be serving ham. And Emmaline read everybody the last part of Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol,” the part where Tiny Tim says, “God bless us, everyone.”
Emmaline became one of the best readers in her class, and every Christmas she and Daddy read a story to each other and to Mama. And every Christmas Mama baked a ham; and though no one ever said it, they all knew the very best Christmas they ever had was the one when Daddy came home.
The change-of-class bell had rung shortly before their teacher finished the story, but only Leander was out of his seat.
“That’s my last story for you this year. Have a good vacation and don’t forget to spend fifteen minutes every day doing some practice reading, so you don’t forget everything I been teaching you this year.”
Willy always spent part of her instructional budget and a little of her salary making copies of the stories she read to her students, so they could take them home to practice reading. Today, seven kids asked for copies of Daddy Came Home For Christmas. She was pleased.
On the way to the office to collect her mail, she passed Manfred Feldman, a social studies teacher. He smiled and said, “If I don’t see you later, have a Merry Christmas, Emmaline.”
“Thank you, Manny,” she replied. “And you all have a Happy Hanukkah.”
Birds Fly Over the Rainbow
THE LIGHT CAME on in her brain, dimly at first, then brighter until it matched the light hitting her eyes from the slim column of sunlight between either sides of the mostly-closed drapes. She reached for a smoke from the pack on her bedside table, changed her mind, and rolled over on her stomach to avoid the sunlight. The sheets were damp and sticky from the Florida humidity, and her head and eyes were sore from the tequila she had drunk earlier that morning. “Another day, another hangover” was one of the standard jokes among the musicians she traveled with.
They were billed as “The Seagulls” and for almost a year had played in the lounges of two-star, then one-star, now no-star hotels along the east coast of south Florida. Louise was The Singing Seagull who also banged a tambourine in rhythm to the music Randy and Russ blasted through speakers wired to their guitars. She had a pleasant voice, but unsuited to the only music her partners knew how to play and incorrectly assumed the patrons in the lounges of cheap Miami hotels wanted to hear. Last night was their last booking. In recompense for her Florida tour Louise had half a pack of cigarettes left, about three hundred dollars and another tequila headache. It was December 17, and she was out of work again.
Tracy was one of half-a-dozen kids who waited in front of an apartment building in a housing development on the south side of Chicago. In a few minutes the “integration bus,” as it was called by those who understood its true purpose, would carry the six to a “magnet” school in a nearby suburb. The drawing power of Austin Middle School came from its music program, one of the best in the suburbs. Tracy and the other five pilgrims had been identified as students whose musical abilities would be served better at Austin Middle School than at Booker T. Washington Junior High School, two blocks from their apartment house. Their status as members of minority groups would also bring AMC to the correct mixture required for the continuance of state and federal funding.
It was snowing a little, big white flakes, when the bus driver deposited the six and twenty-two others who had been picked up along the way at the school entrance. It was eight-fifteen in the morning, the 17th of December, five days before the AMC Winter Holiday Concert. Tracy would be singing her solo for the concert for the first time in front of the other members of the school chorus today. She was worried and nervous.
Tracy Johnson was the youngest soloist on the program, and the honor of her having a solo part after only four months at Austin did not sit well with some of her fellow performers and their parents. Most of the soloists in the Austin music program took private voice lessons, were in the ninth grade, and walked to school or came in cars driven by their parents. None of them was quite comfortable with the whole idea of bussing in kids from the city, and now to have one of them awarded a solo, well … “Who is this Tracy Johnson anyway?”
Tracy wasn’t really a Johnson. She had lived with Aunt Bess for as long as she could remember, and when Bess married Art Johnson, she became Tracy Johnson. It was the first last name she ever had—and if it was good enough for Aunt Bess, it was good enough for her.
Bess and Tracy went to live with Uncle Art and his two daughters, Marcelle, who worked at K-Mart as a shelf-stocker, and Rose, who worked at Denny’s as a kitchen helper. They weren’t happy when Tracy arrived to share their small bedroom. But nobody crossed Art, and when he said, “Let ’er in,” they sullenly did so. Bess and Art had the larger bedroom, and sometimes when they were all asleep, Tracy would sneak from her cot to the old couch in the living room, where she pretended to be in her very own bedroom away from the lingering cigarette smoke, the snoring, and cheap-wine breath of Marcelle and Rose. She had to be careful not to fall asleep and get caught by Art, who would raise “Holy hell.” They were all afraid of Art, even Aunt Bess when he was drunk or lost at cards.
Russ showed up at Louise’s motel to give her a ride to the Miami airport, where she would catch a one-way flight to Chicago. Randy had hitched a ride to Tampa, where he heard someone was looking to add a guitar to his rock group, and Russ had a girlfriend in Miami he couldn’t bear to leave just yet. The Seagulls were history, and Louise had nowhere to go but home.
Home. She had no real home, only a sister in Chicago, a sister she hadn’t seen in almost twelve years, a sister who might not want to see her. Chicago. She had seen some bad times in the Windy City. When she left, she promised her sister she would be back in a year, maybe two. She would return when she had made it big, when she had found her pot of gold. “It’s our only chance, Bess. Take care of … things … while I’m gone. I’ll make it up to you.” Now she was 33,000 feet above Kentucky, pensively re-reading an ad in the copy of Variety she had purchased in Miami:
Singers Wanted
Lead, supporting, and chorus for revival of “Showboat.” Chicago
Auditorium Theater. Auditions Dec. 12-19,
9:00 a.m. to noon.
Louise had reason to be pensive. She had made many mistakes as a teenager. “Trouble with a capital ‘T’,” she would say when talking about her Chicago years. But Bess had always been there to pick up the pieces, even the big ones.
“You gotta be real, Louise.” Bess advised her. “Quit chasin’ after things you ain’t gonna catch.”
She wasn’t even sure where Bess lived now. Josh would know. Bess cleaned up the bar for him every morning. Maybe she’d stop at Josh’s. Then maybe she’d give Bess a call. Maybe crash at Bess’ place. “Just until I get a part in Showboat. Maybe a lead part. Why not?”
Mrs. Howley, Austin Middle School choral director, had spoken privately to her newest and youngest protégé. She spoke with traces of the dialect from the culture they shared, “You got nothin’ to be scared of, girl. God gives some of us a special talent, and you are extra special, darlin’. You got a voice like one of God’s angels, Tracy.
Remember, girl, you got a solo part because you are extra special. Don’t you worry about anybody else. When I give you your cue, you just sing for me, girl.”
Tracy loved Mrs. Howley. If anything happened to Aunt Bess, she would want Mrs. Howley to be her mother. Sometimes she thought about what it would be like to be Mrs. Howley’s very own child.
At Mrs. Howley’s signal, Tracy stepped forward. Forty-eight pairs of suspicious eyes focused on her back. It would be the first time her fellow choristers would hear the solo she had been practicing with Mrs. Howley, the first time they would hear this skinny kid sing, this kid, who with two dozen and three other uninvited kids, stepped off the integration bus each morning and invaded their school. Now she had a solo in their Winter Concert. She had better not be too good!
The tension penetrated Tracy’s skin. She would have fainted or run from the room had it not been for Mrs. Howley’s eyes locked on hers. Mrs. Howley played her introduction, and on cue Tracy took a deep breath and exhaled. “Silver bell, silver bells … it’s Christmas time in the city.”
The words floated into the music room and out into the halls, like soap bubbles breathed from an old-fashioned bubble pipe. They dipped, rose, lingered, and burst as this newcomer to Austin Middle School released them from lungs, throat, and tongue no longer fearful and tight, but moving now effortlessly and harmoniously with the whole spirit of this skinny, black kid from the projects. The forty-eight seventh, eighth and ninth graders listening behind her were transported to an Oz they had never before visited. This kid was good … too good. When Mrs. Howley asked Tad Arlington to sing his solo next, he begged off with a sore throat.
Tracy was buoyant the rest of the day. Mrs. Howley’s eyes told her how well she had performed. And when Tammy Barstow, another soloist, intercepted her between the school and the bus and begged to let her and her parents pick Tracy up the night of the concert so they could warm up their voices in the car on the way, Tracy accepted and purred inwardly from her classmate’s stroking. It didn’t occur to her that white folks who drive Lincoln Town Cars would know better that to drive into her neighborhood after dark. Nor did she see Tammy and Tad, hand in hand, stroll off toward the football field for an after-school smoke under the bleachers.
That night at supper time, Aunt Bess was frying up a mixture of potatoes, onions, and hamburger while Tracy struggled with a math problem. Uncle Art wasn’t home from work yet. “Sittin’ at Josh’s, braggin’ ‘bout Michael Jordan and the Bulls.” Bess muttered to the frying pan. Then to Tracy, “Looks like me and you eatin’ alone tonight again, honey.” Marcelle and Rose never came home for supper. They avoided their father as much as possible and would have moved out had they been able to afford their own apartment.
The phone rang, startling Tracy. Nobody ever called at supper time. “I’ll get it,” she called to her aunt. She thought, then hoped, it might be Tammy. It would be nice to have a friend call her. Thank heavens Uncle Art wasn’t there to answer it, especially after he had stopped at Josh’s. “Hello,” she half-sang into the phone. There was silence. “Hello. This is Tracy.”
“Who did you say?”
“Tracy.”
“Tracy?” A long pause.
Tracy thought someone had dialed wrong. “Maybe you have a wrong number?” Tracy suggested.
“No, no. I think I have the right number. Is Bess there?” It was a woman’s voice.
“Aunt Bess. For you.” Tracy called and returned to her math, disappointed it wasn’t her new friend, but also somewhat relieved.
“Hello.” Aunt Bess waited a long time before she spoke again. The pause attracted Tracy’s attention. “This is a big surprise, Louise. I got to catch my breath.” Aunt Bess sounded strange. “We ain’t got much room, Louise. There’s Art, his two kids, and me and Tracy. And Art don’t care much for company.” Another pause. “She’s fine. Don’t cause no trouble. Smart.” Another stretch of silence. Tracy noticed her aunt rubbing her thumb and index finger together, a sure sign she was upset. Then she said in a thin, shaky voice, almost a whisper, “Okay, LuLu, but just for a few days. Art ain’t goin’ to like it, but okay, if you got no place else to go.” Aunt Bess gave the caller their street and apartment number and said, “You ain’t far from us.” And hung up.
Tracy waited a moment before she asked, “We havin’ company, Aunt Bess?” They never had company, and the idea was exciting.
“Just for a few days.”
“Who is it, Aunt Bess? Who’s comin’ to visit us?”
“It’s someone I knew before … before you were born. Her name’s Louise. She’s a singer.”
“A singer? A real singer with an audience and everything? Does she get paid to sing? Is she rich?” Tracy was overwhelmed by the prospect of having a professional singer actually visit them. “Please, Aunt Bess, tell me all about her.”
“No need to. Louise ain’t shy. She’ll tell you more than you want to know, some of it lies. Now finish your homework while I finish the cookin’.”
Tracy returned to her studies, but her head was full of distractions. So much had happened lately. Her emotions swelled and teetered. She was somewhere between now and before on her emotional scale, between anticipation and apprehension.
Her emotional scale tipped to sheer delight from the moment of Louise’s entrance, shortly after Tracy and Aunt Bess had eaten. Louise was everything Tracy hoped to become, beautiful, confident, vivacious, successful. She had been with a great musical group that was a big hit up and down the Florida coast.
“A few days ago, I quit the group,” Louise chattered. “I was getting too good for them. They were holding back my career.” Tracy was spellbound. “Singing for your living is just great,” Louise rattled on. “Once Bess wanted me to take a job at Woolworths. Can you believe that? Using my voice to say, ‘Thank you. Come again. Have a nice day.’” She and Tracy laughed at the joke.
“A little honest work never hurt nobody’s voice,” Aunt Bess said from the kitchen sink.
Louise continued, “Then yesterday I read about some openings for singers right here in Chicago. They’re casting for Show Boat. Can you imagine? Could anyone be more perfect for a part in Show Boat than me?”
Tracy could not. No one could be more perfect for any part in any show in any place than Louise. “You’ll get a solo part, I’m sure,” she assured this captivating creature sitting next to her on their old couch.
Art came home, grunted when Bess told him Louise would be sleeping on the couch for a few nights, ate his supper, and staggered off to bed. Rose and Marcelle came home, shrugged indifferently toward Louise, and went directly to their room. Aunt Bess told Tracy not to stay up too late and joined Art. Tracy and Louise were by themselves.
“Do you like to sing?” Louise asked.
It was a welcome question, and Tracy eagerly related her school singing experiences, emphasizing her Silver Bells solo.
“Do you know Over the Rainbow?”
“Oh, I do. We sang it in chorus.”
“Let’s sing it together. It’s my favorite. I think people get to know each other by singing together, don’t you?”
“Oh, I do.”
Louise started, and Tracy quickly joined in, “. . . way up high … why then oh why can’t I?” The song ended, and when Tracy looked at Louise, she saw tears in her eyes.
“Why are you crying?” she asked innocently. Louise stood, took Tracy’s two hands, and pulled her gently to a standing position. Then she looked straight into Tracy’s eyes for a long moment.
“I’m sad you got to live with Art Johnson,” Louise said. “You ain’t Art Johnson’s daughter, and he ain’t your daddy. He ain’t even your uncle. Go to bed now, honey. You and me both got a big day tomorrow. We both gotta fly over that rainbow.”
The next morning, Tracy slipped quietly out of her bedroom past Louise sleeping on the old couch, past the kitchen table where she picked up two cookies she would eat for breakfast on the bus and out the door.
U
ncle Art had gone to work already, but everyone else was still asleep. It was December 18, the day before the Winter Concert and the day of the last full rehearsal which Mr. Howley would conduct in the AMC Auditorium. Tracy wished she could spend the day with Louise, but she knew that couldn’t be. She couldn’t wait to get home, tell Louise about rehearsal, and hear about Louise’s audition, which she knew would be triumphant. She wished Louise could live with them always.
Rehearsal went well. Tracy’s solo was going to be the hit of the concert. Everybody knew it. Mrs. Howley spoke to her after rehearsal. “A special friend of mine is coming to the concert, Tracy. Sing real sweet, sugar. I told him to listen ‘specially for you.” In science class Tracy passed Tammy her address and phone number again, just to be sure. Tammy gave her a thumbs-up sign and mouthed the words, “Six-thirty.” Tracy wished Louise could meet her friend, Tammy.
The bus ride from school seemed interminable to Tracy. She had made a big decision after rehearsal. She would invite Louise to the Winter Concert. She would ask Tammy tomorrow if a friend could ride along with them. Tammy and Louise would surely hit it off right away, and Tammy’s parents would be very impressed. Aunt Bess would never go to any school functions at Austin. She felt out of place in with so many white folks and so few of her “own kind,” as she liked to put it. But Louise was different. She might go.
Tracy had also decided to ask Aunt Bess if they could have a Christmas tree this year, just a small one, and maybe some presents. Art had always put his foot down about spending hard-earned money on some “fool holiday,” but now, why, maybe he would change his mind. Things were different now with Louise there.
Aunt Bess and Louise were talking seriously when Tracy entered the apartment, and their conversation was not entirely friendly. Tracy had intended to issue her invitation to Louise and ask about Christmas immediately, but she listened instead.
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