When Riley got outside, his eyes zeroed in on Debbie, looking at him through the window from where she sat in the car. She pressed her face to the glass of Poppa’s Oldsmobile, so much so that she resembled one of those pigs Ma would buy down at Mr. Green’s butcher shop.
“Stop making faces like that, Deborah, or it’ll get stuck that way,” Momma said to Riley’s older sister as she slid into her seat, cradling his little brother Michael while she settled in. Poppa, always the gentleman, closed the door carefully after her.
Poppa climbed into the driver’s seat and looked down at the little booklet that Momma passed to him. He had been studying it for the last few days in preparation for their road trip. He’d already explained that it was going to take a long time to make their way from Virginia to Oklahoma, and the contents of that small publication would ensure that the family got to their final destination okay.
“All right, now. Does anyone else have something they need to do before we head out?” Riley was in the back seat with Debbie, finally ready to go. Poppa put away his book and then glanced at the both of them through the rearview mirror, waiting for a reply. Riley and Debbie shook their heads back and forth like they were on a swivel.
“Nooo!”
Poppa smiled and started the car. Riley always loved the sound it made when it roared to life, a grumpy giant stretching itself awake. He wiggled around in his seat to get one last look at the little home. It wasn’t much, but it was theirs. Or had been. And he would surely miss it.
The Palmers were headed to Alpha, Oklahoma, so that Riley could attend Excelsior Academy: Educational Institution for Gifted Negroes. It had taken a little bit of acclimating, but he was now quite excited about the idea of attending a fancy school for high-achieving youngsters, as his old teacher had explained to him. This wouldn’t be like those other schools where Black kids were being bussed into white neighborhoods and scared for their lives all in the name of integration. Or like the public schools the county over that were shut down because the school board preferred for their white students to attend “private academies” instead of being forced to share space with colored kids. No, this school would have new textbooks, state-of-the-art supplies, smaller class sizes, and most important of all, brown faces.
Of course, when Momma and Poppa first sat him down to discuss said school, he’d had his reservations. Would his classmates at Sabal Elementary be joining him? No. Would he ever see his friends again? Perhaps. Would he even like it at this Excelsior place? That was up to him now, wasn’t it?
He sensed that his parents were so proud that a school all the way in Oklahoma had heard about little ol’ Last-Minute Riley in Richmond, Virginia. The adults in his life were terribly pleased at this “unprecedented opportunity,” and Riley didn’t believe he was in the best position to share his real thoughts about all this change. (Terrible, just terrible.) So he nodded and smiled along as he packed boxes and folded comforters. His outsides were calm and serene like a duck floating lazily in a pond while his insides quaked, racing back and forth like the duck’s little feet right beneath the surface of the water, splashing away.
As his last day of school loomed closer, Riley pulled more and more into himself. No one could tell, but he might have disappeared into his navel at any moment. Everyone was going to forget about him here and then he would go off to a new school and not have any friends there. Poppa picked up on his solemnness and one day sat his eight-year-old son on his knee and assured him that everything would be all right. How could it not, with him right there? And of course, Momma, Debbie, and Michael would be around for their new adventure as well. He would make friends in no time. (The Palmers were quite likeable after all.)
“Give it a few weeks, and you’ll feel right at home. You’ll see.” Poppa was so convincing that Riley believed him. He could finally look forward to this move.
Momma was also pretty persuasive, it seemed, because it wasn’t just Riley who was about to start at an all-new, first-rate school. Debbie would be too. Riley had stood a few steps before the kitchen in order to be hidden from view but still able to catch every single word his mother uttered on the phone when speaking to his future school’s principal.
“It’s all or nothing,” she said firmly. “It’s only a matter of time before they start enforcing this new law over there, and I’m not sending any of my babies to no school to be heckled and harmed by white folks. You’ll take Riley and Deborah and even little Michael when he’s old enough or we’ll stay right here in Virginia.” Success. And voila, they were all headed to the Sooner State.
It didn’t always work out that way, but Riley tried to stay out of grown folks’ business. That’s what he was raised to do. But when the principal agreed, he’d cheered silently to himself, overjoyed. He’d watched white men bark at his poppa and call him boy. He’d noticed that Momma always made sure to keep her eyes down when speaking to anybody white as well. And anything (or anyone) terrible enough to spook Riley’s momma and poppa scared him too. Knowing that they’d all be safe was a dream come true.
“Welcome to Edmond,” he read aloud as they drove past a large brown sign along Route 66.
“We’re running a little behind, but should be in Alpha soon,” Poppa told them. “And, kids? I want you to hold me to this—I’m gonna get Momma two bouquets of roses, since I didn’t have a chance to get her weekly dozen while we were prepping for the move.”
Riley and Debbie nodded from their place in the back seat. Even little Michael cooed, as if he too would help in the reminding. Poppa and Momma exchanged a glance just between the two of them. They had a special way of communicating that involved nothing more than their pupils and eyebrows. More grown folks’ business that Riley shouldn’t be minding. He looked out the window and noticed the sun was just beginning to set. Beautiful oranges, pinks, and reds painted the sky before finally settling into darkness, the white twinkles of the stars popped into place ready to put on a show. He stared at them, mesmerized, and tried his hardest to count them all.
He must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing Riley knew the car was slowing down until it rolled to a complete stop.
“What’s wrong, Ma?” he asked, wiping the crusty sleep from his eyes.
“We’ve run out of gas is all,” Momma said. She had that scared look on her face. The same one she got when they had to go to the post office and talk to those white folks.
“It’s my fault for not paying closer attention to the tank,” Poppa said. He rubbed his hands across his face. He was tired. Despite Momma’s insistence, Poppa had decided to forgo following his list and instead kept driving so they could get to Alpha faster. They’d stopped only once the entire trip, hours ago at Mrs. E. Brown’s Tourist Home in Chattanooga, Tennessee. Poppa took a quick nap, and then they were back on the road again. It was understandable that he would forget to keep an eye on the tank.
“What are we gonna do?” Debbie asked from where she sat beside Riley. She was cozy with her legs tucked under the folds of her light blue dress.
Poppa leafed through the booklet that he was looking at earlier. “It says here there’s a gas station that we must’ve passed a few miles ago. I’m going to head back and get some fuel and then we’ll be on our way.”
“Joseph...do you have to go now? We could just sit here and wait until morning. We really aren’t in any hurry.” Momma placed a hand on Poppa’s arm to stop him from leaving.
“I’ll be fine, Helen,” Poppa said and flashed her his winning smile. “Rather us get out of this sundown town as soon as possible. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Momma looked at Poppa long and hard and then finally nodded for him to go. He took her chin in his hand and gazed at her all tenderlike, as if communicating their secrets, and planted a kiss on her full lips. Riley and Debbie squealed in the back seat, and Momma hushed them to not wake up the baby. Poppa looked down at Michael, sleeping in Momma�
�s arms, and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. He turned to the duo in the back seat and beckoned them forward, a kiss for Debbie and one for Riley too.
“Be on your best behavior, kids,” Poppa said before stepping out of the car. He turned to his oldest son and said, “You’re the man in charge while I’m away, okay, Riley? Can I trust you?”
He nodded at Poppa. His stomach was in knots at the thought. Riley could hardly sit at the kitchen table without his feet swinging. He didn’t think he was old enough to be a whole man. But if Poppa said he was, then that was that.
Poppa stepped out of the car and Momma locked the door behind him. Riley watched as his father walked back down the road that they had driven on. He stared after him until his white shirt was one more twinkly star against the night.
The tap tap tap that woke Riley the next morning startled him so that he almost hit Debbie in the face with his elbow. It was Uncle Frank at Poppa’s window. He was alone, holding his hat in his hand and twisting it like he was juicing an orange. His eyes were so bloodshot that Riley wondered if his uncle had squeezed the imaginary fruit onto his face. Momma quickly got out of the car and made her way to her brother-in-law. She bounced Michael on her hip, but she was paying him no mind. She was studying Uncle Frank. Taking in his hunched shoulders and the skinny creases that pinched his eyebrows together in a way Riley had never seen before on his usually jovial uncle’s face. No, no, Riley knew he was not supposed to mind grown folks’ business, but the goose bumps on his arms and the ghost in his ear were telling him that something was wrong. He rolled down the window just a crack so that he and Debbie could hear what was going on.
“Cut the small talk, Frank,” Momma said. Her voice was high, wild. Like she was on the verge of shattering right before them.
“Helen.” Uncle Frank’s voice was deep with what could only be sorrow. “You might want to sit down.”
26
HAPPI
TUESDAY, JULY 31—
3 MONTHS, 14 DAYS SINCE THE ARREST
EDMOND, OKLAHOMA
When we step inside the bar and feel the cool draft of the air-conditioning, I could cry. But the few pairs of eyes that turn toward us as soon as we enter send a decidedly unwelcome chill down my spine.
“They don’t look like they want us here,” I whisper to Genny.
“Yeah, well, we don’t wanna be here either,” she answers quietly. “Let’s just get the gas and peace the hell out.”
We follow my sister to the bar, where a middle-aged white woman with dirty-blond hair and red lipstick on her teeth is working behind the counter.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Genny says sweetly. She looks down at the name tag pinned to the front of the bartender’s shirt. “Is it all right if I call you Bev? Do you know if Richard is in today?”
“He’s off,” Bev replies curtly and starts to turn away.
“Oh!” Genny says, which stops the bartender from dismissing us. “We were just with Mr. Baker over at the Montgomery Baker Filling Station and Museum. We’ve run out of gas, and he said that Richard would be able to help. Since he’s not in... Do you think you could assist us instead?”
“Look, if you’re not gonna buy anything, then it’s best you get on.”
“Are you serious?” Ximena asks incredulously. “She just asked you for help and you’re going to turn us away? What kind of—ow!”
Ximena stops abruptly as Genny has stepped forward and stomped down on her big toe.
“Please excuse my friend, Bev,” Genny says. “We’ve been walking in this Oklahoma heat. Can you help us out with just a little bit of gas so that we can be on our way?”
“Fine,” Bev replies in exasperation. “Let me tend to these paying customers first.”
We wait twenty minutes before Ximena starts to complain again. Loudly. “This is ridiculous. There aren’t even that many people here!”
“Ximena, cut the shit,” Genny snaps. “You tryin’ to get us killed out here?” As soon as the words are out of her mouth, I can tell she regrets it. “I’m s—”
“I’m going to the restroom,” Ximena interrupts, and dismisses herself from where we’re sitting at the bar. She doesn’t turn away fast enough to hide the red spreading on her cheeks.
“Dammit,” Genny sighs. “I’ll be back.”
Before Genny can take a step, one of the “paying customers” gets up from his end of the bar and walks over to us. The way my sister squares her shoulders lets me know that she’s preparing for a fight. But the man who stands before us doesn’t look that tough. He’s a fairly tall white guy with sandy brown hair and a scruffy beard that looks like he forgot to shave this morning. Thin. Plain. Forgettable.
“It sounded like you all needed a little help? I’m Mark. Mark Collins.” The man sticks his hand out for Genny to shake.
She takes it slowly and answers, “Yeah. Our car ran out of gas. We only need a little bit to make it to the closest station, and then we’ll be all set.”
“Well you’re in luck. My family happens to own this restaurant, and I know for certain that we’ve got extra fuel to spare. I’ll have Bev bring it right out. Are you all hungry? Have a seat. My treat.”
We don’t have the chance to reply, because Mark is already making his way back to Bev. He speaks quickly with her, and the glare she throws our way says that she’s not amused to be helping the likes of us. Genny lets Mark and Bev know that we’re going to freshen up, and then we head to the restroom.
The bathroom is very small with only two stalls. One of them is locked, but the sound of muffled sniffles is unmistakable. Genny knocks on the door and whispers Ximena’s name. She opens it slightly.
I try my hardest not to interrupt or distract them, but it’s hard in such close quarters. After a little while, Genny has squeezed in with Ximena and closes the door behind them. I think it’s best to give them some privacy, so I quickly wash my hands and head outside to meet Derek, who is now seated at a table and accompanied by Mark.
Mark is chatty. He’s one of those guys who tries too hard to be likeable. He laughs a little too loudly at Derek’s jokes, although his smile never seems to reach his eyes, and nods eagerly at me as I speak to show that he’s paying extra close attention. He rubs me the wrong way, but I can’t tell if it’s something he did or the regular way that white guys in general tend to make me wary at times. I slide my hands up and down my arms to chase away the ice that has settled in my bones.
Genny and Ximena join us just as the food comes out, seemingly no longer at odds with one another. Mark has taken it upon himself to order us a little bit of everything on the menu. He’s in the middle of explaining why SaloonEd’s barbecue pulled pork sandwich is the best thing “this side of the Mississippi” when Bev comes back to the table with two fuel containers. She places them on the floor next to Mark and turns around without saying a word. Derek and I glance at each other and smirk.
“Don’t be salty, Bev,” Derek leans over to me to whisper. I stuff a fry into my mouth to gulp down the laughter that is bubbling at my lips.
Finally, we finish eating, and when Genny reaches into her bag to pay, Mark stops her.
“Seriously, you don’t have to worry about that. It was truly an honor to have you here,” he says solemnly. “Your sister is such a brave young woman. Her story is going to change this country for the better.”
His words are meant to comfort, but there’s something about his delivery that gives me pause. And then it dawns on me. The reason that he’s been so nice to us. Mark lobs a look of pity between me and Genny, and all I want is to knock that expression right off his face with one good swing. He thinks his good deed will counteract everything we’ve been through. Like a free lunch will make any difference in our lives, or the lives of people like us.
I look at Genny. She nods once but doesn’t speak, biting back the response I know must be trying to claw its way ou
t of her throat.
We leave quickly after that. There’s no point in tempting our resolve by staying any longer. Not when the memory of a hanging bridge erected proudly in a sundown town will remain inscribed in my mind forever. Not when every fiber of my being wants to lash out at Mark and tell him about himself.
I know white people like him. The ones who sit silently by for twenty whole minutes, watching you be belittled by their fellow white person, only to step in when it becomes impossible for them to ignore. He probably thinks that, by stepping up and saying something, he’s done his ultimate good deed of the day. The whole week even. But good intentions don’t mean shit when it’s your very personhood that’s under attack. When the simple act of asking for help is perceived as a personal affront.
I look back one last time and see Mark staring after us. He smiles strangely, clearly still feeling the afterglow of his own virtue. I turn away and follow the others out of the restaurant before I change my mind and wipe that look off his face after all.
27
SHAQUERIA
TUESDAY, APRIL 17—
THE DAY OF THE ARREST
LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
It was stupid hot today, and there was no getting away from it. Not with all the people who were standing around outside, building up their collective outrage to form one cloud of heat. They had matching shirts. Megaphones. White posters with Justice for Jamal written in black letters. I was supposed to meet Tyler on the corner of Jefferson and Broadway, which felt like a good sign. One day I would make it to the real Broadway. But with this enormous crowd, I didn’t know how I would find him. Then, there he was, wearing that ridiculous gold sweatshirt in this weather, just like Jaz told me he would be. He probably thought that having the hood up helped disguise him. Not in that bright-ass yellow. I guess he really was just a dumb kid.
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