One Day She'll Darken

by Fauna Hodel

  Pat took notice and her face turned red, “That’s Rudy’s,” she said.

  “Rudy’s? Rudy’s what?” Inez asked

  “Rudy’s stuff!”

  “What were you doing with him?” Inez asked, even as she understood the answer. “How long has this been going on?” she began, but added, “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  Inez shook her head and started pacing back and forth. “I can’t believe this. I’m older than you and I’m still a virgin, and you—out screwing the finest wolf in the whole damn forest—my own cousin.” Inez sat down in the chair opposite the bed.

  “You are fast, girl. I mean F-A-S-T. I heard of some fast women in my time, but you are faster than any of them. I can’t even get a boy to take a second look at me. I’ve got no shape, just straight—no hips, no breasts, just blue eyes! And everyone’s afraid of them. Huh! Shit, girl. You got tits and everything! My Lord!”

  Pat chuckled, but then she got serious. “You’re not gonna tell Jimmie, are you?”

  “Tell Jimmie! Are you crazy, girl? Why, if she even hint at a thing goin’ on between you and Rudy, she’d cut my tongue out first, then choke you with it . . . and then she go after Rudy. Huh! I ain’t no fool. I don’t tell that woman nothin’—especially since she’s got the hots for Rudy in the first place. That’s all she has to do is find out you been cuttin’ in on her stuff. I wouldn’t want to be around when that happens! No shit sister! Not this child!”

  Pat felt safe confiding in Inez. Inez knew Jimmie and feared her as much as anyone, but rather than allowing Jimmie to interfere with her life, Inez avoided any contact with her aunt for a while.

  Pat and Rudy made love at every opportunity . . . sometimes at his brother’s apartment, sometimes in the back of his car, and once in while, when they felt exceptionally daring, in her own bed while Jimmie was away. Pat loved Rudy. All she wanted to do was get married. Although they did their best to keep the tryst private, more people seemed to know what was going on between them. For a while, everyone she met either gave an evil eye because they were jealous, or the high sign and a wink. The latter made her feel wonderful. She gloated over the attention, secure in the knowledge that she was, indeed, very special for capturing the most prized stud in the whole world—at least the world as she knew it.

  A few months after she met Rudy, Pat was sitting in her room reading a magazine when Jimmie burst through the front door, slamming it shut. There was silence for a minute and Pat didn’t pay much attention, thinking that Jimmie probably had gone off to bed. Just as Pat started to reread a passage from a book, her concentration was broken. Jimmie appeared, her silhouette framed in the doorway to Pat’s room, her breathing was rapid, forceful, like a locomotive building up steam. Pat felt sheer terror and instant guilt.

  “Is this the way you pay me back for watchin’ out for you your whole life? I protected you from all the whites trying to take you away, from the cops, from Big Momma, who was gonna give you away. And this is how you treat me!”

  Pat cowered, wildly trying to guess the cause of this episode.

  “You’re only thirteen years old! And you’re going to get pregnant!”

  “What!” gasped Pat. “Pregnant?!”

  “Did you think you could wrinkle the sheets with Rudy and not get knocked up? You wouldn’t know what to do at all. You don’t know nothing about nothing and here you go sleep with a man who’s old enough to be your father! What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you crazy, you stupid white shit?”

  Pat noticed her momma’s eyes well up with hurt.

  “You’re nothing but goddamn white trash, sneakin’ round, trying to get one over on me. Well, sister, you ain’t smart enough, and you ain’t pretty enough—and I ain’t putting’ up with no white patty tramp like you. You had your last goddamn ball in my house!”

  Jimmie barked non-stop. Pat sprang to her feet on the far side of the twin-sized bed, trying to keep some distance between her and the impending violence. Jimmie lunged, swinging wildly, repeatedly missing her target with three out of four strikes. Pat relaxed when she realized that Jimmie’s punches lacked power in her semi-impaired state.

  Without waiting for panic to paralyze her, Pat spryly leaped to one side and scurried out of the room, leaving Jimmie sprawled on the bed. As she reached the far side of the kitchen table for protection, she detected Homer standing at the door.

  “What all’s going on here?” he asked.

  Jimmie burst from the bedroom. “You mind your own damn business. This is my daughter and I’ll do with her as I please!”

  She turned to Pat and yelled, “Come here, you little whore, I’m gonna kick your ass all over this house!”

  Homer tried to intercede but was swept aside. With Pat out of reach on the other side of the table, Jimmie groped for a weapon only to find a wooden spoon on the counter. Jimmie swung both ways and missed twice. Pat winced, protecting her face with her arms as Jimmie threw the spoon, stinging her on the arm.

  “Stop it! Stop it!” pleaded Pat, tears coursing down her cheeks. “I love him. I want to marry him!”

  “It’ll be over my dead body if you do,” screamed Jimmie as she began hurling anything loose: an empty tuna can, forks, paper napkins, an ashtray. “And my body ain’t dead yet, so you can get your damn white ass outta here, cause I don’t want you around anymore!

  “And if you think that he loves you—ha! You just white trash. All he wants is to put it to you,” she hissed, pointing toward the door. “So get your ass out. Go on, out!”

  Still smarting from the objects thrown at her, Pat’s wet cheeks were met by a cold blast of winter air as she opened the door, reached around for a sweater on the back of a chair and fled. Jimmie rushed after her, but Homer again interceded.

  “Hey, Baby, you actin’ like a fool. You’re scaring the shit out of poor Pat. What’s the matter wit you anyway?”

  “I told you to mind your own business,” growled Jimmie, “before I crack your head open! This is between that white hussy and me. I don’t want her in this house no more. Let her do her trashy shit someplace else!”

  CHAPTER 15

  Pat stood in the cold night air with only a sweater to keep her warm. As she stepped away from the house, she felt the weight lifting from her shoulders. The light snowfall calmed her nerves. From the far side of Homer’s old Packard, she heard the shouting and watched Jimmie’s shadow bounce between the windows as she raged about the room. Suddenly, it all seemed as if it was something from another world—a lifetime away.

  She turned and searched the dimly lit street for a friendly sign, but the houses that she had known most of her life suddenly seemed foreign and distant and smaller. She felt alone and lost. There were no angels about, only Homer’s old car that provided shelter from the freezing elements. She climbed into the back seat where the broken window had been covered up by thin cardboard. The snow seeped in through the cracks and she still felt the cold breezes chilling her nose.

  It was almost an hour before Homer opened the car door. “Hey, Pat, you must be frozen out here,” he said as he covered her frigid body with a heavy blanket from her bed. It was the most comfort anyone had given her. Still, she spent the rest of the night with very little sleep, shivering to stay warm.

  At daybreak, the snow stopped and the sun rose over the mountain. The house was silent. Down the street, she could hear someone warming up a car. The windows were covered with snow. The morning light brought with it some resolve. Without hesitation or thought, she walked over to the Gastons to wake up Joyce.

  “What are you doing here so early in the morning?” Mrs. Gaston asked as she opened the door. “Is there someplace you and Joyce were planning on going?”

  “Ah, no, Mrs. Gaston, Joyce don’t know I’m here, but I can’t go home,” Pat said as she bowed her head. “Momma threw me out and I just wanted to get warm. Can I come in?”

  Mrs. Gaston stared, and then glanced over Pat’s shoulder to see if anyone else was around. “Yea
h, of course, come in, come in. Let me get you some breakfast.” She led her into the house and called for Joyce to get up. “Look at you, with those wrinkled clothes, reddened eyes, and hair plastered flat on one side, and tangled on the other. Where you been?”

  “I slept in Homer’s car last night.” She told her what happened and soon Joyce was there listening intently to all of the details. They were naturally upset, but not surprised, knowing Jimmie Lee the way they did.

  After they ate and Pat warmed up, she asked to use the phone.

  “Who you gonna call, your momma?” asked Mrs. Gaston. “I’m sure she’s worried sick over you.”

  “No,” said Pat. “I got to call Rudy.”

  Joyce and her mother looked at each other, and then at Pat. Now they were stunned as they watched Pat dial the phone.

  Rudy was sympathetic, but distant. “What are you going to do? Who you gonna stay with?”

  “I want to stay with you. I love you and you love me. You said so. We have to get married,” she said.

  “Married?” Rudy said. The silence hung like a bead of water waiting to drop from the tip of an icicle. “Are you pregnant?”

  “No, I’m not pregnant. Least I don’t think so. But what’s that got to do with it? You want us to be together, don’t you?” Pat asked.

  “Yeah, Sugar, you know I do,” said Rudy. “But I got to tell you, the timing is real bad, I mean real, real bad.”

  “Why, what’s wrong with now? What’s going on?”

  “Well, nothing’s going on, that’s the point. It’s just that I don’t got no place of my own and I ain’t got the scratch to get one. So how we gonna live? Where we gonna live? Besides, you’re thirteen years old.”

  “I’m gonna be fourteen.”

  “Right, fourteen, like that’s gonna make a difference. We can’t just get married. What do you think they’d do to me?” he said, then mumbled to himself soft enough for Pat to hear, “Gettin’ married to a white looking momma who’s not even a teenager.” His voice lifted, “They’ll put my ass in jail and send the key to Mars. They’d never let me out.”

  Suddenly, he sounded like a stranger to Pat. She felt a chill from inside her heart. There was silence on the phone, not even the sound of his breath. “I see,” she said sorrowfully. “I understand. But what am I supposed to do?” She was devastated.

  He responded immediately. “You should get a hold of one of your aunts in Los Angeles and tell them what’s happened. They’ll send you bus money quicker than shit. Besides, if your momma’s on the warpath, then this ain’t no place to be.”

  The suggestion was a good one, even though she was surprised by his cold response.

  Mrs. Gaston called Aunt Lucille, who was outraged by her sister’s handling of Pat’s first love affair. She promised to send a bus ticket for Pat so that she could come stay with her in Los Angeles. Jimmie sent Homer over to the Gastons with her clothes neatly packed in a suitcase, along with all of her other belongings. When that happened, Pat knew for sure there was no way Jimmie was going to let her back in the house. Going to Los Angeles seemed the only choice.

  A day or so later, the bus ticket arrived and she said her good-byes to Joyce and her other friends. It seemed she was going forever and her sadness was visible.

  Pat boarded the bus, anxious to begin her life without fear and hopelessness. Yet, she knew she would be back, if for no other reason than to be with Rudy.

  On the way to LA, Pat had plenty of time to think. She added some reflections to her diary.

  In a drunken stupor

  She ordered,

  “Bitch, outta my house,

  “Sleep in the car!”

  I prayed in the car

  . . . mostly I cried

  But all she could think of was Rudy and how her life had changed since she met him.

  Thirteen,

  and the only “Love”

  I knew Was the “Love”

  I got When I “Gave”

  Johnny’s enthusiasm when he met her at the bus station was encouraging; she felt honored.

  “We’re gonna walk to the school to meet my sister, Barbara.” he said, “That way, we can all go home together.”

  “It feels so different down here this time.” Pat said.

  “Well, you with me now, not your momma. You gonna feel the freedom.”

  As they neared the entrance to the school, a police car drew near them and slowed. “Keep walking,’” Johnny said tensely.

  “Why?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

  “Never mind, just don’t stop fo’ nothing.”

  Suddenly, she heard a cop yell out, “Hey, boy. Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Who, me?” Johnny asked, and then whispered: “Get moving.’” So she did just that.

  “Yeah, Boy. You. Come over here.”

  Johnny obeyed and slowly sauntered over to the car. Pat didn’t hear what they were saying, and she was frightened enough not to look back. She wasn’t more than a half-block away when the cop pulled up next to her in the car and stepped out. She stared at Johnny in the back seat, trying not to act ignorant.

  “What’s your name, Miss?”

  “Fauna Hodel.” She gave her real name.

  “What are you doing here with him?”

  The tone in his voice angered her and her defenses were alerted. “He’s my cousin, and we’re on our way to pick up my other cousin who goes to school here. And then we’re goin’ home.”

  “What’s in the suitcase?”

  “My clothes and stuff.”

  “Open it up. Let me take a look.”

  While standing in front of the school, Pat opened the suitcase. The officer began flinging the contents onto the pavement. She could hear the giggles when her bra hit the sidewalk in view of everyone and tried to maintain her composure as her face went flush. When he appeared to be satisfied with the humiliation, he told her to get in the back of the police car. They treated Pat very politely, but ridiculed Johnny as if he were a criminal. These two overgrown cowboys, emissaries from the City of Angels, berating my innocent cousin, what bigots! She kept her thoughts to herself, too frightened to be angry. They drove off to the police station and placed her into a holding area. For about two hours, she sat wondering what this was all about. Suddenly, Pat heard Aunt Lucille’s voice echo through the hall.

  “The boy’s my son, and the girl’s my niece. She came down here from Reno to stay with me, and you don’t got no right to hold them. I want them released—right now! I’m a righteous God-fearing woman and an elder in my church. If I got to, I’ll get the minister and the whole congregation down here telling you the same thing!”

  After twenty minutes of haranguing, the police finally remanded them to her custody and freed them from the confines of the dirty cell. Aunt Lucille wasn’t angry with Johnny or Pat, only with the police. They dismissed the incident and vowed to be careful to not provide any reason for suspicion in the future.

  Even before the civil rights protests, the assassination of Malcolm X, and the riots in Watts, the blacks were always the first to be questioned for even the slightest infractions, whether real or imaginary. And now Pat was feeling the true effects of being black.

  That night, Pat again wrote in her diary:

  They say we: We say they:

  niggers cheat . . . . . cheated niggers

  niggers steal . . . . . . sold niggers

  niggers con. . . . . . . conned niggers

  niggers rape . . . . . . raped niggers

  niggers kill. . . . . . . killed niggers

  Not even knowing

  Who or what

  I was . . .

  No wonder!

  I wasn’t accepted

  I couldn’t even

  Accept myself

  For the first few days, everything was peaceful in Los Angeles. Aunt Lucille went about her business as usual, Barbara continued to go to school each day, and Johnny and Pat spent most of the time together. Pat cou
ldn’t enroll in school for at least another two weeks. Each afternoon, she would go out and see what was going on in the neighborhood. Some of the kids she knew, but because of her light skin, most were very distrustful of her.

  On the third day, while she was washing the dishes, she heard Johnny talking to someone at the front door. “No, she ain’t here,” she heard him say. “I don’t know when she’s coming back. Maybe never!” Seconds later, he rushed into the kitchen, his eyes widened like an owl’s.

  “We got two dicks at the door asking questions about you,” he said, “I told ’em that you weren’t here.”

  “Why they looking for me? I ain’t done nothing wrong.”

  “Don’t know, but I ain’t gonna let ’em know where you’re at. I know how these cops are. Once they get a hold of you, they never let go!”

  “Yeah, but I ain’t done nothin.” Just as she said that, she saw the two men looking through the kitchen window at her. Before she knew it, they were at the front door again and there was no place for her to hide. They took her into custody for being a runaway.

  Jimmie had filed a complaint against Pat in Reno in order to get her back, telling the police where she would be in Los Angeles. The police would not return Pat to Reno unless Jimmie sent a bus ticket. Jimmie decided that letting Pat spend a night or two in Juvenile Hall would be her way of punishing her for stealing Rudy away. It was easier doing it that way than calling Pat or Lucille on the telephone and going through a heated argument. Jimmie was vengeful, and still very angry at Pat for going out with Rudy. She was angrier still at her sister for taking her in.

  Juvenile Hall, however, was no place for the fainthearted. Pat felt fear the moment she entered—a loneliness unprotected by Homer and the safety of her neighborhood. Not even the wrath of her momma frightened her as much. This was a new world and Pat’s initiation into the California Penal System was humiliating. She was stripped, searched, scrubbed, disinfected, and inspected painstakingly by two middle-age women who’d had more than their share of practice.