Because We Are (4 page)

Cheryl and Dee ran to hug Emma. “Girl, the cheerleaders here at Manning are
bad
,” Dee said.

“Too bad Marlborough doesn't have a jazzy pep club like that. If they did, I'd try even harder to get in it. How are you, girl?” Cheryl hugged Emma again.

“Hey, look. There's Em. Hi, Em, what's happening?” came from all sides. She was happy to see all the old faces and so pleased that she had been remembered with affection; but suddenly she had a feeling that she wanted Manning to win the game.

From the starting whistle, the game was tough going for Marlborough; but they stayed in there, with cheers giving their team courage. The game was so close and intense the crowd was like a fuse, slowly burning to an explosion.

Emma wanted to talk, but Marvin was too involved with the game to listen.

By halftime, when Manning's band was on the field and the drill team was thrilling the crowd, the score was fourteen to six with Manning in the lead. Marlborough's section was a little subdued, but confident. “We'll come back and beat you, what you bet?” Marvin said to Emma.

Emma was joyful, but a bit disappointed. She had hoped that the victory would be complete at half-time. Now the game could go either way. “I hate to see you lose,” she said to Marvin, “but we've got the best team.… Hey, you miss me?”

“What kind of question is that? I should ask you that. You seem to be making it fine over here.”

“I'm not. It's different. Real different. Nobody but Allan Page makes sense here.”

“Just don't let him make too much sense.” He looked at her and smiled.

Emma laughed. “You wouldn't be jealous, would you? I know what's happening between you and you-know-who.”

“Your grapevine's working, eh? Women … just too much.”

“I just bet. All girls wanting to make out with Marvelous Marv. Too much, indeed. Ha!”

“Listen, baby, I'm with
you
now. So let's make the most of the day. OK?”

“What'll we do today?”

“Let's just play it by ear. But I do know we'll go back to Marlborough and welcome our team.”

“They'll need more than a rousing welcome to raise their spirits when we're through with them.”

“Hey, there's a Manning fan in our midst,” Marvin shouted. “Shall we kill her?”

Emma's friends all gathered around and chanted: “Beat 'er up, beat 'er up, yea, yea, yea!”

When things had quieted down, Marvin said, “If you brag again, woman, I'll send you over to the other side and leave you there.”

“Allan Page is over there.”

“He doesn't have my record, remember. Ha, ha, ha!”

“He doesn't have your anything, Marv.” She squeezed his hand and settled down to see the outcome of the second half of the game.

It was touch and go! Marlborough scored, but missed the extra point. Marlborough's fans, nevertheless, came alive. The score was now fourteen to twelve, Manning still ahead. Then Manning trapped Marlborough behind Marlborough's goal line, giving Manning two more points. Marlborough could not get going, and for the second time was trapped for a safety. Marvin was demoralized. Manning won the game eighteen to twelve.

The stadium exploded with Manning's fans clapping, stamping and chanting:

CLAP YOUR HANDS
.
STAMP YOUR FEET
.

MANNING
'
S TIGERS CAN
'
T BE BEAT
!

ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST
.

ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST
!

As the crowd moved outside the stadium, Brenda and her group snaked through, chanting:

WATCH OUT
,
WE
'
RE HERE
.

EVERYBODY
,
STAND CLEAR
.

WE
'
RE AT THE PEAK

OF OUR WINNING STREAK
.

SO
,
HEY
,
EVERYBODY
,
STAND CLEAR
!

When Brenda saw Emma, she shouted, “Hey, look at our saddity friend licking Marlborough's wounds.”

“Aw, leave her 'lone,” Liz said.

“Yeah, she think she too good for Manning. Traitor,” another said.

“The way we done kicked Marlborough's ass t'day,” Brenda said, “that chick's gotta' be all they say she is: a washed-out Marlborough Oreo.”

“
O-oo-o
, dog 'er, Brenda,” the crowd shouted.

The word
Oreo
exploded in Emma's mind and the jeers of the crowd flamed her anger. She moved toward Brenda, tightfisted, ready to fight.

“Emma, what's all this?”

Emma turned and saw her mother. “Come on here, get in the car,” her mother said.

“Wait for me, Marvin.” Emma followed her mother. “Mama, that's just some silly girls. I'm with Marvin. We're going over to Marlborough; he'll bring me home later.”

“You're getting in this car and going home, Emma.”

“But, why? Why can't I go with Marvin?”

“I don't want you out here with all these crazy people.”

“I'm
not
with crazy people.”

“I saw you, acting like you were brought up in the streets.”

“Mama! What are you talking about?”

“Get in that car.”

“Mama, please. Let me go.”

“Emma, you're going home. Go tell Marvin he can come with us now or he can come by for you later.”

“I can't tell him that, Mama.”

“Then I'll tell him.”

“No! Please.”

“Either you do it, or I'll do it.”

Emma fought back the tears as she went over to Marvin. “I can't go.”

“What? Why not?”

“Mama says no.”

“What about you? What do
you
say?”

“Oh, Marv, I want to. I can later if you come by.”

“Listen, woman, I came over here to be with you and for us to spend this day together. Now, you make up your mind. I can't come later. Things are happening
now.
”

“Oh, Marvin … I don't know what to do.”

“I can't tell you.”

Emma lowered her head and bit her lips, trying to fight back the tears.

“OK, baby.” Marvin kissed her on her lowered forehead and walked away to join his friends.

All that had been close and warm was suddenly withdrawn, and she wanted to run after him, away from her mama who shriveled her, treated her like a little child without any will, without feelings. But she just stood there and shivered.

On the way home she sat in the backseat, hanging on, trying to put it out of her mind. She knew if she said one word she would explode. She must not cry.

How could Mama just walk up and decide that I was in the wrong? How can she go on punishing me for one mistake? What is happening to us? Emma felt that she was fighting a shadow. She had to get her mother to trust her again.

Five

Emma went quietly to her room. She lay on her bed fully clothed, trying to contain the anger, to dispel the humiliation; but she could not clear her mind of her mother's words: “… acting like somebody brought up in the street.” Ms. Simmons' word—
riffraff
—flashed before her mind's eye and she burned with shame. Why had she bothered with Liz and her friends at all? Why had Marvin deserted her? Couldn't he see that she needed him? Tears choked her but would not flow.

Reluctantly she rolled her hair in curlers, thinking that Marvin might come. She tried to get involved in
Essence
magazine, but the words did not make sense. Too much was whirling in her brain: Would she make her debut? What was happening between her and her mother? If only her father were here—had never left home. Things had been a lot better, even until he remarried.

She remembered how, before, he had come to see her often. They went places—to the beach, to San Diego. Always when he brought her home, her mother would have prepared special dishes that Emma's father liked. They all had time together. Emma prolonged that time, showing her father all the things she had accomplished: her test scores, special projects, paintings—anything to hold them together. Then he remarried. It was as if he had died. His visits became further and further apart.

Now, as she looked back over the past few years, she could see how her mother had changed. After the remarriage, at first Emma had given up hope, also, that he would come back. But then she believed that if she made him proud of her, he'd want to come home. She worked even harder then.

That was one reason why she wanted to be a debutante so badly. Her father would certainly take her mother to the ball. That was a family affair: the daughter of Dr. and Mrs. Lawrence Walsh. She would help her mother choose the right dress and makeup; make sure she was as pretty as she could be; and her father would be so pleased he would like both of them.

What if he brought Jody? The thought paralyzed her. How could she stand before all those people and be announced as the daughter of Dr. Lawrence Walsh and Mrs. Janet Roberson Walsh? Everyone would know she had no family. Her father would dance one dance with her, and then all the rest with Jody. How would her mother feel? Why hadn't she thought of her mother's feelings before?

The phone rang and she was startled out of the depressing mood with a hope that it might be Marvin. She waited to be called. When her mother did not come, she slowly undressed for the night.

Later her mother knocked on her door. “Emma. Emma,” she called.

Suddenly the anger at her mother returned. She lay quiet and still. Get hold, she told herself, but she could not answer.

“Emma!”

“Yes.”

“May I come in?”

Emma angrily turned over on her stomach and pressed her head down on her folded arms, still not answering.

“Emma, are you in there?”

“Come on,” Emma finally said.

Her mother entered and sat on the side of the bed. Emma did not look at her.

“I guess you think I'm hard on you, Emma, but I'm only trying to keep you from destroying yourself.”

Emma felt the anger move to guilt. She kept her head down.

“Do you want to make your debut, Emma?”

She felt that she deserved to be a debutante. She had worked hard for it. She had maintained a four-point average; she had not only involved herself in community activities, but she had also participated in many extra school activities. Now she did not answer.

“Let's assume you do,” her mother went on.

Emma raised her head and looked at her mother. “Does it matter what
I
want? Are they going to let me?”

“We're doing all we can to make sure that you are accepted. But you're going to have to be on your best behavior.”

“Mama, I didn't do anything—”

“Emma, you're going to have to learn that you don't have to start the fire to get burned. You always have to protect yourself. Stay away from people like that.”

Anger similar to that she had felt at Ms. Simmons stirred in her. “Like what?” she demanded.

“Like they have no sense and no self-respect,” her mother said impatiently. “Now I want you to promise me that you will not be bothered with people like those girls.”

“I was not with those girls, Mama. Can't you understand?”

“I
understand
that you're already in trouble, Emma. So promise.”

Emma sighed and did not respond.

“Is that too much to ask? That you protect yourself?”

“OK, OK, if that's what you want. I'll promise.”

“Oh, Emma.…” her mother cried and left. The door reopened suddenly and her mother said angrily, “I wish you'd clean that messy room.”

Emma buried her head in her pillow to stifle the sobs. What do they want from me? Mama, Ms. Simmons, my friends? She thought of Liz and Brenda—my enemies? She felt torn. Always she was trying to please. For what? If she satisfied her friends, she offended her parents and teachers. What could she do? Suddenly Marvin's words struck her: “What do
you
say?” “What do I say?” she demanded aloud. That was the burning question that she had to answer, but she knew she could not deal with it then.

It was not even eight o'clock, so Emma decided to watch
Masterpiece Theatre
on public TV. When she walked out of her room, she discovered her mother dressed to go out. Then she remembered it was her mother's bridge-game night.

“I'll be at Ethyl's. I left the number right by the phone if you need me. Think you can do without me for a few hours?”

That was her mother's way of making up. Emma responded, “Oh, I guess so.”

“You sure, now?” her mother asked.

“You had better go before I change my mind.” They both laughed and an uneasy truce was made.

After
Masterpiece Theatre
, Emma flipped the dial, but found nothing to ease her mind. She went to bed.

Around midnight she awoke from troubled sleep, from a bad dream that she could not remember. The house was quiet. The silence was eerie. She got up and looked out her window. A fog had stolen in, so thick she could not see the streetlight near the house. Quietly she opened the door.

The living room light was still on. Her mother had not returned. What would she do if something happened to her mother? Nothing would happen, she reassured herself. November was the month of fog, and her mother was a good driver. Still she worried.

Finally, she heard a car in the driveway and the garage door open and close. Relieved, she sank into sleep before her mother peeped into her room to see if all was well.

Again she awoke from troubled sleep. It was only twenty minutes after three. She got out of bed and looked out her window. The silent, foggy darkness was still there. Feeling lonely, she thought about her father and remembered how, when she was a little girl, she would wake in the night and go to her parents' room. Her father would always let her into their bed on his side. She remembered the warm place and his nice clean smell of soap. She felt the tears in her throat and longed then to go in to her mother and say how sorry she was about everything—especially sorry for them; but she lay on her own bed and listened for the familiar sounds of the night to break through the silence.