Alice’s hand slowly came up to her head as she pondered this new information, file in hand.
What on earth was this whole thing about? Why did George care about this story? Why did he have anything to do with these Thomas Gibson projects at all? Why was he so interested in helping African-Americans? He had never mentioned anything of the sort to her before. Never. Not a hint. And he certainly had never struck her as one who would be involved in community service or helping people on such a grand scale. She never saw that in him; he never showed such a side.
And when the hell did he get so organized?
Alice pulled out the mission statement again and read the rest.
The Thomas Gibson Scholarship Fund, a division of The Thomas Gibson Projects, was established in 1990 for minority educational assistance, particularly African-American males, in memoriam of Thomas Joseph Gibson: a young, African-American man who was killed as a result of a racial hoax. It is a non-profit organization in his honor offering financial assistance and internship opportunities at the undergraduate level to promising individuals pursuing technical fields, who can demonstrate both financial need and a commitment to community service. Before his death, Thomas was an Engineering major at the University of Illinois, an intelligent student with a bright future ahead of him.
There have been many Thomas Gibsons over the decades—even the most recent one—men who were upstanding black men in their community whose lives were cut short by a system of hatred and intolerance. As a result, we have taken it upon ourselves to help those who can make a difference and implement changes in the attitudes of the dominant society. Our goal is to help provide young, underprivileged black men with an opportunity to advance their education and become professionals in their chosen careers.
For all the potential Thomas Gibsons of the world, we offer a chance, a chance that they still have, a chance that Thomas never had, to help lead their communities to brighter futures.
Alice stared at the paper. George could not have possibly written that—it had to be some other member of the organization.
Alice was about to start reading another overview draft planning to follow it up with perusing the other Thomas Gibson projects when the telephone rang.
She sighed and braced herself; she’d have to look for clues to confirm her current theory later.
She was perfectly aware that as word got around about George’s death, the phone would be ringing a lot over the next few days: neighbors, family members and friends calling to express their condolences, offer help, or maybe just find out what exactly had happened to George.
Heart problems,
she would say.
He had too much love to give.
CHAPTER FIVE
Spring 1972
Indianapolis, Indiana
He was affectionate and she loved that about him. Underneath his tough exterior, he had a gentle spirit. He was a good friend to his friends, and an attentive boyfriend to her—always ready with a supportive or comforting hug, or one that said simply, “I’m happy to see you.” It did not matter that he hugged everybody—although his homophobic tendencies kept him from showing affection in this manner to guys for the most part—his hugs for her felt special.
His deep concern for others caught her off guard initially. At first, she thought he was just flirtatious, that he was keeping his options open, but it soon became clear that befriending people was in his nature and that not only was being well-liked important to him, he actually cared about other people.
Once, an acquaintance of theirs had been missing from school for a few days. They were aware that this person, Donna, had been visiting her family in Texas. Then they heard that an airplane had crashed coming from Texas. They all tried not to, but could not help assuming the worst. But then Donna showed up to school the next day after the speculation, oblivious to it. When Alice saw her, she gave her a quick hug and told her she was glad to see she had made it back, briefing her on the speculation that had taken place at school. Donna laughed then told her: “When I ran into George, he practically lifted me off the floor and broke my bones he was hugging me so hard!”
Alice was not threatened by Donna by any means—George would not have been attracted to her because he liked pretty girls and Donna was by no means pretty. She had a good body, but Alice knew George long enough to know that a pretty face was important to him; she knew his type and Donna was not it. But Alice suspected that Donna liked George, and that Donna was delighted to have the chance to tell Alice about the interaction she’d had with him, their special moment. In any case, it was indicative to Alice how much George really cared about people deep down inside; for all his displays of brutish masculinity and the boyish games he played with his friends, he was tenderhearted.
She even remembered a time when he had gotten news that his ex-girlfriend’s brother had died. He had known the man, and when Alice and George sat alone on a bench one evening near a hemlock tree, he told her a few stories regarding his interaction with the brother. Alice got the impression the two had not been particularly close, that George was merely acquainted with him, but still, he’d shed a few tears at the loss of life. She suspected she was the only one—besides perhaps an ex-girlfriend or two and maybe his family—who was aware of this softer side of him, who had seen him cry.
George, however, did not have a particular affinity for coloreds. She did not remember him admiring any colored girls nor did she see him befriending any colored boys; in fact, when one or two colored men had shown interest in her, or at least looked at her, George had run them off so fast, there was no time to figure out if they had actually liked her or were just being friendly. Of course Alice was not surprised—he chased away any guy, regardless of color. He was the dog and she was his tree, or hydrant, or whatever it was that dogs pissed on. She expected this behavior from him of course—he wanted to make sure she was his and that everybody knew it.
In spite of her acceptance of—and even delight with—his possessiveness, at times she found herself wondering about a boy she had been interested in before George came along and staked his claim. Even after she and George were headed for the marriage altar, now and then her mind returned to this fellow she never had a chance with—Edward. She wondered what it would have been like to be with him, date him seriously. She often wondered if Edward would have turned out to be more her type than George. But would Eddie have turned out differently from what she had initially thought as well? She would never know. Her dating was over when she met George, although she did not know it then, and they were married a little over a year and a half after they met, one month after she graduated from college, in the summer of 1972.
Would I have to move right away?
she’d wondered before they took the plunge, then one day voiced aloud her concerns to George.
George had looked at her as if she were crazy.
“Well of course! How else could the marriage work?”
“It’s just that…well we can remain engaged for a little while longer, that way I can still do a little of what I want to do, then we can get married and I’ll move right after.”
“Honey, you think I want to be apart from you for—how long is it?”
“Just one year…”
“For a year? I proposed to you because I want you with me the rest of my life. And I want our life together to begin as soon as possible. Who says you can’t teach in Illinois?”
“It’s just that I already have a job lined up at this school and…George, we’d only be a state away; any one of us could drive over at anytime! It’s not like I’d be in China or something.”
“That’s beside the point Alice. I want to marry you as soon as I can. I want you to be my wife—I need you with me. You don’t have to worry about anything; I’ll take care of you.”
I’ll take care of you.
She thought about his words, then she thought about the words that fit him, words that convinced her he was the one she should marry, the one she shouldn’t let get away.
Attentive, chivalrous.
Well, perhaps ‘chivalrous’ was taking it a bit too far, but he did know how to show he cared and to treat her like a lady.
He was
affectionate, intelligent, devoted. Handsome, talented, and gentle.
George had proven his dedication and love for her and he had a plan for his life—their life. He would be a good husband, a good provider.
She knew she had made the right decision to forsake all others as their marriage vows required.
***
August 1972
Bloomington, Illinois
He wanted her off birth control. She wanted to wait. She thought it was best for them to spend more time with each other before they brought children along, but he thought differently. She wanted to do more with her life first; she was young, full of ideas, enthusiasm, plans—at a point where she could do a lot with her time. He was ready to have a family and it did not stop at her. Besides, what could be more fulfilling for her than having a family to look after?
He found her birth control pills and got rid of them, and when she confronted him about it, he explained his point of view once again. She explained hers.
Finally, after going back and forth for a few days he agreed to go along with her position.
“But,” he said, “we should switch to condoms.”
He still did not trust the pill, he explained. It was unnatural. He was worried about her health. He had a relative who had died from using that particular method of birth control.
She looked into his eyes. He looked sincere. So she agreed—they would make the switch.
She did not fully trust him at first, but after his faithful usage for a few weeks, she let her reservations go.
Then one night, after days of fighting over his continued fraternization with his friends while leaving her home alone and not having the courtesy to even call her to check in, he left home once again without telling her where he was going or giving her an idea of when he was coming back. He returned late once again, in the wee hours of the morning, drunk.
It was four a.m.
She had stayed up as usual, stewing in anger at him for once again disregarding her and her feelings, leaving her alone when he was her only company in this new place—this new neighborhood in a new city in a new state. She had been wondering how she could have married someone, gotten a supposed guaranteed partner for life, and yet still be so lonely, when he came stumbling through the door after fumbling at the knob for a minute. She heard rowdy voices outside fading away as his companions drove off when he finally managed to get in. He locked the door behind him—so she hoped.
She did not have to pretend her anger was greater than her hurt this time.
She waited until he noticed her on the couch, arms folded, staring at the blank, silent screen of the television. She was still except for the back and forth movement of the foot of one leg crossed over the other. She figured it was this movement that caught his attention. Or maybe her anger had stretched across the room and grabbed him, shaking his shoulders, penetrating his drunken stupor.
He looked at her and smiled.
“Hey baby! What are you still doing up?”
She turned her head and looked at him, still wagging her foot.
He leered at her.
“You got plans for me or what?”
At this he started fumbling with his belt.
She was infuriated at his presumption, enough to make her break her silence.
“You think I’m going to have sex with you after the way you’ve treated me? After you abandoned me again to hang out with your loser boyfriends?” she shouted from her seat.
“Hey.” His finger pointed at her, as unfocused as his eyes. “They’re not losers.”
“How could you do this to me? And then have the audacity to suggest sex? Are you out of your drunken mind? George why do you do this to me?”
She was on her feet now, and as much as she had tried to prevent them, tears gathered in her eyes, threatening to fall down her heated face. They infuriated her even more for showing up, and her frustration at their appearance made them fall. She felt humiliated, betrayed by not only her husband, but her own body for making her fail to present herself as a strong, angry force to be reckoned with. What was worse, he brushed it all off and came toward her smiling, arms raised as if he had plans to hug her. She stared at him in wonder.
“You don’t get it, do you?” she asked him softly, unable to stop the raw hurt in her voice which finally succeeded in stopping him in his tracks. His smile peeled away. “You expect me to just take this?” she continued. “We just moved here a few months ago. This is your home state, not mine. I don’t know anyone here. You’re all I’ve got right now! Why do you keep leaving me?”
“But…but you have work…”
“George, I’m teaching. When I get to work, there’s not much teacher socializing before it’s time to teach the first class. And at lunch time, I have enough time to maybe run one errand or have one conversation before or after eating then it’s time to get to my other classes. And at the end of the day, when classes are done, I try to leave as soon as I can so I can come home and fix dinner and have as much of it ready by five-thirty and it’s time to get you. There’s no time to meet anyone outside of school, barely time to talk to anyone at school. I have no-one George!”
She restrained herself from adding that she could not even befriend the neighbors for the simple fact that they knew him, and therefore, would never be her friends in the long run. The wives would probably discuss things with their husbands who were of course his friends. She had been there before.
“Why are you trying to blame me?” he asked, looking confused, making her feel for a moment that maybe she was crazy or being unfair; a moment, and not a second more before she returned to her senses.
Alice took a deep breath and counted to five.
“George, all I’m saying is that I’m lonely. I need you.”
George nodded his head and looked as if he really did understand at last. She felt her shoulders relax in relief.
“I understand,” he said. “I know what you need.”
Alice let out a breath. Then she noticed his hands had gone back to his belt.
“George, what are you doing?” she asked, getting a little alarmed.
“You need some company, right?”
He zipped down his pants.
“That’s what I’m saying but I don’t mean…”
She realized she was taking a step back for each step he took, but his steps were bigger than hers. Soon he was right in front of her. He dropped his pants.
She put her hands up.
“George, I don’t want to do this. I already told you that.”
“Sure you do. That’s why you stayed up right?”
Alice was horrified—all he had understood after all, were his own needs; he had gone right back to the beginning. She slapped his hands away from trying to slip her nightgown sleeves off her shoulder.
“George, stop it,” she said in the firmest voice she could muster. He started pushing her toward the couch. She tried to wriggle away from him.
“George, I’m telling you no!”
He pushed her down onto the seat cushions, and before she could get up from the couch, he was on top of her. Her struggling made them both topple to the floor.
“George…”
His hand was under her gown, pulling down her underwear.
“I’m only giving you what you want,” he said before entering her.