Authors: Mercedes Keyes
Two of them; considered of high scholastic achievement;
Timothy Faulkes, and Randolph Zimmermann, who also happened to
be a practical joker. The other two achievement levels ran towards
satisfactory; they competed to be known as the best looking of the foursome. The first, Anthony Alexander Raymond Whitherford III,
was the lesser in looks of the two, falling towards a fair
complexion, dark hair and European sharp features, whereas his
rival was just the opposite. A more fitting description of him was that of a rough start, known to be daring, tough, a bully at times and headstrong, with odd
darker looks than the others. He stood out with his almost six-foot
height, tanned skin that was suspiciously maintained throughout the
year. His odd blending and uncustomary contrast was because of hair
that was heavily wavy, almost unruly with the richest, red-auburn ever
seen. Completing his looks were amber eyes that he used to cut
anyone he felt a need to intimidate. Because of Rollo, he was already
more muscular than most his age. By the time Rollo finished with him
from one day to the next, laying one physically demanding chore after
another on him, he was often left shaking from fatigue.
Also,
unknown to Lena and Sandra, were the times Rollo spent taunting him.
Inciting him to bursts of anger where his mouth landed him in a
wrestling match with Rollo; of course never winning against the solid large black man. Rollo relished the joy of baiting the youth and then,
pinning him in some hold that forced him to try to struggle out of,
while enduring the pain and discomfort of being pushed to the edge,
forcing an apology using words to demean and shame him, finally
unable to endure any longer, Rory would give him what he asked for.
Disgusted, Rollo would turn him lose. "You ain't shit, just a nigga
dandy, white boy, in pretty pants. Run fo' I kick yo' ass again!"
And run he would.
It never crossed his mind to tell Sandra or Lena,
because that would make him truly, a soft pretty pants. Away from
home, he found a way to get his dignity back by lashing out and
bullying those around him. One in particular, was Anthony, if he gave
him any reason to set him straight. The contest between the two rose
and fell depending on the challenges brought between them. At the
present, Anthony was hating the fact that Rory had hair growing on
his face; a shadow of a mustache and goatee. He, Anthony — as well
the other two...had none. When the boys chanced to meet at social
events, Rory stood out at all the gatherings that Sandra tried to attend
for his sake.
While there, among his friends, all the young debutants eyed
Rory, giggling behind their fans; their hearts pounding with hope that
he would grant them the privilege of a dance. Not only did his walk,
talk and daring attract young girls, but women as well, with many
lessons coming his way earlier than most.
"Uh-oh Rory, she's here for you again, standing there by the gate looking this way." Randy warned him as they casually strolled down
the wide stone stairs.
"Aaah, poor Rory, seems your mother can't trust you to come
home on time, so she's sent your mammy warden to fetch you. We
were discussing possibly heading to Lady Primrose's to spy on a few
of the girls, looks like we can count you out." Anthony teased snidely,
knowing he could get away with a few taunts, but not sure why; it was
well known that Rory did not hesitate to bloody a deserving nose.
"If Rory wanted, he could come along, we've ditched them
before, haven't we Rory?" Timothy defended his friend, loyal as
always. Rory gave a mind to neither, he was coloring angrily at the
idea that she had actually gotten out of the landau, showing herself. What had come over her? Was she trying to make things even harder
for him?
"Well Rory, you coming along or not? If not, then head off to
your mammy, she's waiting to report to your mother." Anthony pushed further. Slowly Rory turned narrowed eyes to
Anthony, stopping to stare quietly. There were times when he wanted
nothing more than to break his soft pretty face, to bury his fist over
and over; maybe break his fine boned nose, but he held back,
Anthony's parents were very rich and influential. The last thing he
needed was more problems for Sandra, where the truth about him
might come out. That frightened him more than anything did. He had
lived the life, of passing for white and had been doing so for too long, to
just give up all and face a life of degradation, shame and humiliation.
No one would humiliate him, not if he could avoid it. No one knew
the truth, that Sandra was not his mother. That in fact, the person
they believed his mammy, was indeed his mother.
Anthony gulped as Rory finally cut his harsh glaring; blurting to recover his nerve, "I guess that means you're not coming? Afraid to
ditch'em again? After all, mother has spoken."
"Anthony, imbeciles bore me." Rory tossed the scathing insult.
Randy laughed out looking to Anthony for his turn; he only reddened
biting into his lip. "Anyway, if I wanted to go, I would. As a matter of
fact, I'll meet you all there, a bit of fare calls me." He informed them, heading for the gate. Stopping there, he gave his mother a reproachful
look, his lips pressed tight. Stepping through he made his way to the
landau, not bothering to wait for her. He stopped at the door that
Rollo slammed closed blocking his entrance. "Don' make me do it
boy, you back up, now."
Swallowing Rory backed away as his mother stepped up. He
reddened hoping his friends did not see that he’d stepped aside for her;
leading them to thinking. He
tried to step in quickly before Rollo walked away, but he placed his
foot in his path, tripping him. Rory stumbled inside and recovered
quickly; looking back angrily. Rollo smiled sarcastically, daring him to
say anything, his eyes telling him,
I’ll get you later boy
.
Sitting back in the coach, Rory's nostrils flared in anger.
Lena said nothing as she sat across from her son,
silently gazing out of the window; trying to ignore the pressure
building in her head, a sure sign of a headache on its way. Rory's glare
was aggressive and displayed anger directed at her, as his legs shook impatiently.
After five minutes of his eyes boring into her, Lena turned to face
him.
Unconsciously, she winced. Rory Everard Sinclair was an angry
and bitter young man. She swallowed her reactive feelings seeing that
truth about him, and turned away back to the passing scenery.
"Well! When is this going to stop?!" He wailed, breaking the
silence.
Ignoring him, Lena continued to stare out of her
window in hopes that she could get back home to her medicine
before the headache took over, growing out of proportions.
"Ah, ignore him... he'll go away! Too late! I'm here! Here to stay!"
He taunted and still she gave no reply. "Nothing new, you ignoring
me. Fine, I don't give a damn!"
"You watch your tongue!" Lena rebuked him without
looking his way.
"Oooh, excuse me Ms Lena. After all, that is the reason I'm
attending - Sir - Wyatt Reeds - isn't it, to learn proper manners,
only fitting for a proper gentlemen, certainly. Why I should be
expelled, the nerve of me, using such language in the presence of a
lady."
When that did not get a rise from her and she remained silent,
he came out with what his problem was.
"How could you get out of the coach like tha
t? I hope you know
they saw you; calling you my mammy, of all things. That's all I need,
for someone to find out my mother is a, a-..."
"Negro? Black? Nigga? Take your pick." She supplied, hurt
despite the part of her in him being the way he was. Rory collapsed back in his seat with a deep breath, not realizing until then how tense he was.
They said nothing more for the moment with him copying her silent gazing out the window. The longer he sat, the more his heart
pounded.
'Why must my life be so complicated? Why can't I just be white? I
pass for it easy enough. But I'm not, I'm just a damn mulatto with no past, and
no future. No father to even look at from a distance to say, he is mine; he is the
reason that I am.'
Glancing back at Lena he thought.
'Because my dear
mother doesn't want to talk about him; so I’m just here!'
Aggravated at
himself for even caring, there were times that he felt a pain of
conscience for rejecting that half of him that was from her. Looking
away again he thought,
'Damn it, it's not my fault. Sandra put me in that
high and fancy white school! I didn't ask to go there! I had no control over that.
Now I'm supposed to subject myself to public humiliation by admitting that I'm
nothing more than a mixed bastard to a negro woman, who knows nothing of the man who
fathered me! So, you leave me to believe.'
Angry eyes went to stare at her again.
'I've given you chances aplenty to
tell me who my father is. Oh what the hell does it matter anyway. If she doesn't
give a damn, why should!?'
"You know, you said that, as if it's my fault that you're a Negro.
I had nothing to do with it. You made me a promise — you promised
to leave me alone; that you would never let anyone know!"
"Does anyone know, Rory!" Lena snapped.
Rory swallowed, brooding. "No, not yet, but if you keep coming to the school to get me and getting out of the coach, someone could begin to wonder. I don't need an escort home, I know the way."
"This arrangement is of your making. It exists because of your
acts! Cease this behavior and I need not show my face at your school
again; very simple remedy." She fired out rapidly.
"I'm not doing anything wrong!" He defended.
"I thought the same thing when Sandra and I had to retrieve you
from the dock warden's office and the two other times from the
constable's office."
Her sarcasm rankled him even more; he stewed in it a moment
before sneering, "As if you ever gave a damn-..."
"I said watch your mouth!"
"What? Does it bother you to hear the truth? You only bother
with me because of Sandra! Heaven forbid if I am an inconvenience to her but because I'm your bastard, it's a burden and curse you must
bear I suppose!"
"That's enough, Rory."
"You could care less if I came home or not! What do you care if I
get into trouble; just as long as I leave you alone! And you expect
me-..."
"Drop it, I have a headache."
"Aaaah, you have a bleedin' headache! Poor, poor Ms Lena, she
is in an awful way! Heaven forbid that I should pester you with one of
your headaches. The one sitting across from you is quite enough to
deal with. The poor thing can't be expected to deal with both at the
same time...how unfortunate for you." His teeth grinded in growing
resentment and anger, trying to camouflage the pain and hurt he
felt, but he would never admit it to her.
Lena, despite his efforts, could hear the tremor in his words. She could not miss the underlying heartache he was suffering. She fought
its effects on her, she could not help him, nor did she want this
confrontation of his pain, she barely hung on with the battle of her
own.
Showing false concern, he leaned forward, looking closer into her
face. "Is it, hurtin’ really bad?"
Lena sighed, "Rory, say anything you wish later, but for now,
please stop."
"Oh, so later you won't mind if I say, damn, hell, shit, fu-..."
"What must I do to keep you quiet!?" She snarled.
He leaned back chuckling. "I'm a real pain in the ass - oh — sorry,
I'll save that for later, so you can have a little peace now. Sure mother
dear, not now, not here, nor there, not ever! Whatever pleases
you...however, I must ask this one question that plagues me ever so
much...why? Tell me, why did you ever bother having me?”
“
You could
have saved yourself all of this trouble if you had just left that hunk of white flesh alone that stuck you with me."
Lena sucked in hurt by his crude remark. It hit too close to home
for many reasons, before she could stop herself, she was trembling
and screaming at him.
"How dare you speak to me that way? I said drop it and I do mean drop it
! I don’t wish to hear another word from your foul
– vile mouth
!"