Authors: Melissa Foster
“Now, listen to me. You let Mr. Carlisle handle this and you go along with your life just as if Jimmy Lee was still home. You eat breakfast and lunch, go to the diner, whatever it is you do, do it.”
“But, everyone knows. Daddy already knew!”
“Yes, they do, and that won’t change no matter what you do, so the best thing to do is just go on with your daily life. Do you want me to come over?”
“No. Daddy needs you there. I’m just scared, Mama. I feel like I’m caught in a trap. I’ve got all this stuff goin’ on behind his back, and now
this
. I wish I could just go to sleep and wake up to everything bein’ normal again.”
I pictured Mama pushin’ her hair behind her ear and crinklin’ her forehead, stuck between wantin’ to take care of her daughter and tellin’ her to do the right thing. I didn’t look forward to that kind of maternal quandary.
“Normal wasn’t great, Alison, it just felt that way because you were blissfully ignorant, like we all were. We walked around with blinders on, but you do have a choice.” She lowered her voice. “You don’t have to be involved in any of it. You can turn away and never look back.”
She wasn’t bein’ condescendin’ or makin’ me feel like I was weak. Mama was doin’ what any mother would—offerin’ genuine support that carried through her tone and wrapped itself around me like her lovin’ arms. Even so, she didn’t know how wrong she was.
My heart leapt with the ringin’ of the phone. I sat up in bed, still encased in a sleep-induced fog.
“Pixie, are you alright? Mama told me about Jimmy Lee.” Maggie didn’t give me time to respond. “About time, huh?”
“Maggie.” I sat up and tried to wrap my mind around why I was hopin’ it was Jimmy Lee. “He’s my husband. This isn’t really
good
news.”
Except, it kinda is
.
“I’m sorry, you’re right, but it does clear the path. The boycott is right around the corner, and it’ll be easier with him out of the way.”
“You shouldn’t be callin’. You can’t afford it,” I said.
“This is different, Pix. It’s one phone call. I’d go into debt to make sure you’re alright. Don’t ya’ know that yet?”
I was comforted by Maggie’s words, and wishin’ I could chance a phone call to Jackson. Maggie’s call was one thing, but a call to Jackson would leave a trail that could only end in trouble when Jimmy Lee saw the phone bill.
“The meetin’ went well. We’ve got a system set up to disseminate information, and I don’t think anyone knows about the effort. Mr. Kane was brilliant. What’s happenin’ up there?”
“They’re plannin’ a march in South Carolina over the weekend, to help integrate one of the schools. I’m thinkin’ about goin’.”
“Maggie! You promised you wouldn’t do anything dangerous.” I threw my legs over the side of my bed. The apartment was silent around me, the sun peerin’ in through the bedroom curtains. I thought of Jimmy Lee sittin’ in a jail cell, and though I had been emotional about him bein’ taken away yesterday, I felt no sorrow today. I didn’t miss him. I didn’t worry. I knew his uncle would take care of him. I finally began to see how little room there had been for me in his life from day one of our marriage, and now I no longer cared.
“It’s fine, Pix. I won’t go if it looks like there’s gonna be trouble.”
“There’ll be trouble alright, Maggie. Hey, you knew about Mama. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was worried about you. You and Daddy are so close.”
“Were so close.”
“Oh, Pix, no. What’s happened?” I pictured Maggie’s eyebrows comin’ together, and that worried look passin’ over her face.
“Nothin’
happened
, really. I’m just not the same little girl I once was, and some of the things Daddy does, well, they’re irkin’ me more and more. I’m havin’ a hard time keepin’ my mouth shut.”
“Oh, no, Pix. Don’t do what I did. It’s not worth it. Daddy doesn’t mean to be the way he is. He’s just doin’ what he was brought up to do and to believe. Don’t let this come between you.” She paused. “I miss him. I miss our family.”
“I know. I do, too,” I said, and I meant it. “I wonder if they’re gonna nail Jimmy Lee for beatin’ up Albert too, or killin’ Mr. Bingham?”
Maggie was silent for a moment. “I hope they do,” she said, then quickly added, “I’m sorry. I know he’s your husband, but—”
“It’s okay. I’m so conflicted about all of this, but if I weren’t married to him, I’d want the right thing to happen. How’s Jackson?” I squeezed my eyes shut, prayin’ she wouldn’t think too much about why I’d asked.
“He’s doin’ really well. He’s goin’ to the march, too. He’s enmeshed more deeply than I am on the outside, so he keeps us all up to date on the movements he attends.”
My heart sank. “He goes to marches and things?”
“Yeah, he goes to most of them. He’s got a huge followin’ and he’s really rallied the folks across five states. Who knew a leader would come out of Forrest Town? Crazy, right?”
“Yeah, crazy. Hey, Maggie, I gotta run. Patricia is bringin’ me the meetin’ information when she picks up her husband’s lunch today at the diner. Love you, and call me the second you get back from the march. I know you can’t really afford it, but just a quick call. I wanna know you’re okay.”
The order for lunch wasn’t called in that mornin’, and I was surprised when there was a knock at the back door. I swung the door open, expectin’ to see Patricia, but she wasn’t the one who showed up that afternoon. A middle-school-aged boy with darker skin was bent over, leanin’ on his knees, pantin’ like he’d been runnin’ for too long. He looked up at me with eyes so big and white they were unsettlin’.
“Mr. Green, the father of the boy who was beat up, is missin’,” he said.
“What do you mean missin’?”
He stood, pushin’ his hands into his sides as he panted out an answer. “Didn’t come home last night. Everyone’s worried.”
Oh, no. My heart slammed into my ribs, chasin’ a chill up my arms. “Where’s Patricia?” I asked, then looked back over my shoulder for Jean, who was busy at the cash register.
“She’s at home, ‘fraid to leave. Everyone’s lookin’ for him.” He looked frantically up and down the alley. “I gotta go.” He ran away, leavin’ me starin’ after him, frightened and feelin’ useless. I prayed that Mr. Green was okay, but I knew otherwise.
Mr. Bingham. The river
.
“Jean,” I called as I made my way to the front of the diner. “I’m not feelin’ so well, do you mind if I go?”
She was at my side in seconds. “Are you okay? Want me to get Joe to drive you home?”
“No, I’m okay, just a little off. I think I need to rest. This whole thing with Jimmy Lee has me tied in knots.”
Jimmy Lee
. If somethin’ happened to Mr. Green, then at least this time it wasn’t at the hands of my husband.
“Sure, sugar, you go. You don’t work again ‘til Monday, so you rest up.”
Please don’t be there. Please don’t be there
. I didn’t see anything along the way to the river—literally. I didn’t notice if there were cars goin’ down the street or people millin’ about in town. I had tunnel vision, clouded by the image of Mr. Bingham, my nerves rememberin’ the fear that consumed me when I found him. I shook and trembled as I made my way through the woods, passin’ trees and steppin’ over logs as if on autopilot.
Please don’t be there.
I don’t know what made me think that I’d find Mr. Green in that same location, or why I thought I’d find him at all, but somethin’ told me I would. I pushed through the last bush and into the clearin’. Tears burned my eyes and I squeezed them away.
Please don’t be here.
Scenarios raced through my mind. What if I found him? Who would I tell? Would we all be next, everyone who was at the meetin’?
The river flowed steady and fast from the recent rains. I climbed over the rocks to the edge, flashes of memory comin’ at me hard and fast. I looked down river, then up. A tangle of somethin’ massive in the branches of a tree that sprouted from the water’s edge sent a stab of fear through me.
Please don’t be him.
I moved cautiously toward it.
Please don’t be him.
Twigs and grass covered a mound of somethin’ brown. I stopped dead in my tracks. What was I doin’? I can’t do this again. I can’t take it. I turned toward the woods, but knew I had to continue on. Adrenaline pushed me forward, fear made each step like walkin’ through quicksand. I crouched by the water’s edge, prayin’ it wasn’t him. I poked at the mass of muck and twigs. The mass didn’t budge. I used the stick to clear away a spot in the center of the mass, revealin’ brown fur. I dropped to my knees, coverin’ my face with my hands, and let the tears fall. I glanced back up at the mass, and it was then, through my blurry eyes, that I saw the long, thick neck craned backward, the horse’s head positioned at a painful angle, buried deep under the water.
I walked down river, away from town, partially to get closer to where the woods met my apartment, and partially to calm my revved up nerves. I wished Jackson was there. What I needed more than anything was someone to hold me and tell me everything was gonna be okay, because as it stood, I couldn’t see anything bein’ okay any time soon.
Vultures circled overhead, givin’ the white sky and chilly air an ominous weight. I stopped at the edge of the woods, listenin’ to the flow of the river and the birds cawin’ overhead. I placed my hand on my expandin’ belly and closed my eyes, tryin’ to envision what my life would be like once my baby came. Darkness prevailed. I saw my lonely apartment, and Jimmy Lee’s drunken comments and disheartenin’ absence. I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. I put my other hand on my belly and envisioned what my life might’ve been like if I had gone to New York with Jackson—if the baby within me had been his. The glow of his face filled me with warmth and comfort, his soft and supportive eyes danced with light, a smile graced his plump lips. The smell of his sweat came back to me, the feel of his hands on my body gave me goose bumps. Beneath my fingers, my baby moved, bringin’ with it renewed thoughts of security. I wanted my baby to have what I had growin’ up—two parents who loved each other, safe goodnight kisses, and a sense that the world was safe. I wanted that more than I wanted to breathe fresh air. I opened my eyes, reality all around me in the place I stood, the reason why I was there. I had to decide once and for all, before it was too late. Was I stayin’ with Jimmy Lee, as Mama said, to help with integration efforts, for the greater good of the community, and for all babies who would come forth after that time, or could I close my eyes and walk away, without a care for what happened outside my own thin walls?
I pondered that thought as I navigated my way through the woods, toward home.
Street noises filtered in through the trees as I neared the apartments. A blood-curdlin’ scream came from somewhere off in the distance. I stopped. Listened. More screamin’. Footsteps rushin’ through the brush. All at once people were runnin’ into the woods, hollerin’ in the direction of the outcry. I followed the panicked trail toward the screams.
A deep voice hushed the screamin’ woman and broke through the panic. “Get back. Everyone, get back.”
I peered past the group of people and followed their craned necks up toward the umbrella of trees. Mr. Green’s limp body hung from a rope like a deer bleedin’ out. I turned away, grabbin’ a nearby tree for support.
Why did this have to happen?
Fear pierced my thoughts—was it because of our meetin’? Did someone know? I racked my brain tryin’ to remember if Mr. Green was at the meetin’, and came up empty. Jimmy Lee had beat up his son. A shudder ran through me as comprehension of what was sure to be the truth set in.
A young mother turned away, hurryin’ out of the woods with her child in her arms. Two white men turned and walked away at a calm, even pace, one mutterin’, “Got what he deserved. ”
Every muscle in my body stiffened. I willed myself not to run up to those men and smack them across their pompous cheeks. Enough was enough.
A colored man scurried up the tree and cut the rope, droppin’ Mr. Green’s limp body into the arms of three colored men waitin’ below.
“There’s a note,” one of the men said. He pulled a piece of paper out of the pocket of Mr. Green’s flannel shirt. His dark eyes scanned the note, and then he dropped his hand to his side without utterin’ a word. The man standin’ next to him took the note from his hand.
“It’s a warnin’. It says, ‘
Back off or you’re next
.’”
“Back off what?” a colored woman asked.
Back off? Of the charges to Jimmy Lee? Of the boycott?
I turned and ran home as fast as my pregnant body would carry me. Mr. Green’s lifeless body solidified my decision. There was only one way that I could ever move forward with my life without livin’ in regret’s unforgivin’ shadow.
I flew in the apartment door, grabbed the phone from the table, and dialed Maggie’s number. Her phone rang and rang. I hung up and tried to reach Mama. There was no answer. I walked in circles, wishin’ I could go to the jail and talk to Jimmy Lee. His uncle said he’d take care of it. I lowered myself to the couch.
He’d take care of it
.
Mr. Carlisle. Of course
.
“The same way you took care of Mr. Bingham for your brother?” I stomped across the floor.
The hell with this
.
I yanked open the bedroom closet door. The shoebox, where I used to keep Maggie’s letters, sat empty on the top shelf. I dug the bag of summer clothes out from the back and emptied it onto the bed. I found the pair of dark blue shorts and unzipped the tiny pocket, then withdrew the small piece of paper, and walked back to the phone. Starin’ at the receiver, I gathered my courage, rememberin’ the mornin’ after I’d returned home from New York. After Jimmy Lee had gone to work I’d hidden Jackson’s phone number in the closet. I couldn’t bear throwin’ it away, and Jackson had made me promise to use it if I was ever in trouble. I reached for the receiver, and unclenched my shakin’ hand. The slip of paper fluttered down onto the bed. I dialed Jackson’s number, watchin’ the rotary move painstakin’ly slowly back to zero with each pull of a number.