Authors: Melissa Foster
When we reached the “Y” in the stream, where it bloomed in one direction and narrowed in the other, I leaned against a tree and watched him.
“I’m really sorry about Albert,” I said.
Jackson sat down on a big rock near the water’s edge. He picked up a stick and poked it in the water. “Yeah,” he said, shakin’ his head. A bead of perspiration spread across his brow.
“So you want to work for Daddy?”
“My family needs the money. I’m home for a week, so—” he shrugged.
I hadn’t thought about him goin’ back. “What’s it like? The war, I mean? Vietnam?”
He turned to me and somethin’ changed in his eyes. They grew darker, more serious. “It’s like havin’ a million guys all chasin’ you at the same time, only they have guns, and so do you, so you can kill them before they kill you. And every day you realize you’re damned lucky to have survived.” He turned back toward the water and tossed the stick in. “As a matter of fact, it’s a lot like livin’ here, only here, you’re not the one with the guns.”
I sat down beside him. He inched away, stiffened. We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“Sorry about your uncle,” I whispered. I realized how much death this man must have seen, and it sent a shiver down my spine.
“Me, too,” he said. “He was a good man.”
“Do you know why he was killed? I’ve heard rumors about his wife’s—indiscretions—but in this town you never know what’s true.” Rumor had her sleepin’ with Jimmy Lee’s uncle. I had no proof of the truth of that situation, but everyone in town believed it. I leaned on my elbow, watchin’ him fold and unfold his hat.
He nodded, glanced my way, then turned back toward the water.
I waited; each second drew my curiosity about him further toward the surface. I felt my cheeks flush. I was slowly becomin’ more upset with Daddy, with this town, and with the way people treated one another. This was life. This was what we were given. I knew that if Daddy was here, he’d ask me who I thought I was to think things should be any different, and I wondered what Mama would say. I thought of her face when she came back to the car behind the furniture store, her eyes fastened on the road like it was a path to escape her secret. I wondered what she was thinkin’ at that moment. What would happen if Daddy knew? How long had she been talkin’ to that woman? What started it? Why on earth did she trust me with such a volatile secret?
“You okay?” Jackson asked.
I looked down at my hands, clenched into fists around the edge of my skirt. “Um, yeah,” I said. “I’m just thinkin’, that’s all.”
“I got way too much time to think when I’m away.”
I nodded, not knowin’ how to respond to his comment. “How is your aunt?” I watched him carefully, wonderin’ if he’d get mad or lie to me.
“She’ll be leavin’ after the funeral. Run out of town.” He stood and walked a few paces back toward my house, shakin’ his head.
I watched each determined step, hopin’ he was not goin’ back. There was still so much I wanted to know. The muscles in his back constricted beneath his uniform. I hurried after him.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t pry, I’m sorry.”
He stopped walkin’. “It’s not you. It’s this whole thing, this town. I come back to be with my family and my uncle is dead, my brother is beaten to a pulp—”
I ached for his pain, and touched his arm out of instinct and empathy. His muscles tightened beneath my fingers. I pulled back.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you see?” his voice rose. “You touch me and we both freeze.”
I stepped back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“It shouldn’t matter if you did. Don’t you see that? We can’t talk because our skin is different. It’s crap. I have seen the other side. I’ve been places where I can talk to white folks. I come back here and it’s like travelin’ back in time. It may not be easy or perfect in other cities, but it’s not—” He drew his arm wide, like he was presentin’ the fields beyond where we stood. “It’s not like this.”
I had no idea what to say, and until that week, I wouldn’t have ever agreed with him. But now, everything had changed. My feelin’s about colored people had changed, and along with that came my inability to accept everything Daddy said as bein’ right.
“I agree with you. It shouldn’t matter.”
“What?” His eyes grew wide.
“I agree with you. I mean, I’m embarrassed to say it, but I didn’t used to. I was taught what everyone else ‘round here was taught, that coloreds and whites don’t interact—unless they’re workin’ for you. But I’ve been thinkin’ about everything. You know, coloreds and whites…and it just doesn’t make sense to me anymore.” I turned my back to him, ashamed and angry. “Findin’ your uncle changed me. I see everything differently now. When I found him, I wanted to know who his family was, and why he had to die.” I didn’t recognize the self-confidence in my own voice, and no matter how firmly I spoke, the words themselves surprised me. “He was a person. His family, your family—they matter.”
Jackson walked toward me, each step a force of its own. I stumbled backward. He spoke through gritted teeth. “You want to know why he died? Because some white jackass wanted to sleep with my aunt, and she was too afraid to say no.” His nostrils flared with anger.
He stood so close that I could feel his warm breath on my nose. His chest rose and fell, inches from mine. “You have no idea what it’s like.”
Time stood still. We stood like that for several minutes, listenin’ to each other huff our frustrations away. Eventually he turned away, his shoulders rolled forward. I was too frightened to speak, though, strangely, I was not afraid of him. I was scared for the pain and anger that his family had endured.
“Tell me,” I said quietly.
The air around us was quiet, save for the trickle of the creek and the rustlin’ of leaves.
I bit my lower lip, hopin’ that I wasn’t pushin’ him too far. “Tell me what it’s like for you and your family. I want to understand.”
“You missed dinner.” My father sat in his readin’ chair by the front door watchin’ David Brinkley on the evenin’ news on our small black and white television. He motioned to Jake to turn it off as soon as I came in. I usually didn’t notice that small shelterin’ act. I was so used to it, it was like the white noise of a fan. Today it stood out like a sore thumb and I resented Daddy for the first time in my life. I heard Mama washin’ dishes in the kitchen, and guilt settled around my grumblin’ resentment toward Daddy for thinkin’ he could keep me from knowin’ what’s goin’ on in the world. Between the guilt and the resentment, I felt strangled, and struggled to maintain my sense of normalcy within my family.
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. I was out for a walk.” I looked down at the worn hardwood beneath my feet and concentrated on the uneven lines between the boards.
“Your mother said she didn’t see you after you came back from your visit with Jimmy Lee today. Everything alright?” he asked.
I lifted my eyes and took in Daddy sittin’ in his favorite upholstered chair. Daddy worked long days, and by this time of night everything looked slightly askew, from his dirty, gray t-shirt to his five o’clock shadow which grew in uneven patches of blond and brown. His hair had an indentation all the way around from the baseball cap he favored when he was out in the sun, like a halo had slipped and gotten stuck in his thick, buttery hair.
Jake turned off the television, sat back down on our plaid couch, and put an open textbook in his lap. His knuckles were black and blue. He noticed my gaze, and tucked them under his book. Workin’ on a farm, Daddy and Mama wouldn’t think anything about Jake’s bruised knuckles. I knew better. Jake raised his eyebrows, as if he were challengin’ me to reveal what he’d done. I smirked in return, contemplatin’ my answers.
Yes, I met a colored man and don’t understand why I shouldn’t talk to him.
Or, I could go with somethin’ a bit more detailed,
Jimmy Lee made me do somethin’ I didn’t want to, so I hid from Mama, and met a man who I know I’m not allowed to talk to, but I sure want to.
Or, I could expose Jake for what he must’ve done. I wondered how Daddy might react if he knew Jake had caused his farmhand not to show up for work, though I secretly feared that Daddy might praise him for what he’d see as an indiscretion. Instead, I went with a safe answer.
“Yes, Daddy. It was just such a nice night that, after Jimmy Lee dropped me off, I went for a walk. I won’t miss dinner again. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not a problem. Just makin’ sure you’re okay,” he answered.
Mama walked out from the kitchen, wipin’ her hands on a dishtowel. Mama, Jake, and I had the exact same shade of blond hair, like cornhusks kissed by the sun. Tonight hers was swept away from her face with a red and white paisley scarf. She looked beautiful, even if tired. I waited for my reprimand, and when she didn’t chide me for missin’ dinner, I wondered how so much could have changed in the span of just a few hours. I guessed that holdin’ Mama’s secret had a few benefits that I was only beginnin’ to discover.
“Maggie’s comin’ home,” she said with a wide grin.
“When? Oh, Mama, can I go to get her at the train station with you, please?” I begged.
“Settle down, Pix,” Daddy said. “She’s not comin’ until Friday, and your mama will be needin’ you to help her prepare supper.”
“But Daddy, I can miss—”
“Now, now. You’ll help your mama, just like always. Jake’ll go with me.”
I bit back my frustration. I no longer wanted to be treated like a child. The world was out there and I’d had a taste of understandin’ what I hadn’t cared enough to even think about before findin’ poor Mr. Bingham. Doesn’t that count for somethin’? I had to remind myself that, for Mama and Daddy, nothin’ had changed. Mama might have shared her secret with me, but I was still their sheltered daughter who believed whatever her daddy told her.
Mama nodded, as if to tell me to agree. I was enjoyin’ this sudden collusion between us. Mama and I were close when it came to bakin’ and fixin’ meals, but watchin’ her and Maggie always stoked the jealousy bug in me. I was glad that I was the one Mama trusted with this secret.
“Yes, sir,” I said.
Daddy reached for my hand and winked. “That’s my girl,” he said.
“Daddy, I have to study. I can’t go.” Jake purposefully shook his bangs into his eyes, hidin’ from lookin’ into Daddy’s eyes. He blamed Maggie for our father not allowin’ him to go away to school, and I knew he carried too much resentment to want to drop whatever he was doin’ and go pick her up. He thought that Daddy had used all of his money on her education instead of his, but to me it was clearly more than that. Maggie was more aggressive than Jake; besides havin’ perfect grades, she possessed a mouthiness that was hard to ignore. She would’ve been like a caged tiger if she’d stayed here in town, whereas Jake fared just fine as a typical Forrest Town boy—from what I’d seen lately, a little too well.
I climbed the stairs to my bedroom on the second floor and thought about all that I had learned over the past twenty-four hours. I thought about Jackson, and all that he’d said. He’d described what it was like for him when he’d left;
I was scared to death of bein’ in the military with them white folks
. He had no idea what to expect. Jackson only knew what he’d grown up with in Forrest Town—segregation to the n
th
degree. When he’d told me that, sadness took hold of my heart in a way that I never thought I’d feel for a colored boy. I just wanted to reach out and hug him, steal that fear away from him. The military had opened his eyes to the ways of the world outside of Arkansas. The white guys he’d met were from all over the world, right out of high school, like he’d been when he’d enlisted three years earlier, and some much older than him. They told him stories of integrated areas and he’d said that at first he didn’t believe them. His eyes grew wide when he told me this, and he got me thinkin’, wonderin’ what it would be like in those places, and if it could possibly be true. He thought they were pullin’ his leg, too, makin’ fun because he was colored. He quickly came to see otherwise. He said that when they’re fightin’, it’s as if every soldier were color-blind—unless you were Vietnamese.
Though it was cool outside, my small bedroom was warm and welcomin’. My bedroom has always been a safe place for me. Probably because I shared it with Maggie for so many years. Maggie’s bed was on my left when I walked in, untouched since she’d gone back to school after her holiday break. My bed was across from Maggie’s, with our small desk to the right. I walked over and opened the window at the foot of my bed. Then, I sat down, lookin’ at the photographs we’d taped to our wall throughout the years, and wishin’ things could go back to how they were before she’d gone away. Life had been so easy. We went to school, came home and played, and were oblivious to the inequities of life. What might it be like to be so far away from home, away from the eyes of Forrest Town? I wondered. I lay back on my pillow and thought about how Mr. Bingham had died because he’d tried to defend his wife’s honor. Jackson said his mama told him that Mr. Bingham had confronted Billy Carlisle and told him to leave his wife alone. That was eight hours before he’d disappeared.
Clara Bingham was also threatened that night, by Billy’s wife, or at least that’s what Clara told Jackson’s mama. Clara had been in hidin’ ever since, somewhere Jackson wouldn’t reveal, with plans to leave town for good as soon as Mr. Bingham’s body was safely put to rest. She’d waited to hold the funeral until Mr. Bingham’s brother could come into town from Mississippi.
I wondered what Daddy would do if the tables were turned, and some colored man held the power to make Mama do things she didn’t want to. Would he defend her honor and die in the process? I knew the answer and the thought of losin’ Daddy only made my heart ache even more for Clara.
The more I thought about the family, and the impendin’ funeral, the more I wanted to attend the service. But I knew that tellin’ them I was sorry for their loss and standin’ with them, without shame, to hear the final words before his body was laid to rest, wouldn’t make up for the loss of his life. Of course, I wouldn’t dare attend. The chance I’d taken that evenin’ with Jackson was ten times worse than anything I’d ever done before, and yet, it didn’t feel one ounce wrong to me.