Fire from the Rock Page 12

  Sylvia was amazed at how much they knew about her family and was terrified of their power. She didn’t know how to respond, so she said nothing. She refused to look down, however. She stared at each of them boldly, none of the fear she was feeling showing on her face.

  “If you are chosen to go to Central, Sylvia Faye, there is no telling what might happen to you in that large school with so many hallways and staircases. You would have nobody to protect you.” The bald man’s voice was cold and threatening.

  Sylvia waited several moments before answering. I’m not gonna let these people get to me! She took a deep breath. “I believe in the goodness of people, sir, and the power of young folks like us to overcome what grown-ups like you might not be able to.”

  The committee had no reply to that. Abruptly, the lead questioner said, “We have your application, Sylvia Faye. We will inform you when we have made our decision. Thank you for coming in.”

  Sylvia was dismissed like she was minor irritant. None of the members of the committee looked up at her, and none of them smiled. As Sylvia walked out the door, her parents stood expectantly at the end of the hall. She ran to them and let their hugs make her feel whole.

  Friday, April 19, 1957

  I still feel like I’ve been hollowed out like a Thanksgiving turkey and stuffed with sharp knives instead of soft dressing. When I got home from the interview, I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t even sit still. I went outside after leaving my dinner untouched, and just started running. I wanted to run to Canada, to the moon, to someplace so far away that I could forget feeling like the dirt off someone’s shoes. Mama stood on the porch and watched me run. She seemed to understand.

  When I got back home, sweaty and breathless, Mama sat on the porch swing, waiting. I hugged her, then hurried upstairs to take a bath. I needed to get their breath off me, their dirty looks.

  I don’t understand why people are so mean to each other, why one group of people can hate another group of people so much. It makes my head hurt to think about it, but I see it everywhere now.

  I can see it in the eyes of the bus driver who really doesn’t want me on his bus, and the man at the Rexall drugstore, who thinks I’ll probably steal something. I can feel it in the whispers of people who walk behind me on the street. I wish I was still young like Donna Jean, who is sitting in the middle of the living room floor, making long necklaces of Pop-it beads and only worrying about whether she’ll run out of red ones.

  I need to talk to Reggie, but he’s gone off with Gary again. He’s been spending way too much time with my brother. At first I thought it was cool they were close. But now I just worry. It seems like all I do is worry and stress over stuff. Why can’t I just have fun like other kids?

  Chuck Berry’s new song, “Up in the Morning and Off to School,” is a big hit with all my friends. Even Rachel likes it-last week at the store she was singing the words about the mean teacher and the after-school rock-and-roll party. I don’t know what school Chuck Berry was talking about in that song, but Little Rock for sure has no places like that, at least not for colored kids. I don’t think it’s going to be much fun this school year for white kids, either-the situation is much too tense.

  School’s gonna be out in another month, but instead of a summer of listening to records with my friends, and giggling about boys, I have to worry about what looms in my future if I get accepted to go to Central High School. Me and Little Rock are gonna need lots more than rock and roll.

  SATURDAY, MAY 4, 1957

  We’re leaving for the library now, Mama.” Sylvia popped her head in the kitchen door. She hoped her mother wouldn’t give them a long list of rules and instructions.

  “You’ve got enough change for bus fare?” Her mother, with her arms deep in a pan of warm, sudsy dishwater, looked up and smiled.

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “Don’t waste your money on snacks and foolishness—I’m fixing a good dinner.”

  “We won’t.”

  “And be mindful of your surroundings. Times are rough and not everybody is happy about what’s happening in town. You hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sylvia waited for the proverb that she knew was coming next.

  “Malice lurks in the heart of the unbeliever, child. Be careful.”

  Sylvia grinned. “I promise, Mama. We’ll only be gone for a couple of hours.” Sylvia shifted from one foot to another.

  “Hold Donna Jean’s hand as you cross the street.”

  “I will, Mama. Can we go now?”

  “Sure, Sylvia. I’m not holding you back. You’re the one wasting your time chitchatting with me.”

  Sylvia groaned with exasperation, but managed to smile and wave good-bye. Donna Jean, waiting in the living room, covered her mouth to stifle the giggles. “Let’s get out of here before she thinks of something else!”

  The two girls raced down to the corner where a city bus, billowing smoke from its tailpipe, waited for them. They dropped their coins in the pay box and collapsed in laughter on a seat in the middle of the bus.

  “I love going to the library,” Donna Jean said.

  “How come?”

  Donna Jean shifted in her seat and looked out the window at the city rolling by. “It smells good,” she said finally. “Like dust and ink and magic and stuff.”

  “I know what you mean. I like how a book feels when I turn the pages, and how the ink smells—almost like something good to eat.”

  “That’s probably because Mama took us to the library before we could even walk.”

  “That’s what happens when your mother is a teacher!”

  “Ah, we suffer so!” DJ put her hands over her head and pretended to be a movie star. The two girls chattered and giggled the rest of the way to the downtown library.

  When they got there, DJ headed for the children’s department, while Sylvia browsed the stacks, breathing deeply of that almost intoxicating library smell. She was thumbing through a copy of Caddie Woodlawn—one of her favorite books when she was younger—when she heard a familiar voice whisper behind her, “Is your mother with you?” She whirled around, thrilled to see Reggie’s face just inches from her own.

  “No, I came here on the bus with Donna Jean. She’s over in the kiddie book section.”

  “So I finally get you alone for a few minutes,” he said, sounding pleased. Sylvia automatically reached up to brush her hair smooth, but he took her hand and said, “No, don’t. You look great.”

  They had to whisper, of course, but to Sylvia, that made the whole event seem more exciting. She shivered with delight. “What are you doing here?”

  “You told me you were going to be down here today, so here I am!”

  “I’m really glad to see you,” Sylvia told him. She didn’t remove her hand from his.

  “What’s that book you’re reading?” he asked. He leaned over to see it, and his shoulder touched hers. Sylvia could smell the Juicy Fruit gum he’d been chewing and the English Leather cologne she had learned to love. The last time she had gone shopping with her mother, she had seen one of those sampler bottles of cologne and had sprayed a little bit of English Leather on her handkerchief. She kept it under her mattress and every once in a while she would pull it out and smell it.

  “Just a girl book,” Sylvia said softly. “She gets into all kinds of adventures.” She was having trouble speaking. He was standing so close that it felt as if they were breathing together.

  “Does she get kissed in that book?” he asked quietly.

  “No,” Sylvia whispered. She trembled.

  “She should.” Then, very softly, for just a moment, his lips touched hers. He smiled and said, “There’s nobody but you for me, Sylvie. Nobody. You gotta believe me. Forgive me if I hurt you, okay?”

  Sylvia felt a little dizzy. “Okay,” she murmured.

  He touched her lips with his once more. “I gotta go. I’m supposed to be at a meeting with Gary and some other guys.”

  Sylvia made a face beca
use that spoiled the mood a little. But she managed to say as he waved and bounded out of the library, “Don’t do anything stupid, Reggie.” She had no idea why she blurted out those words instead of something romantic. I’m so bad at this boyfriend stuff.

  “Was that Reggie Birmingham I saw leaving?” Donna Jean asked as she approached, holding a stack of children’s books.

  “Uh, yeah. It was.” Sylvia could still feel the soft pressure of his lips. She didn’t want to move her lips and make the feeling disappear.

  “You’ve got that ‘Little Richard Tutti Frutti look on your face, big sis,” Donna Jean said with a knowing smile. “We better head for home now.”

  “You’re right,” Sylvia said dreamily.

  The girls took their time checking out their books and heading for the bus stop. They noticed a bus just pulling off as they got to the corner. “Looks like it will be another twenty minutes before another bus comes,” Sylvia said, still remembering the feel of Reggie’s mouth on hers.

  “I’m already halfway finished with my first book,” DJ said absentmindedly, leaning against the bus stop pole. “I’ll be done before the bus even gets here. It’s really good.”

  Neither Donna Jean, who was intently reading her book, nor Sylvia, whose thoughts were focused on Juicy Fruit and English Leather, noticed the three boys as they approached.

  “What’re you two little cotton pickers doin’ on my street?” the first boy said. He had yellow, crooked teeth and dirty hair that lay flat on his head. Sylvia inhaled as she recognized Bubba Smith and his brother Sonny, who was taller but had the same bad teeth and hair. Next to him, Johnny Crandall, thick-shouldered and threatening, moved closer to the two girls. The three boys, large and imposing, surrounded Sylvia and Donna Jean.

  “My brother asked y’all a question,” Sonny said, knocking the books out of DJ’s arms. She started to cry.

  Sylvia put her arm around her sister, and tried to edge away, but the boys moved closer, trapping the girls. “Leave us alone,” Sylvia said as loudly and boldly as she could. “We’re just waiting for the bus.”

  “I don’t see a bus,” Sonny said. “Do you boys see a bus?”

  “Not a bus in sight,” Bubba said, menace in his voice. He put his face close to Sylvia’s and laughed harshly. She could smell his unwashed teeth.

  “What you think we ought to do with these two little black specks of dirt, fellas?”

  Johnny reached out and stroked Donna Jean’s hair. She jerked back in disgust.

  “Don’t you touch her!” Sylvia yelled, slamming her book against Johnny Crandall’s chest and stepping as hard as she could on his foot.

  He pulled his hand back from DJ and slapped Sylvia on the side of her head. “You tryin’ to make me angry, girl? Don’t you ever touch my blue suede shoes! I’ll knock you to kingdom come!”

  Sylvia felt as if her ear and face had exploded. She screamed out in anger and pain, “Get out of my way, you ignorant idiot! Leave us alone!” Johnny just laughed.

  Bubba grabbed Sylvia’s library books and tossed them to the ground with derision. “Don’t you go getting’ uppity now, girl!” he threatened. Sylvia wisely kept her mouth shut this time.

  “Ain’t you on that list to go to my school?” Johnny Crandall asked Sylvia. “I know your brother—he’s a real troublemaker, and I bet you are, too.” He leaned over and wiped off his shoe.

  “That’s none of your business!” Sylvia replied angrily. “Now move out of our way!”

  But the boys didn’t budge. If anything, they moved closer. “We don’t want your kind at our school. You hear?” Johnny made the statement, and the other two boys made it clear they agreed.

  Sylvia refused to let them see her cry, but she wasn’t afraid to scream, so she yelled as loudly as she could, “Help!” And again, louder the second time, “Help!”

  A blond, crew-cut-wearing teenager in a letter sweater from Central High walked out of the library just as Sylvia started yelling. He ran toward her. “What’s wrong?” he asked with concern.

  Johnny and his friends backed off then, but knocked both Sylvia and Donna Jean to the ground before they ran down the street, laughing.

  The two girls, books strewn around them, dresses covered with dirt, sat there on the ground hugging each other. The boy from the library stooped down, gathered up the books, and helped Sylvia and DJ to their feet.

  “Are you two all right?” he asked. He glanced down the street where the other boys had disappeared.

  “Yes, we’re fine,” Sylvia said shakily. “Thanks so much. You got here just in time.”

  “Did they hurt you?” the boy asked.

  Donna Jean brushed off her skirt. “They got my books all dirty,” she said angrily.

  “I’ve seen those three around. Nothing but trouble,” the boy said as a car pulled up to the curb. “Hey, this is my mom coming to pick me up. Do you two need a ride someplace? We’ll be glad to take you.”

  Sylvia could see their bus coming down the block. Breathing normally now, and feeling a little less shaky, she told him, “No, thanks, but I really appreciate the offer. Our bus is here now. Thanks again for rescuing us. Really.”

  The boy grinned as he got in his mother’s car. “My name is Jim. See you around.”

  Sylvia and DJ climbed on the bus silently and shakily. Sylvia took out a clean handkerchief and wiped her face and her sister’s.

  “Are you okay?” Sylvia asked her sister finally.

  “I’m scared,” DJ said, wiping her nose. “But that boy was awfully nice.”

  “Yeah, he sure was.”

  “What woulda happened if he hadn’t showed up?” DJ wondered.

  “I hate to imagine.” Sylvia shuddered. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

  “Not on the outside,” Donna Jean admitted.

  “I think we ought to keep this a secret,” Sylvia said.

  “And not tell Mama?” DJ asked in disbelief.

  “What good would it do?” Sylvia retorted, a harshness in her voice. “It would just get her all upset.” She glanced out the window every few minutes, checking for she knew not what.

  Donna Jean sniffed and wiped her nose again. “I guess you’re right, but it’s awfully hard to hide things from Mama.” The bus lumbered down the street and carried them home to relative safety. But both girls knew they would never feel completely safe again.

  SATURDAY, MAY 4, 1957

  Though still shaken by their afternoon ordeal, Sylvia and Donna Jean managed to help their mother prepare dinner, eat a full meal, and wash the dishes without letting anything slip.

  “You’re awfully quiet, girls,” Mrs. Patterson did mention once during the evening. “Silence is golden, you know, but I miss it when my girls aren’t giggly.”

  “I have a lot to think about, Mama,” Sylvia said.

  “You’re right, dear. I don’t want to put any more stress on you than necessary,” her mother replied. “Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see the shadow,” she said as she dusted the furniture.

  “Yes, Mama,” Sylvia said obediently, but she wondered what her mother would say about the shadow named Johnny Crandall.

  Donna Jean grabbed one of her library books after dinner and curled up in a chair. “I just want to finish this chapter before bedtime.” Sylvia noticed, however, that DJ only held the book and stared at the pages—she wasn’t reading.

  Reggie called a few minutes later, and Sylvia grabbed the phone and took it into the hall, glad her mother had gone upstairs. Sylvia’s right ear still hurt, so she put the receiver on the left side of her face.

  “How’s my girl?” he asked, his voice soft like caramel.

  Sylvia knew she had to tell somebody. “I wish you had stayed at the library a little longer,” she began, talking softly so her mother couldn’t hear.

  “Oh, so you’re telling me you want a repeat performance?” he said, chuckling.

  “Well, yes, I mean, no, I mean, that’s not what I’m talking about. S
omething happened after you left.” She was close to tears.

  “What’s wrong, Sylvie? You seem upset.” Reggie’s voice now sounded worried and edgy.

  She took a deep breath. “Me and DJ were waiting for the bus, and these three boys started messing with us and—”

  “Who was it? The Smith Brothers?” Reggie’s voice was tight on the other line.

  “Yeah,” Sylvia told him. “How did you know?”

  “Not hard to figure out. Was Johnny Crandall with them?”

  “Yeah, he was.” Sylvia’s ear throbbed.

  “What did they do? Did they hurt you?”

  “Mostly they just tried to scare us,” Sylvia explained. “I tried not to let them know it, but it worked! They pushed us down in the dirt, tossed our books around, and threatened me.”

  “About the integration list?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did they touch you, Sylvia Faye?”

  “Johnny Crandall slapped me, but I’m not cut or bleeding or anything.”

  “What about your sister?” Reggie was sounding increasingly upset.

  “They didn’t touch DJ, except to push her down, but she said she feels dirty. I know what she means. My sense of, I don’t know, my sense that the world is an okay place, is all messed up. I was so scared.”

  “Nasty, hateful white boys!”

  “Calm down, Reggie. Please.”

  “I wish I had been there. I would have kicked butt.” Reggie was breathing hard.

  “Actually, I’m glad you weren’t there. There were three of them—they would have mopped the sidewalk with your body.”

  “I don’t care. They might have beat me, but they would have remembered the fight before I got finished. It drives me crazy that one of those low-life boys put his hands on you!”

  “I’ll be fine. I’m better now that I’ve told somebody.”

  “You didn’t tell your parents?” Reggie asked incredulously. “Or Gary?”

  “No. I was scared, and I know it wouldn’t make a difference,” Sylvia said helplessly. “And Gary is way too hotheaded. I’m not ready to bury him.”