Fire from the Rock Page 5

  “Unless they kill you,” Mr. Patterson said angrily.

  Sylvia wasn’t sure if her father was angry at Gary, or at the boys who attacked him, but at no time that evening did she see him get on his knees and pray. And, for once, her mother had no proverbs to quote.

  Monday, January 7, 1957—Late Evening

  I really worry about my big brother. His wounds will heal, but not the fury that keeps growing inside his heart. Gary is angry all the time these days. When he used to sing in the choir at church, his face would almost glow with happiness. But lately, that’s not been very often.

  I’m supposed to be asleep now. Donna Jean is snuggled in her bed snoring, and the rest of the house is quiet now. After Daddy helped Gary upstairs, he and my mother talked for a long time. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their voices were upset. Mama, I’m sure, wants to protect Gary and move someplace safe like Alaska or Arabia—anyplace that’s not Arkansas. Her motherly instincts are to put a big blanket around him and make sure nothing hurts him. Only there’s no covering large enough to protect him from people like the Smith brothers or the Crandalls. Mama once told Gary to put his anger in a pot and let it simmer. He told her that one day he’d come to a boil. Mama looked a little scared and changed the subject.

  I bet Daddy would love to punch one of those kids right in the nose. Pow! Then watch him bleed. I think he’d feel better if he could act on what’s inside him. But I don’t think he’d ever forgive himself if he did. He’s been a preacher too long. Besides, they’d throw him in jail, he’d lose both his jobs, and Mama would die of shame.

  But if nobody cries out for change, nothing will happen. I don’t want to grow up and have to drive ten miles past the pretty school to take my kids to the ratty old building where the colored kids have to go. I don’t want my daughter to look at me with pity while some white shopkeeper insults me.

  Mama makes all her own clothes, and most of our clothes, too. She does this because it costs a lot less, but also because it’s often embarrassing to go to a store to buy things. I don’t think it’s fair that Negroes have to keep what they buy, while white folks get to try it on at the store, or at their house, then return it a couple of weeks later if they change their mind. Mama says there was a time when we couldn’t shop in the stores at all. I guess that’s progress, but it doesn’t seem like it to me.

  That’s it for tonight. I’m going to be a mess in school tomorrow if I don’t get some sleep.

  TUESDAY, JANUARY 8, 1957

  So, have you called Reggie yet?” Lou Ann asked as she stirred the gravy into her potatoes.

  Sylvia and Lou Ann Johnson, a skinny girl with a powerful laugh and a large gap between her front teeth, sat together most days at lunch. Lou Ann made low-to-average grades, always had boys following her around, and never seemed to have a bad day. She had been going steady with Otis Herman since the beginning of eighth grade. She wasn’t going to be asked to consider Central High, and Sylvia knew she wouldn’t have given it a second thought if she had.

  Lou Ann’s father, Zeke, owned the barbershop where most of the Negro men in town got their hair cut. She always had money in her purse, and never brought her lunch. She’d buy the Salisbury steak with gravy that the cafeteria offered, plus an ice-cream sandwich, which the students made themselves out of two freshly baked sugar cookies with a square of vanilla ice cream stuck between them.

  Lou Ann was always cheerful and carefree. Everything Otis said or did made her laugh, and she shared her laughter with her whole class. Sylvia knew Lou Ann was the right one to talk to.

  “Oh, I couldn’t call him first!” Sylvia said, sounding slightly shocked. “I’m waiting for him to call me. My mother says only bad girls call boys.”

  Lou Ann laughed heartily. “Do you always do what your mother says?”

  Sylvia didn’t want to admit that she usually did, so she changed the subject. “I think Reggie is going to play football at Horace Mann next year. My brother told me.”

  “There’s nothing more fun than a high school football game,” Lou Ann said wistfully, sipping her milk. “The band, the music, the cheers and the cheerleaders, the roar of the crowd, the boys in their uniforms with those pants tight on their rear ends—simply too cool.” She laughed again.

  Sylvia wished she could be more like Lou Ann. She always said exactly what was on her mind, and never seemed to be bothered by the rules and regulations. “Uh, I never noticed,” Sylvia said as she made her ice-cream sandwich. It was her custom to let the ice cream melt a little as she ate her lunch so that it would be soft enough to lick into a perfectly round, perfectly delicious treat.

  “Well, if you didn’t, you sure will when Reggie is playing!” Lou Ann replied with a laugh. She licked the mashed potatoes off her spoon. “If you don’t use him, you’ll lose him!”

  “How can I lose something I don’t even have?” Sylvia said helplessly. “Besides, I think he likes Candy Castle.”

  Lou Ann laughed so hard that little streams of milk came out of her nose. “Don’t you know that all the boys like Candy? She’s hot chocolate, Sylvia. Melted, sweet, soft, and delicious. That’s why you have to let him know you like him. Boys go for quality, too—sometimes.” Reggie walked across the cafeteria, carrying a tray and heading for a table where Calvin Cobbs and a couple of other boys sat. “Hey, Reggie!” Lou Ann called as loud as she could. “Come sit with us.”

  Sylvia felt herself shrivel as he grinned, changed direction, and headed their way. He wore a blue argyle sweater, blue chino slacks, and those raggedy blue Keds. The rubber of the left shoe flapped a little as he walked. “How could you do that?” she whispered to Lou Ann.

  “Aw, quit acting like your little sister. Talk to the boy like you got some sense!” Lou Ann admonished.

  “How do you get so many boys to notice you?” Sylvia asked Lou Ann shyly as she glanced with wonderment at Reggie’s approach.

  “I relax, Sylvia, like you need to do. Boys don’t like tense girls. They dig someone who can make them feel good. You’re too uptight.”

  Sylvia had no idea how to relax like Lou Ann suggested. She wondered if Reggie thought she was boring. There was just so much she couldn’t figure out.

  “How’s it goin’?” Reggie asked, chewing that Juicy Fruit gum as he grinned. He sat down then, his long legs bumping Sylvia’s under the table as he got situated. She gasped slightly and her heart thudded, but he didn’t seem to be nervous at all.

  “I’m fine, Reggie,” Sylvia replied as smoothly as she could. “How’s your brother doing on the Mann basketball team this year?”

  “Greg thinks he’s a superstar,” Reggie said between mouthfuls of meat loaf. “Says he wants to play for the Harlem Globetrotters one day.” Then, looking more serious, he said, “Speaking of brothers, I heard about Gary. How is he doing? Tell him if he ever needs help dealing with the white boys, I got his back!”

  Why are boys so ready to fight all the time? Sylvia thought as she stirred her corn pudding. “He’ll be okay—on the outside, at least.” Sylvia frowned. “I think Gary is simply gonna crash and burn one day. Might get messy.”

  Reggie smiled. “He’ll heal up. Then he’ll be ready to fight again—stronger and tougher. But speaking of basketball,” he said smoothly, “there’s a game at Mann next week. Would you like to go with me?”

  Sylvia almost choked on her cookies. She couldn’t believe he was asking her on a date! She sat there for a moment, staring stupidly and saying nothing. Then she felt Lou Ann kick her leg.

  “Uh, I’d have to ask my mother, but as long as she thinks there will be at least a million other people there, she might let me go.”

  “Cool!” he said. “Tell you what—to avoid the parent trap, why don’t I just meet you there? Your folks can drop you off and pick you up, and neither one of us has to go through all those questions that parents think they have to ask.”

  “You sound like you’ve done this before!” Sylvia said, aware she was laughing too lo
udly.

  Reggie, faking the deep bass voice of her father, said, “Now, tell me, son, what are your intentions concerning my darling daughter? And will you ever buy new shoes?”

  Sylvia, Lou Ann, and Reggie, laughing hysterically, initially did not see Miss Washington approach. Sylvia looked up in surprise. Miss Washington, unsmiling and determined-looking, strode toward their table. Her sturdy shoes echoed on the linoleum floor. “I need to speak with you, Miss Patterson,” she said brusquely. “Come with me.”

  Not now! Not in the middle of the most important conversation of my life ! But all she could say was a polite and sorrowful, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Sylvia turned to Lou Ann with a shrug, gave Reggie an apologetic smile, and helplessly followed the ample hips of Miss Washington out of the cafeteria. Her heart thudded as she tried to imagine what she possibly could have done wrong. Usually it was Calvin Cobbs who was called to task for acting silly or forgetting his homework.

  Maybe Sylvia had forgotten an important assignment in the confusion from last night. Gary’s injuries, which, of course, everybody in the colored community had heard about by now, turned out to be mostly cuts and bruises, but he would be out of school for a few days. Maybe Miss Washington wanted to ask her about Gary. She’d had him in class a couple of years ago.

  The voices of her friends echoed in the halls as they entered Miss Washington’s empty and silent classroom.

  “You’re an excellent student, Miss Patterson,” Miss Washington said, looking directly at her.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” she replied, a little surprised at the compliment. She felt like an ant under a magnifying glass.

  “Have you discussed with your parents the opportunity I offered the class yesterday?”

  “I didn’t really get the chance, ma’am,” Sylvia replied. “My brother, Gary, got into a little trouble last night, and Mama and Daddy were not in a mood to talk about Central High School.”

  “Yes, I heard about that. Gary always has been volatile and impetuous, and I must admit that his behavior might work against you. But you, my dear, are steady, dependable, and capable of handling the social and emotional difficulties that would confront you. We want your name to be placed on the list.”

  Sylvia was overwhelmed. “Me?” she croaked. “I don’t think I’m brave enough for all that stuff.”

  “Yes, you are. In addition, you have intelligence, which the boys who attacked your brother do not have. Bravery and brains will take you a very long way.”

  “But it’s Gary who wants to be on the list, not me. Choose him instead of me, please.” Sylvia knew that Gary would kill for this chance, and they were offering it to her on a platter. He’d be furious when he found out—and hurt as well.

  Miss Washington softened and smiled a little. “You are just the type of young woman who is needed for this task, Sylvia Faye.” That was the first time she ever heard Miss Washington call a student by a first name.

  Sylvia had to sit down at one of the empty desks. “My parents will never let me.”

  “I’ll talk to them,” Miss Washington interrupted. “I know they will have strong reservations because of the incident with Gary. But we’ll see what happens. Go and finish your lunch now. And don’t mention this conversation to anyone yet.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Sylvia whispered as she hurried out of the room. She stood there in the hallway, trembling with apprehension. When she got back to the empty lunchroom, which smelled faintly of old meat loaf, both Reggie and Lou Ann had gone to their next class. Sylvia had lost her appetite anyway.

  TUESDAY, JANUARY 8, 1957—EVENING

  Sylvia knocked on Gary’s door and peeked in his room. On his dartboard he had taped of picture of Orval Faubus, governor of Arkansas, a man who had made it very clear he did not like Negroes. Several darts had perforated the newspaper cutout.

  “Does that make you feel better?” Sylvia asked, pointing at the dartboard as she walked in.

  “Not really. But it gives me something to do for now,” Gary told her. He was stuck at home until he was fully healed. It wouldn’t be much longer. Most of the swelling had diminished considerably, and he only had a couple of Band-Aids still covering the deeper cuts on his arms. “So how was school today?”

  Sylvia took a deep breath. “Same as usual. Except Reggie sat with me at lunch. He asked about you—said he’d back you up next time. That makes me real nervous, Gary.”

  “He understands the real deal,” Gary said, nodding with approval. He gazed out of the darkened window.

  “Reggie also asked me to go to a basketball game, and—”

  “Ha! I told you he was sweet on you! Watch yourself. I know how bad boys can be when they like a girl,” Gary warned.

  “Uh, thanks, but Reggie’s not like that. Besides, I don’t think I have to worry as long as we’re just sharing hot dogs at a game. There was one more thing, though.” She hesitated. How am I gonna tell him?

  “What? Miss Washington decided you should be on the debate team? You can’t say no to that woman, you know.”

  “I know. But it wasn’t the debate team.” Sylvia paused, knew she was about to hurt him deeply, then she said slowly, “She wants me to be on the list of kids who might integrate Central High School.” Sylvia felt miserable.

  “That’s great news!” Gary said as he got up to give Sylvia a hug. “We can go together, and I’ll be there to protect you!”

  It was even harder than she thought it would be. “Uh, I don’t think they included your name, Gary. They’re afraid you might be too outspoken or violent”

  “Violent? Me?” Gary was predictably enraged. “Only if somebody starts it first. I don’t let anybody push me around!”

  “I think they know that,” Sylvia said quietly. “I’m sorry, Gary. I didn’t want this.”

  “It’s not fair,” Gary growled. “I really did.”

  She left his room, knowing he was the brave one, the bold one.

  It was all she could think about as she helped her mother prepare the evening meal, and, although she opened her mouth to bring up the subject a couple of times, she simply didn’t have the nerve to do it at dinner. Donna Jean chattered about the latest Archie comic book, unaware of the tension. Gary ate in silence.

  After dinner Miss Washington didn’t call—she showed up at their house. Sylvia was sitting on the sofa with Donna Jean, watching The Dinah Shore Show on TV. Gary was sitting in his father’s favorite chair, still being spoiled by their mother. He refused to make eye contact with Sylvia.

  The doorbell rang, and, since everyone in the family had been a bit jumpy lately, they turned off the television and waited for Mr. Patterson to answer it. Miss Ethel Washington filled the room with her authority. Sylvia jumped off the sofa, offered her seat to the teacher, and moved to a hassock where she waited for the firestorm that was sure to come.

  “So glad to see you, Miss Ethel,” Sylvia’s mother said as she took Miss Washington’s coat and hat. “How’s your mother doing these days?”

  “Oh, she’s doing fair for an old lady—she keeps me hopping, that’s for sure.” Miss Washington chuckled. As she shifted her ample weight on the sofa, the plastic creaked.

  “Would you like a slice of apple pie and a little tea?” Mrs. Patterson asked, heading to the kitchen even before Miss Washington had a chance to answer.

  “You know you make the best pie in the county, Leola. I’d be much obliged.”

  Mr. Patterson asked his wife for a slice of pie for himself, and spoke to Miss Washington warmly. “So glad to see you, Sister Ethel. So what brings you out on such a cold evening?” he asked as he took a bite of pie.

  “Well, I wanted to check on young Gary here, and to tell the truth, I just had a craving for Leola’s apple pie, so I figured I would just drop by,” Miss Washington replied. Why is it that grown-ups take a million years to get to their point, when they want us to answer on a dime?

  While the adults laughed, Sylvia squirmed. When they finally got over
all the pleasantries, and Miss Washington had eaten two pieces of pie and a slice of cake as well, she looked directly at Gary and said solemnly, “You know they’re going to integrate Central High this fall, don’t you, son.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It’s about time,” Gary replied boldly.

  “How do you feel after your unfortunate incident last night? You healing up all right?”

  Gary shifted in his seat. “Yes, ma’am. I’m about healed up. Just a little sore. Mama says whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I’ll be strong enough to fight again soon.”

  Sylvia cringed. She knew Gary had no chance with words like that.

  “We’re looking for bold, brave, nonviolent students, Gary,” Miss Washington said gently. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Gary looked away from the intensity of her gaze.

  Mr. Patterson spoke up. “Integration of the schools won’t be happening soon, will it, Sister Ethel? At least not in our lifetime.”

  Sylvia thought her father sounded hopeful, like she did when she knew the last piece of cake was gone, but she asked for it anyway.

  “It’s going to take place this year. 1957. September. In your lifetime, and the lives of your children.”

  Mr. Patterson shook his head. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “The buses were integrated without any trouble last year. We didn’t have to do a boycott or anything drastic like they did in Montgomery,” Miss Washington offered.

  “Yes, I know, but this is not the same,” Mr. Patterson said.

  “The university is integrated,” Miss Washington continued.

  “Yes, for a few. We think that’s good,” Sylvia’s mother said. “But I keep remembering the looks of hatred on the faces of Mrs. Crandall and the rest of those white women as those colored students registered for class. You know the old saying, ‘If looks could kill’ ...” Mrs. Patterson’s voice trailed off and Sylvia rolled her eyes at her sister.