The Lions of Little Rock (11 page)

21

THREE GOOD THINGS

On Thursday, I was sitting in Mr. Harding's classroom, munching on my pimento cheese sandwich, when he came over and threw a thick book down on my desk. “Look at the cover,” he said.

I flipped the book over.
ALGEBRA I
was written across the front in large letters.

“Here's the deal,” said Mr. Harding. His face was serious, but his eyes were shining. “You get to eat lunch in my classroom. In exchange, you have to spend fifteen minutes every day doing math with me.”

Algebra was a high school math course. I was only in seventh grade.

He read my mind. “Come on, Marlee. You know seventh-grade math is way too easy for you.”

That was true. And even though Judy talked about algebra like it was a horrible torture device, David was convinced I'd love it.

“Do you need to hear the speech I prepared about how we need girls like you to save us from the Soviets?”

That's what my brother had said.

“All those American satellites aren't going to invent themselves.” Mr. Harding grinned at me, just like David did.

Maybe I could talk. Mr. Harding was already on my list. Just fifteen minutes a day. And it was only about math.

“Okay,” I said.

“Really?” asked Mr. Harding.

I nodded.

Mr. Harding winked at me and opened the book.

On Friday, I got some mail. Two pieces, actually. The first was a postcard from Judy. It said
Pine Bluff Welcomes You
on one side, and on the other was written a short note:

 

Dear Little Sis,

I hate it here. Granny burned the pot roast, the toast and the scrambled eggs. The kids at school are mean. Please send a new pair of hose without holes. Lots of love.

Judy

Mother also got a letter from Judy. Daddy kept trying to peek over her shoulder, but she kept turning away.

“What does yours say?” Daddy asked me. “I didn't get one.”

I guess Judy was still mad at him for sending her to Pine Bluff. “Granny's a bad cook,” I said, “and she needs some new underwear.”

Daddy laughed.

I wasn't much of a letter writer, but I'd have to send her a note in return.

The other piece of mail was a flyer from the Women's Emergency Committee to Open Our Schools. “What's this?” asked Daddy.

“Miss Winthrop is a member,” I explained. “She invited me to join.”

The flyer said
Brotherhood Week
at the top, and there were four little buildings drawn with the names of the four closed high schools on them: Central, Horace Mann, Hall and Tech. There was a quote beneath it that read, “The world is
now too
dangerous
for anything but the truth, too small for anything but
brotherhood
.” The post office box of the WEC was listed at the bottom.

“Nice,” said Daddy, and patted me on the back.

Finally, it was Saturday, and I could call Liz. I waited until Mother and Daddy were busy in the backyard and then snuck into the kitchen to use the phone.

I don't like using the phone. In real life, I can usually tell if I say the wrong thing. Someone might roll their eyes or look away. But on the phone, I don't have those clues. To make things even worse, we have a party line. That means we share one phone line with two of our neighbors. We each have our own ring (ours is one short and one long) but if someone wants to be nosy, they can just pick up the receiver and listen right in. And it seemed like every time I tried to place a call, Mr. Haroldson chose that exact moment to call his mother.

So to deal with all those variables, I'd written out everything I was going to say on note cards. I laid them all out in front of me in short rows, took a deep breath, pictured the lions at the zoo and dialed Liz's number.

A woman answered on the fourth ring. “Hello.”

“Hello,” I read. “May I please speak to Elizabeth Fullerton?”

“Who's calling?” She sounded suspicious.

I had to look down at my notes to remember the name we'd picked out for me. “Mary,” I said. “A friend from school.”

The woman grumbled something under her breath, then I heard her yell, “Elizabeth! You have a telephone call.”

A moment later, I heard Liz pick up the phone. “Hello,” she said.

“Hi,” I read. “It's me. Can you meet me at the zoo in twenty minutes?”

“No.”

“No?” She was supposed to say
yes
.

“I'm taking my little brother to the movies,” Liz continued.

I frantically searched through my cards for a response.

“Hello? Are you still there?” Liz asked.

“I thought we were going to do something today,” I mumbled finally.

“I said I'd try. My mother needs me to watch my brother and told me to take him to
The Wizard of Oz
,” she said. “I'd invite you to come too, but we're going to the Gem,” she said.

The Negro movie theater. I looked at the only card I had left.
Great, see you there,
didn't seem quite appropriate.

“I need to help my mother clean the bathroom anyway.”

“Maybe another time,” she said brightly.

“Yes,” I said, and hung up the phone, disappointed.

As I scrubbed the toilet, I started thinking. Why hadn't I said
Great, see you there
? I knew the Gem was over on West Ninth Street. If I could go to a Negro church, why not a Negro movie theater? I turned the idea over and over in my mind, like a lemon drop on my tongue. I imagined being the only white girl in a room full of Negroes and shivered. It was a little scary. But Liz had been the only colored girl in a whole school full of white kids. Negroes might not be welcome at the white theater, but I didn't think there was a rule against whites going to the Negro theater. If she could do it, so could I.

22

THE GEM

It was surprising to learn how easy it was to lie to Daddy. I'd just asked him if I could go to the movies, and when he said sure and offered to drive me, I'd said I'd ride my bike instead. He'd even given me money for popcorn.

I peddled faster, trying to drive out the knowledge that I was disobeying my father. I had the black feather in my pocket, but I wanted to get there before Liz went in or I was afraid I wouldn't have the nerve. I thought about Miss Winthrop:
Have no fear of them, nor be troubled.

Liz was standing on the curb when I arrived. “Marlee.” She frowned. “What are you doing here?”

I shrugged. “Going to the movies.”

Liz gave me a look.

“You said you were going to the Gem. You didn't say I couldn't come.”

She had to work real hard to keep the frown on her face.

A Negro boy walked up to Liz. He was dark enough that there was no way he could ever pass. “Who's this?” he asked, pointing at me.

“My friend Marlee,” said Liz. “Marlee, this is my little brother, Tommy.”

Her brother was only eight or nine. He had curly hair and a cute, round face. I could probably talk to him. Kids weren't as intimidating as grown-ups. I decided he was Ovaltine, sweet and wholesome.

Tommy looked me over. “You look like a white girl.”

“I am a white girl,” I said.

“Then why do you want to come here?” Tommy asked. “My friend's cousin works at the Center Theater on Main Street, and he says they have a new popcorn machine and velvet seats.”

I didn't know how to answer. Maybe he wasn't so sweet after all.

“You're going to get me in big trouble,” said Liz. “I'm not supposed to see anyone from the old school. I'll be grounded again.”

People were looking at me. “Sorry,” I muttered. I hadn't thought this through. “I'll go.”

“No,” said Liz. “A bunch of people have already seen you. The damage is done. You might as well stay and enjoy the movie.”

Enjoying the movie proved to be harder than I expected. I'd never been in a place with so many Negroes before. Heck, I'd never been in a room with more than one or two. People were staring at me as I bought my popcorn. I wanted to disappear. I felt my courage shrinking, like the Wicked Witch when Dorothy threw water on her.

I tried to tell myself I didn't know everyone when I went to the white movie theater, either. And the popcorn smelled exactly the same. But it didn't really work.

We walked down the narrow aisle single file, carrying the popcorn and looking for a seat, Tommy first, then Liz, then me.

“Now, hello there, Miss Elizabeth!” bellowed a voice from a fat woman in a large hat.

“Hello, Mrs. Johnson,” said Liz quietly.

I tried to hide behind Liz, hoping she wouldn't notice me.

“Elizabeth, I can't tell you how nice it is to see you out having some fun.”

“That's me,” she said brightly. “Fun, fun, fun.” She waved like she was trying to move on.

Mrs. Johnson took in a deep breath and started coughing like she'd swallowed a fly. When she caught her breath, she said, “Elizabeth, may I have a word with you?”

I knew what was wrong. She was upset that I was white. My face burned red with shame. It reminded me of Miss Taylor pulling me into the hall to tell me Liz was colored. Now Mrs. Johnson was doing the same with Liz about me.

Mrs. Johnson took Liz's hand and pulled her a step or two away, causing her to spill half of her popcorn on the floor. She shouldn't have bothered. I could still hear every word she said. “What are you doing here with a white girl?”

“She's a friend,” Liz said miserably.

“From the white school! What were you thinking bringing her here?”

“I didn't invite her,” protested Liz. “She just showed up.”

“Didn't she realize it could be dangerous for you? Didn't she think about the repercussions?”

I hadn't. I'd thought the brave thing to do was to go meet Liz at the Gem. I'd thought it was the right thing to do. Now it seemed like I should have just stayed at home.

“She's my friend,” Liz protested.

“How can you be sure?” Mrs. Johnson went on.

Everyone was staring at us now. I prayed for the lights to go down and the newsreel to start.

“Elizabeth, people have been killed over less. After taking such an enormous, and I might say foolhardy risk, you might at least—”

“Mrs. Johnson,” a familiar voice said sharply, “what's going on here?”

We all turned and looked. There was Betty Jean, wearing a blue skirt and a white blouse. It was the first time I'd seen her without an apron. She looked real pretty.

“This white girl has snuck into this theater and—”

“I didn't sneak in,” I told Betty Jean. “I paid for my ticket.”

“She could be a member of the Mother's League. A spy who—”

Betty Jean laughed. “She's not a spy. She's the daughter of the family I work for. She's a good girl.”

I was so grateful.

Mrs. Johnson harrumphed. “Are you saying you'll vouch for her?”

“Yes,” said Betty Jean. “I'll vouch for her.”

“Well, you're the pastor's wife,” said Mrs. Johnson, but she still sounded annoyed.

“Thank you,” I said to Betty Jean.

She nodded. “Enjoy the movie, Marlee.”

But I didn't. My heart was beating so fast, it took me ages to calm down. Even though I was next to Liz, and Betty Jean was just a few rows back, I kept worrying Mrs. Johnson was going to come back and hit me with her hat. How had Liz ever concentrated at school? How had she done math problems and written essays when she was surrounded by people who might hurt her if they found out who she really was?

On screen, the Cowardly Lion was being given courage. That's what I needed—a wizard to pin a medal to my chest. For now, the old black feather would have to do.

After the movie, we went out for a soda at a little store on the corner. The owner was colored, but he didn't look at me like I had three heads, just took my money and went on to helping someone else. Tommy was friends with the owner's son and went to play with him in the back while Liz and I sat down to drink our sodas.

“It'll be Halloween before I'm allowed out again,” said Liz.

“Sorry,” I said. “I don't know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking like a friend,” said Liz.

Yeah, I guess I was. “Is this good-bye?”

“Good-bye?” asked Liz. “Please, Marlee. For a girl who can solve a magic square, I'd think you'd be a little more inventive.”

“But—”

“All we need is a time and place to meet. Mama's got me scheduled up to the gills, but Tuesday afternoons might work. I have to take Tommy to baseball, but I could probably sneak away for an hour or two.”

“At the zoo?” I asked.

“No, too public. Anyone could see us there.”

I tried to think like her for a moment, imagine that there was danger lurking around every corner. But it was hard when everything seemed normal, the movie and the soda in my hands. The cut on my thumb was almost healed. “How about the rock crusher?” I asked.

“What?” asked Liz.

“The old quarry on the edge of town,” I said. “It's quiet.”

“You mean the old forest with the rocks?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Sounds just about perfect.”