The Lions of Little Rock (2 page)

2

COFFEE, TEA OR SODA

That evening after dinner, we all sat down in the living room to watch TV. By “we” I mean my family: Mother, Daddy, Judy and me. I have an older brother too, David, but he'd just moved out the week before to start college. My sister and brother and Daddy are the only ones I feel really comfortable talking to, so I missed David something terrible. In fact, when Mother made a fresh batch of iced tea for dinner, I almost started crying.

You see, to me, people are like things you drink. Some are like a pot of black coffee, no cream, no sugar. They make me so nervous I start to tremble. Others calm me down enough that I can sort through the words in my head and find something to say.

My brother, David, is a glass of sweet iced tea on a hot summer day, when you've put your feet up in a hammock and haven't got a care in the world. Judy is an ice-cold Coca-Cola from the fridge. Sally is cough syrup; she tastes bad, but my mother insists she's good for me. Daddy's a glass of milk, usually cold and delicious, but every once in a while, he goes sour. If I have to ask one of my parents a question, I'll pick him, because Mother is hot black tea, so strong, she's almost coffee.

Mother and I don't exactly see eye to eye, or even elbow to elbow. She's always trying to get me to do stuff:
invite that girl over, volunteer at church, read to that poor blind lady down the street
. I know she loves me, but sometimes I think she wishes I were more like Judy. Mother and Judy like to read fashion magazines and go shopping. They get their hair done once a week and read long, romantic novels like
Gone With the Wind
. Despite our differences, Judy and I get along, but Mother expects me to be thrilled when she brings me home a new skirt or a sweater set, when what I'd really like is a new slide rule.

Ever since the Soviets sent up that Sputnik satellite last year, I've been studying really hard. Maybe someday I'll study mathematics at college and become a rocket scientist. Only thing is, when our teacher told us last year that our country needs more of us to study math, I think she meant more boys. I watched all those talks on TV about the satellite really closely, and I didn't see any experts who were women.

That evening we were watching our brand-new 1958 RCA 21-inch mahogany television console. It was so large, we had to move an armchair into the garage to make space for it in the living room. With rabbit ears on top, it got three whole channels.

Governor
Faubus was on television, giving some sort of talk about Southern pride and communists and, okay, I tried to pay attention, but it didn't really make much sense. I was more worried about who my teachers would be this year. Teachers are definitely coffee. When they call on me in class, it makes me so nervous, I can't say a thing. Even when I know the answer. So there's always a rough patch at the beginning of the year when I'm breaking them in.

People sometimes think I'm stupid because I'm so quiet. But I'm not stupid, I'm scared. Scared my voice will get all squeaky and people will laugh. Worried I'll look dumb if I say the wrong thing. Concerned about being a show-off if I get the answer right. Convinced that if I start talking, people will notice me, and I won't like the attention.

“Turn off the TV, Marlee,” Daddy said suddenly.

I jumped up to do as he asked. I could tell by his tone that something was wrong.

“I can't believe the governor would rather close the schools than have you go with a couple of Negroes,” Daddy said to Judy.

“That's not what he said,” Mother snapped. “It's about states' rights, preserving our way of life and respecting Southern traditions. Not to mention maintaining the peace.”

“There you have it, girls.” Daddy's voice was pleasant, but there was a bite to it.

Judy frowned. “But what will I do all day?”

“You can get a head start on the fall cleaning,” said Mother. “Maybe wash the windows?”

Judy made a face.

“Or you can help Betty Jean with the laundry. It's up to you. I'll bring home a reading list and a math book to keep you busy after that.”

Betty Jean was our new maid. We'd never had one before, but with Mother going back to work, we needed someone to do the laundry and the cooking. Daddy's been an English teacher at Forest Heights Junior High for a long time, but Mother's first day of teaching home economics at Hall High School was supposed to be tomorrow.

“Do you have to go to work?” Judy asked.

“Yes,” said Mother. “Hall is closed to the students, but I signed a contract, so I have to go.”

“What about Marlee? Does she have school?” Judy asked.

That was just what I wanted to know.

“Yes,” said Daddy. “Only the high schools are closed. No one is trying to send Negroes to the junior highs.”

“Not yet,” said Mother.

Daddy ignored her.

We kissed our parents good night and went back to our room. “Lucky you,” I said to Judy as I walked into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I was starting at West Side Junior High, and I wasn't too excited about it.

“Yeah,” Judy whispered. “Lucky me.”

As I brushed my teeth, I wondered how I'd feel if a colored girl were sent to my school. Sally said you'd get lice if you sat too close to one of them, but Sally also said if you lit a candle in a bathroom and turned around three times, you'd see a ghost in the mirror. I'd tried it once when I was seven, and there was no ghost, just a lot of melted wax on the countertop. I didn't believe much of what Sally said after that.

There had been a colored girl in one of Judy's classes last year at Central High School, the best high school in all of Arkansas. For the first time, nine Negroes had enrolled:
Minnijean Brown, Elizabeth Eckford, Ernest Green, Thelma Mothershed, Melba Pattillo, Terrence Roberts, Gloria Ray, Jefferson Thomas and Carlotta Walls. That was a mouthful, so people just started calling them the Little Rock Nine.

The integration had gone so badly that President Eisenhower sent in soldiers to help keep the peace. I remembered Daddy talking about being polite to the Negroes and Mother biting her lip. I'd been so busy watching both of them, I'd never thought to ask Judy how she'd felt about it. All I knew for sure was that she hadn't gotten lice.

When Judy walked into the bathroom, I opened my mouth to ask. But my mouth was full of toothpaste and by the time I'd rinsed and spit, her mouth was full of toothpaste. And then it was time to go to bed.

Judy fell asleep quickly, but I kept tossing and turning. Usually the lions' roaring lulled me to sleep, but they were silent tonight, as quiet as the halls of Central would be tomorrow. Finally I got up and went into the kitchen for a glass of milk. Mother and Daddy were talking in the living room.

“Almost sounds like you're an integrationist,” I heard Mother say.

“I don't think it's such a big deal if Judy's at school with a few—”

“You want our girls associating with Negroes?” asked Mother.

“A few colored students wouldn't—”

“Race mixing. That's what it'll lead to,” said Mother.

I stood in front of the open fridge in my nightgown, clutching the bottle of milk, and shivered. Race mixing was a scary thing—at least people always talked about it like it was polio or something. The thing was, the races didn't really mix in Little Rock, not in the bathrooms of department stores, nor in the water of the swimming pools. In fact, I don't think we'd ever had a colored person in our house until Betty Jean showed up ironing last week.

“There wouldn't have even been any trouble last year if the governor hadn't—”

“Richard, watch what you're saying!”

“I'm not saying anything I don't mean.”

“Do you want people to call us communists?” Mother asked.

The milk bottle slipped from my hand and crashed to the floor. So much for eavesdropping. My parents ran into the kitchen.

“Oh, Marlee!” Mother grabbed a towel and began to mop things up. “Now there'll be no milk for breakfast.”

“Sorry,” I whispered.

Mother just kept wiping up the mess.

My father poured me a glass of water and walked me back to my room. “We weren't arguing,” he said when we got to my door.

I nodded. But when he leaned over to kiss me good night, his eye twitched like it always did when he was lying.

3

QUEEN ELIZABETH

The next morning Judy woke up early to eat breakfast with me, even though she didn't have to. She's such a good sister. I made two bowls of oatmeal and put one down in front of her.

“Promise me something,” Judy said.

“What?” I asked.

“Promise to say at least one complete sentence today.”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said. Sometimes Judy was as bad as Mother.

“I mean it,” said Judy. “At least five words. Together. In a row.
Yes
and
no
don't count.”

“I promise.”

“That's only two,” said Judy.

“To talk a lot,” I added. “That makes six.”

Judy laughed. I grinned and finished my oatmeal.

“Marlee!” My father poked his head into the kitchen. “You ready?”

Last year, Daddy had started driving me to school. The first time was the day after one of the colored girls from Central had been surrounded by a mob at the bus stop. In the picture in the paper, the white people were yelling at her, and yet she'd held her head up high. I couldn't understand why half of Little Rock was screaming over a few colored kids. Surely they weren't all stupid enough to believe Sally.

It happened again a few months later. Daddy had invited a colored pastor to come talk to his Bible study group at church. He said the meeting had gone well, but the next day, he'd found a note tucked in with the morning paper. He didn't let any of us read the note, not even Mother, but he drove me to school every day after that.

Daddy and I didn't talk in the car, but it was a comfortable silence. The closer we got to school, the more nervous I became, so I started counting prime numbers in my head again. I'd reached 67 by the time Daddy dropped me off at the front entrance to West Side Junior High. It was a large building, but of course I'd visited when Judy had been a student, so it only took me a minute to find my seventh-grade homeroom and sit down.

I knew pretty much everyone there. Sally was two rows over, talking with Nora. Unlike Sally's strong cough syrup, Nora was a weak fruit punch. She had horn-rimmed glasses and was convinced they made her ugly, even though she had a long neck and the straightest, smoothest hair I'd ever seen.

In the back was a new girl. She had short dark hair, just like Judy's, tied back with a ribbon. She had neatly trimmed fingernails (which reminded me to stop chewing on my pinkie) and a lovely tan too, like she'd been at the pool all summer, though I hadn't seen her there once.

Sally got up and walked over to her desk. Nora went too. “Hi, new girl,” Sally said in her bright, clear voice. “What's your name?”

The new girl looked up and smiled. A wide, honest, open smile. I knew she thought Sally was being sincere, but I would've bet you all the money in my piggy bank that she wasn't.

“Elizabeth,” said the new girl. “What's yours?”

“Sally,” said Sally. “It's nice to meet you, Bethie.”

“Oh, it's not Bethie,” said the girl.

“Lizzie?” guessed Sally.

“No, Elizabeth,” said the girl. “Like the Queen.”

Sally looked at her blankly.

“The Queen of England.”

“Did you hear that, Nora? Her name is Elizabeth, like the Queen of England.” Sally burst out laughing.

I couldn't bring myself to look at the new girl. I was sure she felt awful. I started counting prime numbers again: 2, 3, 5, 7, 11 . . . But the new girl started laughing too. “Yeah, like the Queen of England. But you can just call me ‘Your Highness.'”

Nora tittered.

“Your Highness?” repeated Sally.

“That's right,” said Elizabeth. “Unless you prefer ‘O royal one.'”

Nora had to gulp down a giggle. I couldn't quite tell if she was amused or nervous. No one spoke this way to Sally.

The new girl suddenly grinned and slapped Sally on the shoulder. “I'm just kidding, of course. Liz is fine.”

Sally gave a little smile. Before she could say anything else, Miss Taylor, our homeroom teacher, walked in, and Sally and Nora sat down.

Miss Taylor was one of those teachers you just can't imagine anywhere but school. She'd been teaching forever and always pulled her blond hair back into a bun. As she handed out our schedules, I noticed her sweater had a couple of dropped stitches on the back, as if she'd made it herself. I had Miss Taylor again for history in the afternoon. She frowned a lot as she talked, and I couldn't decide if she was plain old coffee or something worse, like the vinegar pooled at the bottom of a jar of pickles. Though I'm not sure why anyone would drink that.

After homeroom came English, then science, and right before lunch I had math. Since math is my favorite subject, sometimes I talk in class, but only if the answer's a number. Like 43. Or 3,458. Or 36.72. But if the answer is “eight apples,” all you'll get out of me is “eight.” You'll have to provide the apples yourself.

My math teacher this year was Mr. Harding. It was his first year at West Side, and he was young, almost as young as my older brother. Mr. Harding got to work right away, writing problems on the chalkboard. By the end of the period, chalk dust had turned his hair (and his suit) prematurely gray. He called on everyone in the class at least once, even the girls. Even me. (I answered. It was 345.) My old math teacher had asked the boys to answer three times as often as the girls. I knew because once, last year, I had gotten really bored, and I'd kept track of who she'd called on for a whole week. I decided Mr. Harding was a chocolate malt shake, and I liked him a lot.

Pretty soon it was lunchtime. Mother always packed me a lunch, because I didn't like to tell the lunch ladies what I wanted. I sat down at an empty table and wondered if Sally would sit with me like she had in elementary school. If she didn't, I'd just sit alone. There are worse things in life than sitting alone. Like leprosy. Or losing a limb. Or maybe getting your period in the middle of gym when you're wearing white shorts and the teacher is a man and you left all your sanitary napkins at home. Not that that's ever happened to me.

I was just biting into my pimento cheese sandwich when I heard someone clear her throat. It was the new girl—Elizabeth or Liz or whatever she wanted to be called.

“It's Marlee, right?” she asked.

I nodded, wondering how she'd already figured out my name.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Truth was, I did mind. But if I shook my head, it would mean I didn't, and Liz would sit down. If I nodded, she might think that was a positive response and sit down anyway. I couldn't say no because that would be rude, and so I looked up at her, hoping she'd understand and go away. In that moment, with her hair pulled back and her clear brown eyes, she looked just like Judy.

“Please sit down.”

Liz sat.

It took me a second to realize I had spoken. To a stranger. Mother would be thrilled. Judy would say this was real progress. Even if it had only been a reflex since she looked so much like my sister. I cursed myself for only using three words. Now I'd have to work another two in sometime this afternoon.

“Thanks so much.” Liz smiled. “I hate eating lunch alone.”

I hate eating lunch alone too, and I knew that was the polite thing to say. But I didn't say it.

“Don't worry,” Liz continued, taking a bite of her sandwich. “You don't have to actually talk to me. Just sitting here is enough.”

I snorted and looked up to see her grinning at me. A sense of humor was on Judy's list of what makes a good friend. But what was Liz's drink? Was she really as wholesome as whole milk? Or was she like a shot of whiskey given to you by your older cousin? I couldn't place her, and it made me nervous.

Sally and Nora finally arrived at the table. “That's my seat,” Sally said, pointing at Liz's chair. Nora hovered behind her.

“Oh, is it?” said Liz mildly.

Sally stood there for a moment before she realized Liz wasn't going to move. “But you can sit in it,” Sally said suddenly, like she was being really nice.

“Why, thank you,” said Liz.

“Marlee doesn't talk,” said Sally, pointing at me. “That's why I have to sit next to her. We've known each other a long time.”

“She doesn't?” said Liz. “But she just invited me to sit down.”

“She did?” Sally asked, and looked at me.

I was about to nod when I realized if I said something, I could bring my word count for the day up to five. So I kind of squinted at Liz until she went blurry and I could pretend she was Judy, and I took a deep breath and counted 13, 17, 19, 23 and said, “I did.”

Liz nodded and smiled. Her teeth were straight and very white. Oral hygiene is very important. I never skip brushing my teeth myself.

“Why didn't we see you at the pool this summer?” asked Sally, tossing her blond hair. She always did that when she wanted someone to stop what they were doing and pay attention to her.

“You're Sally, right?” said Liz.

Sally looked pleased that Liz had already learned her name.

“Well, my family just moved here . . .”

And with that, Queen Elizabeth started her reign.