The Lions of Little Rock (7 page)

13

NOT THE STOMACH FLU

The next day was Monday. The big day. The day of our presentation. I thought I'd be nervous, but I wasn't. I was excited. No more waiting. I was actually going to do it. I was going to talk in class.

JT was waiting for me by the picnic table when Daddy dropped me off. “Big day,” he said.

“Yep,” I agreed as I handed him his homework, which had four problems wrong, nicely scattered throughout the assignment.

“Last week Liz told everyone you were going to talk,” JT said. “That true?”

“Yep.” My voice didn't even wobble. I felt for the feather in my pocket. The magic was still there. I was ready. I could talk in front of a thousand people! Well, maybe not a thousand. But thirty in my history class definitely seemed doable.

Liz wasn't at school when the bell rang. The bus was sometimes late, so I didn't worry, not until homeroom was almost over and Miss Taylor cleared her throat and said, “Marlee, would you step into the hall with me for a moment?”

The class froze. I stood and slowly made my way toward the door, everyone watching me. A month ago, I would've fainted dead away. But now I felt eerily calm. The feather was still in my pocket. Liz would be here any minute. What could go wrong?

Miss Taylor didn't say another word until we were in the hallway. “Marlee, I'm afraid I have to tell you that Elizabeth will not be returning to West Side Junior High.”

I stared at her. I mean, I heard the words, and I knew what they meant, but they didn't make any sense. Why would Liz leave West Side?

“Liz is very ill, and she . . .” Miss Taylor paused. “I'm sorry. I will give you a few days to write down your report and turn it in.”

She turned and walked back to the classroom, leaving me in the hall. The bell rang, and students swarmed around me, but I didn't move. I was a balloon that had been blown into a cactus. One
pop,
and all my confidence was gone.

I couldn't concentrate in math. Mr. Harding called on me twice, and I didn't even answer. At lunch, JT and Sally and Nora sat down at my table. “So what did Miss Taylor say to you?” JT asked.

I shook my head.

“She said Liz isn't coming back to West Side,” reported Nora, peering over the top of her glasses. “I was standing by the door and heard her. She said Liz is real sick. But I don't think that's true, because Liz was in school last Friday and she was fine.”

JT thought for a moment. “My cousin got the stomach flu last week. That can come on real sudden.”

“Yes, but that only lasts a few days,” said Nora.

“Liz isn't coming back because she's a Negro,” said Sally.

We all turned to look at her.

Sally flipped her hair to make sure we were all paying attention. “That's what my mother told the principal. They were talking outside the teachers' lounge.”

That's ridiculous, I said, but not out loud.

“What?” JT sounded confused.

“My mother and I saw Liz last night.” Sally leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Way down by Ninth Street.”

That was the colored part of town.

“What were you doing there?” asked Nora.

“Our maid, Sue Ann, was sick. We had just dropped her off at her house when I saw Liz come out of the Baptist church on South Chester. She was holding hands with a colored boy.”

“You're kidding,” breathed Nora.

Sally shook her head. “I was so surprised, I called out her name, and I think she heard me because she looked right at me. Then my mother saw her and recognized her from the football game. Mother was so surprised, she almost ran into a lamppost. She wouldn't say one word about it all the way home, but first thing this morning, she came in to talk to Principal Watkins.

“But then,” Sally continued, “when we got here this morning, the principal said Liz had already withdrawn from school. She didn't even come by to pick up her records. When he heard our story, he said it all made sense. She must have been colored.”

JT shook his head.

“Last week I even loaned her my hairbrush,” whispered Sally.

“Ewww,” squealed Nora.

“I know,” Sally said. “Of course I already threw it away.”

“Can you believe it?” JT said. “A nigger at our school?”

I stood up, suddenly furious, but I wasn't sure at whom. JT, Miss Taylor, Sally, Liz, myself?

“Where are you going?” asked JT.

My thumb was throbbing. “I . . .” I shook my head and ran out of the room.

In the bathroom, I thought I was going to cry, but I didn't. Just stood in front of the sink and took the bandage off my thumb. I was careful not to glance in the mirror and see my brown hair and brown eyes that looked so much like Liz's.

Could it be true? Can a girl be white one day and colored the next? It seemed much more likely that she was sick. Or maybe she was moving. But if she were moving, why wouldn't she have told me? She said she believed in me. But how could she believe in me if she wasn't there?

The bell rang, and I splashed water on my face. I glanced in the mirror. My skin was the same beige color it had been before. Liz was the first person outside of my family I could really talk to. I couldn't lose her. It must be some big misunderstanding. When it was resolved, when she came back, I wanted the magic square book. I wanted to have earned it.

History was right after lunch. Miss Taylor looked surprised when I raised my hand. “Yes, Marlee?”

“I want to do the presentation.” My voice shook, but the words were clear.

Miss Taylor was speechless. She just nodded and gestured for me to go to the front of the room.

Everyone was silent. Every eye was on me. It took forever. Finally, I reached the front of the room. I pulled the black feather from my pocket and stuck it in one of my braids, like an Indian headdress. I took a deep breath.

Nothing came out.

I counted 29, 31, 37, 41.

Still no voice.

Finally, in desperation, I imagined them all in their underwear.

It made things worse. In a moment, I was going to faint dead away. JT was grinning at me like a monkey.

A monkey.

Sally was stroking her hair, preening like a peacock.

Nora's long neck turned her into a giraffe.

A boy in the back row had his head down, sleeping like a lion.

They were all animals. It was a zoo.

I started to talk.

“The Quapaw Indians were one of the tribes that lived near the river when the first French explorers came to Little Rock. The Quapaw had respect for all living things. After hunting, they would thank the animal they'd killed for giving them food.”

I stood up in front of the class and told them how the Quapaw smoked the peace pipe with the Europeans. I explained how unmarried women wore their hair braided and pinned up, while married women wore their hair down.

“Who did you marry, Sally?” JT called out, and everyone laughed. Sally turned bright red and stopped fiddling with her hair.

Miss Taylor shushed them, and I went on, explaining what crops the Quapaw planted (corn, beans and squash) and where they slept (on woven mats). Finally, I got to the last part of our presentation—the Peach Seed Ceremony.

“Fathers were real important to the Quapaw, so if yours died, you had to get another one. Instead of letting the grown-ups decide, they let the kids choose.”

I held up the peach pit I had been clutching in my hand. It left a mark on my palm.

“If your father died, they gave you a peach pit and put you in a circle of all the men. The man you gave the pit to would be your new daddy.”

I held up the pit and all the boys starting oohing and ahhing.

“Pick me!” yelled JT.

That had been my plan. It was going to be fun. Flirty. But he'd called Liz that name, and now I was determined to pick someone else. Anyone else. I scanned the room.

Little Jimmy was quiet and shy and bad at football and, well, little. I'm not sure he'd ever spoken to me before. I know I'd never spoken to him. But when I placed the pit in his hands, he looked up at me with shining eyes, as if I'd given him a diamond.

14

FACING FACTS

After history I went to the bathroom and threw up. I'd done it. I'd spoken aloud in a class at school. But I didn't feel powerful. I didn't feel triumphant. I felt like I was getting the flu.

I got halfway to the nurse's office before I turned and walked out of the building. I tried to make myself feel bad about skipping school, but it didn't work. I just kept hearing Sally saying she threw away her hairbrush. Imagining Mother complaining about states' rights. Remembering racing turtles with Liz in the sunlight.

I walked home slowly. I needed to talk to Judy. She would know what to do. She would know what to say. But as soon as I went into the kitchen, I remembered Judy was at Margaret's for a tutoring session.

Betty Jean glanced over at me. “You're home early.”

I didn't answer.

“You've got something in your hair,” she said.

I put my hand to my head. It was the black feather.

Betty Jean poured me a glass of sweet tea. “Drink it,” she said. “And then you can tell me what's wrong.”

I had no intention of telling
her,
but I was thirsty, and after I drank the tea, I felt a little better. Betty Jean had her back to me and was stuffing a chicken for dinner. I was going to tell her I wasn't feeling well (which was true) and go to my room to wait for Judy. But when I opened my mouth, what came out was, “Have you ever heard of a light-skinned Negro pretending to be white?”

Betty Jean stopped what she was doing, her hands full of chicken guts, and gave me a funny look. “Why are you asking that, Marlee?”

The kids at school said . . . this girl I know . . . I was just wondering . . .
I couldn't get any words to come. Finally, I just stood there, helpless, praying Betty Jean would understand.

I guess she did, because she finally pushed the basting pan aside and went to the sink to wash her hands. She cut two pieces of blueberry pie, then sat down at the table. I sat down too, and she pushed the pie across the table to me.

“It's called passing,” she said. “Some Negroes who are really light skinned and have straight hair try it.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Better schooling. More opportunities.” She shrugged. “Maybe they're just tired of being seen as second best.”

I didn't say anything. It suddenly seemed like there was more gray around her temples than had been there just a moment before.

“It's a hard life,” Betty Jean went on. “You have to give up seeing family and friends. Stop going the places you used to go. And you have to lie—every day—to everyone you meet.”

Like Liz had done to me.

“Lying like that, well, it's exhausting. I hope you never have a secret like that, Marlee. A secret so big, your whole life depends on it.”

I swallowed. “What happens if someone finds out?”

“I'm not sure your mother would like me talking to you about this, Marlee.”

“Please,” I said. “Please, Betty Jean. There's no one else I can ask.”

She took a few more bites of blueberry pie. When she spoke, she kept her eyes on her plate, mashing a bit of crust with her fork. “If you're really lucky, you lose your job or you're kicked out of school. If you're a little less lucky, you get beat up, but after a few weeks your injuries heal and you're left alone. If you're not lucky, a lynch mob comes and firebombs your house, killing you and everyone you love.”

And that's when I knew it was true. I didn't know her phone number or where she lived. I'd never even asked if she had a sister. No wonder she had picked me as a friend. No one else was stupid enough not to ask any questions.

“Marlee,” said Betty Jean quietly, “are you all right?”

I nodded as I stood up and went to my room. I lay on my bed, numb. Even my mind was empty. After talking in school in front of everyone, I guess my words were all used up.

It was late afternoon by the time Judy poked her head into my room. I must have fallen asleep, because I jerked awake when I heard her ask, “How'd it go?”

It took me a minute to realize she was asking about the presentation. If I told her the truth, she'd make a big deal about it and tell Mother and Daddy. I'd have to act happy and proud or explain what had actually happened. On the other hand, if I said I hadn't done the presentation, that I'd chickened out, she'd console me and tell me it was okay, and I could not handle that now either, because everything was definitely
not
okay. But I had to say something.

“Liz is colored.”

“What?” asked Judy, a puzzled look on her face.

That's when I started to cry.

By the time I'd calmed down enough to tell Judy the whole story, it was getting late. Judy pursed her lips tighter and tighter as I talked, until finally they were just one straight line across her face. “Oh, Marlee,” she said. “I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say.”

I didn't either. Part of me was angry at Liz for lying, part of me wanted her to come back, and the other part just wanted the magic square book.

“You think it's okay if whites and Negroes go to school together,” I asked Judy, “don't you?”

Judy said nothing.

“Don't you?”

“I guess so,” said Judy slowly. “But I hated it when those soldiers came to Central. They stared at me each time I had to walk by them in my gym shorts.”

“It doesn't have to be that way.”

“Doesn't it?” asked Judy.

Before I could answer, Mother called us for dinner. I splashed some water on my face, but my eyes were still red. The chicken Betty Jean had made was moist and delicious, but it stuck in my throat.

“Marlee,” Mother said softly, “we need to talk about it.”

I ignored her.

“Mrs. McDaniels called today and told me about your friend Liz. The one who turned out to be”—she looked around and lowered her voice—“a Negro.”

Did she think there were radical segregationists lurking under our sideboard?

“We just wanted to say we're sorry,” Daddy jumped in. “Because I know you don't find it easy to make friends, and she seemed like a nice girl and—”

“A nice girl?” Mother interrupted. “She lied to Marlee and everyone else at school. That's not what I call the behavior of a nice girl. Marlee's probably feeling betrayed and—”

“Marlee's missing her friend,” Daddy countered.

Great. Arguing again.

“I'm not hungry,” I said, even though I was.

No one answered.

I pushed in my chair and went to my room. I crawled into bed without brushing my teeth, expecting to toss and turn all night. But the lions roared once, and I was asleep.