Blue (11 page)

October 1944

Once I was out of contagious, my physio started doing muscle training with me. Every day she'd put me in a big metal tub of warm water, and then she'd exercise my arms and legs and bend my fingers and toes and everything else that would bend. Afterwards, just when I was relaxed and lazy, she'd expect me to work.

She'd stand at the side of my bed and take my left arm. “Concentrate on this muscle,” she'd say, giving my arm a little squeeze. “Think hard that it's going to move. I'm the one that's going to move it, but you have to tell it to move. That way we'll train your mind and your muscles to work together again.”

So I told my muscle to move my arm, but I knew my mind didn't have nothing to do with it. It was Miss Ruth doing all the moving. But still, she wouldn't let up on me. She made me focus. And after maybe a week or more, I realized I was actually moving my arm! Miss Ruth kept adding other muscles for me to work on. She was a slave driver for sure.

The good thing about being out of contagious was my momma could visit. She came on a warm, sunny day, so the hospital volunteer pushed my bed out to the porch. And that, by itself, was as good as Christmas.

Junior drove Momma to the hospital, so he come along in
for the visit. I think it was the first time I ever seen Junior when he couldn't think of nothing to say. He just sat on the porch floor and waited while me and Momma visited. As much as Junior's talking always bothered me, him looking away from me and being quiet like that bothered me even more.

Momma sat on a wooden chair by my bed. She stroked my arms and said she knew I would walk again. I closed my eyes and tried to feel every little touch of Momma's fingers. She rubbed my arms, and if I sucked my breath in from the pain, she slowed up and said, “Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you.”

Her voice was so full of tenderness that I felt the tears coming up in my eyes. I tried to hold them back, but a sharp pain come up in my throat when I did. And the tears seemed like they just wanted to come. So I finally give up and let them.

When Momma seen I was crying, she stopped rubbing my arms and started in to singing. “
I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses …
”

I reckon my momma knew a garden song would comfort me. Hearing her sing it took me back home again. Laying there with my eyes shut, I could almost pretend Momma was fussing over her roses by the front steps and I was in the vegetable garden trailing behind Daddy. I could almost believe Ida and Ellie was begging Momma for roses to pin in their hair and Bobby was making Pete dizzy in the tire swing.

For a minute or two, Momma's singing put the whole family back together again.

But then the song was finished, and she started telling me how our garden was all done. Only the sweet potatoes needed to be dug and put in the cellar.

I made myself open my eyes. I looked at the pine trees over the emergency hospital and I told myself the truth.

Our family was not home in one piece. Daddy was overseas and Bobby was in his grave. Even Pete was dead.

I told Momma about Imogene. I seen the wrinkles come on her forehead when I told her Imogene was colored. But I went ahead and asked could me and Imogene see each other after we was out of the hospital.

She just said, “That's a bridge we'll have to cross when we get to it.”

She took a letter from Daddy out of her pocketbook.

His letter almost made me cry again. I folded it carefully and said, “Daddy don't even know I'm in the hospital, does he?”

Momma sighed and said, “By now he should have my letter. I sent him your address.”

After Momma kissed me goodbye and headed for home, I wrote a letter to Daddy.

It seemed like it took forever for Daddy's answer to come to me.

My heart sunk to my toes when I read that about Imogene. It was the first time my daddy ever give me advice that I thought wasn't worth the two pennies he claimed for it.

I was so sure he would understand. I thought his big, soft heart that couldn't stand to kill a Nazi wouldn't have nothing against an innocent colored girl.

I knew then that Imogene was right all along. Her being colored and me being white meant there was a muddy wide river between her people and mine. And it was going to take a powerful strong bridge to get our people across it.

November 1944–January 1945

The next couple of months was like another wide river to cross. In some ways, time dragged like the end of a long school year. But in other ways, a lot happened to keep me occupied.

In November, President Roosevelt got reelected to his fourth term. I knew he would, even though I seen in the newspapers that plenty of people was against him. Some people said Roosevelt was going to die before he made it through his fourth term. His health was failing. His picture in the papers showed dark circles under his eyes, but I thought he could stand up to anything after licking polio the way he did.

After the election, I worked up my nerve to ask Dr. Bennett about him. He was the main doctor at Roosevelt's polio center in Warm Springs, Georgia. And he come to our hospital every so often. He usually watched the physiotherapists check our muscles to see how much progress we made.

“Do you actually get close to the president?” I asked Dr. Bennett. “Does he talk to you?”

Dr. Bennett laughed softly. When he did that, his high forehead wrinkled and his kind eyes squinted almost shut. “The president talks to everybody,” he said. “If the Secret
Service will let him, that is. And there's a chance I'll see him in a few weeks. He likes to be in Warm Springs at Thanksgiving to eat turkey with his polio friends.”

“You mean he actually eats with the patients?” I asked. I was so interested in the conversation I didn't notice if Miss Ruth's exercises was paining me or not.

“Yes indeed. And they entertain him with talent shows and special programs. Why, young lady, you could be down there performing for the president one day.”

You could've knocked me out of bed with my daddy's big red handkerchief when he said that. “Wh-what do you mean?” I asked.

“Other patients from this hospital have gone there,” said Dr. Bennett. “Right now, there's more we can do for you here. So keep working. But later, when you've reached a certain point in your recovery, you could be just the kind of person who'd go to Warm Springs. You'd get excellent care and more therapy.”

I tell you what's the truth—it felt like my breath got snatched nearly right out of my chest when he said that. “But, sir,” I said, “I could never afford to go to Warm Springs.”

Dr. Bennett shook his head. “Warm Springs isn't for the wealthy,” he said. “We have some beds for people who can't pay. Or a businessman from your community might want to sponsor you.”

When he said that, I thought about Peggy Sue's daddy, who owns that hosiery mill. But I didn't tell Dr. Bennett about him. I was still trying to get used to the idea of me going to Warm Springs.

“Are you pulling my leg?” I asked.

Dr. Bennett busted out laughing when I said that. “No,” he said. “Miss Ruth's the one pulling your leg. But I'm serious
about you and Warm Springs.” He reached over and gave my foot a little tug. Then he moved on to the next patient—like it was any old conversation we just had.

That Dr. Bennett didn't have no idea how weak and woozy I felt all of a sudden.

In December, the people of Hickory put on special programs for us. That was fun, but the best thing about Christmas was that I got a wheelchair. It belonged to the hospital, of course. But Miss Ruth acted like Santa brought it just for me.

My heart was pounding like a drum when they brought me that big wooden chair. It had a fancy cane back and wooden footrests and wheels on each side that had spokes like a bicycle.

At first I could hardly make the chair move because my muscles was so weak. But Miss Ruth worked with me. “Talk to those muscles,” she said. When I finally got it to move a few inches, all the other girls hollered and clapped and acted like a baby had just took its first steps.

Somehow I made it to the end of the ward. Which wasn't easy because the chair was big and I kept bumping into beds.

After that, I got out of bed every chance I could. The girls who was stuck in beds begged me to visit them in my wheelchair. I'd read the funny papers to them and tell them what I was reading in the newspapers.

Every time we seen Roosevelt's picture in the paper or a magazine, we put it on a bulletin board at the end of the ward. One of the girls who was real artistic cut out black and yellow letters that said OUR HERO. At the bottom of the board she wrote his famous saying:
The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.

Having the president right there on our bulletin board was like having our own guardian angel. It was like he was looking over the room and saying,
If I can do it, you can too.

I liked to lay in my bed and look at him there. I could almost hear him saying something more—just to me. To me he was saying,
Ann Fay Honeycutt, I'll be seeing you in Warm Springs, Georgia.

Roosevelt's birthday was on January 30. It was a big day for polio patients. It seemed like every town in America held a President's Birthday Ball, and the money they raised from them dances went to the March of Dimes to pay for things like my wheelchair.

January was the month for the March of Dimes to raise money for polio. They printed a booklet called “The Miracle of Hickory” so everyone in America could see how much good they done when they give their dimes for polio. That booklet told how our hospital went up in no time flat, and how everyone in the community pitched in.

Well, I knew it was a miracle hospital, but still, I was getting plumb bored in that place. One day I got so bored that I started dreaming up ways to keep from going crazy. It suddenly crossed my mind that my chair could take me to see Imogene.

Then I got to thinking how Imogene was in a wheelchair too. She had got hers even before me. Maybe we could meet halfway.

I didn't know if those nurses read the letters they took back and forth for us. So I thought we might have to come up with some kind of code. And then I realized we already had a code—from Momma and Imogene talking about bridges and muddy rivers. So I wrote:

I picked Saturday because not so many people worked weekends now that the epidemic was over. At night, the nurses would sit at their work station and write letters to the soldiers overseas, doing their part for the war. And some of them would nod off every now and again.

Well, when I got Imogene's letter, I could see right away she caught my meaning.

It was Thursday when we swapped those letters. When Saturday night come, it started raining before most of the girls had went to sleep. I groaned and pulled my pillow over my head. I could tell from the way it was driving against my window that it wouldn't let up for a while.

Then I got to thinking that the rain might help us. Nobody would expect two patients to go outside in this weather.

By this time I could get into my wheelchair by myself. The nurses had got to where they left it by my bed. So that was a help too.

Nurse Amanda nodded off and took to snoring about 10:45. I pulled my chenille housecoat on overtop of my hospital gown.

When the clock on the wall said 11:00, the girls was mostly sleeping. But I could tell that Betsy, whose bed was right by the door, was still awake. I could hear her humming to herself. I was afraid she'd give me away if she seen me go out the door.

But first I had to get past Nurse Amanda. She was sleeping with her head on the side of a bed. She fell asleep singing “I Couldn't Sleep a Wink Last Night” to Shelby, one of the little girls.

A floorboard creaked right when I went past her. Nurse Amanda stopped snoring. She opened her eyes and looked at me and then she pulled her head up fast. “Where are you going, Ann Fay?”

Well, I couldn't just tell her I was going outside in the rain to see Imogene.

Then Nurse Amanda answered her own question. “To the bathroom?” she asked. “Need any help?”

I started breathing again. “No, I can handle it,” I said. Nurse Amanda kept her eye on me, which I reckon was her job. So I went to the bathroom even though I was losing precious time. I sure hoped Imogene wasn't going to give up on me.

I stayed in the bathroom with the door open a crack till I heard Nurse Amanda snoring again. Then I come out as quiet as I could. I wheeled fast to the door at the end of the ward. I opened it and started to push my wheelchair through.

Betsy said, “Hey, Ann Fay, where you going?”

I jerked my head around to see if Nurse Amanda heard, and I seen then that she opened her eyes for a second. But I don't think they was open long enough to focus on anything because she went right back to sleep.

“Shhh!” I said to Betsy. “Don't wake the nurse. It's a surprise.” And just like that, I went out the door.

I didn't have no experience riding that wheelchair over the wet boards on the ramp outside. At first I thought I might jolt myself right out of the chair. But once that chair started rolling down that ramp, it just kept going. Just when I thought I was going to go flying, it landed with a jolt and a crunch on the dirt at the end of the ramp.

Suddenly those wheels didn't want to go nowhere. I grabbed them with my hands and pushed with all my might. But my muscles was weak, especially the ones in my left arm.

The rain was coming down hard now, and I knew I couldn't just sit there and get soaking wet for no reason at all. So I started talking to those muscles. “Get your lazy bones moving,” I told them.

I put my whole mind to moving those wheels just the
tiniest bit, and I felt them turn. I yelled at my muscles some more. “Get a move on it. Giddy up!” The wheels moved some more, and I could see I was getting off the soft muddy area and onto the solid ground of the hospital driveway. I closed my eyes and pushed on those wheels with everything I had in me. I imagined a river and me trying to swim across it.

And next thing I knew, I was moving along and the chair was rolling almost easy. I headed toward the building Imogene was in. At first I didn't see no sign of her. But then I heard her laugh and seen her dark shape come around the side of the building.

She done it! Somehow she had got out. We headed toward each other, our wheelchairs moving like two boats on a dark river. We was practically swimming with all that rain coming down on us.

When we got close we reached out and grabbed ahold of each other's arms and laughed. Imogene threw back her head and laughed a big belly laugh and I did too. We opened our mouths and let the rain fall inside.

In the light coming out of the building beside us, I seen the rain collecting in little drops on Imogene's hair. It seemed like her hair wasn't even getting wet and mine was all soaked. The water was running off me like a river. Imogene laughed. “I could wring you out like a dishrag,” she said.

By then my teeth was chattering. “I c-could use you to m-mop the floor,” I said.

“The dishrag and the mop,” said Imogene. “That us.” She laughed again. “And I got a feeling, somebody is gonna mop the floor with us when they finds us here.”

“Well,” I said, “they won't need no bucket of water, will they?” I lifted my hands and Imogene's too. We danced a
little hand dance back and forth in the air and threw back our heads and squealed. I felt the rain run down my face and drip off my chin.

Then I heard Nurse Amanda hollering, and I knew she had caught us already.