Glory Be (11 page)

I
t was finally my birthday, July Fourth.

I sat with Emma at the kitchen table mixing lemonade and cherry punch, what Frankie called bug juice. He claimed if you left it outside in the sunshine, bugs would come. But I wasn’t bothering with Frankie today — as far as I was concerned,
he
was a bug, the lowest ant on earth.

“My friend Laura’s going back to Ohio. She doesn’t like Hanging Moss much,” I told Emma. I propped my head on one hand and drew invisible circles on the kitchen table with the other. “I don’t want to go to the stupid picnic. The pool’s closed. Frankie’s a liar. Jesslyn would rather be with her stuck-up pep squad friends, and Mr. Smith is mad at Daddy. This is
beginning to feel like the worst birthday of my entire life.”

Emma pulled her chair closer to me. “Want Emma to tell you a good thing happening for the Fourth of July? A special secret?”

I stirred the bug juice, not sure I needed another secret. “You mean somebody cares about our country’s independence after all?”

“We got a big visitor coming to my church.” Emma sat up like she was making an important announcement.

“You mean like Elvis or the Beatles? That big?” I scootched my chair closer.

Emma laughed. “Bigger.” She took my hand and held it next to hers. “Mr. Robert F. Kennedy is coming to visit,” she said, looking right into my eyes.

“Who’s that?” I asked her.

“The most famous man in our government. He’s the baby brother of President Kennedy, God rest his soul.” Emma leaned in. “He’s preaching about the new law, just passed. Everybody’s gonna be treated the same. I’ll be able to vote just like your daddy and Mr. Smith. No more white and colored drinking fountains. Everybody can eat wherever they want to. Things are changing, Glory. Mr. Kennedy’s coming to prove it.”

Before I could ask Emma one more thing about this famous brother of President Kennedy’s, we heard a noise that sounded like the ceiling was coming down.

“Now what’s your sister up to?” Emma shook her head and started up the stairs. I followed her. Jesslyn was in Mama’s old sewing room, cramming shirts and sweaters into a little chest in the corner.

“What are you doing?” I asked her.

“Moving to my new room.” She slammed another drawer shut. “Daddy said I could.”

“You plan on sleeping there?” Emma nodded toward the little bed in the corner. “Room’s too tiny for you and all your belongings. You’d be happier staying put with your sister, like you have since the day she was born.”

“I need my privacy.” Jesslyn pressed her lips together. “I’m going to high school soon,” she said, like that explained everything. She stuffed one more skirt into her new closet before she prissed off down the stairs.

Shoot. Let Jesslyn sleep in the sewing room. I’d have more space for my books and my china horse collection and my baseball cards. But then I thought about last summer, the summer before that, and almost every summer I could remember. How we’d get under the covers to tell ghost stories with our flashlights on. All those nights
we stayed up late playing Junk Poker and sharing secrets. I thought about how Jesslyn acted proud when she heard about my letter to the newspaper. How she’d held my hand when I spoke up to Mr. Smith. Seemed like she’d already forgotten about that night on the front porch.

I looked over at the sewing machine closed up in its black case, pushed off in the corner with Jesslyn’s movie magazines stacked up next to it. I touched the edge of my quilt covering the bed by the window. With Jesslyn’s clothes piled on top, I couldn’t hardly see the quilt’s pattern. I knew the squares by heart, though. Years ago, when I was little and Emma was first piecing the quilt together, I’d listen to her singing in time with the whirring sewing machine. I moved Jesslyn’s pep squad jacket, sat down on the bed, and touched my quilt.

One tiny piece of the baby blanket I dragged all over the house when I was crawling.

One piece from my black cat Halloween costume.

One from my green shorts, from Lake Whippoorwill Girl Scout Day Camp last summer.

One scrap of my very first doll baby’s dress.

The quilt was filled up with my life.

Now it seemed like the patches of my life were mixing into a new pattern.

B
y late that afternoon, I said good-bye to Emma and headed out the door, lugging the picnic basket, the bug juice, and a blanket. I walked straight to the pool and stood next to the metal fence, looking one more time at that
Closed
sign. Mr. Smith and his stupid committee had won. Nobody was jumping in the Community Pool today.

I felt like I was drowning in a freezing cold pool of disappointment and confusion. Just like swimming the backstroke when it shoots smelly chlorine into every opening on my face and sets me to spitting water, making it hard for me to get a good breath.

Outside the gate, a clown tied balloons to baby strollers. A boy riding a bike decorated with red, white,
and blue streamers wheeled by, almost knocked me down. From over on the library lawn, drums and trumpets tuned up for the parade. Dottie Ann Morgan, the Hanging Moss High School homecoming queen, waved from the back of a red convertible, wearing a tiara over her beehive hairdo. I didn’t wave back. She kept smiling, but she was scratching at the place where her ruffly dress’s poof skirt must’ve been itching the daylights out of her. Some little kid dropped his cotton candy in the dirt and started bawling for his mama. A bee buzzed around my head, and finally landed in my juice pitcher. At least he had a pool to swim in — my bug juice suited him fine.

I dropped my blanket on the ground and slumped down on it. I looked for Laura.

Miss Bloom was the first to spot me. “Hello, Glory! You picked the perfect place, not too far from the library, not too close to the bandstand.” She had a camera strapped around one wrist and her picnic basket balanced on the other. She spread her blanket a little ways from mine and waved to Uncle Sam walking by on tall stilts. Pretty soon Laura and her mother showed up, and Miss Bloom smiled like the world was one big happy picnic.

When I heard some girls calling out “Over here, Jessie,” I turned around.

Jesslyn walked toward her pep squad friends. They had changed her name to
Jessie
?

“In a minute,” she told them. She pranced herself next to me, plunking onto my picnic blanket. Robbie came to sit with us. He and Jesslyn and Laura passed around Emma’s sandwiches and brownies, and I couldn’t hardly believe how happy I was. “Scoot over here, Glory,” my sister said, patting the space closest to her.

She pulled something from her pocket and handed it to me.

My big sister had remembered my birthday! I opened the box.

Jesslyn told what she’d gotten me before I could even get a good look. “It’s a charm bracelet, Glory, just like mine.” She held up her hand and jingled her own bracelet. “You can collect charms from places you visit and things you like.” Jesslyn clasped the bracelet around my wrist. I rubbed a tiny silver guitar dangling from the chain. When I looked up at her, it finally felt like I was twelve years old.

“Thanks, Jesslyn,” I said.

“At first the guitar was for the Beatles. For that John Lennon Beatle you and Laura are always talking about.” She turned the charm toward me. “But now, it’s for Tupelo,” she whispered.

The backs of my ears went warm with happiness.

Robbie put his closed-up hand out to me. “For you,” he said. He dropped something into my lap — a key chain with a picture of Elvis on one side and
Love Me Tender
written on the other.

“Thanks, Robbie” was all I could manage.

The band was playing “It’s a Grand Old Flag.” All of Hanging Moss waved their little American flags in the hot yellow sunshine and sang along.

Then that snake Frankie showed up.

I had nothing to sing about now. This day was not grand. And there was nothing worth waving at.

I walked straight over to Frankie, leaned against a pecan tree, and I glared at him.

He said, “Everything’s wrong this summer.” Frankie looked worried about something. There was a question in his eyes, and the start of what looked to me like tears. “Why don’t those troublemakers from Ohio go back where they belong?”

I didn’t care that Frankie was on the edge of crying.
I got right up in his face. “Laura
is
going back to Ohio. She’s leaving. After people” — I looked hard at Frankie when I said that — “accused her of breaking into the pool lockers. She’s going home.”

He kept his eyes on his lanyard whistle. “It’s good, then. Good that’s she’s leaving.” But he didn’t look happy about it. He looked upset.

Then he blurted, “I wish that jailbird Robbie would go back to where
he
belongs. I wish my brother would stop yelling about everything happening this summer.”

I leaned in even closer to Frankie and put a firm grip on his arm. “Did you tell anybody about Robbie?” I could hardly talk, the back of my throat was burning so.

He yanked away from me and got quiet. The band’s drums banged louder. Frankie rubbed at the bruise on his arm that I knew for sure came from J.T. popping him. It was black and blue and ugly.

“Why are you so scared of your daddy and J.T.?” I asked him. “Why don’t you stand up for yourself?”

Frankie started to cry for real then. But I turned and walked back to my blanket.

L
aura, Jesslyn, Robbie, and me sat on our picnic blanket watching the Girl Scout troops and the firemen march by. Frankie had just up and left.

I taught Laura a hand clap game.
Clap-clap-knee-clap-knee-clap-clap.

We both kept mixing up the knee-clap and the hand-clap. This made us laugh harder than hard.

Jesslyn was stuffing Emma’s brownies into Robbie’s mouth, two at a time, giggling. A clown handed us red and blue balloons. Maybe this July Fourth celebration would turn out okay after all.

I did a double clap with Laura to the band’s drumming.

The parade was winding down. “That’s the last fire
truck,” Jesslyn said. “Won’t be long before it’s dark.” She reached for the bug juice and started gathering up napkins and cups. “Let’s take this to the fireworks.”

But before Jesslyn could put the leftover brownies into the basket, I heard the loudest voices ever.

“Hey, you, big shot!” J.T. had his fists balled deep into the pockets of his blue jeans. His eyes were squinched tight. His friends stood behind him with their shoulders hunched up. Who’d given them an invitation to join the party?

“Having fun at the parade?” J.T. wanted to know.

Nobody, especially not Robbie, answered.

“How’d life treat you down in the pen?”

My heart jumped into my throat.

Robbie’s jaw went tight. His mouth made a hard line. The boy standing next to J.T. leaned up in Robbie’s face. “Yeah, Mr. Football Hero. We heard you were in jail.”

J.T. and his friends surrounded Robbie. J.T. said, “Since you like eating hamburgers with the coloreds, take a taste of this.” J.T. spat right in Robbie’s face! His spit landed on Robbie’s cheek.

They all laughed so hard. Then, as they walked off, those mean boys poked each other and laughed some more.

I’d never seen the likes of that kind of hateful.

Robbie wiped off the spit with the back of his hand. He was gripping the neck of his Coke bottle and not saying a word.

Jesslyn grabbed my arm. “Glory!” She pulled me up off the blanket and dragged me to where nobody could hear us. Her fingernails dug into my skin. Her eyes drilled a hole big enough to kill me. “Who told J.T. about Robbie?”

“I didn’t tell J.T.,” I said. “Frankie must’ve said something.”

“Who told Frankie?”
But the look on Jesslyn’s face told me she’d figured it out. “You eavesdropped in the car going to Tupelo. You heard Robbie’s secret.”

My face went red. My throat was burning with trying to choke back tears.

Now Jesslyn was the one spitting — spitting angry words. At me.

“You! Little! Brat!”

She tore off, disappearing into the crowd of clowns and music and red and blue balloons.

I sat by myself, unraveling a hole in the red plaid blanket. Most everybody had moved toward the big field where the sky would soon light up with fireworks.
Jesslyn and Robbie had walked away from me without even saying a word, gone off to sit under the pecan tree. I wrapped my arms around my knees, trying to shut out what I’d done to Robbie. When I felt somebody drop down next to me on the blanket, I wiped away my tears and looked up.

Laura grabbed my hand tight. She motioned in the direction of the library. “Glory, look,” she whispered.

“Well, if it ain’t Elvis, alive and in person!” J.T. and his friends were back.

One of the football players yelled out, “Show him what you got, J.T.!”

Robbie pulled away from Jesslyn and stepped in front of J.T. “You got something for me?”

J.T. glanced back at his friends. “Sure do, don’t we? We
all
got something for you, Mr. Football Hero.”

Robbie didn’t move. Jesslyn stepped closer to him. I wasn’t breathing too good now. My heart was ready to jump out of my shirt.

“Shouldn’t you be leaving town?” one of the football players yelled.

“Maybe you should be going back to jail?” J.T. shouted.

“Why are you still here?” called out another one of those mean boys.

So many voices hollered at Robbie, saying bad things. How was he gonna get away from them all?

J.T. took off his jacket, threw it down on the grass.

“Why’d you come to Hanging Moss in the first place?” he shouted. “Trying to take over the team? Think you’re better than me?” J.T. was up in Robbie’s face now. “Or did you come down here because you didn’t like sharing your jail cell with a colored boy?”

I held my breath.

“Step away, J.T.,” Robbie said. “No need to cause trouble.”

“Trouble?
You
caused trouble back where you came from.”

J.T. leaned in close to Robbie, hauled off, and whacked him in the stomach! Robbie fell hard on the ground.

Jesslyn screamed. Robbie tried to get up, but another boy pulled him down and started kicking. “See how tough you are now, Freedom Rider,” J.T. hollered. “Get off your butt and show me what you got.”

I shut my eyes to keep the tears away. But I couldn’t stand there another minute doing nothing. I raced over and stood right next to Robbie.

“If y’all don’t leave my friend alone, I’m running for the police!” I yelled.

J.T. laughed like it was all so funny. “Look who’s gonna save your behind, Robbie.” His voice was quiet at first and I wasn’t sure what he was saying. “Little Miss Snotnose, my sissy brother’s girlfriend.” J.T. reached into his front pocket and pulled something out. Even standing in the near-about dark of the one dim streetlight, I could see a glint shining in his hand. Frankie’s brother had a switchblade!

“How do you like
this
, Robbie Fox?” J.T. snapped the knife open. He waved it in Robbie’s face, closed it quickly, then stuffed it back in his pocket. “You go home to where you came from. We don’t like people trying to butt in where they ain’t welcome. And we sure don’t need you on our football team.”

Then J.T. and his friends picked up their Hanging Moss Hornets jackets and walked away. Robbie had his head between his legs and was gulping air. Jesslyn sat on the ground next to him.

I couldn’t stop shaking. “We gotta call the police,” I said.

Robbie spoke slowly, like it hurt bad to talk. “Not calling anybody. No police. Can’t let my aunt know.”

After a while, Jesslyn and I helped Robbie up, but he couldn’t walk till he’d caught his breath.

When I looked back, there was Frankie, leaning against a tree, holding his glasses in his hand. I could tell plain as day that he was blubbering. I didn’t care how hard Frankie cried. He could sob all night as far as I was concerned.

Off behind the library, the first fireworks started to light up the sky in bright bursts of red and blue. Smells of cotton candy and too much butter on popcorn left over from the parade about made me throw up.

I grabbed Robbie’s hand and squeezed it tight. “Come on,” I said. “We need to see if Emma or Daddy’s home. They’ll know what to do.”