Have No Shame (29 page)

The cuts and bruises on Jackson’s face and the bandages around his neck silenced my joy. Jackson didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The smile that formed on his lips and the light in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. He opened the door wide and invited us inside, handin’ Joshua to Mama, who took him without so much as a pause in her breath.

Cringin’ with each painful step, Jackson took a step toward me and opened his arms. I melted into them. The feel of the bandages beneath his shirt saddened me. The familiarity of his chest, the way we fit together, the warm scent of his skin, lessened my sadness. Jackson was there, he was alive, and that was all that mattered.

Tires screeched out front. Jackson tensed.

Tinsel flew through the front door. “It’s that white guy, the one who beat Thomas!”

Jimmy Lee
. Mama handed Joshua to Patricia.

The three of us went to the front of the house. Jackson told us to stay inside as he limped out the front door and down the steps. We watched him from the open window. Jimmy Lee stood beside his truck, parked caddycorner across the middle of the street. He swayed, and I wondered if he’d been drinkin’.

Jackson stood strong—legs planted firmly apart, arms crossed, biceps twitchin’. I grabbed Mama’s hand and listened, hopin’ Jimmy Lee didn’t know we were there.

“Whaddaya want, Jimmy Lee?” Jackson asked.

Jimmy Lee stared at him. “My wife,” he said.

I held my breath.

“She’s not here. Why don’t you go home and wait for her?”

Jimmy Lee took a step toward Jackson. Jackson didn’t move.

“You think I’m stupid, nigger? I know she and her stupid-ass mother are here. Parked right over at the church.” He took another few steps, until he was just a foot from Jackson. Jimmy Lee crossed his arms and looked down his nose at Jackson. “Get out here, Alison, or I’ll kill this nigger.”

Mama shook her head, and mouthed, “Don’t you move.”

“You know I’ll do it, and that Negro baby, too,” Jimmy Lee threatened.

I started for the door. Mama grabbed my arm. “Alison.”

“He’s not gonna hurt me, but he’ll hurt them,” I said with little faith in my own words.

I pushed nervously through the screen door and stood on the porch.

Jimmy Lee started for me. “You little bitch.”

“Hey!” Jackson said and took a step between us. My injured sentry.

“Jackson, don’t!” I ran down the steps and stood beside him. “He’s not worth it.” I stood between Jackson and Jimmy Lee. “I don’t want no trouble, Jimmy Lee. I made a mistake by marryin’ you, and I’m sorry for that, but—”

He grabbed my arm and started for the truck.

“Let go of me!” I shrieked, punchin’ and kickin’ uselessly.

Jackson ran into the street. Mama was on his heels. My father’s truck raced down the road, slammin’ to a halt behind Jimmy Lee’s truck. Maggie and Jake flew out of the truck and ran toward us. My father stepped out from behind his door.

“Let her go!” Maggie yelled.

“Jimmy Lee, what the hell are you doin’?” Jake approached him and Jimmy Lee yanked me away, clutchin’ my arm so tight I thought it might snap.

“You let her go now, Jimmy Lee.” My father’s voice left no room for negotiation. He raised the shotgun he carried at his side.

Maggie grabbed my free arm.

Jimmy Lee pulled me away from her as Jackson closed in on him.

“Step back, Jackson,” Daddy said. He had Jimmy Lee in his scope, his finger on the trigger.

“Daddy,” Jake said. “That’ll make you no better than him.”

“Shut up, Jake,” Daddy said.

“You won’t kill me,” Jimmy Lee said. “You don’t like niggers any more than I do.”

My father didn’t hesitate for a second. His voice was calm and fierce. “But I love my daughter.” He lifted his trigger finger, then placed it on the trigger once again, the way he did when he was huntin’, right before he pulled one off. “And whoever my daughter loves, I love, and she don’t love you no more.” He took a step closer to Jimmy Lee, the barrel of the gun inches from his cheek. “The way I see it, you’ve killed a man for less than what you’re doin’ right now. There ain’t no way I’ll do time. We all see you manhandlin’ my daughter, and don’t think I won’t press charges against you for beatin’ her until she hemorrhaged.”

“I didn’t do that,” Jimmy Lee protested.

“Didn’t you? I saw it, and I remember it clear as day.” Patricia stood on the front porch, Joshua in her arms, a dark bruise of proof on her cheek.

“A nigger’s word against mine?” he laughed.

“Somethin’ tells me you got more than one nigga’ after you,” Daddy said.

Jimmy Lee shifted his eyes to my father, squintin’ a threat in his direction and squeezin’ my arm ‘til I yelped. Daddy kept his gun trained on Jimmy Lee.

“Y’all are a bunch of nigger lovers.” He pushed me away.

Maggie clamored forward and pulled me into her arms.

 “You better watch your backs,” his voice quaked as he moved backward toward his truck. “My uncle’ll kill you niggers, and you, too.” He pointed to Daddy. “My uncle’ll make sure you don’t ever earn another penny.”

My father kept the gun trained on Jimmy Lee’s truck until it turned the corner and drove out of sight.

I clung to Maggie. “Daddy?”

“I had to tell him,” Maggie spoke with an urgency that shook me. “When I thought about you and Mama comin’ here alone, I got really scared. I’m sorry, Pix.”

“Sorry? You saved Jackson’s life, and probably mine, too.” I turned to thank Daddy and saw that he had the gun trained on Jackson, who stood with his hands up, the whites of his eyes as large as gumballs. “Daddy! What are you doin’?”

I ran in front of Jackson and held out my arms, shieldin’ him from Daddy’s gun.

“Step back, Alison,” he said, narrowin’ his eyes.

“No, Daddy. I won’t.” I watched Daddy’s eyes. I swear I saw somethin’ more than anger there—sadness? Loss of his daughter? I didn’t care. “I love him, Daddy. I love him with all my heart.” I pointed to Joshua, swaddled close to Patricia’s chest. “That’s your grandson, whether you like it or not. He exists, and I love him, too.”

“Step away now,” he commanded.

I remained where I was, my legs tremblin’ like leaves in the wind.

“Alison Jean, your place is—”

“My
place
is wherever Jackson and Joshua are. I love you, Daddy, and I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry, but I love him, and if you love me, you’ll let us be.”

His shoulders dropped, just a smidgen.

“Please, Daddy?” I begged.

Mama moved next to Daddy and touched his tense shoulder. “Ralph,” she whispered. “She’s your daughter. You can’t keep pushin’ all of your children away. The world is changin’, and they have a right to change, too.”

My father turned to look at her, and the way he squinted and clenched his jaw, I worried he’d just explode, that we’d pushed him too far. To my surprise, he lowered the gun. There was a collective sigh of relief as Daddy turned to look at Maggie, then at me. I was so scared of losin’ him, and in that moment I felt, more than saw, the transition from my bein’ Daddy’s little girl to somethin’ else, somethin’ less, maybe.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I said, hopin’ for somethin’ more.

He swung the shotgun up the second I stepped away from Jackson, set him in his sight again, and said, “If you ever hurt my daughter I will not hesitate to kill you.”

“Yes, sir,” Jackson said in a respectful tone. “Sir, I love your daughter and our son with all of my heart and soul. I’d willin’ly give my life for her, but with all due respect, sir, I would rather live, and we can’t do that here. Not now, and maybe not ever.”

“What?” I knew he was right. We couldn’t live together here. The Lovings fled the south and we would have to, also. My heart stung so badly, I felt as if it was bein’ squeezed in a giant fist.

Jackson shook his head. “Alison, we’d fear for our lives, for Joshua’s life, every minute of every day. I think movin’ to New York, where I have a job, where interracial couples might not be the norm, but they exist without the fear of bein’ killed, would be our safest move.”

New York? So far away from Mama and Daddy?

“Joshua needs to be raised in a safe, lovin’ environment,” he continued. “We have the love, but here,” he pointed in the direction of Main Street, “we have no safety. Not yet.”

“You’re takin’ my daughter away?” My father said, liftin’ his gun once more.

Mama set her hand gently on the top of the gun and pushed it down until it was pointed at the ground. “Ralph,” she whispered.

My father’s eyes shot darts in her direction, then softened. He wiped his face with his free hand, then stared into the field, his silence magnified the tension that hung around us. With the slightest nod of his head, he conceded.

After a month of livin’ in New York, I’m still gettin’ used to bein’ in public with Jackson and Joshua without bein’ gobbled up with fear for our safety. Sure, we still received the chin-snub from many, even some harsh comments, but a chin-snub and comments were a lot easier to take when you had friends like Darla, Bear, and Marlo, and a sister like Maggie, who snubbed and commented right back.

Although Daddy didn’t allow Jake to apply to Mississippi State when he’d found the application on Jake’s desk, he eventually agreed to allow him to take an art class at the community college. Maybe Maggie was right all along, and Daddy simply didn’t want to let Jake leave town.

Each time I called home, I yearned to speak to Daddy. It just about killed me each time that he refused to come to the phone. He told Mama to tell me he loved me, but he had yet to speak to me himself. I prayed every night that he might come around and allow us to find each other once again. I missed him, but when I look at my baby’s face, and I see the love he holds in his father’s eyes, I know I did the right thing, and I have  no shame about my decision or those I love.

Jackson walked through the door of our tiny apartment and asked how my day was. It was a day like any other. I woke up next to the man I loved, nursed the baby I adored, and spent the entire day with our son, just waitin’ for his daddy to come home—on time, sober, and hungry to spend time with us.

“Perfect,” I answered.

I hope you have enjoyed reading
Have No Shame
.

Please visit the back of the book to read the acknowledgements and about the author.

Reviews are always appreciated, though never expected.

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Acknowledgments

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About the Author

It was the end of winter 1967, my father was preparing the fields for planting, the Vietnam War was in full swing, and spring was peeking its pretty head around the corner. The cypress trees stood tall and bare, like sentinels watching over the St. Francis River. The bugs arrived early, thick and hungry, circling my head like it was a big juicy vein as I walked across the rocks toward the water.

My legs pled with me to jump from rock to rock, like I used to do with my older sister, Maggie, who’s now away at college. I hummed my new favorite song,
Penny Lane
, and continued walking instead of jumping because that’s what’s expected of me. I could just hear Daddy admonishing me, “You’re eighteen now, a grown up. Grown ups don’t jump across rocks.” Even if no one’s watching me at the moment, I wouldn’t want to disappoint Daddy. If Maggie were here, she’d jump. She might even get me to jump. But alone? No way.

The river usually smelled of sulfur and fish, with an underlying hint of desperation, but today it smelled like something else all together. The rancid smell hit me like an invisible billow of smog. I covered my mouth and turned away, walking a little faster. I tried to get around the stench, thinking it was a dead animal carcass hiding beneath the rocks. I couldn’t outrun the smell, and before I knew it I was crouched five feet above the river on an outcropping of rocks, and my humming was replaced by retching and dry heaving as the stench infiltrated my throat. I peered over the edge and fear singed my nerves like thousands of needles poking me all at once. Floating beneath me was the bloated and badly beaten body of a colored man. A scream escaped my lips. I stumbled backward and fell to my knees. My entire body began to shake. I covered my mouth to keep from throwing up. I knew I should turn away, run, get help, but I could not go back the way I’d come. I was paralyzed with fear, and yet, I was strangely drawn to the bloated and ghastly figure. 

I stood back up, then stumbled in my gray midi-skirt and saddle shoes as I made my way over the rocks and toward the riverbank. The silt-laden river was still beneath the floating body. A branch stretched across the river like a boney finger, snagging the bruised and beaten body by the torn trousers that clung to its waist. His bare chest and arms were so bloated that it looked as if they might pop. Trembling and gasping for breath, I lowered myself to the ground, warm tears streaming down my cheeks.