Hidden Scars (3 page)

She glanced briefly at my hands clutched in my lap. “Well, thank you, Morgan. I didn’t realize you lived so far away getting home would be difficult for you.”

“It’s a two-hour drive.” What an idiot. Most of the girls lived that far or farther. No wonder one of her eyebrows shot up faster than I could shut my mouth.

“I can’t think of anything, but let me give it some thought.”

“Clean, file, anything?” I practically begged.

She uncrossed her legs and leaned forward. “Is there something else on your mind, Morgan?”

“No, ma’am.” I hopped off the couch, more than ready to get out of there. “I’d better get going.” I still needed to practice my twirling routine before supper.

The hot weather made it seem ridiculous to be wearing a coat over my shorts to and from the football field, but the college had clearly defined rules.

Right before I completed my routine for the second time, I heard a shrill whistle. I didn’t look. Another whistle pierced the air, this time louder. I stopped and plucked my coat off the ground.

“Where you going in such a huff, Blue Eyes?”

“Chuck!” My heart leapt, and the worries of the day faded. I rushed toward him. “What are you doing here in the middle of a work week?”

“I decided to take the afternoon off and spend time with you.” He leaned in for a kiss.

It had been so long since we’d dared to be seen together in public, to share a touch, a kiss, or an unhurried conversation. “How did you find me?”

He brushed a strand of hair out of my eyes. “You were walking to the football field when I drove into the parking lot.”

“I didn’t see you.”

He smiled. “I know. What do you want to do tonight?”

“It’s not a date night. I can’t be out late.”

“How about a steak supper?”

“I’d settle for a bologna sandwich,” I teased. “As long as we can be together.”

He winked. “Then it’s a date. Can you be ready in forty-five minutes?”

“I think so, but don’t come to the dorm. Mom spent a long time talking with the dorm mother. You know how my parents are. They’ll do any and everything necessary to keep us apart. I wouldn’t doubt if Mom gave her a picture of you.”

Chuck pulled something from his pocket and cupped it in his hand, hiding it. “I have something of yours.” His opened palm revealed a necklace with a small topaz stone. He’d given it to me the Christmas before my parents broke us up. They’d insisted I give it back.

“I can’t believe you still have it.” I caressed the dainty gold chain. “It’s still beautiful. Would you help me put it on?” I held damp hair off my neck, while he fastened the clasp and then bent down and kissed me.

“How about we meet in front of the library?” He held my coat out for me to put on.

“I’ll be there.”

After a quick kiss, I headed toward the dorm. Giddiness washed over me. A real, honest-to-goodness, old-fashion date. It had been so long, I’d forgotten what it felt like. I had been cheated and robbed of life, but tonight, I wanted to feel alive.

School was in full swing, and most afternoons I could be found on the field rehearsing for Thursday night’s halftime. This week, the other four featurettes and I had been asked to do individual routines using fire batons.

After soaking each end in enough Kerosene to guarantee a long-lasting blazing flame, I stepped away from the fuel container and flicked the lighter. My fingers and hands controlled the swirling flame with ease. There was no fear. I’d been twirling fire since the eighth grade and never tired of its beauty. I tossed the baton high, turned two full circles, and grabbed it on its way down, never missing a beat. Then my ankle twisted. I stumbled forward. The odor of burning hair filled the air. I dropped the baton and slapped at my head with both hands. Adrenalin shot through my veins as I touched singed strands only half their original length.

Without a mirror, my imagination ran wild. Cringing, I scanned the bleachers. Empty. I released a breath. If only my coat would cover both my head and shorts. I snatched up the still-burning baton and placed it inside its case to extinguish the flame, then ran back toward the dorm, praying no one would see me. But the closer I got, people lined my path. Their snickers and chortles rose behind me.

When I finally reached my room and checked the mirror, I burst into tears, wrapped a towel around my head, and set out to find Jennifer. The one person who intrigued many of us with her flare for styling hair. The person whose room several of us gathered in nightly to laugh and talk about boys or the latest fashions. I listened a lot, but never added much. No one knew about Chuck, and of course, I had little to share when it came to style.

I found Jennifer in her room, reading. The door was ajar, so I tapped on the doorframe, walked in, and removed the towel.

She glanced up, her hand still holding her place on the page. A small smile slid onto her face then laughter consumed her. “What happened to you?”

“I guess the fire baton got too close….” No sense in trying to say another word. She laughed so hard, she fell back on the bed wheezing. I nudged the door closed before we had a full-blown audience, then plopped onto the edge of her bed and waited for her to regain her composure—fighting to contain mine. “If you could just come up for air long enough. Can you do anything with it or not?”

She started laughing again, her whole body shaking with spasms. Finally, she waved me away. “Go…go wash your hair. I’ll be waiting.”

When I returned, her room was full of the usual group. “What is this? Don’t y’all have anything else to do?” I asked, unable to disguise the mortification in my voice.

Mimi sat on the window seat. Flakes of potato chips sprinkled on her chin and blouse. She shoved her hand into the bag. “Nope, we’re here to watch Jennifer perform a miracle.”

“You don’t have an ounce of tact,” Becky scolded Mimi before facing me. “We heard about what happened, Morgan, and not from Jennifer. We’re all here to support you.”

“Who told you?” I wanted to hide, crawl through a crack, evaporated into thin air.

“It doesn’t matter.” Jennifer pushed me in a chair.

I tried to cover my apprehension by telling myself it was only hair, but when the first long, wet hunk hit the floor, I lost it. “Wait a minute, Jennifer!”

I sprang to my feet and headed for the mirror, but she quickly plopped me back in the chair. “Honey, I’ve got to cut all the burned hair off. You’ve got to trust me. It’ll look great when I’m done.”

“Sorry, but I’m panicking.” And why not, after today, everyone could call me Butch. “I don’t know why. Whatever you do will beat what I’ve got now. It’s not your fault there’s not much to work with.”

Within minutes, my hair lay scattered on the floor, and the girls responded with oooohs and aaaahs.

“Take a look.” She handed me a mirror.

I didn’t recognize myself. Never in a thousand years would I have picked such a modern do. She’d cut the right side above my ear and tapered it around the back, leaving the left longer, covering all but the lobe of that ear. She called it a “pixie”.

“I love it.” I couldn’t stop staring.

“Told you, and we’re not through.”

Ann and Wendy stood with makeup bags in hand and removed colors of lipstick and base that “best matched my skin tone.”

“Whoa, wait a minute. I’m not used to wearing—”

“Hang on.” Wendy plucked cotton balls from a nearby bag. “When we’re through, if you don’t like it, you can wash it off.”

An alcohol stench stung my nostrils as she began wiping my face. My eyes watered and burned. Once she finished, Ann applied a liquid base. This time they wanted me in front of the mirror as they explained every task. When they were through, the base covered my multiple freckles caused by the sun, the eye makeup made my blue eyes stand out. If someone didn’t know me, they might not have noticed, but the slight change made a tremendous difference. For the first time in my life, I had facial qualities to marvel at, and I felt pretty. I couldn’t believe it.

They then presented me with a small bag containing the very makeup they’d used.

“We’ll help you until you get the hang of it.” Jennifer patted my hair.

“I appreciate what you’ve done, but I can’t take these things.” I choked back tears.

Wendy stood behind me rubbing my shoulders. “It’s our gift to you. Besides, those colors don’t work for us anymore.”

I looked around the room, making sure I caught every girl’s eye. “Thank you.”

Mimi clapped her hands and jumped to the floor. “Now that we have you all dolled up, can we go to supper? I’m starved.”

“And don’t forget.” Jennifer grabbed Ann and spun around the room. “We’re all going dancing tonight. Including you, Morgan.”

“Oh, no. You’ve seen me try, so you know I can’t dance. Besides, by the time we eat, find some place to kick up our heels…forget it. We wouldn’t make it back on campus before Mrs. Henderson had all the doors locked.”

“Wesley Hall.” Jennifer let go of Ann. “I met some girls in my psychology class, and we’ve been invited to learn a new dance called the Tighten Up.”

“Why can’t we get together over here?” Mimi Clair asked. “Wesley Hall is the oldest girl’s dorm on campus. It’s awful.”

“Because the girls who offered to teach us live in that old, awful dorm. They’re black. I don’t know if you noticed, Mimi, but almost all the black girls going to Midway live there.”

“Why?” Becky asked. “Midway’s been desegregated for a few years now.”

“Jennifer and I’ve thought about it,” Ann interjected. “We’ve concluded that the powers to be continue to segregate to the best of their ability. Why else would so many of them be staying in the same dorm?”

Wendy shook her head. “I don’t think they could get away with doing that. There’s got to be another reason.”

“Maybe they’re afraid.”

Ann eyed me. “Afraid of what, Morgan?”

“Us, the unknown, the known. You forget Martin Luther King was killed, murdered a few months back. Not to mention the way some blacks have been treated in Mississippi. If you’ve never lived in fear, you wouldn’t understand.”

Mimi stood with her arms folded across her chest. “And what are you afraid of, Morgan?”

“I… Learning how to dance.”

Everyone laughed.

After supper, most of us headed to the dimly lit building. Music vibrated the air even before we entered. I found a comfortable chair and sat, content to watch, but not for long.

A tall, thin black girl, who introduced herself as Shandra, pulled me to my feet. “You gone sit here all night, or you gone learn how to dance?”

“I don’t…can’t…”

“No? Well you gonna learn. I’ve seen you march in that band and twirl that baton. Anybody can learn.” Shandra snapped her fingers to the beat and began to gyrate her hips. Elvis himself could’ve taken lessons. It didn’t take long to realize how the dance got its name. If I attempted to duplicate her moves much longer, every muscle in my body would’ve been too tight by morning to get out of bed.

Shandra stopped dancing and threw up her hands. “It must be true what they say about some white people not having a lick of rhythm, ’cause you one of ’em.”

But her teasing didn’t stop me from trying.

The hour passed much too quickly. Jennifer invited them to visit us the following night. Sadly, they didn’t.

By three forty-five on Friday afternoon, many of the girls, including Paige, had already left for the weekend. The dorm was quiet. I’d just returned to my room from a shower and had removed my robe when Becky walked in. I grabbed a towel and quickly turned to cover myself, but it was too late.

Becky gasped. “Morgan, your back. What happened to your back?”

I shoved my arms through the robe sleeves and fumbled with the sash before tying it tightly. I couldn’t make myself look at her. “Are you packed and ready to leave?”

She flopped down in the chair next to the desk and slung her purse in the floor. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened to your back.”

My head throbbed, keeping pace with my heart. I looked out the window, determined not to respond.

“Who did that to you, Morgan? We’ve been friends for years, and you’ve never said a word.”

“Becky, I can’t—” My throat closed.

“Why? Are you afraid I’ll tell? Are you afraid I might…Your parents did this, didn’t they?”

I hesitated then nodded.

Silence filled the room. Then I heard Becky’s footsteps and felt the warmth of her hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got to get you some help. My father could contact a lawyer—”

“No!”

“Why not?”

I faced her. “I’ve already talked with a lawyer. A year ago, someone made me an appointment and paid the bill. I never knew who. The lawyer told me he couldn’t do anything without proof of abuse. I told him I was wearing it. Long story short, he told me it would be almost impossible to be taken from my parents, and advised I wait until my eighteenth birthday.”

“Then Dad will find another lawyer.”

“No. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’ll be eighteen in three months.”

“So what!”

“The State of Mississippi will acknowledge me as an adult then. My parents will no longer have legal authority over me. Until then, I intend to stay right here.”

Becky’s lip quivered. “Is there
anything
I can do?”

“Keep my secret.”

“I won’t tell.”

“Not even your parents?”

“Not a soul.” She held her hand up as if taking a solemn oath. “Promise. But I’m curious…I know your mother and father made you stop seeing Chuck, but did he ever know about the abuse?”

Should I tell her everything? “Chuck and I never stopped seeing one another. It wasn’t easy. But there were opportunities after basketball games, band practice, before or after work. We’ve seen each other every weekend since I’ve been at Midway.”

Becky wiped trails of mascara from her cheeks. “Does he know about your back?”

“He’s never seen it, and to tell him about the marks would only create further anguish. But I’ve talked to him about my parents and the problems at home, hoping he could help me understand.” Those last words clogged my throat. I dug my fingernails into each palm and tried to contain the anger wanting to bust free. “My parents profess to be Christians. Dad’s been a deacon for years.” I looked Becky in the eye. “Can you tell me how parents, who are supposed to love and protect their children, do such cruel things?”