Little Sacrifices (13 page)

He unwound his arm from my shoulders. ‘I didn’t mean to make you mad. It’s okay, we’ll just watch the movie.’ With a prim pat on my knee he sat straight in the seat, looking awfully interested in the film.

Like most sixteen year olds I was just starting to catch on to why women made such a fuss over men. It was exciting beyond description. I certainly didn’t want Clay to stop kissing me, only to cease his dogged exploration of my torso. I held out the hope that his arm would resume its familiar position. When it didn’t, I settled into him, leaning my head on his shoulder. He took my none–too–subtle hint and rested his arm across my neck. But he didn’t kiss me again until we said goodbye on my doorstep.

Ma liked to think that because she wanted to talk about boys, I’d feel inclined to do the same. Fat chance. Nobody suffers that mortal embarrassment for a parent’s wise advice. Teenage discussions about sex were the exclusive domain of friends. One afternoon, while pretending to study in my room, I asked Fie how far she’d go with a boy.

She instantly deserted her algebra for the more intriguing subject. ‘That depends, do I love him?’

‘Let’s assume yes.’

‘Are we engaged?’

‘No. But you’ve been out a lot.’

‘Are we going to be engaged soon?’

‘For Pete’s sake, Fie, we’re sixteen! We have to go to college first.’

‘Right, well you didn’t say how old we were, did you?’

‘We’re us, now. How’s that?’

‘I’d kiss him, certainly.’

‘What else?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What ... other stuff? You know.’

‘I’d French kiss him.’

‘And?’

‘I’d hold hands?’

‘Would you do anything else?’

She giggled.

‘Come on Fie, this is important. Let’s say the boy was getting fresh, trying for more than kissing. Would you let him?’

‘You mean like touching me under my blouse?’ Red blotches grew on her cheeks.

‘Yes.’

‘Under my bra?’

This was no trifling achievement in those days of wires, wadding and whalebones. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m not sure. I think he should love you very much to do that. Is Clay trying to, do that?’

He was. And he’d nearly made it before I stopped him. I knew he’d try again. I wanted him to try again. There was something wrong with me. My parents had done their best, but they’d raised a pervert.

A few days later, Clay offered to walk me home after our Saturday rendezvous. Now that autumn was upon us, dusk came quicker, and by the time we got to Forsyth Park the light was beginning to bruise. We walked hand in hand, passing only a few people hurrying along the path.

He ushered me to a bench secreted away under a stand of ancient oaks. We sat close watching the evening gather together.

‘This is nice, May. All of it. I’m really happy to spend time with you, you know... I like you a lot.’

My feelings jumped to attention. He was only the second boy in the world who’d shown the slightest interest in me, though I’d pined for my fair share of them. Tingles rolled around in my belly and forced a smile out of me. I thought this must be what love feels like, and bit my lip to keep from blurting out words to that effect. We sealed our affections with a kiss, and then another. Warming up in the cinema seats gave us a head start, and before long we were necking on the bench. I didn’t give a hoot who saw us. Clay stroked my arm. Then his thumb brushed against the cup of my bra. Through all the padding, I could just feel it. I let him. He held steady for a few moments before giving my blouse an experimental tug. I didn’t resist. His stroking became more diligent beneath my blouse as he rooted around under its cotton. Clay was rounding second base! I pushed the thought from my head and kept kissing for all I was worth.

We were lying almost flat on the bench when he started to reach under my skirt. I batted his hand away a couple of times, but without much conviction. Each time, he occupied himself again with the mysterious workings of my bra before redoubling his efforts a little more insistently. When he reached my underpants I sat up and told him to stop. My voice let him know I meant it.

‘Sorry, May, I thought you liked it.’

I did, and said so. It just seemed a little premature given that we weren’t even officially an item.

‘Fine. Suit yourself.’ He shifted to one side of the bench and sudden modesty rushed to cover me. I scrambled to right my disheveled ensemble.

‘Clay? Say something. Are you mad?’

‘No.’ Yes, definitely.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes! We’d better make tracks. It’s getting dark.’ Our walk to my house wasn’t far, but Clay’s footsteps were heavy with censure, mine with amends.

Chapter 19

News spread like chicken pox through the school as the kids infected each other with whispers about me. In each class I stepped over the threshold into sentences stopped dead, hushed by guilty voices. I asked what was going on, but no one would let me in on their secrets. I was hounded by the idea that Clay had been ungentlemanly in his recounting of our date. By lunchtime I saw my guilt in every pair of eyes averted at my glance. I had to ask Jim what was going on.

‘They know what Duncan said to his student.’

I stopped chewing my sandwich, foreboding trickling between my shoulder blades. What was he talking about?

‘Last week. In his class. He told Jimmy Seibert’s brother he was an ignorant bigot for his views on Negroes. Personally I think he was probably right, your father I mean, but he wasn’t very smart talking to folks around here like that. It’ll get him into hot water before long.’

It had me in trouble already. I couldn’t finish my sandwich. Jim watched me with his eyebrows knitted together, but didn’t say anything else.

I had class with the girls after lunch, where my small talk met only with cursory acknowledgments. I tried to goad myself into not crying, but my tear ducts had other plans, spilling warm droplets over my cheeks. I wiped them away, but once they started, they wouldn’t let up. With what little dignity I had left I walked out of class. The hallway blurred as I stumbled to the bathroom. Duncan was bent on ruining my life, and I hated him for it. I stayed in that tiled haven for an hour thinking of all the reasons I had to despise my father. By the time the bell rang, I had no tears left. My eyes made no secret of their recent undertaking. They were puffy and red. I thought about hiding in my safe little stall for the rest of the afternoon, but knew I couldn’t, so I took a deep breath and walked back among my classmates.

I don’t know who started it. A whisper caught me as I moved to my locker. ‘Nigger lover.’ The hair stood out on the nape of my neck. Another voice chimed, this time louder. ‘Nigger lover!’ More followed, chanting. The kids had stopped their hurrying, stopped and were looking at me. ‘Nig–ger lov–er nig–ger lov–er nig–ger lovv–errr.’ Maybe all the kids joined in, maybe some kept quiet. It didn’t matter. The message was unmistakable. And aimed at me. One of the boys, Clay’s friend, addressed me. ‘May, are you a nigger lover like your daddy?’

My world hinged on that question. Was I like Duncan? Was I? ‘No!’ I shouted at the faces who accused me.

Minty was at my elbow. ‘No, what, May?’ Her voice wasn’t unfriendly. And I said the words my classmates wanted to hear. The words I wanted them to hear. I’m not my father so please don’t punish me for his crimes. I want to be your friend. I need you to accept me. ‘No, I’m not a nigger lover like my father.’ The words were sour in my mouth, but I kept them out there for my friends to see.

They forgave me my father’s trespasses. That afternoon, and the ones that followed, were tinged with relief on all sides. They made jokes and explained why what Duncan said was so wrong. I laughed and sympathized along with them all, my friends.

Duke’s belonged to my classmates long before I ever set foot across Georgia’s borders. The stalwart class of some–time–well–before–my–time staked Savannah High’s claim on its gleaming counters and vinyl stools probably not too long after the first soda fountain was installed. It wasn’t that the Commercial High kids, or those from Cathedral or St. Vincents couldn’t come in. They could, and sometimes did. Presumably, though, they had their own gleaming counters and vinyl stools to call home. So we were mainly kindred spirits enveloped in the froth of fountain drinks. Not all of our classmates had the money or inclination to sit inside, though. The troublemakers liked to dawdle out front. They were the kids who smoked, got detention and had parents who spent a fair amount of time talking with the Vice Principal. They were po’white trash. Mostly we ignored them and they us, at least until their shouts caught our attention, as they did one Friday afternoon. Some of us stood up, craning our necks to see who was making all the noise. Angry voices became more insistent. A current ran through the group. Everyone moved for the door.

The existence of two black boys in the road was the cause for all the fuss. I relaxed a little and tried to hear what everyone was exercising their vocal chords so strenuously about.

‘...said move along now.’ The white kid’s fists were clenched.

The black kid looked him straight in the eye, which was reason enough for a fight in the South. ‘You move yourself along. I’m not doin’ nothin’ but standing here minding my own business.’ His companion continued watching his feet with interest.

‘Boy, you sassin’ me?’

‘I ain’t doin’ nothin’ but mindin’ my own business. I ain’t breakin’ no laws.’

‘Now boy, I’m not gonna tell you again. Move along or I’ll do your movin’ for you.’

‘I’m not your
boy
. Touch me and you’ll regret you were ever born.’

The crowd was hostile, punctuating the white kid’s assertions with shouts of their own.

Someone whispered, ‘They’re new here, from New York City.’

‘Yeah? Well that’s not gonna do ’em much good if they keep giving lip to that boy. He’s meaner ’n a snake.’

‘Ain’t that the truth? There’s nothing meaner than po’white trash getting sassed by a nigger.’

I saw Minty and Clay on the other side of the crowd. She saw me and smiled her usual smile. Clay ignored me. A couple of other kids stepped forward. ‘Now, we don’t want any trouble here, fellas. Why don’t you just move along?’

‘I’ll move ’em along so help me I will.’

‘Shut up, Jered, or I’ll ring your bell myself.’

The bigger stranger addressed his new opponent. ‘Why should we? Just because you say so? You don’t own these streets, do you? No I didn’t think so. We’re just gonna stick around here for a little while longer. There’s things we wanna see, don’t we, Jake? Being as we’re not from around here. We’re sightseeing.’ Jake hadn’t said a word thus far, and when he heard his name, he shrank into his shoulders. The other boy was the mouthy one, probably his older brother. Jake looked more than happy to take Jered’s advice and go home.

Jered spoke up again. ‘You boys got about three seconds to move along or I’m gonna beat the living tar out of you. The both of you.’ Jake’s neck contracted by a few more inches.

‘And I told you, we’re not doin’ nothing but standin’ here. But if you want trouble, you’ve come to the right place. Come on then. I’ll teach you crackers a lesson your children won’t forget.’

It didn’t matter who threw the first punch because within seconds half a dozen kids were swinging for all they were worth. Two boys pinned Jake’s arms while Jered concentrated on loosening his teeth. The kids were screaming and shouting, many of them cheering the boys on as blood began to spatter the dust in the street. I felt sick to my stomach and closed my eyes. The kids were three deep and I couldn’t get to the front to stop the fight. At least that was what I told myself later on. Charlene pulled on my arm, shouting above the pandemonium. ‘Come on! We’ve got to go or we’ll get in trouble. May, come on!’ She wrenched me away and we half ran till we could hardly hear the shouting any more. My hands shook badly.

‘Why’d they have to beat up those boys? All they were doing was standing there. They weren’t doing anything wrong.’

Charlene laced her voice with righteousness. ‘Yes, they were. Not officially maybe, but they were. They don’t have any right to talk to us like that.’

‘But that kid didn’t have any right to tell them to leave. He doesn’t own the street. They have the right to be there.’

‘Look, May. You’re a Yankee so you don’t know. That’s just the way it is. We can’t have niggers with no respect for authority. It’ll lead to all kinds of bad things.’

‘Don’t say niggers, Charlene.’

‘What?’

‘It’s a bad word, it’s demeaning. Please don’t say it. Not around me.’

‘Fine. Negroes, okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘We have enough problems with our own Negroes without ones from the North coming down here making trouble for everyone.’

‘What do you mean trouble? What kind of trouble?’

‘You read the paper, don’t you? You saw the Negro parade they had last month. And now they’re planning their own political league.’ 

‘So what?’

‘So what? So what is that there’s more Negroes in Savannah than white people. Imagine what would happen if they all voted.’

‘Charlene, this is a democracy. Everyone’s
supposed
to vote.’

‘I agree. If they’re educated enough to do it right. But let’s face it, May, most Negroes don’t have any idea how the political system works. My Dad says most can’t even read a ballot. Surely it’s better for us to take responsibility to do what’s best for them. We’ve given them schools, they’ve got parks for their children, places to live and work. What more do they want?’

The right to stand in the street without being beaten up, I thought. But I didn’t say it. I didn’t say anything at all.

Chapter 20

Resentment made my words to Duncan lumpy and hard to pour. Clay stopped walking me home and his weekend invitations dried up. I didn’t have the grit to talk to him, so I didn’t know whether my father was to blame, or my last minute moral fortitude that day in the park. I blamed Duncan and filled the hole in time where my dates had been by wandering through the city, mulling over all the reasons I had to despise my parents. They’d always been a thorn in my side, and not just for the usual kid reasons. Duncan regularly made enemies that didn’t always restrict their feelings to their tormentor. Even before the war, Ma and I had born the brunt of angry townspeople’s opinions.