Mom & Me & Mom (5 page)

The third day I wanted to stay home, but I couldn’t face Vivian Baxter. I couldn’t tell her I wasn’t as strong as she thought I was.

I stuck it out for two weeks until a man I had not
seen before invited me to come into his office. He asked, “Why do you want a job with the railway company?”

I said, “Because I like the uniforms, and I like people.”

He said, “What experience do you have?”

I had to lie, “I was a chaufferette for Mrs. Annie Henderson in Stamps, Arkansas.” My grandmother had hardly ever been in a car, let alone had a chauffeur to drive it for her.

But I got the job, and the newspapers wrote, “Maya Johnson is the first American Negro to work on the railway.”

Unfortunately, a man later went down to the newspaper office and said that I was not the first black person to work there, that he had been working there for twenty years. He had been passing for white. He was fired. The company explained it was because he had lied on his initial application.

I got the job and a punishing split shift. I was to work from 4
A.M.
to 8
A.M.
and then 1
P.M.
to 5
P.M.
I knew the streetcar barn was out near the beach and I had to find a way to get there by 4
A.M.

My mother said, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take you.”

The first day, when my uniform arrived and it fit me well, I felt like a woman. My mother, who had
run a bath for me, awakened me and complimented me on my uniform. We got into her car and she drove to the beach. When I thanked her and said, “Go home and take care of yourself,” she said, “I mean to take care of the both of us.” For the first time I saw the pistol on the seat. She said she would follow the car until first light, when she would honk her horn and blow me a kiss, turn away, and drive home.

For the months that I worked on the streetcar, my mother’s routine never changed. I left the job when it was time to return to school.

My mother asked me to have a cup of coffee with her in the kitchen.

She said, “So, you got the job and I also got the job. You were conductorette and I was your security every day until dawn. What did you learn from this experience?”

I said, “I learned that you were probably the best protection I will ever have.”

She asked, “What did you learn about yourself?”

I said, “I learned I am not afraid to work, and that’s about all.”

She said, “No, you learned that you have power—power and determination. I love you and I am proud of you. With those two things, you can go anywhere and everywhere.”

At fifteen, I was allowed to stay out until eleven at night only if Bailey was along. Mother knew he would not only tell me what to do, he would tell others what they could and could not do, with me and around me.

The teenagers in the Booker T. Washington Center were restless. One night the directors refused to allow us to have a dance because one had been held the night before and we were allowed only one dance per week.

A shout lifted above our heads. “Let’s go to the Mission District and eat tamales!”

Another person yelled, “Let’s go to the Mission District and liberate a few dozen tacos and tamales!” There was a loud roar of agreement and I was swept along. We were on the outskirts of the Fillmore District before I realized Bailey was missing. He had not come with me to the center that evening.

I knew what I should do, but I could not bring myself to say that I had to leave and go home. We rode streetcars to the largely Mexican area. The aroma wafting from the cantinas and the music of the mariachi bands were calling for us. We danced in the streets. Boys and girls flirted and then ordered more tamales and tacos. We all spoke a little Spanish but we acted as if we spoke more. Someone announced it was one o’clock.

The enormity of my lateness made me dumb. When I found my voice, I said, “I’ve got to get home.”

Alarmed voices joined mine.

“God, how did it get so late?”

“I’m going to get killed.”

“God, what kind of lie can I work up this time?”

We counted our money, but we didn’t have enough for carfare for everyone to get home safely. Along with two other girls and one boy, I walked home from the Mission District to the Fillmore District.

It was a long trek, and although we started it with trepidation, we began to brighten as we neared home. We did begin to see the absurdity of our situation. We were going to get in trouble over some tacos and tamales, which we didn’t need, and that made us laugh. Tamales and tacos had made us break the rules.

I parted with my friends and walked the last block to my house as fast as I could. I was still in a pleasant mood so I ran up the two marble steps to the French doors. When I put my key into the lock and pushed the door, it was pushed back at me with enormous force.

My mother stepped out onto the landing. She held a ring of keys in her fist. She said, “Goddamnit!” and hit me in the face.

As I screamed, she grabbed my coat and pulled me into the house. She was cursing and shouting at me and at the walls and at the windows.

“Where in the hell have you been? Even whores are in bed. My fifteen-year-old daughter is roaming the streets.”

I tasted blood as it slipped into my mouth. Mother continued to rant and I heard doors open and voices.

“Lady, are you all right?”

My stepfather: “What’s going on? I’m on my way.”

Papa Ford came shuffling down the hall in his cotton robe. “What’s happening? What’s going on, Vivian?”

In the critical moment, he stopped being the houseman, the cook, the servant, and became her father, or doting uncle. He asked me, “Where the hell have you been?”

I was crying too hard to answer.

Suddenly Bailey appeared, also in his robe, also in control of himself. He saw my face and heard Mother’s tirade. He said with authority, “Come on, Maya. Come upstairs. I’ll get some towels. Go to your room.”

I followed him up the stairs and went to my room. I was sitting on the bed when he came in bringing a warm, wet soapy towel in one hand and a dry, fluffy towel in the other. He said, “Don’t try to talk. Just calm down and clean your face. I’m going back to my room. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll figure out what we’re going to do.”

I cleaned up and managed to relax because my big brother was in charge. I did not catch the irony that at fifteen, I was six feet tall and Bailey at seventeen was five foot five.

The next morning the image in the bathroom mirror shocked me. My eyes were black and my lips were swollen. I had begun crying again when Bailey appeared with the suitcase.

He said, “You look awful. I’m so sorry, Maya. Come on.” He guided me back from the bathroom to my bedroom.

“Pack two sets of underclothes, two skirts, and two sweaters. We’re leaving this place.”

I found some clothes, folded them, and put them in the suitcase, which he closed.

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know yet, but anywhere away from here.”

I followed him down the steps. At the bottom, my mother stood with her arms akimbo.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

Before Bailey could answer, she looked up the steps and saw me. She screamed and reeled as if she was going to fall.

She said, “My baby, oh, my baby! Come here! I’m so sorry!”

Bailey stared straight at her. “We are leaving your house. Nobody, but nobody, beats up my baby sister.” Bailey took my hand.

Mother said, “Baby, I’m so sorry, so sorry.”

Bailey said, “Maya, let’s go!”

My mother turned to Bailey and said, “Please give me a chance. Please. Come in the kitchen and give me a chance.”

We followed her to the kitchen, where my stepfather and Papa Ford were drinking coffee. Each looked at me, and the shock on their faces was undeniable.

My mother asked, “Would you please go into the
dining room or the living room? I have to talk to my children.”

The three of us were left in the warm, aromatic air of the kitchen. My mother took a tea cloth off a rack and put it on the floor. She asked me and Bailey to sit on the kitchen chairs. Vivian Baxter got down on her knees and prayed to God to ask forgiveness, and then in the same quivering voice, she begged me to forgive her.

“I was crazy. I was out of my mind. I remembered what that bastard had done to you when you were seven years old. I couldn’t imagine someone else taking you, abusing you, and maybe even killing you. I had just left your empty room when I came down the stairs and suddenly you were at the door, opening it with a smile on your face. I had the key ring in my hand with at least twenty keys on it and I hit you without thinking.”

She turned to Bailey. “I didn’t mean to hurt your sister. I beg you to forgive me.” Then she began to cry so piteously that Bailey and I left our chairs and joined her on the floor, where we cradled her in our arms.

Mother resisted our attempts to encourage her to stand up, so we went upstairs to our rooms. Bailey said, “She’s a strong woman, a very strong woman.”

“I wish she had knelt down and apologized in front of Daddy Clidell and Papa Ford.”

“No, she couldn’t do that. It would have taken away some of the power she has over them.”

“Well, we took away the power she had over us.”

“No, we didn’t take it, honey, she gave it to us.”

Bailey knocked on my door. I saw his face and knew that Armageddon had arrived. “What is it?” I asked.

He pushed me aside and entered my room. “I’m leaving. I’m going to join the army or navy.” He had been crying. “I’m of age: I’m seventeen.”

“Why? You’re supposed to graduate next month! Why?”

“I’m not going to wait that long.”

“Is it something Lady did?”

He said, “I should have gone back with Grandmother. She needs me.”

I said, “Lady needs you. She adores you. You ought to see the way she looks at you.”

“She’s got Daddy Clidell, and Papa Ford, and you, and … and … you know that guy named Buddy?”

Buddy was a frequent visitor, often taking over the conversation, telling jokes and making fun of the
local politicians. Lady and Daddy Clidell both were amused by Buddy.

“What about Buddy … What?”

Bailey asked, “Did you ever see how she looked at him?”

“No,” I said.

“Well, I did, and I’d be surprised if they weren’t off doing it in some motel.”

I said, “Bailey, you ought to be ashamed. Do you think our mother is committing adultery?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her. She gave us away, right? She abandoned her own children. Why wouldn’t she commit adultery?”

“Bailey, tell me straight: Did you see anything that could make you sure?”

“No, not really, except the way she looks at him.”

“Well, I don’t believe it. I’m just starting to really like her and I don’t think she would betray Daddy Clidell.”

He opened my door and turned to look at me, almost sneering.

“You’d have to be a man to understand that, and you’re just a girl.” He went out and slammed my door.

I didn’t know what to do. Obviously I could not tattle on my brother. All I could do was try to talk him out of his decision to join the service. I went to
his room but he wouldn’t answer the door. He avoided me for about a month. Then one evening at the dinner table he said, “I have an announcement to make!”

He put some papers on the table.

“I’ve joined the merchant marine. I’ve passed the exams and the physical tests. I’ll ship out soon.”

Mother reached for the papers but he snatched them back.

She said, “You can’t. I won’t let you.”

“I’ve done it already. I am of age. It’s too late anyway. I’ve already sworn in.”

Mother fell back in her chair. “Why? You’re supposed to graduate in a few weeks. I’ve just bought new clothes I was going to wear.”

Bailey said, “As usual, you think it’s only about you.”

Mother said, “But why? Why? Maya, did you know?”

Bailey looked at me and said, “My didn’t know about this. It’s only for me to know and you to wonder, or maybe you can mention me to Buddy.”

Vivian was surprised. “You’re angry with me? Why? What have I done to you? What does Buddy have to do with you joining the service?”

Bailey looked at Mother scornfully. I felt sorry for her, and for him.

Weeks later Bailey was gone. Mother and I both missed him badly, but it was too painful to talk about his absence, and so we never mentioned it.

She began to pack bags for a couple of months’ journey. She had to go back to Alaska to see about the gambling joints she and Daddy Clidell owned in Nome.

I was distressed because I didn’t develop like other girls. I didn’t have breasts, really plump breasts. I had little nubs on my chest, but nothing substantial. My buttocks were flat; my legs were too thin and too long. My voice was deep. To add to my woes, I thought that I might grow up to be a lesbian. I had read a book called
The Well
, purportedly written by a lesbian. She was grossly unhappy, and her friends who were also lesbians were miserable as well. My slow physical developments made me wonder if just possibly I would grow up to become a lesbian and be unhappy. I certainly didn’t want that.

Still, not all the boys were after only pretty girls. Some let me know that they would like to make love to me, or at least have sex with me. They were only teenagers, and it was easy to ignore them. But there was Babe, who lived up the block from me. He was
nineteen years old and very handsome. I developed a dizzying infatuation for him. For weeks I imagined how it would be to rest in his arms. His usual approach to me was “Hey Maya, when you gonna give me some of that long, tall goodie?”

One day as I was passing by him, I stopped spontaneously and before he could speak I said, “Hi, Babe. Do you still want some of this long, tall goodie?” He almost dropped the toothpick out of his mouth.

But he quickly recovered. “Yes, let’s go.” He had a friend who had a room he could use. He didn’t ask why I was willing to go with him. In fact, we were silent as we walked the few blocks to a large, typical San Francisco house. He used a key and opened the door. In the bedroom there was no kissing or foreplay. No coddling and whispering; none of that. Just “get your pants down” and then sex.