The People in the Park (10 page)

Mom wouldn’t let him inside, calling me to the door instead. He said he wanted to talk to me. Mom said we could talk outside.

Mom, bless her, doesn’t forget. She saw what it did to me when Jay cancelled our date to the prom. And she knew it was because of Dad’s situation. Since he couldn’t come around when I needed him, he can’t be in our house now.

I love Mom. She has always looked out for me. Some of her qualities were inside me since I had the same attitude about Jay and his actions.

But I was curious to see why Jay had come over.

He made small talk for a while. School. Classes. Prom.

Finally, he got around to why he had come. “I miss hanging out with you,” he said.

I grunted. I’d missed hanging out with him, too. But not now. I had gotten over him and gone on with my life.

“Are you planning on going to the prom?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He nodded, considered, as if he wanted to say something. I didn’t tell him I didn’t have a date yet. Let him sweat.

“Maybe we can hang out prom night,” he said.

“At the prom?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “I mean instead of going to prom.”

Was he crazy?

“I’m going to the prom,” I said.

“You know we have lots of fun together. I was thinking we could dress up and pretend to go to the prom and go into KC, eat at the Plaza, hang out in the P&L District. Then get with our friends for the after parties. Of course, I’d have to make an appearance at the prom to be seen. It’ll just be for a little while, and then we’d have the rest of the evening to hang out.”

Crazy Jay! It was just like him to come up with a plan. Scheme was more like it. I would’ve been game if all this hadn’t transpired. If I knew his motives were sincere. But I knew he was avoiding taking me to the prom because word might get back to his folks that we were there together. So he came up with this plan. He would go to the prom, but I wouldn’t.

I’d been looking forward to the prom all year and for many years before. To skip it would be insane. Even if I didn’t go with Jay, I’d be with my friends. We’d already made our plans.

“You are out of your mind. Jay, I’m going to the prom.”

He was quiet. He looked towards our front door. “Your mom is mad at me, huh?”

“She doesn’t like that you broke up with me because of Dad.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t like it either.”

“Lauren, I tried to explain. My folks don’t understand. I want us to get back together.”

“Not if you can’t take me to the prom,” I said.

I was my mother’s daughter after all.

“I still want to be with you,” he said.

We were at an impasse. I had nothing else to say, words wouldn’t come. No amount of pleading on his part would change my mind.

Eventually, he got in his car and drove away.

19

I was so caught up in my own issues that I almost didn’t see her.

Julie was sitting on the park bench crying audibly. I walked past her, trying to ignore the sniffles coming from behind me.

As I walked by I remembered that I was her not too long ago. I also remembered that I didn’t want anybody talking to me, so I kept walking. But I also remembered the pain I felt inside and how alone I felt, and I didn’t want anybody else to feel that way.

I turned around and went back towards her. When I reached the bench I stood there, uncertain of what to do next.

I took a deep breath. “Hi, Julie.”

She raised her tear- stained face to mine. Recognizing me, she briefly nodded her head.

I sat down beside her.

“Can I help?”

She shook her head and whispered, “Nobody can help.”

“Maybe I can help,” I said. I don’t know why I persisted. There was something about her that said I should stick around.

I gave Julie a tissue from my pack. I’d discovered that I needed to carry them around, since there were many occasions when I was alone in the park or in the car, thinking about things, and tears came out of nowhere.

After she’d wiped her eyes and face, she said, “Thanks.”

I sat there with her, not saying a word, but being there. We watched the water from the Missouri River rush by, as if it had to catch a train to get downstream. The roar of the water had a calming effect upon me.

Suddenly she said, “My Dad lost his job five months ago and hasn’t been able to find work. We’re losing our house; it’s in foreclosure. And we don’t have any food. I’m hungry. My little sister cries herself to sleep every night because she’s hungry. I try to tell her that we’ll eat soon.

“I swallowed my pride and went to the lower school and talked to her teacher. She gives her lunch money every day now.” Julie paused. “At least my sister can each lunch,” she said with satisfaction.

She went on in a low voice. “Mama is too embarrassed to apply for food stamps. And Dad is too proud to ask for help. We’re down to our last jar of peanut butter. No bread. We each eat a tablespoon for dinner.”

There was nothing I could say. I couldn’t tell her that it would be all right, because I didn’t know if it would be. I just sat there, listening. Heartbroken. And ashamed. Julie’s family was really suffering while I had been concerned about appearances.

“I don’t know what my Dad will do when the peanut butter is gone. He says it’s a shame in our culture not to be able to take care of one’s family.”

My mind raced. What was the right thing to do? I had seen recent news stories about tragedies in families when all hope was lost. Although I didn’t know Julie, other than seeing her in class, I didn’t want anything to happen to her.

I did the only thing I could do in that moment. I opened my wallet and gave Julie all the money I had with me. One hundred dollars. I didn’t even keep any for lunch.

I could afford to miss one meal. She had missed so many.

She looked at the money. Then she raised her eyes to mine. Words did not come out, only tears.

There was no need for words. I knew what she wanted to say and couldn’t.

On my way back to the car, I thought about Julie and her family. Her father is an accountant. She’s the smartest person in the junior class and was sure to get scholarships to the best colleges. We were in the same physics class. She had a younger sister. I think her mother stayed home and took care of the family.

Mrs. Stevens was right. There were other students suffering besides me. I really can’t compare myself to Julie. I have never missed a meal through all that has happened to us.

We still had money to take care of every day expenses. We still had food. We still had hope that Dad would be cleared.

She had no hope, at least any that she could see. The economic woes of the country were affecting students at our school. I just couldn’t see it until now.

After school I went to see Mrs. Stevens. I told her that I would do the story on how the recession had affected students in our school, but I didn’t want to use any names. She said it wouldn’t be much of a story if no names were used.

We finally decided that I could use fake names if students didn’t want their real names used, only I would have to indicate that at the beginning of the story.

I was really excited about investigating this story. I felt that I could get students to talk to me because of my family’s public humiliation. Even though it’s not the same thing, the result is the same, although to a different degree.

20

“Dad wants to talk to you.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“Burrito bowls.”

Made by Mom. She had abandoned her usual dishes and taken to experimenting by cooking a variety of meals. This was the first time for burrito bowls. She knew I loved to eat at Chipotle with my friends. She had gone on the Internet and gotten recreated recipes of restaurant dishes.

I have to admit, Mom’s recreations often tasted better than the restaurant food.

“Where’s Dad?”

“In his study.” She went back to preparing the burrito bowls.

Dad’s door was open. He saw me when I entered the hallway outside his office.

“Come in, Kitten,” he said. “How was school today?”

“Good.”

“I need to talk to you. Sit down.”

I sat across from his desk. His office was organized again, all the clutter and disarray gone.

He cleared his throat. “I told you at the beginning of this situation that money would be tight. My accounts and joint accounts with your mother are still frozen.”

I nodded. He was probably going to tell me that I was spending too much money. But I only spent money on gas for my car. And lunch at school. I hardly ate out with my friends after school. And when I did, one of them would treat me. I never went shopping anymore. I was real careful about spending money.

“I have some accounts in your name,” he said.

“You’re talking about my savings account?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “Whenever I received bonuses I opened special accounts for you and put money in them. Accounts that you didn’t know about.”

“I have money?”

“Each account was designated for a particular event. You have a college fund account that will pay for your college expenses for four years with enough spending money for you.

“There is a wedding account that will pay for your wedding, a first class wedding. Nothing but the best for you.

“There is a house account. When you’re ready to buy your first house I want you to be able to get the type of house you want and not have to settle for what your budget can afford, plus I want you to be able to decorate it with exactly the type of furniture you want. And if you have a husband and he’s able to purchase your house, and you don’t need my help that will be fine, too. We’ll use the money for something else.

“There’s a travel account, in case you want to travel abroad after your college graduation, or if you want to spend your junior year abroad. Or if you want to travel with your friends on summer vacations. I figured by then you wouldn’t want to spend summer vacations with your parents anymore.

“There’s even an account for my grandchildren, future grandchildren.”

“Wow!” I seemed to be saying that a lot lately.

Dad cleared his throat again. “I need your house account money. I’ll put it back when my accounts are unfrozen. I used your mother’s personal savings account for lawyers’ fees. She also has a house account that I replenished at the beginning of the year that takes care of household expenses and any home purchases she might want to make. I’m still paying lawyers’ fees until I’m completely cleared, so our household account is getting wiped out. We need to keep food on the table.”

I was quiet. I didn’t know what to say.

“So, Kitten, you have all the money in the family,” he said.

“What do I need to do?”

“I’ll bring checks for you to sign. We need to pay household expenses like utilities and mortgage. I have let the lawn service go. I’m doing the lawn myself. It keeps my mind off things.”

“Sure, Dad, whatever you need.”

I sat there, feeling the gravity of what he had said. He had put aside a large amount of his bonus money for me!

“It’s your money, Dad. Take it all,” I said.

“No,” he said. “I set it aside for you, and I want you to have it. Hopefully, this is the only account we’ll have to bother. Besides, I can’t have any money in my name right now that won’t be frozen.”

I sat there. “When were you going to tell me about the accounts, I mean, if this hadn’t happened?”

“When you first asked about traveling with your friends, I was going to tell you about your travel account. When you told me that you were going to get married, I was going to give you your wedding account checkbook. And of course when you decided what college you were going to attend, I would let you know that the money was there.”

It made perfect sense to me.

We had a joyous dinner, just Dad, Mom, and me. One thing I forgot to ask about was tuition for Fairfield Oaks for senior year. I didn’t want to bring it up during dinner. We tried to focus on each other while we were eating without the distraction of television or unpleasant conversation. Asking about tuition would stir up feelings about our situation because I never ever had to ask about tuition.

21

Jay’s family used to own Fairfield.

It wasn’t called Fairfield then. His great-great-grandfather owned much of the land Fairfield stands on. He was a farmer. His chief crop was wheat. His golden wheat fields stretched for miles and miles. With money made from the sale of wheat, he started buying cattle and amassed thousands. He also built a business around the buying and selling of cattle.

When Jay’s great-great-grandfather died, developers approached the family about purchasing various parcels of land. Since black families back then wanted their children to get an education and pursue professional careers, no one was interested in carrying on the farming and cattle businesses. Piece by piece the land was sold and Fairfield was born. Just think, an African American is the patriarch of Fairfield. In social studies class when we study Fairfield’s history, Jay’s family is a footnote.

Jay was sitting in his car across from my house when I arrived home from school. I parked in our circular driveway and waited for him.

“Why didn’t you park in the driveway?” I asked.

“I didn’t want your mom to see me,” he said. “She doesn’t seem to like me now.”

I shrugged. He knew why everything had changed.

“What do you want?” I asked, impatient with his plea of ignorance.

He pulled a box from the pocket of his jacket. “This is for you.”

I opened the box and took out an iPod. “I loaded my favorite tunes on it,” he said. “Music that makes me think of you.”

In spite of myself and my feelings towards him, I was touched by his gesture. I simply said, “Thanks.”

He wasn’t saying anything else, and I was getting uncomfortable just standing there, so I headed towards my front door.