The Year the Lights Came On (10 page)

In small, incomplete ways, Alvin’s presence enabled us to intrude on the dominance of the Highway 17 Gang in Emery. We knew we were about to step into their world, yet we insisted on keeping our identity. There were days when Sonny, or Wayne, or Ted and Ed, or others, made guarded suggestions about joining us for weekend games, but Dupree would impose his influence and his straying troops would fall back into their places, whimpering for forgiveness.

The restrained stand-off between our two societies was orderly and almost lasted to
the end of the school term.

Almost.

Two days before school ended in spring of 1947, Wesley’s year, Our Side suffered an unspeakable horror: my relationship with Megan became an embarrassing public spectacle.

*

“Megan Priest, bring that piece of paper to me, young lady.” It was Old Lady Blackwall. Her buzzard’s eyes danced with glee, and her buzzard’s voice squawked its claim on the small folded note in Megan’s hand. Megan’s body convulsed with the fear of having been discovered. She could not move.

“Megan Priest. Do you hear me, young lady? Bring that piece of paper to me. Now.”

I did not like the way Old Lady Blackwall yelled at Megan. If she made Megan cry, I silently vowed, I would put nails under her car tires.

“Megan.”

Megan slipped slowly, fearfully, out of her desk. Her hand clutched the note. She started toward Old Lady Blackwall, paused and turned quickly to look at me.

Dear God in Holy Heaven, I thought. It can’t be. It can’t be.

“So, what’s this, Miss Megan?” Old Lady Blackwall said. “We don’t have passing notes in this room, young lady. Let me have it.”

“I—I wasn’t—goin’—goin’ to pass it…”

“Don’t tell me what you were and weren’t going to do, young lady. I know all about note-writers, I do. Let me have it.”

Megan surrendered the note and started easing back to her desk. The entire class listened and watched.

“Stay. Stay right where you are,” Old Lady Blackwall ordered.

“Yes’m,” Megan whispered.

Paul Tully giggled and I made a quick note to kick his tail after school, or knock out another tooth.

Old Lady Blackwall unfolded the note with sickening ceremony, mocking each crease Megan had pressed into the paper. She read to
herself with a smiling, conquering expression, mouthing the words.

“Well, well, well,” she finally said. “It seems we have a little romance going on right here in our room at Emery Junior High Schools…”

I thought: O Holy Father, strike her dumb and I will go to revival every night this year.

“And you’d never guess between who…”

Maybe I should fake a heart attack, I thought. Roll over and fall out right here on the floor.

“Well, of course, you must expect little Megan here is one of the parties, unless, of course, she’s passing along a note for one of her friends…”

Yes. Yes. Yes. O God, if you love me, please let that be it.

“Is that it, Megan?”

Megan shook her head and whispered, “No’m.”

“Well, I suggest that the entire class should share in this rare experience. Why don’t you return to your seat, Megan, and I’ll share your, ah, lovely thoughts with the rest of the class.”

Megan retreated to her seat. She was crushed, totally humiliated. She managed to peek at me as she turned to sit, and I knew what to expect.

Old Lady Blackwall took her position dead-center in front of the class. She cleared her throat, adjusted her glasses, and began to read in a voice of great pleasure.

“‘School will be out in two days and I know I shouldn’t do this, but I just had to write you a letter to tell you I’ll miss you this
summer. Maybe I’ll get a chance to see you when you come to the cotton gin with your daddy. I’ll watch for your wagon…’”

Old Lady Blackwall looked up from the letter and smiled. She wanted Megan to feel every knife blow of her insult; Old Lady Blackwall wanted bloodless blood, a soundless scream for mercy.

“‘I hope you didn’t think I was pushing myself on you,’” Old Lady Blackwall continued, pronouncing each word with severe emphasis. “‘And I want you to know I’ve kept every picture you’ve drawn for me, and will always keep them for as long as I live. Maybe you’ll draw some for me this summer and I can get them if I see you at the cotton gin.’”

I could feel a thousand eyes turn toward me. Megan stared at her desk and Old Lady Blackwall turned the dagger in my heart: “And it’s signed, ‘Megan.’ Now isn’t that sweet? Pictures? Who do we know who draws pictures?” She looked straight at me. Dupree laughed aloud. Sonny and Wayne buried their faces in their arms and giggled. No one from Our Side stirred to stop their taunting.

“Colin…” The sound of my name from Old Lady Blackwall exploded in my temples and my bravery shattered like fine crystal being dropped. “Colin, could it be you that this letter is meant for?”

Ten thousand eyes hated me. A judge with a skull face laughed at me from a high, black podium. A gargoylish hunchback stood beside a hangman’s noose and motioned for me with long, dirty fingers. Wesley stood before St. Peter and begged for my admittance into heaven. “He told the truth and they killed him just the same,” Wesley was saying.

“Colin?”

“Me? No’m,” I lied. “Can’t be me. I can’t draw a straight line with a ruler.”

“Well, now, that’s odd,” Old Lady Blackwall insisted. “Just last week, Mrs. Simmons was telling us how proud she was of your artistic ability. She even showed us some of the examples of your work and I agreed with her. You’re quite talented, indeed. Especially drawing dogs.”

A million mouths spit at me. Two giants held my hands as midgets drove needles under my fingernails. Tiny tongues of fire licked at my feet as old women in rags threw torches on the kerosene-soaked heart-of-pine kindling surrounding me. Wesley stood in a corner with his back to me.

“Ah—uh—them,” I stuttered.

“Yes, Colin?” teased Old Lady Blackwall.

“Uh—I—I done them by—by tracin’. Yes’m, that’s it. Tracin’. Just helping out Mrs. Simmons. She wanted some stuff for the kids.”

“Tracing? Now, it didn’t look like tracing to me. Megan, why don’t you bring me your Blue Horse tablet and let me see what’s in it? I’m sure there must be something in it that could help us solve this little mystery.”

Old Lady Blackwall’s investigation revealed drawings of three dogs and one Persian cat, unmistakably committed in my hand. She pinned the drawings to the bulletin board with great theatrics, slicing open the wounds both Megan and I had suffered by describing each drawing with deadly cynicism. There was nothing to do but die and take my chances. I held my breath, thinking I would faint. Splotches of purple danced and ping-ponged behind
my eyes, but I could not pass out. Some mechanism in my body forced me to breathe.

The recess bell finally rang and the classroom erupted in giggles and snickering. Except for the members of Our Side; they were absolutely silent. The Highway 17 Gang danced happily out of the room, and Paul walked over to me.

“I reckon you better meet us down at the new ground,” he said, his voice chilled with hate.

“Leave me alone.”

“You be there,” warned Paul.

Old Lady Blackwall stopped the exchange.

“Paul, you and the others clear on out. I want to talk to Megan and Colin for a minute. Go on, now. Scat.”

Paul and the others from Our Side moved slowly outside, staring at me.

When they left, Old Lady Blackwall leaned against the front of her desk. She had a ruler in her hand and kept tapping it against a chair in front of her.

“Now, I want you both to know that I strongly disapprove of this kind of conduct,” she preached. “You’re far too young to be having sweethearts and I just will not have note-passing in my room. I’m tempted to let your parents know about this and let them take care of it, but I won’t. Not if you promise to stop this silly behavior right now.”

Megan did not answer. She looked angry. I wanted to kick Old Lady Blackwall.

“We didn’t do nothin’,” I protested. “Nothin’. It’s not against the law to draw pictures and give ’em away, and it’s not against the law to be friends.”

“Now, you just hold it, young man,” Old Lady Blackwall snapped. She was suddenly furious. “You hold it a minute, or I’ll wear a hole in your pants, and I mean it. I’m tired of you and your brother sassing me. Talking to me like I don’t know as much as you. Well, I’m a schoolteacher and I know more, and you’d better get used to that.”

Of course, I thought. Now I knew why Old Lady Blackwall decided to make an example of Megan and me. It wasn’t because of Megan and it wasn’t because of me; it was because of Wesley. Wesley was constantly correcting her mistakes as she attempted to teach us the conjugation of verbs or the capitals of the 48 states, or some other mystery. Wesley was a frustration to her, but she would never dare cross Wesley; such a match would have been embarrassing, and she knew it.

“Yes’m,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“Now, that’s better. But I want a promise from both of you. Quit this silly carrying on. I know what it can lead to.”

“Yes’m,” I said.

“Megan?”

Megan tossed her head proudly, angrily. “Yes,” she said sternly. “I promise.”

“All right. Now you can be dismissed,” Old Lady Blackwall said sweetly. Then she added, “If either of you ever have any problems, let me know and I’ll be happy to talk to you. Go on, now, you’re dismissed.”

Dismissed?

Dismissed to what? Outside, Paul and Freeman and R. J. and Alvin and Otis and Jack waited to escort me to the new ground. They circled around me, like some prisoner being led before a firing squad. They said nothing, but occasionally Freeman would
shove at me, his strong, bony fingers digging into my side. As we marched to the Condemned Man cadence, Dupree led the Highway 17 Gang in a victory dance around us.

“Hey, boy, can’t you find no girls over there in the swamp good enough for you?”

“Why didn’t you tell us you was a ar-tise, Colin? We’d of posed for you.”

“You gonna let me have a autograph, boy?”

“Draw me a pig, sweetie.”

“You better watch it, boy, that girl belongs to ol’ Dupree here and he’s gonna whip your butt, boy,” teased Wayne.

The remark about Dupree and Megan was too much. I whirled and made a dash to break through the ring of my escort. Megan wouldn’t give Dupree the time of day, and I was going to whip Wayne Heath’s tail in front of God and recess for telling such a lie.

Freeman grabbed me by the shirt, lifted me off the ground and handed me to Alvin and R. J. Sometimes I forgot that I was the youngest and smallest of Our Side.

“Let me go, Freeman,” I screamed.

“Shuttup,” Freeman commanded. He turned to face Dupree. “I don’t know what you think’s so funny, Dupree. At least Colin went for a girl at school when he started courtin’.”

Dupree’s face clouded in suspicion, and he shivered slightly under Freeman’s steel gaze. “What’re you talkin’ about? That’s not just any girl he’s messin’ around with. That’s my girl.”

“She don’t know it if she is,” Freeman answered. “Besides, I hear you don’t got the first idea about girls.”

Freeman’s words fell like stone on Dupree. The laughing stopped. The jeering stopped. The moving stopped.

“You better say what you mean, hick,” cautioned Dupree.

“I don’t have to say nothin’. Everybody in Emery knows what you did when you was spendin’ the night on your granddaddy’s farm last summer.”

Dupree turned red. Sweat popped out on his forehead. “Did?” Dupree shouted. “I didn’t do nothin’. What you talking about, boy?”

“In the barn,” Freeman answered. “One of your granddaddy’s hands saw you, whether you think he did or not.”

Dupree was outraged. Sonny and Wayne stepped away from him.

“What’d you do?” Sonny asked. A dozen answers must have flashed in his mind.

Dupree was foaming at the lips, a mad dog cornered.

“I didn’t do nothin’,” groaned Dupree. “Nothin’. He’s making it up. I’m tellin’ you, he’s making it up.”

“You must’ve done somethin’,” Wayne said. “Everybody knows it.”

“Everybody? Who, everybody?” raved Dupree. “Didn’t nobody hear nothing, because he just made it up. Didn’t nothin’ happen on that farm when I was there last summer. Nothin’.”

“Don’t sound right,” Sonny replied.

“It’s not,” exploded Dupree. “Freeman’s makin’ it up.”

“Well, that’s for me to know and for you to find out,” answered Freeman in a voice so deep it had the sound of coming from a man. He turned easily and pushed us away toward the new ground. “Yessir, for me to know and you to find out,” he repeated, laughing.

“I’ll pay you back for that, Freeman Boyd,” shouted Dupree. “I
swear to God and Jesus, I’ll pay you back, boy. You gonna hate this day before I’m through with you, boy.”

Wesley was hurt and displeased with my behavior, and I knew he was remembering the lie I had told him about being in the classroom with Megan. I wanted to explain about the lie. I wanted to tell him I had hidden away in Black Pool Swamp to find courage, but that was an ancient transgression. The discovery of my drawings in Megan’s Blue Horse tablet was the issue. I had broken our code. Worse, I had broken our code because of a girl.