TPIH: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“What are you reading now?” Song asked, as she burst into the kitchen. 

“To Kill a Mockingbird,” Subria responded, not looking up from the window seat.

“But it’s summertime, Subria.” Song said, picking up an apple from the bowl on the kitchen table, and cleaning it on her shirt.  She picked up several of the other books that were next to Subria in a tottering pile. "Before the Mayflower? I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings?"

“There is a such thing as summer reading, Song.  I would think you’d remember that, college girl.”

“Why don’t you just rent the movie?”

“Because I like reading, maybe? And I already saw Gregory Peck in the movie.”

“School doesn’t start for another two weeks, Bria,” Song said, almost whining.  “You can read later.  Come with me to the mall.  I have to pick up some stuff before I go back to school, and I can help you pick out some cute outfits for when school starts.”

"There's nothing wrong with my clothes, Song" Subria said, putting a bookmark in the page where she left off.

"True," Song agreed, "it's the colors, and the way you put things together that needs work.  And I don't think I've ever seen you accessorize a day in your life."

"You really know how to win friends, and influence people, Song," Subria said, getting up and heading toward her room. 

"Seriously, Bria," Song said, following her.  "What kind of big sister would I be if I let you go into your junior year looking like a boy?"

"I don't dress like a boy, Song!" Subria asked, pulling a pair of camouflage pants out of her closet.

"Seriously?" Song asked, grabbing the pants from her. 

"I look good in green!"  Subria took her favorite green shirt out of the closet.  "What's wrong with this shirt?"

"Subria, look at this big oil stain!  It's so tacky to go outside like this.  Let me just pick out your outfit for today, and if I do a good job, you'll let me pick out some stuff for you at the mall.  I promise I'll pick out something green for you."

"Fine," Subria said.  "The last thing I want to do is embarrass you."

"It's not like that!" Song yelled over her shoulder, as she went toward her own room.  She came back with some frilly fuchsia skirt, and a pink and white scarf.

"You must be crazy!" Subria exclaimed.  "There is no way on earth."

"Okay, I'll pick out the shirt and shoes, and you pick out the pants."

"Whatever," Subria said, waiting until Song went back into her room for more clothes before she put the scarf on, looked in the mirror and grinned. 

***

"You ready to go, Bria?" Song asked, as she grabbed the car keys and an apple off of the dining table.

"Hold on for a second," Subria said, heading over to the kitchen sink where her mom was seasoning chicken.

"Mom," Subria said, approaching her mother slowly, and rubbing her shoulders. 

"Yes?" Renee responded, narrowing her eyes.

"You know I've had my license since last summer, right?"

"Uh huh," Renee said, reaching for the cutting board.

"I wanted to go with Song to the mall, and she's never seen me drive by myself yet, so I was hoping you'd let me drive?"

"To King's Plaza?" Renee asked, turning to face Subria sharply.

"Yes," Subria said squinting.

"Girl, please.  You know you're not on our insurance!"

By Subria's count, this made the 25^th time that month that she had been reminded about her lack of inclusion on the Davis family car insurance plan.

"And besides," Renee continued, "Song . . ."

"I know," Subria finished for her mother.  "Song has a perfect driving record."

"And a perfect score on my road test," Song chuckled.  "Don't forget about that!"

"Be quiet, Song!" Subria yelled.

"Come on, Subria," Song said, grabbing the car keys off of the hook.  "We'll be back in a few hours, mom."

Subria never grew tired of taking in the streets of Brooklyn outside of Bedford-Stuyvesant.  In her neighborhood, all there was to look at were blocks and blocks of three family homes, crowded dollar stores, Chinese restaurants where the customers were separated from the restaurant owners by bullet proof plastic, and storefront churches under the elevated train tracks on Broadway.  In Bed-Stuy, the back yards were as narrow as jail cells, and there was not enough space for trees.  She tried to be grateful that she even lived in a house, because most of her friends lived in small apartments, but she secretly longed to live someplace else.  Down the long stretch of Kings Highway on the way to the mall, Subria loved looking at different types of homes.  They were still attached, but the back yards had enough space for picnic tables, swing sets, and even pools.  Most of the homes had driveways or garages, and flowers in the front yards. She couldn't help but notice that there were not as many people who looked like her family in the Farragut and Flatlands sections that they passed through.  The supermarkets were bigger, and the gas prices were cheaper.   She began to wonder why being brown-skinned seemed to equate to more of the bad, and less of the good. 

"Where do you want to go first, Bria?" Song asked, as they walked into the mall.

"Old Navy." 

Altogether, they spent about an hour between stores, circled back to Old Navy, and decided on three outfits that Subria agreed to wear during the first week of school – her favorite being a brown flowy skirt that cascaded down around her feet and almost hid her sandals, and, of course, a grass green shirt that was form fitting with billowy sleeves, but not too poofy.  When Subria went into her wallet to pay for the clothes, however, her money was gone.

***

When Subria and Song arrived back at the house, Subria looked everywhere the money could possibly be – the back of the top shelf in her closet, under the loose floor board in her crawl space, and even under the mattress – but she couldn't find it anywhere.  If it had been less money, and if it had been the only time her money had ever mysteriously disappeared, she would simply try to overlook it, but it was everything she needed to buy what she needed to return to school, including her cleats for track.  Subria had worked for the entire summer saving up for her back to school clothes. Now the money was gone . . . again.

She should've listened to Primus and put it in the bank.  He was her best friend, and his advice was always exactly right, but she didn't want to believe that anyone in her family would take money from her.  As hard as it was to admit, it had to be someone in her family.  If someone had broken in, the whole house would've been robbed.  Instead it was just her money missing. . . again, and she was finding it hard to breathe. She looked over at the picture from family reunion and sobbed, trying not to allow herself to think that he could have done this to her.

"Bria!" Nairobi called from downstairs.  But Subria couldn't answer.

"Bria, Primus is here!"

Thirty seconds later, Subria's door burst open. "Bria, didn't you hear . . . "

Subria was kneeling in front of her bed, and her chest heaved in sync with her sobs.

"Bria, what's wrong," Nairobi asked, kneeling down next to her older sister.

"It's . . . gone," Subria managed to spit out.

"What's gone?"

"My money for my school clothes," Subria said, wiping her eyes simultaneously with the backs of her hands. 

"It can't be gone, Bria.  You had more than $300!  Maybe you just – "

"It's gone, Nai."

"Who would take your money?"

"There was a maintenance guy in the house last week," Subria said, not wanting to alarm her little sister.  "Maybe he went through my things."

"You should say something to Mommy!"  Nairobi shouted.  "You want me to tell her for you?"

"No, Nai.   I'll talk to her about it later," Subria lied.  The last thing she wanted to do was get the maintenance worker in trouble, but allowing Nairobi to think that was far better than telling her who she really thought it was. 

If the shopping trip w/Song remains, there will be a transition here re: what happens next.
                                                                ***
There was nothing more magical than snow falling on New York City during the holiday season – like thousands of sparkling stars descending from the night sky making a noisy city settle into silence.  As beautiful as the snow was, however, Subria hoped that the weather wouldn't prolong her bus ride, and make her late to meet up with Ms. Robena.  It was 5:00 on a Friday, and she had just finished indoor track practice at her high school in the Fort Greene section of Brooklyn.  If Subria had more time, she would have picked up a few things from the street vendors who were already selling horns, Happy New Year hats, and glasses in the shape of 1995 for the upcoming New Year's Eve celebration.  She was glad that she resisted the urge to shop, however, because the B26 was pulling up to the corner of Fulton Street and Lafayette Avenue just as she arrived at the stop.

Subria was pleased when she got on the bus and saw that the single seat next to the back door was vacant.  Up until last December, Subria hardly had to worry about who she would sit next to.  She and Primus were in eighth grade then, and they usually rode the bus together. When Primus couldn't ride with her, Subria sometimes ended up smashed against the window by a passenger whose body was much too large for the seats, or suffocating next to someone who wasn't interested in bathing regularly.  

Ms. Robena was approaching the cemetery entrance when Subria got off of the bus, and Subria breathed a sigh of relief.  She didn't want Primus' grandmother waiting outside for her in the snow.

"How are you, Ms. Robena?" Subria said as she leaned under the older woman's umbrella to kiss her on the cheek.  Ms. Robena smelled like mothballs, but Subria didn't mind.

"Fine, sweetheart," Ms. Robena responded, after returning the kiss.  "And how are you?"

"Good," Subria said, smiling. 

"You doing well in your classes?" Ms. Robena asked, extending her arm for Subria to take.

"Well, high school is way harder than junior high, and I'm having a little trouble in biology.  It's hard to meet with the tutors after school because of track practice, but I've been able to get some help on the weekends."

"That's good," Ms. Robena said.  "I'm glad to see you're not too proud to get help when you need it."

"How have you been, Ms. Robena?" Subria asked.

"I can't complain," she said, sighing.

Subria noticed the bouquet of flowers in Ms. Robena's bag, and groaned.  "I didn't bring anything to put on the grave!"

"That's okay, love," Ms. Robena said with a chuckle.  "With all this snow, I might just keep these flowers and put them on my dining table."

"Thanks," Subria said, grinning slightly.

"Have you ever been to visit a gravesite before?" Ms. Robena asked.

"No, ma'am.  This is my first time," Subria responded, following the older woman's lead down the path toward the grave.  "I haven't been here since his funeral."

"At my age, I'm here more than I'd like to be, and usually I'm alone.  I'm glad to have your company."

The umbrellas and their vast height difference made walking arm in arm a bit challenging, but it felt good for Subria to hold on to someone.  The two walked along in silence for a while, their faces hidden under the umbrellas.  Initially, Subria worried that the snowfall would make it difficult for them to find the grave, but then she realized that Ms. Robena knew the location of her grandson's final resting place like the back of her hand. 

The crunch of the snow under their feet and Ms. Robena's low humming was all that Subria could hear.  She concentrated on those sounds to try to keep the tears away, and it worked until they arrived at his grave.

Primus Clarke

Loved by all who knew him

May 5, 1981 – December 3, 1994

Ms. Robena took the flowers out of her bag, as Subria knew she would, and she placed them gently on his grave.  Primus lost his mother to cancer when he was only five-years-old, so he moved in with Ms. Robena who lived two doors down from Subria's family.  Ms. Robena had been the only mom Primus really remembered, and he had been Subria's best friend ever since they both ended up in the same kindergarten class. 

Subria walked slowly over to his tombstone, and brushed the snow away.  She wasn't sure what else to do.  She thought about kissing the tombstone, but that seemed weird.  Subria smiled to herself, because she knew that if Primus could hear her thoughts right now from wherever he was, he'd be cracking up at her.  Since no other ideas came to her, she simply whispered, "I miss you so much!" and joined Ms. Robena on the path leading out of the cemetery.

As Subria and Ms. Robena arrived at the entrance, Subria saw her father, Steven, standing in front of his car waiting for them.  His camel brown fedora covered his eyes, and his chin was hidden in the upturned collar of his coat.  The snow wasn't falling so hard anymore, but it didn't matter anyway, because Steven wasn't one for umbrellas. 

"Hey, Daddy," Subria said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Hey, Bria," Steven responded.  "And how are you Ms. Robena?"

"Better now that I'm getting out of this cold," Ms. Robena said, laughing, as she tucked herself into the back seat of the car.  "Thanks so much for the ride, Steven." 

"Ms. Robena," Subria asked, "are you sure you don't want to sit in the front?"

"Oh no, sweetheart," Ms. Robena said, yawning.  "I missed my nap today."

Steven closed Ms. Robena's door after making sure she was comfortable, and then jogged over to his side of the car.  "Am I taking you home, Ms. Robena?"

"No, I'm going to see my sister, Charlotte.  She lives over in Brighton Beach, so if you could just drop me off at the Atlantic Avenue station, I can make my way over there on the B train just fine."

"Now, Ms. Robena," Steven said, glancing back to frown at her," I'm not going to have you riding the train.  Just tell me where she lives, and I'll drop you off right at her door."

"I don't want to be any trouble, Steven," Ms. Robena responded, shaking her head.

"You're no trouble at all."

Once Ms. Robena was sure that Steven knew how to get to her sister's house, she drifted off to sleep.  Their block wasn't too far from the cemetery, so Subria was tempted to ask her father to drop her off at home, but she didn't want to pass up the chance to spend some time alone with her father. 

"How was work today, Daddy?" Subria asked. 

"Stressful," Steven responded.  Steven had been the Program Director for the Police Athletic League in their neighborhood for the past ten years.  Subria had participated in P.A.L. after school program from the time Steven started working there until she began high school several months before. 

"Why, is Kimberly acting up again?" Subria asked, smiling.

"Well, yeah, but that's nothing new.  The kids want to put on a holiday show, but the staff is arguing over whether the show should focus on Christmas or Kwanzaa."

"Why can't they just do both?" Subria asked.

"That's exactly what I asked, and they haven't been able to give me a satisfactory answer yet.  I'm tempted to just cancel the whole thing, but I know the kids don't really get to do holiday shows in school anymore.  They're so excited about it."

"You should just let the kids run the whole show, and take the staff out of it.  The older kids from the Teen Center and Youth Link can help the younger kids.  They'd do a great job."

"Sounds like you miss being there, huh?" Steven asked.

"Yeah, but it's worth it to be on the track team."

"How'd practice go today?"

"Not so good," Subria said, frowning.

"What was your best time?"

"The fastest I could run was a 12.8."

"You usually run a 12.5, right?"

"Yeah, but the coach knew that today was the anniversary of the accident, so he took it easy on me."

"How was it going to the cemetery?"

"I wasn't sure what to do while I was there," Subria said.  "Have you ever visited someone's grave before, Dad?"

"My little sister Joy's grave," Steven responded after a long pause.  "Sometimes I go there." 

"What do you do when you go?" Subria asked.

"I cry."  Subria looked at her father's face, and she saw tears welling up in his eyes.  She reached in her bag and passed him a tissue.  She didn't ask any more questions.

When they arrived at Charlotte's apartment, Subria reached back and gently awakened Ms. Robena.  She waved goodbye to her from the window, and Steven walked her upstairs.  He was back in less than five minutes carrying a plastic bag that he didn't have when he left.

"What's that, Daddy?" Subria asked.

"Ms. Charlotte gave me some fried chicken as thanks for giving her sister a ride."

Steven put the plastic bag on the floor of the back seat, and the aroma filled the car.  He headed down Brighton Beach Avenue toward Ocean Parkway, but then he turned left instead of right.

"Where are we going, Dad?" Subria asked. 

"I just have to go help a friend for a second," Steven responded.

"Where?" Subria asked.

"Coney Island," Steven said.  "We'll be there in about five minutes."

"Is it going to take long?" Subria asked?  "I'm hungry!"

"You can eat some of Ms. Charlotte's chicken, or we can go to Nathan's," Steven said.  He knew how much Subria loved Nathan's hot dogs and fries.  He looked over to see if Subria was interested.  She wasn't. 

"No thanks, Dad.  I want Mommy's food.  What's your friend's name?" Subria inquired.

"Uh, Mr. Harvey," Steven said.  "He was a friend of my father's."

Steven was right.  They drove down Ocean Parkway for about five minutes, and when they arrived in front of a set of buildings not too far from Astroland Amusement Park, he parked the car. 

"I'll just be a few minutes," Steven promised.

"Can I go up with you?" Subria asked.

"No," Steven said.  "He has dogs."

"Oh," Subria said, remembering the last time that she was around dogs, and the severity of her allergy attack. 

"Don't mention anything about Mr. Harvey to your mom.  She doesn't really like it when I come to help him."

"Mom's not like that," Subria said, looking at her dad suspiciously, but Steven wouldn't make eye contact with her.

Steven left the car running so that Subria could keep the heat on.  She thought about trying to go to sleep, but when she saw the two men leaning against the wall outside a bodega near the buildings, she reconsidered.  She noticed that they were looking in her direction, so she quickly looked around at the car doors to make sure they were all locked. 

"Excuse me," one of the men shouted.  Subria didn't make eye contact with him, hoping that he wasn't talking to her, or that he'd leave her alone if she ignored him.

"Leave her alone, Bobby," Subria heard the man's friend say.

"I'm not bothering you, am I, young lady?" Bobby asked, approaching the car.

Subria continued trying to ignore him, even though she had the impression that if she didn't respond he'd get angry. 

"How about you let us come sit in the car with you?" Bobby asked.  "It's cold out here."  He crouched down near the front passenger door and stared in at Subria, making it almost impossible to avoid him any longer.  Subria looked out at him, and he was smiling widely at her.  Several of his teeth showed significant signs of decay, and she cringed without meaning to. 

"Bobby, come on, man!" the other guy said.

"Be quiet, Al," Bobby said.  "If she wants me to stop talking to her, all she has to do is open her mouth and tell me.  Now I asked you a question," he said, directing his gaze back to Subria.  "Are you going to let us in?"

"No," Subria responded, her voice sounding stronger than she felt.  "I can't let you in, but you can ask my father when he comes back."

"Well," Bobby said, laughing menacingly, "if I had a young lady like you, I would never leave her alone in this neighborhood.  Since he's not here, maybe I'll just take you home with me."

Subria thought about the horrible stories she had heard about girls being attacked, and she determined that she wasn't going to go without a fight if it came down to it.

"Bobby, come on man," Al said again, walking away.  "5-0's coming!"

Subria looked over at the street, and she was relieved to see a police car approaching.  Al and Bobby quickly headed around the corner, and Subria exhaled.  She had never felt more scared or alone. 

When Steven finally came out of the building a few minutes later, Subria didn't mention anything to him about what happened.  Something about her father not telling her the truth about her mom's feelings about him helping Mr. Harvey diminished her trust in him.  And since he knew about her allergies, she didn't understand why he brought her with him knowing that he'd have to leave her outside at night in a shady neighborhood.  Subria wondered for a moment if Mr. Harvey was really Ms. Harvey.  She had noticed that her parents were arguing more than usual lately.

"You ready to go?" Steven asked.

"Yes," Subria said, noticing that her dad was glancing nervously across the street at the cop car.

Steven didn't have much to say when he came out of the apartment building.  He actually looked sadder than Subria had ever seen him. Maybe he was just helping a sick friend.  If he was going to see another woman, he probably wouldn't have come out of the building looking so empty, unless maybe something had gone wrong between them. Steven started the car, and they drove home in silence.

© 2010 Afrika Afeni Mills

Tennessee - A Short Story by Afrika

Tennessee

            I hadn't seen the sun for three days.  At first, the rain was a welcome change, since Montgomery County had gone so long without it.  I enjoyed sitting on the porch with my little sister, Danielle, watching the lightning dance around the countryside, and falling asleep to the sound of thunder.  Eventually, however, I got tired of jumping over puddles and cleaning mud stains off of my clothes. 

            By Friday morning, the sky was finally shades of purple instead of grey.  Miller's Ridge was about half a mile from my house and it was the best place to watch the sun rise, so I crept out of the house, being careful to tiptoe over the floor boards that creaked.  I walked out to the ridge by the maple tree and lifted myself into the canopy so I could watch the blues, pinks and oranges of the sun peek over the hill. There was nothing like the beginning of summer.

            When I returned to the house, my family, including Uncle Junior, was crowded around the table about to eat breakfast.

            "What are you doing here?" I asked Junior, smiling.  "I wasn't expecting you for another couple of days."

            “You know I'm always full of surprises, Nicole.  Come over here and give your uncle some sugar.” 

            I waited for Junior to take one more drag from his cigarette and place it in the ashtray before I hugged him.  As usual, he smelled of Champagne cologne and his embrace was strong.

            “How’d you get down here?  I didn’t see the Cadillac out front,”  I teased, as Junior finished his smoke.

            “Tyrone, Marcellus and them got the Cadillac.  They already at the club, checkin’ things out.”  Junior walked over to Mama, who was bringing breakfast in from the kitchen.  Mama looked a lot older than she really was, mostly because, as with the Lord, every day was like a thousand years.  “Izzie, Nicole is pretty much a woman now, huh?“

            “Pretty much  isn’t the same as fully grown, Joseph.”  Mama refused to call him Junior, because she insisted that people should be called by their given name.  Junior had tried to make the point to her, several times, that he was Junior -- Joseph Givens, Jr., after grandpa -- but changing Mama’s mind was like changing a car tire without a jack. 

            Junior directed his attention back to me.  “So whatchu got planned for the summer, Baby Girl?”

            “Not much.  Just hanging around here, I guess.”

            All the food was on the table, and Daddy was just about to stick a forkful of eggs into his mouth when Mama reminded him that he forgot to bless his food.  Daddy nodded, and continued to eat.

            “A beautiful girl like you should be spendin’ her summers with someone special,” Junior said.  “What’s happenin’ wit Ronnie Jordan?”

            “He’s looking for work,” I said, blushing.

            “Don’t come in here filling her mind with that street garbage, Joseph,” Mama said.

            “When you gon’ ease up on me, Izzie?  It’s like I can’t ever open my mouth witout chu jumpin’ down my throat.”

            “Joseph --”  Mama started, but Junior turned away from her.

            “William, I’ll see you later.”

            Daddy got up from the table and asked Junior to stay, but Mama had succeeded in making him feel unwelcome -- again.   

            I locked the door behind Junior and watched him walk down the road.  His skin was like dark brown sugar, and his walk was just as sweet.  There’s a kind of strut a man has when he knows he commands attention.  Junior had been that way even before he left Clarksville ten years

before, in the summer of ‘55.   Tennessee had never been Junior’s scene, so when his friend Tyrone called to let him know about some jobs in Harlem, Junior packed up and used what little money he had for a one-way bus ticket.   Working in Harlem gave Junior the status he had always wanted, and although it developed in the world of  drugs and guns, I couldn’t help but admire him.

            After having worked the streets for less than a year, Junior had enough money to buy, and enough skill to manage three night clubs and after-hours food joints uptown.   By the time he was twenty-three, Junior hired a few managers to run things in Harlem while he spent the summers with us in Clarksville -- visiting family and managing Junior’s Paradise by the Cumberland River.  At the end of each summer, at least one family would pack up and follow him back to New York.  That’s why Daddy started calling him the Chocolate Messiah.  Everyone admired Junior because he wasn’t afraid of anyone -- a luxury that those of us who still lived in Klan occupied territory could only experience vicariously for the three months he was there.

            Later on in the week, Ronnie and I walked over to Junior’s to check out the scene.  The club was in a one-story brick building, with a green and red florescent sign outside.  Junior’s Paradise was written in script, and the windows were draped with black curtains.  “If you don’t pay to party, you don’t get to see anything, either,” Junior had said.  I think he even had a sign made up to that effect posted near the entrance.  The area around the bar was dim, and Seduction was practicing.

            “They already have a guy playing the sax,” Ronnie said, “and he’s really good.”

            “Yeah, but so are you, “ I said.

             “Hey, what’s goin’ on, y’all?” Junior asked, as he got up and hugged us both.  When he backed away, his jacket opened, and I saw the .38 in his shoulder holster.

            “You takin’ care of Miss Aphrodite over here, Ronnie?”

            “I’m trying to.  You know she’s a handful, Uncle Junior.”

            “Yeah, but she’s a beautiful one.  Ain't that right?”

            “Sure is,” Ronnie responded, looking over at me and smiling.          

            “So what may I do for yall?”  Junior asked us.

            “I want to play for Seduction, so I want you to hear my sound.  You got a second?”

            I knew Ronnie could play because he was holding a saxophone the day I met him.  It was my 

first day in fifth grade, and we were learning about music.  The racial climate was still very charged, so Ronnie and I were left in the corner fiddling with our instruments while the rest of the class was lectured on how they were expected to tolerate us little negro children.  That kind of thing went on all the time, where the teacher would talk to the rest of the class like I wasn’t even there, and it always made me nervous.  It didn’t seem to bother Ronnie at all. All he could see was that horn.

            Mama had told us all about how Reverend Jordan’s grandson was coming to live with him from New York City, and I was probably the only one in the whole school who was happy to see Ronnie.  It got lonely being the only colored child in fifth grade.  That day in class, as I was sitting next to Ronnie, with my little flute shaking in my hand, he looked up at me, smiled that smile, winked at me and held my hand.  I had never left his side since. 

            Ronnie added something special to his performance that day.  He picked up his saxophone and whipped up a mixture of jazz, blues and slow-drag tunes something powerful.  As he played, I could hear the words of the songs in my mind, but it was much different than listening to a voice.  I could feel the sound throughout my whole body -- in my feet, hands and everything.  My skin tingled as if Ronnie were touching me, and I almost felt dizzy.  I closed my eyes and let the music carry me for a while.  I didn't open them until he finished.

            "My God, boy!" Uncle Junior said.  "Where did you learn to play like that?"

            "My father taught me when we lived in Harlem," Ronnie answered.

            "Get out of here.  I didn't know you used to live uptown.  Did your father play in any clubs?" Junior asked.

            "Yeah, he used to play in Small's”

            "What's his name?"

            "Sammy Jordan."

            "You gotta be kiddin’ me!"

            "Yeah.  Did you know him?"

            "Yeah, I knew him.  It was all about Sammy Jordan when I first moved up there,"  Uncle Junior responded, lighting a cigarette.  "Now you know I already got Jesse on the sax, but he’s a tenor.  You could play alto if yall don't mind workin’ together."

            "Mind?  No, I wouldn’t mind.  I've been dying to play for people.  I want them to know my sound."

            "Do you think Ronnie's good enough to play in the city?" I asked.

            "I most definitely do.  The band already got they set ready for tonight, so you should come back tomorrow after church to get wit Jesse."

            "Cool."

            Reverend Jordan was sitting at the kitchen table with Mama and Daddy when I got back home.

            "What's going on, Daddy?" I asked.

            "The Klan tried to bomb the church while your Mama and the Reverend were leading a prayer meeting this afternoon."

            "Did anyone get hurt?"

            "No, praise the Lord," Reverend Jordan said, "but we might not be so lucky next time."

            "Daddy, are you going to tell Uncle Junior?" I asked.

            "Child, we need to pray," Reverend Jordan said.

            "Reverend's right, Nicole," Mama said with her head lowered.  "The Lord is our redeemer."

            "Come on, Mama. Where is God when the Klan is trying to burn the church down?"

            "Nicole, that's enough!" Mama yelled.

            "Nicole has a point, Izzie," Daddy said.  "Perhaps yall need someone looking over things at the church."

            "William!"

            "No one has to get hurt, now.  Just someone to make sure that no one falls into harm's way.  The Lord says to be wise as serpents and harmless as doves.  Pay attention to what came first."

            Reverend Jordan picked his Bible up off the table and told us to pray about the situation.  I felt bad for shouting at Mama, but I wanted her to be stronger, and I didn't like how much she depended on the Reverend.  It was already rumored in town that Mama and Reverend shared more than just a spiritual relationship, and her spending so much time with him didn't help any.

            After a really great set on the Fourth of July, Ronnie came down from the stage, took my hand, and lead me toward the back of the club. 

            "Where are we going, Ronnie?" I asked.

            "Uncle Junior’s office."

            I closed the door behind us.  Ronnie turned on the lamp on the end table as we sat on the black leather couch, and he just stared at the ground.

            “What’s going on, Ronnie?”

            "Do you ever feel like running away?" Ronnie asked.

            "All the time.  Do you?" I asked, curiously.  "I mean, I know your grandpa's kind of strict, but I thought things were okay."

            "Yeah, Grandpa's cool and all that, but I'm tired of Clarksville."

            "Do you remember much about Harlem?" I asked, as I moved closer to him. 

            "I remember that it was fun.  There's nothing to do here.  I don't hate it, but I don't want to get stuck here, you know?"

            "Well, we won't be here forever."

            "I don't know, Nikki.  I don't think I can stay here any longer."

            I knew it.  He was planning on leaving with Uncle Junior, and this was to be goodbye, or something like it.  "Ronnie --"

            "No, listen Nikki.  I been thinking about this a lot, and I want us to go to New York with Junior.  I know it's a big step --"

            "Wait, you said 'us,' like you want me to go too?"

            "I don't just want you to go with me.  I want to you to be my wife.  I mean, I love you and if you'll have me, I want us to get married and go to New York and live there."

            "Ronnie --"

            "I'm not finished.  I told your Uncle that I wanted to marry you, and so he let me do some jobs on the side so I could get this for you."

            Ronnie pulled a little black velvet box out of his pocket and opened it as he got down on one knee.  I had tried, in vain,  to hold my composure the whole time.

            "Nicole Marie Givens, I love you.  You've been my best friend for as long as I can remember.  I know you'd be giving up some things that are really important to come away with me to New York, but I promise to take care of you.  I just want you to please be my wife."

            He slid the ring gently on to my finger and kissed my hand.  "Will you marry me, Nicole?"

            "Yes, Ronnie.  Yes, I'll marry you," I exclaimed and hugged him, getting the side of his face all wet with my tears. 

            Suddenly, I heard sounds like firecrackers, and I got excited, because I thought the fireworks show had started by the river, but then I heard the horrified screams.  The firecrackers were gun shots.  I looked out of the window to see if we could escape that way, and that’s when I saw the hooded men running off into the woods. 

            “Ronnie, look!”  I screamed.  Ronnie's eyes turned a shade of crimson that I had never seen before.  "What are we going to do?"

            "I'm going out there."

            "No, you can't!  You'll get shot!"

            "What do you think's going to happen to us if we stay in here?"

            "Oh my God," I screamed, when I heard the next three shots.

            Before I could convince Ronnie to flee with me, the office door burst open.  It was Uncle Junior.  He was out of breath and he had blood stains on his face and shirt.

            "What happened?"

            "No time for questions, girl!  We gotta go," Uncle Junior yelled. 

            The three of us ran out of the empty club to where Tyrone was waiting with the car, past the burning cross and the three hooded bodies lying on the ground -- the hoods more red than white.  I knew better than to ask any questions.  I just jumped into the car with Uncle Junior and Ronnie.  Tyrone had moved into the passenger seat, and Uncle Junior drove off as I snuggled up with Ronnie in the back seat.  I didn't say anything for a while, even as we passed the Tennessee state line.

© 1998 Afrika Afeni Mills