Fire from the Rock (3 page)

For as long as I can remember,
Gary has been pushing the edges. In the summer, when the whole town is like a bowl of hot broth, he wants to know why he can't swim in the pool with the white children. He wants to know why gas station restrooms have toilets marked “white” and “colored.” When we were younger, Gary once used the white bathroom-on purpose-and got Daddy in lots of trouble. The policeman yelled at Daddy like he was a little boy, told him to make his children behave. Daddy kept saying, “Yes, sir,” but I could see in his eyes he was really upset. Later I heard him tell Mama that he had to pray till the rage flew away.

Gary doesn't pray. He does stuff-usually before he thinks. I'm pretty sure he killed that dog.

Gary doesn't like it when Rachel comes to visit. He slams doors and leaves, which is fine with me. She is my only white friend, and surprisingly, she and I are really pretty close considering we live in two different worlds just a few blocks away from each other. We go to different schools, of course, and I go to church every Sunday, while she goes to synagogue every Saturday. We first met when we were four or five, and we see each other at least twice a month.

 

The Zucker family is one of just a few Jewish families in town. They own a local grocery store, which is right next door to Crandall's barbershop. On the other side of Zucker's store is Miss Lillie's flower shop. I can bet money that Mr. Crandall has never set foot in her store, even though he's only two doors down. I've never seen Miss Lillie Cobbs dressed in any color but green. She's tall and thin and looks like a flower when I squint. She does the floral arrangements for all the colored weddings and funerals, and she brings fresh flowers for the church every Sunday. She makes her son Calvin carry the heavy bouquets. It's fun to watch him because he likes to act so silly.

Mama shops at Zucker's grocery all the time because Mr. Zucker treats her with respect. He is the only white man I know who says, “Yes, ma'am,” to Mama when he speaks to her. Mrs. Zucker, who is big and cheerful and sells her fresh-baked cakes and pastries at the store, always gives me a big hug and a free cookie. It's one of those hugs that envelops your whole head and you almost can't breathe while she's doing it, but it's not a bad thing because you know her heart is in the right place.

When we were kids Rachel and I would run up and down the polished wooden aisles of the store, playing hide-and-seek among the canned goods and boxes of baking soda, laughing like little kids do, rarely thinking about our differences. She once asked me, “Why are your arms and legs brown like that? And if you wash, will the brown come off?” I wasn't sure what to say. So I just said, “I'm brown and pretty, just the way God made me. Why would I want to wash it off?” I guess she didn't know what to say after that, so we never talked about it again. It didn't really matter between us.

 

She and I talk on the phone pretty regularly, and we still like to laugh about the same things, but as we get older, sometimes the conversation gets a little strained. I've never asked her what she thinks about integration.

I know the Jewish folk in town are mistreated sometimes, too. It's hard to understand why some white folks hate the Jews so much. Mr. Crandall, for example, refuses to cut Mr. Zucker's hair in his shop. I don't get it. It's not like Jewish folks look different from other white people, like we do.

I once saw Mr. Crandall spit in his hand just before he offered it to Mr. Zucker at his grocery store. I don't think Mr. Zucker saw him do it, because he offered his hand to Mr. Crandall with a smile.