Little Sacrifices (6 page)

‘I can’t live in a barn forever!’

‘No kidding.’

‘It’ll be winter soon!’

‘I know.’

‘I’ll freeze to death.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘What am I going to do?’

Even though I was at the crux of the most important decision of my young life, I wasn’t so absorbed by my own predicament that I didn’t appreciate where we were. We walked up 5
Avenue and that slice of New York City was like nowhere I’d ever seen. For me Pittsfield (population fifty–three thousand), was the big city where my parents took me on special occasions. In Manhattan, energy actually pulsed from the crowded streets. The air smelled warm and close from the friction of all the people living there. Buildings gobbled up and disgorged people at a frantic pace. Display windows filled with beautifully sequined and sheer pastel dresses made my mouth hang open unattractively. There were shops that just sold hats, and those with row upon row of butter–soft gloves. Women dressed smartly. The men looked the pinnacle of success. Everyone seemed to know where they were going. It was a tremendous sight. I started to cry.

‘Hey now. S–s–stop that. Come on, c–c–c–cut it out. Please?’ Charlie stabbed awkwardly at my eyes with his handkerchief. ‘It’ll be okay.’

It was about as far from okay as I was from home. It was stupid not to have double–checked Lottie’s information, especially considering we went to such painstaking efforts to anticipate all the details.

‘Are you g–g–going to continue? Because if you are, you need to g–g–g–go back to the depot to c–c–catch your bus.’

I wanted to continue. It was nothing but pure spite against my parents, to carry through with a plan doomed to failure. Ma and Duncan had the law on their side. They’d haul me back to Savannah as soon as they got their hands on me. I knew they weren’t the sort of people who gave up easily. When I was a kid an anonymous complaint was made against Duncan to the Dean. He was accused of calling creationism absurd, an assertion that didn’t go over well at our Jesuit college. It was true of course, he did say that, and more. He never denied it. What got his goat was the lily–livered gall (his words) of a colleague afraid to voice his accusation directly. It took him half a decade to track down his accuser, but he finally did, and confronted him. Duncan wasn’t likely to let me go without a fight.

I felt like a fool, an incompetent acrobat stuck in midair. Momentum would carry me forward. I needed money to take me back.

‘I don’t have a dollar to my name,’ I said. ‘How am I supposed to go back?’

Charlie scratched his forehead and sighed. ‘Well I d–don’t intend to be stuck with you for the rest of my l–life. And that’s wh–what’d happen if you don’t get back where you belong. How m–much do you reckon a ticket is?’

‘Probably four dollars.’

‘Jesus. I don’t need this.’

As if
I
wanted to be in this situation. ‘I’m not asking for your money, Charlie. You don’t have to help me. I’ll figure something out.’ Maybe I could get to Lottie’s and we could raise the money to go back to Savannah. Have a bake sale or something.

‘Yes, I do. If my little sister ever ran off like you’ve done, God forbid, I’d w–want someone to look out for her.’

‘Well I’m not asking. That’s all I’m saying.’

‘C–come on. We’ll go back and g–g–get you a ticket, though I bet th–there aren’t any buses till tomorrow.’

‘Will they let me sleep in the bus depot?’

‘They would, but I won’t. May, t–try to get this to s–s–sink in. It’s dangerous here, especially for a young g–g–girl alone. No one’s g–going to do you any favors or c–cut you any slack here. This is the big time.’

I was chagrined enough to keep my mouth shut as we walked back to the depot. Charlie was right, the next bus didn’t leave until morning. He forked over the $3.75 for my ticket without too much scowling. I tried to look as grateful as possible. ‘Come on,’ he said.

‘Where are we going?’

‘To find you a place to s–sleep.’

The Sisters of Our Blessed Sacroiliac, or some such name, weren’t the least bit surprised to see us on their doorstep. ‘Of course we have room,’ said the kind penguin. ‘Come right this way, my dear.’

‘Just a second, please.’ I hadn’t counted on being whisked away quite so efficiently. ‘Charlie, thanks. You’ve been awfully nice when you didn’t have to be. I appreciate it, really.’

‘It’s nothing, kid. Just g–get yourself back home wh–where you belong. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you th–think.’

I smirked, thinking of the grounding I was going to get. ‘Well, maybe not in the long run. Hey,’ I called, as he turned away. ‘Could I write to you maybe?’

‘You could, but I don’t know wh–where I’m going to be. I’ll take your address and I c–can write to you wh–when I’m settled. I’m c–c–curious to know how this all turns out.’

So was I. I scribbled our address for him and shook his hand. ‘Take care Charlie. I hope you find what you’re looking for.’

‘What I’m looking for?’

‘Uh huh.’

He grinned. ‘Be careful g–getting back to the depot. In fact, ask the s–sisters to take you back, okay?’

‘Will do ... thanks again.’

‘S–s–see ya next time, kid.’ He turned and ambled off, waving over his shoulder as he turned the corner. I’d never see Charlie again but I did get a postcard about a year later from Canada. He’d settled down in Quebec where the Canadians didn’t ask too many questions. He gave me no return address so I never learned anything else, but I like to think he found whatever he was looking for.

Chapter 8

‘Ma? I’m home.’

She became emotional at the declaration, bursting rather alarmingly into tears. ‘Ma,’ I said, calm as you please. ‘I ran away. But I decided to come back.’ I’d practiced the line for more than five hundred miles, each time convincing myself that such a mature declaration couldn’t fail to quell my parents’ concerns.

‘You what?’

‘I ran away. I got on a bus heading for Williamstown.’ I didn’t like the way she was looking at me. ‘But I’m back now. I decided it wasn’t smart. So I came back.’

‘You ran away?’

‘Yes, Ma. Ran away.’

‘Where did you get the money?’

‘I, I saved it.’

‘You’re lying.’

‘Says you.’

She slapped me, hard, across the face. I was so shocked that it didn’t even hurt. Neither parent had ever laid a hand on me.

‘Ma!’

‘How could you? How
could
you! Do you have any idea what we’ve gone through? Your father is at the police station right now trying to get a search party organized. We thought you were dead! How could you do this to us?!’

Do to them?
I
was the victim, the one who deserved the apology. ‘You’re acting like this is my fault!’

‘Isn’t it? No? Whose fault is it then?’

‘Well I wouldn’t have had to run away if you didn’t make us come here. You never even gave me the chance to have a say. You treated me like a child, and I’m not a child.’

‘I made you come here?’ Her face took on a dangerous shade of puce. ‘We’re here because it’s the only place your father could find a job. Do you think I wanted to move? Do you think I relished the idea of leaving all our friends, of having to make a home here for us?’

‘Then why did you?’

‘Because that’s what adults do. They make choices they don’t necessarily want to make because it’s the right thing to do. I suggest that if you want to be treated like an adult, you start acting like one.’

‘Fine.’

‘Fine.’

‘I’m going over to Jim’s.’

‘You’re not going anywhere. You’re grounded.’

‘For how long?’

‘Until you’re eighteen.’

So, confined to the borders of my yard I manufactured distractions wherever I found the opportunity. In particular I eavesdropped on the goings–on next door. Our dining room faced Jim’s across ten yards of grass and his Nan liked to digest a little of her grandson’s self–esteem with her morning coffee. They could have closed their windows but in that Indian summer, fresh air beat privacy by a mile.

Jim sounded ready to cry. ‘It wasn’t even bawdy!’

‘I don’t care one whit what you were singing. What will the neighbors say?’

‘I’m sorry Nan. May and I–’

‘What that girl does is her parents’ concern. You were raised better than to carry on the way you did, caterwauling on the front lawn. Jim. You know how important our dignity is, don’t you? Please don’t embarrass me again.’

‘Sorry Nan.’

Due to my incarceration I had to save my commentary for our morning walks to school.

I should have held my tongue on the subject of Jim’s Nan, but her bullying got my dander up.

‘You just don’t understand her is all,’ Jim spat back.

‘What’s not to understand? You’re hardly allowed out of the house.’

‘You’re one to talk.’

‘Jim, I’m grounded for–’

‘Doing something stupid?’

‘Suit yourself. At least it’s not a way of life for me. And why would she yell at you just for singing? Aren’t you even allowed to sing your own school’s fight song?’

‘Not at the top of my lungs on the porch. Look, she just has notions about how people are supposed to act in public, that’s all. She grew up in the old days. Back then, well–raised boys and girls didn’t carry on.’

‘That’s your Nan talking. Doesn’t it bother you to be stitched up so tight all the time? I think it’s crazy.’

‘No, it doesn’t bother me. And you should talk about crazy, with your parents.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘They’re practically communists.’

I wheeled on him. ‘Who told you that?’

‘It’s obvious. All that talk about rights and such. So don’t blow your top at me. You’re the one who brought it up.’

‘We’re not talking about my parents, we’re talking about your Nan.’

‘Well, I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. She’s a good Christian lady. She raised me and I don’t want for anything.’

I didn’t believe him but I left him alone. We had all the time in the world to argue about it, for my parents’ punishment wasn’t as effective as they’d have wished. By applying my own brand of logic I decided that getting grounded meant I wasn’t allowed out. It didn’t necessarily mean that no one was allowed in, though I wasn’t prepared to verify this loophole with my mother. So the drainpipe at the side of the porch combined with Jim’s agility ensured long afternoons of surreptitious company.

And when Jim couldn’t sneak over, Dora Lee made an interesting companion. It didn’t take her very long to settle down with us. After all, she’d been in the house more than twenty years longer than we had. I didn’t think that Ma’d ever get used to having her around, but she proved me wrong. She didn’t find it any easier to have a servant, for that’s what Dora Lee was when you got right down to it. She just convinced herself and anyone else within earshot that they were partners in the house. She made sure, she told us, that there wasn’t anything she’d ask Dora Lee to do that she wouldn’t do herself. Dora Lee took Ma’s peculiar approach to employment in her stride, putting it down to the vagaries of white folks.

Once I overcame my impolite curiosity, Dora Lee and I became comfortable in our days together. She was one of the warmest people I’d ever run across. After so many years spent taking care of the old lady she was tickled pink to have a teenager to spoil. I wasn’t one to stand in the way of her ambition, so every afternoon except Monday I let her tempt me with her baked indulgences. Monday was wash day at our house, as in the rest of Savannah and indeed the entire Southern United States, and I was willing to forego my afternoon snack for the sake of clean underpants. A few more washdays during the week wouldn’t have hurt. Dora Lee’s cookies were making their mark on my waistline despite my daily excursions to school.

For me, afternoons with Dora Lee weren’t really about her snacks, but the talks that flavored them. Her accent was even more pronounced than Jim’s and for a long time I settled for the gist of her comments rather than their particulars. Even so, I learned as much about Southern ways from her as I did by living there. No one talked much about the way that black people lived in Georgia. All I knew from Jim was that Negroes weren’t allowed in most restaurants and could only ride in taxis marked “For Colored”. They couldn’t try on clothes before they bought them because our white neighbors wouldn’t wear anything that had touched a Negro’s body. Dora Lee even had to pin a handkerchief to her head before trying on a hat.

I chafed at the idea of that respectable lady having to demean herself to buy clothes.

‘Oh, now, miss, don’t you go thinking that just because we can’t buy hats at your stores that we don’t get our hats! No, we have our own stores.’

‘You do?’

‘Well of course we do. And our own banks, newspapers, churches and drugstore counters, just like you.’

‘I had no idea.’

‘No miss, you wouldn’t. The fact is, we’ve been building up our own cities right under white folks’ noses. Y’all won’t let us into your dance halls and restaurants so we’ve got our own. We have our doctors and nurses–’

‘Really?’

‘Well of course! Who do you think births our babies and takes care of us when we need medicine?’

I didn’t tell her that I’d assumed they just got along as best they could with old–timey remedies. ‘But how’d they get trained when they can’t go to college?’

‘You mean they can’t go to your colleges. You ever heard of Spelman?’

‘No, I don’t believe so.’

‘It’s right over in Atlanta. Been around since the last century. It’s a college for colored girls. Ever hear of Georgia State College?’

‘No, ma’am.’ I felt like an idiot.

‘It’s over in Thunderbolt and the oldest public college for Negroes in the country. Honey, you say you want to know all about us. If that’s true, you’ve got to open your eyes and look around.’

‘But why doesn’t everyone just vote to change the laws so you can go to our schools and use our taxis and not have to worry about having your own?’

Dora Lee sighed, and looked sad. ‘I’m not sure we want to do that.’

‘But why wouldn’t you?’

She appraised me indulgently, like she usually did when she had to break some bad news to me about my own people. ‘Honey, the way things are now, I can get along without ever talking to a white person except for you and your parents. I don’t
need
to be part of your world. I have my own. I’m more comfortable with it that way. I know what to expect from my people. Anyway, there aren’t enough of us registered to vote. No.’ She shook her head. ‘The polling boxes in the South are Jim Crow. That’s the way it’s always been.’ Later I did some digging and found out that Jim Crow was a character made up by an actor called Daddy Rice, who blackened his face, wrote some music and started the American minstrel tradition. The act made him a star and Jim Crow became synonymous in the South with segregation. But though we didn’t know it then, there were people quietly trying to change the system. A couple of years after our move a young black man called Westley Wallace Law would join the US Postal Service and begin slipping voter registration cards into black folks’ mailboxes along his route. WW Law was destined to play an important part in Savannah’s civil rights movement, but in those early days he took it one house at a time.