The Girl on the Outside (4 page)

Negro couples in their Sunday clothes hugged the narrow shoulder of the road, the men trying to protect the women from flying dust. Soon they came to a frame building shaped like most of the houses, but much larger. All the windows were open and lights shone through the openings, casting squares of yellow upon the ground. Chinaberry trees were black silhouettes in the distance.

Arnold turned off his lights as he slowly drove onto the church ground. The loud singing and music spread through the doors and windows and filled the dark night with a ringing sound. Sophia sensed Arnold's anticipation when he said, “Let's go in.”

Suddenly her grandmother's face flashed before her and the fear she felt the day she scrambled over the seat of her grandmother's car returned. She could not move. “No!” she said.

“It's all right, Sophia.”

“It's not all right.”

“I come often. We're welcome here. I know the minister.”

“I will not go in there, Arnold. I can't.” She sat trying to fight the terrible fear. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked.

“I like coming here and I thought you would, too. I enjoy the music,” he paused. “I … I like the people.”

She was stunned. She had no idea he even knew about this place, about these people. Why had he assumed that she would want to come here, too? Didn't he know what was happening at Chatman? Suddenly she grew angry.

The loud happy sounds of songs angered her more and she stiffened in the seat. “I don't like being surprised this way, and I don't know why you would do this to me.”

Arnold looked at Sophia and a surprised sadness came over his face. “I've never come here with anyone else before. I'm sorry that I didn't ask you if you wanted to come, and now I know that I should have. But I care about you very much, Sophia. I guess my caring made me believe that you would be happy with what made me happy.”

She felt tears come into her eyes. She cared about Arnold, too, but he had never given her reason to believe he was in any way interested in Negroes. How could he say he liked these people? “Please, Arnold, let's go someplace else.”

They drove back through the dark, dusty streets. Soon they passed a small building, crowded to overflowing. People danced to music that came to Sophia as a throbbing sound, the beat of a giant heart. Her grandmother's words crowded in on her, “They are not our kind.”

They rode on in silence, but Sophia was not relaxed. Now she was unpleasantly aware of Arnold's presence. Tense, anxious, she wanted to know what Arnold was thinking and why. Would he want Negroes at Chatman? What had she ever done and said to make him think she wanted to go to such a place? Was he testing to see if she was like Burt?

What if he really did enjoy going to that church?
Maybe she should trust him. Surely he would not take her to a place where she could be harmed.

They were now back in a familiar place, nearing Sophia's house. The words to the song that had sounded so alive and cheerful came to Sophia more clearly now than when she had sat under the shadow of the voices.

Come and go with me to my Father's house

To my Father's house, to my Father's house
.

Come and go with me to my Father's house

There is joy, joy, joy
.

As Arnold pulled alongside the curb in front of her house, Sophia suddenly realized that the singing had come to her as a joyous triumph—a victory for them at
her
expense. The anger she had felt on the church grounds returned. “You want them to come to Chatman, don't you?” she asked, trying to disguise her anger.

“They're coming whether I want them there or not,” Arnold said quietly.

She let the anger take over. “You'll be
glad
when they enter on Tuesday, won't you?”

“Sophia, please. I really don't think it matters how I feel.”

“I know you'll be glad. You just don't have the guts to say it,” she said angrily.

He looked at her and she was reminded again of the hurt she had seen in Burt's face that afternoon. He spoke quietly, “Sophia, our world will not end if nine Negroes enroll at Chatman.”

“No. Not
your
world,” she exploded. “You don't even go to Chatman, so what do you care?” Tears came and she shook as sobs that she could not control burst forth. “What about me?” she cried.

“Sophia, honey,” Arnold whispered as he tried to console her. “I'm sorry. I didn't know you were so upset about this.”

She let the tears flow as she rested on his shoulder. When she was calm, she sat up and licked the tears from around her mouth and dried her eyes with the back of her hand. “Oh, Arnold, it's all so silly. But I'm scared.”

“I'm sorry I did that foolish thing—not asking you. Forgive me.”

“It's all right,” she said and smiled.

“I am sorry, but I am not apologizing for telling you the truth, Sophia. Our world will not fall apart when integration comes.”

Her anger flared again. “I don't want your apology nor do I ever want to see you again, Arnold Armstrong.” She leaped out of the car and started up the walk with Arnold following.

“Sophia, Sophia, please.”

She composed herself and said quietly, but angrily, “Just leave me alone.” She stood on her front steps, gathering her strength to watch him drive away.

Chapter 4

As twilight slipped into darkness, the youth meeting at Shiloh Baptist Church ended. Eva stood on the edge of a group listening, waiting for Cecil to put away the hymnals they had used. He would walk her home.

She watched him go about the task thinking how lucky she was that he had chosen her over all the other girls at Carver. Not only was he a brain but, also, he was an all-around athlete, a four-letter man, good at football, baseball, basketball. He also ran track.

Cecil was big and tall, but not bulky. Although at first glance one might think him awkward, he moved with grace, precision, and speed. She would not see him every day because she'd be going to Chatman—that was the one thing that made her sad about her decision.

She remembered the first time he had singled her out to speak to her. She had been waiting her turn to try out for the cheerleaders' team. He walked up to her and said, “How y' doing?”

“I'm scared t' death.”

“Don't be. When it's your turn, keep your eyes on me. I'll give you luck.”

She almost passed out. The great football star whom every girl on campus would just die for was rooting for her. She was so pleased and excited she forgot to be afraid and made the team. She and Cecil became friends. After the games they went together to the dances, and when he invited her to the junior prom, everybody knew she was his special girlfriend.

Finally, he was through putting away the books. “I guess we can go now. You ready?” he asked, towering over Eva, herself five-feet-six.

“Where are you guys going?” one of their friends asked.

“I'm going home,” Eva answered.

“Why ain't you staying for church?” another asked.

“Girl, I gotta make a dress for Tuesday. And I haven't cut the first piece.”

“Well, you better hurry 'cause you gotta be looking sharp when you go to Chatman,” the girl said.

Eva walked with Cecil close behind along the narrow path that bordered the dusty road. There was a fullness in her chest and she felt shy with him so close. They did not talk even though Eva wanted very much to tell him about her anxiety and fear. Words just wouldn't come.

Neighbors were calling to each other and children played in the street, rolling worn auto tires and trying hard to avoid the ruts.

Finally Cecil said, “I guess I'll see y' only on Sundays now that you'll be going to tame that mighty lion at Chatman.”

“I wish you wouldn't say that. I'm not out to tame anything.”

“I wish you wouldn't go.”

“You could be going with me, you know.”

“I don't wanta go. I'm glad my folks agreed that the decision had to be mine. I don't think it's worth it for me.”

“It would help you get into college. You say you
want
to go.…”

“I do,” he said quickly. “That's why I don't want to waste a year at that place. This is my last year in high school and I want all I can get out of it. I wanta play ball with people who care 'bout
me;
and I wanta look back on this year with good memories. You see, I like Carver.”

“Because I'm going to Chatman doesn't mean I don't like Carver,” Eva said, feeling defensive.

“Oh, Eva, please. Try to understand, I like you the way you are and I want you to be around”—he stopped and threw up his hands—“but you … you don't know what it is I'm trying to say.”

Eva looked at him. He was the one person she wanted to be around for, but at the moment she felt that he was trying to make her feel guilty about leaving their school. “What is it that I don't understand?”

“It's not just our school. It's our neighborhood … it's
us
. It's the way we think, the way we are.”

“I can't see how my going to Chatman will affect us,” she cried.

“Eva, baby, you're being difficult.”

“Well … what.…”

“Let me ask you this, you think you can put up with what you're gonna have to go through?”

“Now just what do you mean, go through?”

“I wish I was smart enough to explain what I really mean. Listen, I'll put it this way: At Chatman they don't want what we have to offer. They have absolutely
no
respect for our way. They don't even see us. And you think—if you spend most of your day there five days a week—they'll let you come home happy?”

Eva sighed and walked away toward home.

Cecil followed still talking, “Every morning when you get on campus you'll have to tell yourself—‘now it's being white time.' You'll start talking proper, acting proper, and at lunch time you'll try to swallow that white gravy.… After awhile y' won't be acting, you'll
be
white.”

Eva laughed. “Cecil, you're crazy.”

Cecil laughed, too. “No, seriously, baby, now I wish I
was
going. I don't want you over there all by yourself.”

“I'll be fine. We have as much right to be there as they have.”

“True. But I'd feel a whole lot better if nine of them were coming over here at the same time you're going over there. That's what I call integration.”

“Can't you see, somebody has to break the ice.”

“Let it be somebody else, not you,” he said.

“Oh, Cec', I've given my word. I don't have much else. I'm no brain, y' know.”

He stopped and turned her around to face him. “Hey, don't put y'self down. You have a mind of your own, you're creative … different. That's why they chose you. And, you stand by your word, no matter what. And that's what has me afraid, you know.”

When they came close to home, the darkness had set in. Her house was without lights. Her mother, with some of the neighbors, sat on the porch trying to beat the heat. Her father was still at the store.

“You've managed to keep me from saying all I'd wanted to say,” Eva told Cecil. “Now our time is gone.”

He held her hands and drew her to him. “I wanted you to know I worry 'bout you. I know you're gonna go. In a way I admire you, but I'm scared, too.”

“Yeah,” she said as she put her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his chest. She thought of the conversation at her dining table earlier that day. “You don't know the half of it. I'm scared, too. But I'll be okay … I gotta be.”

“Will I see you tomorrow?”

“If I get that dress finished. We're invited to a party at Mrs. Floyd's, remember?”

“I'll see you tomorrow, dress finished, or not, okay? That's our last day of summer.” He held her close and kissed her. “I'm gonna miss you.”

Feeling a rush of joy and sadness, Eva turned and reluctantly went into her house.

Eva laid out her dress pattern atop the black-and-white checkered cotton cloth, wishing she had more time before Tuesday. All the windows and doors were open, yet there was not a breeze to rout the humid air that clung to the small space. The unshaded light blazed its share of heat as it glared down from the ceiling.

Noises from the children still playing in the street seeped in. The notes on the scale of the neighbor's saxophone wailed, jarring on the other night sounds then veering off into sweet song. Eva stood still, listening for a moment. She snapped her fingers, feeling the music, then went on unfolding the dress pattern.

Snatches of conversation from her mother and neighbors on the porch drifted to her, reminding Eva that her mother's fear was real and persistent.

“Yeah,” her mother said, “I agreed for Eva to go. But I wish I hadn't.”

“I know how y' feel,” one of the neighbors said. “It ain't too late t' stop 'er, y' know.”

“Girl, you know that husband o' mine. And Eva's just like 'im. Never seen two people mo' stubborn.” The women laughed. Her mother went on, “I can only hope she don't go there and come back here so changed we can't live with 'er.”

Eva listened and felt a bit angry. Why did people think she'd go through that kind of change.

“My husband wouldn't hear of Eva
not
going. He truly b'lieves children can learn more in integrated schools. But I wonder if it's worth the worry. Like now I'm worried 'bout 'im at the store by hisself.”

The talk reminded Eva of her conversation with Cecil. Just as her father believed integration could bring equality, Cecil believed integration could cause more trouble than it was worth. He was for going to all-Negro schools that were as well-equipped as whites'. His plans were in motion to go to Howard University or Morehouse College when he graduated. She wished there was some way she could change his mind about going to Chatman.