Tears of a Tiger

by Sharon M. Draper

  Can’t you deal with the basic plan?

  Your mama don’t know

  And your daddy don’t know

  That you got a secret

  And it’s going to blow.

  What’s your secret, little man?

  Can’t you hide it under the sand?

  Your brother don’t know

  And your buddy don’t know

  That you got a problem

  And it won’t let go.

  What’s your problem, little man?

  Can’t you deal with the basic plan?

  Your mama don’t know

  And your daddy don’t know

  That you got a secret

  And it’s going to blow.

  B.J. Carson

  Poetry Homework

  December 20

  I pray to the Lord

  Who lives up above

  To send me a lady—

  Someone to love.

  She’s got to be fine,

  Of the beautiful sort,

  And Lord, if You can—

  She’s got to be short.

  She’s got to have class

  And a sweet sort of grade,

  And she’s got to light up

  When she sees my face.

  She’d care about others

  With a little bit of style

  And she’d go to her church

  Every once in a while.

  I know You’re real busy

  So I’m not asking much.

  Just a sweet little lady

  That warms to my touch.

  Gerald Nickelby

  Poetry Homework

  December 20

  MY teacher said to write

  A poem about some stuff.

  I really don’t like poetry

  And I think I’ve had enough.

  The words are all arranged

  In a funny sort of way

  That you cannot understand

  If you try and try all day.

  There’s poems about the flowers

  And poems about the trees.

  I think that I’d go crazy

  If I tried to write like these.

  She said listen to my music

  But my music makes good sense.

  ‘Cause rappers speak in street talk

  And are never hard or dense.

  So I’m going to tell my teacher

  That I’m not going to fight it,

  I did my best with poetry

  But I just couldn’t write it.

  Dear Ms. Blackwell,

  I know this is a little late. I thought about what you said in class, but this is all I could come up with in study hall. Do I get points for trying? Have a good Christmas!

  Gerald

  Christmas Without Rob

  Andy and the Psychologist

  DECEMBER 29

  —I’m glad you came back, Andy. I’d like to finish our conversation.

  —What conversation? I do all the talkin’. All you do is sit there and look out the window. You know, you really should trim those nose hairs.

  —Thanks for the cosmetic advice. Now, what about you? We never really talked about Keisha, or Christmas, or the rest of the school year up to this point. Do you feel ready to get started?

  —Yeah, I guess. Let me see…Christmas…Well, Christmas was kinda rough. Me and Rob used to hang out in the malls during the holidays, checkin’ out stuff that cost to much and pretendin’ to be interested in buyin’ it. It was funny—we would walk into one of those stores with alarms and bells and electronic wires on the leather goods—you know the type I mean.

  —Yes, I’m with you.

  —The salespeople started to follow you around as soon as you hit the door, and they never take their eyes off you, like you gonna steal somethin’ with the Bells of St. Mary’s connected to it. Now, white boys can go in there, and when they say, “Just browsing,” the salespeople leave ‘em alone. Sure, they watch ‘em, but they relax a little and stay behind the counter. But let a black dude walk through the door, and it’s “Security Alert” in the first degree.

  —You’re right. I’ve had it happen to me.

  —So then we would say, talkin’ real properlike, “My partner and I are interested in purchasing one of your more expensive commodities. Would you be so kind as to allow me to try on this leather coat?” The saleslady, who was always some white lady with too much perfume and too much makeup, would get real nervous and start lookin’ toward the back room, where I guess her boss or some security guy was. (And don’t let all four of us come in together—the old biddy would just about wet her pants!) But she had to let us try it on, ‘cause there was the chance that we really did have $5,000 in our back pockets. After all, we’re drug dealers anyway, right? Isn’t that what they think?

  —You know, at this point, I’m supposed to say, “Now Andy, let’s not exaggerate here.” But what you’re describing happens all the time. How does that make you feel?

  —Same way it makes you feel—like cheap crap. So, anyway, we’d play with her for a while, then tell her we’d be right back with Daddy’s credit card. I know they thought we were scopin’ them for a robbery—if you look back into the store right after we left, you could see her writin’ down vital information, scribblin’ furiously our height and weight and skin color so she can identify us when we come back to rob her silly behind. We would laugh and go on to another store, but it really made me kinda mad that they treated us that way.

  —Did all of you feel anger at these kinds of incidents?

  —Yeah. It made us wanna break somethin’ or hurt somebody. We never did, but I can see how places get mobbed or looted if folks get mad enough. Sometimes you get sick of bein’ treated like dirt.

  —I hear you. So what else did you fellas do in the mall?

  —Well, then we’d go to sit on Santa Claus’s lap and get our pictures taken. Just when they were about to snap the picture (and they’ll take a picture of anybody who’ll give them the $8.95), we’d pull down his beard, or take off his hat, or say real loud, “Why, you’re not Santa—you’re just some old white dude!” He’d get really mad, but since there was always a bunch of little kids in line, he’d smile and say, “Santa doesn’t like bad little boys—you guys run along now.” We’d jump up and leave before they had a chance to call Security. I never could figure out why any black kid would want to sit on the lap of some old stinky-breath white man in a red suit and tell him what he wanted for Christmas anyway. How come stores never have black Santa Clauses?

  —I don’t know, Andy. I used to wonder the same thing.

  —So Christmas was rough this year. The malls seemed so phony—all that glitter and shiny stuff—giant green balls and red ribbons hung from the ceiling, with signs like, The Magic of the Season Is at Midtowne Mall. All they care about is how much money you got in your pocket or what the limit is on your credit card. And if you ain’t got no money or no credit card, you can just pass up the Magic and Midtowne Mall, ‘cause we’re takin’ up a parkin’ space from payin’ customers.

  —Very cynical observation, but probably true. Didn’t you go to the mall with Keisha recently? How’d that go?

  —Well, it was about two weeks ago. When I went with Keisha to the mall, and when I saw the Santa Claus display, I got real depressed. I had to go home. It just brought back too many memories. Keisha understood, though. She’s okay.

  —Doe she have any problem with helping you with your emotional ups and downs?

  —Naw, Keisha’s cool. If it hadn’t been for Keisha, I mighta really gotten depressed. After the accident, Keisha was always there. She came to the hospital, to the funeral, to the trial. She was the only one I could cry in front of and not be embarrassed. My father kept telling me to put it behind me, to quit dwellin’ on the past, to get on with my life, but Keisha said stuff like, “I know it hurts, baby—go ahead and let it out.” Sometimes we’d be sittin’ on the couch in her livin’ room, and she would hold me and I would cry so h
ard my whole body would shake, and then I’d fall asleep with my head on her lap. Me and her never really—you know—did it—I think I like her too much to do that right now. I talk big in front of the boys, but they know Keisha’s special to me.

  —Do you depend a lot on Keisha?

  —Yeah, I guess so. She’s there for me when nobody else is.

  —Suppose Keisha wasn’t there? What would you do?

  —No chance, man. Me and Keisha are tight. She’s my lady.

  —Relationships end all the time. Could you take it if you had another serious personal loss?

  —Naw, man. You don’t understand. Look, let me give you an example. It was Christmas Day. I gave Keisha a bottle of that perfume that she wanted and she gave me a real nice sweater. Everything was cool. We were sittin’ in my livin’ room. Our Christmas tree was all shiny and glowin’. My dad was dozin’ in his chair, Mama was workin’ a puzzle that I had given her (she likes word puzzles), and Monty was playin’ with some space soldier people that he got for Christmas. I felt—I don’t know—sorta “at peace.” If that one moment coulda continued forever, life would be sweet.

  —But it didn’t.

  —No. The phone rang and spoiled it all. It was Rob’s mother. She was all teary-soundin’ and she said she just wanted to wish me a Merry Christmas. See, she used to call me every Christmas and tell me to come and pick up my rock. It was this silly joke-thing we did every year.

  —Your rock? I don’t understand.

  —You know how they say that kids who are bad won’t get any Christmas presents and will only get a rock in their stockin’? Well, every year, she’d call me up and tell me to come and get my rock. Then I’d say, “But I been good!” So then she’d say, “Well, if that’s the case, come on over and let’s see what else we can find for you.” I’d go over later and she’d always have somethin’ cool like a Lakers hat or a Bulls T-shirt for me.

  —So this year, did she mention the rock?

  —No. I think she wanted to. But neither one of us could get past that part about whether I been good or not.

  It upset the both of us. She hung up real quick. I think she was sorry she called.

  —Were you sorry that she called?

  —Yeah, I was. It spoiled that one special moment of peace and it made me start thinkin’ ‘bout all the pain in my life. Keisha could tell somethin’ was wrong, but she didn’t ask. She leaned her head on my shoulder and started singin’ “Silent Night” real quietly.

  —Did that make you feel better?

  —Yeah. I relaxed a little. Then my dad woke up, and I guess he thought things were gettin’ too cozy, ‘cause he said it was gettin’ late and I probably should be walkin’ Keisha home.

  —So you feel secure in your relationship?

  —Yeah, man. Me and Keisha are tight. She keeps me on balance. When my parents get on my last nerve, or school gets to be too much, or I get really depressed, I can call her and she’ll cheer me up. She believes in me. That means a lot.

  —Well, Andy, I really enjoy these sessions with you. Would you be willing to come back again? Perhaps we need to discuss some aspects of your life just a little more. And once you get started, you don’t really seem to mind, am I right?

  —I guess not. It does kinda help to talk about some of this stuff.

  —Good. See you next time.

  —Later, man.

  “Good Morning, Hazelwood”

  Morning Announcements First

  Day Back after Christmas Vacation

  JANUARY 7

  DING. DONG. DING.

  —Good morning, Hazelwood. May I have your attention, please? These are the morning announcements for Monday, January 7. Would you all please rise for the saying of the Pledge of Allegiance?

  —I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

  —Welcome back from Christmas vacation. We hope you had a safe and restful holiday and have come back ready with a positive attitude to successfully handle the academic tasks before you.

  —The Unity Cultural Association wishes to thank all students who brought in canned goods for needy families. We were able to donate over thirty baskets of food to area families. Thank you for your support, and thank you especially to Room 225 for bringing in exactly 225 cans. Please contact the U.C.A. to schedule your pizza party.

  —The SAT scores have arrived and are available to be picked up in the Senior High Counseling Office. If you would like to discuss your scores, please make an appointment with the secretary there to see your counselor. Also, a reminder to juniors that college plan forms are due in the next thirty days.

  —Tryouts will be held next week for the annual Hazelwood Talent Show. If you can sing, or dance, or tell jokes, get your act together and get ready to show your stuff! More details to follow.

  —The Hazelwood Tigers Basketball Team won Friday against Taylorville, by a score if 88-56. That’s the sixth Tiger victory in a row. Captain Andy Jackson and forward Tyrone Mills led the team with twenty points each. Our Tigers meet the Erieview Eagles this Friday. Tickets will be on sale every day during lunch.

  —All girls interested in running for the championship Lady Tigers Track Team should sign up in the gym office. Indoor practice starts soon.

  —This concludes the morning announcements. Have a pleasant day.

  DING. DONG. DING.

  Black On White

  Andy and Keisha

  on a Snowy Day

  JANUARY 11

  —Hello, may I speak to Andy?…Hi, Andy, this is Keisha. Have you looked outside yet?

  —Girl, I ain’t even awake good yet. What’s up?

  —It snowed last night! Must be about six inches out there. And it’s still coming down hard.

  —Shucks. I hate snow. It gets all in my shoes and I walk ‘round with cold, wet toes all day.

  —So wear some boots.

  —You sound like my mama.

  —And you sound like a two-year-old. I just wanted to let you know about the snow. Get up and get going. Your dad’ll probably have you shoveling.

  —You got that right. You think they’ll cancel school?

  —Be for real! They never close the city schools. The lucky ones are the kids who live in places like Boone County—out in the country. They always get off school in the winter.

  —Yeah, no such luck for us. I’ll see you at school, wet feet and all.

  —Ain’t nobody even here. I shoulda stayed home. I hate snow.

  —Oh, Andy, you complain too much. It’s so pretty. Look how shiny and glistening everything looks. The trees, even the telephone lines, all look different—like they’ve been decorated.

  —You a trip, Keisha. You always see the bright side of everythin’.

  —What can I say? I’m a rose in the snow—the bright spot in your dark, seems-like-it’s-always-depressed life.

  —You got that right. There’s the bell. Let’s get to class. Think Ms. Blackwell is absent?

  —Not a chance.

  —Yeah, she’s a fire-breathin’ dragon. All she got to do is breathe hard and the snow in front of her’ll melt!

  —Oh, Andy, she’s not so bad.

  —That woman and her poetry are gonna drive me crazy!

  Got up this morning

  Feeling good and black

  Thinking black thoughts

  Did black things

  Played all my black records

  And minded my own black business

  Put on my best black clothes

  Walked out my black door

  And, Lord have mercy: white snow!

  —Hey, that’s funny. You right, Ms. Blackwell—that one’s not so bad. That’s exactly how I felt this morning when I saw all that snow outside.

  —Thanks, Andy. Coming from you, that’s a real compliment. Gerald, what do you think?

  —Hey, that’s the way I feel every day. Sometimes
I just feel like there’s white everywhere I look, you know what I mean?

  —Not exactly.

  —It’s like the snow today—like you go outside and there’s white all around you—like swallowing you up.

  —Go on.

  —Like the lady said in the poem—you mindin’ your own black business and all this white stuff jus’ takes over your life. And I ain’t jus’ talkin’ ‘bout snow!

  —What’s wrong with white, Gerald?

  —Nothin’, Mary Alice. This ain’t no personal thing ‘bout you or any other white person. I’m just tryin’ to explain a feelin’ I got.

  —That shows a real depth of understanding, Gerald—of the poem, and of some of the larger ideas that the poem touches on. I’m glad you liked the poem. What did you think, Mary Alice?

  —I never really thought about it. But I guess Gerald is right. Sometimes it must be mind-boggling!

  —Good. Any other comments? Keisha?

  —I like the poem. All of us at one time or another feel like a cinder among the snowflakes. You stand out when you just want to blend in; you get noticed whether you want to or not. But it’s not always racial. In one of my classes, I’m the only girl. That’s just as bad.

  —Good point, Keisha.

  —Ms. Blackwell?

  —Yes, Andy?

  —Why is that in the literature and poems and everythin’ we read in English class, black usually stands for somethin’ bad and white stands for somethin’ good? The good guys always ride a white horse, and the bad guy is always a black-hearted villain. How come?

  —I’m not sure, Andy, but it certainly is apparent in literature. I don’t think it’s completely racially motivated, however. The tones of black and white have the greatest amount of contrast between them, therefore writers and poets, who have always dealt with extremes in passion and people, use black and white to create those images of contrast. Can you think of any other example where color is used as a metaphor to express an idea? Or where black is used as a positive and white is used as a negative?