Loving vs. Virginia

by Patricia Hruby Power

Neighbors come by and help

  with the work

  so ’course, we get together

  on the weekend.

  While Daddy

  and my brothers

  play music,

  I take Richard

  by the hand.

  “Come on.”

  I lead him to the woods,

  toward the creek

  where I’ve played

  my whole life.

  Richard and I

  are protected by the dark.

  Hearing my family’s music

  makes me feel safe.

  I feel DARING

  in the woods tonight.

  I find a particular

  old oak tree,

  reach up into the hole

  and pull out

  my clothespin doll

  that I won at the carnival

  years ago.

  The cloth of her dress

  is browned and brittle.

  Her face has faded.

  I show her to Richard.

  “She’s lived in this nice

  oak house for years.”

  I want him

  to know my secrets.

  He smiles

  like he gets it.

  RICHARD

  A FEW WEEKS LATER

  DECEMBER 1955

  No one else at Jeters’ wanted to see a movie

  so it was just the two of us,

  which was fine by me.

  We headed for Daw Theater in Tappahannock.

  Damned if we don’t see the sheriff sliding by

  like a snake

  right when we turn onto the hardtop.

  It’s like he’s everywhere.

  But we’re going the other way.

  I bought tickets,

  Millie headed for the side entrance.

  Oh, right.

  I seen movies from the balcony before

  upstairs with Millie’s brothers.

  Percy Fortune.

  Ray Green.

  But not in a long while.

  Up the dark stairs, one flight, another, another—

  the higher we went the more it smelled like piss.

  Millie saw my face all screwed up—disgusted-like.

  She said, Colored bathrooms don’t always work.

  She shrugged, Women’s toilet doesn’t always flush.

  They say the men’s is worse.

  No one likes to use them.

  But and we’re still climbing stairs,

  they should take care of their business

  at home.

  I tucked her arm in mine, pulled her close

  feeling her warmth.

  We watched East of Eden.

  Two brothers, Cal and Aron,

  can’t do nothin’ but fight—

  might as well be Cain and Abel.

  Take it easy, I wanted to tell those brothers.

  Life don’t have to be

  so difficult.

  Maybe life is complicated when you have a brother.

  But I don’t see it in Millie’s brothers—

  all that sadness? No way.

  Best part was the cartoon.

  No.

  Best part was my arm around Millie for a couple hours.

  SENATOR HARRY F. BYRD, SR., OF VIRGINIA CALLS FOR “MASSIVE RESISTANCE” TO SCHOOL INTEGRATION

  FEBRUARY 1956

  Protesting the Brown vs. Board of Education ruling that segregation of schools was unconstitutional, Byrd and other southern politicians began a campaign to undermine and resist integration.

  In the following two years, they signed into Virginia law measures that made it possible for counties to close public schools—even whole school districts—rather than allow black students and white students to share a classroom.

  In one county, ALL PUBLIC SCHOOLS WERE CLOSED FOR FIVE YEARS.

  “WHETHER VIRGINIA’S HIGH SCHOOLS, WHICH CLOSED ON A SEGREGATED BASIS, ARE EVER REOPENED ON AN INTEGRATED BASIS, OR INDEED EVER REOPENED AT ALL, WILL DETERMINE WHAT HAPPENS IN THE REST OF THE SOUTH. ONCE AGAIN, VIRGINIA IS THE BATTLEGROUND.”

  —Edward R. Murrow, reporting for CBS

  MILDRED

  FIVE MONTHS LATER

  MAY 1956

  Missed a lot in the fall

  but I’m going

  to school

  steady now.

  Didn’t see Richard for awhile.

  I missed him.

  But he’s coming steady again,

  picking me up after school

  sometimes.

  Taking me home.

  This beautiful spring day

  he says, “After everyone goes to bed,

  sneak out of the house,

  come down the road,

  meet me at the oak tree—

  you know the one.

  I’ll be there at midnight

  waiting for you.”

  I wait for Garnet to snore her

  soft little snore.

  Everyone else has been asleep for ages.

  I stay awake counting my breaths.

  I pull on my pants

  tiptoe down the stairs

  carrying my shoes,

  avoiding the places I know squeak,

  pass my parents’ room,

  out the door

  and I step into my shoes.

  The stars sparkle.

  The grass is wet.

  I get to the road

  and tear down it.

  I hear an owl hoot

  in the woods and

  the flutter of leaves,

  some squawks,

  cackles,

  the cry of some animal

  who just lost

  to another—

  coming from the field

  across the street.

  The night belongs

  to the animals.

  It could be scary,

  but any scariness

  goes into my

  running.

  The dark of the night

  is protecting me,

  making magic.

  I’m nearly at the oak when I hear

  an owl hoot

  right nearby.

  I startle.

  Richard comes

  out of the woods.

  Richard is the owl,

  and now he’s

  FLYING

  alongside me.

  We’re not laughing—

  just breathing together.

  He grabs my hand

  and guides me to the car.

  We get in

  still don’t say a word—

  just breathe.

  He drives to another spot

  further down the road

  and pulls

  right into the woods,

  so the car is

  hidden

  from the road.

  We get out

  and pick our way

  through the woods—

  brambles and twigs

  snagging

  at our clothes.

  Then we’re on a path

  where Richard pushes

  me ahead

  and he trots behind.

  You can hear

  a million chirping

  tree frogs,

  the low moan

  of a bullfrog.

  Must be a creek nearby.

  The night might belong to the animals

  but it’s ours too—

  Richard’s and mine.

  I’ve never loved to run.

  But TONIGHT

  I could run all night long.

  We break into a clearing

  with a creek running through.

  Richard pulls me into his arms

  and I snuggle

  under his chin.

  The night is cool

  but we are steamy.

  A small breeze

  tries to dry

  the damp off our skin—

  tries to cool

  the impossible
/>
  heat.

  I slip off my shoes

  roll up my pants

  and wade in

  the icy water.

  Richard follows me in.

  I flick a little water at him

  with my fingers.

  He flicks back.

  Just a little.

  We’re laughing.

  He takes my hand

  and we’re

  on the bank

  sitting on a thick log.

  Richard kisses

  the top of my hair

  my ear

  my collarbone

  my shoulder

  then my mouth.

  We’re still breathing from

  all the running

  and because

  we

  are

  JUST

  breathing.

  Until we’re

  breathless.

  And

  gasping.

  We pull on our shoes,

  take hands

  and make our way

  back to his car,

  drive to the oak

  where he lets me out. I sort of gallop

  along the road

  like when I was

  a kid

  playing horses.

  When I get to my house

  just as I reach the door

  his car passes by

  real slow.

  I tiptoe upstairs

  take off my pants,

  carefully crawl into bed

  alongside my sister,

  let my

  breathing

  slow down,

  not touching her

  with my hot sweaty

  self.

  Richard and I

  never said a word.

  RICHARD

  A COUPLE WEEKS LATER

  MAY 1956

  Millie and me went to the drive-in up in Fredericksburg.

  Ray and Annamae came along.

  Garnet and her boyfriend too.

  The car was packed and it being cold out

  that night,

  we really steamed up the windows.

  Saw Ain’t Misbehavin’ so we all joked about whether we was.

  Bean said,

  I don’t think you are misbehavin’

  if you love the one you’re with.

  She’s right.

  And I’m the one she’s with.

  She takes her hand in just such a way, pulls her fingers

  through her hair

  to take the curls off her forehead.

  And I fire up like a SPARK PLUG.

  Just seeing her hand move through her hair.

  MILDRED

  TWO MONTHS LATER

  JULY 1956

  Outside our neighborhood—

  like in Bowling Green—

  some people look at us

  and SCOWL.

  If Richard sees it

  he holds my hand tighter.

  After they pass by

  he’ll lift my hand,

  kiss it and say,

  “Caramel.”

  Tappahannock’s carnival

  is bigger and better.

  Here we won’t

  see so many folks we know.

  The air is sweet with cotton candy

  and salty with popcorn.

  We hold hands,

  swinging our

  clasped fists.

  I say, “Let’s go on the octopus.”

  Richard isn’t crazy

  about fast rides

  but I love them.

  So he has to be brave.

  We get squished together

  careening, soaring.

  I scream.

  He laughs

  of course.

  I know he did this for me.

  When we’re on solid

  ground again

  he says,

  “YOU’RE the brave one.”

  Sometimes we don’t hold hands

  just so people don’t stare.

  But sometimes—

  SOMETIMES—

  you just have to hold on.

  Richard puts his arm around my

  shoulders,

  pulls me close

  for a kiss,

  and some fool

  passing by

  says,

  “Nice piece o’ colored ass.”

  Richard tenses up—

  balls up his fists—

  like maybe he’s even gonna

  haul off

  and slug the guy.

  I pull him away.

  Pull hard—

  drag him away

  really

  till we are running down

  the street and

  laughing

  again.

  It’s not like it happens

  all the time—

  cruel people.

  The drive-in is good

  ’cause no one can see us.

  And we always fill

  the car

  with family and friends.

  It’s like taking

  Central Point

  with us to the movies.

  Richard once said,

  “It could be worse, Bean.

  If you was the white one

  and I was the colored one,

  people saw us together?

  They’d lynch me.

  We can do this.”

  I’m not real dark—

  ’bout the color of a grocery sack—

  and I have good hair,

  but I surely

  couldn’t

  pass.

  There are plenty of people

  from our section,

  who are mixed like I am—

  and one day,

  when they’re grown,

  they leave home

  and never ever

  come back.

  And we know they

  passed

  into white society—

  away from

  where everyone knows you,

  where everyone truly

  cares about you.

  I feel sorry for them

  who pass—

  and don’t come

  home.

  1956–1957

  “What good is it doing to force these situations when white people nowhere in the South want integration? What this country needs is a few first-class funerals.” —GEORGE WALLACE, GOVERNOR OF ALABAMA

  1956 to 1957 Black teens attempt to attend previously all-white schools

  MILDRED

  TWO MONTHS LATER

  SEPTEMBER 1956

  I sit in class,

  but I don’t care about

  Great Expectations.

  I don’t care about graphs.

  I don’t care about the three branches

  of federal government.

  I’m thinking

  the longer I wait,

  the worse this is.

  No matter how much I jump up and down,

  stand on my head,

  grip hold of my guts and press,

  this isn’t

  going

  away.

  Oh God Oh God.

  Please.

  I don’t know what to do.

  I haven’t even told

  Garnet.

  She’d say,

  “I told you so.”

  Ignoring it

  didn’t make it go away.

  Wishing it wasn’t there

  didn’t make it go away.

  I don’t want this.

  What will Richard think?

  What will Richard do?

  I don’t want to lose Richard.

  I can’t go to the midwife

  and ask questions—

  find out what I might do—

  ’cause the midwife

  is Richard’s mama.

  This is bad.

  I don’t show much.

  I can still change into my gym suit,

/>   take a shower with the other girls,

  no one’s going to see,

  but for how much longer

  is that going to be true?

  I can feel the difference.

  I am so scared

  I sweat all the time

  and even my sweat

  smells different.

  I sit in English,

  and we discuss Pip.

  Does he want to be

  poor, ignorant, immoral?

  That was a century ago.

  In England.

  I don’t care.

  I’m thinking

  the girl in back of me

  the boy in front of me

  can smell

  my fear

  my difference.

  They’ll know.

  I’m in trouble.

  What

  What

  What am I going to do?

  Oh Lord, help me.

  RICHARD

  ONE MONTH LATER

  OCTOBER 1956

  I drove up to Ray’s. He’s got my DeSoto up on blocks,

  says, Wanna race this heap?

  Take off the bumper, lighten it up?

  Percy can drive it. Over at Sandbridge?

  You in?

  I said, Yeah, sure.

  His place looks more junkyard than anything else.

  I said, You oughta’ clean this place up.

  You’re a fine mechanic.

  You could make yourself a living.

  Ray shrugged.

  It’s time Ray settled down, acted more responsible.

  I said, Me and Millie going to Sparta dance tonight.

  You coming?

  Sure.

  MILDRED

  Richard still doesn’t know.

  I can’t tell him.

  Saturday night,

  Daddy and my brothers

  are the band

  for a square dance

  at Sparta School—

  the elementary school

  where Richard went—

  the white school.

  Colored people

  aren’t allowed in.

  Light and music

  spill out the open door.

  Me and Richard are milling around

  with a bigger group of coloreds

  outside

  where we’re allowed

  to listen

  and dance

  if we want.

  Richard and his

  car buddies,

  Ray and Percy—

  and Ray’s girl,

  Annamae—

  are with us.

  Ray, Annamae, and Percy,

  being colored,

  aren’t allowed in, either.

  White guys

  with white girls on their arms

  say

  “Hey” to Richard

  on their way in.

  He “heys” them back.

  Everyone likes Richard.

  He says to me,

  “Let’s go in.

  They won’t mind.”

  “We can’t go in there.