A Wish and a Prayer

by Beverly Jenkins

  “You, too.”

  She nodded and climbed up and in. Closing the door, she started the engine. In her rearview mirror, she saw him walking to his car. A moment later he was pulling out. He headed east toward the subdivision. She made the left onto Jefferson and drove north.

  When Jack arrived home, Eli was on the couch, watching a poker tournament. Jack was still reeling from Rocky’s invitation, and it must’ve shown on his face.

  “You okay?” Eli asked, sounding concerned.

  “Rocky wants me to ride with her Saturday to pick up a bike.”

  “Wow. Really? What kind of bike?”

  “Not sure.”

  “Is this like a date?”

  “She said no.”

  “Sounds like a date to me.”

  He looked into Eli’s eyes, eyes he’d inherited from his mother. “If it does turn out to be a date and something comes out of it, will it bother you—Mom’s passing and all?”

  “I’m not sure. Can I say that?”

  “Sure. I always want to know how you feel. And you should also know that no matter what the future brings, Eva will always be in my heart. The love she and I shared isn’t something I can just turn off.”

  In the silence that followed, Eli seemed to think about his words, then said finally, “Good to know. Can I ask you something else, some advice?”

  Inwardly, Jack was bowled over by the surprising request. Eli wanting advice from his dad? “Sure, shoot.”

  “It’s kinda complicated.”

  “How about I sit down and see if we can uncomplicate it?”

  “Okay.”

  Wondering who this Eli was, and what had happened to his real son, Jack took a seat in the old olive green recliner. “So what’s up?”

  “I like this girl, but she just wants to be friends. How do I change her mind?”

  “You can’t make her like you, but you can show her who you are by being a good friend, and maybe over time, her feelings about you may change.”

  “So there’s no magic line I can run, or anything like that?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. The OG may have a couple, though.”

  Eli smiled, and the sight of it filled Jack’s heart with all the love he felt for his mercurial child.

  “You know I’m talking about Crystal, right?”

  “I kind of figured that, yeah.”

  “Dad, since the first day she got in my face, she’s all I can think about. I want to be with her, do what she does, go where she goes. I don’t even care if she yells at me, just so she talks to me. I’ve been telling Eddie back home about her, and he says it sounds like I’m whipped.”

  “We’re men, Eli. We all wind up whipped at some point in our lives. Your mother had me whipped from the moment I met her. Thought she was the most beautiful thing God ever made. Hadn’t been for her, I probably would’ve never finished undergrad.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too busy drinking and fighting.”

  Eli stared. “What!”

  Jack found the reaction priceless. “I wasn’t always your father.”

  Eli was bug-eyed. “Fights? You?”

  “Had a biker for a roommate my freshman and sophomore years. Guy by the name of Smith “Smitty” Black. Parents were bikers, too. He was the first person in his family to finish high school and attend college.”

  “Did Gram and Gramps ever meet him and his parents?”

  “Very first day I moved into the dorm. I thought they were going to have a heart attack.” The memory of the shock on his parents’ upper-crust faces as they took in the tattooed, leather-wearing Black family evoked a smile. “Smitty and I had some good times.”

  “So when were these fights?”

  “Seemed like every weekend during freshman year. Frat boys took exception to Smitty’s presence in the area bars, and he took exception to their exception, and the next thing we knew we were knocking heads and tearing up the place.”

  Jack thought if Eli’s eyes grew any larger, they’d pop out of his face and roll around on the carpet. “One weekend, during homecoming sophomore year, a bunch of his biker relatives and their biker friends came up for the festivities. Preppies and bikers don’t mix. The cops hauled everybody off to jail that night for over ten thousand dollars’ worth of damage done to the pancake house.”

  Eli’s mouth dropped.

  “Even worse, I had to call Gramps to get me out of jail. Having to call your parents for something like that isn’t fun, as you well know.”

  “Yeah,” Eli answered sheepishly. A few days before Jack took the teaching position in Henry Adams, Eli had been arrested for car theft.

  Eli was studying Jack as if he’d never seen him before. “So what ever happened to Smitty? Did he graduate with you?”

  “No. After the big fight at the pancake house, he transferred. Said he was tired of being hassled by the dean about his behavior.”

  “What’s he doing now?”

  “Like me, he got himself together and is now a pediatric orthopedic surgeon in Houston.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope. Still has the tattoos, too.”

  Eli fell back against the sofa. “Wow.”

  Jack could see him still processing what he’d revealed.

  “No offense, Dad, but I thought you were like the nerdiest of nerds.”

  “I was, but when you hang with a biker, it sort of changes you. Meeting your mother put me back on the right track.”

  “That was some story. How come you never told me any of this before?”

  “Your mom always told me, nothing happens until it’s supposed to. Guess now was the time. Makes you look at your old man differently, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Good.” He eyed his son, and said sincerely, “Eli, eventually Crystal may turn out to be the girl for you, but right now, she’s not feeling it, so don’t press her, okay?”

  “I won’t. Besides, she’s all hung up on Diego July.”

  It was Jack’s turn to stare. “Diego, of the Oklahoma Julys?”

  “Yeah. Dumb, huh?”

  “I can’t say it’s dumb, but it is surprising.”

  “He never even finished high school.”

  “Then when you graduate, you’ll have one up on him.”

  “But will she appreciate it, is the question.”

  Jack shrugged. “You’re going to find out that women are the most complicated and complex beings on earth.”

  “Figuring that out now.” He got to his feet. “I need to get to bed. Don’t want the teacher yelling at me for sleeping in class.”

  Jack gave him a smile.

  “Thanks for the advice, Dad, and for the story.”

  “You’re welcome. I enjoyed this.”

  “Me, too.”

  After Eli went up to bed, Jack stepped outside onto the deck. The night sky was clear and dotted with stars. Even though he could hear the soft sounds of the nocturnal insects, the silence was so pervasive, it was as if the entire world was asleep. He thought back on the evening. First Rocky and then Eli. Eva came to mind too, and he wondered what she thought of the new life he and Eli were trying to build, and what she thought of Miss Rocky Don’t-Call-Me-Rochelle Dancer. A shooting star blazed across the sky. He closed his eyes and made a wish upon it for peace and happiness for his son. At the end he added a prayer, thanking God for Eva’s presence in his life, for the blessings of the past and present, and for those yet to come.

  He stayed outside a short while longer, then quietly reentered the house.

  Remote in hand, Rocky was lying in bed. She flipped through the channels, looking for something that might distract her, but there was nothing. Her workday usually started at 5:00 A.M., so she clicked off both the TV and the lamp on her nightstand, plunging her bedroom into darkness.

  On her drive home, the part of herself that usually ruled her psyche declared the invite she’d given Jack a stupid idea. What could she, a half-wild woman from the p
lains of Kansas, possibly have in common with a college professor? She considered herself well read and fairly intelligent, but she had no idea what a man like him talked about off duty. Suppose his conversation was so deep she had no idea what he was talking about, and wound up looking country and dumb?

  Usually she paid attention to this side of herself, because she’d relied on it for so long. When you have a mother with mental illness and the kids laugh because she comes to school to bring your lunch with her hair looking like a fright wig, wearing a muddy nightgown, and barefoot, you have to be tough, physically and mentally. You learn to stare down the teasing and the hurtful remarks about her being picked up by the county sheriff because she somehow got out of the house again and was found wandering through the streets of Franklin in that same dirty gown. How do you explain to a bunch of kids that your mom refused to wear anything else, and would get violent if your dad tried to get her to change clothes? Or that Crazy Debbie, as she was derisively called, had a mental illness, and wasn’t responsible for the way she acted, and that outside of institutionalizing her, the doctors said they couldn’t help?

  When you’re eight years old, you don’t explain it, because you don’t know how, and it wouldn’t matter if you could. So instead you get into fights and get kicked out of school, and you’re angry all the time. And when your mother finally ends her pain by taking her own life, you go to Tamar and cry so no one else will see your tears.

  Growing up had been a bitch, and the cautious, take-no-prisoners side of herself was the part she’d always relied upon because it was all she had. Her father, who would have given his soul and everything he owned to have his Deborah back the way she used to be, was never the same after her death. The man who’d given Rocky horseback rides, taught her to pitch a softball and break down an engine, seemed to shrink right before her eyes, as if the life were slowly leaking out of him like air from a balloon.

  So she’d gone through those years, and the ones after, with her chin stuck out and fists balled up; not an attitude conducive to lasting relationships of the heart. Looking back, had she listened to her inner voice and not tried to change her spots by accepting Bob Lee’s marriage proposal, she could have saved herself from having the memory of him posing in her underwire permanently seared into her brain.

  That inner voice asked, Why are you trying to change your spots again and open up your life and feelings to Jack James? The only answer Rocky could come up with was that, from the moment they met, something in his eyes had offered solace, and she felt drawn to the calm she sensed there.

  Maybe she was crazy, but the other inner voice, the one that represented her softer side, asked, What if she wasn’t? What if Jack was the person she’d been needing, to finally find the peace and happiness she’d always craved? Last fall, Reverend Paula told her that life was too short to be unhappy, and no guts, no glory. Well, Rocky had plenty of guts, and now it was time for some glory.

  With that, she banished both inner voices for the time being, made herself comfortable beneath the bedding, and drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, Jack watched his students file into the classroom and thought how wonderful it was to teach in Henry Adams. Unlike some teachers in the nation, he had the support of the parents and the community, along with a very nice compensation package. But more importantly, his students were a joy. They were typical kids, filled with the angst, silliness, and hormonal surges of their national peers, and sometimes they made him want to pull out his hair, but he cared about each and every one of them. “All right, everybody, let’s get the day started. Leah, start us on the Pledge of Allegiance, please.”

  She stood, and after the others followed and faced the flag on the stand near his desk, she began, “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America . . .”

  The rest of the students picked up the verse, and when the recitation wound down to the words “and liberty and justice for all,” the room faded into silence. A second later, Leah looked Jack’s way, and he gave her a nod. She began to sing in her teenage soprano: “Lift every voice and sing, till earth and heaven ring. Ring with the harmony of Liberty.”

  Jack and the others added their voices: “Let our rejoicing rise high as the listening skies. Let it resound loud as the rolling sea . . .”

  Jack had never heard of the Negro National Anthem, “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” before coming to Henry Adams. On his first day as the teacher, the kids recited the pledge, and after it was over he began to introduce himself, but Zoey scooted over to the old piano, hit the opening notes, and Devon began singing, all of which took Jack by surprise. Although there were only four voices that day—Amari, Crystal, Devon, and Preston—they sang with a fierceness and a beauty that blew him away. Only after they were done singing did he ask about the song, and was informed that it had been written first as a poem in 1900 by the great African-American educator and writer James Weldon Johnson to commemorate a Lincoln’s Birthday address by Booker T. Washington. Johnson’s brother, John Rosamund Johnson, set the poem to music in 1905. Only Devon had known the anthem before coming to Henry Adams, but during their first school year, Marie Jefferson made the rest of her new students learn the words and the history behind it. Now Jack and Eli knew the words by heart, too, and that the song had been a way for African Americans to showcase inner pride and subtly voice their protest during a time when lynchings were rampant, and segregation and Jim Crow were the law of the land.

  As the song drew to a close, Jack nodded a greeting to Bing, who’d come in during the end of the first verse and added his bass line to the melody. The two new girls from Franklin, Megan and Samantha, sang while rolling their eyes and making faces, as if the anthem were a joke of some sort. Jack made a mental note to speak to them before the end of the day; he was tired of their disrespect.

  “All right, everybody. Let’s give Mr. Bing a hand for coming in today.”

  Bing beamed under the welcoming applause. He was decked out in a nice black suit and had his World War II vet beret perched stylishly on his gray head. The eighty-two-year-old retired farmer was known for his sharp mind and withering wit. Jack liked him a lot.

  The purpose of Bing’s visit was to share his experiences as a member of the Black Army Corps of Engineers during the building of the Alaska-Canadian, aka AlCan, Highway.

  When all the kids were settled, he began, “There were three Black regiments: the Ninety-Third, Ninety-Fifth, and Ninety-Seventh. We also had a battalion—the 388th.”

  At his signal, Amari, the designated tech of the week, put a large map of Alaska and northwest Canada on the screen at the front of the room. Bing pointed out the beginning of the highway in Dawson Creek, Canada, and its end point at Delta Junction, near Fairbanks, Alaska. “When we started, there was nothing but snow, forest, and glaciers, but when the highway was completed, it was over sixteen hundred miles long.”

  Devon said, “That’s a long way.”

  “Yes, it is, and it wasn’t easy to build.” He told them about winter nights when temperatures sometimes dropped to sixty degrees below zero, and zoomed to ninety degrees in the summertime. “It was so cold the oil would freeze in the trucks, and we had to put lit torches beneath some of the equipment so it would start in the morning.”

  Leah asked, “How did you keep warm?”

  “As best we could. You have to understand that we’d trained in the south, and figured we were going to be sent to Europe to help fight the Germans, but we ended up in Alaska instead, and we weren’t dressed for the weather. Some of our guys had never even seen snow before, and none of us had been anyplace that cold.”

  “But the army gave you warm gear, right?” Preston asked.

  Bing looked over at Jack, who responded by saying, “You don’t need my permission to tell him the truth, Mr. Shepard. It’s history. They need to know the realities back then, and frankly, so do I.”

  Bing nodded in agreement, and told the kids just how rough it
had been in the segregated U.S. Army, where they were given inferior clothing, housing, and equipment, and commanding officers who made it well known that the Black soldiers weren’t wanted. “While the officers and other troops stayed in Quonset huts, we had to make do in canvas tents. In the wintertime, they were like trying to stay warm inside a sheet.”

  The army routinely sent them broken-down equipment, and when the Black soldiers did get quality machines, they usually wound up being reassigned to the White engineers also working on the AlCan.

  “Some of our guys had to cut through glaciers with hand tools when their heavy equipment got reassigned. We weren’t allowed to go into the air force bases, where it was warm, couldn’t go to the movies at the bases that other troops got to enjoy on days off, and we were forbidden to go into the local towns, even though we were building them roads.”

  “That stinks,” Crystal said.

  “Yes, it did, but you know what?”

  “What?”

  “We got the job done, and we did it well. Only time there was any real trouble was when a group of our guys refused to ride cross-country in the back of an open truck.”

  “Sorta like Rosa Parks?” Amari asked.

  “No. They knew they’d risk frostbite or paralysis sitting for such a long ride in below-freezing weather.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “They were court-martialed.”

  “Wow, that stinks, too.”

  “Yep. But as I said, we got it done, and we took pride in the roads and bridges we built. In fact, when the Ninety-Fifth was at Sikanni Chief River, we bet our paychecks that we could build that bridge in record time.”

  “Did you do it?” Eli asked.

  “Yep. Took us eighty-four hours, half the time it normally took.”

  Amari crowed, “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

  Bing grinned. “And when all hundred and thirty-three bridges were finished, along with the roads and the eight hundred culverts that held the pipelines, we’d proven to the army that yes, Black soldiers could handle heavy equipment and perform under extreme conditions, and that our engineers were just as able-bodied and smart as the other side of the army.”