Ruby Lee and Me

by Shannon Hitchcock

  “Ah!” I touched my cheek. It hurt as much as if Ruby had slapped me. “Ruby Lee Kimmer, you’re mean and hateful. And you’re not my best friend anymore either!”

  Ruby shook her fist at the sky. “I don’t know why I listened to you in the first place. I knew we couldn’t be friends at school.” Ruby tossed her head. “Sarah Beth Willis, you ain’t my best friend either. Fact is you’re more like a chicken than a Freedom Rider!”

  “You take that back!”

  Instead, Ruby put her hands underneath her arms and flapped them like wings. She circled around me making chicken noises. “Bawk, bawk, bawk, bawk, bawk!”

  “Stop it! Stop making fun of me!”

  Ruby bawked even louder.

  All the guilt and fear spewed out of me like a flash flood. “I hate you, Ruby Lee Kimmer. You’re a—” And then I called her the most vile name I could think of. A name I knew Ruby hated. A word intended to make her people feel like dirt.

  Ruby stopped bawking.

  The look on her face made my chest feel tight. She had tears in her eyes, but looked as fierce as a warrior. “You are a racist,” she said.

  “I … I … I didn’t mean it. You just made me so mad. All I wanted was for you to shut up.”

  “Some words can’t be taken back,” Ruby said. “Nobody is born a racist, at least that’s what Ma Rene says. She’ll see a little white baby and say, ‘Look, ain’t it precious, but before that baby is full-grown, its heart will be full of hate.’ Guess that’s what’s happening to you.”

  “No!” I wailed. “I just got mad and said something stupid. Hasn’t that ever happened to you? What about the time you told Ma Rene you hated her?”

  “It’s not the same,” Ruby said. “You’re white trash and don’t have no room to be calling names. Don’t you ever speak to me again. You hear?”

  I was so rattled that I couldn’t even think of a reply. After Ruby stomped off, I yelled, “Get off our land and don’t come back!” Ruby turned around and put the stink eye on me, but she didn’t say any more. We’d been friends since we were babies, but it only took five minutes to blow that friendship to smithereens. Some words are like a stick of dynamite.

  Granny opened the screen door and joined me on the porch. “Why such a glum face?”

  I was still ashamed over my fight with Ruby, but I didn’t want to ruin Robin’s homecoming. “What is taking them so long to get here?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Granny said. She shielded her eyes from the sun. “A watched pot never boils. Why don’t you help me in the kitchen?”

  I would have rather kept watch, but I followed Granny into the house. I started making biscuits, sifting the flour and working in the lard.

  Granny put the chicken breasts, thighs, and legs in a cast-iron skillet full of hot grease. “After you finish the biscuits, you can help me make thickening for the gravy. It’ll be good practice.”

  I made a well in the sifted flour and poured in some buttermilk. “Do you think Robin will ever be just like before?” I asked. “Able to run and jump?”

  “Is that what’s been bothering you?”

  “Yeah, and a few other things.”

  “I reckon a big girl like you is asking for the truth,” Granny said. “And the truth of it is nobody knows for sure. Not even the doctors.” Granny wiped flour off the countertops. “All we can do is take good care of her and try to keep her spirits up.”

  While I finished the biscuits, I thought about Robin and Ruby. I would find a way to keep Robin’s spirits up. Maybe if I thought of the perfect way, she would get well, but I wasn’t sure what to do about Ruby. She made me mad enough to spit nails.

  The meal was almost ready when Rowdy started barking. I ran onto the front porch and gripped the railing.

  Dad and Grandpa carried Robin between them. Her cast started underneath her arms and covered her chest. A pair of makeshift shorts with snaps on the side hid her private parts. And then the cast fit over her legs. On the right side, only her toes were peeking out. On the left, the cast stopped just below her knee.

  Sweat trickled down my neck. Robin must have been about to roast in that big plaster cast. Our little house didn’t have air-conditioning either. That would make it even worse.

  Robin didn’t sleep well on her first night back home, and since we shared a room, I couldn’t sleep either.

  “Itches,” Robin said. “It itches inside my cast.”

  My legs and arms started itching too. I clawed them with my fingernails. “I’m sorry,” I whispered in the dark. “What about if I tell you a Billy and Blaze story?”

  “No,” Robin whispered back. “Make up a story. Make up a story about me.”

  I thought for a minute. “Okay, this story is about the Fourth of July Parade. Robin wanted to be in the parade, but she didn’t play an instrument or know how to twirl a baton. She really wanted to ride a horse in the parade, but she didn’t own one.”

  “Someday I will,” Robin said.

  I racked my brain for what might happen next. Figuring out the plot was always the hardest part. “Well, Robin was playing in Grandpa’s barn. She saw the old hay wagon and had a great idea. She asked Grandpa to help her clean and paint it. That way they could hitch up the plow horses and drive the wagon in the parade.”

  “The horses’ names are King and Nick,” Robin said. “You should use their names.”

  “Okay. That way they could hitch up King and Nick.”

  “Did we decorate the wagon too?”

  “Yep. With red, white, and blue crepe paper and balloons. The newspaper took a picture of Robin and Grandpa, and they were on the front page. They were called ‘Pioneer Stars’!”

  “I like that story,” Robin said, and pretty soon she fell asleep.

  The next morning my arms and legs were covered in a red rash. The doctor said I had hives.

  Mama slathered my arms and legs in a tan-colored lotion. “Now try not to scratch,” she said.

  I stared at myself in disgust. I looked as ugly on the outside as I felt on the inside. “Can I walk over to Granny’s?”

  “Sure,” Mama said. “Go ahead.”

  Since the door was always unlocked, I let myself in. Granny was sitting in her recliner with her bad leg propped up. Every weekday at one, she fixed herself a glass of sweet tea and watched All My Children.

  “What happened to your poor arms and legs?” Granny asked.

  I sat down on the green vinyl couch. “Doctor Kern said I have hives.”

  “Bless your heart,” Granny said. She lowered the footrest on her recliner. “Sarah Beth, run get the hairbrush and I’ll braid your hair.”

  I sat on the floor in front of Granny while she brushed and braided. Granny kept her eyes fixed on the television. “That Erica Kane is mean as the devil,” she said.

  I liked All My Children too, especially the romance between Tara and Phil. “What did I miss?”

  “Nothing,” Granny said. “Sssh, now. It just started.”

  Granny got fighting mad when Erica tried to break up Tara and Phil. She said, “If I could get my hands on that Erica, I’d give her a good switching.”

  I knew Reverend Reece had told Granny watching soap operas was a sin, but she didn’t care two hoots what he thought about it. Granny had told the reverend if her worst sin was enjoying a good story, she’d probably get to heaven before he did.

  Granny kept brushing my hair, and I kept rooting for Tara and Phil. For a little while, my arms and legs didn’t itch. I forgot what really happened on the day of the accident and about my fight with Ruby Lee. Granny and I loved a good soap opera.

  On the walk back home, I thought about the story I had told Robin the night before. I looked at all the open land between Grandpa’s house and Uncle John’s. There was plenty of grass, and Grandpa had some extra fence posts in the barn.

  When I got home, I settled down at the kitchen table with my journal and a copy of the Tucker Post. I circled an ad in the classifieds: “Pon
y for Sale Only $50.”

  Next I made a list:

  Plenty of pasture land.

  Extra fence posts in Grandpa’s barn.

  Pony could stay at Grandpa’s during the winter.

  $25 left over from my birthday.

  Granny and Grandpa could loan me the rest.

  A pony would be the perfect way to keep Robin’s spirits up. All I had to do was convince my parents.

  After Robin fell asleep for the night, Mama and Dad rocked on the porch swing.

  I took my favorite spot on the steps. “Granny says we have to keep Robin’s spirits up.”

  “You’re good at that,” Mama said. “I heard you telling her a story last night. Entertaining her is a big help.”

  “But I know a better way to help.” I pulled the newspaper ad from my pocket. “Just like in the Billy and Blaze books, Robin wants a pony more than anything.”

  “As much as I’d like to buy her one, we can’t afford it,” Dad said.

  Mama gasped. “Let me see that paper.”

  I picked up my journal. “The pony only costs fifty dollars. I have twenty-five dollars left over from my birthday, and Granny and Grandpa will pay for the rest.” I hadn’t asked them yet, but I knew they’d say yes.

  “Absolutely not!” Mama said. “What if Robin were to get hurt again?”

  Dad put his arm around Mama’s shoulders. “Maybe we should think through this before we say no. We can’t lock Robin away in a padded room.” He pulled Mama a little closer to him. “Robin’s got a hard row to hoe ahead of her, and a pony would give her something to look forward to.”

  “Having a pony would help her get well.” I was sure of it.

  Mama stood up and peeked inside to check on Robin. “Still asleep,” she said. “I know the two of you are right about a pony making her happy, but I’m still too nervous.”

  Dad nodded. “Perfectly natural,” he said. “But we’ve got to move past it.”

  Mama paced back and forth across the porch. “Being a parent is so hard,” she said. “I should have been watching Robin instead of working in the garden. If I’d stayed close by, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

  My hand flew to my mouth. Instead of blaming me, Mama blamed herself. A soft voice inside me whispered. But it wasn’t Mama’s fault. It wasn’t Mama’s fault. It was mine. I wanted to tell her the truth, I really did, but when I opened my mouth only a moan came out. “Aaaah.” I started scratching my arms and legs.

  “Stop that!” Mama scolded. “You’ll cause those places to scar.”

  They itched so much I didn’t care. Mama held out her hand. “Come on. I’ll rub some more lotion on your hives.”

  “But can we get Robin a pony?” I begged.

  “Stop pestering me,” Mama said. “I already said no.”

  I tiptoed into the room I shared with Robin and climbed into bed. I wished I knew some way to change Mama’s mind.

  “Tell me a story,” Robin whispered.

  “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

  “But I woke up. Now I want a story.”

  I was ready. I wanted to make the story even better by adding some more action in the middle. “Okay, after Grandpa and Robin decorated the wagon, they hitched up King and Nick. The wagon looked so pretty that Robin just knew they would win a blue ribbon, but then it started to rain. Rain fell like it was being poured from a bucket. Rain pounded against King and Nick.”

  “What about the decorations?” Robin asked.

  “Ruined. The decorations were ruined.”

  “I don’t like this story,” Robin complained.

  “Just wait, it’ll get better. So thunder boomed. Rumble, roar, crash, crack! Lightning streaked across the sky. The storm scared King, and he jumped. Nick jumped too. It was a runaway wagon!”

  “Then what happened?” Robin asked.

  “Well, Grandpa was sawing on the reins, trying to get those horses under control, but he wasn’t having much luck. Then Robin started talking to them. She shouted, ‘Whoa, Nick. That’s a good boy. It’s all right now. Nothing to worry about. Whoa.’ Those horses listened to Robin because she had always petted them and brought them carrots.”

  “I was their friend,” Robin said.

  “That’s right. So King and Nick slowed to a trot. Finally, they slowed to a walk, and the sun came out as bright as a big lemon drop in the sky. Robin had saved the day!”

  “That’s one of your best stories,” she whispered right before she fell asleep.

  On Saturday morning, Dad asked me to go for a drive. I was glad to have some time alone with him, but a little curious too.

  “Dad, where are we going?”

  He turned and winked at me. “I thought we’d go see that pony. There’s no harm in looking.”

  I raised my fist in the air. But then I remembered how upset Mama had been. “Has Mama changed her mind?”

  Dad waved at Mr. Carter, who rode by on his tractor. “She knows where we’re going. If the pony is small and very gentle, maybe she’ll consider it.”

  I crossed my fingers. Considering it might mean yes.

  “Sarah Beth,” Dad said, “I’ve been meaning to thank you and Ruby Lee for cleaning up the house. You girls did a fine job.”

  “Thanks.” With the mention of Ruby Lee, my good mood flew right out the car window. Sometimes I was still mad at her, but mostly I was ashamed.

  Dad laughed. “When I was about your age, Ruby’s daddy used to help us prime tobacco. We’d race to see who could get to the end of the row the quickest.”

  I hardly remembered Ruby’s daddy. He joined the army when we were little.

  “I haven’t seen much of Ruby this summer,” Dad said. “Guess you girls are growing apart; that’s what happened with Leon and me.”

  “Why?”

  Dad’s jaw tightened, and he looked straight ahead. “Separate schools, different friends. It was just easier that way, but I cried like a baby when he was killed in Vietnam. He was a good man.”

  It was too late for Dad and Leon to be friends again, but maybe not for Ruby and me. I needed to write her a letter.

  Mr. Whitaker, who owned the pony, was wearing Wrangler jeans and a cowboy hat. We walked with him out to a red barn that was bigger than our house.

  “Hey, Slim,” Mr. Whitaker called. “The folks are here to see Butterball.” A skinny cowboy led a pony out of the barn on a halter rope.

  Butterball lived up to his name. He was as round as the cakes of butter from Granny’s churning. I walked inside the riding ring to take a closer look at his brown and white spots. Butterball kicked up his back legs, but I was too quick for him.

  “Sarah Beth, move outside the fence,” Dad said sharply. He turned to Mr. Whitaker. “Why are you selling Butterball?”

  Mr. Whitaker chewed on a piece of hay. “Well now,” he said, “my granddaughter is an inexperienced rider. Ol’ Butterball has a little too much spunk for her.”

  Mr. Whitaker kept talking about what a fine pony Butterball was, but I could tell Dad wasn’t convinced.

  Dad leaned against the riding ring, watching as Slim led Butterball around in a big circle.

  Mr. Whitaker moved a little closer to Dad and said in a low voice, “It’s a shame about ’em integrating Shady Creek. Guess your daughter will have to go to school with coloreds.”

  “Guess she will,” Dad said. He kept his eyes on Butterball. “If I had my druthers, things would stay the same, but the law says different. I just hope no trouble comes to Shady Creek.”

  I scratched my head. Dad and Leon used to be like Ruby and me, but now he thought integration was a bad idea. Like most of the other grown-ups, he was afraid of change.

  Dad stuck out his hand and shook Mr. Whitaker’s. “I appreciate your time, but Butterball is not what we’re looking for. We need small and gentle.”

  I’d have to find another pony for Robin. I reached inside my shorts pocket and crumpled the newspaper ad.

  Just before bedtime, I hea
rd Mama crying on the porch swing. I closed the screen door and went to sit beside her. “What’s wrong?”

  Mama’s dark eyes were swimming in tears. “Don’t worry. I’m just feeling a little blue.”

  That answer didn’t satisfy me one bit. “When you cry, I’m afraid about Robin.”

  Mama pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her eyes. “No, there’s nothing new. It just hurts me to watch her suffer.” Mama wadded the tissue in her hand. “I’d rather be in pain myself. I know you don’t understand now, but someday when you’re a mom, it’ll make perfect sense to you.”

  I couldn’t imagine being a mom. That would be in about a million years, but I did know how much it hurt to watch Robin suffer.

  We rocked on the porch swing, and Mama’s voice was soft, just above a whisper. “My shoulders ache from bending over the sewing machine.” Mama was taking in some extra sewing to help make ends meet. “I miss having a dishwasher,” she said, “and it’s aggravating to live so far from town.” Mama sighed. “Sorry to be such a complainer, but it is a beautiful night.”

  The lightning bugs were blinking in the dark while we glided back and forth on the swing. “What’s going on with you and Ruby Lee?” Mama asked. “Every other summer, it’s always been Ruby this and Ruby that.”

  “Nothing is going on. She’s just busy.” I wanted to tell Mama about my fight with Ruby and ask her at least a hundred questions about integration, but I was afraid of worrying her. As long as Robin was sick, I had to take a backseat. It felt sort of like I’d lost my parents. I didn’t like it much, but that’s the way it was.

  Mama reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Don’t look so serious. You’re a beautiful girl when you smile.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not beautiful. I have too many freckles.”

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” Mama said. “You’re a good writer, a kind person, and an attractive girl.”