Before long, I was bored watching them and walked over to the railing. I tried to imagine what it would be like to put on a pair of skates and perform for everyone sitting on the bleachers. A boy skated past me, first backward and then in figure-eight formations.
“Would you like to skate-dance?” he asked as he came toward me.
“No thanks.” I barely looked at him.
“Why not?”
“I can’t skate, that’s why.”
“Sure you can,” he insisted. “All you have to do is follow my lead.”
“Sorry, but I can’t.”
“What’s the matter—you don’t like me?”
“That’s not it.” I felt my cheeks redden.
“She can’t skate, so leave her alone,” Marilyn butted in as she came up behind the boy.
“Well, excuse me.” The boy turned back to me. “It’s fine with me if you don’t want to skate with the best looking guy in the rink.”
I felt a certain sense of pleasure knowing he felt rejected. I had never forgotten the sting of Aunt Martha’s words when she told Mother no one would ever find me attractive because I was a cripple.
Later that evening, Marilyn teased me about the boy. It was her way of trying to boost my confidence. I had more serious things on my mind than the boy who didn’t realize why I couldn’t skate-dance with him.
“Jake’s hardly ever sick,” I continued my concern for him. “Daddy insisted Mother take him to the doctor’s. Only he wanted her to take Jake sooner than tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t worry so much if I were you,” Marilyn said.
“I can’t help it. You remember what Daddy said about us going to the Kennedy parade last year. He knows things before they happen.”
“You don’t think your dad knew Kennedy was going to be assassinated, do you? He was just worried, is all, about us being in a crowd of crazy people.”
Marilyn turned off the lamp between our beds. Falling asleep was the only way she could escape my neediness.
I waited until almost eight the next morning before tapping Marilyn gently on the shoulder to let her know I was going home. She barely raised her head and nodded, then dropped back on the pillow and continued dozing. I dressed and quietly let myself out so I wouldn’t wake anyone. Mother would frown if she knew I didn’t thank Mrs. Davis for my overnight stay.
I pulled my button-down sweater close around me to ward off the morning chill before walking the short distance home past ranch-style and Cape Cod brick houses that crowded their small lots. The sidewalks were hidden under a brittle patchwork of fallen leaves and the St. Augustine grass flanking them had turned the color of straw. There wasn’t much glory in a Texas autumn; only a whisper of color that almost went unnoticed.
I didn’t slow until I approached our front walk. The morning paper was still on the bottom step. Just as I bent down to pick it up, the Simpson’s orange-striped tabby darted from a bush, arched its back, and hissed before skirting past me.
Stupid cat, I thought, no consideration for anyone.
I hated cats. If Cindy were still here, she would have wagged her tail and run over to greet me, instead of hiding in the bushes and scaring the living daylights out of me. She had watched out for me, better than my own mother had at times, never letting me out of her sight when we were together, always grabbing hold of my shirtsleeve and dragging me back to safety if I ventured too near the road while riding my tricycle. The day we lost her was one of the saddest days of my life. We called her name for two days, searching everywhere from sunup until it was too dark to see. I kept fresh water in her bowl and put out food in case she wandered home. My prayers for her were never answered. Just before we called off our search, we found her in Ed Macon’s back pasture, dead from fox poisoning he had put out to save his chicken flock. When I threw myself on top of Cindy’s lifeless body, Daddy pulled me away. He promised we would get another dog, but Mother wouldn’t hear of it.
THE FRONT DOOR was locked, so I walked around to the back where we kept a spare key hidden under a flower pot. The house was noticeably quiet. I must have just missed everyone because the smell of bacon still hung in the air. The dirty dishes from breakfast were stacked on top of the counter. I rinsed them off and put them in a sink full of hot, sudsy water. It was unlike Mother to leave anything undone.
It was almost three o’clock before I heard a car pull into the driveway. Dr. Riley’s office closed at noon on Saturday, so I wondered what had taken so long. I looked out, surprised to see Kathleen and her husband Randy getting out of their car. Kathleen was holding my niece, Jennifer, who immediately held out her arms for me when I came out to greet them.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, giving Jennifer a quick hug. She started to whine when I didn’t hold her.
“We’re taking you home with us,” Kathleen replied.
“Why?” I reached over and took one of Jennifer’s hands to keep her from crying.
Kathleen hesitated. Her serious expression could only mean that something was wrong.
“Jake’s in the hospital,” Randy answered for her.
“Dr. Riley wants to run some tests, so Mom and Dad aren’t coming home,” Kathleen explained.
“What do they think’s wrong with him?” I panicked.
“I have no idea. Nothing you should worry about. Go on now and get your things.”
Randy winked at me when I looked over at him.
It didn’t take me long to pack a small suitcase for my overnight stay.
Before going downstairs, I stopped at Jake’s doorway. He had pulled the bedcovers over his pillows without smoothing the sheets that morning. His schoolbooks were on top of his desk, exactly where he left them on Friday. His Boy Scout cap lay folded on the chair next to his desk. I picked it up and ran my hand across its red piping.
“Please, God,” I prayed, “please let Jake be all right.”
“Let’s go!” Kathleen called from the foot of the stairs.
“I’m coming!” I put the cap back in its original place. On my way out, the No One Allowed sign Jake had posted on his door caught my attention. He obviously intended it for me.
As I walked down the hall lined with family photographs, my eyes were drawn to the ones Daddy took of us last Mother’s Day.
“DON’T STAND SO close to Jake, Holly—I want his uniform to show.” I could still hear Daddy directing every move we made.
Jake always wore his drab olive uniform on special occasions. I moved over, self-consciously smoothing the wrinkles from the blue linen dress Mother had made me wear. Jake was only twelve at the time. He stood tall, with his shoulders back and the sun glinting off the brass slide that secured his neckerchief. Mother darted in front of him and pinned the red rose that she had just plucked from one of her bushes onto his shirt. His uniform, decorated with the merit badges he had earned for swimming, canoeing, and first aid, stood for everything Daddy believed in: truth, honor, courage, and pride.
“Let’s have one of Jake by himself.” Daddy pulled Jake from the lineup that included Kathleen, Jennifer, Mama Hendricks, Mother, and me. He placed Jake over to the side so that only the azure sky threatened to upstage him. Daddy then attempted to capture on film everything he revered in his only son.
Satisfied with his solo shot of Jake, Daddy shifted his attention back to the lineup. He rotated our positions as though we were colorful glass fragments inside my grandfather’s kaleidoscope. Then suddenly, just like the flailing, tinted glass that is magically fused into a symmetrical pattern, our image was frozen to momentary wholeness as my father snapped the shutter.
CHAPTER NINE
We always know in our hearts the things we can’t bear to say.
Jewell
I WAS SURPRISED when Ross offered to go with us to Dr. Riley’s that morning. I was the one who usually handled the kids’ medical visits. It made me nervous just watching Ross fumble with a pack of cigarettes as we waited for the nurse to draw Jake’s blood, swab his throat, an
d then take his temperature and blood pressure. For me, it was routine for Dr. Riley to listen to my son’s breathing and check his heart, then feel his neck, underarms, and groin for any signs of swelling. It took almost two hours for the results of the white blood count to come back from the hospital lab. I studied Dr. Riley closely as he looked over the chart displaying all of Jake’s vital signs and lab results. I was too afraid to ask any questions. The look on his face, however, told me everything I needed to know.
Dr. Riley wanted to admit Jake to the hospital immediately for further testing. It would have been much easier to put this off until Monday, but Ross was adamant about not wasting any more time than we already had. We didn’t even go home for a change of clothes. Ross called Kathleen and asked if she and Randy could go get Holly and take her back to their house for the weekend.
It was times like these that made me appreciate the fact that Kathleen had married someone who was old enough to take charge in a crisis. It wasn’t that I ever had anything against Randy. I just thought that he was too old for my daughter. Kathleen was only seventeen when she started dating him and he was a college graduate. We refused to let her see him, but she secretly continued meeting him whenever she could. I suspected this and confronted her, but that only made matters worse.
“I THOUGHT I told you not to see him again.” I tried to keep my voice low so that it wouldn’t travel through the thin walls of our house.
“He wants to marry me,” Kathleen replied.
“Is that what he told you?” I was appalled that she could be so stupid.
“We love each other,” Kathleen insisted.
“He’s never going to marry you. He just wants one thing and from what I can tell, you’ve been giving it to him.”
“It isn’t like that,” Kathleen said.
“It’s always like that where men are concerned.”
“Well, you’re wrong. As soon as I graduate, we’re getting married.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” I moved closer to her. “We told you not to see him, and all this time you’ve been sneaking behind our backs, having sex with a man who’s old enough to know better. You’re just a baby, Kathleen. We could have him arrested for this.”
“Please don’t do that. It’s not his fault.”
“Not his fault? Of course it’s his fault. If you ever see him again, I’ll let your father know exactly what’s been going on. God only knows what would happen if he found out about this.”
A FEW DAYS after graduation, Kathleen learned she was pregnant. Because she was still under age, she and Randy quietly slipped across the state line and married. A month later, Kathleen lost the baby. It was a tragedy for her, but a welcomed turn of events as far as I was concerned. I never had to tell Ross the awful truth.
After miscarrying a second time, Kathleen finally gave birth to Jennifer. During the fourteen months since our granddaughter was born, Kathleen had suffered a third miscarriage and, although she hadn’t said anything, I suspected she was pregnant again.
Kathleen’s situation was the least of my worries as I sat next to Jake’s bed in his cramped hospital room, feeling overwhelmed by the events that had brought us there. I wasn’t prepared for this any more than I was when Holly came down with polio or the time Jake cut his leg above the ankle and had to have stitches. Those were the only other times I could remember Ross going with me to the doctor’s.
I just wished we would have known sooner that something was wrong with Jake, but he never complained. He was hardly ever been sick. He was such a strong, active boy. Ross said he’ll make a good soldier. Ross was obsessed with wanting Jake to go to West Point, probably to make up for his own unfulfilled dreams. Shortly after the war broke out, Ross enlisted in the army. He was in college at the time. From what he told me, he wasn’t a good student, so enlistment spared him the dishonor of flunking out of school. We quickly married during his leave time after basic training. Within a month, Ross went overseas while I stayed home and had a baby. After the war, Ross had me and Kathleen to support, so he never went back to school to get his law degree. Nor had he ever let me forget the sacrifices he made for both his country and his family.
All of that was years ago, hardly worth bothering about. Everything was just starting to go well in my life: Ross had a steady job that paid well, Kathleen was married and had given us a grandchild, and Jake and Holly were now old enough to take care of themselves. I had waited a long time for this moment in my life.
I looked over at Jake as I tried to get comfortable. He had fallen asleep. I remember the day we brought him home from the hospital after he was born. Holly was so jealous. She still was. Jake just naturally commanded attention and Holly had to fight for it.
I closed my eyes, hoping to block every thought in my head. I dreaded staying up most of the night feeling tired and frightened. Maybe we hadn’t paid enough attention to what was going on around us. It was so easy to get caught up in making a living, doing the laundry, and putting food on the table. I know I wasn’t the best mother in the world, but I would never intentionally neglect my children. Why did things always seem to unravel just when you think everything was perfect? It didn’t seem fair that I should have to worry about a sick child again after all I had been through with Holly.
My mother always said that life wasn’t meant to be easy. I guess she was right. God had given me lots of problems along the way, but I’d survived them all. This situation with Jake was just another cross I’d have to bear.
CHAPTER TEN
Each generation will be remembered by the crises it confronted, and even more by the poignant moments that overshadow history altogether.
Kathleen
I MADE A mad dash for the toilet and threw up everything that was in my stomach. It was this way every morning now. Randy was the only one who knew I was pregnant. It was bad luck to talk about it this soon, especially after three miscarriages. Besides, with all that was going on with Jake, I didn’t feel like celebrating anything.
Randy, Holly, and I had stayed up late the night before watching The Outer Limits and Gilligan’s Island. Afterward, we playeda lively game of Monopoly. It kept us from worrying about Jake so much.
Today marked the first anniversary of President Kennedy’s assassination. Flashbacks of him and Mrs. Kennedy arriving in Dallas one year earlier had aired on every TV network throughout the weekend. It was eerie to see the President and First Lady smiling and waving to the crowd that had gathered at Love Field last November, totally unaware of the danger that awaited them at Dealey Plaza. My eyes filled with tears as I watched the funeral procession slowly pass Mrs. Kennedy and her two children. And then, in the most touching manner I had ever witnessed, little John-John saluted his father’s casket. It was easy to find myself drawn into this other family’s tragedy, watching it unravel on a small screen in my living room, reliving each moment as if it had happened not only to them, but to me as well.
It seemed like trouble was brewing everywhere I looked these days. Not only had our president been shot dead on the streets of Dallas, but colored folks were being hosed down in Birmingham. At the height of the Cold War, Nikita Khrushchev vowed the Soviet Union would bury us; a threat that seemed imminent during the Cuban Missile Crisis. We were in a breakneck race with the Russians for outer space, and in the midst of a cultural rebellion that celebrated free love and revolutionary ways of thinking and behaving. My generation would long be remembered for its protests against the Viet Nam War, though sometimes the conflict in our hearts was an even deeper and darker struggle than any fought with guns.
It was mid-afternoon before Daddy called from the hospital.
“Hush, Jennifer. Mommy’s on the phone.” Jennifer mimicked me by putting one of her stubby fingers to her lips and giggling loudly.
The news was worse than I had expected. Jake was scheduled for exploratory surgery on Wednesday and would have to stay in the hospital. Daddy said he would tell us more when we brought Holly home that evening.
“We’ll be there around five,” I told Daddy, biting my lower lip. “Dad wants to speak to you.” I handed the receiver to Holly.
“Where are you?” Holly asked.
I studied her face as she heard the news. She looked as if she were about to cry.
“But that’s the day before Thanksgiving,” Holly stressed. “Why do they have to operate the day before a holiday? Can’t it wait?”
There was a long silence.
“No, don’t put her on the phone. I’ll talk to her later.” Holly quickly hung up the phone.
I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to speak to Mother. Holly picked up the ball and rolled it to Jennifer who had continued to laugh and play, safe from the shadow that had fallen over Holly and me. I envied my daughter’s innocence.
I was relieved when it was time to take Holly home. Sometimes she seemed more like a stranger than a sister because of the difference in our ages. She was only ten when I left home to marry Randy four years ago. I still remember her as a little brat who always bothered me when my friends were over. She had even mutilated my favorite doll by chopping off its hair, drawing glasses around its eyes, and painting freckles on its face. Mother gave Holly a good spanking and made her say she was sorry for what she had done to my poor Sally. Recently I read in a magazine that children who experienced serious illnesses or other traumatic events often acted out as a way of feeling in control of their lives. Even so, I didn’t think having polio gave Holly a right to take out her frustrations on the very last doll I ever had.
DADDY CAME OUTSIDE as soon as he saw us pull into the driveway. He looked very tired. He hadn’t even shaved that morning.
“Would you take Jennifer inside?” I asked Holly.
“I want to hear what’s going on,” she protested.
“I will let you know after a while,” I said. “Right now I need you to watch Jennifer.”
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