Outside it was loud again, like a Chicago morning. The el train rolled above us all the way down Calumet Avenue, riding till we turned onto Forty-First Street.
I walked on ahead. I might have to walk with Errol, but it didn’t mean I had to walk beside him. At the corner, the door to Miss Pearl’s Luncheonette was open and the morning smells of coffee, bacon, and cigarette smoke met me on the sidewalk. Each booth was filled with men at tables reading papers and eating plates piled high with food. I stopped and waited for Errol.
“That’s enough to make you lose your appetite.” I pointed to a man sitting on a stool, with his shirt rolled up high and his pants hanging so low in the back we could see just about half of his behind. Errol laughed loud enough for the man to look up from his plate and over at us.
We kept on and Errol was still walking slow. Even the cold doesn’t make him pick up his step. Our teacher, Miss Cosgrove, wasn’t so bad as far as teachers go, but sooner or later, even she was going to get tired of seeing me and Errol coming in just before the bell rang nearly every single morning.
NINE
There’s quiet and then there’s Errol. There were kids in my classroom that were too scared to raise their hand. Some didn’t say a peep all day. They were quiet. Errol just didn’t have anything to say. When he was visiting with his momma, those were the times I was glad when Annette and Clarisse were around. They’d come in, talking loud. “What are you all doing?” they’d ask us, when they could see clear as day we weren’t doing nothing at all.
They’d tell Errol how cute he was. Tell Errol how ugly and what a pain in the behind I was. He’d smile a little then. I knew he had older brothers, moved on now, working factory jobs not far from Chicago in Beloit, I heard Mrs. Watkins tell my momma. And maybe, before they left, they talked as much mess about him as my sisters did about me now.
Errol thought I didn’t notice the way his eyes stayed on Clarisse every time she walked in the room. The way he laughed extra hard at everything she said. Like he was in love.
“You thinking about asking Clarisse to marry you or what?” I asked him one day when he was looking extra in love.
“You’re crazy,” he said, looking down at his feet. And I knew that meant, yes, Errol was in love with Clarisse.
Our mommas made us stick together, so that’s what we did. I was stuck with Errol at home and at school, sitting together at lunch or standing together on the playground. After “Professor,” “ClemandErrol” was my other name.
If Mrs. Watkins was visiting, the loud street sounds outside my window were quieter than the sounds from the kitchen when I laid in bed at night.
Outside my door, I could hear Momma laughing the way I imagine she used to laugh when she was with her sisters, or back when my daddy was still alive. And I could hear their whispering too, almost like Clarisse and Annette do when they have secret things to talk about.
But one night, instead of the laughing and whispering, all I heard was crying. I got up out of the bed and went and listened close at the door when I thought it was Momma’s crying. But even after I heard Momma’s voice and knew it was Mrs. Watkins who was crying, I stayed at my door listening.
“C’mon now, Beulah. Let me take a look,” I heard Momma’s voice say soft and deep at the same time.
The crying quieted down a bit, and Momma’s voice got softer.
“You know this doesn’t make any kind of sense,” she said. “You don’t have to put up with—” and the crying started again.
Now that I was up and listening, I had to go to the bathroom, but I was afraid Momma would get mad and think I was listening in on their talking, even though I was, so I had to hold it.
That whispering and crying went on and on until I just about thought I was going to wet myself, and finally I heard the front door close.
I waited until I heard the water in the kitchen sink running before I opened my door to run to the bathroom. I had to pass Momma in the kitchen to get there and on my way, I heard Momma talking to the dishes. “Needs to keep his hands to himself… ,” she said, slamming the coffee cups in the sink hard enough to break. All of a sudden, I didn’t have to go to the bathroom anymore.
“Momma.” I said, coming up on her slow, not wanting her to slam anything harder.
She turned quick. “Oh, Clem, baby. You scared me.” She put down the washrag and turned off the water. “What are you still doing up?”
“I had to go to the bathroom,” I started, but finished in my head, but then you and Mrs. Watkins were out here raising the dead with the crying and dish slamming…
“Well, hurry up and go on back to bed, honey. It’s late,” she told me.
“Everything okay with Mrs. Watkins?” I asked her.
Her face got tight, but she smiled. “Of course it is, baby. Go on to the bathroom, Clem,” she said, telling me there wasn’t no more room for my questions.
I went in and ran the water, but still I didn’t have to go, so I went on back to bed.
It was quiet now outside and inside, and I laid there and thought about my daddy, trying again to see his face that day at the lake. And thinking how he held onto Momma’s hand. But every time I thought about his hand holding tight to hers, I could see Errol’s daddy too, mad about Mrs. Watkins spending so much time in our apartment talking to Momma. Mad about having to do for himself. I wondered if he was mad at Errol too. Here was my daddy gone, and his daddy living right downstairs, and now I didn’t know which was worse.
TEN
Every year, as much as I loved being in school, when it got to be around June, summer couldn’t come fast enough. Having more time to go to the library was one reason. Another was that every summer our momma would send me and my sisters to stay with our aunts in Washington, D.C., for “summer enrichment camp,” she called it. Of course Clarisse called it “summer prison camp.” Sometimes Momma took us on the train, but if our aunts decided to visit friends in Chicago or go to one of their big Negro Women’s group conferences, they would come and take us back with them to D.C. on the train.
In Washington, D.C., Aunt Dorcas and Aunt Bethel never had children of their own, and they think they can practice being mommas to us, but being a practice momma ain’t the same as being a real momma, especially when being a practice momma means spending all day bossing us and making us pick up after ourselves and see “important historic monuments.” They told Momma I was a handful, but it was good to get out of Chicago for a bit.
The only time we missed a “summer enrichment camp,” was the summer Daddy died. But the next summer, we made up for it with two trips. The first was the usual one to Washington, D.C., and then our uncle told Momma to send us down to visit our cousins. We came home for a week in between, so Momma could take us back on the train for a short ride to visit our cousins in Milwaukee, the children of my daddy’s only brother, Uncle Kent. I felt like a world traveler, heading back and forth from one train station to the next. Uncle Kent seemed like he had about a million kids in his little house on Townsend Street. They were loud and rowdy, but I don’t know when I had a better time. We slept all on top of each other, just arms and legs everywhere. Even with all the windows open and a little bitty fan in the corner, you couldn’t even get a breeze, but nobody cared because we were cousins and the next morning when we got up, there would be breakfast waiting, and after we washed up and pulled on some clothes, Aunt Thea and Uncle Kent didn’t mind how long we stayed outside as long we didn’t get hurt or hurt no one else. All Uncle Kent’s children had names that started with the letter K, just like Uncle Kent’s, like they ran out of ideas for names. The oldest was Kandace, just two years older than Clarisse. Then there was Kent Junior, one year older than Clarisse, who everyone called K.J. and looked the most like Uncle Kent, and Kara Ann who was one year younger than Annette. Kendrick was one year older than me and Kelvin was two years younger. You would think Uncle Kent and Aunt Thea would mix their names up as bad as me and Clarisse and Annette did, but they never did. I even
heard Aunt Thea in the kitchen call out once, “Get in here, K!” and I couldn’t wait to see who would answer.
Of all my cousins, it was Kendrick I liked the best and not just because we were the closest in age. It was because he always had the best ideas. Some days it would be so hot sitting on the front porch, it seemed like your brain was frying, and we would stretch out, just about sweating ourselves to death, and it would be Kendrick who would say, “Wanna go see if we can sneak into the pool downtown?” Or after dinner, when the girls were washing up dishes, Kendrick would whisper in my ear that he could show me a place where he heard a little girl who lived down the street once disappeared into thin air. “Her parents never saw her again,” he told me, and it made the back of my neck itch. I let him pull my arm and drag me off the porch and down the street. I was half believing what he said, and one half of me wanted to stay on the porch safe and sound, but the other half wanted to see if what he said was true.
When Kendrick saw me thinking too hard about if something was a good idea or not, or getting scared like I do about getting hurt or in trouble, he’d say, “You can’t keep waiting on someone to give you permission. A man jumps in first and thinks about it later.”
I wasn’t a man yet, and even if I was, I wasn’t sure I’d be the kind of man who would jump into something without thinking. I liked having a plan and knowing what was going to happen next, but I didn’t tell Kendrick that, afraid he’d think I wasn’t the right kind of man. Some nights we just sat on the back porch playing checkers, with Kelvin watching quiet as a mouse, and all of us smacking the mosquitos against our arms and legs and then flicking them off, dead as a doornail.
Everything I did with Kendrick was more exciting than anything I did back in Chicago. I wondered if this must be what it felt like to have a brother instead of sisters who sat and talked all day. We even looked a little bit alike. When we all went to the corner store to buy candy, the woman behind the counter told us, “I can tell y’all are family.”
“This is my cousin Clem,” Kendrick said, pulling my arm like he was proud. On the way home, he showed me all the candy he had shoved in his pocket when the candy store woman wasn’t looking. “That’s why it’s good to go with a crowd,” he said, hitting my arm and laughing. There wasn’t nothing that scared Kendrick.
Uncle Kent’s wife, Aunt Thea, was small and quiet but she smiled pretty and cooked us special things our momma never made, like fried chicken livers with gravy, which I saw Clarisse spit in her hand, and pineapple upside-down cake. I couldn’t get enough of the sweet tea and even though Aunt Thea told me to go easy, I didn’t and drank too much and had to climb over arms and legs all night long to get up and go to the bathroom.
Uncle Kent was a lot older than my daddy and had a big stomach and a face full of hair, and I thought they barely looked like brothers.
“Clemson sure spit you out little man,” Uncle Kent said to me, rubbing my head.
Clarisse and Annette laughed at that, but I couldn’t figure out what was so funny about being spit out, but with everybody laughing and smiling along with Uncle Kent, I smiled too. Annette told me later Uncle Kent just meant that I looked just like our daddy.
“Why didn’t he just say that?” I asked her.
“It’s just an expression they use down South, Clem,” she said, sounding like I was bothering her.
Folks told my momma every Sunday in church, “You have some good-looking children, Cecille.” I thought it was maybe because momma always made sure I dressed nice with a jacket and tie and my shoes polished up good. At home, people always said me and my sisters looked just alike, but I sure didn’t see how a boy could look like his sisters. And even if everyone thought my sisters were pretty, I didn’t want to look like a girl. But Uncle Kent saying I looked just like my daddy was the first time I’d heard it, and I never knew how good those words could make me could feel. Better even than saying I was as good-looking as my sisters.
ELEVEN
On Sunday we went with Uncle Kent’s family to Galilee Baptist Church, and when the pastor asked if there were any visitors, Aunt Thea made the three of us stand and say our names and our church home out loud. After service ended, we went back to the house and changed out of our church clothes, and Uncle Kent took us all out to Lake Park and everybody brought their swimsuits and headed to the water.
“Bet you swim like a fish just like your daddy,” Uncle Kent said to me. “Our daddy and granddaddy had us out on the water fishing before we could barely walk.”
“Was my daddy good at fishing?” I asked him.
“Pppffffff…” Uncle Kent blew through his lips. “Well, I can’t say he was good at fishing. See, fishing was kind of my thang,” he said to me, laughing. “I was what they call a natural. Clemson, he was young. And boy he loved to play. Jumping and swimming and acting the fool—till our daddy got in his behind, that is.” Uncle Kent laughed again. “But fishing, nah, that was all me.”
“So he was good at swimming?” I asked.
“Pppffffff…” Uncle Kent started every sentence with that sound. “Swimming? Now, no one could outswim Clemson. He left the fish behind.” He laughed again. “We always knew he’d head off for the navy or something like that. He was always looking… always looking to help. He was just… good folk…” Uncle Kent looked away, then said softer, “Just good folk.” I saw him wipe his face. “Let me get this grill going or we ain’t going to eat today,” he said, leaving me sitting by the edge of the water. Kendrick tried to drag me in and got Kelvin to help him, but I told him I wasn’t feeling good and he finally let go and went back in the water. Next thing, I heard Aunt Thea screaming for him to leave his sisters alone when he was pretending to be a shark and attacking their legs from below.
“He’s so tiring,” I heard Kara Ann telling Annette when they got out to dry off. I noticed Kendrick never messed with Clarisse, so I knew he had some kind of sense.
When Clarisse and Kandace finally got out, worrying now about their hair getting wet with Kendrick acting the fool, the boys stayed in, and I wished my stomach wasn’t bubbling so I could go in and join instead of sitting there on the side being a baby.
K.J. came over and sat next to me. “Hey there, Clemson Junior,” he said, pushing me over.
“No one calls me that,” I told him.
“They never call you C.J.?” he asked.
“Nope, just Clem.” We sat watching Kendrick chase everybody in the water. “He is so crazy,” K.J. said, shaking his head.
“You like being a Junior?” I asked him.
He turned to me. “Sure do. It’s a big responsibility we got, right? Carrying on our daddies’ names.” He looked so serious, like the doctor just told him he had one week to live. Like being a Junior was a death sentence.
“How are we supposed to do that?” I asked him.
“Do what?” He was flinging rocks now into the water.
“Carry on our daddies’ names. How do you carry on a name?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Be like them, I guess. Responsible or whatever,” he said, not looking at me.
I flung a few rocks, but they didn’t go nearly as far as his.
“Lean back a little and use your whole arm,” he said, showing me how he did it.
I tried his way and the rocks went further. “There you go, a little practice and we may just have the next Satchel Paige.” He laughed.
“Suppose you don’t know what your daddy was like?” I asked him.
“Say what?” he said.
“You said being a Junior means you got to be like your daddy. But suppose you don’t know what your daddy was like?” I asked.
“You got me there C.J.,” K.J. said. “You got me there.”
TWELVE
Aunt Thea walked over. “K.J., go help your daddy with that grill. He’s so busy running his mouth he’s bound to burn up everything,” she said, laughing.
“Yes ma’am,” K.J. said, jumping up and wiping the grass off the back
of his shorts. He hurried over to Uncle Kent, who I could see from where I was sitting was talking to another family, waving a big fork in his hand with his back to the grill.
“You okay, Clemson?” Aunt Thea asked.
“Yes ma’am, my stomach is hurting a little bit. I’ll go in after I eat,” I lied.
She patted my knee. “Good, we need you in there to keep an eye on Kendrick.” She smiled her pretty smile.
I knew after we ate, everybody would be too tired to go back in the water and I wouldn’t need to make up anything else because we’d head on back to the house on Townsend Street.
When two weeks passed, I just about cried my eyes out when it was time to go home. Kendrick didn’t cry, though. He waited till I was finished and said, “Clem, if you wasn’t my cousin, I’d swear you was a girl with all that crying you doing. Boys ain’t supposed to cry like that.”
I wiped my face dry. “I can’t help it,” I told him.
“Sure you can,” Kendrick said. “Just think of something else. Something that makes you mad. That stops the crying every time.”
I was thinking Kendrick could probably write a book about the rules for what boys can and can’t do.
K.J. put all of our suitcases in the trunk of the car and opened the back door of Uncle Kent’s car. “Ready to go,” he said, smiling. He went and sat in the driver’s seat like he was our personal chauffeur. Kendrick said K.J. just got his license and he drove now more than Uncle Kent. If you took away the belly and the face full of hair, K.J. was like a younger version of my uncle. I guess just like a Junior was supposed to be.
“Don’t go nowhere yet,” Kendrick said, and ran back into the house.
By the time he came back out, we were getting into the backseat to head off to the train station where Momma was going to meet us to take us home. He poked his head in through the open window and told me, “Close your eyes and open your hand.” I felt something cold and hard drop in my palm, and I opened my eyes to see Kendrick’s pocketknife.
Being Clem Page 4
