Kneel

by Candace Buford

  “Look, Gabby, I—”

  A blush crept up her cheeks, and she looked into her lap. Her fingers tangled into knots. Before I could speak, I felt a familiar squeeze on my shoulder. I tilted my head back, finding Mama standing over me.

  “Well, isn’t this nice.” She squeezed my shoulder again, bracing herself as she dove for a red potato on the table. Covering her mouth, she waved at Gabby and said, “Hey, baby girl. Haven’t seen you in a good while.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Boudreaux.” Gabby smiled tightly, her invitation still hanging awkwardly between us.

  “I see y’all got those flyers. We did too.”

  “It’s nothing, Mama. We were just throwing them away.” I scrambled to gather all the visible flyers on the table. I didn’t want her getting any ideas about me protesting again.

  “Did I hear y’all were handing out bags of groceries over there?” Mama redirected her attention to Gabby. She was clearly interested in something more important than the flyers.

  When Gabby nodded, Mama smoothed down her edges, her hand moving slowly toward her bun. She was doing her best to seem casual. Only I noticed the tightness around her eyes.

  “Do you have any extra?” She smiled self-consciously, and my heart clenched at the sight of her asking for free groceries in front of my friends. I’d known our finances were tight after paying Marion’s bail, but I didn’t know things were this bad.

  “We should have a few bags left in the truck.” Gabby’s face softened, and she scooted her hand next to mine. Her pinky finger grazed my skin. “I can bring it to your car. Just point me in the right direction.”

  I could have told her I loved her in that moment, because her words made my mom visibly relax. She wouldn’t be seen carrying charity groceries around homecoming. I don’t know why Mama felt so embarrassed. There were plenty of people grabbing free groceries, and there was no shame in it—but Mama...well, she was a proud woman.

  Mama took off in the direction of Pops’s tuck, parked on the corner of Main Street and Elm. Gabby slid out of her seat, but at the last minute, I grabbed her hand. She whipped her head around, startled.

  “To answer your question—yes.” I nodded at the stack of flyers on the table. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Agreeing to go see Charlotte Martin speak at Central College existed in a gray area of the rules I’d drawn up for keeping football and activism separate. The speech wasn’t on the field. It was after the game—on my time. And my time still belonged to me. “I may be a little late because we have a game, but I’ll be there.”

  I’d meet Gabby anywhere.

  “Save me a seat next to you.”

  22

  Fresh off the heels of our win against Cary High School, I showered quickly, then ran to my car, praying to God it would start tonight. I was determined to meet Gabby at Central Community College on time—or as close to on time as I could.

  This was a date after all.

  I was panting by the time I made it into the auditorium. It was packed—more packed than I’d thought it would be. Most of the seats were filled, and the overflow spilled into the aisles and around the back of the room. A bundle of natural hair near the front row caught my eyes and I made my way down.

  “Did I miss it?” I gripped the armrest of her chair as I caught my breath.

  Gabby’s smile widened, brightening the room. “It’s just about to start.” She removed her coat and purse from the seat next to her. “Saved you a seat.”

  The seat was a small wooden folding chair, barely big enough to accommodate Gabby’s slight frame. I stepped as carefully as I could between Gabby’s feet and the seat in front of her, but there wasn’t enough room. Mama always said I was built for the field, and it had never rung truer as I tried to fit myself in that auditorium seat.

  “Can’t believe you’re here.” Gabby tucked her hair behind her ear. “Thought for sure you weren’t going to make it.”

  “I told you I would.” I shifted to face her, wincing as my knees banged against the chair in front of me. But it was worth it to see her blush and look away. I nodded toward the standing crowd behind me. “Wow, this place is packed.”

  “She’s worth it. Trust me.” Gabby smirked at me. When the lights dimmed, Gabby held her breath and grabbed the armrest between us. Our fingers grazed for a brief moment.

  “Y’all give it up for Charlotte Martin!” the MC said loudly into the mic. The auditorium cheered and clapped, conjuring Charlotte to the stage. She gripped her temples with the tips of her fingers as she paced in front of the mic stand. She reminded me of how Mama looked after a long and frustrating day. She looked dog-tired—something I could also relate to.

  “I gotta tell y’all—I’m tired.” She took the microphone off the stand and paced the stage with it. “I’m sick and tired of seeing images like this. Can I get someone to hit the lights for me, please?”

  When the lights went off, a projector went on.

  “You guys may have heard about some of these cases. I’d like to share them with you anyway, because it’s important to say their names. It’s important to bear witness. So, here we go.” She pointed her remote at the projector. “Harold Boyd was a Black man arrested under suspicion of selling loose cigarettes outside of a convenience store. A police office pinned him to the ground and put his knee on his neck, killing him dead—right there on the street. Say his name with me.”

  She held her mic to the crowd, who shouted the victim’s name. “Harold Boyd!”

  “Marcus Smith was jogging early on a Saturday morning and was shot with a shotgun in the back by a retired police officer. The excuse was that he looked suspicious. Say his name with me.”

  “Marcus Smith!” the crowd yelled.

  “I know y’all know about this young man.”

  I caught my breath as I stared into the haunting eyes of Dante Maynard. It was the same photo the Shadow had used on the first round of flyers at the beginning of school. His eyes were innocent, cast in the partial shade of his hoodie. He wore a soft smile.

  “This young man was a promising young basketball player in Shreveport. Just two months ago, he was gunned down at a gas station under suspicion of robbery. His crime was being Black in America. What is his name?”

  “Dante Maynard!” the crowd said together.

  The room went black as the projector shut off. Then the lights came back on.

  “These murders happened within two hundred miles of where we’re standing, all in the last two years. I repeat, these young men were killed in our backyard.” She replaced the microphone on its stand. With a sigh, she said, “So, you see why I’m tired. I’m tired of hearing these stories. I’m tired of knowing there will be another police-involved murder of an innocent Black man in a few months. I’m tired of feeling helpless to stop it. And I’m tired of the officers not being jailed. Dante Maynard was shot over two months ago, and the officer responsible for his death is still not in custody.”

  I squirmed in my seat, unable to get Dante’s killer out of my head. Officer Reynaud was walking the streets, strolling around town with his thumbs tucked in his belt loops. He’d even been brazen enough to arrest Marion and accuse him of resisting arrest, even though he knew that was a lie. A crooked cop was terrorizing our community. And no one in power seemed to care.

  She leaned into the microphone so that her voice boomed louder. “This is not a drill, folks. We need all hands on deck and for y’all to speak out. Using your voice to hold them accountable could save a life.”

  Someone in the crowd shouted, “We should fight back! Hit the streets right now.”

  “Yes, brother. I admire your enthusiasm. Gathering and implementing collective voices can be a powerful tool. But I hear the anger in your voice. I wanna caution you against violence.”

  “Why? Let’s go Malcom X in these streets!”

  “White people treat us like
animals. I’m not going to give them what they want—the out-of-control Black man or woman fueled by rage. Let us use our minds. Let us build a bridge to a new world.”

  I wanted to agree with her—the bridge to a new world didn’t have to be violent. It’s what I’d tried to build by kneeling during the national anthem. I’d wanted to cut through the noise and make a statement for all to see, but it had backfired on me. I was still feeling the reverberations from that decision. And no one seemed to understand the message enough to seriously examine Officer Reynaud and his negative impact on our community.

  So...did peaceful protests really work? Or did protests need to make more noise and shake things up? As Charlotte continued her talk about building bridges, my mind spun.

  What am I thinking?

  I shook my head, trying to remember my commitment to stay away from protesting. I was just here to support Gabby and keep her company.

  Charlotte gestured to the side of the stage, wiggling her fingers for someone to join her on the stage. “And who better to teach us how to build that bridge than one of our local teachers. Maya, would you join me up here?”

  Gabby’s breath hitched at the same time mine did. She gripped my hand, her eyebrows upturned in surprise, her lips tucked underneath her teeth. We watched wide-eyed as Ms. Jabbar strode across the stage and grabbed the mic. My heart raced from the shock of seeing our English teacher and from the shock of Gabby’s fingers gripping mine. I squeezed back, the warmth of her hand flooding my senses.

  “Thank you, Ms. Martin.” Ms. J adjusted the microphone so that it would reach her tall height. “Next weekend, you’ll have an opportunity to use your voice in numbers. Join us for a peaceful demonstration outside of Monroe Town Hall. Bring your posters, bring your friends, and speak out against injustice.”

  The date was set: next Saturday. The rally ended in a call for action. It left me feeling less confused and prouder of the small act of protest I’d done on the field. I’d taken a knee, and because of the immediate backlash, I hadn’t allowed myself to celebrate my exercise of free speech. I had a voice and had used it. What if we all used our voices?

  We could shake the very foundations of this country.

  “I guess we shouldn’t be surprised.” Gabby covered her mouth before she busted out a laugh. “Ms. J and Charlotte Martin. Wow.”

  Her enthusiasm was infectious. I couldn’t help but return her smile.

  “Wasn’t she great?” Gabby beamed. “Ready to go?”

  I nodded and gulped. Where we were headed, I had no idea. But I’d follow Gabby almost anywhere. She’d gotten Marion a better attorney for free, kept me accountable on our school project, and trusted me enough to share her favorite speaker with me. Wherever she led, I would follow. And I would work up the nerve to tell her what she meant to me—tonight.

  “Oh, there’s someone I want you to meet.” She tugged my arm in the direction of a knot of students near the front of the room. She cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled, “Dave. Dave!”

  It took me a minute to recognize the name, but I finally did. Dave was the guy Gabby texted with—the guy she’d leave a room to speak to. And I suspected he was the one who’d been making her smile as she drifted through the lunchroom, her fingers rapidly typing as she floated through the halls. This was that Dave.

  I hated Dave.

  Dave turned around, his light-skinned cheeks flushed as he ran his hand through his Creole curls. His hazel eyes twinkled as he caught Gabby’s glance. His long arms stretched over the masses as he waved back. He weaved through the crowd with purpose and scooped Gabby into a hug that lifted her to her tiptoes.

  “This is Dave,” she said after she found her footing. Her eyes shone brightly as she looked from me to Dave, clearly enamored with him. I staggered as I seemed to lose my footing. “Dave, this is Rus.”

  “So, you’re the football guy who took a knee?” He waved his hand with a flourish. “Hats off to you.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “You ready for a party? Let’s head to Raven Hall.” He held his arm out for me to lead the way. I turned toward the door, but not before seeing his other arm wrap around Gabby’s waist.

  23

  Raven Hall sat on the south end of the small community college campus. An eclectic mix of students lounged on the lawn, soaking up the moonlight. A girl in a cowboy hat strummed her guitar in the hallway. I stepped over her legs in order to get to the residents’ common room, which opened up to a sizable backyard.

  I silently seethed as Dave put his arm around Gabby and led her through the dorm.

  This was not the date I’d envisioned.

  I grabbed a bag of chips off one of the tables, not even bothering to ask whose it was. I shoved a handful of them into my mouth just as Dave wiped a bundle of curls off Gabby’s forehead.

  Worst. Date. Ever.

  I didn’t stand a chance against this light-skinned brother. They walked close together—the way people did when they were familiar. I wondered if texting had turned to touching. I mean, how could it not? He was tall and educated and had a bougie accent, and they both spoke with a sense of urgency and mutual understanding. In a lot of ways, they seemed better suited for each other than Gabby and me. They were more of a natural, obvious fit. But Gabby kept looking behind her, making sure I was keeping up. I was still in her thoughts. I just hoped I wasn’t an afterthought.

  “I’ve gotta talk to Spencer really quickly. Wanna ask if we can squeeze something about Saturday’s march into this week’s paper.” Dave smiled broadly, revealing large white teeth. “We go to print tonight.”

  “Go, go!” Gabby waved her hands, shooing him toward the corner of the room where, I assumed, Spencer stood. “We’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll grab you a drink on the way back?” Dave raised his eyebrows, nodding as if he’d already received our responses. “Beer?”

  I looked at my phone a dozen times, watching the time edge later and later. It was nearly eleven, and even though I wasn’t grounded anymore, staying out all night wasn’t exactly the way to earn my parents’ trust back. I needed to be home by midnight, but this college party seemed to be just getting started.

  I’d promised Gabby I’d come for one drink. But where were those drinks? That smooth-talking Dave had gone to get us some, but he was busy chatting with people on the patio. He leaned against the counter railing, looking like he had all the time in the world. College students didn’t have curfews, but I did.

  “I’ll probably have to bounce soon.” I leaned across the table. “How late were you planning on staying?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a couple of hours.”

  I frowned, wondering what that kind of freedom must be like. Gabby’s dad must be very trusting.

  Gabby leaned over her chair, petting the tall grass with her fingertips. She drew her hand to her nose and laughed.

  “Interesting choice.” She smelled the tips of her fingers again. “That’s not grass. It’s oregano. I thought I recognized it. Here. Smell.”

  She snapped off a piece, then leaned over to me. She hovered over my lap, so close I could feel her breath grazing my neck. She waved her hand, begging me to take a whiff. I breathed deeply.

  “Wow. That’s definitely an herb.” I had no idea what it looked like fresh—I’d only ever seen it dried and crushed in a spice bottle. I grabbed the bushy sprig from her fingers and sniffed it again. “Smells like pizza.”

  “I know, right? It grows like weeds. Whoever planted it probably didn’t mean for it to take up the whole backyard.” Gabby laughed. “You learn a thing or two when your dad’s in the produce business.”

  “Someone say pizza?” Dave said from over my shoulder. His hands were full with three red Solo cups. He handed one to each of us, then looked at the twig in my hand.

  “Smell.” Gabby nodded.

  There was no w
ay that I was holding it up to his nose like Gabby had done for me, so I quickly off-loaded it into his unsuspecting hand. He made eye contact with Gabby as he inhaled, looking melodramatic as he flared his nostrils in wonder. She blushed and turned away with a small laugh. I was instantly annoyed.

  “You’re too much,” Gabby said.

  “I spoke with Ms. Jabbar after the lecture about Saturday’s demonstration,” Dave said. “She says she needs help gathering signatures for the petition.”

  “What petition?” I asked.

  “The one to get Officer Reynaud fired.” Dave raised an eyebrow, looking from Gabby to me like I should have already known about the petition.

  “And hopefully jailed,” Gabby mumbled into her cup. “Lord knows he deserves worse.”

  I nodded. Every Black and brown person within Reynaud’s jurisdiction was in danger. There was no telling what he might do during another tense situation, but it wouldn’t be just or fair. Something had to be done about him.

  “I was thinking we could set up a table next to the Walmart entrance.” Dave turned to Gabby, clearly intending to expand on his plan, but I had to interrupt.

  “Wait. The Walmart in Westmond?” I sputtered a laugh, causing them to look at me.

  Dave cleared his throat, clearly waiting for an explanation.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I raised my arms incredulously. Dave seemed like a smart guy, but his idea was making me reevaluate. Surely he was aware he was putting Gabby in a dangerous situation. My eyes narrowed. “You want Gabby to take a Black Lives Matter petition to a white neighborhood?”

  Dave raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms, looking to Gabby for support. She blanched as she caught the heat of his gaze. She put her hands on her hips.

  “Why shouldn’t white people be as concerned as we are?” She tilted her head. “Rus, we need the whole community to condemn Officer Reynaud and police brutality. There have to be some white people who believe in this cause too.”

  I shook my head, becoming lost in thought. I could imagine Officer Reynaud answering a call of disturbance. Showing up to the Walmart parking lot, his eyes wild with hunger to catch the agitator who was trying to galvanize his own town against him. He’d gleefully cart Gabby to the station. It was the worst situation for her safety. But Dave thought differently.