by Anne Moody
Within that week, the girl who knocked me down came to me and apologized, and the captain went to each of the girls for her decision about abolishing the team. When Hicks called us together again, the captain got up and said that the girls had unanimously voted to continue playing. After that Hicks didn’t treat me any better than the other girls. He didn’t call me sweet names or look for excuses to touch me every time he was near me; now I began to respect him again. I think I appreciated his change of attitude toward me more than any of the other girls did.
Right after Hicks had cooled off on me, I began having problems with Raymond. I would come in from work in the evening and he would be hanging around the house. Sometimes he would be sitting in the yard, under the pecan tree, and when I walked out there, he would stare at me long and hard. One evening I was sitting in my room in front of the mirror, combing my hair. I was wearing a real low-cut blouse. He had walked out of the kitchen past my bedroom window and suddenly I saw him in the mirror standing outside staring at me. I pretended I didn’t see him. He stood out there for a long time giving me wanting eyes. After that I became a little frightened of him. I stopped wearing low-cut blouses and even stopped wearing shorts or tight pants around him. But he still continued to look at me wantingly. I got the feeling he thought that I had begun screwing around when I was in New Orleans because I had matured so. Then too he knew Hicks liked me because he had come by the house so much. I knew that he was jealous of Hicks and didn’t want Hicks or anyone else to touch me.
Once when Mama, Raymond, and all the children were sitting around watching TV, I came into the room and sat down. Raymond glanced at me angrily, got up grumbling to himself, and stormed out of the room. Mama looked at him as he left and a hurt expression came across her face. I could tell she knew exactly what was going on with Raymond. She got up and followed him out of the room and I heard them exchange angry words in the kitchen. As I sat there, I remembered the day I had mentioned to Lola that I had a stepfather and Lola had said:
“Stepfathers ain’t no damn good. Once my cousin remarried some no-good man and put him over her teen-age daughter. One day she came home and caught that fucker in bed with her child.”
“All stepfathers ain’t like that,” I had said defensively.
“Like hell they ain’t! He never touched you or brushed up against you or looked at you funny?”
“Raymond ain’t like that. Besides, if he did like me he would never mess with me ’cause he know I can’t stand him.”
“But why you can’t stand him then?” Lola had asked.
Then I told him about Miss Pearl them and how bad they treated Mama. I told him that I hated Raymond because he let them treat Mama like dirt.
Now I knew that Lola was right, and I knew if things got any worse, I would have to leave Centreville.
Two weeks later, Samuel O’Quinn was murdered. One night as he was walking the few blocks from town to his house he was shot in the back from close range with a double-barreled shotgun. The blast left a hole through his chest large enough to stick a fist through.
His death brought back memories of all the other killings, beatings, and abuses inflicted upon Negroes by whites. I lay in bed for two days after his death recalling the Taplin burning, Jerry’s beating, Emmett Till’s murder, and working for Mrs. Burke. I hated myself and every Negro in Centreville for not putting a stop to the killings or at least putting up a fight in an attempt to stop them. I thought of waging a war in protest against the killings all by myself, if no one else would help. I wanted to take my savings, buy a machine gun, and walk down the main street in Centreville cutting down every white person I saw. Then, realizing that I didn’t have it in me to kill, I slowly began to escape within myself again.
The following Sunday on my way to Centreville Baptist, I walked the same sidewalk I always walked, the one where Samuel O’Quinn had died. As I stood looking at the bloodstained spot where he had fallen, pangs of anger hit me like lightning, paralyzing me emotionally. Sitting up in church later, I couldn’t make myself feel anything when the preacher casually mentioned “the passing of Mr. O’Quinn.”
Samuel O’Quinn had just returned from a long stay up North. A few weeks after he was murdered, it was whispered among the Negroes that he was killed because he was an NAACP member. He was said to have joined during his stay. His plans were to come back to Centreville and try to organize the Negroes. He supposedly knew all the facts underlying the Taplin burning and other mysterious killings in and around Centreville and Woodville. However, when he returned to Centreville and began seeking out Negroes whom he thought he could trust, he found only a few. And out of that few, someone squealed. Before he was able to organize his first meeting, he was killed. The other men involved hushed up or left town in fear of their lives.
Later talk among the Negroes about his death brought out that Principal Willis was one of the biggest Uncle Toms in the South. It was said that he was the one who squealed on Samuel O’Quinn and also helped plot his death. Even later, a Negro on his deathbed confessed that he and another Negro, who is walking around alive and healthy today, were paid five hundred dollars to murder Samuel O’Quinn and the money was delivered by Willis. It never came out which whites were behind the killing, but everyone figured it was the same bunch that had pulled all the others. Every time I saw Willis at school after that, I hated his guts. At night I used to have dreams about killing him.
After Samuel O’Quinn’s murder, I became a real loner. I spent most of my time in school, at work, or in church. Whenever I was home, I stayed in my room to avoid Raymond. I even moved the piano in there. I didn’t have any contact with my classmates or teachers outside the classroom. When I was at work I hardly spoke to Mrs. Hunt. Because she was a part of Centreville’s white community and didn’t condemn what they were doing, I considered her as guilty as the ones who did the killing.
It became almost impossible for me to go to school or work. I had hoped that I could finish high school and then leave Centreville for good. Now I made plans to leave at the end of that semester. I would go to New Orleans to work at the restaurant, then finish high school at night. I planned to take Adline with me because I didn’t want to leave her there around Raymond.
One Sunday morning, in early November, Adline and I went to Sunday school and church as usual. It was about two o’clock that afternoon when church let out and I headed home to spend the rest of the day in my room at the piano. When we got home, Mama and Raymond were sitting on the porch. Mama was sitting there picking bumps in her face with a needle, looking in a small piece of broken mirror, as she did every Sunday. When I walked up on the porch, I pulled Mama’s hair playfully and ran past her into the house as she hit at me. I went straight to my bedroom, sat down at the piano, and started playing “Does Jesus Care.”
“Essie Mae, ah’ll sing while you play. All right?” Mama yelled from the porch.
“O.K. Wait till I change clothes and then come in here,” I answered.
After I had changed into something comfortable I began playing again and waited for Mama to come in. I played a couple of songs and she still hadn’t come so I went onto the porch to tell her I was ready. Raymond was sitting there alone. I walked out in the yard to see if she was under the pecan tree. She wasn’t, so I sat on the corner of the bottom step and looked under the house to see if she was in the backyard. I looked up at Raymond. Just as I was about to ask him where Mama was, he jumped up out of the rocking chair and stormed into the house cursing.
“Goddamn! Can’t see no fuckin’ peace ’round here,” he said, slamming the screen door.
Something inside me popped.
“You mothafucka! I’m tired of you! What’s wrong with you, you can’t see no peace? What have I done to you? You’re the one. Can’t nobody see no peace for you going around here cussin’ and fussin’ all the time.” I ran up on the porch and picked up the piece of broken mirror Mama had left there. “I’ll kill you! You son of a bitch! You need to be dead!�
�� I screamed, rushing to the screen door.
I was so mad I was stone out of my mind. When I ran for the door, Raymond immediately latched it from inside. He stood behind it looking at me like he wanted to strike me. But he knew if he opened the door I would cut him with the mirror. I was crying like crazy. I could hardly see for the water in my eyes. As I was jerking on the door, Mama came up behind him.
“What’s wrong with you, Essie Mae? Put that mirror down! You losin’ your mind or somethin’?” she yelled at me.
“I didn’t do nothin’! I came out on the porch for you and this fucker come talkin’ ’bout um driving him crazy, he can’t see no peace for me! What in the shit have I done? Um getting tired of this shit around here! Um gonna leave right now! Open this door! Let me get my clothes!” I cried, jerking on the door again with all my might.
They wouldn’t open it and I ran around to the back door and found it latched too. All the other children came running to the house from down the hill, where they had been playing, as I ran to the front of the house. When I came up on the porch, Mama was opening the door, but Raymond forced her back into the house when he saw me and latched it again.
“Open this door!” I screamed, pulling and kicking at the wooden frame.
“Shut up your mouth!” Mama yelled. “What’s wrong with you? Shut up! People all up in the quarters can hear you.”
“I don’t give a goddamn about people hearing me! Nobody in this fuckin’ town ain’t no good no way. Um tired of this shit! What have I done to Raymond? What have I done to him!! I know what his problem is! I know what’s wrong with him …”
“Shut up, gal! Shut up! Everybody is listenin’ to you!”
“I told you once, Mama! I told you he wasn’t no good. He ain’t no good! I hear him fussin’ at you every mornin’ and you don’t say nothin’ to him! What do you say? You just sit there and take it and let him walk all over you! Um tired of him walkin’ all over you and treatin’ us like we’re dirt or somethin’. If you don’t want me to get my clothes,” I screamed, “I’m just gonna leave without them. I don’t need them no way. Um just gonna go away, Mama. Um just gonna go away and kill myself!” I walked down off the porch. I was so mad, I was talking to myself.
“That’s all right, Mama, um goin’. Um leavin’ this town. Ain’t nobody no good here, black or white.”
“Where you goin’, gal?” Mama yelled from the house with a tone of sorrow in her voice.
“I don’t know, Mama. I don’t know,” I muttered to myself.
As I walked toward Miss Pearl’s house, they were all standing out in the yard staring at me. I wanted to kill all of them. “They ain’t worth it,” I thought, walking by them. As I passed, they stared at me like I had lost my mind. I turned the little curve in front of Miss Pearl’s and walked up toward the highway. My cousin, Miss Clara, and all of them were standing out in the road.
“Essie Mae! What’s wrong wit’ you? What’s goin’ on down there?” Miss Clara asked, walking toward me. “Come on in and tell me what’s wrong,” she said, leading me to her house. She took me inside and wiped my face with a towel. I lay on her sofa and cried for a while as she patted me on the back.
“Essie Mae, what happen? What were you screamin’ and carryin’ on ’bout?” her husband, Mr. Leon, asked.
“I had a fight with Raymond and I’m not gonna stay there anymore.”
“Did he beat you?” he asked angrily.
I just shook my head no.
“You want me and Clara to take you to Diddly?”
“I wanta get my clothes,” I said. “But Mama them won’t let me in the house.”
“You want me to go and get your clothes?” Leon asked.
“No! Raymond and Mama won’t give them to you. They will just get mad with you.”
“Then why don’t you just leave them and let Diddly git them,” he said.
“My daddy won’t go down there. And I don’t want him to go because Raymond would be mad with Mama if Daddy went there.” I sat there thinking for a while. “I know what. Take me to the sheriff. He would come back with me and I’ll get my clothes ’cause Mama ain’t gonna give them to nobody else.”
As Mr. Leon and Miss Clara drove me to Ed Cassidy’s house, they acted like they were scared, but I wasn’t. I figured the sheriff could get my clothes if nobody else could. I was old enough to leave home. I had bought all the clothes myself out of what I had earned.
Mr. Leon and Miss Clara waited in the car for me as I walked up on the sheriff’s porch. I was still crying as I knocked. Mrs. Cassidy came to the door.
“Yes?” she asked. “What can I do for you?” She stood on the other side of the screen door staring at me suspiciously.
“Is Mr. Cassidy home?” I asked, tears still running down my face.
“Yes, but he’s eatin’ dinner. Is it serious?” she asked.
“Yes, it is serious and I would like to see him now,” I said.
“Well, I’m sorry, he’s eatin’ dinner right now. He’ll be out in a little while. You can sit in the swing and wait for him,” she said, going back into the house.
“How long is it gonna take?” I asked.
“Fifteen twenty minutes,” she answered without turning around.
When she went back and told him, he came right out. I guess she must have told him I was crying.
“What happened?” he asked, looking at me as though he was trying to remember my name.
“I just had a fight with Raymond and I left home. They won’t let me get my clothes and I bought them. They’re my clothes and I want them and I’m gonna take them. Now if you don’t come and go back with me to get them, I’m goin’ back by myself and if Raymond touch me, I’m gonna kill him, and it’s gonna be your fault ’cause I told you. I want my clothes so you better come go back with me.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doin’?”
“I’m old enough to know what I’m doin’. I was old enough to go to New Orleans and Baton Rouge and work and buy them. I’m old enough to send myself to school too. I don’t owe Raymond nothin’ and I want my clothes from there.”
“What your mama think about this?”
“Mama ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.”
“Wait a minute till I finish eatin’, then I’ll drive you down there and talk to Ray. Are you sure you wanna leave home?”
“I know what I’m doing!” I said sharply.
He gave me a funny look and went back into the house. I told Mr. Leon and Miss Clara, who were still sitting in the car, that they could leave me. They drove off and I went back and sat on Cassidy’s steps and waited for him to finish his dinner. As I sat there crying, I thought of how much I hated Raymond and wanted to kill him and how much I hated Centreville. Sitting on Ed Cassidy’s steps, remembering how he took Jerry out in the camp area to be beaten up by Withers them, I hated him more than all the whites in Centreville. I hated the thought of him taking me anywhere. But I knew Mama and Raymond wouldn’t let me get my clothes if I went back alone.
In a little while, Cassidy came out, backed his little pickup truck out into the street, and opened the door for me to get in. I jumped up beside him without even looking at him. As he drove through the quarters, all the Negroes were sitting out in their yards or on their porches. They all stared at me sitting up in Ed Cassidy’s truck.
“I know Ray,” Cassidy said. “This ain’t like Ray. We never had no trouble outta Ray. I can’t understand this. What’s goin’ on there? Ain’t Ray your daddy?”
“No, he ain’t my daddy!” I answered coldly, knowing he knew Raymond wasn’t my daddy.
“Where is your daddy?” he asked.
“My daddy live in Woodville.…”
“Are you gonna go live with your daddy?”
“I don’t know!” I snapped, hinting that I wasn’t interested in talking to him. We drove along for a while in silence.
“Well, look like everybody is out this evening,” he said, looking around at the Negr
oes staring at us as we went by. I didn’t answer or look at the Negroes. I kept my eyes straight ahead of me, fixed on the road.
When he got to our house, he stopped right at the front gate. Raymond was sitting out under the pecan tree and most of the children were out in the yard. I jumped out of the truck.
“Wait, I’m gonna get my clothes. I’ll just put them in the back of the truck,” I said to Cassidy as he got out of the truck too.
“Hey, Ray! Come over here a minute. I wanna talk to you,” Cassidy called to Raymond.
I stood by the gate for a while and looked at Raymond as he shuffled toward the sheriff, half grinning like he was scared of him. Instead of coming through the gate past me, he went through the driveway. I ran up the walk into the house. Mama was standing right inside the living room as I entered.
“What you have to go git Cassidy fer? All them people up in the quarter was sittin’ out there lookin’, I bet. Everybody’s gonna be talkin’. What you call yourself doin’?”
“What I’m doin’ is I’m leavin’ here because I am tired of this shit. Mama, I’m sorry. I just can’t take it. I just can’t take this stuff.”
“What stuff? What Ray did to you now?” she asked me with her eyes full of water.
“What has he done? You know what he’s done. Besides he can’t stand me. I hear him fussing at you every morning. Adline hear it too,” I said. Adline was standing there looking sad. When I mentioned her name, she began to cry.
“Don’t you take these clothes outta here!” Mama yelled.
“These are my clothes! I bought every one of them. Raymond or you didn’t pay a penny for them! I’m gonna take them outta here, every one of them,” I said as I snatched clothes off the wall, took them out of the cedar chest, and looked for my shoes. “Where my shoes? I want everything I got in this house! I’m sorry, Mama, but I’m never comin’ back in this house again. I wish you have a long happy life with Raymond. And if I ever see you again it won’t be here.”
