By the time I ran home, my parents already knew what had happened. Mom was on the phone. "Yes, Daddy," she said. "I know, I know, but we have to do something. We have to help her." I could hear Grandpa yelling, but couldn't make out what he was saying.
"Tommy, you know everyone in City Hall. Can't you help?" Mom's voice cracked. She sounded a bit like a talking baby doll. My heart, too, felt as if a thousand tiny fissures were fracturing its surface. I could almost picture a web-like pattern crossing, growing with each beat. Somehow, I knew that I would never be completely healed.
"Kay, it's Sunday. There isn't much that can happen today."
Mom's face fell into lines I had never noticed. Her skin turned ashen. "Bye, Daddy," she said. I think she hung up without waiting for his good-bye.
Dad walked over to her and guided her to the sofa. He pulled out the phone book and started making calls.
By 6 p.m., Fleur was back at home. I gave my dad some credit for this, and had new respect for his influence at City Hall. As it turned out, his connections did not have as much power as I thought.
Fleur had been part of a round-up of known homosexuals in Columbus. About twenty men had been brought in for questioning. She, and others, was released because there was no evidence to connect them to the crime. They were told not to leave town.
I couldn't understand why being gay would make them suspects in a murder. Fleur didn't even know the coach.
My dad said this was a crime of passion. They were considered weird, strange, and therefore criminal. I still didn't get it.
"It's like the witch trials," he said. "A long time ago, in Salem, women were accused of witchcraft. People were found guilty, and executed in horrific ways."
"Some people around here have said that Fleur is a witch. Could that be true?"
He thought for a few seconds. "Gertrude," he said, "it doesn't matter if something is true. It only matters if people think it's true."
"But, Dad, do you think it's true? Do you think Aunt Fleur is a witch?"
"I don't believe in witches. What I think means nothing. This town could crucify her just for being different."
24
Columbus clearly needed someone to crucify. Coach Russell was the most likely candidate. His crimes, if they were actual, were more than just evil, they were illegal. However, he was dead, making it hard for him to defend himself, or to face any sort of trial.
Boys from Columbus High began repeating accounts that were growing impossible to doubt. Now-grown men with families claimed to have suffered at his hands. They knew details about the house on 3rd Street North. There was a basement where the coach's "favorites" had private beds.
The coach's widow, Sue Ellen, made more statements to the press. At first she denied that there was any truth to the claims. Later, she said that she knew nothing about the "loathsome" acts that he was supposed to have committed. She was quoted in the press saying, "The things that he has been accused of are a complete surprise to me. Naturally, I believe that they are lies."
I knew that my aunt had not left the house since her arrest. So, I went over to see if she wanted to go for a walk.
I rang the bell and was surprised to find her just inside the door, sweeping up bits of shattered glass.
"What happened?"
"Nothing," she said.
I picked up a chunk of brick in the middle of the shards of glass. "What's this? Nothing?"
"Just a small gift from the locals. Next time I'll be expecting pitchforks and torches."
She handed me a scrap of paper. "This was wrapped around the brick," she said. On the paper, written in a scrawly script, were the words: "A man also or woman that hath a familiar spirit, or that is a wizard, shall surely be put to death: they shall stone them with stones: their blood upon them." —Leviticus 20:27
We cut a piece of poster board and taped it into the place where the pane had been. I convinced her that a walk to the river would be good for us. She grabbed a heavily embroidered bag, throwing the long strap across her shoulder.
"Aunt Fleur, do you really think you need a purse to go for a walk?"
"You never know," she said.
The late-afternoon sun had splashed the sky with swatches of lavender and peach. Crickets and cicadas serenaded us as we walked the five blocks to the Riverwalk. Several people passed us. A few nodded, some turned away when we came near. I suppose we both knew that life in Columbus, especially our lives, would be changed forever.
Fleur plopped heavily on a bench facing the water. "This is where my brother found his two-headed snake," she told me.
"Yeah, Eric had a lot to say about the slaves who ran along these banks."
A motorboat chugged past us, making a puttering noise and churning the water behind it into a small wake. Two men in the boat waved at us. Columbus is like that; strangers are friendly, from a distance.
"Oh, look!" She pointed to a flash of light in the reeds next to water's edge. "The fireflies are coming out." The reeds and grasses came alive with sparks.
"Yes," I said, "and the nasty mosquitoes." I began slapping at the insects, their bodies' black dust and thread-like legs mixed with my blood creating smears across my skin.
Aunt Fleur reached into her bag and gave me a jar of clear liquid. "Spread this on you," she told me.
I did. It smelled like peppermint and rubbing alcohol. The mosquitoes stopped biting immediately, and my first bites stopped itching.
"I can't imagine why God created bugs," I said. "Particularly these bugs!"
"Oh, everything has a purpose."
Six small, black birds dropped from the sky and began diving at the water and the reeds. They made one shrill chirp as they plunged then rose, over and over.
"You see, Truly, they are eating the mosquitoes. The mosquitoes are here to be food for them."
"I guess it's fine for them to be bird food. Everyone likes birds."
"Birds? My dear, those are bats."
"No! They can't be!"
"Haven't you seen them before?" She was obviously surprised at my lack of observation.
"Sure, I've seen them, but I thought they were birds."
She smiled. "Well, there is a huge colony nesting under the eves of Columbus High. They come out in swarms, just at dusk, to feed."
This was news to me. "So the mosquitoes are food for the bats. Does that mean that the bats are food for something else? Are the bats here for a purpose?"
"I think that they must be," she answered. "But, for what purpose I am not sure."
I liked her idea that everything has a reason for being. Just because I haven't found my purpose in life probably just means that it is coming.
25
I finally got to be alone with Eric. The head librarian gave us the task of working together returning books to the shelves. He wasn't very talkative, so I decided to start with a subject that he loved.
"You know, Eric, I would like to hear that old song you told me about."
He frowned, as if he had no clue what I meant. "What song?"
"The one about the runaway slaves, and how they could follow messages in the song."
"Follow the Drinking Gourd. There are lots of versions on YouTube."
"I'll look them up. Eric, do you think that some people who didn't help the slaves knew about the ones who did? Could there be people who were not involved but kept the others' secrets?"
"I suppose that could be true. But it seems unlikely. There was too much at stake." He stopped shelving books and looked directly into my eyes. I could tell he wanted to say something else, but he didn't.
"Eric, did your coach ever do anything to you?"
He understood exactly what I was getting at. "No. He never touched me. He had his favorites. I wasn't one."
I had to keep him talking, and knew it would be hard to do. "Well, did he just approach the boys who were gay, or leaning in that direction?" I thought this might end our conversation and was surprised when he said, "No, they weren't gay. He we
nt after the weak ones. He had an uncanny knack for choosing the kids who would keep quiet."
"What about the other boys, the stronger ones? Didn't anyone ever stand up to him? Or tell?"
"Truly, Coach was a bully. We were afraid of him. Anyway, who would have believed us?"
"I know my parents would believe me if I said someone was hurting me."
"Maybe. But he had power. Anyone who stood up to him might be kicked off the team."
"Really? Being on the team was that important?"
"I can't explain it to you. We were in high school, just kids." He sounded exasperated, like I was too dense to understand. He was probably right. I didn't.
At that moment he was not at all attractive to me. I knew I would never feel the same about him as I had only a few weeks ago.
26
My parents were somehow changed since our "all-night family slumber party." In a way, they were more open with me. It was almost as if they began thinking of me as grown-up, less of a child. I took advantage of this and began asking deeper questions.
"Mom, if I told you that someone had hurt me, would you believe it?"
She was reading the Dispatch, a tumbler of wine on the table next to her. "Of course, Gertrude."
"But what if it was someone important, like the mayor, or my principal at Heritage, or something like that?"
"I would always believe my child. You have a pattern of telling the truth, even when you were very young."
I actually have a pattern of not telling the truth, well, the whole truth, anyway. She never seems to have caught on about how many times I stopped at Aunt Fleur's on my way to the library. She accepted my claim to know very little about Eric, when I actually knew more than I was telling her and Dad.
Mom dropped the paper onto her lap and looked directly at me. "Dad and I would do anything to protect you. I know that sometimes you think we are too strict, but you are our only child. That makes you very precious."
She held up the newspaper to me, and pointed to a story. "You see, they are still interviewing homosexuals. I keep thinking about their parents, how much they love their children, even now—especially now!"
The story listed some of the men interviewed. There were several professors from the W, most claimed not to know Coach Russell.
"Mom, no matter how much we learn about the murder, I still don't understand. Is it a crime to be gay? Are all gays on the verge of exploding into a violent, murderous rage?"
Dad came into the room. "Dad, you work at City Hall, and are around the law all day. You must know the answer to this. "What is so wrong about being gay? Is it against the law?"
He looked incredibly tired, and sank into his Barcalounger. "Yes, in this state, it is illegal to be openly gay."
"What does that mean? I'm more confused than ever. Is Aunt Fleur breaking some weird law?"
"Gertrude, it is very hard to understand. Everyone knows we have gays in Columbus, but they stay in the closet around here. If they try to rally, or anything like that, they can be arrested. In fact, they often are arrested."
"But why? Why professors at the W? Why Fleur?"
"Most of those on the W faculty are not from Columbus. They come from universities all over the country, places where other things are more important than who they sleep with. They aren't bothering anyone, so the law around here just looks the other way. That is, until something happens. Like a murder."
"What about Aunt Fleur?" I could feel my eyes fill with tears. My heart pounded inside my chest, as if it might push through my tee shirt.
"Gertrude, your aunt will probably be okay. She has kept to herself, never hurt anyone. She hadn't ever met the coach. Don't worry about her."
"How can I help but worry? Wasn't Coach Russell murdered for being gay?"
"Not exactly," said Dad. They exchanged glances. I could tell that this was one of those times when they were sticking together. "No one knows exactly why he was murdered."
"You must understand," now Mom was weighing in, "we only know that the coach was murdered. If the allegations are true, that he was a pedophile, then the motive may be much uglier than just being gay."
"And anyway, Coach wasn't openly gay. Most people thought he was a happily married man," Mom added.
"Well, married, anyway," said Dad, "happily or not is anyone's guess."
27
I knew that Aunt Fleur had a better grasp of this than my folks did, better even than Eric. I also knew that she tried very hard to explain things to me when others just brushed me off, or told me I couldn't understand. Naturally, I headed over to her house.
During the last week or so she had fallen into her old patterns, making Accessorines, baking, playing with Jimmy-James. She was genuinely glad to see me. It almost felt like the beginning of the summer, when Columbus was a more innocent place.
"How are you feeling, Fleur?"
"Marvelous!" Her physical injuries were no longer visible, and her old spirit seemed to have returned, although I couldn't help but notice how tired she looked. The bags underneath her eyes were more noticeable, and she appeared paler, even through heavy makeup. I worried about her.
"Can I ask you something very personal?"
"Of course, dear, anything." Her ever-present bangle bracelets clattered against the table.
"Well, why is it wrong to be gay? Why did you choose to be gay?"
"Oh, that is personal. No one chooses their sexuality. It is hard-wired into our psyches. Did you choose to like boys?"
"I guess not."
"I am an old lady, haven't had a boyfriend for a very long time. Does that mean that I am no longer gay?" She sewed tiny stitches onto a piece of taffeta the color of a sunset. It had a gorgeous rosy sheen, with hints of peach in the folds. I couldn't tell what it was going to be when she finished, but it was much bigger than her usual garments.
"I never really thought of myself as being gay, exactly. When I was a child I knew I was a girl. My parents dressed me like a boy, but I was profoundly unhappy. To them, my anatomy was more important than my heart's desire."
She put her head closer to the fabric, squinting at the perfect stitches. "These days, the politically correct term is 'transgendered.' So, I ask you again, what does 'gay' mean? Does it mean that I am a man, who is attracted to other men? And if that is the case, what does 'gay' mean, when I have no romantic life?"
"Aunt Fleur, I haven't got a clue."
"Truly, in a couple of years you will be off to college. That is a place where we are supposed to learn to think. Now might be a good time to start thinking about ideas, like what you believe in." She didn't look up when she said, "Individuality, now that is a blessing. Very few people around here have any grasp of that concept."
She was right, although I had never thought of it that way. Ninety percent of the people in Columbus are Baptist. Someone must have started the rumor that she is a witch, and then the rest of the town just went along. In Mississippi, we learn a lot about the Bible. Sheep are good, goats are bad. Maybe, that is why this is a town of followers; they all want to be sheep.
"Don't you think it is too soon for me to start planning for college? I haven't got any idea about a major. Anyway, my parents didn't go to college. They are alright, I guess."
"Haven't they always said that you would go to college?" The fabric rustled as she stitched it.
"Yeah, but..."
"They missed the chance to go. I know they had other plans, other aspirations."
"Like what?" This was the first I was hearing about my parents' goals.
"Maybe you should ask them." I thought I saw her wink at me.
28
The summer between my sophomore and junior year of high school would soon be over. So much had changed. The city of Columbus was different—less safe, less trusting. I had changed a lot, too. Even my relationship with Mom and Dad was different. I'm not sure that any of it was a good thing.
They had begun treating me like an adult, in small ways. There was le
ss whispering when I was around. I suppose that I also started to think of them as people, not just parents.
The evening after my talk with Fleur I decided to ask them about college. The house was quiet, dinner was over. They each had a drink and both were reading. The room had a cozy glow from the TV screen that no one was watching. I have no idea why it is always on with the sound turned off.
"Mom, why didn't you go to college?"
"I thought I explained it to you. I got married. That was that."
"But didn't your parents want you to go to school? You weren't going to be pregnant forever."
"Well, I guess they thought marriage was my destiny. They were wrapped up in their own problems. Mama was sick. I did take some secretarial and bookkeeping courses when you started first grade." She closed her book. "Why do you ask? You've never had much interest before."
"I don't know. Aunt Fleur was talking to me about college. I can't seem to think of any major that grabs me. Was there something you wanted to do?"
"Yes, I was good in math. I thought I might teach it in high school," Mom said, then hesitated, as if she were deciding how much she would tell me. "I went through a time where I was confused. I pulled away from almost everyone, from things that I liked."
"That sounds like depression. We learned something about it in Phys. Ed. Class."
"Okay, Miss Junior Therapist, I am not here to provide you with a case to study," she said this in a kidding way, with no sign of anger. "You might pick on your dad for a while."
"Dad, what did you want to do?"
"My ambition was to be a clerk at City Hall. You see, I am living my dream." He held his glass in front of his face and gazed into it as if it were a crystal ball holding all the answers of the universe. The outside of the glass was frosted. I could only see olives and ice floating in the clear liquid distorted by the cloudy moisture.
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