“I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it, Rod,” she told him. “Anyway, do you think about having sex with Susie Burton?”
She said he didn’t answer. I know now what he thought, but then?
*
A few weeks after Rodney went to the Quarters, my dad and I went to the Esso station with Will and Robby in the back seat. I was in the front. I watched Rodney walk towards the car and I was afraid he would try to talk to me. He shook hands with Daddy and I heard Mr. Thibault tell Rodney to fill the car and check the tires.
He washed the front windshield and, when he looked at me through the glass, I guess I was staring at him. I smiled. He smiled back and winked at me. I was surprised and without thinking, I winked back, then I was embarrassed. I looked down at the book in my lap.
He walked to my side of the car. The window was opened and he started to wash the side mirror. He must have noticed my little brothers in the back seat. They were playing a game.
“Hey, it’s good to see you,” he whispered. I put my index finger to my lips to indicate we needed to be quiet, and I smiled. I couldn’t help myself. There was something about him that made me tingle all over.
“It’s good to see you, too,” I mouthed and I looked at him. It was sort of intriguing, as if we were having a clandestine meeting.
“I went to Marianne’s a few weeks ago, hoping to see you.”
“Shhhhh,” I whispered, and giggled. He looked at the finger I held to my lips and grinned. I felt my gut melt into a pool of hot liquid that ran through my veins. My insides burned.
I could hear his heart thump against his chest and almost laughed, but I didn’t want to embarrass him. The smell of gasoline, oil and dirt evaporated and I could detect a strange scent, one I’d never smelled before —like sea air. I wondered whether the saltiness came from my pores or his.
“Sorry,” He just moved his lips, no sound.
“I know, Marianne told me,” I whispered. He looked in the backseat. The boys didn’t pay attention, in fact they were fighting.
“You look nice ... beautiful, in fact,” he pantomimed. I think when he realized what he said, he was surprised at himself. I was flustered, too. No one ever complimented me and I loved it, but I didn’t know how to react.
“Sorry,” he murmured. At the same time I said, “Thank you.” We both laughed.
“You probably think I’m crazy,” he whispered. I was the one who felt crazy, so I didn’t know what to say to that.
He placed his arm on the top of my window and leaned his forehead against it. His face was so close to mine I felt like we touched. I turned to stare out the front windshield, glancing to my left to make sure Daddy wasn’t watching. Rodney could see our dads in the office over the roof of the car.
“I need to talk to you,” he whispered as quietly as he could, shifting his eyes to look at my brothers every few seconds. They were still busy, ignoring us.
What he said scared me at first, so I hesitated. Then I turned and looked at him.
“Okay.” That’s all I said. I guess he wondered what it meant. Heck, I wondered what I meant. I didn’t stop to think about the where, when, or how. I just thought that if he wanted to talk to me, well, I’d like that. Then I felt a blanket of fear come over me and I looked at our dads through the glass. They were still deep in conversation so I turned to Rodney and smiled, then I felt afraid again and looked at my book. I hoped he would take the cue to walk away from the car window. He did.
Marianne and I were in the hayloft the next Wednesday afternoon involved in a disagreement about sexual experimentation. I guess all thirteen year old girls are curious and want to explore, but I was uncomfortable about doing it with Marianne. I think subconsciously I knew she was attracted to me in a way I wasn’t attracted to her. She had made a number of comments about how she preferred girls, an attitude since the Klan visit that I thought would pass in time. It never did.
“I do love you,” I told her. “You’re my best friend. But I don’t want to have sex with a girl.”
“We won’t have SEX, Silly. I’m just going to show you.”
“I don’t know.”
“Take off your shorts,” Marianne begged.
“I don’t want to, not yet. Give me time.”
“What are you worried about?”
“I’m not sure. I’m just confused. It doesn’t seem right. You’re a girl and my best friend. Something tells me this is supposed to be between a boy and a girl who really love each other, not like best friends, but another way.”
“Hey! Anybody here?” a male voice called from blow the loft.
We didn’t answer. I’m sure he could hear shuffling, and dust probably rained down on him from the hay that stirred up and fell between the slats in the floor.
“Marianne, are you up there?” Marianne and I looked at each other. She mouthed, RODNEY, and I nodded. I could hear the ladder squeak and knew he was climbing it. He was about midway up when his head emerged. Marianne was on her knees, frozen, facing him. She was stunned, like a raccoon when you shine a flashlight in its eyes at night. Rodney stopped as if to give her time to adjust to his presence, then he took a couple more steps up the ladder. I knew he was there but couldn’t see him until I crawled around and kneeled next to Marianne.
Rodney swung his knee to the side of the ladder and onto the floor of the loft. His other knee followed. He looked directly at me and smiled. I was afraid, at first, but happy that my uncomfortable disagreement with Marianne had been interrupted.
Rodney scooted towards me on his knees and reached his arms out. I didn’t know what to do at first, but when I looked at him and he smiled with the most genuine look I’d ever seen, I moved towards him. He touched one of my hands and I shivered. He let his fingers walk up my arm while he slowly scooted closer to me, until he could grip my shoulder. His other hand found mine and he took it into his as if he had just asked me to dance and I gracefully placed my hand in his. All the time he stared at me and I looked over his shoulder at Marianne who mouthed, “What are you doing?” I shrugged my shoulder and looked back at Rodney. Oh, God, I thought, he is so gorgeous and the look on his face, well, I can’t describe it but I can still envision it today, all these years later.
Looking back it seems so impulsive, crazy, but that day it just seemed natural, almost like we’d planned it or had done it dozens of times. Of course, we hadn’t.
He held my hand, sat with his back to the side wall, legs out in front of him, and pulled me next to him. We sat with our thighs and shoulders touching. Rodney picked up a long piece of straw and put it in his mouth, he was still holding my hand. Marianne faced us, sitting on her heels, knees in front of her as if she were praying, but got tired and leaned back.
“What are you two doing?” she asked.
“We aren’t doing anything. Just sitting here,” Rodney said. I loved the sound of his voice. It was deep and a bit raspy with just a hint of Cajun-ness in the twang. He wore the same “Cowboys” baseball cap he’d worn the first time I met him and he looked masculine and handsome and gentle all at the same time. His shoulders were broad and he seemed so big next to me—and I wasn’t little, at five feet seven inches and growing. He turned towards me as if to block Marianne out of our conversation.
“You look beautiful, as always.” He whispered it but I knew Marianne heard. It sounded a little, well, garrulous, and I didn’t like it. Then, it was like he checked himself. “I mean, I’m sorry. I get tongue-tied when I’m around you. This is the first time I’ve touched you and I’m nervous.” He lifted our entwined fingers and looked at them. I felt prickly pins run down my spine. His admission seemed so sensitive and honest—it balanced the strong athleticism and strength he carried.
“It’s hot up here. Let’s go for a walk,” he said. He scooted to the top of the ladder and once he’d taken a couple steps down and his torso was still above the edge of the loft, he reached for me with one hand. I didn’t take hi
s hand. I just scooted towards him and turned around so I could back down the ladder. I caught Marianne’s glare as my feet began to descend.
“What the heck?” she said.
“Come on,” I said. It IS hot up here.” She followed me. The three of us walked in a line towards the cane field, Rodney in front. He reached for my hand and led me, our laced fingers behind him, like he was pulling me along. Marianne followed. When we got to the rows, Rodney dropped my hand, took out his pocket knife and pulled on one of the tall green stalks and cut a long rod of cane off the foliage. He sliced the two foot shaft in three pieces and handed one to me and the other to Marianne. I didn’t know what to do with mine so I watched as he sucked his cane like a man might draw on a cigar. Marianne, well, she bit into hers, chewed for a while, then spit out the stringy pieces once the sweetness was gone. Then she took another bite. I just held mine and I watched the other two.
When Rodney realized I was no longer following, he turned around and hurried back through the row towards me where I stood at the edge of the field. He took my hand and we walked swiftly back towards the barn.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“Where?”
“Here. I want to talk to you.” We went to the back side of the barn and sat on the ground. It was shady since the sun hid on the other side of the old structure and there were dozens of pecan trees, their green foliage creating a canopy above us. I fully expected to see Marianne round the corner and join us, but she never did.
“What’s your favorite thing to do?” he asked. He was still sucking on his piece of sugar cane and looking straight ahead. Our legs were stretched out in front and our thighs touched. He wore jeans and I had on shorts.
“Oh, I guess I like to read more than anything.” I played with my piece of cane, stripping pieces down the sides like thin spaghetti.
“Really? Me, too. My parents give me books for my birthday and Christmas every year. Have you read Chaucer?”
“Oh, God! That’s pretty heavy stuff, but yes, I have. I got it from the library—I love the library. I go there a lot—it’s an escape.”
“Really? I love the library, too. Of course I have to use the colored section and I’m not allowed to check out books, but I discover all sorts of things when I’m there. We don’t have a library at Adams High.” That sounded crazy to me—I mean, what school doesn’t have a library?
I could feel an electric current run from his leg into mine, up my spine and into my panties. He reached over and took my hand and held it in front of his face, as if he was trying to determine the size, shape, color. His intensity was as impressive as his intelligence and we talked like scholars about Shakespeare, Newton and Jane Austin. We discovered we loved Mark Twain and Ernest Hemingway. I realized I’d never had anyone who I could have a conversation with on that level. It was heady and exciting. Even so, I couldn’t detach my brain from the way it felt to touch him.
“We have a few textbooks, but not enough to go around so we share them in class,” he said. “But we can’t take them home.”
“That stinks,” I said. “I mean, how do you do your homework?” He shrugged.
“You get used to it, I guess.”
“I volunteer in our school library,” I said without thinking. “When the covers come off the books at school, or if some of the pages tear or the binding begins to crumble, they throw them in boxes in the storage closet.” The librarian asked me to help out during the summer and one of my jobs was sorting the old, thrown out books, boxing them and stacking the boxes in an attic closet.
“Your school throws out books?” He was incredulous and I realized how wasteful it must sound to someone like him.
“I might be able to get some of those old books for your school,” I said without thinking about how I’d sneak them out and get them to the colored school.
“Wow. Could you really do that? I mean, how?” We talked about what books he needed and we went off to find Marianne, to ask her for a tablet and pencil so he could make a list for me of the subjects he’d be taking in the fall. Marianne got excited, too, and made a list of the books eight graders used at Adams. I promised to look through the boxes of discarded books.
The three of us returned to our spot in the shade on the backside of the barn and we talked excitedly about the prospect of getting books for Adams High. Marianne wrote neat lists in columns on the tablet and Rodney kept remembering certain volumes, like The Atlas of the Universe and New Biology.
At one point he put his arm around me, over my shoulder as if it was the most natural thing in the world. With Marianne sitting in front of us, busy writing, he gripped the top of my arm while he held my other hand in my lap, his shoulders twisted towards me so I could see his face when he spoke. I wore a sleeveless white shirt that buttoned up the front and the heat from his hand created a current of warmth that radiated from inside him onto my skin. It felt right and I had such peace, like a weight lifted from my soul and I was connected to him in a way I’d never been connected to anyone before. I wondered how he felt.
As our talk about books branched into finding texts for younger kids, too, tears pooled in his eyes and made them glassy, but nothing spilled out. He seemed happy, almost relieved, although I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. He kissed one of my dimples, laughed and said, “I’ve been wanting to do that, to see what it felt like to kiss a hole.” We all laughed, even Marianne who, initially, seemed angry.
When we were all quiet, thinking of how we could pull off the great textbook heist, he began to hum. His face was close to my ear and it sounded like, “Don’t Worry Baby,” by the Beach Boys—one of my favorites. His voice was deep and beautifully calming and the fear I always carried with me, that “walking on eggshells” kind of feeling, lifted and I was lighter during the time I was with him than I’d been in as long as I could remember. I leaned my head on his shoulder and we stayed that way a long time.
“Did you hear the bell?” Marianne asked.
“Oh, no. Did it ring?”
“It’s just been a few minutes, but the two of you seemed lost in another world and I hated to disturb you.”
“Thanks!” I said and jumped up and ran out the Quarters and down South Jefferson.
I still remember every detail of that afternoon but what I remember most about those precious moments is the lifting of fear and dread inside me—a feeling of peace and freedom, even if for a few minutes, that I had never felt before. I didn’t even know what it felt like to be unafraid, not to expect the anvil to drop at any moment, until that afternoon as I held Rodney Thibault’s hand and he put his arm around me.
That summer I started to sneak old textbooks out of the library in my book bag. I’d hide them under my bed until Wednesday, then I would load them in my back pack and bring them to the Quarters. I didn’t keep count of how many I squirreled away with Marianne during those months, but Rodney told her he was able to share them with classmates and that it was exciting to have books to take home at night. I thought how we white kids just took things for granted and how lots of kids actually complained about having to take books home to study.
Each time I went to the Esso station with Daddy, Rodney would come to the car and he would thank me for the textbooks. We had this secret–a mysterious mission to save the world together. At thirteen and fifteen, we felt we were making an impact, and we did it together—me, Rodney and Marianne. Soon even Marianne didn’t think about us as being colored and white. We were teenagers on a mission.
Chapter Six
Troublemaking/Boy Troubles
1965
I WONDERED WHEN, NOT if, my parents would find out I went to the Quarters. I tried to convince myself it didn’t matter because I was right and they were wrong. What was the harm in visiting an old man and listening to his stories?
Sometimes when I got there, Catfish was sound asleep in his rocker. I’d just sit still and watch the kids play in the yard until he woke up. If Mari
anne was home we’d go the barn to talk or we’d swing the jump rope for her sisters and cousins.
One day I was sitting in the chair next to Catfish, humming softly and thinking. I often thought about Rodney, especially when I was alone and quiet—otherwise I tried to put him out of my mind. I knew Rodney was aware that I went to the Quarters on Wednesdays, but two months went by and he didn’t come when I was there. I wondered whether he forgot about me or, maybe I was just an acquaintance who could help him get books for his school. When I had those thoughts I remembered the way he looked at me and how his heart beat so hard against my ear, how tears pooled in his eyes when he kissed my dimple—and I told myself that wasn’t something you could fake. Surely he felt something for me, too.
Catfish woke up and looked at me sideways, and I could feel his stare out the corner of my eye, like he didn’t want me to know he was awake. We played that game while Marianne walked across the yard. I could tell she was happy to see me.
“There’s my girl,” Catfish said as Marianne climbed the steps to back porch.
“Hey, Marianne,” I said. “Are you just getting home from school?”
“Yes, I had to stay late to help my teacher. She is so excited about the books and keeps asking where I got them.” She sat on the floor near Catfish ’s feet and laughed. “I said, ‘If I told you, we’d both have to die,’ and she laughed so hard her eyes filled with tears.”
“I hope she doesn’t force you to tell her,” I said, suddenly afraid of the repercussions if our secret was uncovered.
“Don’t worry. She’s cool.” And she dropped the subject. “What are ya’ll talking about?”
“We weren’t talking. I was sitting here waiting for Catfish to wake up, hoping he would tell me another story about his daddy.”
“Yeah,” Catfish said as he spread his arms out and stretched. “I got a story for you. Funny, I was just dreaming about Daddy and what he told me happened after the war, about 1880,” Catfish said. He fingered his chin as if he was trying to remember something. His brow wrinkled and his eyebrows came together in thought.
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