Root Magic

by Eden Royce

  “Purpose?” I asked.

  “Yes, Jez. Everything in root needs intent. That’s a clear idea of what it is you want to get before you even start. Think hard and focus on what you want to happen.” Doc filled his pipe with dried peach skin and tobacco leaves.

  Jay huffed and puffed into his bag. I took a huge deep breath and blew all the air in my lungs into my bag.

  “Which one of us did it right?” Jay asked.

  “Both of you. Now tie them up,” Doc said. After we did, Doc gave us a little cologne to drizzle on the root bags. “To feed them,” he said.

  “Why we gotta feed them?” Jay asked.

  “Because they have part of you, your breath, inside them.”

  “So . . . they’re alive?” I said.

  I could tell Doc was impressed. “Exactly.”

  “Gran breathed into Dinah. Does that mean she’s alive too?”

  “Now you’re getting it, Jez,” Doc said. “Go on—you have to hide the bags somewhere until they complete their purpose.”

  Jay poked at his bag. “What purpose?”

  Doc put his pipe between his teeth. “Whatever you wanted when you sealed up the bag. Go on and hide them now.”

  I ran off to our room while Jay ran toward the woods. Part of me was sad to know that we would have to start keeping secrets from each other. But a bigger part of me was excited to know I might finally get a friend. I looked around for anywhere I could hide my root bag so no one would see it. The sun was going down, making long shadows on the floor of the room. They stretched out, reaching into the hallway, toward the front of the house. I imagined that shadow could pass over the whole kitchen, even drift under the floor.

  That’s it!

  I jumped up from the bed and ran outside. After I looked around to make sure nobody saw me, I wriggled under the house toward the tiny hole in the floor me and Jay used to use when we wanted to listen to the grown people talk after they’d told us to go play.

  On my side of the hole, there was a crack I usually traced with my fingers while Jay had his turn looking up into the kitchen. I found the crack again, wiggling my first finger inside to see if it would hold the root bag. Then I held the bag in my hands, this little bundle of cloth and bits of things. A friend, please. I thought it hard as I could. Someone to talk to and play with, like Gran. At that, I thought I might cry again, but I held back.

  Even though Doc didn’t tell me to, I kissed the bag. With a bit of pushing, I wedged my very first bit of rootwork inside the crack tight. I patted the bag, safe from discovery, and crawled out from under the house.

  No one was around to see me. I brushed the dirt off and walked inside, my heart beating fast, wondering what would happen next.

  3

  When the sun broke through the curtains at the window in the room I shared with Jay I was already awake, excited and nervous all at once for the first day of school. We’d be at the same school we always went to, but a new year meant different teachers, different subjects, lots of new things.

  Jay didn’t care too much about the learning part of it, but he liked school because he got to play ball and dominoes with the other boys at lunchtime. I was the opposite. I loved to learn all the new things and read the books, but that was it.

  Mama had let me sleep in rag rollers the night before, so I had big corkscrew curls instead of my usual pigtails, and she put bobby pins in my hair, crisscrossing two on each side. She also surprised me with a plaid dress she’d made from one of Gran’s old ones. It wasn’t brand-new, but it was new for me. Wearing something made from one of Gran’s dresses was special. I could almost smell the lemon and pine of her favorite soap still on the dress.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you!” I hugged her and she squeezed me back.

  “You’re welcome,” she said with a hitch in her voice. “Don’t you go getting yourself dirty, now.”

  “I promise,” I replied.

  “You know, there will be more new children at your school this year,” Mama said.

  “Really?” If there would be new kids at school, I figured I’d have a better chance to find a friend. Maybe the root bag was working already.

  Mama fluffed my curls. “Remember what Pastor said yesterday, about the new education laws?”

  I was so busy saying goodbye to Gran, I only half remembered. But I nodded anyway.

  “Well, I heard that a few of the well-off Negro families who used to pay to send their kids to private school will be sending them to yours in support of the new laws. Some good private school teachers are starting to work at your school this year too.”

  Mama and I went to the kitchen and found Jay was already dressed and waiting at the table. His navy-blue school pants weren’t new either, but he wore one of his newest shirts. He’d already gathered eggs from the chicken coop. Mama thanked him—it was then that I realized Gran wasn’t here to cook for us in the mornings like she would before school. The radio played the morning news, and we all listened to the announcer man as Mama whipped up breakfast:

  Eleven Negro students will integrate Charleston County’s white schools today—the third of September, 1963. South Carolina was the only state in the union that had yet to desegregate its schools. White parents are outraged, threatening to remove their children from public schools and place them in private education. Plans to open private schools exclusively for white students have been submitted to the county, and it’s believed many will open their doors next year.

  In 1954, the US Supreme Court ruled that segregation was unconstitutional in the landmark decision Brown v. Board of Education. This decision made a path for Negro children to be taught alongside white children in the same classrooms. But for nine years, South Carolina has operated as if this law did not exist.

  The newsman went on to say that police were being called out to protect the Negro students going to white schools for the first time.

  Me and Jay must have looked nervous, because Mama tried to make us feel better.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, stirring a bubbling pot of grits on the stove. “That’s going on in Charleston first, not out here where we are.”

  “Will we get to take a bus to school instead of walking?” Jay asked. He scooped spoonfuls of ambrosia, Mama’s fruit salad, into his mouth.

  Mama nodded. “It’ll be a good thing when it finally does happen, because you kids will get better schooling. Newer books. Teachers with more training. But I swear, I’ll worry myself sick.”

  “Why are they so”—I searched for the word the newsman used—“outraged?”

  “A lot of whites think we’re lower than they are. Not good enough to share space with them.” She sighed. “Since they’re planning to open up more private schools, you may not have to deal with the outrage.”

  Jay scraped the bottom of his bowl of fruit and I squinched my face up at the sound. “Why do they have police there, though?” he asked.

  “To protect those children, just in case. Not all police are out to hurt us—some are good people wanting to do what’s right. Others will do exactly what they want to, whether it’s against the law or not.” She let out another heavy breath. “The trick is to figure out which one is which fast enough.”

  I wanted to get a better education, but the thought of getting on a bus to go even farther away to school was scary. I was glad I didn’t have to think about it yet. This year already had plenty of things for me to focus on.

  “All right, both of you. Hurry and eat. You can’t be late on your first day.”

  I sat Dinah against the sugar dish and had a hot bowl of grits for breakfast. The thought of what would happen on the first day of school made my stomach wobble. This was the first time I was ever leaving for school without hugging Gran goodbye. Already I missed the feel of her mushy kiss on my forehead. So when I finished, I hugged Dinah tight. It was the closest thing to hugging Gran.

  “Wish me luck,” I whispered to her, swallowing back the lump in my throat. Dinah’s little gunnysack hand
was soft against my cheek, and her mouth was in a twisty, wavy line. “I’ll be home soon,” I told her. Then me and Jay kissed Mama, took our lunches and our books and pencils, and headed out for the walk to school.

  A group of fancy-looking girls were watching us as me and Jay came up the long walkway that led to the school. They were wearing pretty dresses and sitting together on one of the low brick walls that ran all around the property. A few of them I recognized from last year; others I didn’t know. I smiled at them, but they didn’t look at me.

  A couple of boys Jay knew called to him. “See you in class!” he said, and made to run off.

  “You mean after school,” I said. “We’re in different grades now.”

  “Oh, right. Well, after school, then.”

  I watched him join his friends, watched them slapping each other on the back and laughing. Another lonely place opened up inside me, right alongside the empty space Gran used to fill. Remembering I was supposed to be brave and make a change this year, though, I decided to try talking to the girls. I hugged my notebooks to my chest.

  Before I could take more than a few steps, a hard shove from behind sent me stumbling. I caught myself from falling but scraped both my palms and my knee on the brick wall. My notebooks toppled down around me in a scattered pile. The girls laughed, and I felt my face burn.

  “Clumsy!”

  I looked up to see another girl standing over me. Her eyes flicked over my clothes and face and hair. Then she went and stood with the others. I didn’t recognize her; her dress looked brand-new and crisp, and her shoes shone in the sunlight. She must be one of the new girls from the private school Mama talked about.

  “You pushed me,” I said, brushing the dirt off my hands and ignoring the sting in my palms from where the skin was raw.

  “Oh, really? I didn’t see you,” she said, her two long black braids scraping her chest. “Old-fashioned things bore me.”

  The other girls laughed again. One of them said, “Nice, Lettie.”

  I was frozen. Kids at school had called me a teacher’s pet before, but I’d never had anyone say anything about my clothes being old-fashioned.

  “This isn’t old. My mama—mom made it for me.”

  Why did I say that? It just made them laugh harder. Classes hadn’t even started, and this was already a disaster.

  Lettie leaned over and sniffed me before I could move away. “It smells like old lady. Did she make that for you out of an old-lady dress?” When I didn’t respond, she made a sound like a bird chirping. “Oh my, she did! Was it your grandmother’s dress?”

  Gran. I had to blink to hold back tears—Lettie would think I was crying because of her, and no way was I going to let that happen.

  One of the girls I remembered from last school year whispered in Lettie’s ear, and her eyes grew big before they all broke out into giggles. Before I could say anything else, though, the bell rang for class to start. I ran up the stairs and inside, thankful that the clanging drowned out their laughter.

  I found my classroom and chose a seat on the end of a row, so I would only have people on three sides of me instead of four. That way, I wouldn’t feel so surrounded.

  Of course, Lettie and her friends came in not long after I did; I knew I wouldn’t be lucky enough to be in a different class from her. As everyone around me talked to their friends about what they did over the summer, I took out my composition book and wrote: September 3, 1963.

  That’s when I felt eyes on me.

  I scanned the rest of the room again. Kids were dropping books onto the floor, scraping desk chairs back, but I couldn’t figure where this feeling was coming from. Until, finally, I did.

  A girl sat in the back of the class, staring at me. She looked a little older than me; the front of her striped dress already showed signs of her growing up. She gave me a tiny smile, so small I wasn’t even sure I saw it at first, but it was there. The smile seemed real, so I returned it.

  The door to the class opened once more, and a tall, thin, brown-skinned woman walked in. She wore a yellow knit suit with matching buttons and short white cotton gloves. The woman headed straight for the big desk at the front, the heels of her shoes clicking on the tiled floor. She stood there with her hands folded in front of her, and the class got quiet. Even the smiling girl turned her head toward the movement.

  “Good morning, class,” the woman said, taking off her gloves. Her voice was clear and strong. It rang out, and I was sure even the kids in the back could hear her. “I’m your new teacher, Miss Watson. Let’s get started by taking attendance.”

  Miss Watson started calling our names, and while I knew most of the kids from around the island, I tried to keep up with the new ones as she said them. Lettie’s last name was Anderson, so she was one of the first ones called. The smiling girl was Susie Goins. Sooner than I expected, she got to me.

  “Jezebel Turner?”

  Before I could speak, I heard Lettie’s voice sing out. “Cheep, cheep, cheep.” Lots of the girls laughed.

  The first school day of the year was about three minutes old, and already I wanted to be away from here. Back home with Jay and Doc, learning to work root. Maybe Doc had some sort of potion to keep away the kind of high-post girls who make you feel bad, just for being you. If such a spell existed, I’d learn it.

  Raising my hand, I answered, “I’m here.”

  Miss Watson made a mark in her book.

  After we finished taking attendance, Miss Watson talked for a while about what we’d be learning this year in mathematics and language arts, and we had our first lessons in those subjects. I took lots of notes because I didn’t want to forget a thing.

  Then she moved on to history. That’s when she told us about the eleven Negro kids who were going to study with white kids at the white schools for the first time today.

  “This is important, class,” she said. “One day, this thing happening now will be history. Other children will learn about it in their schools all over the country. You must remember your history. Write it down. Tell it in your own words.”

  A boy whose name I couldn’t remember raised his hand. “Why do we need to write it down? I don’t even like history.”

  A couple of his friends forced out laughs, but they didn’t last long.

  Miss Watson sat on the edge of her desk and smoothed down her skirt. She answered not like a teacher talking to a student, but like she was talking to another grown-up. “History, Thomas, is the story of who we are. And sometimes, Negro history is told by people who don’t think we’re important. People who don’t think we make a difference in the world.” She gazed around the class then, like she was making a point to look at each one of us. “But we do matter. What we think matters. Our voices matter. And our stories matter too much to let someone else tell them. People need to know that.”

  Miss Watson stood up and opened a drawer in her desk. “Let me share something with you. This is a poem by Langston Hughes, a Negro poet,” she said, pulling out a small book. “It’s called ‘I, Too.’ Does anyone know about poetry?”

  We all shook our heads. Last year, we learned about novels and short stories and plays. But no poetry. And nothing written by any Negroes.

  When Miss Watson read, the whole room was silent. Her voice was soothing, but smooth and strong too. It filled our classroom. I imagined her voice dancing on the air and drifting out of the opened windows to help anyone who needed to hear her. I wondered if her voice was her magic. If it was, she was powerful.

  The bell rang, breaking her spell. Miss Watson closed her book. “That’s all for now. Time for lunch, everyone.”

  I put my books in my desk. It was strange not having Jay in class with me. He would have already had lunch by now, and would be outside with his friends having recess. For not the first time that day, I felt really alone. I took my paper bag and headed for the cafeteria. Since I brought my lunch, I didn’t have to wait in line for food like some of the other kids.

  The tables were
mostly empty, and I chose a seat by one of the windows looking out onto the playground. Maybe I could see Jay from where I was sitting. Warm sunlight streamed in the window, and after a moment I closed my eyes to let it fall on my face.

  I got that feeling again. Of someone watching me. Heaviness sat on my shoulders and I opened my eyes.

  That girl from the back of the classroom—Susie—stood in front of me holding a tray of cafeteria food. She blinked at me twice, really fast, like something was in her eye. Her night-black hair was twisted back in two braids that she had pinned up around her head to look like a crown. She smiled carefully, like she wasn’t used to it.

  “May I sit here?”

  I blinked. “Why?”

  Susie tilted her head. “Why what?”

  “Sorry, I meant, well . . . why do you want to sit here?” I looked around the cafeteria, which was filling up now. Lettie and her group were sitting in the center of the room, and most of the other kids were sitting closer to her. She was practically the most popular person at school and she hadn’t even been here a full day yet.

  “I don’t like bunches of people.” Susie shrugged. “And it’s cooler over here by the open window.”

  That’s when I realized I was being rude to someone who hadn’t given me a reason to be rude back. “Okay,” I said.

  “Thanks.” Susie sat down in front of me and unfolded her napkin. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

  “No, um. We can.” I had some of Mama’s Hoppin’ John, a dish of peas and rice cooked together. It was one of my favorite things to eat. We usually only ate it at New Year’s, but Mama had made some special for our first day back at school. “You’re new, right?”

  Susie nodded.

  “So you just moved here?”

  She nodded again.

  “Sounds like you’re the one who doesn’t want to talk.”

  Susie laughed. “Sorry. I don’t have lots of friends, so I forget how to act around people sometimes.”