“Actually it’s not till tomorrow so you still have time to get me something.” He patted the hood. “Pretty damn fantastic, huh?”
Maybe twenty kids at Minor High owned their own cars. “They gave you a new car plus they let you drive it around at one in the morning?”
“I snuck out. It was too late to call your house, but I couldn’t go to bed without you seeing it. Mom and Dad haven’t even told me yet — I had this sneaking suspicion and I went to the carport and — ta-daa! There it was, with the keys in it!”
“Anytime you’re ready to swap parents, just let me know,” I said. “Man! And brand-new! Hardly anybody in the whole school ever got a new car.”
“Red got that Mustang. And Sandie Baxter got that orange Maverick last year, but that was so ugly it doesn’t count,” he said. “You ready for a test drive?”
“I have to go back in. This is the time of night Jacko tends to get weird. The other night he woke me up to tell me Dad was beating Mom over the head with a skillet.”
“Well, was he?”
“No. But I gotta admit, I did go back there to make sure.”
“Aw come on, Durwood, live a little! We’ll drive around for five minutes, I’ll bring you right back.”
“Really I can’t. I just hope all the honking didn’t wake up old Hitler.”
He snorted. “Great, okay, we’ll wait till the next time I get a brand-new car for my eighteenth birthday.”
“Let me sit in it, anyway.” I opened the passenger door and eased in. “Aw, man. Smell that smell. Nothing like it in the world.”
“It’s the GT, the sport edition — see the stripes, and AM-FM, eight-track tape deck, tuned sport suspension, custom floor mats . . . don’t you love it? The color is Starlite Blue.”
“Starlite Blue is definitely a better color than Sky Blue.” I stroked the woodgrained plastic dashboard. “They didn’t give you any clue?”
“None. They were so good. I never even suspected until yesterday morning, I heard them whispering and rattling keys.”
I tried to imagine my parents conspiring to give me a surprise like this. “You know what this means,” I said. “You have to be nice to them for the rest of your life. You can’t complain about anything, ever.”
He grinned. “It sure makes up for a lot of god-awful sweaters through the years.”
“You better be careful, though, driving around without a license. When are you supposed to get it back?”
“I already got it, no problem,” he said.
“That was fast. I thought you said —”
“Put your leg in, Durwood. Shut the door. We’ll just run her down the street and right back.”
“I told you, I can’t.”
“We won’t even leave your stupid street,” he said. “We’ll just ride right down to the circle, turn around, and come back.”
I stepped all the way out. “Sorry. Not tonight.” Why was his new car making me angry? It meant freedom for me too. Tim would drive me anywhere I wanted to go. It wasn’t the car I coveted, it was the size of the gift. My parents would never love me that much. They loved me the price of a bicycle, maybe. Never as much as a car. If Bud hadn’t joined the Marines, I bet they would have bought him a car.
“Congratulations.” I patted the doorsill. “Great car, Tim. And I love Starlite Blue. Pick me up after band? — no, wait, I promised Arnita.”
Tim’s smile was a little off-center. “You go over to her house every day now, huh?”
“Not every day.”
“Yes, you do. What do y’all do all that time?”
“Her homework. Sometimes we go for a walk or something. We hang out by the river. Nothing much.”
“You like her, don’t you, Skippy.”
“She’s nice.”
“No, I mean, you like her.” He raised an eyebrow.
I scoffed. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Why, because she’s black?”
I made a face. “You think I want to get in her pants?”
“Well, don’t you? She’s so fine, that’s what any red-blooded American boy would want.”
“Knock it off, Tim. She got hurt, remember? She’s still not okay. You and I had something to do with that.”
His smile dwindled. “But your face gets this gooey look when you talk about her.”
“I’m just trying to help her. You can believe me or not. I don’t care.”
“Well if the big moment does arrive, son,” he said, wagging his finger, “be sure and use some protection. We don’t want any little coffee-colored babies running around.”
“Would you shut up?”
He sang out in a throaty voice: “Half-bree-eed! That’s all I ever hearr-rd!” His Cher imitation was getting better. “Get in, Durwood. Let’s go to Jackson.” He revved the engine.
I backed away. “I can’t.”
“Aw Durwood, you’re always so scared.” He pitied me for a moment with his eyes, then put the car in gear and hummed off down Buena Vista Drive.
He was right — what would have happened if I’d gone for a ride? Nothing. I was scared. Even Ella Beecham had pointed it out. I walked around every day with this chronic low-grade free-floating fear of everything. It started with life under Dad. I’d spent most of my life being scared of him, trying to stay out of his way. It was hard to get out of the habit.
I went back to the house. At the door to the Freak Annex I stepped around Jacko. “What you doing still awake, old man?”
He peered up. “Where you been at, boy?”
“You’re the mind reader. You tell me.”
“Talkin that Tim,” he said. “Got him a new car, huh.”
The skin on my neck prickled up. “Jesus, how do you do that?”
He laughed.
ARNITA JUMPED OFF the porch when I rode up. “You’re late!” she sang in a teasing tone.
I laid my bike against a bush. “You’re worse than your mother,” I snapped. “I’m not punching a clock here, you know. Sometimes I have other things to do.”
The irritation in my voice rocked her back on her heels as if I’d slapped her. In all the time we’d spent together, I had never been anything other than extremely nice to Arnita. “Wow, are you in a bad mood. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Tim’s accusations were bothering me. I needed to prove to myself that I was not getting carried away with my thoughts about this girl.
“Come on, Daniel, you’re always happy. You’re never like this. What is it?”
I turned my face away. “What should we do? Walk? Homework first? You decide. I’m tired of being the one who always has to decide.”
“Hey,” she said. “Whatever it is, don’t take it out on me. I didn’t mean to.”
“Sorry,” I sulked. “I don’t mind coming over here, you know. I’m glad to help you. But I don’t like getting yelled at if I happen to be five minutes late.”
“Did I yell?” She searched my eyes. “I’m sorry. I guess I was anxious. I get so scared you won’t show up.”
My tactic wasn’t working. She was supposed to be mad at me by now. Instead she was sweeter than ever.
“Didn’t you notice I’m always out here waiting for you?” she said. “I wait every day. I don’t let myself come outside ’til quarter to three. Because you’ve never gotten here before three, except that one time when school let out early. I’m sorry, Daniel, I can’t help it. You’re the high point of my day.”
She was so lovely in her white cotton summer dress, scratching the back of her leg with a bare toe.
I frowned. “Don’t try being nice to me. I’m not in the mood.”
“Let’s go to the river.” She reached for her shoes. “You definitely need to throw rocks.”
I headed straight for the hiding place in the bridge stanchion. One by one I hurled all the rocks, the whole collection, into the river, one satisfying splash after another.
Arnita stood watching. She knew better than to talk to me.
Tim had
set all the alarm bells ringing in my head. Was I falling in love with this girl? I’d never been in love, so I didn’t know the symptoms. At first I thought I was only going over to her house to make up for what happened on Prom Night. But now I couldn’t help going over there. I had to be with her. I felt sick if I had to miss a day. I felt rattled and short of breath whenever she stood anywhere near me.
Theoretically it would be great to fall in love with a smart, beautiful girl like Arnita. Theoretically. But she was black, I was white, it was impossible at this time in Mississippi. Maybe in Indiana, or New York, or Europe. Not here, not now. No use even thinking about it.
Also: Arnita was too pretty for me. She was the Prom Queen, I was a brain/loser nobody Five Spot pariah. The idea of us together was laughable. I was the perfect buddy for her, a babysitter, bringer of homework, taker of walks. Also I satisfied her mother’s need to have a white boy she could boss. Anything beyond that was just my own overheated imagination, or Tim trying to get on my nerves.
I threw myself on the grass, yanked up a dandelion, and began scraping out the yellow heart of the flower with my thumbnail.
Arnita knelt beside me. “You were throwing those rocks at me, weren’t you?”
I shook my head.
“That’s how it felt. Don’t be like this, Daniel. Everybody else in the world can be in a bad mood, but you’re not allowed. You’re the only fun I get to have.”
“That’s because you never see anybody else.” I tried not to sound mad. “You had friends before the accident, lots of ’em. What happened? I think you depend on me too much.”
“They don’t come to see me,” she said.
“Have you called them? No. You don’t go out. You just stay in your house and don’t see anybody.”
She smiled. “I see you every day.”
“You can’t blame people for thinking something’s wrong with you. You haven’t been back to school once. They all think you’re damaged.” I saw her wince at that word. “Why don’t you come next week?” I suggested. “Finals are over. Come for one day. Let everybody see you’re okay.”
“They’ll expect me to be Arnita,” she said. “And that’s just not who I am.”
I put the stem of the ruined flower in my pocket. “You can pretend, can’t you? I think that’s what you’re gonna have to do. What choice do you have, really? You can’t go around telling people you’re Linda the white girl. They know you’re Arnita. They’ll all think you’re nuts.”
“You can help me,” she said. “You can tell me about her. What was she like?”
“It was you,” I said. “She was you. You know that. You were real popular. The smartest, prettiest girl in the whole school. Why do you think we all voted for you?”
“You like me, don’t you?”
I frowned. “Sure.”
“You don’t look at me and think, Oh, poor her, she’s so damaged?”
“No.” But she was damaged, and “poor her” is exactly what I thought sometimes.
“Because I think I’m getting a little crush on you,” she said. “I’m not sure if I really am, or it’s just something going on inside my messed-up head.”
It had to be her injury. What I really thought was, She’d have to be brain-damaged to have a crush on me.
But who cares why? I could take the hand she was offering, follow her down that path. I could stroke the skin of her shoulder, trailing down . . .
“Honestly?” I said. “I think it’s all in your head. You’re lonely, and I’m the only one here. I mean, we used to have classes together, and you never even noticed me at all.”
She leaned back against the tree. “How awful. Such a sweet boy and I never noticed?”
“Nope.”
I heard a noise, above. A gang of boys stared down from the bridge with accusing eyes. I waved, trying not to look like the guy who had just cleaned out their whole stash of rocks for the second time. They muttered among themselves but kept walking.
The moment they were gone Arnita grabbed my gawky hot hand and pressed it between her cool brown hands: a hand sandwich. Our eyes met. I started skidding down an incline toward the vast darkness that seemed to be opening beneath my feet.
I stood up and put both hands in my pockets. “This is not a good idea.”
She reached for my hand.
I wouldn’t let her have it. “Don’t, okay? Let’s go back to your house. Your mom’s waiting.”
“She’s not my mom.” She locked my wrist in her fingers, tugging me closer. “Kiss me, Daniel.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Yeah, you do. It’s easy. Like this.”
Oh it was soft, flowing warm honey straight from her lips. She closed her eyes and urged her mouth against mine. I didn’t want to kiss her, then I didn’t want to stop.
It went on a good long time.
At last we came up for air.
Man. That was nothing like kissing Dianne. The urgency, the heat, the tongues, the way the whole world seemed to shut down while it lasted — the way we twined around each other — it felt more powerful, like that terrible kiss outside the emergency room in Alabama. But sweet.
“Did you like that?” she said.
I grinned. “You’re trying to get me in trouble.”
She flashed a glittery smile. “Yes I am.”
“Listen — you’re the prettiest girl in the world. One of these days you’re gonna remember that, and you’ll forget all about me.”
“Just be my friend, okay Daniel? And kiss me once in a while.” She placed her hands on my shoulders and pulled me in again.
I closed my eyes. My whole self narrowed down to the warm softness of her mouth. Her sighing was like music.
This kiss was just as much mine as hers. We kissed all the way, like lovers in a story.
My head turned backflips. Young Love, First Love . . . is this how it feels? A little dizzy, out of breath? A little sick to my stomach?
One voice in my head said, Relax! Enjoy it! Have fun! Kiss her again! Be in love! Another voice was saying, Whoa, Daniel, slow down.
But I sure did like that kiss.
11
THE BAND BUSES ROLLED through the green heat of a Mississippi morning, first week of May and hot summer already. On our bus Bernie Waxman had to shout to be heard over the rush of air through the windows, whipping the hair of the long-straight-haired girls.
“Band, let me tell you about Vicksburg,” he said. “Once upon a time this little town was the most fought-over spot in the world. As long as the Rebels held this town, they controlled the entire Mississippi. And they knew whoever owned the river was gonna win the war.”
This was old news. We knew all about the battle of Vicksburg, after three weeks of the subject in Mississippi History plus the annual class field trip to the battlefield. We’d all been to the visitor center many times to see the dioramas of Vicksburg under siege — mannequins posed in a cave tunneled into the hillside to escape the rain of artillery.
The park ranger explained that although the starving townspeople had been reduced to eating rats, they served them on their heirloom china, with their best silverware. The lesson seemed to be that a true Southerner retains his superior manners, even when faced with unfamiliar food.
“That’s us, band,” Waxman was saying. “Surrounded and outnumbered. This is not some piddly district competition, okay? This is All-State. The big time. Every big-school band in Mississippi is headed in with their heavy artillery . . . Columbus, Starkville, Warren Central . . . rich kids from rich schools. We’re a bunch of stubborn cave dwellers, poor but proud. We don’t have much, but we do have each other. And our instruments. And our Pride. What do you think, can you do it? Can you bring home a One?”
We roared, YEAH, YEAH we can DO it!
“What is the word?”
“Pride!”
“What is it?”
“PRIDE!”
We poured off the bus in a frenzy of pride, One-lust, ambition, exhilar
ation, and onto the oak-shaded campus of Vicksburg Bible College.
Debbie Frillinger rushed up, eyes welling, clasping her clarinet to her breast. “Oh Daniel, do you really think it’s possible we could get a One?”
“It’s possible,” I said. “But if we want to do it, we gotta really burn down the house!”
“Yeah! Burn it down!” That was Brian Fairchild, lugging his tuba.
“It’s a good thing we’re doing the marching show first,” I said, “cause we’re too pumped up to play concert right now!”
Brian laughed. “Ol’ Musk Ox gettin’ worked up!”
Somehow we had passed through Vicksburg without getting a glimpse of the mighty Mississippi, but you could smell it, moist and muddy, in the air. Walking triple file through the trees toward the stadium, we heard the thunder of drums.
Waxman watched us pass in review with his family, who’d followed the band bus in their car — his tiny wife, Candy, their pudgy little boy and baby girl. Of course he had brought them. This was the biggest day of his year.
Waxman was so committed to the band that I never pictured him anywhere other than the band hall. I thought of that nibbled stub of a baton, the light in his office burning at all hours, the splotches that came out on his cheeks when we played the same wrong note for the twenty-third time. I bet his wife got sick of hearing about us.
We rounded the corner to Nebuchadnezzar Stadium. A thrilling blast of brass rose to meet us.
Contest was two parts: marching in the stadium in the morning, concert band in the afternoon. On the field, a vast band in navy and white executed precise diagonals. Large squadrons of flag girls twirled flags, rifle girls tossed weapons in the air, three drum majors twirled their maces in glittering arcs.
“Columbus High,” Waxman called over our heads. “They’re big, but we’re better.”
Good God what a sound! We could never produce such a fat brassy sound. The gust of trumpets on “Also Sprach Zarathustra” was enough to slick back the fur on our hats.
“Keep moving, keep moving,” Waxman shouted.
Wait — we were going on immediately after Columbus High? Everybody knew they were the best high school band in Mississippi. Straight Ones at Contest, many years in a row. The hardest act to follow in the entire state.