I did bring my laptop for another reason that meshes beautifully with hours of idle surf watching. With my toes in the water, I am exploring the plot of a book I have wanted to try writing for some time. I appreciate those of you who take the time to read my blog, and I thought I would like to try out my first chapter on you. Let me know if I've piqued your interest.
Where Evil Lies
Only now, looking back, can I contemplate the evil visited upon the idyllic neighborhood of my childhood. A lifetime of knowledge allows me to see now what I couldn’t see then- rightly shouldn’t have seen, in my time of innocence.
Mother stood at the kitchen sink peeling potatoes, a nightly ritual, in preparation for a dinner of what I hoped would be country fried steak. Sure enough, she pulled the meat mallet out of the utensil drawer and began pounding the round steak she had purchased that afternoon at the nearby Key Market. Sam, the butcher, had tried to talk her into some pork chops that were on special, but my mother wasn’t one to be easily swayed. So, steak it was. No point asking if I could help with tenderizing the meat. Only once had she trusted me with her mallet; and unfortunately, my aim had been off. My mighty mallet swing missed the meat and landed firmly and squarely on the tiled edge of the kitchen counter. The pristine row of white tiles, bleached religiously every Saturday, was broken. The counter was never repaired, and the story of its demise would be lamented forevermore to any guest who found their way into Mother’s kitchen.
“When will Daddy be home?” I asked. “I’m hungry.”
“He hasn’t called yet,” Mother replied with a slight bit of irritation evident in her voice. She handed me a slice of raw potato meant to tide me over until we all sat down for dinner. Although Daddy was often late, we rarely started our meal without him. There was a good chance Daddy had tried to call. We shared a phone line, or party line, with an elderly lady who spent the afternoons gabbing with her sister. On occasion I would quietly lift the receiver to see if Old Miss So-‘n-So, as we fondly referred to her, was chatting. Although I never listened long enough to hear a complete conversation, (Well, there was that one time Mother caught me eavesdropping.) I often managed to catch a word or two as I lowered the receiver to its cradle. It seemed that Old Miss So-‘n-So suffered from irregularity on a regular basis, and her sister’s rheumatism wasn’t any better.
This once I actually hoped she would be on the line. That would mean, perhaps, that Daddy had tried to call, couldn’t get through, and would arrive home at any moment. Dinner would be sooner rather than later, and there would still be time left, after dinner and before the streetlights came on, for my friends and me to play a game of Swinging Statues.
Cautiously, I lifted the large black receiver just enough to slide my finger onto the disconnect button. If you lifted the receiver straight up, the person on the line would almost certainly hear, but if you gently released the disconnect button with your finger, the intrusion was almost imperceptible. Practice makes perfect, and I had mastered the art. As expected, upon releasing the button I immediately heard the two gabby sisters animated voices. Miss So-‘n-So’s was a bit screechier than usual. She uttered something about “urban renewal” and “those people” just as Daddy walked through the front door. The need for stealth forgotten, I quickly dropped the receiver in its place.“Daddy,” I screamed, as I ran and jumped into his open arms.
“How’s my girl? “he asked, as he gave me a whiskered hug and kiss. I rested my head on his shoulder as he carried me into the kitchen, placed his large black lunchbox on the counter, and pulled Mother into our embrace. As I slithered out of Daddy’s hold, he grabbed Mother tighter and dipped her for his “glad to be home” kiss.
“I’ve been looking forward to that all day,” he said with a smile and a wink my way. “Have I told you that you have the most beautiful mother in the world?” he asked.“Oh, Daddy,” I moaned. “You say that every night. What about me?”
“You?” he quipped, “Why, you’re the most beautiful ten year old daughter a man could have! Where’s that other daughter of mine?”
Mother poked a fork into the sizzling meat and turned each piece. The hot oil popped and sizzled anew as the floured coating turned to a crispy, brown crust. She wiped her hands on her apron and poured Daddy a glass of freshly brewed iced tea. “Brenda Sue’s over at the Abbot’s house,” Mother reported. “She and Carol Ann are working on a science project together. Carol Ann’s mother invited Brenda Sue to stay for dinner, so it’s just the three of us tonight.”
“I don’t want her walking home by herself in the dark. Did you tell her to call when she’s ready to come home? I’ll go get her.” “I did, Russell. Now sit down and relax while I finish making the gravy. Angie, go get the paper for your Daddy . . . and then wash those hands for supper.”
Obediently, I dashed into the living room and grabbed the newspaper from the magazine rack next to Daddy’s chair. Stopping by the bathroom, I passed my fingers under the cold water and splashed a little on the bar of soap so it would look like it had been used. I arrived in the kitchen as Mother placed a bowl of creamed peas on the table to go with the steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, and Daddy’s favorite, cole slaw. I slid into my seat as Mother took her place across from Daddy. We joined hands and Daddy nodded at me to say grace.
“God is good. God is great,” I began. “Let us thank Him for this food. By his hands we must be fed. Give us Lord our daily bread. Amen.”
“Amen,” Daddy echoed as he picked up the bowl of potatoes and spooned out a large helping onto his plate and a smaller one onto mine.
“What kind of project does Brenda Sue have due this late in the year?” he asked, exchanging the bowl of potatoes for the one filled with peas.
“It’s some kind of science fiction project, Russell. I’m not sure how much they are learning, but they are certainly enjoying themselves. I had to empty two boxes of cereal into Tupperware containers so they could use the boxes. They’ve used up all my aluminum foil, too, and that’s not cheap,” Mother complained. “It must be science fiction,” said Daddy, “’cause that doesn’t sound like any science I ever heard of. What are they making?”
“It’s a robot, Daddy,” I answered, “and its eyes light up.”
“Well, that sounds pretty impressive. Sounds like Wally Abbott is lending a hand on that project. What about you, pumpkin? Do you have an end of year project?” “No. Well, I have to finish reading Hello, Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle and make a puppet of the main character,” I answered. “Do you have a sock I can use, Daddy?”
“I’ll find you a sock after dinner,” said Mother. “And why is this the first I’m hearing about a puppet project? You only have two more days of school. How long have you known about this?” “She only just assigned it yesterday, but she said we could bring our materials to school and work on it in class. I already know what mine’s going to look like. I’ll get it done on time,” I assured Mother.
“Well, eat your peas . . .” “But I don’t like peas, and you put too many on my plate, Daddy,” I whined.
“Eat you peas like your Mother said,” Daddy barked in a pretend mad voice. “Dorothy, is there any more of your sweet iced tea left? My glass seems to be empty.”“There’s plenty,” replied Mother as she rose and crossed to the refrigerator.
I knew what was coming next. Daddy gave my peas a sideways glance, winked at me, and scooped a large portion of them from my plate to his, just as Mother turned to pour his tea.
“So, Dorothy,” Daddy asked. “Didn’t you have a PTA meeting today?”
“I did,” said Mother. “Angie, I see your peas are gone.” She glared knowingly at Daddy. “Run on to your room and get started on that project.”
“But, Momma, I need a sock,” I said, hoping she wasn’t in the mood to go find one. “and we were going to play Swinging Statues in Danny and Becky’s backyard.”
“Well, I’ll find your sock later. You go to your room and read for 15 minutes, and then you can go play.”
As I left the room, Mother’s voice immediately lowered. Whatever she was saying, she didn’t want me to hear. It seemed like the most interesting information was always spoken in this particular tone. I stopped and sat on the bottom step of the stairs that led to the room I shared with Brenda Sue. I was out of sight, but not out of hearing distance.“The PTA Board meeting was fine,” Mother began, “Margaret Miller was sworn in as President for next year, and Francine Hogue will serve as Vice-President. The two of them should make a great team; however, the conversation I had with Miss Hemphill after the meeting was a bit unsettling.”
“I always found conversations with the school principal to be unsettling at the very least,” said Daddy.
“Russell, I’m serious. Miss Hemphill was quite agitated. It seems a Negro family has purchased a home on this side of Lincoln Avenue. Were you aware of that?”
“I’d heard talk,” answered Daddy. “It was bound to happen. They keep tearing down those big old homes in the inner city, with all that ‘urban renewal’. Those people have to live somewhere.”“Well, I’m fine with that, but Miss Hemphill isn’t. She says our school will be forced to integrate next year. Miss Hemphill has always seemed like such a caring person, but she said, and I quote, ‘The day a Negro child enters this elementary school is the day I leave.’ Just like that, Russell. I wish you could have seen the look on her face. Why, It was a look of hatred if I’ve ever seen one.” Mother hissed.
“I’m a bit surprised myself,” replied Daddy. “Second Street Elementary and East Harding have been integrated since 1956. The folks in that area seem to have accepted it with no problem. “
That was the second time today I had heard those words, “urban renewal.” I was dying to ask Daddy to explain it to me, but that would certainly reveal the fact that I had been listening in on their conversation. The sound of Daddy’s chair scraping across the linoleum floor let me know he was headed to his chair in the living room. I scrambled silently up the stairs to my room. I found the conversation about Miss Hemphill much more interesting than Miss Piggle-Wiggle, but I didn’t want to begin my summer vacation with a punishment so I began to read.
To be continued . . .
