Have No Shame (5 page)

It was time to get my feelin’s in check. I pulled open the cold, metal doors and descended the stairs into the dark dirt cellar where Mama kept jugs of water, first aid kits, towels, and all sorts of canned supplies in case of tornadoes. The damp, earthy smell was cold and seemed appropriate given what I’d done. I quickly slithered out of my clothes and doused a towel in water. I scrubbed his kisses from my neck, his touch from my breasts. The water was cool, raisin’ goose bumps on my arms and across my chest. The blood rushin’ in my ears reminded me of his lousy, lust-filled grunts, and I cried louder, tryin’ to drown them out as I spread my legs and wiped his chlorine-like scent from within the soft folds of my skin. In my mind, my fightin’ him replayed over and over, and with it came more hatred, more disgust with myself.  I started scrubbin’ his sweat from my stomach, legs, and arms. I was pressin’ too hard, deservin’ of the pain, and hopin’ it would wipe all the ugliness of the last few weeks away. I scrubbed ‘til my skin was red and raw. By the time I’d finished, my body shook and shivered, my heart ached from loneliness, and my mind ran in circles. There was nothin’ left for me to do but slip my soiled clothin’ back on, sit on the cold step, and sob until I had no more tears to free.

I washed my face, bundled the dirty towels together, and took them with me to the burn barrel by the barn, where I hid them beneath the debris. I hoped it might even burn away the memories of the afternoon, the alleyway, and the field where Jimmy Lee had stolen precious moments of those boys’ lives.

The barn loomed before me, a big, wooden structure almost as big as our house. I walked through the double doors; the familiar smell of hay and the sharp odor of stored wood and fuel assaulted my senses. Memories rushed in. Oh, how I wished Maggie was here to help me with the way I was feelin’ about Jimmy Lee. I could almost feel her pullin’ my arm toward the stall where our old cow, Hippa, used to live. Mama had painted a mother and baby cow on the wall inside of the stall. It had chipped and cracked with age, and by the time Hippa died, a few years ago, it was nearly indiscernible. I’d cried for days when Hippa died. By then Maggie was too old to be attached to a cow, I guess. She didn’t cry, but when Daddy told me that it was just a fact of life on a farm, and that I should be used to it by then, Maggie took me up to the loft and held a memorial service for Hippa. Just the two of us.

Maggie went away to college while I was still in high school, and I wondered if she’d want to hang out with me anymore, or if she’d be too grown up. I longed to talk to someone about Jimmy Lee, and I had no one to turn to. Thoughts of Jimmy Lee made my stomach clench all over again. I went out the back doors of the barn and sat against one of the tractor’s tires, shaded between a thick, old maple tree and the barn, out of sight from the fields and the house. I laid my head on my arms, and tried to wash away the thoughts of what I had just endured.

The calm of the breeze and the familiar sight of the newly planted rows of cotton should have filled me with ease. Instead, I grew even sadder. Nothin’ felt right. The life I thought I had swirled around me with the realization that Daddy, who I treasured, was treatin’ people like machines, Mama, who I believed to be honest and good, was keepin’ secrets from Daddy, and my boyfriend, whose strength I used to adore, I now loathed. It was as if they all mixed together and whirred in circles, like a tornado of a mess unravelin’ around me. I didn’t know how to move forward. I didn’t want to move back. So I remained there, stiff and confused, with no outlet other than my own tears.

 “S’cuse me, Miss, are you okay?”

I jumped at the unfamiliar man’s voice, and pushed to my feet. I’d never been approached by a colored man before. I was even more startled because this young man wore a military uniform. He stood so straight I thought he might salute me. My stomach tightened, my senses heightened. I fought the urge to run away.

“I’m fine, thank you.” I took a step backward.
They’ll rape you faster than you can say chicken scratch.
I whipped my head around. My father’s truck had not yet returned. I suddenly regretted my decision to hide behind the barn.

The man removed his hat and held it against his stomach with both hands. He looked down, then up again, meetin’ my eyes with a tentative, yet respectful, regard.

“I’m lookin’ for a Mr. Tillman?” His uneasy gaze betrayed his confident tone.

“My father?”

“Yes, ma’am. I have a message for him.”

I stood up straighter, suddenly feelin’ as though I needed to exert my strength and take control of the situation, as Daddy might. “Farmhands show up at five in the mornin’. It’s gotta be seven o’clock
at night
by now. What are you doin’ here?”

He smiled, then shook his head. “My apologies. I’m not a farmhand, ma’am. My younger brother is Albert Johns.”

Albert Johns
. The night came rushin’ back to me. The way Corky had egged on Jimmy Lee and Jake.
Oh, God, Jake
. What had he done? I hadn’t even seen him since last night. “I…I’m sorry,” I said.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. I came to let Mr. Tillman know that my uncle, Byron Bingham, he passed away recently, and the funeral is tomorrow. My brother Albert got beat up real bad, so he won’t be here tomorrow on account of his injuries and the funeral. I wanted to come work in his place after the service, to make up for his absence.”

“Your uncle?” My chest constricted. The oxygen around me slowly disappeared. I gasped for air, my heart palpitatin’ so fast I thought I might pass out. I reached for the tractor, missed, and stumbled.

“Ma’am?” He rushed to my side, grabbin’ my arm just before I hit the ground, and lowered me slowly to the earth.

I waited for my breathin’ to calm.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to—are you okay?” A flash of fear washed over him. He squinted, glancin’ around to see if he’d been seen touchin’ me, and backed away quickly.

The magnitude of that one act of assistance suddenly burst before me like fireworks. I understood the fear in his eyes, and it killed me to know that if someone had seen him—Daddy, Jake, or Jimmy Lee—he’d be runnin’ for
his
life right now.

I nodded, unable to find my voice. Mr. Bingham’s bloated face floated before me. My eyes dampened. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, unsure if I was apologizin’ for what had happened to his uncle, or to his race for how his people were treated. I rubbed my arm where he’d grabbed me.

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” He watched me with concern. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I just didn’t want you to fall.”

“You didn’t hurt me. I’ve just never been touched—I’m sorry, I’ve never even spoken to a colored person before.” The realization of that statement sickened me.  It also wasn’t quite true. Once, when I was a little girl, maybe five or six, I’d seen a colored girl in the street by Woolworths. I asked her if she wanted to come in with me and get a soda pop at the counter. Mama had dragged me away. I remember cryin’ because I had no idea what I’d done wrong. That was the instance that drove home the meanin’ of
knowin’ my place
. I’d never spoken to a colored person again—child or adult.

He dropped his eyes, noddin’ his head as if he’d expected my response.

I looked behind me. If Daddy caught me I probably wouldn’t be allowed out of his sight for weeks. The coloreds in town never would have spoken to me, even if I had been cryin’. They knew better. But this man who stood before me, he had a gentle confidence about him that made me want to know more about him.

“Yes, ma’am. I understand. I don’t want to cause no trouble.” He lifted his eyes to meet mine. “I heard a noise, and I thought you mighta been Mr. Tillman. I’m sorry to have startled you. I meant no disrespect.” A friendly warmth lingered in the gentle way he spoke. He looked right into my eyes, as if he was interested in, even waitin’ on, what I had to say next. There was a little liftin’ of the edges of his lips, not quite a smile.

“Aren’t you afraid to talk to me? You know what happens to colored men when they talk to white women, right?” I realized after I’d spoken that I’d said that because it’s what was probably expected of me, not because it was somethin’ that I felt.

He pursed his lips, holdin’ tight to his hat. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. Before I could respond he added, “I know what happens here in Forrest Town when colored men speak to white women, but that’s not what happens everywhere.”

I knew there had been racial riots in some of the bigger cities, even if Daddy did turn off the radio the minute I walked into the room. Kids at school had talked about civil uprisin’s, but I’d never seen them, or, I suddenly realized, cared enough about them to ask for details. I lifted my eyebrows in question.

“Yes, ma’am. I serve with white men. Do you think we don’t talk?”

“Men, not women,” I smirked.

“No, ma’am. I’ve been to other states. My people talk to white women in other areas.”

I was not accustomed to bein’ told I was wrong by a colored man. I thought of Mama—the way she’d hidden her conversation with that woman at the furniture store, and the supplies she’d given her—and it gave me pause. Were there places where that was allowed? Why was it so wrong, anyway? I looked again for Daddy’s truck, thinkin’ about
why
I had to
know
my place
. What had this man ever done to me?

“Does your mother work at the furniture store?” I asked, wantin’ to know if he somehow knew Mama.

He cocked his head, as if he were weighin’ the answer. “Yes, ma’am, her and my aunt.”

“Do you know Hillary Tillman, my mama?”

“No, ma’am,” he answered.

I was still mullin’ over my own misgivin’s about what she’d done, keepin’ a secret from Daddy an’ all, but I still wanted to know how Byron Bingham’s family was, how Albert was feelin’, and how badly he was hurt. I realized, too, that I wanted it not to be a bad thing to want to speak to this man. I measured my fear of him, not the fear that I knew I should have, but the real fear that rattled in my mind. I quickly realized that there wasn’t much fear up there. The fear that did exist was driven by my father’s warnin’s, and overpowered by my own curiosity. My chance to get the answers to all of my naggin’ questions about Mr. Bingham’s and Albert’s family was starin’ me in the face, and I wanted to have that conversation more than I wanted anything else in the world, as long as Daddy didn’t find out.

“How is he? Albert?”

He took a step toward me. I scooted backward, still sittin’ on the ground.

“He’s beat up real bad, but he’ll be okay.”

I’m sorry
seemed so unsubstantial, so I remained quiet, thinkin’ about that night, the fear I’d felt, and knowin’ that the fear Albert Johns had felt must’ve been ten times worse. I took a deep breath and asked him if he knew who had beaten up his brother.

He shook his head. “He’s not talkin’.”

I let out a relieved sigh, and then felt guilty for wantin’ to protect Jimmy Lee, Corky, and Jake after what they’d done. “What about your uncle?”

He turned away, his eyes suspiciously glassy when he turned back. His face was tighter, stronger than it had been the moment before. He stared past me, into the fields as he nodded, wringin’ his hat within his hands. 

“I found him, you know.” The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop them, and they were oddly wrapped in what sounded like pride. I cringed, wishin’ I hadn’t opened my mouth in the first place.

“That didn’t come out right,” I offered. “I mean, it was horrible.”

“Yes, ma’am. I know you found him.” This time his eyes locked with mine.

I came to my feet. Strangely, I wasn’t afraid. At that moment, the only thing I felt was a need to talk about the things I wasn’t supposed to, with someone who might also want to talk about them, and if that someone was a man I wasn’t supposed to talk to, then so be it.

“Let’s walk,” I said.

He looked at me with curiosity, his eyes jettin’ around our property. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Maybe not, but I want to talk about Albert and Mr. Bingham. I want to know how your family is, and I’m afraid we can’t do that here. I don’t know when Daddy will be home.” I straightened my skirt. The incident with Jimmy Lee all but forgotten, I pushed away the residual anger that I felt toward him and decided to deal with those awful thoughts some other time.

The young man, who looked to be a little older than Jake, didn’t follow me. He put his hat on and said, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but this is Forrest Town. I’m not sure goin’ off alone is the best idea.”

“Afraid?” I knew it was mean to present such a dare. Maybe even dangerous. I understood what could happen to him if we were caught, and yet, selfishly, I wanted to get my answers.

He bristled, threw his shoulders back, and said, “No, ma’am.” Then he looked back up the yard toward the driveway. “Maybe a little,” he confessed.

“I won’t tell if you won’t. C’mon.” I grabbed his arm, his muscles tensin’ beneath my grasp. Doin’ somethin’ so many would see as wrong was exhilaratin’. I pulled him through the fields, through the line of trees that edged our property, to the creek that ran right through the outskirts of town. Maggie and I had spent hours there when we were young, throwin’ leaves in and followin’ them downstream as they drifted in the water.

We walked in nervous silence, until we could no longer see the roof of my farmhouse. I pushed away Daddy’s warnin’. My excitement about talkin’ with him was not hampered by fear of what might happen if we were caught. In fact, just the opposite. Elation danced within me! For once I wasn’t standin’ by Jimmy Lee’s side, wonderin’ who he’d hurt next. I didn’t feel as though I had to hide my face, like I did when I ran into old friends from highschool, because I’d found a dead body. This man was fightin’ for our country. He wasn’t fightin’ against our own men. He already knew that I’d found his uncle, and he didn’t look at me like I was somehow tainted because of it.

“My name is Alison,” I said as we walked by the creek.

“I’m Jackson,” he answered. He walked a careful distance from me, and I appreciated the space. Each time I glanced at him, he was lookin’ either down or straight ahead. He had a gentle face and full lips. Every so often, lines would form on his forehead, like he was thinkin’ of somethin’ important. I wondered how scared he really was, and I wondered why I wasn’t.