Perfect Peace (35 page)

“College.”

“College?” Paul said.

Sol paused, momentarily overwhelmed. He would miss everything—his
brothers, the array of wildflowers in the front yard, Gus’s and Bartimaeus’s voices crying in the distance—but he had to go.

“Momma, Daddy,” Mister called as though the house were on fire. “Sol’s leavin’ for college. Right now!”

Bartimaeus jumped and stumbled into Sol’s arms. “You’ll do fine. If anybody can do it, you can.”

“Thanks.”

Gus emerged from the bedroom, snapping his worn work overalls. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I’m going to college, Daddy. Right now.” A lone tear tumbled to the edge of Sol’s wide, flat nose.

Gus nodded. “All right, son. You a man now.”

Paul tried to speak, to ask Sol if he might be willing to wait just one more day, but he couldn’t talk past the lump in his throat.

“You got enough money, boy?”

“I got what I saved. I hope it’ll be enough.”

“Well, hold on a minute.” Gus retrieved a five-dollar bill from his pocket. “Take this. Just in case. You don’t neva know what might happen.”

“Thanks, Daddy.”

Emma Jean nodded. What could she say? When she looked at Sol, his eyes suggested that if he never saw her again he’d be the better for it. She wanted to apologize for having hurt him, but how? Nothing she said would’ve appeased his contempt, and she knew it. The guilt in her heart began to consume her. She wanted at least to wish Sol well, but instead she pursed her lips and remained quiet.

“Take care o’ yo’self, boy,” Gus said.

Each brother, starting with Woody, said good-bye and good luck, except Paul. He followed King Solomon onto the porch, down the steps, and into the road.

“You’ll do real good at college, Sol. I know it. You the smartest person I know.”

“Thanks,” Sol said, and continued walking.

“I’m sorry Momma didn’t let you go to school. She should’ve. You wanted it more than me, that’s for sure.”

Sol couldn’t restrain his tears.

“I just wanted to thank you for bein’ nice to me that day in the barn when Daddy beat me. I ain’t never forgot it.”

“You welcome,” Sol snapped. He hated that he was crying.

“And one more thing. I know you in a hurry, but could you sing something for me before you go? It might be a long time before I get to hear you again.”

Sol wanted to deny Paul’s request, but he felt he owed him this much. “All of my heeeelp!” he began in the midst of his liberation march.

“Oh yeah! I like that one!”

“Comes from the Looord!”

Paul assumed the response in a different key. “Comes from the Lord.”

Sol sang through his tears and continued, “Whenever I need Him, He’s right by my side!”

Paul repeated, “Right by my side.”

“All of my help . . .”

“My help!” Paul shouted.

“My help . . .”

“My help!”

“My help . . . comes from the Lord. Oh yes it does, oh yes it does.” Sol wiped his eyes and embraced Paul. “I love you, boy. I’m not mad at you. I never was. I was just jealous.”

“I know.” Paul sniffled into Sol’s ear. “I know. I’m gonna miss you so much. It’s not gonna be the same around here without you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.”

They released and stepped back.

“Just remember to be yourself. That’s all you have to do, just be yo’self. Some folks’ll like you and some won’t, but it doesn’t matter. Not really. You’re the only one you have to live with. Folks ’round here done talked about you real bad, little brother, and I’m afraid it’s not over yet. But I wouldn’t trade you for the world. Or change you.” Sol cupped Paul’s face with his enormous hands. “You’re the sweetest person I know, so stay that way, okay?”

Paul nodded.

“I’ll be back—one day.”

At 8:40
A.M.
, Sol boarded the train for Little Rock, then transferred to one bound for Washington, D.C. He had never been to a college before, but Aunt Gracie’s nostalgic remembrances of Howard convinced him that he’d like it there. The next day, he stood before Howard University’s administration building with ten dollars and a heart brimming with hope. Fear almost paralyzed him, but having come this far, he couldn’t very well give up and return home, especially since he didn’t have enough money to get there.

Like one surveying heaven, Sol gazed at the enormity and grandeur of the buildings. Students buzzed past him, obviously familiar with the place, and Sol desired nothing more than to become one of them. He entered the administration building and rested his two heavy boxes along the wall of the hallway.

“Hi. My name’s King Solomon Peace,” he said to a friendly looking, well-dressed young man.

The stranger smiled and shook his hand firmly. “Well, with a name like King Solomon, you must be a mighty brother! Hi. I’m Walter Smith Jr. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” Sol liked Howard already. “I was wondering . . . um . . . who I could speak to about going to school here.”

Walter frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I want to attend Howard, but I haven’t talked to anyone yet.”

“Oh, wow. You mean you haven’t applied?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Well, you have to fill out an application first; then the admissions office decides whether to accept you or not.”

“Oh no! What if they don’t accept me?” Sol cried. He collapsed against the wall. “I mean, I knew I’d at least have to talk to someone or take a test or something, but then I figured I could just pay my money and start learning.”

“Naw, man. It doesn’t work quite like that.”

“Somethin’s gotta work, Walter. I’ve come too far.”

“Well, school starts tomorrow, so it might be too late, but you could go by the admissions office and ask. Maybe they’ll let you fill out an application now.”

“I hope so.”

“Just go to the administration building and ask for the admissions office.”

Sol huffed, discouraged.

“Come on. I’ll go with you.”

Walter carried one of the boxes and together they crossed Georgia Avenue and entered the admissions office.

“Hello, ma’am,” Sol said softly to the receptionist.

After sneering at his overalls, she simply continued typing.

“I’d like to go to school here.”

“Then you’ll have to apply like everyone else,” she snarled, shoving an application at him. “Fill this out and return it. You’ll hear from us in a month or two.”

“Oh no, ma’am! I gotta go to school now. Right now!”

The receptionist paused, reeking with irritation. “Listen, son.” She turned to face him. “If you want to go to school here, you’ll have to fill out the application, submit it, and wait to hear from us. You obviously want to be admitted for next year’s term, is that right?”

“No, ma’am. I want to start tomorrow.”

“Well, I’m sorry, son, but you can’t do that. You would have had to apply by April thirtieth in order to start now. And of course that deadline is far gone. I’m sorry. You can apply for next year though.” She resumed typing.

“But I cain’t wait ’til next year, ma’am. I need to start now. I don’t have anywhere to go and I’ve come a long way.”

Walter touched Sol’s shoulder sympathetically.

“I’m sorry, son, but that’s the rules. And, with classes starting tomorrow, we wouldn’t have time to process your application anyway. You’ll simply have to wait until next term. I’m sorry.”

Sol tried desperately to think of something else to say. Walter bit his bottom lip. “I don’t mean to be rude, ma’am, but I gotta go to school now. I have to. Is there someone else I can talk to?”

She huffed and rose. “I’ll see if the admissions director will see you, but he’s gonna tell you the same thing I’ve already said.” She knocked on the director’s door behind her desk and entered. Seconds later she reappeared. “Go on in. Good luck.”

Walter told Sol he’d wait for him.

“How can I help you, son?” the director barked impatiently.

“I wanna go to school here, sir. Real bad.”

“Then get an application from the receptionist out front, and hopefully we’ll see you next year.”

“But, sir, I wanna go now. I gotta go. I know I can do the work. I’m real smart. My teacher said so.”

“I’m sure you are, son, but you can’t just walk into a college and begin matriculating.”

Sol’s hope was fading.

“Where are you from?”

“Arkansas, sir.”

“Well, you’ve certainly come a long way, but I’m sorry, we can’t help you. Your high school teachers didn’t tell you how to apply for college?”

“I didn’t go to high school, sir.”

“Beg pardon?” The director’s eyes bulged.

“My folks made me stop going to school so my little brother could go. Miss Erma, our teacher, tutored me privately sometimes and said I was real smart. I’ve read a lot of books though. I brought some of ’em with me, but I left most at home, too. I couldn’t carry all of ’em.”

The man stared. “You don’t have a high school diploma, son?”

“No sir, I don’t.”

“Then that’s the first order of business. You need a high school diploma in order to go to college.”

“Oh no,” Sol murmured.

“And can you pay tuition?”

Sol didn’t respond.

“In other words, do you have enough money to pay for college?”

“I have ten dollars, sir. And I can work.”

The man roared. “You must be kidding! Get outta here, country boy! We can’t help you. I’m sorry.”

The admissions director returned to the paperwork on his desk as though Sol had suddenly vanished. For several seconds, he stood there, unable to envision what he’d do or where he’d go. Upon exiting the office, he closed the door softly as the receptionist sneered, “Told ya.”

Sol was too hurt to speak. Walter followed him outside.

“Do you have any relatives here who might take you in and let you work until you save enough money for school?”

They sat on the steps of the administration building.

Sol shook his head and blinked back tears. Walter didn’t know how to comfort him.

“I just gotta go to school, man. I gotta.”

Walter took his hand and conceived an idea. “Come on.”

Sol followed, praying Walter knew something he didn’t.

“I don’t know if this is going to work, but it’s worth a try.”

They returned to the administration building and stopped outside the president’s office.

“Our president is a legend, but he’s pretty down-to-earth, too. He really believes in education. If he says you can get in, you’re in. But you’ll have to explain your situation. Maybe he’ll do something, maybe he won’t, but anything’s worth a try, right?”

“Right!”

“His name’s Dr. Mordecai Johnson. Everybody around here knows him, and, like I said, a word from him would get you in. Let’s see if we can talk to him.”

Walter led the way and asked Dr. Johnson’s secretary if he was available. She inquired about the nature of their visit, and Walter explained as best he could.

“Well, yes, he’s in, boys, but I don’t know about this.”

“Can we try, ma’am?” Sol pleaded. “Please? I don’t have any other choice.”

Like the first receptionist, she entered an office door behind her desk, then returned almost immediately. “He’ll see you now.”

Sol and Walter tiptoed into Dr. Johnson’s office. Sol thought that maybe this was the university library.

“Have a seat, young men,” Dr. Johnson offered. His stern demeanor weakened Sol’s resolve. “What can I do for you?”

Sol opened his mouth, but Walter spoke first. “I’m a student here now, Dr. Johnson, and this is my friend King Solomon Peace. He’s all the way from Arkansas.”

“Mr. Peace,” Dr. Johnson said, extending his hand.

Sol shook it firmly. “Good afternoon, sir.”

Afraid that Sol’s appearance and dialect were strikes against him, Walter took it upon himself to explain King Solomon’s dilemma.

“I’m sorry, son, but you must at least have a high school education to come here. This is rigorous intellectual work, and although I’m sure you’re smart, you’re simply ill-prepared. I’m sorry.” He rose and moved toward the door.

“But, sir, I’ll work real hard. I know how to work. My daddy taught me that. And I can read real good and I know my times tables backward and forward.”

“That’s good, son, but it’s not enough. Just don’t give up hope. Go and get you a high school education, and we’ll see you back here in a few years.”

“I can’t wait that long, sir. I come all the way from Arkansas to go to this school, and all I have left is ten dollars. I don’t even have enough money to get home.”

President Johnson opened the door. “Good day, gentlemen. You will have to excuse me now.”

Walter motioned for Sol to drop the request and follow him.