Breathe
1967
THE NIGHT I ALMOST died is like a permanent stamp on my soul. It was midnight when a brightness like searchlights suddenly blazed from the ceiling, waking me out of a deep sleep. I thought a train clamored through my room, surrounding my bed and causing Sissy to jump up yelling, as deep-throated screams bellowed in my first waking. I heard an owl hoot incessantly and the whirl of a helicopter batter against the ceiling as the burly figure of my dad appeared waving a lasso over his head, running as if chasing a herd of cattle. A shooting star whizzed by and I stood on the edge of a deep jungle with lions and bears and huge snakes creating a cacophony of jungle music with their hisses and barks and grunts.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes just as a tractor with a crane on top grabbed me and hoisted me into the sky where I dangled over the tops of trees, under which were predators waiting to eat me alive. The crane released me and I flew from my bed like a ragdoll, my face hitting a sharp object on my way to the ground where I smelled mushrooms and mud mixed with feces and blood so fresh the animals of the jungle gathered around, sniffing and prodding.
“Get up and look at me!” Through the window a silent moon sent rays of light through the camellia bush and a glow surrounded me and created an aura that seemed to temporarily protect me from the predators.
“I said, Get Up!” I heard the voice that sounded like a chorus of male screeches coming through a tube that flared out, so that the sound was loud and piercing when it reached my ears.
“I work so hard to provide for this family and this is the thanks I get?” The words were like bullets from a machine gun, shooting all around me, some landing, some whizzing by my ears. The screams were in rhythm with the hard soles of dress shoes that felt like a sledge hammer boring into my ribs.
“You’ve ruined me now. And with a Negro. How dare you. In public.”
I rolled onto my stomach and a heavy object, like a concrete block, slammed down on my back and a dragon spewed hot breath from my mouth shooting warm red liquid across the blue expanse like a blazing flame on the ocean’s surface. I swam in the salty waters and grabbed for the big fuzzy fist to save me when a huge wave knocked me over onto my back and I thought I might drown in the briny waters, turning redder by the moment.
A furry rope wrapped around my neck and lifted me up over the liquid and something sharp, like the blade of a surfboard’s rudder, sliced across my cheek. Waves, salty and thick and rolling like barrels down a hill almost knocked me over again and I fought with the loch ness monster to keep from drowning.
I heard a deep throated croon yell fragmented words about God and fornication and disobedience and burning in hell and I waited for the flames to engulf me, but they couldn’t reach below the ocean’s surface as I sank to the sandy bottom and gasped for air.
Suddenly I floated above the ocean and watched my own body morph into a sea urchin, rounded and purple with pearls studding the outside in rows, that began to roll rapidly until it was scooped up by a huge shark. In the belly of the fish I heard Rodney humming the tune that replayed in my spirit over and over, “Don’t worry baby, everything will turn out all right.”
The spotlight went out, the helicopter flew off, the train roared on to some destination and the incessant hoot of the owl ceased. The only thing left was the smell of wisteria and camellias, the taste of honeysuckle on the tip of my tongue, as the tune hummed by Rodney sank deeper and deeper into my fading spirit. I basked in the moonshine that filtered through the flowers and opened my lips to taste its sweet, dewey drops, but they burned like fire on my tongue and my eyes smarted with millions of grains of sand.
The smell of dead birds and rotting eggs rose from Hades and filled my senses as visions of angels with tails flew above me.
*
The first time I tried to open my eyes, they felt glued shut. I knew I wasn’t in my own room because I could smell the antiseptic air and I heard a far-off beeping. I tried to move, but pain shot through me like buckshot. I fell back into deep darkness.
The next time I tried to move I felt one of my hands enveloped inside two larger, hairy ones and realized Daddy was at my bedside, coddling me. I wanted to vomit.
“Oh, God!” I thought I screamed but no sound came out, only grunts. “It hurts.”
“Shhh, Sweetheart,” he said. His voice was gentle and concerned, as if he had nothing to do with my situation. “Just rest. Daddy’s here.” That’s what I was afraid of. I didn’t want him near me. I didn’t want Mama there, either. I wanted Tootsie, Catfish. I wanted Marianne. I wanted Rodney!
I tried to sleep. It hurt too much to be awake. There was a scorching pain in my side and my right leg felt like it had nails driven into it. I couldn’t move my mouth or open my eyes, and my nose was packed with something thick, so I could barely breath. It was days before I realized I had a tube in my nose to pump oxygen and nutrients into my body. And my head! It felt like there were men inside it with hammers and chisels trying to gouge their way out.
During one of my fairly lucid periods, I heard Dr. David’s voice at the foot of my bed. He talked in short, staccato sentences. I could only pick up scattered words: “Broken ribs, broken leg, nose, concussion, internal injuries ...doesn’t look good ... “
A nurse came in and pulled the sleeve up on my hospital gown. I felt a needle, but didn’t wince. The room and voices faded and I drifted off into a drug-induced slumber.
The next time I tried to open my eyes, I felt someone hovering over me. A thumb or finger made a cross on my forehead with something oily that smelled like garlic and Latin words came from the clouds.
The first time I was able to open one of my eyes I saw Mama in a rocking chair at the end of the room, rubbing her swollen belly. Dr. David spoke in low tones. I heard him tell Mama she should call Daddy to bring my brothers and sister to see me.
“Anne, I know she didn’t fall. What happened? You need to tell me. There will be an investigation if she doesn’t make it. This could be serious.” I couldn’t hear Mama’s answer, only a few words: “Girls ... school ... problems ... don’t know ... found her.”
The next time I was semi-conscious I heard James, Will and Robby talking softly. Daddy held Sissy who was now five, over the bed. She tried to get in with me and was crying, “Susie,” but he held her back.
I retreated into the comfort and solitude of darkness and when I awoke the next time they were all still there, but they were very quiet, which was unusual for my three brothers and little sister. I could see them through a slit in my right eye. I moaned. Daddy rushed to the side of my bed and took my hand.
“Are you awake?”
“Hmmmm. Thirsty.”
“I’ll get you some water.” He brought a straw to my lips and I sipped, little sips, at first, then I gulped. “Take it easy, Baby. No need to drown yourself. Just take small sips.”
“Where’s Mama?”
“She’s right here.” Mama came to the other side of the bed and put her hand on my shoulder.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“No, I hurt everywhere.”
“No M’am, Susanna Christine.” Suddenly I hated them both. I was determined to get well, and get away. I knew that if he became angry with me again, he would kill me. I wouldn’t let him win. I’d survive.
That was when I made the turnaround.
My few minutes of consciousness at a time turned to an hour a day and, then two as I fought hard as to survive. One day one of my teachers arrived with books and assignments. She stayed to show me what to do to catch up. I tried to listen but my brain was foggy, however I was determined to learn, to keep up with school so I could graduate in May and leave.
I had to survive—that’s what drove me to do things that, looking back, now seem superhuman.
I didn’t ask how many days went by. I slept, took sips of liquids, listened to people talk or read or ask questions and tried to make words. At some point I began to read and write on my own, which took every ounce of courage I could muster.
I was afraid to go home, even though Daddy and Mama were acting like I was a precious child they wanted to protect. I knew the volcano could erupt again, anytime. I tried to fake pain and other symptoms when Dr. David came to see me each morning so he wouldn’t discharge me, but, eventually he caught on.
“Susie, I know you don’t want to go home, but you can’t stay here forever.” I started to cry. Big, fat tears that ran down the sides of my cheeks onto my pillow. Dr. David’s big, hairy thumb wiped some of the drops from my face and, when he spoke, he reminded me of Catfish.
“I can arrange for you to stay with someone else, your aunt in Houston, your grandmother in Baton Rouge. You can stay with me and Erma if you like.” I couldn’t stop crying. “Tell me what happened, honey.” He was so gentle and kind and I wanted to tell him, I wanted my parents in jail, I wanted to punish everyone for everything, but I knew, in my heart, it was all my fault.
What made me think I could love a colored boy and not poison everyone’s life?
“Accident,” I whispered.
“If that’s the truth, I have to send you home. I’ll give you another day or so to think about it.” He patted me on the shoulder and left. The next morning he sat on the edge of my bed.
“You can tell me anything and it won’t shock me.”
“Can you keep a secret?” I whispered it, afraid to confide in him, in anyone.
“It won’t leave this room. Maybe it’s bad, even hopeless, but you can’t keep it inside.”
“It’s all my fault.” I couldn’t hold back the tears.
“What’s your fault?” I started sobbing.
“Everything. Mr. Thibault. Their home. My accident. Everything. It’s all my fault.”
“How call all those things be the fault of a fifteen-year-old-girl.”
“It just is. I’m a troublemaker.”
“Okay. Let’s say it’s your fault. Let’s take this thing apart.” He looked at me with a deep understanding, his dark eyes and overly large nose seemed to fit his gentle spirit. He smelled like a doctor—clorox, rubbing alcohol and mercurochrome—but he sounded like a priest. “How can Ray Thibault’s attack be your fault?”
“Well. Uhm. There’s this boy.”
“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” He removed his hands from the side of my face, sat back and took my right hand between his two thick fists. “You are a little young for a boyfriend, but I can remember thinking I was in love when I was a teenager.”
“It’s not about being in love it’s about who I love.
“Don’t tell me you’re in love with a Jew?” He started to laugh at his own joke, then he saw my expression and stopped. “Oh, no, Susie, it’s not a ...”
“Yes.”
“Not Ray Thibault’s son?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“What have the two of you done?”
“Nothing. Really. I met him a couple years ago, but other than brief conversations at his dad’s gas station, nothing. It’s just that ...”
“Just that, what?”
“The other night I went to the Cow Palace with Daddy and my brothers and I ran into Rodney in the lobby.”
“Okay, benign enough.”
“He touched me. Put his hands on my shoulders.”
“And someone saw?”
“Lots of people saw.” He slid off my bed and began to pace back and forth in the room. His head was down and he had his left hand on his forehead, moving his thumb and fingers close together, then spreading them apart as if he tried to bring his wrinkles to the center of his forehead, then smooth me out again. He stopped at the foot of my bed and looked at me.
“Is Rodney in trouble with the Klan, too?”
“I’m not sure. I’m worried sick.”
“Then I guess you need to see him, to talk to him.” I just stared at Dr. David and I knew he saw the pleading in my eyes.
*
“We’re wasting time, Susie,” Rodney said. He walked to the side of my hospital bed and sat near me, his butt touching my side—I could feel the warmth of him through the sheet and blanket. He stroked the cast on my left arm that was bent at the elbow, the tips of my fingers sticking out of the end. He took my right hand in his. I inhaled his crisp shower scent and aftershave and realized it was the first time I’d smelled his body clean and fresh. He must have showered after work, I thought. I missed the gasoline, sweat-filled pores that seeped his masculinity into my world but I savored something consistent about him—his mansuetude, a gentleness I couldn’t describe but could feel, almost as if it was velvet in my hands, my fingers rubbing the smooth softness.
With the back of his other hand, he gently stroked the length of the side of my face. He turned his hand over and cupped my face with his palm. I lifted my casted arm parallel with my shoulder and, with the tips of my fingers that stuck out of the plaster, I rubbed the back of his hand that lay on my cheek. I closed my eyes and started to cry.
He stroked my hair and tried to sooth me while tears ran down my face, unchecked, my chest heaving every now and then. I guess I felt the same way he had felt when he sobbed in his dad’s arms the night of the wrestling match—frustrated, angry at injustice, confused about feelings. My tears flowed from opened eyes, and nothing could hold them back.
“You think it’s all your fault, don’t you?” I didn’t answer. Finally I turned towards him.
“Tell me about your family,” I whispered. “Is everyone okay? You dad?”
“Dad will be okay, eventually.” He said it slowly, still staring at me. “It’s not your fault, Susie. No one blames you.” I turned away.
“I’m glad you’re okay, that your dad, your family ... I’ve been worried ...”
He left the bed and walked to the window, a few feet away. When he did, my fingertips fell against my cheek, where his hand had been and touched the warm spot he’d left like a stamp on my face. The blinds were shut but he stared through them as if he could see the moon cast its light on the paved parking lot outside the hospital room.
“The gang who burned our house and tried to hang Daddy were not the Jean Ville Klan. They were people who follow wrestling.” He didn’t turn to look at me but I could hear every word.
“Oh, is that good or bad?”
“When the local Klan found out who did it, they were angry because they were blamed, and because they were not asked to participate. The way I understand it, the sheriff thinks he should be consulted about all Klan activity.”
I was quiet. I just wanted to hear his voice. To be near him.
“Susie.” He continued to stare out the closed blinds. His talked softly but I heard every word. “I love you. For more than two years I’ve told myself it’s hopeless, but it doesn’t change anything. I can’t turn it off like a faucet.” I didn’t say anything. He turned around and faced me. “Look at me. Tell me you don’t love me and I’ll go away and try to forget you.”
“I don’t love you,” I whispered. He came to the side of my bed, bent forward and rested his forehead on mine. Our eye lashes bruised each other’s’.
“I don’t believe you. I know you love me. I can see it. I feel it.”
“I don’t love you, Rodney.” I said. “This has to stop.” I started to cry, hard. His lips found mine and he kissed me softly. Then he reached both arms around my back and pulled me to him. I didn’t respond and let my arms hang by my side. I didn’t want to touch him, too dangerous.
He took my right arm and wrapped it around his neck then gently placed my casted arm around his back. He pulled me close and I sobbed into his shoulder so hard my body shook.
“It doesn’t matter whether you tell me you love me,” he whispered. He lifted his head and I saw the tears pooled in his eyes. “I still love you. That won’t change. You can love someone else, you can even marry someone else someday, but I won’t stop.” I wanted him to hold me and force me to tell him the truth, but I couldn’t say the words. Too risky.
I tried to look at him through eyes at half-mast under wet, clumped eyelashes.
“I told my dad about us,” he said. He had a half-smirk on his face and, at first, I thought he was joking.
“You, what?” My eyes flew open. It was like a knee-jerk reaction. He smiled and looked like he was holding back laughter.
“He saw us at the Cow Palace,” Rodney said. “He asked. I couldn’t lie.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I’m in love with you.” He was still holding me and I could taste his words, almost swallow them, his lips were so close. I could see in his eyes that he knew how I felt, but I couldn’t say it. I pictured a noose around his neck, gasped and looked away.
“Oh, God. What did he say,” I asked.
“At first he was upset, taken aback, especially because of his relationship with your dad. But as time goes on, we talk about it more and he’s learned to accept it.”
“Even after what happened to him?”
“Well, we’ve had long conversations since then. He knows I’m here tonight, but I had to promise not to talk to you or contact you again in Jean Ville.” He pulled his arms from around me and held my head in his hands, his lips so close I could taste his words. “But we, you and I, we won’t be in this town forever, you know.” I let those words float in the tight space between our faces.
“If my daddy finds out, it will ruin their friendship.” I said.
“Right now my dad only tolerates your dad—because of what he did to you.” He looked away and I knew he realized he shouldn’t have admitted he knew what happened to me.
“What do you know? What does your dad know?” It frightened me that anyone might know.
“I told him.”
“Marianne told you, huh? Tootsie told Marianne?” I needed the truth. “Rodney, there’s something you aren’t telling me.” He looked unsure, like he was afraid of something. Protecting me? Shielding me? I wasn’t a weakling, he should know that.
“What?” I demanded. “Tell me.”
“They thought ... Um, well ... They thought you weren’t going to make it.” He said it slowly, as if to lessen the blow.
“Huh?”
“The priest gave you the last sacraments.” I must have looked as shocked as I felt because he seemed worried.
“When? Uh. Uhm. How long have I been in here?”
“Close to a month, now.”
“A month? My dad said I’ve been here a little over a week.”
“Twenty-nine days, and counting,” he said. He was sitting on the bed holding my hands. Within seconds my sadness turned to anger. I know he saw fire in my eyes. I was ready to fight my way out of the hospital and out of Jean Ville.
He took me in his arms and hugged me, gently but firmly. It felt so good to be loved that I melted into him and put my arms, even my casted one, around his waist and held him as if by holding on to him I would survive—a life raft. He didn’t pull away. Both of us were crying softly, both feeling like we were finally where we were meant to be.
Once he was sure I was okay, he kissed me. It was gentle, at first, then more urgent. I kissed him back. Our teeth hit and he pulled back and grinned at me.
“Don’t open your mouth so wide,” he said. “Just part your lips a bit.”
“I’ve never kissed anyone on the lips before,” I whispered.
“I know. It’s okay. I’ll show you.” He pressed his parted lips against mine and with the tip of his tongue he licked the outside of mine. It felt good. I closed my eyes. Our mouths formed a suction and he turned his head sideways just a tad. I tried to match the gentle movement of his mouth against mine. He was a patient, gentle teacher. We shared a long kiss that felt like a perfect joining of two lost souls seeking solace and finding it in each other. His breath tasted like peppermint and chocolate and I could feel the warmth of his body against mine. I wondered if he could hear my heart pounding like I could hear his.
The kiss ended and we held each other, for a long time. Then I heard a noise outside the door and pulled away. He kissed me again, deeply, then looked at me, his face so close our noses touched. And he smiled.
“I love you Susie Burton.” I could still feel his mouth on mine.
“You have to go, Rod.” I whispered.
“Okay, I’ll go,” he said. “But know this—you don’t have to tell me you love me, I know. And nothing will change how I feel about you. You’ll come to your senses and I’ll be here, waiting for you.”
He kissed me again, on the lips, then on the forehead and he gently put my hands back over my stomach. When he reached the door to the hall he turned back towards me.
“I have a plan for us,” he said. “When you realized it’s not your job to protect me and my family, let me know and I’ll share it with you.”
He stood at the door a few seconds and waited for me to say something. I didn’t. I couldn’t.
I was discharged a few day s later and Daddy took me with him to San Francisco on a business trip the next month. We stayed at Embarkadero Wharf where we watched the ships come into the port and could actually see Sausalito across the bay. While Daddy was in meetings I rode the cable cars to the Ghirardelli chocolate factory, Fisherman’s Wharf and Chinatown. Daddy took me to Union Square and bought me several new outfits. He insisted, and told me I looked beautiful in everything I tried on. I was almost sixteen and had developed breasts, which I was a little embarrassed about around him.
We talked about his political aspirations and he said he counted on the Negro vote to help him win when he ran for Mayor of Jean Ville the following year. I thought about how terrible it would be for him if anyone found out about my relationship with Rodney. It would probably destroy his political chances. I silently thanked God that I’d be off at college by then.