No wonder school ended in May. The heat and humidity of the Louisiana days were ramping up. Tension and stress in the cramped classroom had doubled since the previous Friday. It was time to go home and work on packing before dinner. Colleen shut down the AC, locked the door, and walked to her car. She was amazed at how much she and Miguel had accumulated in one year. The army would ship the boxes home, but she had to fill them. “Ten weeks—that’s all we have left. June sixth, we’re gone,” Miguel had said. June 6 was just two weeks away.
The second bedroom, at the back end of the trailer, was where she organized the packing. She held up a sweatshirt and remembered the day she had bought it at the five-and-dime. KETTLE CREEK was printed in bold letters across the front. Cynthia had been in the store with her mother that day, buying calico-print fabric. The sweatshirt would always remind her of how surprised Cynthia had been to see her teacher shopping in the same store, and how the sales clerk had told Cynthia to stop bothering the customer. The clerk’s expression had hardened when she’d realized that Colleen wasn’t bothered at all.
She repacked the Corningware and the blender in their original boxes. The tape recorder her father had mailed to her fit back into the Styrofoam mold. A shoebox could hold her father’s tapes and the prerecorded music cassettes. Their collection had multiplied exponentially. The Post Exchange had the latest record albums for amazing prices. Colleen and Miguel now had more than fifty: the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, James Taylor, the Supremes, the Temptations, and more.
Colleen pulled the edge of a large envelope from between the album covers. Tears filled her eyes when she recognized that it contained the class picture taken when she was still at West Hill School. She had brought the school photos home before she knew they were closing the school.
She was drying her eyes with toilet paper in the bathroom when she heard someone knock. Colleen hurried to the front of the trailer, but no one was there by the time she opened the door. She could hear a voice calling, “Y’all in there? Hello … Hello …”
Leaning out the door, Colleen saw Jan banging on a window in the back bedroom. Jan was the last person she wanted to see.
“Hi, I’m over here. I was just packing up some things.”
Jan rushed toward her. She waved a piece of paper and said, “Did you see this? It’s outrageous.”
“I don’t know. Let me see.”
Jan handed the paper to Colleen. A flyer announced that there would be a special meeting of the parish school board on Thursday at 6:00 p.m. in the cafeteria of Kettle Creek Elementary School.
“So, did you know about this?” Jan demanded.
Colleen handed back the flyer. “No. How did you find out?”
“My friend Rita told me. She works at your school.”
“Rita Harper is your friend?” Colleen could feel her Irish temper rising.
“Yes, the colored parents requested a special board meeting because of the retentions. Didn’t anyone at school tell you?”
“Rita Harper, the cop’s wife, is your friend?” Colleen said it again, trying to make sense of it. Birds of a feather … She glared at Jan. “Nope, Rita doesn’t talk to me. Looks right through me when we’re in the same room. Not one of those white teachers gives me the time of day.”
Shaking the paper, Jan told her, “Those uppity black folks don’t want to accept that their youngins need more time to learn. Even your class isn’t ready to move on, and they had a white teacher.” Jan’s mouth spewed those words as if she had eaten some rotten fruit. “Come on,” she continued. “It’s almost six o’clock. You can drive us there.”
“Us? You want me to drive you?”
“Don’t you think you should go? Find out if they retain them or pass them on? And they want to open up their school. I’m only trying to help you, darlin’.”
Colleen resisted the desire to slap this fool of a woman. “Help me? You’ve done nothing but poison my days. The first thing you said when I got hired was that ‘no decent white southern woman would take that job.’ How was that helpful?”
“You don’t understand how it is around here, that’s all.”
Colleen walked down the steps as she enunciated each syllable. “I understand exactly how it is here. People like you are filled with hate and fear because of the color of people’s skin.”
Jan shrank back, but her tone sharpened. “Only trying to give you some advice. I told you not to take the job Mrs. Kirby wouldn’t. She said if she couldn’t tell them apart, how would she ever learn their names? You acted like a Yankee from the start. That’s why the white teachers don’t tell you anything.”
Colleen kept her rage at bay as she witnessed a retreat. She ached to avenge the pain this woman inflicted without a second thought. “A Yankee? This isn’t about the North versus the South. This is about teaching children. I know every single one of their names.” Colleen moved a step closer. “Cynthia has such delicate features. She’ll be beautiful.”
Jan stepped back.
“Linkston’s tortoiseshell glasses magnify his deep brown eyes.” Colleen took another step and leaned in. “Jarrod’s ears stick out, and he squints. I think he needs glasses, but no one will listen to me. He’s a tough one, but he’s come around with respect and patience. Should I go on?”
Jan threw up her hands and squirmed away. Colleen stepped closer. “Plants need water, sunlight, and soil with room to grow. Students need good teachers, good books, and a good school. The board should open their school. That’s where their roots are. Integrate that school.”
The tables had turned. For the first time, Jan was speechless. In fact, she seemed frozen in place, unsure of what Colleen would do next.
Relief settled over Colleen as she realized that in two short weeks this woman would be out of her life. Was this the time to call upon that saying Jan had used so sweetly to twist a knife in her back? Yes. Colleen stepped back with a contented smile and took a deep breath to keep control.
“Bless your heart, Jan, you’ll have to get someone else to take you. I do appreciate you coming by, but I have to finish packing.” She heard the southern drawl come out of her own mouth, slow and sure.
Colleen shut the door and left Jan to stand alone in the heat of the humid Louisiana day. Then she did a little dance in the kitchen. However, her exuberance was short-lived as she wondered if she should go to the meeting. Was this meeting what Penelope Woods had meant when she’d said, “We’re not done”? Would Cynthia’s mother or grandfather be there? Mrs. Woods? Jan was partly right, again. Even now, Colleen didn’t understand the unwritten rules about whom to talk to and how a misstep could put you in danger, as she had placed the children in danger by picking them up in her car. All she knew was that she didn’t belong at the meeting. She went back to finish packing.