THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11:
Let Freedom Ring
Mrs. Wilkey is droning on about adjectives and adverbs. I look at the clock. 11:38. Seven more minutes of this and the agony will be over.
There was still no word from Dad when I left for school this morning, but Mom said not to worry. They’d certainly be home before I got back for lunch. At least she hoped so. It all depended. She didn’t say on what.
I glance over at Diane. She seems to be taking a lot of notes. I catch her gaze, and she lifts her eyebrows, then looks up at Mrs. Wilkey, who has her back to us while she writes on the blackboard.
Diane tilts her notebook toward me. In big letters it says, Mrs. Wilkey’s ADJECTIVES: fat, ugly, old, BORING!!!!!!
She underlines BORING!!!!!! and smiles at me.
When the bell rings I open my desk and shove my notebook inside. Everybody stands and starts pushing toward the door in a huge hurry to get out.
Diane nudges me with her elbow. “You going to the dance tomorrow night?” she asks.
“Probably,” I say. “Yeah.”
“Me, too.”
“Should be okay.”
“Yeah. Should be.”
Mrs. Wilkey is sitting at her desk, biting into a jelly sandwich. A couple of people are still fumbling with their stuff at their desks, but mostly it’s just me and Diane standing there. I get the feeling that she likes that it’s only me and her, but maybe not. Talking about the dance makes me nervous, as if there might be some expectations about actually dancing with her.
“I gotta leave,” I say.
She shrugs. “Me, too.”
Then again, hanging out with her at the dance might be cool. “I mean, my brother’s in jail,” I say. “Or he was. I gotta go see.”
She points toward the windows at the back of the room, in the direction of the Municipal Building across the street. “Over there?” she asks.
“No. Up in Syracuse.” It sounds a lot more important than being in the town jail, like Otis in Mayberry.
“Hope he’s all right,” she says.
“Should be. I guess.” I’m an inch or so taller than she is. Her hair is dark, shiny, and straight, and it’s parted down the middle and held back in a black hair band.
“So,” she says, “see you after lunch.”
“Right. After lunch.”
I run the seven blocks and get home in about three minutes. The car isn’t in the driveway.
“What’s going on?” I say as I enter the kitchen.
Mom smiles at me. “Your father called after you left. Ryan’s all right. But I don’t know why they haven’t gotten home yet. Should be any minute.”
She sets a hamburger and some string beans in front of me at the counter, but I don’t feel like eating. I just stare at the plate. She sits on Dad’s stool, sipping coffee.
And then we hear the car pulling into the driveway. We leap up and look out the window as Dad and Ryan step out. I swallow and sniff back a tear.
She hugs Ryan and cries a little. Then she lets him go and turns to Dad. “Honey, where’ve you been?”
“We stopped off in Madison.”
“Madison? That’s not even on the way.”
Dad looks at Ryan. “Tell her.”
Ryan shrugs. “He dragged me to the admissions office at Drew. I applied in person for January.”
“Oh, Ryan,” Mom says. “I’m so glad.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like I had much choice.”
“You had a choice,” she says. “You made the right one.”
Ryan sits at the counter and puts his head down.
“Are you fellas hungry?” Mom asks.
Ryan lifts his head. “Starving.”
Mom throws a couple more hamburgers into the pan.
Dad grabs another doughnut. “Guess I’ll shower and get on the bus,” he says. He yawns and shakes his head. “They dropped the charges, by the way. Just as long as he never gets in trouble in Syracuse again.”
“Like I’d ever go back there,” Ryan says.
“Or anywhere else,” Dad says. “No more of this protest nonsense, right?”
“No more fighting with the pigs,” Ryan says. “But nobody’s shutting me up. First amendment says I can protest all I want.”
Dad lets out a big sigh. “Let freedom ring.” He turns to go up the stairs. We hear him mutter, “What an imbecile.”
I sit next to Ryan and pull my plate over, taking a bite of my hamburger. It’s gone cold, so I get the ketchup out of the refrigerator and drench it.
“What exactly happened, Ryan?” Mom asks.
“All we were doing was sitting with a crowd of people on the steps of the student center,” he says. “At midnight the campus police told us we had to leave, but we said we had a right to be there. They said we didn’t. Next thing we know the city police are there, too, pushing people around. I stepped in front of Jenny when one of them got too close. The cop was harassing her. He yells at me to back off. I go ‘Get out of my face and leave her alone!’ Then I don’t know what happened. I wound up pushing the cop. He twisted my arms behind my back and put handcuffs on me.”
“Let me see.” Mom grabs his hands and inspects his wrists.
“It was nothing, Mom.”
“Did they take you away in a police car?”
“Yeah. A whole bunch of us. I was never actually in jail, just in this holding area until they let me use the phone.”
“And you’re sure they dropped the charges?”
Ryan shrugs. “I don’t think they ever charged me with anything. Just wrote down my driver’s license information and asked me if I was a student there.”
“And what about Jenny?”
“Somebody drove her to the police station. We have no idea where Skippy took off to. He was at the protest for about two seconds. Probably found somebody to get drunk with.”
“That’s our boy,” Mom says.
“Yeah.” Ryan laughs. “Somehow I don’t think his heart was entirely behind the protest effort.”
Mom shakes her head. “Wait until he turns eighteen. He didn’t even finish high school.”
“Nice campus, though,” Ryan says. “Drew, I mean. The other one was nice, too. But . . .” He lifts one hand, then the other, like he’s comparing the weight of two items. “‘ Nam, Madison. ’Nam, Madison.” He sets his head on the counter again. “I’m exhausted. I’m crashing all afternoon.”
“Don’t you have to be at work at four?” she asks.
He shuts his eyes. “Aw, geez. . . . I guess so.”
“Your father’s been up all night, too,” Mom says. “Don’t ever forget that. Say all you want about his politics, but he’s there for you, Ryan. Every step of the way, he’s there.”
“I know. Believe me, I was scared to death last night. The best thing I’ve ever seen was him walking into that police station at five o’clock in the morning. Best thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Dad comes down a little while later, showered, shaved, and dressed in a business suit. He nods at Ryan and gives him a tight smile. “All in a night’s work,” he says.
“Yeah,” Ryan says. “Thanks.”
Dad frowns and pats his own cheek with his palm. Then he clears his throat. “That was . . . brave,” he says, “defending Jenny like that.” He looks at his watch. “I don’t even know the bus schedule for this time of day. Oh well, can’t be too long.”
“Wait up,” I say. I’ve got twenty minutes before I need to be back at school. “I’ll walk down with you.”
“Sounds good.” He hands me his briefcase and we leave the house together.
All in a night’s work.