I glanced at my Timex. Among the three of us, I was the only one responsible enough to keep and wear a wristwatch. Vonetta let a girl “see hers” and never got it back. Fern was still learning to tell time, so I kept hers in my drawer until she was ready to wear it.
Six and a half hours had passed since we’d hugged Big Ma and kissed Pa at John F. Kennedy Airport. The clouds had made peace with our Boeing 727. It was safe to breathe. I stretched as far as my legs could go.
With these long legs I’m taken for twelve or thirteen, even a little older. No one ever guesses eleven going on twelve on their first try. More than my long legs, I’m sure it’s my plain face that throws them off. Not plain as in homely plain, but even plain. Steady. I’m not nine or seven and given to squealing or oohing like Vonetta and Fern. I just let my plain face and plain words speak for me. That way, no one ever says, “Huh?” to me. They know exactly what I mean.
We were long gone from thick, white clouds, the plane steadily climbing down. The intercom crackled, and the pilot made an announcement about the descent and altitude and that we would be landing in ten minutes. I let all of that pass by until he said, “…and to your left as we circle the bay is the Golden Gate Bridge.”
I was now a liar! A stone-faced liar. I wanted to squeal and ooh like a seven-year-old meeting Tinker Bell. I had read about the Golden Gate Bridge in class. The California gold rush. The Chinese immigrants building the railroads connecting east to west. It wasn’t every day you saw a live picture of what you read about in your textbook. I wanted to look down from above the world and see the Golden Gate Bridge.
Being stuck in the middle seat, I was mad at myself. Of the three of us, I was the first to board the 727. Why hadn’t I taken the window seat when I’d had my chance?
Instead of the squeal I knew wouldn’t come out of me in the first place, I sighed. No use crying about it now. The truth was, one pout from either Vonetta or Fern and I would have given up the window seat.
This was the only way it could be: Vonetta and Fern on either side and me in between them. Six and a half hours was too long a time to have Vonetta and Fern strapped side by side picking at each other. We would have been the grand Negro spectacle that Big Ma had scolded us against becoming when we were back in Brooklyn.
Still, the Golden Gate Bridge was getting away from me. I figured at least one of us should see it. And that should be the one who read about it in class.
“Look, Vonetta. Look down at the bridge!”
Vonetta stayed tight to her stubborn curl, her chin in her lap. “I’m not looking.”
I turned to my right and got a mouthful of hair and barrettes. Fern had leaned over from her aisle seat. “I wanna see. Make her switch.” To Fern, the Golden Gate Bridge sounded like Sleeping Beauty’s castle. She halfway believed in things not true and didn’t know where fairy tales ended. No use spoiling it for her. She’d figure things out soon enough.
Fern was wriggling out of her seat belt and climbing on me to get a glimpse. This was how it was at home. Why should a thousand feet up in the air make any difference? “Sit back, Fern,” I said in my plain, firm voice. “We’re getting ready to land.”
She pouted but sat back down. I tightened her seat belt. Vonetta’s face stayed in her lap. That was just pitiful.
“Go look down, Vonetta,” I said. “Before you miss it.”
Vonetta refused to pry her chin from her lap. She stuck her thumb back in her mouth and closed her eyes.
I wasn’t worried about Vonetta. Once we got on the ground, she’d be her showy self again and this fraidycat episode would be long faded.
As we continued to circle the bay above the Golden Gate Bridge, I felt like I was being teased for the simple act of wanting. Each time the plane curved around I knew in my heart it would be my last chance and the bridge was singing, “Na-na-na-na-na. You can’t see me.”
Now, I had to see the bridge. How many times would I be this high up and have a sight as spectacular as the Golden Gate Bridge right underneath me? I loosened my seat belt, lifted myself, and leaned over Vonetta’s head and shoulders to get a look out of the oval window. I pressed against Vonetta. Just a little. Not enough to cause a stir. But Vonetta and Fern, who was now angry, both hollered, “Delphine!” as loud as they could.
Heads turned our way. A stewardess rushed to our row. “Sit in your seat, missy,” she scolded me. “We’re getting ready to land.”
Even though there were only eight Negroes on board, counting my sisters and me, I had managed to disgrace the entire Negro race, judging by the head shaking and tsk-tsking going on around us. I shifted my behind into my seat and tightened my seat belt. But not before I had seen orange steel poking through thick ground clouds below. Smog.
There was no time to savor my victory or feel my shame. The plane went roaring down farther and farther. Vonetta held on to my left arm, and Fern, with Miss Patty Cake, grabbed my right. I dug into the armrests and prayed the pilot had done this before.
The plane bounced off the ground as soon as we hit land. It kept bouncing and surging forward until the bouncing smoothed out and we were rolling against the ground, nice and steady.
I took a deep breath so I’d sound like myself when I started telling Vonetta and Fern what to do. The main thing was we were on the ground. We were in Oakland.