Richard still doesn’t know.
I can’t tell him.
Saturday night,
Daddy and my brothers
are the band
for a square dance
at Sparta School—
the elementary school
where Richard went—
the white school.
Colored people
aren’t allowed in.
Light and music
spill out the open door.
Me and Richard are milling around
with a bigger group of coloreds
outside
where we’re allowed
to listen
and dance
if we want.
Richard and his
car buddies,
Ray and Percy—
and Ray’s girl,
Annamae—
are with us.
Ray, Annamae, and Percy,
aren’t allowed in, either.
White guys
with white girls on their arms
say
“Hey” to Richard
on their way in.
He “heys” them back.
Everyone likes Richard.
He says to me,
“Let’s go in.
They won’t mind.”
“We can’t go in there.
I can’t go in.”
I giggle
’cause I think he’s kidding.
But he’s got his arm
around my shoulder
walking toward the door
and he’s a whole lot stronger
than me.
As we step into the doorway
a white man,
maybe the guard,
puts out his hand—
bars our path.
He looks at Richard
and cocks his head at me—
like
that says it all.
I feel embarrassed.
HUMILIATED.
I don’t care if I go in.
I don’t like to rock the boat.
“You go in, Richard,” I say,
my voice rising.
“You wanna dance?
You go in.
You wanna listen to the music?
You go ahead.”
I feel my lower lip jutting out.
That’s how I know
I’m angry.
I train myself not to be angry.
So I don’t always know that I am.
Anger takes energy
that I’d rather use
being happy.
But now I’m ANGRY—
and I’m angry
at Richard.
I don’t want to cry,
but I feel my lower lip
trembling—
my face is warning me
that the tears could start
spilling.
enough
to know this too.
He pulls me back
out of that lit-up
doorway,
out to where it’s dark,
away from the people.
He puts his
arms around me
and he kisses my eyes
which are salty with
escaped tears.
He says,
“Bean,
Bean, I’m sorry,
but your Daddy is playing in there
and Doochy and Button,
and all of ’em, Theo,
and I thought maybe
they’d let us in.
It was stupid.
I was stupid.
Let’s hang out here.
It’s nicer out here,
in the dark,
anyhow.”
And Richard,
who never ever
dances,
and we rock together
taking little steps
and we’re
dancing.
The moment they said,
No, you can’t go in,
he saw—
I know he really saw—
what it is
to be colored.
It’s true—
when we go to movies
we have to sit up in the balcony.
But this is different.
YOU CANNOT
COME IN
HERE.
We walk to where
the car is,
climb into
the backseat
with no one around.
I tell him.
I tell him everything.
He’s gonna find out anyway.
I cry while I tell him.
He steps out of the car.
I wail.
He’s gone what feels like
forever
in the dark.
I’m in the car whimpering.
He comes back.
Drives me home.