Forest waved us out, and we didn’t waste no time! Once we got out by the van, we busted out laughing.
* * *
Cybil and Solange were back in the house. Ms. Dolores was showing them how to make peach preserves. I played outside with Forest’s black cat, Midnight. I didn’t know a black cat that wasn’t named Midnight, or Blackie, or Smokey. White people loved them some cats…and dogs. Black people around my way didn’t usually have pets other than goldfish or something else that could be tanked or caged. Guess it would’ve just been one more mouth to feed. I only knew a few that did.
My neighbor, Paula, was one. She had a little black dog named Pepper. At least she got creative with the name. I used to walk him for her. I think it was a he. She was about the only black person on the street with a dog that they actually bought and didn’t just find. I for sure never had a dog or cat, except it was a stray. And then it only hung around as long as I was throwing it bologna. When I ran out, it did too.
I had the plastic seal from a gallon of milk tied to a string. I would throw the string out toward Midnight, and she (I really didn’t know if it was a he or she) would creep up real slow and try to pounce on the seal with her paw. I would yank it away just in time. I did this for almost an hour. Midnight loved it.
Forest came and sat down beside me on a fallen tree trunk. Talk about two bumps on a log. He threw rocks and watched them disappear into the cornfield. He stared down at the ground. “Sorry about that with my grandmother and all.”
“Don’t worry about it. We shouldn’t have been in there in the first place. Plus, it kinda makes up for what my grandma said earlier. So we’re even. What’s wrong with old people anyway?” I tossed the string out to Midnight. Do you think she would’ve been mad if we were white? That’s kinda what I wanted to ask, but I didn’t wanna put Forest on the spot. Maybe his grandmother was just mad ‘cause we were strangers up in her house, that’s all. Old people were particular that way. Still seemed like after Forest explained who we were she could’ve shook my hand.
“So how is it living out here?” I asked.
Forest shrugged and threw another rock into the cornfield. “Okay, I guess.”
“Do the cornfields ever scare you?”
He laughed. “No. Why should they?”
“You never seen Children of The Corn?”
“Calvin, when you get my age, movies like that don’t really get to you. So how’s it living in DC?”
I yanked the plastic cap from Midnight. “I don’t actually live in DC. We just tell people DC because everybody knows where it is. But I live pretty close by in Maryland in a town called Capitol Heights.”
Forest nodded. “So you’re close to all the action.”
“That’s what everybody thinks. It’s okay I guess.” The evening air was cool and damp. I breathed in deep. “I think I would love living out here, though. Except for all the cornfields. And the cows and chickens and preserves and stuff.”
Forest threw his hands up. “Not much left past that.”
“I guess not. Isn’t it something how we end up the way we do? And we don’t have any say about it? Me on the east coast, you out West. Me black, you white. You ever think about that?”
“Not really.”
I smiled.
“What?” Forest asked.
“You never had to. You know what my friend, Billie, told me the day before our trip? That white people out West won’t like me because I’m black.”
Forest threw a rock. “Some friend.”
“Tell me about it.”
“We like you so you know it’s not true.”
“Not all true. But how much?” I could just see Billie’s neck winding like a snake: “Most white people out West won’t like you.” What if he was right? How many was most? I had decided to keep a tally. Write down whatever happened, the good and the bad. I needed to know. It’s really not stupid. The government does it all the time, use numbers to make decisions. Especially about race. The number of blacks and whites in a state. The number of blacks who own homes. The number of whites with a degree. They turn color into numbers. They say age ain’t nothing but a number. Maybe color is too.
Maybe all of ‘em wouldn’t like me, but I would feel better knowing most of ‘em did. Kinda like the President knowing he got elected by more than fifty-one percent. Then maybe it could be the best summer-vacation story in Mrs. Williams’ sixth-grade class. Maybe it could win best summer-vacation story of the school and be featured in the Capitol Heights Gazette like the one last year. Maybe it could change everybody’s minds about everything.
I just wanna be okay.
Stop hiding all the time, stop trying to just get through. Stop being scared somebody’ll call on me. For once, I want to raise my hand.
I looked at Forest. “You never had to think about stuff like that ‘cause it’s never been a problem for you. You never had to wish you were something else because what you were wasn’t good enough. You’re lucky.”
“Because I’m white.”
I nodded. “Things happen for you. People like you. It ain’t your fault. That’s just the way it is.”
“Believe me, everybody doesn’t like me.”
“At least you get the chance to help ‘em decide, instead of them seeing you and already being decided.”
Forest threw another rock. “Somebody decided about the little white girl from Kearny that went missing that everybody’s talking about. What did she do to deserve that?”
“You knew her?”
“No, but some of my friends did. Got everybody around here on edge again.”
I let Midnight get away with the string. “Again?”
“Two other kids went missing back in the spring. Each one was from a state close by. One black boy, one white. Whoever it is don’t discriminate. Each time they went missing they said nobody noticed nothing unusual. No screams. No strange sounds. It’s like the kids just vanished. Whoever it is must’ve blended right in. Looked friendly. Safe.”
“How long she been missing?”
“Almost a week. Could be dead. Could be alive. Could be dragged off to another state by now. Who knows? Everybody’s looking over their shoulders. People don’t wanna let their kids out to play no more. They telling people to watch out for some man they don’t even have a description of. If it even is a man. Alls I’m saying is that little girl is gone, and there’s nothing she did to deserve it.”
I tried to picture the girl and how scared she must’ve been.
“I know you’re on vacation and all, but wherever you go don’t go by yourself. Don’t trust no strangers. Keep your eyes open. He’s out there. Somewhere.”
Chapter 2
Wyoming
Even though Dad’s outdated ‘78 copper-colored Dodge van was nearly as old as Grandma, and the radio didn’t work, it was a cozy little place. The sofa turned into a bed, and we fought to get our favorite spots every night. No one wanted to sleep on the end because you always ended up falling off if Dad slammed on brakes or if you forgot that you weren’t at home and rolled over. We had a refrigerator and a table we could prop up when we ate or wanted to play UNO. Everywhere you looked decals, trinkets and photos of the places we had been and the people we had met were beginning to cover every surface, and little stuffed animals that Dad had won from arcades dangled from the ceilings and bounced with every