Read Online Brendan Buckley's Universe and Everything in It by Sundee T. Frazier - Free Book Online
Authors: Sundee T. Frazier
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had purple blood.
Khalfani and I were the “they,” and I knew why.
Because we were black.
For the first time I could remember, someone had been mean to me because of my color. I wrote on the next line: “What makes white people be mean to black people?”
Grampa Clem had told me about a few bad things white people had done to him, but it always seemed like a really long time ago. And there was Dad, with his warnings about how things were tougher for black boys. But it had never been something I worried about for myself. I closed the notebook and slipped it behind my bed.
I rolled up the tools and buried them in the box of old clothes. I didn’t even know when I would go back to Ed’s. Maybe now I just wouldn’t.
I took the chunk of rock I’d chipped off the embankment and the one from the stream and set them on my desk. I looked through the field guide for the picture of slate.
My river rock matched the description exactly. Slate could be black, gray, brownish red, bluish gray or greenish gray. Mine was black. The rock came in thin, smooth layers that could easily be split. I didn’t want to split mine, but I could see the layers.
Slate had once been an easier-to-break rock called shale, but heat and pressure had turned it into something stronger, the book said. More than once, Grampa Clem had told me that black people had been made stronger by all the trials they had been through. That sounded just like metamorphic rock, I thought. I rubbed the slate between my fingers.
The rock reminded me of Grampa Clem. It was black and thin, not flashy, but solid. The rock’s pointiness made me think of him, too. Whether he talked or you did, he wanted to get straight to the point. “You can be for Grandpa Clem,” I whispered.
My stomach rumbled like Mount Saint Helens. Was Mom making dinner yet?
I went to the hall and looked at my parents’ door. Closed. I walked to the living room. Gladys was reading her
Jet
magazine. She glanced at me, and without waiting for her to ask, I gave her some sugar.
“It’s good to see you, too.” She opened the magazine to the bikini lady they always put in the middle and clucked her teeth. “I remember those days,” she said. I tried not to imagine Gladys in a bikini.
The door opened and Dad came in and saw me. “What have you been up to?” he asked.
A picture of those four boys on the riverbank—one of them on my bike—flashed before my eyes. “We went to the park.”
Dad ruffled my hair. He smelled like cut grass and heat. “You guys practice your forms today?” He got a glass of water from the kitchen, then sat on the love seat kitty-corner from Gladys.
We had not only practiced, we’d gotten real live experience. “Yeah,” I said.
Mom came down the hall. Her eyes went straight to my arm. She lifted it by my wrist. “What happened?”
I couldn’t say anything about the pick. Then I’d have to explain where I’d gotten it. “Uh, Khal and I ran into some trouble.” I sat next to Dad.
Mom’s forehead wrinkled.
“What kind of trouble?” Dad asked.
“Kind of a fight,” I said.
Gladys perked up. “You beat ’em good, right?”
Mom glared at her.
“There were four of them, and they were older. White boys.”
“Oh, no, here we go,” Gladys said.
Mom put her hand on my head. “Oh, Boo.”
Dad sat up straight with his hands on his knees. “What did they do?”
“Mostly just made fun of us. We were looking for rocks in the water.”
Mom inspected the gash again. “Then how’d you get cut?”
I had to think quickly. “I’d found a rock—a sharp rock—and left it on the shore. They started throwing it around and I tried to get it back and that’s when it happened.” That was basically the truth—with one minor change. “But I didn’t run away,” I said, glancing at Dad. “Because of tenet number five.”
“I’m glad you didn’t run away, son, but you have to be smart, too. If any of those boys had had weapons…”
They
Khalfani and I were the “they,” and I knew why.
Because we were black.
For the first time I could remember, someone had been mean to me because of my color. I wrote on the next line: “What makes white people be mean to black people?”
Grampa Clem had told me about a few bad things white people had done to him, but it always seemed like a really long time ago. And there was Dad, with his warnings about how things were tougher for black boys. But it had never been something I worried about for myself. I closed the notebook and slipped it behind my bed.
I rolled up the tools and buried them in the box of old clothes. I didn’t even know when I would go back to Ed’s. Maybe now I just wouldn’t.
I took the chunk of rock I’d chipped off the embankment and the one from the stream and set them on my desk. I looked through the field guide for the picture of slate.
My river rock matched the description exactly. Slate could be black, gray, brownish red, bluish gray or greenish gray. Mine was black. The rock came in thin, smooth layers that could easily be split. I didn’t want to split mine, but I could see the layers.
Slate had once been an easier-to-break rock called shale, but heat and pressure had turned it into something stronger, the book said. More than once, Grampa Clem had told me that black people had been made stronger by all the trials they had been through. That sounded just like metamorphic rock, I thought. I rubbed the slate between my fingers.
The rock reminded me of Grampa Clem. It was black and thin, not flashy, but solid. The rock’s pointiness made me think of him, too. Whether he talked or you did, he wanted to get straight to the point. “You can be for Grandpa Clem,” I whispered.
My stomach rumbled like Mount Saint Helens. Was Mom making dinner yet?
I went to the hall and looked at my parents’ door. Closed. I walked to the living room. Gladys was reading her
Jet
magazine. She glanced at me, and without waiting for her to ask, I gave her some sugar.
“It’s good to see you, too.” She opened the magazine to the bikini lady they always put in the middle and clucked her teeth. “I remember those days,” she said. I tried not to imagine Gladys in a bikini.
The door opened and Dad came in and saw me. “What have you been up to?” he asked.
A picture of those four boys on the riverbank—one of them on my bike—flashed before my eyes. “We went to the park.”
Dad ruffled my hair. He smelled like cut grass and heat. “You guys practice your forms today?” He got a glass of water from the kitchen, then sat on the love seat kitty-corner from Gladys.
We had not only practiced, we’d gotten real live experience. “Yeah,” I said.
Mom came down the hall. Her eyes went straight to my arm. She lifted it by my wrist. “What happened?”
I couldn’t say anything about the pick. Then I’d have to explain where I’d gotten it. “Uh, Khal and I ran into some trouble.” I sat next to Dad.
Mom’s forehead wrinkled.
“What kind of trouble?” Dad asked.
“Kind of a fight,” I said.
Gladys perked up. “You beat ’em good, right?”
Mom glared at her.
“There were four of them, and they were older. White boys.”
“Oh, no, here we go,” Gladys said.
Mom put her hand on my head. “Oh, Boo.”
Dad sat up straight with his hands on his knees. “What did they do?”
“Mostly just made fun of us. We were looking for rocks in the water.”
Mom inspected the gash again. “Then how’d you get cut?”
I had to think quickly. “I’d found a rock—a sharp rock—and left it on the shore. They started throwing it around and I tried to get it back and that’s when it happened.” That was basically the truth—with one minor change. “But I didn’t run away,” I said, glancing at Dad. “Because of tenet number five.”
“I’m glad you didn’t run away, son, but you have to be smart, too. If any of those boys had had weapons…”
They
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