Checkers on the Hill, page 7
“You do know, Hope, they’re protecting our diplomats and other Americans working over there too, don’t you? They’re fighting to keep that country from being taken over by the communists. The Viet Cong are killing a lot of innocent people.”
“I know, I know. It’s an honorable cause for our country to defend and protect democracy for people that don’t have the resources to defend themselves from such overwhelming, powerful enemies. But we’re sending some of our best young men and women to that war. They’re the future leaders of our country, full of talent, ideals, and so much potential.”
“Robert Kennedy said something in a speech the other day that was food for thought. I can’t quote him exactly, but I think he said. ‘We can’t, and should not, take it on as the job of the United States to put down disorder and internal violence everywhere in the world.’ He said he didn’t think that was the mission of the United States. That’s something to think about. What’s your view on that, Hope?”
“There are some conflicts in this world that I think we must get involved in like we had to in World War II. But no, I don’t think we should be getting in the middle of every country’s politics. Our own country has people suffering and needing help, and our resources can only be stretched so far. Our taxes are high now. Plus, we’re losing so many of our precious young men and women to war, or they’re coming home maimed and mentally broken. I know we’re supposed to be the leaders and defenders of democracy. But it just doesn’t seem right that we’re involved in so many foreign countries. We seem to be spread all over,” she said. We walked on in silence, thinking of all the American soldiers fighting in the jungles and serving in other places in the world while we freely enjoyed a stroll along the beach with our family on a sunny day. Maybe that was exactly why our soldiers were fighting.
Samuel and Eli had stopped to talk to a fisherman, and we joined them. Eli asked him how the fishing was and what bait he used. He reached into a container and pulled out something called a bloodworm. The children all shouted, “Ew! Yucky!” together when they saw its squirming body. It was the biggest, ugliest worm I had ever seen, with fleshy, dark, hooklike barbs all over its body. When the fisherman held it up by one end, the other end became a fat bulbous mass full of blood. It was disgusting, and when we walked on, I vowed I would never fish with anything like that for bait.
It was a wonderful day. We returned home from that trip with happy memories and pockets full of “treasures” to admire again later.
We took a trip back to the National Mall to see the cherry trees when they were blooming and spread out our hands and caught the pink petals that fell when a breeze blew as we wandered the sidewalks underneath them. We were reminded of how much DC is an international city as we walked among residents from different parts of the country and visitors from all over the world. We heard people speaking to each other in languages that were strange to us. We stopped at one of the multiple beds of daffodils that Lady Bird Johnson had planted around Washington, and the kids stuck their noses into the yellow blooms and smelled springtime in flower. We laughed when we noticed Lucas had yellow pollen on his nose like a honeybee.
That night we returned home with our minds full of all the new and exciting experiences we were having.
Our hometown only had one local airport with a short runway for small commuter jets and passenger planes. Those planes held six people at most, but here the jets were massive and full of people. They were constantly flying overhead, arriving and departing every few minutes. We parked our car in a landscaped area near the end of a runway at Kennedy International Airport and got out, then we all laid down on the grass facing the sky. Huge planes came barreling down the runway and lifted off right over us. The noise of the jets was so deafening we couldn’t talk over it. We felt the ground under us vibrate from the weight of the heavy, moving jets on the runway. When they lifted off, we could see the pilots in the cockpit and read the numbers on the underside of the plane. It was so close we could even see the shiny heads of the rivets that pinned the plane’s metal skin together. The kids loved it and waved at the people looking down from the plane’s windows; some even waved back. Our children clapped and shouted as if they had just been given a Christmas present. It was a thrill for rural people like us who had only seen jets leaving white trails far above us in the sky. Where were all those people going on their journeys, we wondered.
Hope and I spent a lot of time together talking every day. We were folding clothes in the laundry room and chatting, as usual, when I told her, “I have to tell you something that’s bothering me, Hope. You’ve seen Lucas playing with his yellow Tonka dump truck, the one he loves so much and likes to sit on and pretend to drive, right? Well, it was stolen right off our patio last night! Someone actually came close to our backdoor and took it while we were sleeping inside. We never had to worry about anything getting stolen from our yard at home. We never even locked our doors. That makes me uneasy and angry.”
“You’re kidding! I had something stolen too,” she said. “I came back to the laundry room last week to take my clothes out of the dryer, but someone had gotten there before me, and my things were scattered all over. Some of my sweaters and jeans were gone. The creepy part is they took some of my underwear too. I couldn’t believe it! We’re living with thieves at this complex, Josey. Be careful with everything,” she told me as she shook her head. “Unbelievable. You can’t trust people anymore; this is a different world.” We were both silent for some time, thinking about how we had to keep our guard up in this place. Before we left, we warned each other again to be careful and watch our belongings.
Most of the children at the apartments spent time swimming in the large rectangular pool behind our apartment building. I could easily see the pool right out our glass doors. It was just across the sidewalk and lawn from our garden apartment on the bottom floor. The children living at the apartments also liked to play in the “woods” on the other side, just beyond the pool. It was only a cluster of thick trees and bushes on a small hillside but nice because that knoll was tall enough and wide enough to block the view of all the streets and buildings beyond it. Looking out our windows, we saw the blue-green water of the large pool sparkling in the sun and then a wooded area. It made us feel like we weren’t right in the middle of a busy cosmopolitan city. Sitting on our deck, soaking up the sunshine, we watched the kids playing hide and seek and cowboys and Indians over there with their friends. Even when they were out of sight among the trees and bushes, we could hear their familiar voices, and they would answer us back, “I’m right here, Mommy,” and wave when we called out to check on them.
There were shallow dips and raised humps all over that knoll. The kids thought they were small hideouts and had fun playing in them. Grace and Lucas brought a small animal bone back from their play and said, “Look, Mommy, it’s a dinosaur bone just like we saw in the Smithsonian Museum.” They were so proud of their find, even though we knew it was most likely an animal bone. We set their treasure aside on the windowsill. Soon other children started bringing small bones back from their play as well. We weren’t concerned until one of them brought back a skull and handed it to his mother, saying, “Look at this neat skull I found. Can we use it for Halloween?” He was so pleased with what he had found. His mom almost fainted when he handed it to her and she realized it was an actual human skull.
The police were called to investigate the “woods,” and we found out it was an old cemetery. The officer told us gravediggers had recently opened the graves and exposed the skeletons.
“Why would they ever be doing something like that?” I asked the policeman.
“Ma’am, they rob the dead of any jewelry the bodies were buried with. They work mostly at night,” he answered as he wrote up his report. “Desperate people do desperate things around here,” he added.
It frightened me that a strange man or men, especially grave robbers, had been over there where my children played every day. The neighborhood was getting scarier to me, with thieves and gravediggers nearby. What else was going on that I didn’t know about? I started paying much, much closer attention to everything around us, not just our belongings but our precious children too.
Not long after that, I had another eye-opening experience. The drive to work every day was so stressful. There were so many commuters jamming the streets, all at the same time, that traffic was horrible. It angered me every time I had to stop and wait for an opening to go around those double-parked limousines by the embassies. Why couldn’t they respect our traffic laws? I had tried taking other streets but got very lost one day, so I returned to using the familiar route past that area. Our other problem was Samuel didn’t have a car each day because I had to use it. I decided I would ride the bus to work instead.
The morning I stepped onto that bus, I stepped into a different world. Every face staring back at me was black. People leaned out toward the aisle to get a better look at me. All of them stared as if they just saw an alien in their midst. I had already put my money in the metal box by the bus driver. I was committed to that transport, so I needed to sit down. I eased my way down the aisle to about halfway back and was relieved to find an empty seat. The bus driver had watched me in the rearview mirror, making sure I had sat down before he took off. I slid over next to the window and hunkered down as the bus traveled on. Looking forward, I noticed some ladies were dressed in uniforms as if they were domestic help. Most of the men looked as if they were in some type of service job, and a few dressed like office workers.
I felt so out of place. I didn’t think I was superior, though. I had worked cleaning houses for others and had been a waitress in my teens. I felt like I was injecting myself into a world that was so different from mine. A world I didn’t know anything about. I stared out the bus window and watched the buildings and streets we traveled past. The bus was eerily quiet, as if everyone was resting up for a trying day ahead. At the next stop, an older black woman got on and sat down next to me. We said “hello,” and then neither of us spoke again. When the bus came to her stop, she got up and left. I carefully watched the street signs for my stop near the agency. The last thing I wanted to do was get off on the wrong block. When I did get off the bus, the driver said, “You have a good day now.” I thanked him. I think he knew I had felt so out of place.
When I mentioned the bus ride to Booker at work, he said, “Welcome to the city, Country Girl . . . You didn’t know the buses are filled with black people?” Then he chuckled while he shook his head. I suffered in silence again on the bus ride back home. Why am I the only white person on the bus? Am I imagining a hint of hostility in the faces of some passengers? Or is my fear of their difference making me sense something that isn’t there? Is my presence on the bus unwelcome? I couldn’t help but wonder, did a black person feel that uncomfortable when they’re surrounded by a group of strange white people?
I started driving myself to work again the next day.
Samuel’s job was going great. He was learning new skills as a fuel injection specialist, and they trusted his abilities enough to send him on road calls to fix trucks that had broken down on the highway. We had replaced some furniture we had sold by shopping at a local Goodwill store. We were still tight for money to meet the utility bills and pay our apartment rent plus other expenses though and had to watch our pennies. I had come home one day to a hangtag on our doorknob warning us about our late rent. It was embarrassing, and I quickly ripped it off and hoped no one else had seen it on their way to the laundry room.
Samuel told me he had to join the International Association of Machinists and Aerospace Workers Union for his job, and they would be automatically taking dues out of his paycheck from now on.
“Samuel, you worked for the same company up north and never had to join the union. Why do you have to join a union here?” I asked.
“That wasn’t a union shop up north. I haven’t got a choice; all the mechanics here are union members. I can’t continue to work in that shop unless I join.”
“But what good is joining a union going to do? Does that mean that if they strike at the shop you won’t get paid?” I asked worriedly. “That sounds like a big union too. It includes the aerospace workers. If the pilots or airplane mechanics went on strike, would you have to also? Is that how it works?”
“No, I don’t think that will ever happen,” he answered, trying to ease my worry. “Sometimes these companies won’t listen to a worker’s complaints or treat them fairly. But if employees get together as a group, they can get things changed. Besides, the dues are to help get us money if the group did go on strike. I don’t like it any more than you, Josey. It’s supposed to be for the good of the workers. I have no choice, hon, I have to join,” he said, stroking my back. “At least they have great benefits at this company, and my boss is a good guy.”
“I just get tired of bureaucrats taking money out of our pockets for one thing or another. It adds up, and we need every dollar we earn. You work so hard.”
“We’ll be okay,” he said as he kissed my forehead, the side of my face, my lips, and pressed his body close to me.
“Samuel, stop trying to change the subject. I’m trying to talk to you about something serious,” I said, nudging him away and turning my back.
He reached out, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me close to his body. “But, Josey, don’t worry so much, hon. We’ll be okay. Just feel how well we fit together. No more talking now,” he said, then whispered in my ear, “The kids are asleep. Let’s go to bed and take our minds off our troubles for a while.”
“Our bills Samuel . . . we need . . . we have to . . .” My voice trailed off as he tenderly kissed me. My mind was shutting down. I gladly went with him as he pulled me toward our bedroom. I needed to forget the bills, my work, and the problems that had worried me so much that week.
Chapter 5
Much of the work we did at the agency was for different federal government divisions. I often did paste-ups on publications with “CONFIDENTIAL” stamped in bold letters on every page. Usually, it was something boring. They were often pages and pages of mundane reports that included black and white charts and graphs from the technical department and even more pages of text analyzing statistics. None of it was interesting enough to hold my attention without starting to yawn, and I wondered how the civil servants who wrote the stuff could stand it.
I had been working on my new job for a few months when our proofreader, Priscilla, announced she was having a party for all of us at the place she rented in Georgetown. I wasn’t sure if Samuel and I should attend. We probably could get Hope to watch the kids for one night. However, I hesitated because neither Samuel nor I had done much socializing or party-going, and we had never been to a cocktail party. We were unsure about what to expect. I thought we should attend because it seemed important for my work and getting along with my coworkers. I didn’t want to offend anyone by being absent. I was also curious and wanted to know more about the people I worked with.
The party was scheduled for “sevenish.” After going up and down the Georgetown neighborhood street several times, we managed to squeeze our Chevy into a parking space between all the Lincolns and Cadillacs near the address Priscilla had given us. We walked down the sidewalk toward the house number she had given me and admired the big, well-maintained, greystone homes we passed. We found the place Priscilla rented. It was large and impressive, and she had told me she had the use of one whole floor of it. It wasn’t just a house; it was a mansion.
“God, this place must be expensive to rent,” Samuel said as he looked at the large, impressive stone building. “Glad we’re not paying rent on this museum every month.”
“I don’t understand how she does it, Samuel. She can’t make that much money at the agency, can she?” I asked. “She’s a proofreader, although that is one of the most important jobs there.”
We continued up the marble sidewalk, past the neatly manicured landscaping, up the stone steps, to the portico landing, and rang the bell. Warm lights streamed out the windows, and you could hear music and conversations inside. Priscilla opened the door with a half-empty drink in her hand. “Josey, good, you came. I wasn’t sure you would.”
“Priscilla, this is Samuel, my husband. Samuel, this is Priscilla. She’s my friend from work who invited us to this beautiful home tonight.”
Priscilla switched hands with her drink and shook Samuel’s. “Glad to meet you Shamyule. Whoops!” She laughed. “I mean Sam-u-el,” she said, pronouncing his name more carefully. “Come on in here, you two, and join the party.”
I whispered under my breath as she turned and walked away. “Someone’s way ahead of us on the drinks.”
Priscilla announced, “Look everyone, Country Girl is here with her husband, Sam-u-el.” The room was full of my coworkers, who turned and raised their glasses or waved at us. Then they returned to their conversations.
“Follow me. We’ve set up a bar. You have to get a drink,” Priscilla said. “Some of us are a little ahead of you already.” She refilled her glass as Samuel and I looked at each other and smiled when she echoed my whispered remark. Pointing to the dining table, she said, “There are some hors d’oeuvres over there. Make yourself at home. I have to go ask Booker something. Please excuse me.” With that, she left us standing there alone.
