A Summer of Kings (29 page)

Pip turned out the light and met me at the door. He whispered when he got right up to me, "I'll always love you. Always; there's no maybe or if about it for me." Then he leaned forward and kissed me right on the lips and my heart did a somersault and I dropped my beach
bag on my feet and didn't even know it until the kiss was over.

Pip pulled away and I looked at him smiling at me in the dark and he said, "There, now you can't say I never kissed you."

"And now you'll be telling everyone in school about how you kissed me and that we're going steady, won't you?" I asked, trying to sound annoyed.

"I'm going to Hackley, remember?"

"No," I said, picking my beach bag up off my feet. "No, I forgot. I forgot about that, Pip. I don't understand. Why are you going there? I'll have no one in school this fall if you're not there."

Pip opened the door and we walked out into the hallway. The light was on, so it was easy to see, but I didn't notice this. I didn't notice that all the lights were on, in the hallway, and on the stairs, and in the foyer downstairs.

Pip and I walked down the hall, and Pip explained that his father wanted him to give Hackley a chance. He wanted Pip to get a private-school education just like he had had.

"But you're different," I said. "Didn't you explain that you were different from him? Didn't you tell him how you felt about elitism and all that?"

"I tried," Pip said.

We argued about his going to Hackley, all the way down the stairs, and when we reached the front door I
stopped and looked around and said, "Why are all the lights on? What time is it? Where's Monsieur Vichy? And how did you know we were going to Washington, anyway?"

Pip took hold of the door handle and said, "It's three in the morning, and Stewart came over last night and told me. We had a good long conversation. He's a nice little kid. I've always liked him."

"Yeah, me too, but—"

"And smart, too."

"Yes, but—"

"And he's really proud of his big sister."

"Pip, what—"

Pip opened the front door and I heard a loud chorus of "Surprise!"

I jumped three feet in the air I was so surprised.

Mother, Dad, Monsieur Vichy, Beatrice, Auntie Pie, Stewart, and Sophia all stood before me on the porch, and they laughed and clapped when they saw how surprised I was.

"What's going on?" I asked, looking around at all their smiling faces and noticing they each held a homemade placard.

Mother said, "We're going to Washington, Esther. We're
all
going."

"We're going to support the Negroes and their march for freedom," Sophia said, holding up a placard that said,
END
SEGREGATION
NOW
, and Stewart, holding a placard that read
FREEDOM
IN
'63, said, "And we're
going to support you." He stepped forward and gave me a hug, and then everyone gathered around me, placards knocking against one another, and they hugged and patted me.

My father said, "Esther, thank you for all of your help this summer. Your mother and I couldn't have made it through without you."

I was smiling and giggling so much my face hurt. I didn't know what to think. "When did you all plan this?" I asked. "How—"

"It was Monsieur Vichy," my mother said. "He called a house meeting last night."

I didn't understand. "You had a house meeting without me?" I looked at Monsieur Vichy, who stood beaming down at me through his pince-nez, then back at my mother.

"We had a house meeting
about
you, Esther," Mother said, and Sophia added, "
All
about you. You were the star of the meeting."

My father patted my back. "Monsieur Vichy and Stewart reminded us of a few things that perhaps we hadn't paid enough attention to this summer."

"Namely, you," Stewart said, nodding.

Mother said, "This march is important to you, and we realized last night, with Monsieur Vichy's help, that this wasn't just a passing whim; you were serious about this. Your father even said you've been reading books about civil rights." Mother shook her head. "I didn't know."

Then Beatrice said, "I liked what you said, Esther, about being the change." She smiled. "I like that. This march should be important to all of us."

I didn't know what to think. I was so stunned, I just stood there grinning and blinking at everyone, and then Mother brought a pair of navy blue Keds out from behind her back and handed them to me, and I almost fell to the floor.

"New sneakers!" I said. "When did you get these?"

Mother laughed. "A long time ago. I bought them for when school starts; but maybe you could wear them today and make sure they fit just right."

"Thanks, Mother!" I said, still smiling so hard I was sure my face had gotten stuck and would never unfreeze.

I looked at everyone gathered around me and I felt so happy and so lucky to be surrounded by so many people who loved me. Then I thought of King-Roy, and I wondered where he was and if he was sleeping safely at his aunt's house somewhere in Alabama.

I felt a nudge from Auntie Pie, who jabbed me with her placard, which read,
END
POLICE
BRUTALITY
NOW
! and she said, "Well, let's get going, Esther. Time's a-wasting."

Monsieur Vichy had stepped off the porch and stood waiting by the cars. He opened the door of the 1947 Ford Super Deluxe station wagon and said, "Esther, my dear, your coach awaits," and feeling just like the winning contestant on the
Queen for a Day
show, I walked down the steps and into my "coach."

All nine of us piled into the two cars, along with the placards and the picnic lunches and the beach bags, and set out for Washington.

At the start of the trip, those of us in the station wagon talked about the march and about how my family had stayed up late into the night, planning their surprise, and the mood in the car was festive and exciting, but by the second hour, everyone grew sleepy and one by one fell asleep, except our driver, Monsieur Vichy, and me.

While everyone slept, Monsieur Vichy reached into the bag by his side and handed me what looked to be the script of a play.

"What is this?" I asked, my voice a whisper.

Monsieur Vichy smiled and said, "You have forgotten we made a bargain? Zis is my play with beginning, middle, and end. Open." He nodded at the script.

I turned the page and saw a dedication: To
Esther, with great admiration and affection.

I looked up. "For me?" I said. "You dedicated it to me?"

Monsieur Vichy smiled. "Turn zee page."

I turned the page to the cast-of-characters list and I saw that the main character's name was Esther.

I looked up. "Monsieur Vichy, thank you," I said.

Monsieur Vichy made a bow with his head and said, "You were my muse, Esther. I believe it is my best play yet. I like zee beginning, middle, and end story."

"Me too." I leaned over and hugged him. "Thank you. I look forward to reading this."

Monsieur Vichy blushed and patted my leg. "Why don't you try to sleep now. We have a long day ahead of us."

I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes, believing I could never fall asleep—I felt too excited—but I was wrong. Before I knew it, we were in Baltimore, where we all seemed to come awake at the same time, and we wondered aloud what kind of day it would turn out to be. On the news, they had said that the organizers hoped as many as ten thousand people would show up, from all over the country. I couldn't imagine so many people gathered in one place.

We didn't talk about it, but I knew the idea of possible riots was on all of our minds, as well, and the mood in the car had become tense and alert.

I had heard on my radio that Malcolm X had changed his mind and had decided to come to Washington after all. All the black leaders would be there, so he would be, too. That made me wonder if Ax and Yvonne would be coming, along with other Nation of Islam
members, and if their presence would change the tone of the march. Would they try to incite a riot?

I looked out my window and saw a bus go by with a banner on its side reading
FREEDOM
, and then another bus and another, all with the
FREEDOM
banner, all heading to Washington, all seven of them. I rolled down my window and cheered at them, raising my fist in the air. Several people cheered back, and I sat down in my seat and laughed. That broke the silence and the somber mood that had fallen on all of us in the car, and we started to talk again, and then we sang songs. Then as we pulled up outside of my father's friend's house in Georgetown, where we would leave our cars and catch a bus, I said a quick prayer under my breath for the success and safety of the march.

We arrived at the assembly grounds to check in soon after nine in the morning. We thought we would be early, but already people were pouring into the area. Everybody looked happy; and groups of people, linked arm in arm, walked along singing. Women in white uniforms sold us buttons to wear, for twenty-five cents, that said,
MARCH
ON
WASHINGTON
FOR
JOBS
AND
FREEDOM
, and in the center of the button was a black hand and a white hand joined together. When I saw that, I thought of King-Roy and me holding hands, and I wondered what was happening to him that day. Was he just then getting up and eating a plate of fried eggs?

I learned later, when we got home, what had happened to King-Roy on the day of the march.

King-Roy had joined bis family and his aunt's family in Bessemer, Alabama. He had gotten up early that morning of the twenty-eighth of August and had eaten sausage and biscuits for breakfast and had gone off whistling with his cousin to buy a new fan for the back bedroom where King-Roy and his brothers and sisters slept.

Pip bought six of the
MARCH
ON
W
ASHINGTON
buttons and pinned them all over the front of his shirt. "I love a good button," he said, puffing up his chest to show me the final effect.

"You're going to clank when you walk," I said, and he replied, "Who would hear me? It's so noisy."

Pip was right. People were chanting and singing and talking and laughing, and more and more people kept arriving every minute. They came with picnic baskets and umbrellas and placards, wearing buttons and hats with freedom messages, and they were black and they were white and they looked poor and they looked wealthy, and the more people I saw crossing the lawns, moving toward the Washington Monument where we were to gather for the march, the more excited I became.

My mother looked at me and said, "Esther, are you all right? You look awfully flushed. It's hot out; you be sure to drink enough water."

"I'm just excited, Mother. Do you believe all the people? Can you believe it?"

Mother smiled and squeezed my arm. "This is good, Esther. I'm glad we came." My father, who walked behind me, reached out and tousled my hair and said, "We're all glad." And Monsieur Vichy said, "Zis will make a good ending to your story, zis march,
non?
' and he winked at me.

Then we heard an announcement about the start of some mid-morning entertainment, and a few minutes later Joan Baez, a folksinger, started singing, "Oh Freedom," then "We Shall Overcome," and we all sang together in one voice, and I could hardly get the words out, the lump in my throat was so large.

After Joan Baez sang we heard Bob Dylan and Peter, Paul, and Mary, and Odetta and other folksingers, and we sang and cheered and swayed and cried, and there were poetry readings and spiritual songs and a song I especially liked—"Blowin' in the Wind," which Peter, Paul, and Mary sang—and I could see that all of us, my family and everyone around us, felt so full of a mix of emotions, we just could hardly contain ourselves.

A large group of church people joined hands and started praising Jesus, and they invited us into the circle. We joined hands in the prayer group while over the loudspeaker someone kept asking for the singer Lena Home. Then people started moving away from the monument. Our group also started moving, and the only thing I
could do was to move, too, to start walking or get trampled. "Are we marching?" Pip asked, and Stewart and Sophia looked at me as if I had the answer.

"I guess so," I said, surprised that there had been no official announcement. We all just started walking, marching along the bank of the reflecting pool toward the Lincoln Memorial.

King-Roy and his cousin Robert took the shortcut through the woods, carrying the tall, standing fan between them. His cousin was a talker and he rambled on and on about New York, telling King-Roy all about it, as if he had been there and King-Roy hadn't, and King-Roy only half listened because he kept thinking he heard something, or someone, walking behind them. King-Roy looked back several times but never saw anyone.

The marching crowd had stopped singing and cheering and praying and chattering. We had become a more solemn group. Two elderly black women who walked beside Pip and me had tears rolling down their cheeks, and they walked leaning against one another beneath an umbrella to keep off the hot sun, dabbing at their noses with tissues.

I looked behind me, to smile at Mother and Dad and Beatrice, and I saw a man in a wheelchair, wheeling himself and wearing the most blissful expression on his face. I thought that if you mixed the two women's and this man's expressions together, it would reflect the way I felt
at that moment, listening to the thousands and thousands of footsteps beside and behind and in front of me, all marching, all moving toward the Lincoln Memorial, all with the hope for unity and equality in our hearts.

A white teenager handed me a black marker, and I looked up at him, wondering what I was supposed to do with it. I saw an equals sign marked on his forehead and I nodded. I grabbed Pip's head and I marked his forehead with the symbol for equality, and then he marked mine, while people kept on marching past us. We caught up to my family again and I handed them the marker, and when all of us, including Auntie Pie, had our foreheads marked, we passed the marker on and kept walking. We walked slowly, hampered by the crowd and the heat. Beatrice held her umbrella over her head to ward off the sun. Mother, Sophia, and Auntie Pie wore straw hats, while my father and Monsieur Vichy wore berets. Stewart and I had on sunglasses and Pip wore a Yankees baseball cap, but all of us felt the heat. One white man up ahead of us a ways had fainted, and the crowd passed him over their heads toward one of the first-aid stations.