The Liberation of Gabriel King (12 page)

I
T WAS STRANGE HOW THE SUMMER SEEMED TO END THAT NIGHT EVEN
though it was only the Fourth of July. Me and Frita slept inside for the rest of the night, and in the morning Pop called the Wilsons and they came over and sat around our little kitchen table to discuss the whole thing. Even Terrance came, and he’d never been to my trailer before. Not even once.

“I just don’t understand why you spoke to Mr. Evans in the first place,” Mr. Wilson said, looking hard at Frita. “You
know
better…”

I’d never felt so bad in my entire life.

“I talked her into it,” I said. “Because I used to be scared of Terrance, but after we talked, I wasn’t so scared anymore.”

Terrance shook his head. “It’s not your fault, Twerp.”

Then Frita said, “I knew I shouldn’t have done it.”

Her momma said, “No, you shouldn’t have,” but she sighed like she was tired instead of mad. “Something ought to be done,” she muttered, studying her empty coffee cup.

Pop got up and poured some more. “Not much to be done
about the Klan,” he said. “Can’t stop them from existing. Maybe there are some things people
ought
to be afraid of.”

That sounded right to me, but Mr. Wilson frowned.

“There’s always something to be done,” he said, looking from me to Frita and Terrance. “We just need some Peace Warriors to stand up to them. Isn’t that right, kids?”

Pop gave me a real curious look, but Mr. Wilson kept talking.

“When a grown man threatens a little girl,” he said, “he does it because he thinks he can get away with it. He thinks that little girl will be too scared to do anything about it, and that everyone she tells will be just as scared. Only this time he picked the wrong little girl.”

Frita sat up straight. “That’s right,” she said, “because me and Gabe have been getting brave all summer. Gabe’s practicing for the fifth grade.”

Terrance snorted, but Mrs. Wilson gave him a look, so he kept his mouth shut. I glanced over at Momma, but she just looked worried.

“What do you think we should do?” she asked.

“Let’s storm their trailer,” Terrance said. “No one’s going to threaten my little sister.”

Mrs. Wilson scowled. “What would that accomplish?” she asked, one hand on her hip. “Then they’d storm our house and we’d have to fight back…”

“Well, we can’t just hide out,” Terrance said. His hands
were balling up into fists, but Mrs. Wilson rested her hand on his arm.

“That’s not what I’m suggesting,” she said, turning to the rest of us. “How about this. Mr. Wilson is preaching at a rally in Hollowell for Jimmy Carter at the beginning of August. He could say something then. We could gather all of our friends and neighbors and ask them to stand with us to remind people that America is about freedom for everyone. Not just white people. We’d be sending a strong message to Carl Evans and anyone else in the Ku Klux Klan.”

Mr. Wilson nodded in agreement. “No one’s going to hide from this,” he said, looking at Terrance. “Not this time.”

Momma took a deep breath. “I don’t know…,” she said, but Mr. Wilson smiled real gentle.

“I know you’re afraid,” he told Momma, “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that people will do anything if they think no one’s going to stand up to them. As soon as they’ve got a crowd against them, they’re not so brave.”

Momma looked over at Pop, but he was swirling the coffee in his coffee cup.

“How would they get the message?” Pop asked. “They’re certainly not going to come to the rally.”

“Actually,” Mrs. Wilson said, “there’s almost always someone who shows up from the other side. They don’t make themselves known, mind you, but they show up. It’s human nature to be curious. Regardless,” she added, “they’ll hear about it. People talk and the newspaper will cover the story.
We might even get on TV if we have a large enough turnout or if Jimmy Carter shows up.”

“You sure we won’t be stirring up trouble?” Momma asked. “It’s not like Mr. Evans did anything, and we can’t prove he’s in the Klan. Maybe he just said that to scare Frita.”

“Isn’t that enough?” Terrance asked.

For once no one corrected him.

Mrs. Wilson took Momma’s hand. “If someone wants to take our children’s security away from them, don’t you think we should do something about it?”

That’s when I remembered Pop’s words from the day at the catfish pond.

Do you want to let someone take something from you that you can never get back again?

Pop looked at me like he was thinking the same thing, then he nodded real slow. “You’re right,” he said at last. “What can I do?”

Mr. Wilson grinned just like Frita. “You could stand up with me when I give that speech,” he said. “Maybe say a few words to the crowd.”

Pop’s eyes went wide. I knew he’d meant what could he do with his hands—like building signs or platforms. He glanced at Momma. “I’m not exactly…I mean, I’m not so sure what I’d say is all, and…”

It was the first time I’d ever seen Pop look scared.

“Pop! You could tell that story about Jimmy Carter,” I said. “The one you told me.”

“That’s perfect,” Mr. Wilson said. “Gabe told me all about it.”

He winked, and Frita hopped up and down.

“What about me and Gabe?” she asked. “What can we do?”

This time all the adults answered at once.

“You can stay out of trouble!”

Even Terrance nodded like he agreed.

Frita told me later that meant they were
uuu
-nanimous.

I
F SIGNS AND PORTENTS WERE TRUE, THEN MY DREAM REALLY WAS
one, because Mr. Evans’s words were like the sticky strands of a spiderweb. Even though they seemed tiny, we knew they could spread everywhere until we were caught and couldn’t get out. Look how they’d spread so far. First, he’d called Frita a nigger and only my pop had stood up to him, so he’d kept right on going, and now the whole town of Hollowell was getting involved because Mr. Wilson was going door-to-door asking everyone to come to the rally.

Me and Frita walked into town one afternoon about two weeks after the Bicentennial, and even though we were trying hard to stay out of things, that wasn’t easy to do. We were getting ice cream cones at the general store and everyone we met had something to say.

“Did Carl Evans really say that to you?”

“How come you kids are stirring up trouble?”

“Who could believe it? In 1976!”

Frita was real polite, but I could tell she was tired of listening to them.

“Let’s walk down the old dirt road,” she said once we’d
eaten our ice cream. I waited for the familiar twist in my stomach, but this time it didn’t come.

“Okay,” I said. Me and Frita turned off Main Street and started walking. We walked real slow and I didn’t even listen for eighteen-wheelers or check to see if the cows were loose.

“Want to go on the rope swing?” I asked after a while, but Frita didn’t have her swimsuit.

“Want to build a tree fort?” she suggested.

“Nah. Too hot.”

“Want to finish our lists?” Frita asked.

We hadn’t talked about our lists since the fireworks.

I shrugged. Truth was, I’d been thinking on things. I’d come to a decision a week ago and the only reason I hadn’t said anything was because I was gathering my courage.

I opened my mouth, but it was all dried up.

“Frita,” I said at last, “I don’t think it’s working.”

Frita stopped walking. “What’s not working?”

“The lists,” I said. I thought about what she’d said that day I squished the centipede. “You were right. I’m not getting any braver. Guess I’m one of the chicken ones.”

“That’s not true,” Frita said. “I was just mad when I said that. You’ve gotten lots braver. You’ve jumped off the rope swing a bunch of times and you kept Jimmy all summer.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but those aren’t the ones that counted. I’m still plenty scared of the fifth grade. I’ve thought it over and I’m staying behind, no matter what.”

Frita’s face fell. “But you said you wouldn’t be scared of mean teachers anymore, and we planned out what you’d do if you got locked in the toilet again…”

I drew pictures in the sand with my foot.

“But I’m twice as scared of Duke,” I said at last. “I’ve had two bad dreams where he was burning stuff on the playground and yelling for you to come out. What if he does something real bad?”

“He won’t,” said Frita. “Duke is a scaredy-cat. Besides, we’re having the rally, remember? You won’t be scared of him after that. We’re gonna stand up to those Evanses—me and you, our mommas and daddys, and Terrance…”

Frita was on a roll, but she might as well have been talking to herself because it wasn’t going to make any difference. All I could hear was Duke’s voice in my head.

“No one’s going to clap for Frita Wilson if I can help it.”

All this time I’d thought he hated Frita because she could pummel him, but now I knew different. Now I knew what real hate was, and it was the scariest thing of all, even if I hadn’t put it on my list.

I shook my head. “I made up my mind,” I said. “And you got to stay back with me because you pinky-swore it.”

Frita’s face fell. I suspect she’d forgotten all about that.

“Gabe,” she said, her lip quivering. “I can’t. Momma and Daddy would never let me, and I don’t even want to. You got to move up with me.
You got to!”

“Nope,” I said. “I won’t. No one can make me.” Then I corrected myself. “No one can make
us
, I mean.”

But Frita shook her head. She looked sadder than I’d ever seen her.

“I won’t stay back,” she said at last. She looked at me real hard. “Guess you’ll have to learn to be brave without me.”

I could hardly believe it. Now we’d both broken a pinky swear.

We stood face-to-face on the old dirt road. Then Frita turned in the opposite direction.

“Guess I better go,” she said. “Momma will probably be calling me in for dinner soon.”

It was hours yet before dinner, but I shrugged. I couldn’t decide whether I was mad or sad or just plain terrified.

“Okay,” I said at last.

Frita got set up to run, but she looked back over her shoulder.

“Call me when you find your courage,” she told me. “Then we’ll move up together, okay?”

I didn’t say a word. I knew she wanted me to say “All right,” like I’d change my mind and everything would go back to normal, but I didn’t
want
to change my mind. I wanted Frita to change hers.

Frita waited a long time, but I didn’t say anything, so she took off.

“See ya, Gabriel King,” she said. I watched her run until
she was a tiny speck in the distance, and soon as she was gone, I missed her something terrible.

“See ya,” I hollered at last, loud as I could. My eyes were brimming over and I waved super hard and whistled my extra-loud whistle, but it was too late.

I knew she couldn’t hear me.

E
VERY DAY AFTER THAT
, I
STOOD NEXT TO THE TELEPHONE WITH MY
hand on the receiver, but I never did call Frita. I thought about all the liberatin’ me and Frita had done over the summer and I wished it had made a difference, but I still didn’t want to go to the fifth grade.

Maybe Frita would change her mind. Or maybe she’d be better off without me. We’d
both
broken our pinky swears thanks to Duke, so who knew what else could happen.

I had a real bad feeling in my stomach and it only got worse as the rally got closer. Pop, Terrance, and Mr. and Mrs. Wilson sat in the living room almost every night, but Frita didn’t come with them. She stayed with her great-aunt Alma even though she and Frita hardly got along.

I listened to our families planning everything out.

“We’ve got permission to use the elementary school. We’ll set up in the back where the kids had their Moving-Up Day.”

“How’s that speech coming, Allen?”

“Terrance, you take the Peace Warriors out knocking on doors. Make sure folks are coming.”

It was all business. I sat outside on the front steps, wishing
Frita was here. Sometimes Momma would bring out lemonade and we’d sit side by side, real quiet.

“You and Frita in a fight?” she asked me once, but I just shrugged. Wasn’t exactly a fight. I wasn’t sure what it was.

Momma kissed me on the head.

“These things happen,” she told me. “You’ll get past it. Right now Frita’s busy helping her daddy get ready for the rally. She probably just needs a little time on her own. Soon as this settles down, you’ll be best buddies again.”

But Momma didn’t know everything. Soon as this settled down, it would be time for school and I’d have to make my decision once and for all.

I thought I might talk to Pop about it, but he was too busy practicing his speech.

Seemed like all he did now was read it in the mirror and change stuff he’d already written. I’d say, “Want to sit on the steps before the Wilsons get here?” and he’d say, “Not right now, I’ve got to fix this paragraph.” I thought we might watch the news together and get all riled up about politics, but the only politics Pop was interested in were the ones right here in Hollowell.

I finally settled on talking to the cows. I’d gotten real friendly with the cow who swatted her ear at me. Even though she didn’t say much, she was a decent listener.

I walked down to the old dirt road one night after dinner and planted myself next to the cotton field. Sun was setting and the sky was pink and it was starting to smell like August.

“I sure miss Frita,” I told the cow. “There’s no one to make obstacle courses with, or to ride bikes with. Nobody walks into town with me or jumps off the rope swing.” I paused. “Life sure is plain.”

The wind blew through the cotton, rustling the stalks.

“Think I should just go to the fifth grade?” I asked.

The cow’s tail swished back and forth.