UNTITLED

This is another story I wrote. I do not have a title so maybe you guys can help with that. This one is in an online magazine and I copied and pasted it to my blog so the formatting may be a little off. Sorry.

I’ll never forget the summer of 1965 and the day I met Mary Claire Mason. She was a girl, about eighteen, with long blonde hair that hung straight down to the curve in her back. She had a pale face with rosy pink lips and eyes the color of oak leaves freshly bloomed in the spring. I thought she was beautiful, but in a strange angelic way. Yes, Mary Claire was different. She always stood out everywhere she went.

I remember the first time I saw her. I walked into town to get Momma some eggs from the local grocer. Mary Claire was crossing the street headed toward Aunt Bessie’s Bed And Breakfast. I didn’t recognize her face, so I knew she was an outta-towner. Everybody knows everybody in Crossroads, Arkansas. That’s just one hardcore fact. See, we only got about five hundred people in the whole community, and when a new face pops up, everybody knows it. And if you came to Crossroads to hide, you came to the wrong place. Ain’t nowhere to hide ‘round here. All we got is a local grocery store, which doubles as a gas station, and the owners Al and Mable Henderson live up top of it. Across the street is the bed and breakfast, which is really an old two-story house that was made into a small restaurant on the first floor, and upstairs is a few rooms that rent out for fairly cheap. It’s nothing fancy. Only people that stay there is traveling or their wife’s done kicked ‘em out for the night. Most importantly, we’ve got a church. What kinda town would this be without a church? The Crossroads First Baptist Church. It lies off to the left in a field behind the bed and breakfast. We’ve had the same preacher for as long as I can remember. It seems like nothing ‘round here ever changes. That’s why when I saw Mary Claire; I knew I must talk to her. At least she was something’ new. So I waited outside the Bed and Breakfast for her.
“Hey!” I said.
“Hello,” said Mary Claire in a waspy voice.
“I’m Emilia Carter, but most people call me Emmie. What’s your name?”
“Umm, Mary Claire.”
“How are ya? You passin’ thru?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Mary Claire started walking fast as if she was trying to get away from me. I was just trying to be friendly. She don’t need to turn my hospitality away. What’s wrong with her anyway? Well, I wasn’t given’ up, maybe she was just shy.
“Mary Claire, lookin’ for somewhere to stay?”
“Excuse me?”
“I saw you at the Bed and Breakfast.”
“Umm, Emmie, was it?”
“Yep.”
“I’m real tired. I would really like to be alone.”
“Well, I do understand. I’ll leave you be. I was just tryin’ to be friendly to a new face. You don’t cross many ‘round here. I’ll see you later, Mary Claire.”
Before I could get the last sentence outta my mouth she was walking at a galloping pace. I don’t know why she didn’t wanna talk to me, but I knew one thing, I would find out.
* * * * * * * * *
“Emmie, it’s about time you got here, girl. Bring me my eggs.”
“Here, Momma, calm down.”
Momma was always getting her feathers ruffled. I wasn’t even that late. Besides I was investigating and important matter.
“Guess who I saw in town, Momma?”
“Oh, Emmie, I don’t know,” she said, grabbing the eggs from my hand.
“Mary Claire.”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, Momma, ain’t you even gonna ask me who she is or anything?”
“She is Mary Claire Mason, Emmie, the niece of Elda Burnson.”
“How’d you know, Momma? I thought Miss Elda passed a month or so
ago.”
“Emmie, Miss Elda did pass. Mary Claire is her only livin’ relative. Now, Emilia Anne, you listen to me, and listen to me good. Don’t go botherin’ with Mary Claire. I know how you are, now leave people be.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Momma always thinks I’m botherin’ with folks. I’m not though. No more ‘an anybody else. Hell, I’m just tryin’ to be friendly and kind to the newcomer. Everybody needs a friend. I mean, I know I’m only fifteen, but she ain’t that much older ‘an me, and ain’t too many folks in this town. So Mary Claire’s gonna have to take what she gets.
* * * * * * *
The next day I went back uptown, looking or hoping to find Mary Claire. And, sure enough, there she was walking into the Bed and Breakfast. I slipped in behind her unnoticed so I could she why she kept goin’ to this place. Surely it wasn’t for the food, unless she couldn’t cook. I eased up to the counter where Mary Claire was talkin’ with the owner. I overheard something ‘bout a job and how nothing was available. Mary Claire turned to leave the Bed and Breakfast when I made myself visible.
“Hey again, Mary Claire.”
“Oh, hello, umm… Emmie.”
“You lookin’ for work?” She didn’t answer me. She just kept walking.
“Mary Claire! Stop!”
“What?”
“You may not want to talk to me. Hell, you may think you don’t like me, but you don’t know me. And if your lookin’ for work I know everybody in town and could be of some help if you’d let me.”
“I’m sorry, Emmie, if I come off rude. I’m just down a bit. I mean, I can’t find work around here. There is nothing in this town to do. There is no work, and there’s hardly any people.”
“Yeah, this town is a big hole. It’s like a place that is hidden from the rest of the world. Nothing goes on here, nothing changes, and nothing exciting ever happens. I mean, you are the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”
“Well, you may not think that later.”
“What do you mean? What are you talkin’ about?”
“I’m talkin’ about why I can’t find work and why all these people just stare at me. And why my Aunt Elda, who passed away a month ago, ain’t spoke to me in a whole year.”
“Well, I’m confused now! I thought your aunt left you everything and cared for you.”
“She had no choice. I was the only kin left. Never mind, Emmie, I don’t want to scare you off too.”
I didn’t say anything for a while, and neither did Mary Claire. We just walked along the gravel road in silence. All I could hear was the hot July wind brushing through the trees. I didn’t know what Mary Claire was talking about, but I couldn’t take my mind off of it. What could a pretty girl like her had done so bad? I kept on walking with her until we could see Miss Elda’s house coming up over the hill.
“Emmie, you need to go, now.”
“Why? What’s wrong, Marie Claire? What is so bad that you are afraid of what I think of ya? I ain’t nobody to impress or nobody to judge.”
“You really wanna know, Emmie? Come on then, you gonna find out anyway.”
We walked up the wooden steps of Mary Claire’s inherited house. It was a common wood house. Not too small, but not real big either. Just right for Mary Claire. It kinda even seemed too much for a girl her age. I mean a house of her own, with her very own kitchen and dining room. What a dream. My heart began beating faster when we walked through the front door. I was anxious and excited to see what the big mystery was.
“MC, is that you?” a rough manly voice yelled from the back of the house.
“Yes, dear. Come on in the living room, someone I want you to meet.”
“Emmie, I‘d like you to meet my husband, Thomas Mason.”
“Hi there, Miss Emmie. How you doin’?”
“Fine.”
That’s all I could say was fine. My mouth hung open and my eyes ‘bout popped right out of the sockets. Mary Claire was married to a Negro. A Negro. A Negro named Thomas. Black as night. I was so confused. I had never in all my life heard or spoke of such a thing. I was befuddled and my heart paced so hard I could feel it poundin’ in my chest. This was new. This was different.
“Emmie, you all right?” asked Mary Claire.
“Yeah, I…I’m sorry,” I said, turning to Thomas. “I’m Emilia Carter, sir, but you can call me Emmie. How you doin’?” I said, when I could finally get some words to spill out of my mouth.
“Just fine. What brings you out here with my angel, MC?” he said, placing his hand on Mary Claire’s shoulder.
“Curiosity brings her out here, Thomas, just like the rest of this damn town. We ain’t gonna make it here, you know. Chicago was much easier,” said Mary Claire.
“MC, we ain’t got nottin’ in Chicago. All we got is what yo’ Auntie left you. We can get by for a few months till work comes around. These people will give in to us sometime.”
“I don’t know about that, Thomas. These people in the town are white-bread through and through,” I said, not realizing my big mouth had just put Mary Claire in tears. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry. My mouth just gets carried away sometimes. I think ya’ll are real nice, good people.”
“You don’t even know us. How can you say that,” replied Mary Claire in a frustrated tone.
“Well, I know you are. You are because you let me in your home. You don’t know me. I could be crazy, but you are good enough to trust me, and I say you’re good people.”
* * * * * * *
After this day I visited Mary Claire and Thomas often. I had to go to their house, though. We would play cards or dominoes, or sometimes they would tell me of Chicago and the jazz and the nightclubs. They really were good people. Even though Thomas was black, he was just like anybody else. He was better than most people I knew in Crossroads. And Mary Claire, she loved him no less and couldn’t even see the color of his skin. Things were getting bad for them though, financially. No one in town would give them a job. They was pondering whether or not to sell the place and go back to their city life in Chicago. This made me furious at the people in town, and it made me hurt inside. I would lose the only friends I had in this small town. They made my life seem so full. They changed things for me. So I knew I must change things for them.
* * * * * *
The next Sunday morning I got dressed for church and left the house before breakfast. I hurried over to Mary Claire and Thomas’ house.
“What is it, Emm? Why you out here so early?” Asked Thomas.
“Get dressed!”
“What? Have you lost your mind, girl? Get dressed for what?” Thomas asked, looking at me like I was loony.
“Church. You’re goin’ today. You’re goin’ with me or I’m draggin’ you there.”
“Emmie, you know they don’t want us there,” said Mary Claire.
“Yeah, well, it ain’t their church. It’s God’s church, and anybody and everybody is welcome there. Ya’ll are goin’ and ya’ll gonna’ walk in there and hold your head up and be proud of yourselves and who you are. You don’t have to be ashamed. You are people, too. Besides, everybody needs the Lord in their life. Now, go get Dressed!”
We came up on the church, and as we did I locked elbows between them. I seemed to be pulling them up the steps as we entered.
“Hold you heads, high,” I whispered.
Dead silence spread through the church as we sat down together. I knew Momma was burning me with her eyes, but I didn’t look her way. I kept a steady eye on the cross above the pulpit. Brother John came out and began the Morning Prayer. Then he asked for prayer request. My heart filled with energy. This was it. I knew it. I could feel it. My palms began to sweat. My legs began to shake, and I jumped up wildly from my pew and stepped into the aisle.
“Brother John, I have a prayer request. We have two special visitors today. Thomas and Mary Claire Mason. They are special friends of mine. It seems to me that the good Christian people in our town and in our church have shunned them and turned away from them and judged them in ways unbecoming to any person calling themselves a person of God. God looks down on us today. God frowns on this community. Is there only one judge, Brother John?” I asked knowing the answer, but I wanted him to say it to insure my intelligence of God’s word.
“Ye…yes, Emmie,” replied Brother John hesitantly.
“Who, Brother John?”
“Why, God, Emmie.”
“Has this town then sinned, Brother John?”
“Well, um, if what you say is true, Emmie, yes,” he replied lookin’ petrified and worried.
“Is what I say true? Or am I mistaken? Maybe I am wrong. Let’s see. Miss Bessie, up there on the second row. Did Mary Claire come asking you for work at the Bed and Breakfast? Did she?”
“Yeah. . .yes,” answered Bessie in a shaky voice.
“Did you tell her no jobs were open?”
“Well, um, um, yes.”
“Is there any jobs available now? I remind you Miss Bessie, God is watching.”
“Yes, Emmie, yes. She. . .she can have it.”
“God Bless you, Sister Bessie,” I said looking through the congregation.
“Oh, Mr. Al Henderson, back there in the back. Did Thomas Mason come looking for work at the grocer?”
“I. . .Emmie, I didn’t have. . .“
“Just answer me and then answer to God.”
“I had one come open just yesterday. He may speak to me about it after the services.”
“God Bless you, Brother Al.”
“We must get right here today with God and ourselves. There is only one judge and that is God. He will smile on the town today.”
I turned and walked back to the pew with Thomas and Mary Claire. I sat between them and grasped their hands. I could feel the stares upon my face, but I didn’t care. I changed this town. I made a difference. It would never be the same. The preacher tried to act like nothing happened, but I knew something had.
“Please, stand and turn to hymn #109, ‘Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus.’”