The Bernice L. McFadden Collection. Bernice L. McFadden
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like Verna did.” She then made a big show of triplejumping Emmett’s cousin Hank. “King me, nigger!” she cried triumphantly.
Hank shook his head in wonder. “How do you keep doing that?”
Emmett scratched his chin. “Verna? Who’s that?”
“You don’t know her. She used to live over near the Sheridan place, but her mama sent her to Philadelphia when she got in trouble.”
“Trouble?”
Padagonia placed her hand just below her breast and carved an invisible arch through the air. “Trouble.”
“Oh,” Emmett groaned, and then looked at Tass. “Your mama think … that me and you …”
Tass sucked her teeth. “Can we talk about something else, please?”
“King me!” Padagonia shouted again.
Hank jumped up and kicked the board off the milk crate, sending the black and white chips soaring into the air.
“Sore loser,” Padagonia huffed as she scrambled to gather the chips.
Hank stomped down the steps. “I’m going to the store.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s time,” Emmett said, and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers.
“See ya tomorrow then,” Padagonia responded, and then looked at Tass. “You ready?”
Hank blinked. “Y’all ain’t coming?”
“Ain’t got no money,” Tass said.
“Come on, I’ll treat,” Emmett offered.
At Bryant’s grocery store, Emmett bought them all ice pops with frozen gobstoppers in the center. Hank suggested that they have a contest.
“First one to get to the gobstopper wins.”
That was obvious, but the rules needed to be made supremely clear.
Licking. Only licking.
Biting was an automatic disqualification.
The first one to get to the gobstoppper would be declared the winner. The prize? The title of fastest licker in town.
They were just a few strides away from the store and already licking furiously on their ice pops when Carolyn Bryant stepped out onto the porch, pulled her chestnut hair off of her shoulders, and wrapped it into a loose knot.
Their easy laughter floated over to her and raised a smile to her lips. Maybe that’s why she called out to him, because he was young and carefree and she missed that part of her life. She was still young herself, just twenty-one—but married to a man who was rarely home, and when he was home, all he wanted to do was drink beer and fuck. They never went anywhere, not even to the movies or on a picnic.
Perhaps the sight of the group of young people immersed in play and not work or marriage made her nostalgic for her own days of freedom.
In her mind she screamed, I want to come along and play the licking game!
But that was impossible in the world she came from and the world she lived in.
So after tying her hair into a knot, Carolyn skipped out into the road, cupped her hands around her mouth, and hollered, “Hey! Do that whistle for me again, would you?”
And he did and the sound made Carolyn happy, it made her feel included in something free and forbidden.
Unfortunately, at that very moment a green Buick was rolling up the street. It slowed as it approached the group of teenagers. When it was upon them, the driver revved the engine and spun the wheels, creating a thick cloud of dust.
The teenagers covered their ice pops with their hands and backed away from the road. A moment later, the car screeched off and disappeared down the street.
The contest continued. Lick, lick, lick …
When they reached the bend, Emmett was the clear winner. He raised the purple gobstopper victoriously into the air. “I am the king!”
Hank laughed, and gave him a shove. “The title is fastest licker in town.”
“I think I should get a prize,” Emmett beamed.
“Ain’t nobody got nothing to give you, fool!”
“I think Tass got a prize for you, Bobo,” Padagonia teased.
Tass’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“Aww, man,” Hank cried, and threw his hands up into the air. “Y’all been giving each other googly eyes for days now. Just go on ahead and get it over with already!”
Emmett feigned ignorance. “Get what over with?”
“Just kiss her! You know you want to!” Padagonia shrieked with impatience.
“W-what?” Tass uttered again.
Emmett turned to her. “You want to?”
Did she want to? Was water wet?
Tass shrugged her shoulders. “Well, if you want to,” she mumbled.
“Yeah, I guess,” Emmett mumbled.
“Aww, we ain’t got all night!” Hank bellowed.
“Shut up, man!” Emmett said, and then grabbed Tass by the hand, gently pulled her to him, and brought his lips toward hers.
Tass would always remember the scent of the grape ice pop on his breath and the way he closed his eyes just before their lips met.
Hank yelped and clapped and Padagonia tugged Tass away, exclaiming, “Save some for another time, girl!”
Tass’s head was spinning and she thought, This is what being drunk must feel like.
“Come on, Dorothy Dandridge.”
Padagonia hooked her arm around Tass’s waist. “We’ll see y’all tomorrow,” she yelled to the boys.
“By-eeee,” Tass sang.
Emmett rolled his shoulders and waltzed toward home with the air of a young man who had a long and full life ahead of him.
It wasn’t nothing.”
“Nothing? A nigger whistling at you is nothing?” In the small apartment above the store, J.W. Milam, Carolyn’s brother-in-law, paced the floor and puffed savagely on his Winston cigarette.
“Niggers are well aware that they ain’t suppose to whistle at white women. They know that!”
On the couch, nursing a glass of whiskey, was Carolyn’s husband, J.W.’s younger half-brother, Roy Bryant.
J.W. glared at him. “Roy!”
Roy’s head popped up. “Yeah?”
“Don’t you care about what the boy done to your wife?”
Roy swirled the whiskey around the glass. “Yeah, I guess so.”
J.W. exploded: “You guess so? This is your wife’s honor we talking about, boy!”
J.W. leapt across the room, caught Roy by the collar, hauled him off the couch, and then shoved him back down again. Roy didn’t even try to defend himself. J.W. outweighed him by twenty pounds, five years, two tours in World War II, and a half a bottle of whiskey.
“Ain’t you got no balls?”
Roy looked down at his hands.
J.W. snatched the whiskey bottle from the table and turned it up to his mouth.
“J.W.,