House Not Made With Hands

House Not Made With Hands Excerpts … Chapter 6 Mississippi Cotton Town I returned to the front side of the loft and climbed down the ladder to reach the powdery dust below and walked to the livestock barn just a few yards from the hay barn, laughing out loud at the memory of Tom flying out the hole in the hayloft, Clay behind him, and Quincy stealing pears. I loved the old weatherworn livestock barn. It was home for the horses, a few milk cows, a calf or two being raised for slaughter, and a litter of little pink pigs that we did not befriend, lest we later found it impossible to enjoy a pork chop sandwich with the bone left in. Climbing the stile to reach the top plank, I rested against the fencepost, thinking of all the wonderful times we had, the memories surfacing and chasing across the pages of my past. From here the view was the Mississippi River outer levee, the dusty road and cattle gap that led to it, the barns, the big white farmhouse, a host of tall oaks, and the magnificent magnolia trees. In the distance the Indian Mound rose to a height that was out of place for this flat Mississippi Delta. I leaned hard against the fencepost, bracing myself on the top step of the stile. I closed my eyes to bring back the winter and spring of 1957, and suddenly I was sixteen again. Life had richly unfolded for me. I pulled my knees tight against my body and continued to relive the poignant years of my life. I chuckled to think about how naïve I was when Ray and I first started dating. I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me. He was a little mysterious at first. Very attractive on a country boy. I quite liked it, but I didn’t know what to think about him. He was two years older than I and quite a bit more knowledgeable. He had five older brothers who had taught him all about life. I was infatuated with him from the start, but I wasn’t sure how he felt about me, and when he didn’t ask me out again after that first date … well, I didn’t know what to expect. Then the next weekend he showed up, parked his car by the side porch, and knocked on our door. “You didn’t say you would come for me,” I said timidly. “Then why are you dressed and ready to go?” Ray was teasing me. “I may have had another date for all you know.” I tried to sound demure. But I had dreamed all week that he would come for me. We got in his car that cold Saturday night in January, and Ray clued me in on the deal. “I will always be here to pick you up on Saturday nights, Jane. Sometimes Fridays. And sometimes Sunday afternoons. We have an understanding, okay?” He was telling me I was his girl and he didn’t want me dating anyone else. “Fine with me. I’ll try to be around somewhere. Hope you’re not disappointed you’ve made the pledge.” I remembered what Monica said. Ray had dated every girl in Coahoma County and she assured me I would never land him. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. “I’ll always be happy to see you, scrawny girl,” Ray said. I guess that was going to be my new name. I had been called everything under the sun to describe someone small, so I was used to it. Anyway, it was special, the one Ray had chosen. I didn’t want him to know the extent of my eagerness to be his girl. Not yet. But I lived for the weekends. It didn’t matter what we did or where we went, as long as we were together. Being with Ray was pure pleasure. We never called each other. We never talked at all until we were together. Cell phones were unheard of in the fifties. The farmers used radios in their trucks with a home base in the boss’s house. And we barely had a party line telephone. So when we saw each other it was special, not crowded with stuff we may have talked about all week if we had taken the opportunity. He was tall and tanned, his shiny black hair brushed to perfection. High cheekbones and olive skin, reality that there was Indian blood, made for a flawlessly handsome face. The fragrance he wore was fresh and leathery, and part of him was with me long after he was gone. I loved how he dressed, something between Ivy League and trendy. My heart skipped three beats when he showed up in that red and gray plaid shirt, gray wool slacks and his black leather jacket, shoes shined to the hilt. I loved everything about Ray. There was no mistaking the intensity of our relationship, kept pure always by strong convictions and a determination to do the right things. We talked about getting married, agreeing we would go to the altar never having violated the rules of purity, but we also knew everyone would say we were too young. And we were, but it didn’t stop us from dreaming. With graduation to consider, I was selfish with my study time and ranked among the top ten women in my class. A hundred and twenty-five would graduate alongside me the following spring, Class of ‘58. I was eligible for scholarships, but that was not in the plan. The plan was to marry Ray. College would need to wait for me. I loved school. I tried to excel in everything I did. But there were some things about school days that haunted me. I talked to Ray about it one night while we sat at Westbrook’s Drive-In. “Don’t get me wrong Ray. I love this southern aristocratic Mississippi cotton town, but it’s steeped in a kind of separation that makes my blood boil.” “How’s that, Jane?” “Well, I know colored and whites are segregated, but there’s another division in the Delta, too. The rich and the poor. There’s no middle ground, just like the old caste system, and it infuriates me.” “I know exactly what you’re going to say. You’re either the self-serving offspring of the rich cotton planter, or you’re the child of a sharecropping nobody.” “Exactly. I don’t like being pigeonholed, but even if I did, I don’t fit into either of those boxes. I’ve had to carve out my own niche, and it’s not been easy. Besides, I don’t like to see poor people mistreated. The wealthy students have their way of snubbing their noses, and it’s mostly done by ignoring people.” “Yeah,” Ray said, “Clarksdale is probably the snootiest school in the state of Mississippi. So glad you’re not one of them, Jane. I would never have asked you out.” “Oh, thank God!” Ray meant what he said, and I shuddered to think I might have missed an opportunity to be with someone like him if I acted like the snobs. “They’re the cheerleaders and the club members and the ivy leaguers, with an allotted bungalow on the Sunflower River,” I continued, desiring to unload all my pent-up feelings on Ray. “You know. The Cat Cave. Members only allowed. It’s off limits to those who are not of superior social status. I’ve seen pictures of it in the yearbook. Rustic, but tastefully decorated. They have their Victrola and platters, and they practice the latest dance steps until they drop. Ray, if they could see you dance … in the first place, they wouldn’t believe it, and in the second place, they’d never attempt to dance again. You would put them all to shame.” “You think?” he said, laughing at me. Ray was a fantastic dancer, and he and Beth had proven their flair time and again when they were dating. “Yes, I think. I know. And get this. The girls are not allowed to wash their hair for the first six weeks of school. At their meetings, the senior members layer on Crisco and mayonnaise to make matters worse. Yuk! To them, there’s something sensuous about rich girls coming to school wearing their hair in a pageboy to disguise the lard look. I guess they think while they suffer the days of coming out, the rest of us poor people are left to lead dull and boring lives. Anyway, I don’t enjoy being around them at all.” I was droning away. Poor Ray. “I’ve sometimes had those same thoughts,” he said, indulging my disgust. “My daddy probably has as much money as some of those snooty foxes, but you’d never know it. That’s the way he is, and he’s taught us to be the same way. I’d rather live like we do than to always be pretending. How about you?” “Oh, yes, Ray. I know I have to love these people, but they really get on