All Her Little Secrets
Wanda M. Morris
Dedication
To my parents,
Mabel, who taught me the power and joy of the written word,
And
Herman, a fighter to the end.
And for
Fred, Cynthia, and Ural.
Epigraph
When elephants fight, the only thing that suffers is the grass.
—African proverb
Chillicothe, Georgia, August 1979
The three of us—me, my brother, Sam, and Vera or Miss Vee as everyone in Chillicothe called her—looked like a little trio of vagabonds as we stood in the Greyhound Bus Station, which, in Chillicothe, meant a lean-to bus port in the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly. By God’s grace, we’d survived summer’s blazing days and humid nights, the fire ant stings and mosquito welts, and all the side-of-the-mouth whispers that floated around town. What happened? What did those young ’uns do? Why is Ellie Littlejohn really leaving town? Even though I was headed to Virginia on a full-ride scholarship to boarding school, it didn’t stop some people around town from talking in hushed tones and asking meddlesome questions.
The morning sun sizzled across the black asphalt parking lot scattered with a few dented cars and an old Ford pickup. But we were the only ones waiting for the 7:15 bus headed north. I wore a tie-dyed T-shirt and a pair of jeans Vera had cut off at the knees when they got too short. She hadn’t gotten to the jeans Sam was wearing because they were about two inches above his ankles. His yellow T-shirt still bore the cherry Popsicle stain from the day before. And from the looks of it, he hadn’t combed his hair, either.
I held tight to the old brown cardboard suitcase Vera had borrowed from her friend Miss Toney. I didn’t have much, but everything I owned was neatly packed inside it, including a sturdy winter coat, two pairs of new shoes, and a few toiletries courtesy of Vera passing around the hat among her friends and the congregation at the Full Gospel Baptist Church.
In my other hand, I held a paper bag with three pieces of fried chicken, a couple of biscuits, and an ample slice of sweet potato pie. There was no extra money for McDonald’s or Burger King along the way. Vera’s cousin Birdie drove us to the station and stood against her ’68 black-and-gold Impala a few feet away, waiting for us to say our good-byes. I was a frazzled bag of nervous energy at the thought of traveling so far away from the only place I’d ever known. I was leaving Sam and Vera, the only people I loved.
But I had to go.
I was tall for my age, so Vera had to reach up to fuss with the thick ponytail on top of my head. “Now, Ellie, you mind your lessons at school. Remember, you have to work twice as hard as them white kids, even though you just as smart. Aim high. Take no blessing for granted.” She patted the ponytail for good measure. “You write me as often as you want. I put some stamps in your suitcase. Everything gon’ be fine.”
Vera, a thick light-skinned woman with deep dimples that framed a large gap-toothed smile, always spoke with such authority. Like everything she said was right or true. She flashed that smile at me.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sam hung at Vera’s side kicking the rubber toe of his canvas sneaker against the asphalt. Even though he did what he called “cool stuff” like smoking cigarettes and stealing candy from the grocery store, at that moment, he looked exactly like what he was, a small and frightened ten-year-old boy. I sat my suitcase down and placed my lunch bag on top of it. I grabbed his hand and pulled him off, out of Vera’s earshot.
“No more smoking cigarettes while I’m gone, okay?” I said.
“I ain’t touched no cigarettes since Miss Vee caught me. I’m not going through that again.” Sam rolled his eyes.
I giggled. “And you can’t be stealing from the grocery store, okay? That was cute when you were little but you’re too big for that stuff. You can get into really big trouble, especially if Miss Vee finds out.” He frowned and looked away.
“I just don’t understand why you got to leave. Why can’t you go to school here?” Sam asked.
I plucked a piece of lint from Sam’s little Afro. “I told you. It’s a different kind of school. You study there and live there. And don’t worry. You’ll be safe now. There’s nobody around to hurt you anymore.”
I reached down and hugged him so tight if he had been any smaller, I might have snapped him in two. A few seconds later, he wriggled from my grip and ran off to Birdie’s car. I knew he was crying and didn’t want me to see.
The Greyhound bus pulled to a stop in front of us with a long loud hiss. “Here it is,” Vera said. “Now you got enough money in your bag for a taxicab once you get in Virginia. I know that school got telephones so don’t pretend like they don’t. You call me as soon as you get there. Call collect, you hear me?”