“Fine,” he said, the word flat as it came out of his mouth.
Neither of us finished our meal, and we passed on dessert. He didn’t take my hand as we left the restaurant, and the truth was, I wasn’t thinking about him. About us. I was thinking about how I would tell my parents about SCOPE.
* * *
If Reed had had the means to get back to Round Hill on his own that night, I felt certain he would leave, but we were stuck with our original plan. He’d have to stay in the dorm. I managed to slip him into the room I shared with Brenda. It wasn’t exactly a romantic setting, and that was just as well. For the first time, I noticed how our room smelled—like hair spray and shampoo and old sheets. I hadn’t washed the sheets on my bed in well over a week; I hadn’t known I’d be having company. Reed wouldn’t be able to use the bathroom at the end of the hall, so I had to empty a bottle of mouthwash so he could pee in it, and we had to speak quietly because the dorm door was paper thin.
“I think, given how we’re both feeling right now, I’ll sleep in Brenda’s bed,” he said.
I was relieved. We’d never spent a whole night together. Even during those occasional weekends at the beach, Brenda and I would share a room, and Reed and Garner would share another. Tonight was not the night for us to sleep together.
A few minutes after I’d gotten into my own bed and turned out my lamp, Reed spoke from the other side of the room. “I love you, Ellie,” he said.
“I love you, too.” It was not the first time I’d said those words to him, and I meant them. Just not the way he did.
* * *
It wasn’t until the middle of the night when Reed was sound asleep that I turned on my reading lamp and looked through the material Reverend Filburn had sent. There was a mandatory reading list—books about all that Negroes had endured in the United States. Then there was an informative letter from Reverend Filburn, telling me that I’d have to bring a sleeping bag, skirts and dresses—girls were not allowed to wear pants or shorts—and two hundred dollars to cover expenses. Part of that money would go to the local families with whom I’d be staying and who would receive a few dollars a week for my room and board. I’d have to sell my car to get the money. That was going to be a sacrifice, especially since I wouldn’t be making any money working at the pharmacy this summer.
I could get a ride to the orientation in Atlanta with some Columbia University students who would pick me up on their way south, the letter said. There was a second letter, this one mimeographed, from Martin Luther King, Jr., himself, which I read three times. How many people had a letter from Martin Luther King? I felt a thrill of excitement course through me. I wished Aunt Carol was alive. She was the only other person who could understand how I felt.
But there were three forms that stopped me cold. One was a medical form that a doctor would need to fill out, stating I was physically fit. I hoped that would be no big deal. I could see a doctor at student health services on campus rather than our family doctor, who might have a word to say with my parents about my plan. The second form was an acknowledgment that I understood I could be injured or even killed. That was sobering, but I figured it was some legal thing that protected the SCOPE organizers. My signature on that form would need to be notarized. But the most troublesome form required my parents’ signature, giving me permission to participate because I was not yet twenty-one. I stared at that one, wishing I could change the wording on it. That form could put an end to my entire plan.
* * *
I woke up before Reed and sat on the edge of my bed, waiting for him to open his eyes. He saw me watching him and sat up. He was wearing his white undershirt, his hair tousled, his eyes expectant. I guessed it was clear to him that I had something to say that he wasn’t going to want to hear.
“I’m going to screw up everyone’s weekend, I know,” I said, “and I’m sorry, but I need to go back to Round Hill. I have to talk to my parents about SCOPE. It can’t wait till next weekend. I need to leave this morning.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re kidding,” he said. “Garner drove us here and I can tell you, there’s no way I’ll be able to drag him away from Brenda before Sunday afternoon. What am I supposed to do till then?” I’d never before seen the red blotches that formed on his neck as he spoke. I’d never before seen him really angry.
“You can ride back to Round Hill with me,” I said. “We can talk more on the drive.”