C A T C H 22 |BWWM|

Ch. 26 • Why Isn't It Simple?

Jackson, MS. January 1944
Monday, 7:27 pm

Paislee

It was after dinner when Sheila and I were in my room. After our bellies were filled with cornbread, cabbage, and southern potatoes, and dishes were washed, we were satisfied. We laid on my bed in opposite directions. Her shoes clicked against each other as they were inches away from my ears.

"Who was that boy earlier?" Sheila asked.

"Who?"

She sat up on her elbows and smiled goofily. "You know the one. The one who looked over at you from across the yard. Don't play dumb on me."

I shrugged as if I was clueless. I couldn't afford to lose another friend to my risky escapades. Yes, I knew it was risky and I was fine with keeping that to myself. No one had to know a thing.

"Really Sheila it was nothing–"

"It wasn't nothing when you were drooling over him" she cackled and slapped my legs. "You were like those women on TV."

"Keep it down, will you?" I hissed at her. "I wasn't drooling over anyone first of all."

Sheila chuckled and laid back down on my comforter. "Don't be so uptight, honeybun. Y'know how many times I've heard gossip about them white boys? It's quite interesting and daring if you ask me."

"What are the stories like?" I perked up and now it was my turn to question her.

"So excited are we?" I slowly leaned down and tried to calm my heartbeat. "But the stories were simply. Like girls riding up to Ohio or Maine or something to be with these men because you know how it is up north. It's crazy."

"Oh. . ." I had heard of the north's laws and how light they were compared to the south's.

"Lemme' tell you. Them girls get white men with every generation so soon after ten years you wouldn't even know that they came from a black family. Turns from Jones to The Johnsons."

I nodded briefly. "You know them high yellows act like they have it all. They get a pass with everything and walk the town with those fancy outfits."

Sheila stood from the bed and grabbed one of my silk pieces from my drawers. Wrapping the material around her neck she acted as she was putting on sunglasses and picking up the phone. She cleared her throat dramatically before giggling shortly.

"Hello, my name Is Mae Jones and I get at handsome, wealthy white men who could pay my whole life away. I like the challenge."

"Will you shut up!" I whined and stood from the bed. I had never heard of a girl who talked about boys so much—especially ones that were dangerous. "Don't you have anything more important to talk about other than a boy from Lenin?"

She threw off the clothing and laid back down. "Actually, yes I do ma'am. I have a mate of my own if you must know. His name is Robert."

"What?" I sat up abruptly.

"Yeah. . . He's a dreamboat. Cute eyes, nice skin, and works at a mechanic shop so he's muscular. He treats me good nonetheless," she said.

I could see the glow off her skin and the familiar smile that I had just a few days ago. Just by the way she got all shy when she talked about him I could tell she was truly happy. It was nice to have enough happiness and energy in myself to even give my excitement and concern to another friend.

"He seems to make you happy, Sheila. Look at you smiling."

She giggled again. "Y'know the other day he took me out to a cute little diner and before we left he gave me this gorgeous little necklace. Then just before he let me out before my house, he kissed me—a real kiss. Like his lips were on mine for the first time and he even grabbed my hips–"