Fire from the Rock Read Free Page B

parties.
    â€œYeah, if you like coffee-breathed, homework giving teachers who wear pearls and smell like Cashmere Bouquet dusting powder,” Gary said, breaking her reverie. He poured way too much syrup on his pancakes.
    â€œEven the men teachers?” Donna Jean asked, laughing.
    â€œSpeaking of school,” Gary said to his parents, “you know there’s been talk about integration.” His sentence hovered above the kitchen table, threatening to ruin the pleasant morning.
    â€œNonsense, boy,” his father mumbled. “That’s going to take years to happen.” He continued to read the paper, but Sylvia could tell he was no longer concentrating.
    â€œMaybe not,” Gary kept on. “Some folks say they might try to integrate Central High School by this September. And I think it’s way past time,” he added. Gary was good at pushing his father just over the edge.
    â€œDon’t rile your father, Gary,” their mother warned. “Would you like some more eggs?”
    Gary didn’t look at her. His eyes were intent on his father’s face. “Dad, listen. When they make a list of Negro kids who get to go to Central High, I want to be on it,” he announced. The kitchen was silent except for the bubbling of the coffee in the percolator.
    Their father almost choked on his bacon. “Why would you want to do a fool thing like that?” he asked. He looked at Gary as if he had grown a second skull.
    â€œBecause I deserve to go to a big, modern school, and have new books and desks and the best education in Arkansas,” Gary retorted.
    â€œIt was good enough for me when I was your age,” his father said, his voice tight. “We had strong Negro teachers who taught us pride in our heritage, our history, and our culture. No white school will ever do that for you.”
    â€œThat was a long time ago, Dad. Things have changed.” Frustration marked Gary’s face. “Is it wrong to want more?”
    â€œMaybe not wrong, but certainly dangerous,” Mrs. Patterson told her son. Her voice was laced with fear. “‘Danger lurks in the heart of the evildoer,’” she muttered.
    Sylvia rolled her eyes at her mother’s quote. She wasn’t sure she should speak up, but she figured things couldn’t get much worse. “Maybe Gary is right,” Sylvia said quietly.
    Both parents jerked their heads to look at Sylvia in amazement. “You keep out of this, young lady,” her father told her.
    Sylvia took a deep breath. “But, Daddy, even though Negro schools might be better, shouldn’t colored kids have the right to go to a white school if they want to?”
    â€œWhy would they want to? Why ask for trouble?” her father replied. He looked exasperated.
    Gary considered her with surprise. “Thanks, Sylvie. I thought you were scared of integration.”
    â€œI am. Terrified. Crazy scared. But what you’re saying might be right.” She picked at the eggs on her plate.
    â€œHorace Mann was just built last year,” Mr. Patterson countered, drumming his fingers on the tablecloth. “It’s pretty nice, isn’t it?”
    â€œYeah, but it’s not as nice as Central!” Gary retorted. “Our schools are segregated, Dad! They built Mann just to keep us out of Central High School and the rest of their high schools! Don’t you get it?”
    â€œOh, I understand, son, more than you know. You have no idea what indignities I have had to endure in my life. I, too, was an angry young man like you. But I swallowed my anger.” His father’s face looked pained.
    â€œThat can’t be healthy, Dad,” Gary said.
    â€œSegregation is the law,” Mrs. Patterson said then. “You must admit, son, that it would be very hard to fight against something that the majority of folks think is the way things are supposed to be.”
    â€œWho passed that law? White