Space Between the Stars Read Free Page A

wait for him. I told Eddie I was going to talk to Casey. He wanted to go with me. We walked to the office in back, and I set my guitar on the floor. Casey asked what I wanted. I told him, ‘Mr. Taylor tells me you're thinking about stretching a rope across the dance floor to segregate the Negroes.’ I stared deep into his eyes to let him know I could see his soul. I told him, ‘I don't play to segregated audiences. Never have. Never will.’
    “What if he had told you to take your band and leave?” Nita's voice was soft.
    “I knew he could throw me out or call the police. But we could work in other cities. We didn't need to stay in Tennessee. It wasn't the first time I had to stand up to racism. I had almost been shot in El Paso when the sheriff called me off a Greyhound bus because I wasn't sitting in the back.”
    I swallowed hard and shifted in Aunt Ginger's arms. She squeezed me around the waist, and I could smell the sweet scent of her Juicy Fruit gum. “Are you okay?” she whispered in my ear.
    Mom looked over and waved me to her lap. I ran to her and snuggled into her arms, my body trembling.
    Dad made a clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth and said, “Mr. Casey just stared at me, so I picked up my guitar and walked back across the dance floor. Eddie Taylor followed close behind. I took long, slow steps so Casey could catch up if he wanted. ‘Saunders!’ he called. He was excited, all right. He told me, ‘We have two hundred people arriving in an hour. You can't leave.’ I stopped. I was too mad to turn around. I wanted to take a swing at him. I could feel perspiration dripping downmy back. I turned to Casey and said, ‘Man, I don't play to segregated audiences anywhere. You want my band—no rope.’
    Dad pulled a white handkerchief out of his pants pocket and patted his forehead. Every word stuck right to my heart. I knew that what had happened to Dad in Tennessee was a lesson for me.
    Aunt Nita's voice cut in: “If you hadn't gone back, your musicians would have followed you.”
    “Oh yes,” Dad said, “they surely would have left with me. They were watching the action. Their rights were hanging, too.”
    Mom hugged me tighter. “I hate these stories about the South. The ‘Jim Crow’ laws were horrible. Saunders, you had too many close calls.”
    “Quite a few serious close calls,” Dad said. “I had a terrific temper, too. But we wanted to work, we wanted to play.”
    “So, what happened?” Aunt Nita swirled her ice cubes and stared at Dad.
    He smiled. “They took the rope down. We made the place jump that night, and we got out of there.”
    “Let's have a drink,” Aunt Ginger said. She and Aunt Nita stood up to make their afternoon cocktails.
    I sat ice-cold in Mom's lap. My heart pounded in my chest.
    Dad's story reminded me of something that had happened to me. Hearing how those people had wanted to separate blacks and whites made me remember a bad experience I'd had last semester. I had been skipping into the yard at San Miguel Elementary School, going to my third-grade class. I waved good-bye to Kitsaun, and she turned to go across the playground. A group of older kids leaned against the fence. After I passed them, a girlhissed in the meanest voice I had ever heard: “Your mama's as white as day, and your daddy's as black as night.”
    Then one of them snorted, and there was a burst of evil laughter.
    I skipped faster. My legs wobbled, but I didn't look back. I ran into school, hot tears pooling in my eyes as I pictured Mom and Dad.
    “Your mama's as white as day. Your daddy's as black as night.” What was wrong with Mom and Dad being different skin colors? I stumbled into the back of my classroom and leaned into my cubby, shaking. I closed my eyes and imagined Mom's brown eyes crinkled in love when she brushed my hair, as I watched in the mirror. Her skin—yes, now I see—her skin is white. No, not white; it's creamy, like French vanilla ice cream. Dad's skin is