Tears of a Tiger (7 page)

JANUARY 7

DING. DONG. DING.

—Good morning, Hazelwood. May I have your attention, please? These are the morning announcements for Monday, January 7. Would you all please rise for the saying of the Pledge of Allegiance?

—I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands, one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

—Welcome back from Christmas vacation. We hope you had a safe and restful holiday and have come back ready with a positive attitude to successfully handle the academic tasks before you.

—The Unity Cultural Association wishes to thank all students who brought in canned goods for needy families. We were able to donate over thirty baskets of food to area families. Thank you for your support, and thank you especially to Room 225 for bringing in exactly 225 cans. Please contact the U.C.A. to schedule your pizza party.

—The SAT scores have arrived and are available to be picked up in the Senior High Counseling Office. If you would like to discuss your scores, please make an appointment with the secretary there to see your counselor. Also, a reminder to juniors that college plan forms are due in the next thirty days.

—Tryouts will be held next week for the annual Hazelwood Talent Show. If you can sing, or dance, or tell jokes, get your act together and get ready to show your stuff! More details to follow.

—The Hazelwood Tigers Basketball Team won Friday against Taylorville, by a score if 88-56. That's the sixth Tiger victory in a row. Captain Andy Jackson and forward Tyrone Mills led the team with twenty points each. Our Tigers meet the Erieview Eagles this Friday. Tickets will be on sale every day during lunch.

—All girls interested in running for the championship Lady Tigers Track Team should sign up in the gym office. Indoor practice starts soon.

—This concludes the morning announcements. Have a pleasant day.

DING. DONG. DING.

JANUARY 11

—Hello, may I speak to Andy?…Hi, Andy, this is Keisha. Have you looked outside yet?

—Girl, I ain't even awake good yet. What's up?

—It snowed last night! Must be about six inches out there. And it's still coming down hard.

—Shucks. I hate snow. It gets all in my shoes and I walk ‘round with cold, wet toes all day.

—So wear some boots.

—You sound like my mama.

—And you sound like a two-year-old. I just wanted to let you know about the snow. Get up and get going. Your dad'll probably have you shoveling.

—You got that right. You think they'll cancel school?

—Be for real! They
never
close the city schools. The lucky ones are the kids who live in places like Boone County—out in the country. They always get off school in the winter.

—Yeah, no such luck for us. I'll see you at school, wet feet and all.

 

—Ain't nobody even here. I shoulda stayed home. I hate snow.

—Oh, Andy, you complain too much. It's so pretty. Look how shiny and glistening everything looks. The trees, even the telephone lines, all look different—like they've been decorated.

—You a trip, Keisha. You always see the bright side of everythin'.

—What can I say? I'm a rose in the snow—the bright spot in your dark, seems-like-it's-always-depressed life.

—You got that right. There's the bell. Let's get to class. Think Ms. Blackwell is absent?

—Not a chance.

—Yeah, she's a fire-breathin' dragon. All she got to do is breathe hard and the snow in front of her'll melt!

—Oh, Andy, she's not so bad.

—That woman and her poetry are gonna drive me crazy!

—Hey, that's funny. You right, Ms. Blackwell—that one's not so bad. That's exactly how I felt this morning when I saw all that snow outside.

—Thanks, Andy. Coming from you, that's a real compliment. Gerald, what do you think?

—Hey, that's the way I feel
every
day. Sometimes I just feel like there's white everywhere I look, you know what I mean?

—Not exactly.

—It's like the snow today—like you go outside and there's white all around you—like swallowing you up.

—Go on.

—Like the lady said in the poem—you mindin' your own black business and all this white stuff jus' takes over your life. And I ain't jus' talkin' ‘bout snow!

—What's wrong with white, Gerald?

—Nothin', Mary Alice. This ain't no personal thing ‘bout you or any other white person. I'm just tryin' to explain a feelin' I got.

—That shows a real depth of understanding, Gerald—of the poem, and of some of the larger ideas that the poem touches on. I'm glad you liked the poem. What did
you
think, Mary Alice?

—I never really thought about it. But I guess Gerald is right. Sometimes it must be mind-boggling!

—Good. Any other comments? Keisha?

—I like the poem. All of us at one time or another feel like a cinder among the snowflakes. You stand out when you just want to blend in; you get noticed whether you want to or not. But it's not always racial. In one of my classes, I'm the only girl. That's just as bad.

—Good point, Keisha.

—Ms. Blackwell?

—Yes, Andy?

—Why is that in the literature and poems and everythin' we read in English class, black usually stands for somethin' bad and white stands for somethin' good? The good guys always ride a white horse, and the bad guy is always a black-hearted villain. How come?

—I'm not sure, Andy, but it certainly is apparent in literature. I don't think it's completely racially motivated, however. The tones of black and white have the greatest amount of contrast between them, therefore writers and poets, who have always dealt with extremes in passion and people, use black and white to create those images of contrast. Can you think of any other example where color is used as a metaphor to express an idea? Or where black is used as a positive and white is used as a negative?

—How about green with envy?

—Yellow fear?

—Icy blue!

—Purple passion!

—Ruby red lips!

—How about white heat?

—Or white as death?

—I know a real weird one. Chocolate is dark, right?

—Right! Brown and luscious!

—Ever eat white chocolate? It's even better!

—Dag! Everything good that's dark, they take it and make it white!

—How about black magic! Is that better than white magic?

—It's more powerful!

—Well then, what about black gold? Oil! I'd be rich!

—Excellent, class. As you have shown, color is used all the time to create images in our mind. It's society that implants positives or negatives onto certain ideas. You have the option to accept, reject, or change the stereotypes that currently exist.

—How do you mean?

—Okay, let me give you an example. In Puritan England, about 300 years ago, it was against the law to wear the color red. Anyone caught wearing red would be arrested and probably killed.

—Why? That's stupid.

—It wasn't stupid to them. They associated red with the devil and works of evil; therefore, anyone who wore that color must be guilty of evildoing.

—Hey, Keisha! You better get rid of that red sweater you're wearin'! I heard a police car go by. I'd be glad to hold it for you.

—Shut up, Gerald. You are just used to running from police cars!

—Okay, now, calm down. Let me give you another example of how color bias can be changed—and this one
is
racial in nature. About twenty to twenty-five years ago, social activists started a campaign to get rid of unfair, negative racial stereotypes. That's when we first started hearing the phrases, “Black is beautiful” and “Say it loud, I'm black and I'm proud!” Before that, black people in American had been called all sorts of terrible names. And all those thousands of years of the Black Knight and black cats and the blackness of death that people associated with negative ideas were associated with a group of people whose skin happened to be darker than the skin of the folks who seemed to be in charge here. Even Africa was called “the Dark Continent.”

—I see what you mean. My mother told me about all that stuff. She said when she was little, all she could buy were white dolls. Every little black girl had a beautiful white baby doll with long blonde curls to love and to hug.

—You're right, Rhonda. I had one like that myself.

—You did? Now
that's
funny!

—Well, times have changed. Stereotypes of color, race, and gender are slowly disappearing. It's up to you people to make a world that is better. Well, there's the bell. Good discussion, class. No homework tonight. Enjoy the snow.

 

—Are you feet cold, Andy?

—Not really. Yeah, maybe a little. Hey, Keisha, can I ask you somethin'?

—Sure.

—Do you think Robbie is cold?

—What?

—It's so cold today. And there's so much snow. Do you think he's cold?

—What makes you think of stuff like that?

—I was just thinkin' about how cold my feet are and how uncomfortable it makes me feel. And I was just wonderin' if Robbie is feeling like this all over.

—Andy, I don't think you should be talking like this.

—So cold. So cold. I can't stand it! I can't stop thinkin' ‘bout Robbie out there frozen and cold in the cemetery. It's drivin' me crazy!

—Andy, stop it! You're driving
me
crazy. Robbie can't feel anything, Andy. Robbie is warm and at peace.

—Are you sure?

—As sure as I can be.

—Warm?

—Warm.

—At peace?

—At peace. Like I wish
you
could be. Now let's get out of here. If we miss the bus and have to walk in all this snow, then we'll
really
know what cold is.

—Okay, okay. Here I come…. Cold…. Cold…. So cold….

JANUARY 12

—So Andy, here we are again. Are you ready?

—You called the meetin', boss.

—How do you like all this cold weather?

—I don't. Everything is cold and dirty and generally depressin'.

—Do you find yourself depressed very often?

—Yeah, sometimes I don't even want to get out of bed.

—Do you feel sad?

—Not really. Just heavy, like I'm carryin' ‘round Mike Tyson's punchin' bag inside of me.

—Do you ever feel like you're “out of touch” with reality?

—Well, yeah, now that you mention it. Me and Keisha went for a long walk a couple of weeks ago (I have no wheels anymore—remember?). We'd been talkin' ‘bout Rob and the holidays and how his family must have felt.

—Have you talked to either of Rob's parents since that phone call you had from his mother on Christmas Day?

—Naw, man. I ain't got the nerve. I know they must hate me. Why would they want to talk to the person who killed their son?

—It might be worth a try. You were Rob's best friend, weren't you?

—Yeah, I guess.

—I bet they'd be glad to talk to you.

—Maybe.

—So go ahead—you were talking about the walk you took with Keisha.

—Yeah. We stopped at a freeway overpass, and we just stood there for a minute, watchin' the cars whiz under us. Their lights were on, and they came at us like bullets, it seemed—too fast to count. I thought about the four of us the night of the accident, on that same expressway, and I noticed that the retainin' wall was really only ‘bout four feet high.

—Did you remember it differently?

—Yeah. That night, it seemed like a mountain. And the longer I stood there, the more I became like—sorta hypnotized by the slick whistlin' of the cars as they rushed beneath us. And I wanted to jump.

—Why do you think you felt like that?

—I don't know why—I just felt like I should be down there, like if I were part of that fast-movin' rush, I wouldn't
feel
anythin' anymore, and everythin' would be cool again. I think I even leaned over, really ready to join those bullet-things down below.

—So what happened then?

—Keisha grabbed my jacket and screamed at me, “Andy Jackson! Get your stupid butt away from that railing! Are you crazy?” It's like I sorta came to then, and I looked at her as if she was from another planet. I guess I was the one actin' spacey, but she just told me to take her home. By the time we got to her house, it had started to snow, and we were both breathin' normally again.

—Did she say anything else?

—No. I just looked at her, and I said, like real soft and easy—“Thanks.” Then I kissed her real lightly on the lips and went home. We never mentioned it again. And nothin' like that ever happened again.

—Why did you say you felt like you should be down there with the cars? Did you feel like you wanted to die?

—Die?…Yeah…. No…. I don't know. Why you talkin' ‘bout dyin'?

—Have you ever thought about being dead, Andy?

—I used to. Right after the accident I wanted to be dead. I wanted it to be me that was dead instead of Rob. I wanted the hurtin' to go away.

—What about now? Do you ever think about death?

—To tell you the truth, man, I think about it all the time.

—Does that frighten you?

—Yeah, sometimes. It seems like bein' dead is the only way I'll ever feel alive again. Does that make sense?

—Sure it does, Andy. You're hurting and you can't find an escape from the pain and you're frightened because the only way out seems to be something you can't even verbalize. Am I right?

—Yeah, man. You're the first person that will even talk about death to me. People are scared of it, and nobody, not even my friends and family, wants to talk about it. It's kinda a relief to bring it out finally.

—There's nothing wrong with thinking about or talking about death, Andy. And it's normal for your thoughts to center on this subject. After all, the death of a friend is a traumatic experience in itself.

—So I ain't crazy?

—Not even a little bit.

—Suppose it's more than just thinkin' about death in general. Suppose I told you I sometimes think about killin' myself.

—I'd say I'm not surprised. Sometimes it's part of the guilt and grieving process—to consider suicide as an alternative to the pain. But the answer is
life,
Andy, not death. So then I'd tell you about the other alternatives to help eliminate the pain.

—Like what?

—Like talking to Rob's parents. Like writing a letter to Rob. Like talking to other kids who might consider drinking and driving. Do you think you could handle any of those?

—Yeah, probably. Maybe. I don't really know.

—And then I'd ask you to promise me that if you got so depressed that you didn't think you could handle the situation, you'd call me before you did anything to harm yourself. Could you promise that?

—Yeah, I'd call you. But I ain't stupid, man. I might think about it, I might even threaten it, but I ain't hardly gonna kill myself. I ain't got the nerve.

—That's good. Do you feel a little better now that we've verbalized some things that you were unsure of or unwilling to talk about?

—Yeah, I do.

—Do you think if you wrote a letter to Rob, or to his parents, it would help eliminate some of the pain?

—I don't know. I never thought about it.

—Why don't you try to write one of those letters and bring it next time that you come, okay?

—Dag! Now I got homework from my shrink! I can't win.

—Yes, you can, Andy. You're a winner all the way.

—You really think so?

—I know so. You remember now—you promise to call me if you need me—any time of the day or night, okay?

—Yeah, okay.

—Peace, man.

—Later.