“I’d ask for that in writing, if I didn’t know how little that was worth.”
“Sweetheart, listen. The riots are in the cities, not here. We’ll be fine.”
Riots? Jamila strained to hear more.
“But you know how some of these people think. You deal with it every day. Now, when they see the news, how do you think they’re going to treat us? I think we should get the hell out of here.”
“Where should we run exactly? We can’t simply run away from this. We have to stand our ground. You understand that, don’t you?”
“So. Jamila should just go to school tomorrow? Like nothing’s happened?”
Her father sighed. “I don’t see any reason why she shouldn’t.”
“Baby.” Her mother’s voice broke on the word. “You know when it comes to racism, this place can be worse than Mississippi.”
“I know. We just have to be strong and show we won’t be intimidated.”
*****
The next morning her mother took Jamila’s drowsiness as a sign of illness coming on and ordered her to stay home.
Her father sat at the dining table, looking skeptical. “She’ll have to go back eventually.”
“I know.” Her mother’s mouth pressed into a firm line. “Just not today. Give them the weekend to cool down.”
Her father nodded. “You’re right. That makes sense.” He folded the newspaper he’d been reading and tucked it under his arm, before placing his dishes in the sink.
He kissed Jamila atop her head. “Get some rest. And feel better, okay?”
Jamila wanted to tell him the same.
*****
After a lunch of chicken soup for her imaginary illness, Jamila and her mother watched a quiz show, while Bobby played with his toy trucks. The phone rang. Her mother sighed and answered it.
A long moment of silence transpired after her greeting. Jamila fixated on remembering the name of one of the Great Lakes. If she knew the answer, someone else would win $50. The panic in her mother’s voice disrupted her thoughts and she turned to look.
“So where is he now?” Her mother’s brow furrowed and she clutched the phone with both hands. More protracted silence. “Okay. And what’s his condition again?”
Jamila’s mother tucked the receiver between chin and shoulder, and stretched the coiled cord to its limit, as she gathered her purse and keys.
“Yes, yes. I’ll be right there.”
She hung up the phone and stared before her.
“Jamila,” she said, without looking at her. “I need to go out.”
“What’s going on?” Jamila asked.
“You’re father’s … had a little accident. That’s all.” She continued to avoid eye contact.
“He’s hurt?”
“A little, but he’ll be okay. It’s not serious.”
Jamila wasn’t convinced.
After arranging to have the next-door neighbor, Mrs. Murphy, come over and watch Bobby and Jamila, her mother said, “Now, honey, I’ll be back. Just do as Mrs. Murphy says, okay?”