First Amendment

“You dasn’t say nuttin’ back, boy. Remember dat if you wanna live.” Big Momma jerked James’ head to the left. Her nimble fingers worked magic on the teen’s nappy head. Half of his soft hair was neatly restrained in cornrows and shiny from the grease Big Momma smoothed into it. The other half was wild and free, dull black and natural. James wanted to wear his hair natural, in an Afro like the other boys at school, but his grandmother wouldn’t hear of it. “Them niggers just be callin’ atten-shun to theyselves,” she’d said. “Ain’t no good come of it, you mark Big Momma’s word.”

Big Momma had strong fingers, strong hands. She was a strong woman. James was glad he had a hard head. He wondered how many of those other boys could sit through Big Momma’s braiding their hair without crying out. “You think this hurt?” she’d asked once, when he’d complained. “You ain’t seen nuttin’, boy. I once seen yo’ granddaddy chained to a tree by the Ku Kluxers. They poured gasoline all over him, laughed at him, told him what they was gonna do to his woman, yo’ great grandmomma. I’s hid up in a tree like Daddy told me to. He told me ‘If the Kluxers come and they’s trouble, you git up in a tall tree and dasn’t say a word. Don’t make a noise, no matter what you see or hear.’ Them Kluxers lit him on fire and he ain’t never said a word. Wouldn’t give ‘em the satisfact-shun. The flesh fell from yo’ granddaddy’s bones and he still never made a sound. I could smell it, James. I smelled my own daddy cooked alive, and I ain’t never made a peep – and I lived. You gotta be strong, James Henry. You gotta stand tall and keep yo’ mouf shut.”

Big Momma smoothed the excess grease along James’ face where it had slid down off his hair. “There now. You a re-spect’ble young Negro. You remember who you are when you out they in the world.”

“Yes’m, Big Momma.” James wrapped a lard biscuit in wax paper soft from being used and re-used, and left for school. He wondered where he fit in, in the world. At home, he lived in Big Momma’s world – a world where the white folks ruled and there was no justice for blacks, a world where you just kept your mouth shut and hoped for grace from God.

On the way to school, it was a mixture between Big Momma’s world and school – each situation demanded careful observation. The right word said in the wrong way could still earn him a death sentence. The world in between Big Momma’s house and school was the jungle, but it was a jungle without hard and fast rules. Sometimes a lion was a lion; sometimes a lion was really an antelope. You just never knew till you were bit or not. Some white folks had changed, and that made all the rules crazy. You had to play it by ear, every time. Say something or say nothing. Smile back or ignore ‘em. Lower your head or keep your head high, or maybe raise your head higher. Either way, Big Momma’s words scream in your head and flop sweat trickles down between your shoulder blades. Your heart pumps up in your throat and your head pounds. “Dasn’t say nuttin’ back, boy. Remember dat if yo’ wanna live.”

James Henry hurried on to school. As long as he was in class, the rules were understood. Home and class, he was mostly safe. It was the long walk in between that was dangerous.

He was due to graduate in another year. Then he’d be thrown out into the jungle, naked and helpless, for the rest of his life. He wasn’t angry any more – Big Momma had beat the anger out of him with her hickory stick. “You gonna get yo’self kilt sure as I’m standing here, James Henry, if you raise your voice or your hand in anger! I ain’t gonna lose another man in dis fam’ly over anger! I can’t!” She’d beat him till he was a bruised, quivering, sniveling mess. Then she’d steamed comfrey and lovingly applied compresses to his battered body. “Hush, hush, chile,” she’d cooed. “Better Big Momma do it, Big Momma who loves you, than them Kluxers. Jes’ you hush now.”

James’ teacher, Miss Proctor, greeted him with a huge smile. “Good morning, James Henry. I have wonderful news for you. I wrote to my friend up in Charleston about your potential. He wrote back that they’re willing to give you free room and board and waive your tuition. You can finish your high school work over the summer and go right into college classes this fall! It’s a tremendous opportunity, James Henry. I’m so happy for you.”

James’ heart beat faster in his chest. Leave everything he knew to go to Charleston? A chance to go to college, to be somebody. Then a dark memory bubbled up. “Did you say Charleston, Miss Proctor? Isn’t that where those two boys –“
“Oh, that was an isolated incident, James Henry. Don’t you fret over that none. Charleston is a progressive town. You can’t be thinking of letting this opportunity pass you by?”

James Henry stood wide-eyed before Miss Proctor. Sweat ran down the sides of his shiny coffee-colored face. Jungle drums beat inside his chest. He smelled gasoline. Big Momma looked down on him from a tall tree. He heard the Ku Kluxers laughing. Big Momma’s voice whispered down to him, “You dasn’t say nuttin’ back, boy. Not if yo’ wanna live.”

“Well, James? What do you say?”
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© 2005 Ginger Hamilton Caudill