Lloyd said good-bye to us both, then hurried out to his bicycle, letting in a gust of cold air as he left.
Turning to Lillian, I asked, “What in the world was that about? Is he so hungry that he has to take another breakfast with him?”
Lillian smiled. “Took me awhile to figure it out, but he takin’ breakfast to that Freddie. He don’t tell me, but I know that’s what he doin’.”
“Well, bless his heart,” I said, moved that Lloyd was so thoughtful, or rather, so observant, as to recognize hunger when he saw it. “Lillian, is that Pruitt child not getting enough to eat? I thought the schools served breakfast for needy children.”
“I know some of ’em do, but look like to me at this time of a mornin’, that boy gotta choice ’tween eatin’ breakfast an’ learnin’ algebra. An’ he choose algebra.”
“Well, bless his heart, too,” I said, and went upstairs to dress for the day, carrying with me the heavy thought of hungry children who didn’t have friends bearing bacon biscuits.
I got to the top of the stairs, then turned around and went back down.
“Lillian?” I said as I pushed through the kitchen door. “Let’s try to find out more about the Pruitt boy. He’s as thin as a rail and as pale as a sheet. And, obviously, not getting breakfast at home. I wonder if anybody’s taking care of him.”
“Yes’m, I wonder ’bout that, too.” Lillian turned from the sink, drying her hands on a Bounty towel. “I hear Lloyd say he have that aunt, an’ one time he mention a grandmama, but I don’t hear nothin’ ’bout a daddy. All I know’s the Pruitts are spread out ’round the county, an’ that aunt live here in town, so Freddie, look like he had to change schools when he moved in with her.”
“Then it’s no wonder he’s having trouble with algebra. That’s what happens when you change schools. Well,” I said, turning to go back upstairs, that stunted child’s thin face in my mind, “see what else you can find out. I mean, if you hear of anything we can do, let me know.”
—
After a fairly busy day of running errands to the dry cleaner’s, the post office, the bank, and a quick stop at the drugstore for some Robitussin because it was December and somebody would need it sooner or later, I headed for home. Pleased that I’d remembered to buy cough medicine, I thought again of the agony of trying to suppress a cough, particularly in a place of reverence. Have you ever noticed that you never have to cough until you settle in a pew for Sunday morning services?
On my way home, I had reason to wish I’d stayed there and never gone out at all. Passing the small independent church that was known for latching on to every liberal cause that came along and calling it progression, I almost drove up on the sidewalk. Spread out across the front portico of the church was a large blue banner reading
WE STAND WITH & FOR YOU
JUSTICE, FREEDOM, & DIGNITY FOR ALL
Now, just what did that mean? And why did they feel it necessary to restate what the Constitution already covered? And, I wondered, to whom was it addressed? The YOU seemed to cover everybody who read it, but that could be anybody, including fugitives from the law, active criminals looking for victims, or people like me who didn’t need or want a group of strangers standing around getting in the way.
Well, of course I knew what it meant. It was that church’s way of proclaiming its stance for anything new that popped up, the more outrageous, the better. Politics—that’s all it was, which was all right with me except I could do without their ostentatiously drawing attention to how inclusive they were. If they had wanted to be inclusive, then they should’ve just done it without expecting to be applauded for it.
Then I had to laugh. Right at the entrance to the church parking lot was a permanent sign that read CHURCH PARKING ONLY. Standing with and for all, whoever that might be, was fine and dandy—just as long as no one took their parking places.
I drove on home, feeling sad and excluded in spite of their banner, for I knew what they thought of me. Or at least I knew what their pastor thought of me and those like me—we were immoral and lacking in Christian compassion. He was the very preacher who early on had been quoted in the paper as supporting the Homes for Teens—in Madge’s chosen location—and the very one who had pointedly denounced anyone who disagreed with him.
Well, what does one do? It’s hard to reach a closed mind, especially a mind that never questions itself.
Chapter 35
Why couldn’t everybody just get along? Why couldn’t we live and let live without debasing those who disagree with us? Why couldn’t we try to see the other side and treat one another as we wanted to be treated? Well, of course, we’d been instructed to do just that long before my time, but a lot of good it was doing in the present circumstances.
So, with a long inhalation of breath, I thought that maybe it was up to me to put it into practice. Maybe I should start by taking the first step toward mending a few fences.
There was such a thing as common courtesy, you know, though there seemed to be a dearth of it currently, perhaps even in my own actions. To that end, I called Nell Hudson at A-One Realty, told her what was on my mind, and asked her to keep me informed.
Actually, I didn’t know where or how to start on repairing fences. Should I go around to the seven churches and offer apologies for my angry thoughts? They’d think I was crazy, especially because what I thought on any subject whatsoever wouldn’t matter a hill of beans to any of them. I’d not actually
