Free The Struggles of Johnny Cannon by Isaiah Campbell Page B

bit, on account of needing knee replacement surgery now and all, but other than that, I was just glad to be out of there.
    We got into the car and drove about a block down the road, then Mr. Thomassen pulled over, put the car in park, and just started shaking.
    â€œWhy?” he asked. “Why did you tell him you were from Havana?”
    His hand trembled as he pulled his hanky out of his pocket and started wiping off his forehead. He was breathing real hard, too.
    â€œI—I don’t really know,” I said. “It just slipped.”
    He slapped his steering wheel.
    â€œWell, it can’t!” he said, and his face looked like he might be inclined to kill me or something. I shrunk back in my seat.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said, and shook his head. He calmed back down and started shaking again. “It’s my fault. I should have prepared you.”
    He pulled back out onto the road and headed home. We didn’t say nothing else as we went, he looked like he was thinking, and I was too busy having a panic attack.
    â€œI need to talk to your pa and Carlos,” he said. “I’m going to drop you off at the Parkinses’, okay?”
    I nodded ’cause I didn’t feel like arguing with him at all. Besides, I hadn’t seen Willie since Sunday, so it’d be nice to visit.
    There was a whole mess of cars there when he dropped me off, and I recognized most of them from going to the church services in Colony. They must have been having a function at their house or something. Which probably meant that Willie was stuck bored half to death and my visit would be real appreciated. And also meant there’d be plenty to get my mind off of Santo Trafficante.
    I went up and the front door was open, so I headed on inside. All the deacons and their wives from the church was gathered in the living room, listening to the radio. I went to the kitchen, where Mrs. Parkins and Willie was making a tray of snacks for everybody. Willie did his schooling at home, which basically meant he had to do more chores than the rest of us.
    â€œHey, how’s it going?” I asked. Mrs. Parkins smiled at me.
    â€œGoing well,” she said, and she kissed my forehead. “Going very, very well.” She carried the little tray of sandwiches out into the living room and left me in there with Willie. He was slicing cheese.
    â€œWhat was that about?” I asked.
    â€œIt’s a big day today,” he said. “It’s all over the news. Ain’t you heard?” He picked up his tray and carried it out there too. I followed him. The radio was telling the story they was all so happy about.
    â€œAnd, as the day is drawing closer and closer to its conclusion, there have not yet been any reports of incidences inside Grady High. It would appear that all nine students have been able to attend their classes and even eat their lunches in peace and equality.”
    I leaned over to Willie.
    â€œSeriously, what’s going on?”
    â€œIt’s happening in Atlanta,” he said. “Nine black students went to school at an all-white high school. It’s integration. And there ain’t been nothing bad to happen with it.”
    â€œNot like last year,” Mrs. Parkins said. “Remember poor Ruby Bridges, down in New Orleans?”
    I hadn’t never heard of it, so I shook my head.
    â€œSix years old, she enrolled in the school down there and they practically tortured her. People threw bricks at her as she went inside the schoolhouse, grown women tried to poison her food, some stood outside with black baby dolls in coffins. The marshals had to take her in, and she couldn’t even sit in a classroom with the other students.”
    â€œHoly cow, I wouldn’t have gone back,” I said.
    â€œBut now, just a year later and we have integration happening in Georgia without none of that,” she said. “It’s a miracle is what it is.”
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