Free Echoes of a Distant Summer by Guy Johnson

along with his aunt Lisette.
    His grandmother asked, “Where’s LaValle?” LaValle was his father’s older brother and Franklin and Samantha’s father.
    His grandfather, a large, broad-shouldered, light-skinned man seated at the head of the table, answered in his gruff manner, “He ain’t taking care of business for me.”
    Franklin came and stood at the door, waiting for permission to enter, but his grandfather waved him back, saying, “Go on back where you came from. We got enough children in here!”
    Franklin pointed to Jackson and began, “He’s in here—”
    His grandfather cut him off with a look. Franklin backed out of the room without another word.
    The phone rang. His grandfather gestured to his son. “Jacques, see who it is.”
    Jacques put his arm around Jackson and whispered into his ear that he should go back into the kitchen with his cousins. Jackson obediently went into the other room as his father answered the phone. That was the last time he saw his father.
    As soon as Jackson entered the back room where his cousins were playing, Franklin began to taunt and bait him, building up to making a physical assault. Jackson attempted to ignore him, but when Franklin said, “You’re just a black nigger like your mother!” Jackson lunged at him. Jackson’s charge caught Franklin off balance, but Franklin’s superior strength soon made the difference. After a few minutes of wrestling, he sat astride Jackson, pinning his arms and punching him. When he could not make him cry with the first few punches, Franklin punched harder. But Jackson would not cry; his anger blocked his tears. When Franklin bloodied his nose, Samantha ran from the room and returned with Papa Butterball.
    Papa Butterball was a man in his late sixties who despite his portliness was still a spry but not an intimidating figure. For nearly twenty years he had been a top chef in one of King’s better restaurants. He hadno family so when he desired to retire, King offered him a room in the Fulton Street house. King always repaid loyalty. Papa Butterball pulled Franklin off Jackson and said in his guttural voice, “Whatchoo doing, boy? That’s yo’ own blood you beating on! You better stop if’en you don’t want yo’ grandmother in here!”
    Franklin sputtered as Papa Butterball grabbed him by the shirt collar, “He called my mother a name! And I don’t take that!”
    “He’s lying,” Samantha said matter-of-factly. “Frankie started it.”
    Papa Butterball said, “I don’t care who started it.” When Jackson scrambled to his feet, Papa Butterball pushed him toward the door and said, “Go clean yourself up, boy!”
    As Jackson left the room, he heard Franklin threaten, “If you tell, I’m really going to kick your butt!”
    After Jackson had washed his face and his nosebleed had subsided, he made his way to his secret place, behind the couch in his grandfather’s sitting room. Although there was a large fireplace in the sitting room, there was also a gas heater installed in the wall next to the couch. Normally heat dissipated rapidly in the cavernous room, but it was always cozy behind the couch due to the wall heater. Jackson lay down on a couple of pillows and cried. The tears welled up and streamed down his face. He felt a sadness and a sense of loss that he could not express.
    Franklin had touched on a sore point when he had mentioned Jackson’s mother. Although he could not remember his mother’s image, from the pictures in the photo album Jackson could see that she was a very dark-skinned woman with large eyes and full lips. His father often said that she was a beautiful woman and Jackson wanted to believe it, but he was confused. He had heard too many contradictory statements from other people in his family. Everyone else in his family except his mother and he was light-skinned, and he realized without being told specifically that light skin was better than dark. He didn’t like being, as his aunt Lisette had