Chapter 28
Thinking about Regina this week cracked open my heart and my memory. I thought about things and situations I had not thought
about in a long time. The many ways that Beck worked to make me believe a lot of what we were dealing with was normal. It
wasn’t.
Though we had lived in New Jersey, most of my summer vacations were spent in South Carolina. Beck and I would travel to her
parents’ house in Manning, South Carolina, by bus or train some years when she could afford it. Beck worked at a factory that
was closed from the week of the Fourth of July until the beginning of August. As a child, I thought it was cool that my mother
had so much of the summer off. She was able to spend time with me at the YMCA pool or on the beach when she was able to get
a pass for us, but I had no idea how hard summers were for Beck. She had no income. We always returned from South Carolina
to a house with no electricity and no water.
Beck said, “They turn the lights off when they realize you’re not using them.
” She’d go through the ritual of pulling out candles and lighting them.
She’d move the bed next to the window, and we’d sleep under the window with the old box fan facing outward, doing its best to remove the oppressive heat.
I realized now that she welcomed the two-week trip to South Carolina. It was two weeks of not worrying about bills. Two weeks
of not worrying about how we would eat. Two weeks of my grandmother cooking and caring for me. And we left with food items
that made Beck happy. Meat, canned salmon, and Beck’s favorite red sausage. She also got her annual ration of black pepper,
cornmeal, and Alaga cane syrup in the blue can, which wasn’t sold in the supermarkets in New Jersey. One year Beck and Aunt
Leah timed the trip so that we were able to ride back to New Jersey with Aunt Leah and her husband. They lived in Connecticut
and were willing to make the trip off I-95 to drop us at our home in Asbury Park.
Once we were home, Aunt Leah went to our bathroom. She came out saying, “For heaven’s sake, Beck. There’s no light or water.”
Beck sent me to the bedroom we shared, but I listened through the crack in the door.
“I’ll get them turned back on. We can shower at the Y, and it doesn’t get dark until late. We make a game of the rest of it.”
I was seven years old. That was the first time I realized that not having lights and water was wrong. It was also the first
time I understood that Beck had been lying to me.
Aunt Leah wrote a check, and shortly after that, we had utilities again. Beck and I never rode home with Aunt Leah again.
Beck’s pride wouldn’t let her. As much as she needed it, she didn’t want that check at the end.
There was no Disney World or anything like it in my past, not until I sold my fifth book and decided to treat myself to a vacation in the Caribbean.
What had made me think these children’s lives were any different from mine?
Gabe had told me the kids were from low-income situations.
How had I become so obtuse? Regina’s story was my story, or at least it was familiar, so I needed to come up with a solution for her transportation to the center.
I invited Taylor and Nola, one of the other veteran volunteers, to a Thursday midday planning meeting. Saturday was the Fourth
of July, and the center would be closed the following week. I wanted to come back strong after the holiday.
The first item on the agenda was my announcement about the writing contest. “The finalists will be announced on the 15th of
July. The names will be posted on the website. The awards ceremony will be held in Columbia on Friday, July 31st. There will
also be a virtual link to view it.”
“That’s great,” Taylor said, clapping. “I’m praying we have someone who finaled.”
“We all are,” I said. “It would really boost morale. The students could use a win.” I could use a win, but my problems were
not on the agenda for discussion, so I moved on to the next item. “I pulled together a list of different local papers and
other writing contests that include college scholarships for seniors. We have a few students who are strong enough writers
who, with help, can prepare something to be submitted. I’d really like us to focus on helping them get money for books and
fees. Every bit counts.”
“I agree,” Nola said as she wiped barbecue sauce from her lips from the early lunch I catered. “I know the editor at the Post and Courier would love to have a well-written piece from a student. I have a friend on staff. I’ll reach out to her.”
“That’s great,” I said. “I think each of us should take care to identify those students among our groups and help to keep
them motivated.”
Nola and Taylor shared an idea for a poetry party at the end of the summer.
My heart filled. I was so fortunate to have their passion for this piece. “Wow. I love this idea. I’m not much of a poet. Sometimes I feel like we’ve gotten a little off base from Gabe’s vision for the poetry.”
Nola was quick to make me feel better. “It’s early yet. We have plenty of time to reinvigorate the effort, Alex. Don’t worry
about Gabe.” She winked. “He’s grateful you’re here to carry on. We didn’t do much last summer while he was touring.”
I smiled through the little burst of emotion that overcame me. I knew what it took to promote a book, but I missed him.
We agreed to a few other agenda items. Because I was in the role temporarily, I didn’t want to make any major changes, but
there was no point in delaying the transportation issue. The new writer in residence didn’t need to inherit that problem if
we could solve it this summer.
“Let’s talk about transportation,” I began. “We have a few students who have been unable to attend because they don’t have
a way to get here.”
“It’s a shame too. It’s awful that the county schools don’t provide buses in the summer. They need the support of this program,”
Nola interjected.
“What are you proposing?” Taylor asked.
“I’ve looked at the budget. We have some money. I was wondering if it makes sense for us to get a van. In addition to transportation,
we could also use it for field trips. I thought the South Carolina State Library could be a good one, as well as the Pat Conroy
Literary Center. They have the diverse student reading program I’d like to learn more about.”
Everyone sat back and looked like the idea of a van had given them indigestion.
Taylor was the first to be revived. “If you don’t mind my asking, how many students are we talking about?”
“We don’t know, because there’s no way for us to know the number of students who have never signed up because they couldn’t get a ride home.”
“That’s true, but you’re trying to solve a problem that we currently have, right? You have students in mind who aren’t here.”
“There are a few,” I said. There’s one, I thought.
“Maybe this is an issue for the board,” Taylor said.
“We run this center. We’re capable of giving them our solution and asking them to vote on it,” I pointed out.
Taylor pitched an eyebrow. “Well, I think it’s a large undertaking for one student.”
“I never said it was one student.”
But Taylor doubled down. “I know how you feel about Regina. If she were here, would we be having this conversation?”
Anger flickered through me, but I didn’t have to fight this alone. Nola interjected. “It’s not one. We lost Malachi and the
Holloway twins too.”
Taylor snorted. “Neither of the twins was serious about writing. They came for the candy and ice cream.”
“Teenage students need guidance and positive reinforcement. Based on what you’re saying, can we assume the Holloways always
received that?”
Taylor’s jaw locked, and she turned as red as a sistah could. The Holloways were on her roster. “So are you planning to lease
a van or buy a used one? And if you get a van, who’s going to drive it?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Once we get a van, maybe we could have the board approve an amendment to the rule about transporting
students and we could rotate the duties.”
“I’m not driving a van full of kids. I can barely drive myself,” Nola said, shaking her head. “My niece owns a day care. Insurance
on vehicles that transport children is outrageous.”
“And vans need to be maintained. It’s not like getting a tire or oil change for a regular car,” Taylor added.
She was making sense. They both were. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into, Alex.
There’s no way the board would go for it, especially with all the cuts to the endowment of the arts.
We have the Mellon grant, which is substantial, but we’ve lost some of our other funding. ”
I sucked in a deep breath and let it out. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m feeling desperate.”
Taylor took my hand and squeezed it. I appreciated her for that. I sighed before asking, “Any other suggestions?”
No one offered anything.
“Let’s table it for now. Please think about it so we can come up with a plan soon.”
They agreed. We finished our business and wrapped up the meeting.
Ms. Kate entered the room, bringing with her two cups of coffee.
“I didn’t know you were here so early,” I replied, happy to have a fresh cup.
“I’m here when I see cars. I always come in when people are here. People make messes that need to be cleaned.”
“We were extremely neat.” My smile was teasing, and my statement true.
“Yes, you were, but I want to run the vacuum and wipe down these tables anyway.” Ms. Kate sat and took a sip of her coffee.
“I couldn’t help but overhear your dilemma.”
I sipped my coffee too. “I’m not sure what to do. I want to make sure all the kids’ needs are met. Plus, Regina . . . she’s
special. She’s a gifted storyteller.”
“Maybe she reminds you of yourself,” Ms. Kate offered, likely sensing it like she sensed everything else.
“In a way.” I smiled in my heart. “Actually, in all the ways. Including the reasons she can’t get here.”
“Oona had a broken-down car in your childhood too.”
“Five or six,” I replied. “There were a lot of things I couldn’t do as a child. My mother did her best.”