Death Coming Up the Hill Read online

worry. The peacenik

  should have been there, not me. He

  should have driven Mom

  to the hospital

  while she twisted and groaned with

  labor pains. I stared

  at the clock. If I

  had known his name and number,

  I would have dropped a

  dime in the pay phone

  and called him to demand that

  he come to fix this

  mess he started, to

  take responsibility

  for Mom and their new

  baby. But all I

  could do was sit and sulk and

  worry. Before long,

  a nurse walked in. “Ashe

  Douglas?” I couldn’t read her

  face. Was something wrong

  with Mom? The baby?

  I stood up, and she looked at

  me with surprise. “You’re

  the brother?” Then, “Well,

  congratulations. You have

  a baby sister.”

  September 1968

  Week Thirty-Nine: 247

  “Miscegenation,”

  the topic of the day in

  Mr. Ruby’s class.

  Arizona had

  only recently dropped its

  laws against inter-

  racial marriage, he

  said, but many states still clung

  to their old statutes.

  Dad was like those states,

  still hanging on to racist

  traditions and hate.

  I slumped in my desk

  and shoved those thoughts out of my

  head. I didn’t want

  to deal with it then,

  even though it was staring

  me right in the face.

  October 1968

  Week Forty: 247

  Mom named the baby

  Rosa, and the first time my

  little sister grabbed

  my finger with her

  tiny hand, she grabbed my heart,

  too. Something about

  that flooded me with

  love, and I was surprised by

  the spontaneous

  flow of tears that leaked

  down my cheeks. She was perfect,

  beautiful—and black.

  The first time I saw

  her, she was still so wrinkled

  and baby-new, and

  I was so rattled

  with relief that she and Mom

  had survived birth that

  I didn’t even

  think about her shiny black

  hair and beautiful

  brown skin. I didn’t

  even think about what Dad

  would say or do. I

  didn’t even think

  about the gossip that would

  spread about my mom.

  Seeing my baby

  sister, my only thoughts were

  about how much I

  loved her, how I would

  always love her, and nothing

  anybody said

  or did, even Dad,

  could change how I felt about

  my precious sister.

  October 1968

  Week Forty-One: 167

  The very real weight

  of responsibility

  pressed on me from all

  sides after Rosa’s

  birth. I wanted to fight for

  her and Mom, but I

  knew the minefield of

  divorce would be treacherous,

  unpredictable,

  and terrifying.

  My parents’ war paralleled

  the violence in

  Vietnam, and I

  dreaded, truly dreaded that

  I might be called on

  to fight in both wars

  at once. I laugh now when I

  remember how I

  once believed that a

  sweet, innocent baby like

  Rosa might mend our

  fractured family,

  but when Dad finally heard

  about her, he swore

  he’d ruin Mom and

  make sure her black bastard would

  rot in foster care.

  He must not have known

  that when he attacked Mom, I’d

  stand in the crossfire.

  October 1968

  Week Forty-Two: 100

  Thursday, Angela

  came over and we watched the

  Olympic highlights

  while we baby-sat

  Rosa for Mom. Sometimes I

  think Angela loves

  Rosa almost as

  much as I do. She calls her

  “little soul sister,”

  and she always wants

  to hold her. Baby Rosa

  took to her right off,

  and I must admit

  that it used to make me feel

  kind of jealous to

  see Rosa cuddle

  up to a stranger more than

  she did to me. But

  Angela’s glow burned

  off that jealousy pretty

  fast, and it wasn’t

  long before I loved

  how happy my soul sisters

  looked with each other.

  ★ ★ ★

  It surprised no one

  that American sprinters

  Tommie Smith and John

  Carlos finished first

  and third in the two-hundred

  meter; what shocked and

  infuriated

  people was what they did at

  the nationally

  televised medal

  ceremony. While the “Star

  Spangled Banner” played,

  both men lowered their

  heads and raised black-gloved fists in

  a bold Black Power

  salute. People booed

  and hissed, but the two men took

  the abuse in proud,

  stony silence. Next

  to me, Angela whispered,

  “Right on. You look at

  that, little girl. Just

  look at what those two brothers

  are doing for you.”

  October 1968

  Week Forty-Three: 109

  The casualties

  over in Vietnam slowed;

  the carnage at home

  increased. Dad filed for

  divorce and hired a big-shot

  attorney to sue

  for custody. Not

  Rosa’s, of course. Mine. He claimed

  that Mom was unfit

  to be my mother,

  and he wanted to force me

  to live with him and

  to leave Rosa and

  Mom all alone to fend for

  themselves. Mom tried to

  hide it from me, but

  when I came home from school, she

  was sitting in the

  living room, Rosa

  on her lap, and an opened

  letter at her feet.

  She’d been crying, but

  she sat, still as death, staring

  at the letter. “It’s

  getting nasty, Ashe,

  nastier than I thought it

  would ever get.” Then

  her voice caught, and the

  tears started again. Rosa

  sensed her mom’s heartbreak

  and started wailing.

  I picked up my sister, cooed

  and rocked her, and tried

  to convince Mom that

  everything would be all right.

  How, I didn’t know.

  November 1968

  Week Forty-Four: 150

  Dinner with Dad at

  Coco’s: cheeseburger, fries, a

  chocolate shake, and

  a huge serving of

  quiet. He stared at his plate,

  then at me; then he

  sighed. Red rimmed his eyes,


  and his body sagged like he’d

  just finished a long

  march through the jungle.

  He couldn’t sleep anymore,

  he said. He missed me,

  but after what Mom

  had done to him, he couldn’t

  bear the sight of her.

  Dad cleared his throat and

  leveled his eyes on mine. I

  felt sorry for him

  when he said, “I’m just

  trying to do the right thing

  for you, son. Honest.”

  ★ ★ ★

  When I got home, the

  peacenik—with a mean Afro,

  denim shirt, and bell-

  bottoms—sat with Mom

  and had Rosa tucked into

  the crook of his arm.

  He shook my hand, said,

  “My name’s Marcus,” and smiled, but

  behind his wire-rim

  glasses, his eyes looked

  nervous. Rosa’s father was

  tall, broad-shouldered, and

  handsome. Mom said, “You

  two should have met sooner. I

  should have . . .” She dropped her

  eyes. “This wasn’t fair

  to you—or to Dad—and we

  never . . . well, Rosa

  was a big surprise.

  I’m sorry, Ashe, for what I’ve

  done to our family.”

  Marcus planted a

  gentle kiss on Rosa’s head

  and handed her to

  Mom. “I’ll do right by

  you and Rosa, but I’m tapped

  out and on the run

  from the Feds. When I

  get settled in Canada,

  I’ll take care of you.”

  We believed him, but

  in wartime, promises are

  as solid as smoke.

  ★ ★ ★

  The only good news

  that week came on Halloween.

  President Johnson

  announced a total

  halt to the U.S. bombing

  in North Vietnam.

  “It’s a start,” Mom said.

  “Maybe it’ll turn out to

  be the beginning

  of the end of the

  war. Maybe by the time you

  graduate, we’ll be

  out of Vietnam,

  and you won’t have to worry

  about the draft.” Mom

  would turn out to be

  right, but not in the way that

  she and I had hoped.

  November 1968

  Week Forty-Five: 166

  The optimism

  we all felt when LBJ

  announced a halt to

  the bombing blew up

  the next week when Nixon beat

  Hubert Humphrey in

  the presidential

  election. Nixon had made

  promises about

  what he would do to

  end the war, but Mom didn’t

  believe him. To her,

  he didn’t seem like

  someone the American

  people ought to trust.

  ★ ★ ★

  The morning after

  the election, Angela

  drifted into school

  looking fried. When I

  asked her if she was okay,

  she just ignored me.

  I wasn’t surprised.

  Mom had stayed up late watching

  the election news,

  and she was so mad

  that morning she could hardly

  talk. Angela felt

  just as strongly as

  Mom did, so I thought Nixon

  was the reason for

  her grave mood. We walked

  to Mr. Ruby’s class in

  silence, and before

  we reached the door, she

  pulled me into a fierce hug

  and started bawling.

  The Army, she said,

  had just sent news about her

  brother: MIA.

  I didn’t know what

  to do or say, so I just

  stood there and held her

  while she quietly

  sobbed into my shoulder, and

  for some reason I

  thought about my mom

  and dad and Rosa and the

  brewing battle that

  would tear us apart,

  and I started crying, too,

  because we had both

  lost someone we loved

  to a senseless war that could

  have been prevented.

  November 1968

  Week Forty-Six: 127

  Part of the divorce

  wrangling included a court

  order to appear

  before a judge for

  a custody hearing. Mom

  showed me the papers

  during dinner while

  she was nursing Rosa. “I

  don’t want to lose you,”

  she said tenderly,

  and I wasn’t sure if she

  meant me or Rosa,

  but as I watched my

  baby sister snuggled with

  Mom, I knew what she

  had meant. I couldn’t

  blame her. I was seventeen,

  and I could handle

  whatever crap Dad

  threw at me, but Rosa was

  only a baby

  who still needed her

  mother to love and care for

  her. I’d had my turn

  being raised by Mom,

  and now Rosa should have hers.

  I had to find a

  way I could be a

  hero for Rosa in the

  coming war with Dad.

  November 1968

  Week Forty-Seven: 160

  Angela gave me

  a copper MIA wrist-

  band with her brother’s

  name and the date he

  went missing on it. I was

  supposed to wear it

  until he came home—

  or until his body was

  found. I slid the smooth

  bracelet over my

  wrist and wished I had something

  to give her, something

  permanent like this

  wristband that would remind her

  of me if I went

  missing in action.

  Last night, Mom had talked about

  running away from

  Dad and the hearing,

  taking me and Rosa to

  California or

  Florida or some-

  place Dad wouldn’t be able

  to find us. I tried

  to imagine the

  three of us living away

  from home and friends and

  trying to pay the

  bills. It wouldn’t work, I said.

  There’s no way we could

  earn enough money

  to live on and pay out-of-

  state tuition: the

  draft would snatch me on

  my next birthday. Mom looked heart-

  broken. “What else can

  I do? Marcus will

  send us whatever money

  he can and join us

  when we get settled

  somewhere.” I believed her, but