Birmingham Blues
Synopsis: A young girl copes with the loss of losing her sister in the Sixteenth Street bombing in Birmingham, Alabama. She and her mother have relocated up North to start life anew.
* * * *
I’ve got to pee but I hold it in. My family’s been doing a lot of that lately, holding things in. I stand at the edge of the pond in the back of my aunt’s house and wonder if it’s frozen down to the center. If it isn’t that means I could step on it and fall through the broken ice. I could drown myself in that cold water. Maybe then I’d finally be able to breathe.“There you are.”
I hear my Aunt Viv behind me. I don’t turn around; just keep looking at the cloudy ice that dares me to slide across its slick surface.
“I’ve been looking for you, Sarah. What’re you doing out here in the cold?”I shrug. What can I tell her? That I need the chilly air on my skin to freeze the fear the bomb has put in me? Should I tell her that the cold numbs my body? That I’m hoping it will do the same with all the anger that is blazing through me? My younger sister is dead and all she can think to ask is why am I standing in the cold?
“I’m glad you and your mom have come up here to stay with me. She’s inside getting settled in. Why don’t you bring your suitcase in and come join us?” she asks.
Her breath floats through the air. It’s cold here in this little town near Detroit. Much colder than Birmingham would be right now.
Aunt Viv blows in her hand and rubs them together.
“Christmas is coming soon,” she says. “Thought about what you want?”
“Where’s the snow?” I ask. “It’s December and there’s no snow.”
“It’ll be here soon enough and then you’ll wish it away.”
She smiles and I am reminded of my favorite Motown singers. She is young, my Aunt Viv. I don’t know how young but she always look fashionable. Women don’t look like her in Alabama. She wears thick eyeliner above her lids that swing out and upward like wings of a bird. Her lips are painted a pale pink, just like the white ladies wear, and her thick, short hair is tightly curled.
“I don’t understand why I’m here.” My confession is wrong, I know. I haven’t even said this to Momma.
I look at my aunt and hate myself for the pained look I cause her. I’m tired of crying but I just don’t know how to stop. It isn’t as easy as putting a piece of foil inside of a broken floorboard.
“You’re here because there was just too much going on down in Birmingham, sweetie. I know you miss your church and all but after that bombing — ”
“I don’t mean here in this city. I mean here, like, alive.” I plop down on the frozen ground; the weight inside of me seems too heavy for my bones to carry. “I was in that church, too.”
I let the tears fall freely. They will freeze on my face and I will be temporarily marked by sadness and that makes me cry harder. My skin burns at the remembrance of that day. The sound of the bomb still wakes me at night. The sudden impact of the walls exploding around us -- brick, wood, nails charging at twenty-six kids walking to the assembly room to pray -- has placed a permanent sense of imbalance inside me. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to trust the walls that surround me ever again. And definitely not in a church. Never will I go back into a church.
Aunt Viv sits beside me. I know she’s trying to think of the right thing to say and I feel sorry for her because I know there are no words.
She says, “In about two weeks we will celebrate the birth of baby Jesus and it breaks my heart to know that your sister will not be here with us in her physical being. But she will be here in her spirit and we need to honor her presence. In whatever form she comes.”
“Those men — ”
“Those men have taken enough from you. It’s been four months since the bombing and I know you’re going to hurt for a long time to come. It’s okay to mourn the loss of Sarah. But I promise you sweetie, if you stay in this place too long the cold will cause you more pain than the bomb ever could. You were spared death that Sunday morning. Why?” She shrugged. “I suspect you’ll figure that out over time. But if you choose not to come out of the cold then you never will.”
She stood and dusted off her coat.
“May I take your suitcase in for you?”
I shake my head.
My legs unlock themselves and I feel myself rising from the ground, almost as though I am being lifted by someone else’s strength. My face is tight from the dried tears and my nose runs. I wipe it and focus on the pond again. In my mind I imagine it exploding and sharp slivers of ice fly through the air, then turn to water as it hits my face. I am still here with my fear and my guilt and my hope and my love for a sister lost. I want Aunt Viv to be right about Sarah and her spirit being near.
“I’ll take it inside myself,” I say to her. “Maybe you can show me where the bathroom is in your house.”
“Our house,” she says and puts her arm around my shoulder. “Our home.”
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