And Ruin Followed Behind Her

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

They used to play this show, Leave It to Beaver, when I was growing up, and it reminded me of Chandler. From the outside, Chandler didn’t seem so bad. Hell, from the outside it looks downright cheery, just like every other sleepy, little hamlet across this country, complete with smiling, happy people, clean streets, and perfectly painted houses. They could have shot Leave it to Beaver right down the street from school, that’s how wholesome it was here.

But that’s just a veneer.

Funny thing was, you didn’t see a lot of black folks in that show. I’d love to see how Wally and the Beave reacted to a black teacher. Something tells me Ward and June wouldn’t like it much. They might even complain to the school about their precious child being taught by a colored woman. It was hard being black in Chandler now, but it was harder when I was growing up.

Hell, if you were a white kid in Chandler, Colorado in the 1950s, things were hunky dory for you. Things came up aces again and again. Your parents had work. They had a house. You had friends. You had some money. Your future looked bright as can be.

But that was just one side of the train tracks. There was another side to Chandler, a darker side, and I mean that quite literally. It was the side the good, old white people of Chandler didn’t talk about or visit, and they didn’t want us visiting them, either. It was the side where black folks like me lived.

*

BY THE TIME I STEPPED out of George Washington High School, it was dark out. The dead of winter’s crisp wind nipped at my nose. The cold never bothered me, but I didn’t like the night. The streetlights lit up the streets, but I didn’t trust it. Bad things happened in Chandler at night.

I stood at the top of the steps looking out at the quaint square that made up downtown Chandler. Restaurants and shops lined the square, and at its center was the park that made us famous, Mystery Spot Park.

Mystery Spot Park wasn’t like any other park I’d ever seen. It wasn’t even like any other park in Chandler. This park, well, it had something special. Right there, in the middle of the park, was a giant hole that led to nowhere. You could throw a penny down into the hole and it would never hit bottom.

Before I left Chandler, they fed a rope down into that hole ten miles and still never found where it ended. It was one of the great mysteries of eastern Colorado, and people came from miles around in the summer to play with it, to feel the weird electromagnetic energy that made your hair stand on end. On a hot summer day, there was a line twice around the block to get a peek. This was the dead of winter, though, and nobody came to Chandler in the winter. The spot was special, but not that special.

I walked down the steps of the school toward Mystery Spot Park, clacking my heels faster with every step. I loved it there. One of the only joys left in returning to Chandler was my nightly walk through the park, when the cold air drove everybody away, and it was quiet and peaceful.

I couldn’t explain it, but the mystery spot seemed to draw me toward it, like it had a magnetic charge I couldn’t control. Of course, most people thought that, which is why they came from far and wide to see it and waited all day to stare into the abyss. There was something magical about that hole. Of course, that was crazy, because magic doesn’t exist.

Electrical charges crackled sparks through my hair as I danced along the edge of the spot, just like I had done so often in my youth. I closed my eyes and spun as fast as I could, until every hair on my head stood straight up into the air and twisted together in a ponytail.

“Hey!” A man’s voice shouted at me. “Quit spinnin’. It’s not safe to spin so close to the—”

I turned around to come face to face with a familiar face, Chuck Dixon, father of one of my most well-behaved students and nighttime security guard for the park. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dixon. I’m just strolling on the breeze and lost track of time.”

“Oh. Sorry, Ms. Freeman. I didn’t recognize you in the dark.” He tipped his cap to me. “How is everything tonight?”

He was a handsome man, so I gave him my most flirtatious smile. I always knew how to smile right. “It’s going just fine, and how is our lovely park tonight?”

He nodded. “Lovely as ever, my dear.”

If I didn’t know any better, I would think he was flirting back. The creases on the sides of his mouth turned up on the edges and I was pretty sure he winked when he caught my eyes. Mr. Dixon’s wife passed away some years ago, and, like my poor mother, he had to raise his child all on his own.

The neon sign above Charlotte’s Diner crept into my periphery and I remembered I was late to meet my mother for dinner. “I should be going, Mr. Dixon. Mama will be waiting for me.”

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am, and please, call me Chuck.”

I strolled away from him, letting his eyes linger on me for a long moment as I walked. “I don’t think I’ll be doing that, Mr. Dixon, but thank you for the courtesy.”

I always did know how to play the game.