A Short Story, Donna May Walker

Another Monday another post!  Today, however, is not just another post but another short story.  I haven't posted a short story in a while and I wrote this one earlier this summer.  I have been hesitant to post a historical fiction short story because I am nervous it won't be completely accurate.  I have decided to go for it, please enjoy the following story set in 1962.  

 Young Miss Donna Walker walked through the neighborhood, tears streaming down her face, as she played her parent's words over and over in her head from earlier that day.  

‘That's not how we do things here, Donna.’ her mother had said.  ‘It’s 1962 remember, you have to learn to be like other kids.  Just talk to your other friends, sweetie.  Don’t forget that the ones who don’t look like you don’t belong.’  

Tears streamed down her face.  They wouldn’t stop.  Donna's black hair ended at her shoulders and was still messy since her mother had talked to her in the early afternoon.  Her mother had learned about Donna's best friend, Cleotha.  Cleo - who was black.

Donna lived, as her parents said, in a respectable all white neighborhood.  However, to her parent’s dismay, their neighborhood bordered a neighborhood with mostly African Americans.  Growing up, her mother never knew she hung out in the other neighborhood, but over there they knew her and treated her like family.  Now, she was seventeen. 

At first, when she wandered away from the tall white houses, they looked at her and were disgusted.  They said she didn’t belong, and they knew it, but Miss Donna Walker, as a curious five year old, didn’t know anything of the sort.  So on that day twelve years ago, she arrived at a small run down park, clutching a picture book.  A couple of tall, dark skinned, teenagers were playing basketball.  ‘Where am I?’ she thought. ‘I have never seen so many people like this before.’  

Young Donna arrived at some play equipment and came upon a small bench and an equally small girl who was reading a book. 

The girl sat with her hair tied in tight pigtails at the nape of her neck.  She had a round, delightful face and her kinky dark hair bounced on her shoulders.  Next, little Donna, without speaking, sat next to - Donna did not know her name yet - the little girl.  The girl stopped reading and looking up, her eyes told the story ‘why are you here,’ they said.  ‘I have been taught, and I know that people like you aren't supposed to like us,’ she thought, but all she did was gaze at the side of the strange pale, almost translucent colored girl's face.  Donna opened the book she had been gripping in her hands all the way from home and began to gaze at the beautifully crafted pictures and designs. She could not read yet, but the strange girl, soon to be known as Cleotha or Cleo, could. 

“What’s your name?” the stranger on the bench asked.

“Donna, Donna May Walker.” She looked up from a drawing of a blue nursery to the bouncy pigtailed girl.  “What's yours?”

“Cleo, I mean Cleotha Hill.” She shook her head at her mistake. “It's just, everyone calls me Cleo.” 

Once she finished speaking,  she didn’t continue reading.  She stared at Donna.  

“Why are you here, uh, Donna.  I’ve never seen you before.”

“I don’t know, I just walked, I guess. Do you wanna be friends?”  Cleo shrugged.

“Sure, you can call me Cleo.” 

Oh, it’s a curious and interesting thing how some friendships are born.  But of course, Donna didn’t think so.  Some would describe her as naive, innocent, and very trusting.  She didn’t think bad of anyone unless they proved to her that she should.  Donna never seemed to notice the little things, the side glances, the disturbed looks, and the uncertain and questioning tone of voice.  She thought that unless someone hurt her she might as well just smile and look down at the little drawings and spirals on the page that filled her favorite picture book that had grown so dear to her.  

After playing with Cleo a little on some rusty, used, and long-loved play equipment, Donna went home.  She was starting to get thirsty.  She stopped in her own neighborhood park and walked by the small area.  Someone was trimming a bush, someone else was mowing their lawn.  Looking back on her life, Donna thinks it’s strange that no one questioned her, a young girl, wandering a neighborhood and gripping a slowly tearing picture book.  There are lots of things that Donna now thinks are odd from those times.  She knew her parents were busy; they worked weekends and they didn’t mind her or her siblings much.  Still, she thought, her parent’s unintentional neglect was just how it was.  

Donna quickened her pace and skipped across the street to Cleo’s house.  The tall house was lined with a short chain-link fence.   Two of Cleo's siblings were in the yard, her youngest brother who was just a toddler was sitting near the fence gnawing on a piece of apple.  He looked at her with wide eyes and a wide mouth as she came nearer.  Donna wiped a tear from her cheek and lowered herself to the boy's level, she poked her finger through the fence to stroke his soft cheek.  

“Hey Jackie,” she muttered.  He smiled and giggled up at her showing his gums and little teeth.  Donna stood up, opened the gate, and walked into the weedy yard.  She noticed Denzel, or Denny as they called him, watching Jackson play in the grass, he was sitting comfortably on the little steps up to the house and he sprung up when she stepped in the yard. 

“Hey, Donnie, I saw you on the way over, are you okay?” He gave her a reassuring smile. 

“No, Denny, I am not okay.  But I need to see Cleotha. Okay?” He rapidly looked over her tear-stained face, his eyes grew big, he looked worried.  No one ever called her Cleotha unless something was very wrong.  

“Okay, she’s inside.” He stepped aside so she could walk inside but he grabbed the side of her arm before she went too far.  

“But whatever it is we’re all here and we’ll always be here for you, all seven of us. All of us, even Jackie even though he's only two.”  Donna smiled but knew she was going to start crying again if he went on.  

“Hey!” Denny noticed that Jackie had crawled just outside of the open gate.  Denny ran out and grabbed the smiling baby as Donna knocked on the door.  

Another tall boy, who looked as if he was almost an adult, opened the door.  He looked as if he was almost an adult and he was eating a cold piece of pizza. 

“Hey guys it’s Don!” he called into the house.  A sound of approval echoed from the rooms inside.  Donna had many different nicknames from members in the Hill family but each of them made her smile.  

“And we have leftover pizza!” Just then he noticed her tear-stained face and that it looked as if she was going to start crying any second now. 

“Hey, come in, what's the matter?” he set his piece on a little table that held a plant and some keys. This was Zaid, Cleo’s older brother.  Cleo had four brothers, two older (Zaid and Tevin were twins) and two younger.  Donna stepped inside.  

“I have to talk to Cleotha,” and Zaid looked worried in the same way as Denny.  

“Yeah, she’s upstairs.  But don’t forget,” grabbing his food off of the little table, “we have pizza.” He reminded her as he showed his pearly whites in the same way Jackie had.  

“Thanks.” She gave him a weak smile and pounded up the stairs that lay just to the left of the entrance.  

Donna pushed open Cleo’s door - her door never seemed to stay shut - and flung herself onto Cleo's little bed.  

“Hey,” Cleo said, a smile spreading across her face as Donna buried her head in Cleo’s pillow.  Cleo was sitting on the floor next to her bed, she was surrounded by an array of papers and books, and a little plate filled with a pizza crust and a couple of pieces of tomato sauce covered mushrooms.  A muffled noise came from the direction of Donna laying on the bed.

“What is it?” Cleo sat up on her knees and leaned her elbows against the bed.  Donna turned her head to the side, away from Cleo, and toward the wall.

“I hate my mother.” She forced the words out and enunciated in spite of her squished face.  

“I hate my mother, I hate my father, I hate my family, and I never want to go home again.” Her hatred grew, rose from deep inside of her, and bubbled up in her throat.  

For the next five minutes, Donna told Cleo all that her mother had said about her friends, and Cleo listened as her best friend's mother insulted her, her family, and all the people she knew and loved.  Once Donna had finished, she sat in a pile of tears in the middle of Cleo’s bed.  Cleo wasn’t crying but her face had changed, she was not smiling now.  

“Donna, you never told your mother we were friends? We have been best friends for twelve years.” 

“Yes, yes I told her, but she never really paid attention.  She just now figured out you were…  black.” Cleo sat back on her heels. 

“I think I should talk to my mom.” 

“Okay,” Donna nodded, “Gosh,” she said as she exhaled. “I think your mom loves me more than my own mother.” Donna shook her head and clasped her hands together.  

Cleo ran out and told her parents everything and Donna's mind began to swirl and flip itself in multiple somersaults.  ‘I don’t have to stay with my parents, she thought, ‘I am about to graduate anyway, I might as well get an apartment now.’   In a way, Donna’s eyes had been opened. She now realized how strange her childhood had been and how much her parents didn’t do.  Why then, she thought, did her parents only care about this?  Why did they only care about the race of her best friend and her family and why did they think the rundown nature of the Hill’s neighborhood is due to the race of the people living there?     

Donna had somewhat composed herself when Cleo returned.  But she left again, as soon as she came back, right after quickly saying, “Donna, come downstairs and get some food.” 

In a moment Donna was sitting in the Hill’s kitchen and eating some cold pizza.  She sat around a round table with Cleo and her four siblings.  They didn’t talk much, Cleo’s brothers didn’t know anything about what had happened that day, and they didn’t ask.  They knew that if it was important then they would know.  They chatted quietly away about people in the neighborhood, games, school, and summer.  

Donna stayed at the Hill's house all day.  She read, she wrote, she sketched.  Mostly, she played with Jackie and Denny.  

At the end of the day, Donna sat on the backyard porch in a small woven basket chair and watched the sunset.  Cleotha, Zaid, and both of their parents came out in a moment and they began to discuss what would happen next. 

“We know you’ll have to go home, Donna.” Cleotha’s mother said sadly. Donna nodded, of course she knew, she just didn’t want to.  

“Yeah, I know,” she mumbled.  

“But you are getting older, Don,” Zaid said suddenly and very loudly as he stood up and started pacing around the porch.  

“Zaid, sit down,” Zaid’s mother pulled on his arm to get him to calm down. “Yes, but don’t forget Donna, you can always come here.  We’ll always be here.”  She said as she laid her hands on top of Donna’s.  “You can come here every day, you are always welcome for meals.  Don’t forget.”

They talked for a moment longer, and then they sat together and watched the sunset.  

Donna stayed at the Hill’s house until 11:00 pm and then she slowly walked back to her house under the sky, clustered with blinking stars.  She sat on her little porch and watched the sky.  She watched the stars twinkle through the trees and she began to cry.  Not a loud and wretched cry like earlier that day, but a silent, thankful cry.  She had people, people who would always be there for her whether or not they raised her, they were there, just two minutes away.  She remembered their exact words: We’ll always be here, don’t forget.

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Thank you for reading.