The Weight of Blood (43)

Wendy crossed her arms and straightened her neck. “If that’s what you want, then fine.”

Jules chuckled and clapped. “Ha! Nice. Way to stand by your man. You know you’re going to be real sorry you picked him over me.”

Wendy spun around, speed walking to Kenny’s truck, desperately trying to hold in an earth-shattering sob.

From the May 2014 New York Times article “A Siren with a Double Meaning”

For more than forty years, the Springville Power Plant siren sounded twice daily: once, at four p.m. for their routine testing, then again at six forty-five p.m., letting non-white residents know it was time to return home. Herman Merriweather Sr., a mechanic, had lived in Springville his entire life before his children moved him to Greenville.

“Springville wasn’t a bad place. We all got along fine enough. But once that bell rang, Black folk knew that they better get theyselves back over them train tracks by dusk if they wanted to see another day.”

Mr. Merriweather grew up on the East Side, a descendant from a long line of sharecroppers and railroad workers. He remembers vividly when Springville High School (which has been in the media frequently due to recent incidents causing growing racial tension in the small town) first integrated.

“I was seventeen at the time, and if I’m honest, we were all fine keeping things the way they were. Because we knew, just knew, that if them white folk had to do something they didn’t want to do, they’d make all our lives a living hell.”

The siren ordinance made it impossible for him to play sports or participate in certain after-school activities. Mr. Merriweather remembers running from a car of white kids close to sundown.

“They chased me all the way back to the East Side, then was sitting next to me in English the very next day like nothing happened.”

Springville’s history and politics are a closely guarded secret, with most records sealed, unavailable, or lost in an alleged basement flood. When asked about the siren ordinance, officials placed responsibility on the power plant.

“That’s just an old rumor,” Mayor Helen Arnold said. “The power plant tests the system daily to keep us safe. Nothing more.”

Despite numerous emails, the power plant could not be reached to confirm its testing protocols, but Merriweather remembers an alarm prior to the plant being built.

“Before that power plant went up, it was a train bell letting us know it was time to head on home.”

According to reports, in the fall of 2000, the town turned off the second alarm. But the alarm returned after the town voted to restore it for “nostalgia’s sake.”

“Same people on that town council were on the school board and had kids in the school too. If they wanted their kid to star in the school play, she gonna star in it. Wanted they son to be the valedictorian, that’s what he’ll be. You make a fuss, you might find yourself out of a job or worse.”

Although no one follows the sundown rules anymore, the alarm still blares like a readying threat.





Eleven


May 26, 2014

THE LAST BELL rang, and for a change, Maddy wasn’t running out the door. She didn’t want to go home just yet. She wanted to watch more YouTube videos in the library. Once she found one, she’d fallen down a rabbit hole. She reviewed dozens of speeches and mini-documentaries on the civil rights era. The images of riots imprinted on her brain replayed over and over each time she blinked. But like a drug, she couldn’t stop herself from watching, and when she felt herself sinking, she’d think of Kenny . . . and his proposal.

The muscles in her face twitched. She was really going to prom. Every time she remembered, her chest tingled, lips curling into a sugary smile. She hadn’t decided to go to prom because of Kenny or for all the reasons Mrs. Morgan spoke about. She had chosen for herself, for the possibility of having just one day as a normal girl. The gift, her powers—it had to be a sign from God to start truly living in the light. No more hiding. Nothing could make up for the years she’d lost, spent pretending to be something she wasn’t. But one normal day could be a new beginning.

If she could only find a way to ask Papa.

“Hey, Maddy.”

Maddy yelped, spinning in her chair. “Kendrick?”

Kenny stood behind her. His smile gleamed in the afternoon sun. “Did I scare you again?”

She quickly closed her browser and stood up. “Um, no,” she squeaked, her head lowering as her stomach sank. He’s changed his mind, she thought. She knew it was too good to be true. How stupid to have let her heart swell even a centimeter with hope.

“You busy? Feel like grabbing a milkshake?”

She blinked up at him. “W-w-what?”

“Milkshake? You want one? It’s a nice day out. And, figured, since we’re going to prom, we should at least get to know each other a little.”

Maddy took a cautious step backward, glancing around. Was this all some joke? Another trick? “Um, I don’t know if I . . . well . . . I think I shouldn’t . . . I—I . . . can’t.” She couldn’t drive alone in a car with a boy. Papa would murder him and her.

Kenny nodded, but his expression remained. “I’ll have you home in an hour. You can ghost for an hour, can’t you?”

No, she wanted to cry out. But then again . . . so much was different now. The power made her different, stronger, braver.