This Is My America(70)

“You’re such a pain in the ass.” Quincy laughs.

I chuckle. Then Mama catches my eye—she’s waving me to my seat.

“Come with me if I hear from Mandy?”

“Bet.” Quincy walks to the side of the room, closer to Beverly.

More people continue to filter in, so extra seats are pulled out from the storage closet. Officer Clyde and Beverly stand next to each other, surveying the room. They position themselves on opposite sides when the doors close, and Dr. Scott goes on the stage. I take my seat with Mama.

“Welcome,” Dr. Scott says. “There’s room, keep coming. Raise your hand if you have a seat next to you. Before we begin, let’s hear from Pastor Jenkins from the First Ebenezer Baptist Church.”

“Thank you, Dr. Scott. We here today because our brothers and sisters need us, Lord.” Pastor Jenkins prays over my family.

My eyes flutter, tempted between listening to opening prayer and keeping watch.

Pastor Jenkins finishes, and Beverly takes the mic at the front of the room. She’s greeted warmly because she was raised in Ebenezer Church.



Beverly shares the state of things, what happened last night and that although it probably won’t happen again, we should be keeping an eye out. Lots of heads nod while she talks, until she mentions that the Galveston County police force is asking residents to be careful as they conduct their investigation. She opens up the floor.

An older Black man with a Kangol cap stands up. “We can’t live like this.”

A man speaks from the other side of the room. “First it’s a cross, then what?”

“Yes!” More shouts from the crowd.

“Why aren’t there arrests already?”

“We’ve begun an investigation.” Officer Clyde steps in, standing next to Beverly. The crowd grows uneasy. Energy shifting.

“An investigation?” the man who spoke first repeats. “Then what are you going to do when you don’t find anyone? They said they’d burn a body.”

“We believe it’s an empty threat,” Officer Clyde says.

The crowd erupts. Angry. It’s chaotic. Parents hug their children close, some pacing in the back. I’m glad I’m not the only one upset by his words. Too often I’ve felt like we’ve just been fighting this battle ourselves.

“Is this a threat to all of us or someone looking for the boy?” An older woman in the middle of the room raises her arm while she speaks.



That stings. I knew there’d be some blame on our family, but I wasn’t ready for this today. This just adds more reasons Jamal should stay in hiding.

Beverly taps Officer Clyde on the shoulder, relieving him at the mic.

“I know you all are scared,” Beverly says. “I was, too. That’s why I’m here today. Me and Officer Clyde. We don’t want anyone scared, but we need your help to be vigilant. Contact the police if you see something suspicious.”

“Call the police?” Murmurs rise, hesitant voices repeating the same sentiment.

“Call. Me,” Beverly says. “Cross burning has no place here. It’s possible someone’s angry over the death of Angela Herron, placing the blame on the Beaumonts. Regardless, we can’t take chances it won’t happen again.”

“Or something worse,” Quincy calls out.

“Or something worse,” Beverly says.

Officer Clyde looks like he wants to address the room, but Beverly has it more in control than he could, so he must know it’s better to stay in the background.

Beverly fields more questions. Community members sharing their stories, speculations. Some angry. Some see it as an isolated incident. Translation: It’s Daddy’s fault. Jamal’s fault.

It burns inside to hear a crowd filled with confusion and putting the blame on my family.

Beverly points to me; it’s time to address the crowd. I have my comments folded in my hand, but I don’t open them when I get to the microphone. I speak from the heart.



“I know you’re all scared. I’m real scared, too. My mama—” I point to Mama. She’s gripping her purse tight. “My mama’s scared. Even though she don’t let y’all know. But someone’s out there who might know more about what’s going on with my brother, Jamal, and my daddy, James Beaumont. Some of you even testified as an alibi for him, so you know my daddy wasn’t where they say he was.”

There’s a hush in the room. Each person hanging on to my words. My breath is labored, emotional, but I’m trying to hold it in because Daddy’s bigger than life to me. Bigger than anything in our house, our family. He takes up so much space, and he’s not even here. The way they watch, I know it’s because they feel bad for me. For Mama. But the room is filled with those who also don’t know how to feel about my daddy.

There are moments when my thoughts are a betrayal to him. Uncertainty wrapping itself around me, poisoning my mind. But out here, visible to the world, there are no doubts about my daddy’s innocence.

“Last night that cross burning wasn’t just a message to my family. A statement was being made to our community. People outing themselves to let us all know what place we supposed to take. There’s a hate group growing in our community. Recruiting people. We can’t let our town, our home, be threatened by violence. By hatred. My father went to prison, not because of guilt, but because it was easy to think an outsider like a Black man killed the Davidsons. Now that generational curse is passing down to my brother. The son…of a ‘killer’ must be a killer.”