Death Coming Up the Hill by Chris Crowe Read Free Book Online

first time I saw
    her, she was still so wrinkled
    and baby-new, and
    Â 
    I was so rattled
    with relief that she and Mom
    had survived birth that
    Â 
    I didn’t even
    think about her shiny black
    hair and beautiful
    Â 
    brown skin. I didn’t
    even think about what Dad
    would say or do. I
    Â 
    didn’t even think
    about the gossip that would
    spread about my mom.
    Â 
    Seeing my baby
    sister, my only thoughts were
    about how much I
    Â 
    loved her, how I would
    always love her, and nothing
    anybody said
    Â 
    or did, even Dad,
    could change how I felt about
    my precious sister.

October 1968
    Week Forty-One: 167
    Â 
    The very real weight
    of responsibility
    pressed on me from all
    Â 
    sides after Rosa’s
    birth. I wanted to fight for
    her and Mom, but I
    Â 
    knew the minefield of
    divorce would be treacherous,
    unpredictable,
    Â 
    and terrifying.
    My parents’ war paralleled
    the violence in
    Â 
    Vietnam, and I
    dreaded, truly dreaded that
    I might be called on
    Â 
    to fight in both wars
    at once. I laugh now when I
    remember how I
    Â 
    once believed that a
    sweet, innocent baby like
    Rosa might mend our
    Â 
    fractured family,
    but when Dad finally heard
    about her, he swore
    Â 
    he’d ruin Mom and
    make sure her black bastard would
    rot in foster care.
    Â 
    He must not have known
    that when he attacked Mom, I’d
    stand in the crossfire.

October 1968
    Week Forty-Two: 100
    Â 
    Thursday, Angela
    came over and we watched the
    Olympic highlights
    Â 
    while we baby-sat
    Rosa for Mom. Sometimes I
    think Angela loves
    Â 
    Rosa almost as
    much as I do. She calls her
    â€œlittle soul sister,”
    Â 
    and she always wants
    to hold her. Baby Rosa
    took to her right off,
    Â 
    and I must admit
    that it used to make me feel
    kind of jealous to
    Â 
    see Rosa cuddle
    up to a stranger more than
    she did to me. But
    Â 
    Angela’s glow burned
    off that jealousy pretty
    fast, and it wasn’t
    Â 
    long before I loved
    how happy my soul sisters
    looked with each other.
    â˜…  ★  ★
    It surprised no one
    that American sprinters
    Tommie Smith and John
    Â 
    Carlos finished first
    and third in the two-hundred
    meter; what shocked and
    Â 
    infuriated
    people was what they did at
    the nationally
    Â 
    televised medal
    ceremony. While the “Star
    Spangled Banner” played,
    Â 
    both men lowered their
    heads and raised black-gloved fists in
    a bold Black Power
    Â 
    salute. People booed
    and hissed, but the two men took
    the abuse in proud,
    Â 
    stony silence. Next
    to me, Angela whispered,
    â€œRight on. You look at
    Â 
    that, little girl. Just
    look at what those two brothers
    are doing for you.”

October 1968
    Week Forty-Three: 109
    Â 
    The casualties
    over in Vietnam slowed;
    the carnage at home
    Â 
    increased. Dad filed for
    divorce and hired a big-shot
    attorney to sue
    Â 
    for custody. Not
    Rosa’s, of course. Mine. He claimed
    that Mom was unfit
    Â 
    to be my mother,
    and he wanted to force me
    to live with him and
    Â 
    to leave Rosa and
    Mom all alone to fend for
    themselves. Mom tried to
    Â 
    hide it from me, but
    when I came home from school, she
    was sitting in the
    Â 
    living room, Rosa
    on her lap, and an opened
    letter at her feet.
    Â 
    She’d been crying, but
    she sat, still as death, staring
    at the letter. “It’s
    Â 
    getting nasty, Ashe,
    nastier than I thought it
    would ever get.” Then
    Â 
    her voice caught, and the
    tears started again. Rosa
    sensed her mom’s heartbreak
    Â 
    and started wailing.
    I picked up my sister, cooed
    and rocked her, and tried
    Â 
    to convince Mom that
    everything would be all right.
    How, I didn’t know.

November 1968
    Week Forty-Four: 150
    Â 
    Dinner with Dad at
    Coco’s: cheeseburger, fries, a
    chocolate shake, and
    Â 
    a huge serving of
    quiet. He stared at his plate,
    then at me; then he
    Â 
    sighed. Red rimmed