Rita Williams-Garcia - Gaither Sisters Trilogy Collection: One Crazy Summer, P.S. Be Eleven, Gone Crazy in Alabama

Good thing the plane had seat belts and wed been strapped in tight before takeoff. Without them, that last jolt would have been enough to throw Vonetta into orbit and Fern across the aisle. Still, I anchored myself and my sisters best as I could to brace us for whatever came next. Those clouds werent through with us yet and dealt another Cassius Clayleftandaright jab to the body of our Boeing 727.

Vonetta shrieked, then stuck her thumb in her mouth. Fern bit down on Miss Patty Cakes pink plastic arm. I kept my whimper to myself. It was bad enough my insides squeezed in and stretched out like a monkey grinders accordionno need to let anyone know how frightened I was.

I took a breath so, when my mouth finally opened, Id sound like myself and not like some scared rabbit. Its just the clouds bumping, I told my sisters. Like they bumped over Detroit and Chicago and Denver.

Vonetta pulled her thumb out of her mouth and put her head in her lap. Fern held on to Miss Patty Cake. They listened to me.

We push our way up in the clouds; the clouds get mad and push back. Like you and Fern fighting over red and gold crayons. I didnt know about clouds fighting and pushing for a fact, but I had to tell my sisters something. As long as Vonetta kept her fear to one shriek and Fern kept hers to biting Miss Patty Cake, I kept on spinning straw, making everything all right. Thats mainly what I do. Keep Vonetta and Fern in line. The last thing Pa and Big Ma wanted to hear was how we made a grand Negro spectacle of ourselves thirty thousand feet up in the air around all these white people.

You know how Papa is, I told them. No way hed put us on a plane if it were dangerous.

They halfway believed me. Just as I had that soft plastic arm out of Ferns mouth, those Cassius Clayfighting clouds threw our 727 another jab.

Big Mathats Pas motherstill says Cassius Clay. Pa says Muhammad Ali or just Ali. I slide back and forth from Cassius Clay to Muhammad Ali. Whatever picture comes to mind. With Cassius Clay you hear the clash of fists, like the plane getting jabbed and punched. With Muhammad Ali you see a mighty mountain, greater than Everest, and cant no one knock down a mountain.

All the way to the airport, Pa had tried to act like he was dropping off three sacks of wash at the Laundromat. Id seen through Pa. Hes no Vonetta, putting on performances. He has only one or two faces, nothing hidden, nothing exaggerated. Even though it had been his idea that we fly out to Oakland to see Cecile, Pad never once said how exciting our trip would be. He just said that seeing Cecile was something whose time had come. That it had to be done. Just because he decided it was time for us to see her didnt mean he wanted us to go.

My sisters and I had stayed up practically all night California dreaming about what seemed like the other side of the world. We saw ourselves riding wild waves on surfboards, picking oranges and apples off fruit trees, filling our autograph books with signatures from movie stars wed see in soda shops. Even better, we saw ourselves going to Disneyland.

We had watched airplanes lift up and fly off into blue sky as we neared the airport. Every time another airliner flew overhead, leaving a trail of white and gray smoke, Big Ma fanned herself and asked, Jesus, why?

Big Ma had kept quiet long enough. Once inside the terminal, she let it all hang out. She told Pa, I dont mind saying it, but this isnt right. Coming out to Idlewild and putting these girls on a plane so Cecile can see what she left behind. If she wants to see, let her get on an airplane and fly out to New York.

Big Ma doesnt care if President Kennedys face is on the half-dollar or if the airport is now officially named after him. She calls the airport by its old name, Idlewild. Dont get me wrong. Big Ma was as mad and sad as anyone when they killed the president. Its change she has no pity on. However things are stamped in Big Mas mind is how they will be, now and forever. Idlewild will never be JFK. Cassius Clay will never be Muhammad Ali. Cecile will never be anything other than Cecile.

I cant say I blamed Big Ma for feeling the way she did. I certainly didnt forgive Cecile.

When Cecile left, Fern wasnt on the bottle. Vonetta could walk but wanted to be picked up. I was four going on five. Pa wasnt sick, but he wasnt doing well, either. That was when Big Ma came up from Alabama to see about us.

Even though Big Ma read her Scripture daily, she hadnt considered forgiveness where Cecile was concerned. Cecile wasnt what the Bible meant when it spoke of love and forgiveness. Only judgment, and believe me, Big Ma had plenty of judgment for Cecile. So even if Cecile showed up on Papas welcome mat, Big Ma wouldnt swing the front door open.

That was why Pa had put us on a plane to Oakland. Either Cecile wouldnt come back to Brooklyn or she wasnt welcome. Honestly, I dont think Pa could choose between Big Ma and Cecile even after Cecile left him. And us. Even after Cecile proved Big Ma right.

How can you send them to Oakland? Oaklands nothing but a boiling pot of trouble cooking. All them riots.

Pa has a respectful way of ignoring Big Ma. I wanted to smile. Hes good at it.

A shrill voice had announced the departing flight to Oakland. All three of us had butterflies. Our first airplane ride. Way up above Brooklyn. Above New York. Above the world! Although I could at least keep still, Vonetta and Fern stamped their feet like holy rollers at a revival meeting.

Big Ma had grabbed them by the first scruff of fabric she could get ahold of, bent down, and told them to act right. There werent too many of us in the waiting area, and too many of them were staring.

Id taken a quick count out of habit. Vonetta, Fern, and I were the only Negro children. There were two soldier boys in green uniforms who didnt look any older than Uncle Darnellhigh school cap and gown one day, army boots and basic training four days later. Two teenage girls with Afros. Maybe they were college students. And one lady dressed like Jackie Kennedy, carrying a small oval suitcase.

Big Ma had also scouted around the waiting room. I knew she worried that wed be mistreated in some way and sought out a grown, brown face to look out for us. Big Ma turned her nose up at the college girls with Afros in favor of the Negro lady in the square sunglasses and snappy suit toting the equally snappy oval bag. Big Ma made eye contact with her. When we lined up, shed told the Negro Jackie Kennedy, These my grandbabies. You look out for them, yhear. The snappy Negro lady had been nice enough to smile but hadnt returned the look that Big Ma expectedand Big Ma had expected the look Negro people silently pass each other. Shed expected this stranger to say, as if she were a neighbor, Theyre as good as my own. Ill make sure they dont misbehave or be an embarrassment to the Negro race. A blank movie-star smile had been all she passed to Big Ma. That lady had only been looking out for her plane seat.

Papa had already given me a paper with the phone number to our house, which I knew by heart, and the phone number to his job. He had already told me that his job number was for emergencies only and not for how you doing chats. Last night he had also given me an envelope with two hundred dollars in ten-and twenty-dollar bills to put in my suitcase. Instead, Id folded the bills and stuffed them in my tennis shoe before we left Herkimer Street. Walking on that mound of money felt weird at first, but at least I knew the money was safe.