the truth: He’d lived here as a research experiment and now he couldn’t take it anymore. I smiled and turned to face front, now so aware of myself in his sight line, I couldn’t listen to anything until Linda Sue, sitting next to me, raised her hand. “I have a question.”
“Yes?”
“You say we should call in if we see a suspicious person driving down our block, but how are we defining suspicious person ?”
“That depends. Someone you don’t know driving slowly. Someone who’s dressed badly, or driving an unmarked car. People talk about white vans and there’s truth to that rumor. Some criminals do drive unmarked white vans.”
“I don’t think that’s what you really mean, though, is it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I think you mean we should call the police if we see a black or Hispanic man driving down the street.”
A silence settled over the room.
“Oh, Linda Sue.” Marianne stood up. “Let’s not get into all that right now.” I could hear Marianne’s impatience, as if she hadn’t even wanted to invite Linda Sue, which was possible. When I’d run into Linda Sue that morning and asked if she was going, she said she hadn’t heard anything about it.
“All what, Marianne?” she asked, her voice full of innocence. Marianne crossed her arms over her chest. “All this defensiveness and posturing. I’m sorry, but I’d rather make a mistake and regret it later than get raped at knifepoint.”
Oh, dear, I thought, wishing I were closer to Geoffrey so I could whisper, I’m sure Marianne doesn’t mean to sound so ugly.
“This is exactly our point,” the policewoman said, looking down at Linda Sue. “We believe it’s better to make a mistake than to be sorry later.”
“And what do you tell the law-abiding Puerto Rican family who gets dragged into a police station because they made the mistake of driving on our block?”
Though I thought Linda Sue was brave to hold her ground, I was sorry she’d sat down next to me, afraid that some of the older people might think I was the one making these comments. Anyone could tell this wasn’t the place to say all this. Kim, from Korea was in the room, as was Eleanor, who worked with troubled black teenagers. These were complicated issues, not quite the same as taking a novelty approach to lawn-care chores. If Eleanor wasn’t bringing this up, why was Linda Sue?
The policewoman continued, “If the family checked out, we’d thank them for their time and tell them they’re free to go now.”
Oh, no, I thought. Please. Just say you’d apologize .
“You wouldn’t worry about them suing you for traumatizing their kids?”
Marianne’s face reddened. “If you have problems with this group, Linda Sue, why don’t we talk about it afterward?”
“No, I like the group. It’s fine.” She looked around as if surprised that anyone might have taken her comments the wrong way.
“Good,” Marianne continued, her voice tight with the effort to control it. “Then our time is up. We’ll meet again in two weeks to nominate officers. Maybe we can take up Linda Sue’s questions then.”
Linda Sue stood up and lit a cigarette. “Fat chance,” she said, exhaling. I wondered if she’d seen Marianne’s needlepoint sampler that said, NO SMOKING, LUNGS AT WORK. “Maybe we should go to the porch,” I whispered.
Outside, Linda Sue shook out another cigarette. “Want one?”
The last time I smoked was early in college, hardly a time I remember with great nostalgia, but something compelled me to reach over and take a cigarette. Inhaling gave me a head rush. I felt dizzy and nauseated and drunk all at once. I leaned against the porch railing to steady myself. “Why do you say things like that? Get everyone riled up?”
Lind Sue smiled and caught my eye. I saw it then: She knew exactly the effect her words had and it was all an act—the cereal, the clothes, the way she pretended to care about nothing. “When you’re not married, you can
“Yes?”
“You say we should call in if we see a suspicious person driving down our block, but how are we defining suspicious person ?”
“That depends. Someone you don’t know driving slowly. Someone who’s dressed badly, or driving an unmarked car. People talk about white vans and there’s truth to that rumor. Some criminals do drive unmarked white vans.”
“I don’t think that’s what you really mean, though, is it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I think you mean we should call the police if we see a black or Hispanic man driving down the street.”
A silence settled over the room.
“Oh, Linda Sue.” Marianne stood up. “Let’s not get into all that right now.” I could hear Marianne’s impatience, as if she hadn’t even wanted to invite Linda Sue, which was possible. When I’d run into Linda Sue that morning and asked if she was going, she said she hadn’t heard anything about it.
“All what, Marianne?” she asked, her voice full of innocence. Marianne crossed her arms over her chest. “All this defensiveness and posturing. I’m sorry, but I’d rather make a mistake and regret it later than get raped at knifepoint.”
Oh, dear, I thought, wishing I were closer to Geoffrey so I could whisper, I’m sure Marianne doesn’t mean to sound so ugly.
“This is exactly our point,” the policewoman said, looking down at Linda Sue. “We believe it’s better to make a mistake than to be sorry later.”
“And what do you tell the law-abiding Puerto Rican family who gets dragged into a police station because they made the mistake of driving on our block?”
Though I thought Linda Sue was brave to hold her ground, I was sorry she’d sat down next to me, afraid that some of the older people might think I was the one making these comments. Anyone could tell this wasn’t the place to say all this. Kim, from Korea was in the room, as was Eleanor, who worked with troubled black teenagers. These were complicated issues, not quite the same as taking a novelty approach to lawn-care chores. If Eleanor wasn’t bringing this up, why was Linda Sue?
The policewoman continued, “If the family checked out, we’d thank them for their time and tell them they’re free to go now.”
Oh, no, I thought. Please. Just say you’d apologize .
“You wouldn’t worry about them suing you for traumatizing their kids?”
Marianne’s face reddened. “If you have problems with this group, Linda Sue, why don’t we talk about it afterward?”
“No, I like the group. It’s fine.” She looked around as if surprised that anyone might have taken her comments the wrong way.
“Good,” Marianne continued, her voice tight with the effort to control it. “Then our time is up. We’ll meet again in two weeks to nominate officers. Maybe we can take up Linda Sue’s questions then.”
Linda Sue stood up and lit a cigarette. “Fat chance,” she said, exhaling. I wondered if she’d seen Marianne’s needlepoint sampler that said, NO SMOKING, LUNGS AT WORK. “Maybe we should go to the porch,” I whispered.
Outside, Linda Sue shook out another cigarette. “Want one?”
The last time I smoked was early in college, hardly a time I remember with great nostalgia, but something compelled me to reach over and take a cigarette. Inhaling gave me a head rush. I felt dizzy and nauseated and drunk all at once. I leaned against the porch railing to steady myself. “Why do you say things like that? Get everyone riled up?”
Lind Sue smiled and caught my eye. I saw it then: She knew exactly the effect her words had and it was all an act—the cereal, the clothes, the way she pretended to care about nothing. “When you’re not married, you can
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