Warriors Don't Cry by Melba Pattillo Beals

you’all made over there, three white men scooted out of your yard as fast as flying bullets. Mr. Conyers says they were all he could see, but just the same he’s got his double-barreled business partner loaded and he’s a-fixing to give you’all some backup. A couple of the other neighbors are gonna prowl around to see what they can find.”
    But, she added, her husband advised us not to call the police. “White cops ain’t no help in these kinda situations. Besides, then they’ll know exactly where you live and hang your butts for sure.”
    As I lay in bed that night, I felt so frightened, I couldn’t cry. Instead I lay silent for hours listening to noises outside, wondering if the men had really gone away and when they would come back.

7
     
“YOU’RE one of those people integrating Central High,” the man with the scruffy beard said. Bang, bang, bang, his gun went off. I clutched my chest. I’m dead. I sat straight up in bed, soaked with perspiration. There it was, the bang, bang again. Was someone shooting through our window? I jumped out of bed and ran down the hall. Great! I’m running! Maybe I’m not dead. I wanted someone to tell me I wasn’t dead.
     
    “Grandma, Grandma India!” I called to her as I darted in and out of every room in the house.
    “I’m here, in the living room,” she answered. “What’s the matter?” I came to a screeching halt and tried to catch my breath. There she was, perched on top of a chair, stretching her arms high above the television set, nailing a picture to the wall.
    “Won’t do to have bullet holes in the wall,” she said. “Somebody will stop by and want us to explain it. We can’t make a big deal of what happened last night, you know.”
    I gripped the back of the chair she stood on to steady it.
    “There, you see. I always liked the sheep in that picture. Their faces are smiling out at us from a heavenly pasture.”
    I held her hand as she climbed down from the chair.
    “Kind of hard on a girl, getting shot at that way, huh,” she said as she touched my cheek with her forefinger and winked at me. “But you don’t seem none the worse for it. You look like you’re full of zest and vinegar this morning.”
    “I’m frightened,” I whispered. I reached out to hug her, seeking the safety of her arms. She was wearing a freshly starched dress and apron, and smelled of vanilla extract. “A little vanilla behind the ear always helps a woman’s femininity,” she often said. I loved her so much. Just for an instant, I thought how awful it would have been if the gunmen had hit her.
    “So, missy, you slept right through your mama and brother leaving for school.” She carried the chair back to the dining room, placing it just so. Then she paused and turned to look back at me. “Well, get dressed. I’ll make you some hot oatmeal with raisins. After I go to the store for putty, we’ll sit and talk a spell until Mr. Claxton gets here to fix the window.”
    “May I go with you to the store?”
    “Absolutely positively not,” she said. “You’re not going out of this house today for any reason.”
    As I dressed, I fretted that if Grandma wouldn’t allow me to go anywhere today, she might not let me go with her to the wrestling matches. Surely nothing that awful could ever happen to me! I put it right out of my mind.
    So there we were, Grandma and me, giggling and talking together over the breakfast table, just like always. It felt like a very normal morning. For a short while I forgot the shots and integration, but as we started cleaning up the breakfast dishes, I saw her favorite green vase now shattered in a thousand pieces in the trash can. It reminded me of the bullets and what might happen come nightfall.
    Then the wretched phone calls started. Shaking hands and a pounding pulse were my responses to the ring of the phone, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. The shrill sound went on forever; Grandma had decided she wasn’t going to play