The Dirt Eaters Read online

it’s ‘cause you need it jus’ like you need aspirin. Jus’ eat enough to get you through and your husband ain’t gotta know.”

  “Well, I s’ppose you’re right,” Rosalyn said.

  “Sho nuff I am. And if you want to get together some afternoon and have some chalk and coffee… well, you jus’ come on over, Sugar.”

  “Thank you, Gladys. I may just do that.”

  Mornings had become routine. Breakfast, and then after a kiss and a pat on Rosalyn’s belly for the baby, Earl was off to work. Rosalyn watched lovingly from the window as Earl headed to the corner and turned onto 12th street toward the bus stop.

  When the breakfast dishes were washed and dried, and other light housework was underway, Rosalyn’s mind soon drifted to the bathroom. For there, in the back of the bathroom closet, under some towels, was her small stash of store bought kaolin. Rosalyn wanted the chalk, yet felt a sense of betrayal to her husband. The rationale took hold that all she needed was a small piece and she and her baby would be fine.

  In the dim light, Rosalyn took a small piece of chalky white clay from its secret place. Hidden from view, she yielded to her desire. To Rosalyn this crumbly chunk of clay smelled as fresh as the earth after a summer rain. She closed her eyes and placed a piece in her mouth, savoring its creamy texture as it dissolved against her tongue.

  When Earl came home Rosalyn had no problem keeping her secret, because in her mind eating chalk had become as necessary and routine as taking aspirin — like Gladys said, Earl didn’t need to know.

  At suppertime Rosalyn would ask about Earl’s day, and occasionally questioned him about his poor hearing and if it was a problem at the auto plant.

  “They make us all wear ear plugs because of the noise anyway, so I reckon that makes all our hearing about the same,” Earl would reply before shifting the attention to Rosalyn and her day, to which she would simply answer, “Oh, it was the usual.”

  At bedtime they drew the day to a close in each other’s warm embrace and things were as they should be.

  As summer set in, Rosalyn’s belly grew bigger and most afternoons she could be found in the company of her neighbor, Gladys Hodges, sharing a cup of coffee and a few savory chunks of chalk. Occasionally, Gladys’ nurse friend would join them on her days off and regale them with hospital gossip and humorous patient stories.

  Enjoying the camaraderie of fellow southerners — sister dirt eaters — made Rosalyn feel a sense of belonging that she feared she might never have found so far from home. Rosalyn didn’t even mind running into the stone-faced Ester Brown in the hall. She would greet Ester with a neighborly smile of indifference — nothing more, nothing less.

  Daily Rosalyn would thank the Lord that her loving husband was a good provider; thankful for their unborn baby; thankful for her new friends, and even thankful for the chalk that brought them together.

  July 1967 held Detroit in the grip of a heat wave and folks with electric fans were the lucky ones in the neighborhood. Earl had purchased a fan for his beautiful pregnant wife so that she could spend the unbearably hot days in relative comfort while he sweated away down at the plant.

  Sundown transformed the sweltering days into steamy nights, and weekend evenings found hard-working men yearning for distraction.

  “Earl, if you want to go out with your work friends, I’ll be fine here.”

  “Aw, Baby, I don’t need to be going with those guys to no ‘blind pig’ on a Sunday night,” Earl told Rosalyn.

  “Blind pig?”

  “That’s what they call them illegal late night bars up here. There’s one down on 12th street. Besides, I got cold drinks here at home and all the good company I need.” Earl gave his wife a wink and Rosalyn thanked Heaven once more for such a good man, for their good life, and for all that the Lord provided.

  Rosalyn was usually able to stave off her need for chalk through the weekend, but on Monday morning, Rosalyn would hurry to her secret stash as soon as Earl was off to work.

  Perched by the opened window, Rosalyn nibbled her chalk and watched her husband walk to the bus stop. Before Earl turned the corner to head up 12th street, Rosalyn could see a crowd of people gathered in front of where she remembered the late night bar to be. She watched Earl draw closer to the throng. Rosalyn rose to her feet as she saw an army of white police officers trying to control the all colored crowd. Soon a bottle crashed on the sidewalk a few yards in front of Earl. Rosalyn leaned out of the window, concerned for her husband’s safety, as an officer standing next to Earl was struck on the helmet by another thrown bottle.

  From Rosalyn’s vantage point, Earl seemed trapped as the crowd began to engulf him. She sensed that his deaf ear was keeping him from getting his bearings in all the chaos. Suddenly, Rosalyn felt worlds collide. She saw her husband on a street in his own hometown as an unwilling member in a race riot that looked like a battle from Earl’s stories of Vietnam, all the while the taste of chalk hung in her mouth.

  The officer was struck again and he quickly turned to come face to face with Earl who was nervously searching for an escape route. One sharp blow from the officer’s baton knocked Earl to the ground and Rosalyn cried out. Another blow to Earl’s head and then another, followed by a kick to his mid section caused Rosalyn to hold her belly and scream out in absolute horror. Earl remained motionless.

  Afterward

  To move back to Georgia to be with her family is all that Rosalyn will think of doing after losing the only man she’s ever loved.

  Betty Gentry will mourn the circumstances that will bring her eldest child back home, but will be happy to have her back nonetheless, and happy for her new grandchild. A baby girl that will know the simple pleasures of small town life and that will be insulated from the cruelty of the outside world. She will be told stories of her father — his image growing larger than life with each telling.

  Rosalyn and her daughter will forever share the unique bond that comes with the grief of losing the man whose love will be with them always. A man who survived a war, but died as an innocent bystander in his own hometown.

  As Rosalyn’s daughter grows, her small rural community will slowly change. It will add more industries to create more jobs. She and her neighborhood friends will grow up a stone’s throw from the kaolin mine unaware that chemical run off from the new agricultural plant poses any threat to taint their precious chalk.

  Sitting on a porch one day, expecting a baby of her own, Rosalyn’s daughter will share some smooth white Georgia chalk with her mother, carrying on as has been done for generation upon generation. She will watch her mother grow old and quite ill; a doctor will not understand why Rosalyn’s bloodstream is contaminated with agricultural pesticides. But on a front porch in the quiet of an evening, the crumbly white chunks of clay smell as fresh as the earth after a summer rain.

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