Truth Like Oil by Connie Biewald

Author:Connie Biewald [Biewald, Connie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: haitian family story;racial bias books;haitian-american woman;Women's Fiction;Friendship;Mothers & Children;United States;American Demographic Studies;Race Relations;Discrimination & Racism;Black & African American;black family struggles;delinquent boys
Publisher: Vine Leaves Press
Published: 2021-05-24T22:00:00+00:00

June 2005

Wont pi lou pase sak sèl.

Shame is heavier than a sack of salt.

Henry waited in the Coach’s office. Everything looked fresh since they’d renovated the center—all the shabby wooden furniture carved with the names of his friends replaced by colorful molded plastic. Haitian metal works hung on the walls—a tree of life, a lady with a wide smile riding a bicycle, and a colorful taptap loaded with people, their baggage on the roof. He sat in the Coach’s big black chair, swiveling a bit from side to side as he surveyed the messy desk. It didn’t bother him that Coach was late.

A vaguely familiar Asian guy with long hair and a worried expression looked in. “You seen Coach? I need the keys for the supply closet.” Henry shook his head and the guy rushed off, and that was only the beginning.

“You seen Coach? Anthony’s mother lost the permission slip for the field trip to Canobie Lake and wants another.”

“Hey, where Coach at? I supposed to be interviewing him for my oral history project.”

“Coach Watkins! Oh. Where is he?”

A middle school kid headed straight for the desk. “Where’s Coach? Them basketballs are all flat.” He reached over Henry to open a drawer and began rummaging around. “He’s got a pin in here somewhere.” Henry would never be the kind of person whose drawers were open territory. The kid was sifting through everything. “Got one!”

A small girl, knees scraped and bleeding, wailed, escorted into the office by Rosie. If Henry had to deal with that mess, he’d be all flustered. “Need some first aid,” Rosie said. “Hi, Henry. You’re back! Here for the Mother Tongue Book meeting?” She plucked a pair of gloves, some Band-Aids, and antiseptic wipes from a box in front of him and kneeled down next to the girl.

“It’s gonna hurt!” the kid screamed.

Rosie reassured her and patched her up. Henry watched in awe. “Was that so bad?” she asked.

Henry realized, just in time, that she was talking to her patient, not to him. He almost embarrassed himself by saying, “No, that was amazing.”

The little girl inspected her Band-Aids and sniffled.

“You’re really good with kids,” he said.

Rosie ignored his compliment and unearthed a free hardware store calendar full of scribbled appointments. “Might say on this where Coach is,” she said. “You go on now,” she told the little girl. “Get back on that scooter and show it who’s boss.

She pointed to the date. “He’s supposed to be here. Two o’clock Mother Tongue Book Meeting with Professor Edmond.” Henry leaned in close, trying to read Coach’s tiny scrawl, and breathed in the peppermint of Rosie’s gum.

“Ro-Z, I’m sorry for asking, but I need to know. It’s important,” Henry said. “I should have called you. Do you know what’s going on with Chance?”

She actually growled, stamped her foot, and glared at him with narrowed eyes, but he wouldn’t let this small person intimidate him. “If you know what’s going on with him, tell me. Come on!”

She whirled around and slammed the door.

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