Warriors Don't Cry Read Online Free PDF Page A

in my family to his store. Looking through horn-rimmed glasses, with what Grandma India called “criminal eyes,” Mr. Waylan sometimes greeted us cordially. There were even times when he inspired a nervous laugh from Mother and Daddy with his placating chatter.
    His store was one of my favorite places because going there was sometimes like going to a neighborhood party. Mostly our people shopped there, although a few whites from a nearby neighborhood came there, too. There was sawdust on the floor, and the air was filled with the aroma of spices, fruits, onions, nuts, and potatoes. Maybe it was the festive colors and sounds that reminded me of a party.
    Early one Friday evening, when the store was crowded, our entire family went in for a shopping spree. We had Mama’s teaching check, Daddy’s railroad check, and the money Grandma India had earned from her work as a maid. It was one of those times when we all felt joy and peace and lots of hope. I looked forward to the bill paying because the grocer sometimes rewarded Conrad and me with Sugar Daddy suckers after the grown-ups handed over the money.
    Grandma was the first to look over Mr Waylan’s bill. Her forehead wrinkled; she mumbled and handed it to Daddy. He looked it over and talked to her with his eyes. By the time Mother examined the bill, all their faces were grim. They quickly moved Conrad and me with them to a corner of the store.
    They were certain the bill overcharged them by twenty-two dollars. That was more than a day’s pay, Daddy said. Still, they seemed frightened to speak up. After lots of whispered angry words, they decided to complain. Although Grandma approached the grocer in a calm, respectful way, he shouted back at her in an angry voice—loud enough for everyone within a block to hear. He said he gave us credit when we didn’t have eating money, so he expected us to pay without complaining.
    Seeing Daddy’s jaw tighten and his eyes narrow, Grandma touched his hand to stay him. There was an ominous silence in the store. Everybody was staring at us. Other people in the store, some of them our friends, stood absolutely still, fear in their eyes.
    At first, Mother, Grandma, and Daddy stood paralyzed. Then Mother took a deep breath, stepped forward, and said in a commanding voice, “Even when we’re being overcharged?”
    “You just watch your mouth or you’all will be eating beans next month.” The grocer was shaking his fist at Mother Lois. There was fire in Daddy’s eyes, but once again, Grandma looked at him and he backed down; the three of them cowered like children before a chastising parent. There was a long moment of complete silence. All at once Grandma started to pull dollars out of her purse and Daddy did the same. Together, they paid the full amount.
    Mama quickly shoved Conrad and me out the door. We’d make do with what was in our cupboards for the next few days, Daddy said. We wouldn’t be going to that store anymore.
    On the way home Grandma fussed and fumed, saying she was fed up with buying day-old bread and slightly rotting meat for one and a half times the price fresh food was sold to white folks. I couldn’t stop wondering why Mama, Grandma, and Daddy couldn’t talk back to that white man.
    Daddy was a tall man, over six feet four, with broad shoulders and big muscles in his arms. He could toss me in the air and catch me or hoist me over the fence with ease. Until that moment, I had thought he could take on the world, if he had to protect me. But watching him kowtow to the grocer made me know it wasn’t so. It frightened me and made me think a lot about how, if I got into trouble with white people, the folks I counted on most in my life for protection couldn’t help me at all. I was beginning to resign myself to the fact that white people were definitely in charge, and there was nothing we could do about it.
    The next day, Grandma called all her friends and tried to get them to agree to form a group to shop across