Richmond author wins first Gertrude Johnson Williams Writing Contest

Bobby jumped from the back porch and ran to the side of the house. There, perched on the fence, with his head held high and his feathers bristled was the rooster. Bobby was furious. He had been waiting for him for what seemed like forever, but had only been a little over an hour. He had gotten up long ago-while it was still pitch black outside-dressed in his best pair of coveralls, eased his way through the kitchen and out the back door. It had been so dark that only the reflection of the moon had been a guide to the hen house. Everything seemed so still, so quiet. The air was damp. The dew-wet grass had swished against his pants legs. He had gotten up to find that old stupid rooster because today was a special day and be was anxious to get started. Of course, he couldn't get started until Momma got lip, and Momma wouldn't budge until the rooster crowed.

More Articles of Interest

In the hen shed, he lit the oil lamp and the sudden heady odor of hay and chickens made his stomach turn. Most of the hens, perched on their nests, looked up at Bobby quizzically, as though they too knew it was too early to be up and about. Bobby walked the length of the small enclosed hut, looking from side to side, but the rooster was nowhere to be found. There was nothing to do but wait.

Now the waiting was over. The sky was no longer black, but purple and to the east there were reddish-orange streaks. The rooster was perched on the fence, his face raised to the sky, his red crown as bright as fire, his broad white chest protruding and his tail raised high and cascading down in a beautiful array of soft, fluffy white feathers. He shivered, arched his back and, as though he was sending a message around the world yelled, "Cock-adoodle-doo! Cock-a-doodle-dooo!" After ruffling his feathers, he flew to the ground, glanced at Bobby with an air o superiority, stretched his legs and strutted around the yard.

Bobby searched near his feet, bent and picked up a stone. "You old buzzard!" he said and squinched his eves, swung his arm back as far as it would go and ...

"Bobby Lee Hamilton, what are you doing?"

In one swift moment the stone fell from his fingers and he turned to see his mother standing on the porch. Nothing"'

She stared at Bobby, who hung his head, bit his lip and kicked the stone. The rooster was oblivious to Bobby's plight and strutted around the yard among the hens that had begun to fly from the shed and squawk in search of food. In a softer voice she said, "You don't want to ruin this day, do you?"

"Oh, no, ma'am. Not this day."

She stared at him for a moment longer and just before she turned to go back into the house Bobby thought he saw her smile. He couldn't be certain about that though, because it was hard to remember her ever smiling, even when Daddy had been here. She knew be was excited, but still she took her time cooking breakfast while Bobby fed the hens and gathered the eggs. She made him eat all the food on his plate, even when he tried to convince her lie wasn't hungry. Afterwards, she washed the dishes just as slowly as she always did, cleaned up the house, which wasn't really a house, but a three room shack that needed repairs and paint. The only good thing about it was that inside it was always clean. Bobby waited on the porch as quietly and as still as he could. Finally she appeared dressed in her best casual dress, her walking shoes and holding her wide brin straw heat. "You ready?" he asked.

What a silly question, Bobby thought. He'd been ready hours ago. Instead he said, "Yes, ma'am.". It was it long walk to town along a hot and dusty road. In no time, they were drenched with perspiration. Bobby didn't care. In his mind he created games that amused him, Sometimes be was a cowboy being stalked by Indians, or a farmer giving out commands to his workmen. Most of the time he just counted the trees or the rows of corn stalks or sang songs to himself. Today he wanted to talk, because he was excited. Yet his mother walked in silence, appearing oblivious to his presence. She had a pretty face, but a sad face that seemed old, tired. Her skin was soft and smooth and the color of fresh pecans, and her eyes were big and dark brown. But like her lips, they rarely smiled. She was a tall woman and walked with her head held high and her shoulders pulled back. Her steps were so large Bobby had to half run in order to keep up with her.

They had walked a few miles in silence when Bobby heard a car approaching from behind them. He turned to watch it, hoping it would be someone they knew.

"Watch where you're going. If you don't look where you put your feet you're gonna fall on your face," his mother said.

"There's a car coming."

"I know." The car slowed as it came up beside them and almost stopped Bobby looked straight into the eyes of Mr. Henry, their landlord. He was a fat White man with scrawny white hair, dark green eyes and tobacco-stained teeth. Mr Henry hawked and spit out a long stream of dark brown spittle that landed only feet away from Bobby and his mother.