“Aaaand, action!”
Alonzo Breedlove Sr. shook off the nerves as he walked onto the set of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. Even after over a decade of patrolling the mean city streets, both the object of fear for many young Blacks, and the subject of hate for many racist whites, he had never felt as anxious as he did right now. And yet his smile broadcast nothing but cool composure to thousands of living room televisions across America. His very own son being one of them.
A kiddie swimming pool sat in the middle of the set, with fake shrubbery and a picket fence encasing it. On a stool sat Mr. Rogers himself, his cardigan aside and a towel draped over his shoulder. In a matter of minutes the two men were washing their bare feet together in the tiny pool, a subliminal message of unity to the nation that Alonzo hoped would reach every child and their children’s children one day.
The idea first came to Raul after Alonzo had shared his family’s experience at their community pool last summer. Bernadette was bursting at the seams pregnant with their daughter at the time, cooling off under the shade of an umbrella, and Alonzo was playing with Alonzo Jr. in the shallow end. Even then he was always aware of the glares and stares, but he shrugged off the uncomfortable attention for the sake of his son and wanted more than anything to create a perfect July afternoon memory. Instead it turned into a nightmare that would haunt Alonzo Sr. for months.
A community center volunteer took it upon himself to pour toxic cleaning products all over Alonzo and his son while they swam, giving Alonzo Jr. a third-degree chemical burn that took weeks to heal. As Alonzo Sr. recounted this to Raul, and Raul mentioned it to Fred Rogers, the reaction was swift.
“Let’s address it in our next show,” the production team agreed.
And so they did, inviting Alonzo to join an episode. It took one week for Raul to persuade Bernadette, then another week for Bernadette to persuade Alonzo, but eventually he agreed. And now, as he sat beside a fellow activist, who used his gifts to spread kindness, Alonzo for the first time in a long time felt hope in a better future for his two children.
Sam stood with Bernadette on the studio floor, holding Alonzo Jr.’s hand while Bernadette bounced the baby to keep her occupied. A whispered name pulled Sam’s attention from the set.
“Sam!”
She glanced over at the sound of her name and saw Raul waving her over. Still angry with him over his duplicity, she shook her head. But Raul wouldn’t accept no for an answer. Not this time. Not when so much was at stake.
He tiptoed toward her and grabbed her hand, dragging her toward another stage across the studio that depicted the usual living room scene. He sat her on the red plaid sofa, knelt down in front of her on a brown oval carpet, and cupped her hands.
“I’m so sorry I jeopardized everything that was important to you,” he began, the words coming effortlessly from his heart. “I thought I was helping you by scaring you away from investigating Cook, but I should have known that you are too fearless to run. Too courageous to back down. Too determined to stop. And too bold to be silenced. Those things scare me about you, but they also are what I love most about you.”
Sam sat, breathless. Once again, a wordsmith without words.
“You didn’t think I knew what unforgiveable thing I had done, but I do know you, more than anyone else knows you, and I do know what that is.”
Sam waited for his answer. It would tell her everything she needed to know.
“I lied, Sam. The one thing you told me you needed from me—honesty—I didn’t give you. So I understand if you can’t forgive me. But I just needed you to know that I know you, because I have always loved you since that first day I saw you in that New York deli, and always will love you, bad haircuts and terrible fashion and all. I followed you 350 miles, Sam, and I’ll follow you however many more miles it takes just to linger in your shadow.”
Raul hadn’t felt the tears come, and Sam hadn’t noticed them either until he wiped them on the back of her hand. Then he kissed her knuckles and stood up.
“Is that all?” she asked colder than she had intended.
The truth was, she still loved him, but sometimes she felt as if no one could ever truly love her because no one ever truly knew her. Except Raul. And he just so happened to be the one person who could break her heart.
“Yes. That’s all.”
“You’re not going to ask me to take you back?”
“No, Sam. Because ultimately, you don’t need me. You never did. I could beg and plead for you to be my girl, but isn’t that just another form of me trying to manipulate you? I’m not going to do that to you. I don’t want to be the thing that gets in your way. I’m happy to sit on the sidelines lifting you up… though the good Lord knows you’re plenty capable of supporting yourself. But I do have a surprise for you. It was the only way I could think of to right at least a few of my wrongs.”
As Raul stepped back, a hoard of people bustled onto the set, primping and instructing into a moving chatter filling the gap of his empty space.
“What’s going on, Raul?” Sam blinked as a makeup artist brushed shadow across her lids. She winced as a stylist combed through her brown shag.
“Fred is going to interview you now, Sam. You’re going to talk on public television about your passion for supporting women, and your desire to inspire alternative health options through homeopathy. And you’re going to tell Fred—and all of the kids watching at home—a little bit about your column.”
“Are you serious?”
“The world needs to know your name, Sam Stanton, and what you stand for, not the lies sold about you.”
Raul gave her a little wave as the production crew began telling Sam what to expect while they powdered the nervous sweat from her brow and fiddled with hair that the makeup director eventually declared hopeless.
Then something occurred to Sam.
“Raul—wait!”
He stopped and turned.
“My fashion isn’t that terrible. Especially coming from a man who wears crushed velvet elephant bell bottoms.”
He winked, that brown-eyed gaze full of golden sparks she already missed more than she should. “Some might say we’re a perfect match.”
Sam tended to agree.
“Now go tell the world about your column!” Raul urged her as the makeup artist vigorously dabbed at Sam’s forehead like she was slabbing spackle on a crude wall.
“But I don’t have a column anymore.”
He laughed, the warm comforting chuckle she had grown so fond of, so attached to over the years. The only sound that could calm her nerves and weather her storms.
“Oh, you didn’t hear? Thomas Cook offered to sell you Women’s House Magazine for $1, so it’s yours if you want it. Unless of course you’ve decided to take the editor-in-chief job in New York instead…”
Reviving a dead magazine, or running the most coveted women’s magazine in America? She could do so much with the circulation numbers and prestige attached to Ladies Home Journal, but that meant a long-distance relationship she wasn’t sure her and Raul could survive…
