More Than a Hashtag, page 12
It was after midnight ‘fore we had discussed ever’ cute girl in town, ever’ teacher, and once again compared all our class schedules. We covered everythin’ from girls to gators, sports to school, and a hundred other things ‘fore we were finally worn slap out.
We finally dragged our tired selves into our tents. Slugger, Bobby, and Woody in one, Itchy and Joe Don in ‘nother, and, ‘course, me and Chilly together. Those lines had been drawn way back in Mother’s Day Out. Lines drawn and teams established. Good thing, ‘cuz tonight me and Chilly needed privacy to talk.
“Hey, Chilly, do y’all believe that stuff Slugger was sayin’ ‘bout Pinkie? The diamond ring and the new clothes? Flashin’ money all over the bayou?”
I was ‘fraid for the answer.
Chilly scrubbed at his face with his dirty, gooey marshmallow hands. For a minute, I thought he was gonna have one of his “thinks.” If so, I’d probably not get his answer ‘til noon tomorrow. But, cho-co, he started to talk right away.
“Well, Tee, lemme ask ya this. Does a bear poop in the forest? Slugger may have exaggerated as usual, but I think he’s tellin’ the truth. I just can’t understand it. Where’s all that money comin’ from? I’m here to tell y’all, Uncle Biggun just ain’t that generous. He ain’t payin’ nobody that much to drive a big fancy truck full of Aunt Mary Lou’s bamboo tables. Somethin’s goin’ on, and we need to find out what it is.”
I agreed.
“So how do we find out what’s goin on? School and gator season start day after tomorrow. We don’t even have bikes, so we can’t try followin’ him,” I said, pointin’ out the hopeless facts of the situation.
“I say tomorrow we make a little trip out to visit Aunt Mary Lou and see if we can get somethin’ outta her. She loves when I come over. I’ll call and ask her, and maybe she’ll make us some pralines. But we gotta be careful. If she gets suspicious ‘bout all our questions, we’re gonna hit a wall ‘fore we get any answers outta her.”
“I guess that’s as good a place to start as any. She’ll be worried ‘bout y’all goin’ gator huntin’ with your daddy and maybe bring up the story ‘bout Pinkie herself,” I said.
“Ya know, she may be madder’n a wet hen at Uncle Biggun over this whole thing. When she gets riled, she blabs and talks up a storm.”
“What ‘bout Queen Jovinne? Don’t you have to help her in the morning?” I pointed out the usual fly in the cream.
“I forgot to tell y’all. Doc Richard is takin’ her cast off tomorrow and puttin’ on a soft thing so she can start school and be able to take notes—Oh! So ya won’t even believe this! Since I won’t be at school for a month, Mama is makin’ Jovie take notes and share ‘em all with me! Queen Jovinne squawked and hollered like a rat caught in a trap, but Daddy stepped in and told her to hush her big mouth. There was no debate. Boy, what goes ‘round finally came back ‘round.”
Chilly and I laughed so loud the other tents told us to shut up and go to sleep. So we did. With big smiles on our faces. Ya gotta love karma.
It took a while for me to fall asleep. I had a lot on my mind. I always thought it was strange how life gave some people what Mamere called “a silver spoon in their mouths.” Some of my friends were like that, but they didn’t just have money; they had good looks and skills and lots of advantages.
Slugger (whose Daddy was the mayor) and Woody (who came from a whole line of lawyers) had everythin’ money could buy. Plus, they had good looks and athletic skills. They’d probably be the ones to get all the girls in high school, even though sometimes they could be meaner’n snakes. They’d probably drop me and Chilly like hot potatoes sooner or later.
I was hopin’, for Chilly’s sake, Sue Ellen Landry could see right through the glitz that was Slugger Dupuis and notice a true good fella like Chilly. He deserved this, and Sue Ellen deserved somebody like Chilly. As for me, I was just gonna wait and see. I had my writin’, and for now I was content to be just who I was.
17
Aunt Mary Lou
In Cypress Bend, Labor Day looked just like any other day. People made groceries, fed their animals, checked their crops, and got ready for the gator hunt. Mamere always says, “there’s no rest for the wicked.” I don’t think she meant all our neighbors were wicked, just that they weren’t righteous ‘nough to deserve a holiday with a big fais-do-do on Labor Day. ‘Sides that, school always started the next day, so there was a last minute shoppin’ rush for the sale at the Lafayette Walmart.
One thing y’all gotta know ‘bout Louisiana is that September’s the absolute worst month for weather. Y’all never know what Mother Nature’s got in mind. Just when you can’t stand the heat anymore, she’ll send a cool day with an evenin’ breeze that holds the promise of leaves turnin’. Then the next day it’s hot and humid, just like summer but with miserable kids packed in classrooms without air conditionin’. If we got lucky, we had a fan in the window movin’ ‘round the hot air. It felt like livin’ in a swampy furnace. At least in the summer months—‘cept for church—people don’t usually pack themselves in small hot rooms on purpose. We may be poor, but we ain’t crazy.
Then consider the football players runnin’ ‘round hittin’ each other, wearin’ twenty pounds of hot paddin’ and helmets. The good old southern heat does its dirty worst on a poor, teenage body. Doc Richard always stays late in his clinic ‘til after football practice. Good thing, ‘cuz he sees ‘bout ten cases of heat exhaustion a week. In September in the South, we live in Hell’s Acres.
This Labor Day, Chilly and me had an important mission to accomplish. We were fixin’ to start our plan to save Pinkie. Whatever he was doin’, we were sure Pinkie had pulled himself in over his head. Sometimes good old Pinkie could be his own worst enemy.
I was fixin’ to meet Chilly at the edge of Trahan’s Pond so we could visit his aunt. He lived closer, so he usually beat me, but today I got there first. In the daytime I wasn’t scared to look over at the camp, so I just sat on the old log and took in the feel and sounds of the bayou. I loved this part of the pond, even if folks claimed to see spirits and haints.
The shrimp traps had been set out already. That was probably Mr. Bubba’s doin’, ‘cuz Chilly and me had our campout last night. The pond was alive with splashin’ fish and birds and the occasional shawump sound of a big old gator slidin’ into the water, fixin’ to catch his next meal. The steady wha-wha-wha of a milllion cicadas was the metronome to the pond choir of bullfrogs and whippoorwills and the occasional loon. I’ve never heard the earth’s heartbeat sound as strong as in the heartbeat of the bayou.
I heard the Chilly whistle that didn’t blend with the bayou choir or obey the cicada metronome. It made me chuckle. Chilly played in his own band.
“Hey, Chill! I been waitin’ here since dawn. Maudit! What took y’all so long? I was ‘bout ready to put a gris gris on your sorry butt!”
“Sorry, Tee. Daddy gave me a few last-minute things to load up in the boat. We leave at dawn tomorrow.” He did not look happy to deliver that news.
“Aww, Chilly, the first day’ll be the hardest, but y’all will find the rhythm and routine. It’s gonna be fine,” I said, tryin’ to cheer him up.
It was the least and only thing I could do for my buddy. He needed all the encouragement he could get.
“Y’all are probably right,” he said. “Let’s go get us some pralines and information!”
“Well, glory be! It’s my favorite nephew! How y’all doin’, Chilly Bean?”
Aunt Mary Lou had poor Chilly wrapped in a bear hug so tight, it squished his eyes shut. Then she came after me.
“And Thomas Edison Hopper, how long’s it been since I’ve seen your smilin’ face? How’s your mama’n them?”
Then I was squished in the same huge hug. When Aunt Mary Lou gave a hug, y’all knew you had been hugged.
“We’re all good, ma’am,” I answered, buyin’ Chilly some time to catch his breath.
“Hey, Aunt Mary Lou,” said Chilly. “It’s been too long since I been out here to visit y’all. I been missin’ that good cookin’!”
“Oh, ya big tease, it don’t look like y’all missed too many meals. Come on inside outta this heat. I made some fried boloney sandwiches and pralines. I know how you boys are. Always hungry.”
She had a big smile on her face as she hustled us inside.
Ohhh, the smell of fried baloney! Ain’t nothin’ better. My belly was growlin’ like a bear. Aunt Mary Lou sat us down at the big table and put a mountain of food in front of us like she was feedin’ the Marine Corps.
“Wow, it’s quiet ‘round here,” commented Chilly with a mouth full of baloney. “Where’s everybody at? Y’all usually have a dozen cars and women out here workin’ on those tables together when I visit.”
Aunt Mary Lou’s bamboo tables were popular from up north in Shreveport and Alexandria all the way down ‘long the coast to Mobile. The cut up bamboo came to Mary Lou, then her crew sanded and made bases out of the bamboo stalks. Once they was all polished, her crew roped ‘em together, painted on the varnish, and fitted round glass table tops on ‘em.
She used to do the work all by herself, but she got to sellin’ so many at fairs and revels that she had to hire women from ‘round Cypress Bend to help during the summer.
Growin’ bamboo was a real big business in the parish. If the land wasn’t covered in bayou, it was growin’ bamboo. Good thing bamboo grew so easily, ‘cuz those tables never seemed to go outta style.
Aunt Mary Lou had been makin’ and sellin’ ‘em for long as I could ‘member.
“Oh, Biggun moved us out to the hay barn to work so we have more room. We just get so many orders, I couldn’t handle havin’ more ladies workin’ in the craft room. We have men over at the old warehouse doin’ the cuttin’, so we don’t have that mess here at the house anymore. That’s real helpful.”
I wondered if Chilly noticed she got awful edgy and nervous when she mentioned the warehouse. Maybe she was scared of the rougarou stories just as bad as we were.
“After they’re all finished and ready to go, Pinker is the one who carries ‘em off for shippin’, don’t y’all know?” she added.
“No, I just thought Pinkie was workin’, gettin’ ready for gator season with Uncle Biggun and them,” Chilly answered, hopin’ Aunt Mary Lou would tell us more.
“Oh, mais, Chilly Bean. Biggun has ‘nough help with the gators. Terrence Rex, Etienne, and Dunk, Terrence’s friend, will help with the pirogues and the hunt. Biggun is hopin’ to fill his tags early, long ‘fore the season ends.”
I didn’t know who this “Dunk” dude was, but it sounded like they was all set to get their gators. Poor Mr. Bubba and Chilly. I was thinkin’ how this was kinda a David and Goliath version of gator huntin’. It made me mad at Pinkie all over again for leavin’ his daddy and brother in such a tough spot.
“So how did Uncle Biggun talk anybody into workin’ in that old warehouse? ‘Specially Pinkie. He’s a big old coward when it comes to Trahan land with all the rougarou talk. Ain’t nobody gone out there for years. It’s hard to believe it’s still standin’,” Chilly was really pryin’ for information now. Maybe pryin’ a little too hard.
“Well, I don’t know. Y’all know Biggun. He has a way of gettin’ whatever he sets his mind to. Hey, how ‘bout you boys eat some of these pralines I made fresh this morning while y’all head on out? I know this is your last day of freedom ‘fore school, and I don’t want to take up your final ro-day of the summer.”
Mary Lou was a terrible liar. She was gettin’ all red in the face, and her eyes were lookin’ anywhere but at me and Chilly. She turned and grabbed us a buncha pralines and wrapped ‘em in that waxy paper women use for cookin’. Then she walked us over to the door.
“Here, boys, these will last ya all day.”
We guessed our invitation to stay had expired. Chilly and me said our “thank yous,” each gave Aunt Mary Lou a hug, and out the door we went, pralines in hand.
“Tell your mama’n them ‘hey’ for me,” she said as we walked off the porch.
Neither of us said anything right away, ‘cuz we didn’t know if Aunt Mary Lou’s ears still worked. There were so many things ‘bout her that had changed, we couldn’t be sure of anythin’. Soon as we got ‘round the other side of the house, I started in with the questions.
“What was all that ‘bout?” I asked Chilly. “Last time we were here, we couldn’t get away from her. She talked our ears off and gossiped ‘bout everybody in the whole dagum parish. Today she couldn’t get rid of us fast ‘nough.”
“I don’t got no explan—” Chilly stopped dead in his tracks.
“Well, hey there, boys. What y’all doin’ out in this neck of the bayou?” asked a voice big as the man who asked the question.
“Hey . . . umm . . . hey there, Uncle Biggun. We just came out for some of Aunt Mary Lou’s pralines,” Chilly stuttered, showin’ his uncle his handful of pralines as if he was showin’ evidence to a jury.
I did the same. I didn’t want a guilty verdict on me either.
“Hey, Mr. Biggun. How y’all doin’?” I asked just to be polite and have somethin’ to say.
“Been a long time since I’ve seen y’all, Chilly. You done growed ‘bout a foot. Jovie still a scrawny little thing?” Biggun asked.
“Yes, sir, scrawny and mean as ever.”
This made Uncle Biggun laugh. His big belly laugh sounded just like his twin brother, Bubba’s. We laughed nervously ‘long with him. It was the first time we were ever glad to have Jovie be part of our lives.
“Y’all ready for school?”
“No, sir, we ain’t never ready for school to start. We better get goin’. Lot’s to do. . . . It’s good seein’ y’all,” Chilly said, totally avoidin’ the subject of his rookie gator huntin’ season.
“Hey,” Biggun called as we were walkin’ away. I don’t know ‘bout Chilly, but my blood froze.
“Don’t go off empty handed. Take a bag of these here boiled peanuts.”
He walked up to give us each a bag to go with our pralines. I got a good look at the terrible empty spot on the side of his arm where the gator had bit a chunk off. His arm looked like it had been carved into somethin’ not-an-arm. The meat ‘tween his wrist and elbow was just . . . gone. The scarred skin stretched ‘cross his bone. I wondered if he had any strength in that arm.
“Hey, thanks,” we said like a duet of magpies, just wantin’ to get outta there. We took our boiled peanuts and booked it down the trail.
“Boys,” Biggun hollered, causin’ us one more moment of fear. “One more thing. . . . Be careful, I heard there’s been some rougarou sightin’s out by that old warehouse. I wouldn’t go near there if I were y’all, no matter what that dumbass DJ says. No ‘mount of prize money’s worth losin’ your soul.”
It seemed like his boomin’ voice took on a life of its own and bounced from pine to cypress and into our heads. We didn’t even bother to answer but just ran. I’m not sure if I imagined the deep belly laugh followin’ us down the dirt road. But we was GONE.
18
The Plan
We ran a hundred yards into the woods ‘fore stoppin’ to take a breather. Sweat was pourin’ down into our eyes and down inside our shirts, soakin’ ‘em like we’d just taken a dive into the lake.
When I could finally breathe, I managed to gasp out, “What just happened?”
Chilly shook his head and dropped his peanuts and pralines to put his hands down on his knees, tryin’ to slow his heart and catch a breath.
“I . . . dunno . . . I ain’t . . . never . . . seen Biggun like that.” He took a few big gulps of air. “It was like a threat or a warnin’ or somethin’ he gave us. He sure don’t want us near that warehouse. Or anybody else, either. Aunt Mary Lou was even worse. She’s scared. Come on, let’s go to my place and get some water and talk. Nobody’s home. I need some AC.”
He picked up his pralines and peanuts outta the dirt, and we walked nice and slow down the rest of the path to where Chilly’s cool kitchen was waitin’.
We’d calmed down and were already munchin’ on some dusty pralines by the time we got there. Our hearts and lungs were doin’ their jobs, and our blood pressure was just ‘bout down to normal. I started laughin’ while tryin’ to explain the look on Chilly’s face to him while Uncle Biggun was talkin’ to us.
“Y’all looked like ya came face-to-face with a haint. I thought y’all were gonna die, and I’d have to bury your body in the swamp,” I joked.
“Well, y’all looked like—Hello there!” Chilly hollered. “If it ain’t the Queen of Halloween in all her ugly glory!”
I looked behind myself to see none other’n Jovie, the former Majesty and Grand Highness over Chilly.
“What’s all over y’all’s face? Your lips look like ya kissed a wet stop sign!” teased Chilly.
I knew my mouth was hangin’ wide open in shock. I couldn’t get a teasin’ word to come out ‘fore Jovie started in.
“It’s makeup, you moron. Mama said I could start wearin’ some to school.”
We were so busy tryin’ to take in all the makeup, it took us a minute or two to notice her white legs dabbed with whiter toilet paper, blood seepin’ through the nicks.
“Looks like y’all tried to murder your legs, Jovie. You ain’t got a single hair to shave off. I don’t know why ya bother,” I managed to blurt out with snarky pleasure.
“Makeup? Dang, Jovie, it looks like ya hired Gibby Trudeau to paint a barn, and he missed and painted y’all’s face ‘stead.”
We started to laugh so hard, I thought we was gonna puke up the pralines and fried boloney sandwiches. It was fabulous and just what we needed to shake off the frisson from our encounter with Uncle Biggun.
“Shut y’all’s mouths. I had my makeup done at Landry’s Drug Store by Alice Ann Harper. She went to beauty school. Ya can’t even tell a professional job when it’s starin’ ya in the face. Y’all are a coupla losers.”
