More Than a Hashtag, page 28
“Chilly, it appears Sue Ellen might be available. She’s sittin’ over with the girls. If I were y’all, I’d throw caution to the wind and go ask her to dance.”
Chilly looked at me like I’d just sprouted another head.
“Y’all want me to walk into that circle of sharks and put my heart right out there like gator bait on a hook? Can’t you see Jovie sittin’ there like a panther waitin’ for a squirrel? She’ll chew me up and spit me out before I can say two words!”
I took hold of Chilly’s shoulders and turned him to face me square on so he could see my expression.
“Dude, take a chance for once in your life. What more could Jovie do to you any worse than what she’s been doin’ for the last fifteen years?”
Chilly considered this logic before pleadin’, “Will you come with me and ask Shondra at the same time?”
“Nope. Y’all need to find some courage, Cowardly Lion. I know you can do it. Just think, by the time we leave this party, y’all may have started a beautiful relationship with the woman of your dreams. Now go!”
And by golly, he went. I don’t think I took a breath while I watched my best friend square up his shoulders and walk right into the molten core of Girl
World. I saw Sue Ellen look up at him, listenin’ to what he was sayin’.
Then wonder of wonders, she stood up, took his hand, and walked off in the direction of the dance floor. Jovie’s brain musta shorted out, ‘cuz she said nothin’. Not a word. She just sat there with her mouth hangin’ open almost to her chest. My mind was blank except for the hope that a late summer fly might wander in and land right on Jovie’s tongue.
In a few minutes, Shondra was back by my side. We discussed the amazin’ Chilly and Sue Ellen episode and noticed they’d quit dancin’ but were sittin’ side by side in lawn chairs, talkin’ and laughin’.
I took Shondra out on the dance floor and tried my best to move to the rhythm. I was not a good dancer, and Shondra started teasin’ me ‘bout my big-old feet steppin’ all over her smaller ones.
“No worries, Tee. Why do y’all think I wore my army boots?” she joked, and we looked down at her feet. We started laughin’ and almost couldn’t hold each other up. Shondra had come shoed for battle yet still ready to dance the night away.
Like always, I was amazed at how sassy and smart she was. She had ‘nough confidence and sense of humor to wear combat boots with a floaty white dress. One minute, she looked like an angel and the next, like a drill sergeant.
I knew from that moment on I was head over heels for LaShondra June Bell.
It’s not very often things turn out as amazin’ as you imagine, but ever’ once in a while, the stars align in your favor; the universe waves its magic wand ‘bove your head, and things explode beyond your wildest dreams. Tonight was the night my reality outshone my imagination.
46
The Last Best Halloween
Always a man of his word, Pinkie came lookin’ for us at eleven sharp. Weepin’ and wailin’ and beggin’ for more time fell on deaf ears. The Pinkster had spoken. Me and Chilly and Shondra marched to Pinkie’s truck like martyrs walkin’ to the guillotine.
“Bye, y’all!”
“Aww, can’t ya just stay ‘til midnight?”
“See all y’all later!” hollered the voices that followed us from Slugger’s backyard. It felt worse to hear the lucky ones who got to stay late yell for us to come back to the party.
We climbed into the back seat of the truck while Emma watched with sympathetic eyes. Pinkie gunned the engine, honked the horn, and laid a patch of rubber on the road. That helped cheer us up a bit but not ‘nough to start talkin’ again.
“Looks like y’all had a good time,” said Emma.
Still, nobody said nothin’.
Up ‘til Chilly farted.
Windows rolled down with lightnin’ speed. I leaned out far as I could and thought ‘bout jumpin’ outta the truck. Pinkie was cussin’ somethin’ furious. It was a four-hotdog, red-beans-and-rice-gumbo, barbecued-ribs-and-shrimp fart, and it was a doozy! We all were doomed to pay the price for Chilly’s feast. Emma had her head buried in her hands down on her lap. Chilly was laughin’ and slappin’ me on the shoulder. Poor Shondra, who was stuck in the middle, just covered her face, likely tryin’ hard not to puke. Mine and Pinkie’s cuss words for Chilly’s misdeed filled the truck:
“Oh, looooser!”
“Hold that in!”
“Why didn’t y’all give us a warnin’?”
“Get outta my truck, ya stinky little turd-face!”
Mostly, we just begged for mercy and let the wind blow ‘round inside the truck, doin’ its best to clear out the smell.
By the time we turned down Shondra’s street and stopped in front of her house, the windows were rolled back up, and Chilly’s bodily functions were under control for the moment. Pinkie threatened that if Chilly did it again, he was walkin’ home. Danger or no danger. His farts were sure death. Our lungs had been scorched and burned.
“Okay, Lover Boy,” teased Pinkie, “walk your lady to the door and say a quick goodnight. It’s past time I had y’all home.”
Me and Shondra got out and walked side by side to her porch, with its bright 500-watt bulb blazin’ in the night. Clearly, her mama didn’t want no funny business with boys happenin’ in her front yard.
No need to worry ‘bout me though. I was nervous as a sloth crossin’ a freeway. After we climbed the steps, I turned to her as she turned to me, and luckily, she started talkin’ first. My mouth was too dry to spit, and my knees were shakin’.
“Thanks, Tee, I had the best time. Nothin’ will ever compare to tonight.”
“I’m a . . . I’ll . . . well, I had a great time too, Shondra. Maybe we can go to a movie or somethin’ soon.”
Lame, soooo lame. I am the King of Lame. That was somethin’ I’d say to Chilly, not my “probably” girlfriend.
“Sure, I’d like that. Tee, I want you to know I’ve never met anyone like you. Y’all are my best friend in the whole world.”
“Well, I . . . a . . . was hopin’ you’d consider bein’ my girlfriend and not just my ‘friend’ friend. I don’t have a ring or nothin’ to give ya, but maybe we could pinkie swear on it.”
Shondra started to laugh but put her hand over her mouth to hold it in.
“I’d love to be your girlfriend. But we don’t have to pinkie swear. That’s for friends.”
Pinkie honked his horn and yelled at me to hurry up.
I knew Shondra wasn’t tryin’ to tease or be mean. She just said things like they were. That was what I loved ‘bout her. No games. Ever.
“Well, a’right then. It’s official,” I said. Then I leaned in so fast, we kinda bumped noses. I gave her a fast kiss on the lips. I didn’t care if Pinkie and Chilly saw and teased me for eternity. I wasn’t missin’ this chance for nothin’.
“Good night,” we said at the exact same time. It was a sign. She opened the door and went inside. I couldn’t move my feet, but ‘nother honk, this time longer, and I was snapped back to reality.
“Oh, Teeeee!” came the inevitable comment from Chilly. “What’s that all ‘bout? The Teezer’s in loooove!”
“Well, our little Thomas Edison’s all growed up and got himself a girlfriend,” teased Pinkie as Emma slapped him on the arm.
“Leave him alone, y’all. I think it’s sweet.”
I knew I could always count on Emma to have my back in matters of the heart. I just laughed and turned it back on Chilly.
“Yeah, y’all don’t need to be pointin’ fingers, Chilly. Sue Ellen Landry’s lookin’ for some lovin’ from you. Seemed she was doin’ an excellent job of reelin’ y’all in!”
If we’d had more light, we’d been able to see Chilly blush ten shades of red. Nobody blushed like Chilly, but I could totally sense his ear-to-ear grin.
“Yeah, she’s somethin’. I can’t believe she spent all that time dancin’ and talkin’ with me,” Chilly admitted.
“I can’t believe y’all walked into a pack of girls to ask her to dance,” chimed in Pinkie. “Sue Ellen Landry! Y’all set your sights high, little brother. I’m proud of you. Y’all got some Pinkie Boudreaux in ya after all!”
That deserved fist bumps. Actually, it deserved double fist bumps all ‘round.
We turned the corner of my street in time to see Mama pull up into the gravel driveway of my house. To make it easier for Mamere, she stopped the car by the front porch.
“Hey, Chilly, stay and spend the night. We can talk ‘bout girls without Pinkie buttin’ into our business. I wanna hear what Sue Ellen was whisperin’ in your ear!”
Pinkie’d done his job deliverin’ us to the safety of my front door, so he gave us the thumbs up. We jumped outta the truck ‘fore he could change his mind. We waved, and he laid ‘nother patch of rubber turnin’ ‘round in the street and peelin’ out, off to spend some quality time with his girl.
“Tee!” Mama hollered. “Come carry these pie tins and dishes over to Miz Johnson’s while I get Mamere in the house.”
I could tell Mamere was hurtin’ from all the standin’ she musta done at the church carnival, ‘cuz she was leanin’ heavy on Mama’s arm. I woulda helped take Mamere inside and made Chilly take the delivery over to Miz J’s house, but he was scared to death of her. ‘Specially since last summer when we burnt up her azaleas.
“Man,” he said, “how can an old lady have so many pie tins and cake plates? Somebody’d think she ran a bakery or somethin’. ‘Cept she’d make birthday cakes to poison little kids.”
He was carryin’ an armful of the tin ones, and I carried her special glass servin’ dishes. It was a lotta stuff, like Chilly said, but I still felt a need to defend Miz J’s honor.
“She ain’t but a few years older’n Mama, and she bakes real good—almost as good as Mamere. She’s a super nice lady, so be nice.” I said over my shoulder as he followed me into the street.
I saw Miz J turn on her porch lamp. Why was it so bright? Somethin’ flared ‘round my vision like a nuclear explosion. What was—
Confusion and pain and I can’tbreathe. . . .
What . . . isthatsoundandsomethingissoheavyonmybaaaack. . . .
Then the world went black.
47
No Couch To Sleep On
Uncertain, Texas, February 2011
# dontcallmeGrandpere
* * *
I stood at the window in my new room, watchin’ a flood of rain escapin’ the heavens. It was like the sky was an egg the thunder was determined to crack. I could barely see the forest or the lake out back through the rivers of water pourin’ down the window. But the ragin’ storm was nothin’ compared to the battle of wills I’d just witnessed ‘tween the two people who’d just decided my future; sweet, reasonable Miz Thomas from Social Services and my grandfather, angry as a bull bein’ backed into a corner.
I walked to the door and listened to see if things had calmed down. Not a sound came from the hallway or the foyer below. I turned, leaned my back ‘gainst the door and slowly slid down ‘til I was sittin’ on the floor. I put my head in my hands and rested ‘em down on my knees. Then I cried. It was a quiet cry, but it was a hurtin’ cry that made my throat burn and my shoulders shake up and down. My head felt like it was rattlin’ on my neck.
A thousand times in the last few months, I’d laid down and imagined that if I tried hard ‘nough, I could stop breathin’ and drift off to Heaven. It never worked. Even when I fell into a deep, welcome sleep, I’d wake up still a prisoner in the same unwanted and unfamiliar world.
Today, I’d passed through ‘nother doorway to an even stranger place where I was alone . . . ‘cept for that grumpy old man who Miz Thomas claimed was my daddy’s daddy.
After I was all cried out, I opened my eyes and wiped away the hot tears that steamed up my glasses. I cleaned ‘em off usin’ my shirt and put ‘em back on my face to look ‘round my new room.
Well, I had a bed. I stood up to take a closer look. I’d never had my own real bed before. I loved my sofa bed at home. This bed was big big. It had four posts, one on each corner, that rose almost halfway to the tall ceiling. The bed wasn’t made up for sleepin’ yet, but there was a pile of blankets and sheets and a pillow waitin’ for me to put ‘em on.
A chiffarobe bigger’n Mamere’s stood ‘tween the two tall windows ‘cross from my bed. A long dresser waited on the wall next to the door to hold my clothes.
What clothes? I could fill the top drawer with the clothes I owned and probably only need ‘bout five hangers in the chiffarobe.
This furniture was big and dark and so different from the furniture at home. Next to the bed was a smallish white table with a readin’ lamp. I liked that. It would be nice for readin’ at night. I wouldn’t have to hide under the covers with a flashlight to read so I wouldn’t disturb Mamere. Mamere . . . I started to cry again.
I sucked in a big breath and blew it out so I could get on with checkin’ out my room. I couldn’t imagine how I still had any water left in my body after all the cryin’ I’d been doin’.
Next to the wall by the readin’ table was a door I hadn’t opened yet. It squeaked when it opened, revealin’ a small bathroom. The dim light comin’ through the clouds filtered its way in through an oval window to the left of the door. I flipped the switch that turned on the lights on either side of the mirror ‘bove the sink. The room was still gloomy and dim as the day outside.
The wallpaper displayed giant pink roses climbin’ up vines. The paper was peelin’ on the edges next to the ceilin’, makin’ the roses look like they were dyin’. The dyin’ roses were a washed-out shade of gray that stretched from the ceilin’ on down to the window. There was probably a leak up there in the roof.
I opened the curtain ‘round the bathtub. It was the same pink color as the toilet. Somebody liked pink. The tub stood on rusty claws and was long ‘nough for a big man to lay back and stretch full out in the water. It took up the whole wall opposite the window. The tub didn’t have a shower in it. Oh well. I could soak the achin’ and healin’ bones in my body to my heart’s content. “Manly showers” didn’t matter so much now.
I sat on the rolled edge of the tub and realized I hadn’t had a drink of water all day. I was real thirsty. Even bein’ thirsty made me want to cry. It stirred up a memory from when I was in the hospital. Everybody who came in my room asked me if I wanted some water.
Why do people always ask somebody in distress if they want water? How does that help? Far as I know, water had solved no tragedy ever.
Ever’ time someone would ask, I wanted to scream, “No, I don’t want water! I want my mama!”
But my voice wouldn’t work, so I’d turn to the wall instead.
I finally got up and leaned over the sink to get a drink from the faucet since there wasn’t a cup anywhere I could see. At least the water was cold and good. I drank like a wanderer in the desert, swallowin’ large gulps at a time. I wiped my mouth on the bottom of my shirt and looked in the wavy mirror.
“Adversity holds a mirror in front of your face and shows who you are.”
Those were words Miz Thomas told me in the car somewhere ‘long the route from Cypress Bend to Uncertain, Texas. I was lookin’ at adversity when I looked in that mirror. I could think of nothin’ harder’n the next few days and weeks . . . and years livin’ without anybody who even knew me.
“Hey, boy,” a deep, harsh voice called from the other side of my bedroom door. “Supper’s on the table. Come on down.”
I didn’t really feel like eatin’, but I was scared to tell my fearsome grandpere that, so I waited a coupla minutes to make sure he was gone from outside my door before I went down the stairs.
The smell of some mighty fine cookin’ stirred my appetite. I followed the delicious smells to the back of the house where I found the kitchen.
The red and white decorated room was enormous. A big old stove with two ovens filled a large section of one wall. Pots were bubblin’, and the smell of fresh baked bread restin’ on the counter was ‘bout the best thing I’d smelled in a long time.
The kitchen wasn’t fancy and needed some fixin’ up, but it was clean as a whistle. The tall windows were covered with starched white curtains and formed a half-circle at the top that bowed out over the end of the porch. The kitchen table waited there for us to take our seats for supper. It’d been laid with a tablecloth, polished silver, and china. Mamere woulda highly approved of this well-kept kitchen.
The lady wrapped in the apron and hustlin’ ‘round the stove must have been Juniper. I had heard my grandpere say Juniper was the one who left me sheets and towels in my room when I arrived. She stood straight and tall and thin with deep mahogany skin. From the back she looked young and fit, but when she turned to face us, the wrinkles on her hands and face spoke of an older woman.
Her dark hair was streaked with gray and wrapped in braids at the back of her neck like two cuddled up snakes. She may have been old, but she moved quick as tap-dancin’ lightnin’. By the time Grandpere had pointed to the place I was to sit, Juniper had the food on the table and was takin’ her seat on the other side of me. She and Grandpere bowed their heads and folded their hands. Grandpere said grace.
“Lord, bless this food which we raised with our own hands, and bless this house to stand ‘til the end of time. Bless our enemies to be saved from whatever revenge we are plottin’. Help us to do good. Amen.”
As soon as the “amens” were said, the food was passed ‘round the table. There was collard greens, cornbread drippin’ with butter, rice and gravy with big chunks of meat, jams and jellies, and an icy cold pitcher of milk.
I hadn’t been able to eat solid food for more’n a coupla weeks ‘cuz of surgery on my throat. I didn’t care, ‘cuz the rehab food was terrible. It still hurt to swallow, but I was willin’ to suffer just to fill my growlin’ belly with this wonderful smellin’, homemade cookin’.
