Kinfolk, page 9
Suicide was an alien term to most people. To Nub, it was a word as familiar as his own name.
Nub looked at Leigh Ann. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“You always do.”
“You ever feel a connection with someone? Someone special, someone unique, but you can’t seem to figure out why you feel that way about them since you have so little in common?”
Leigh Ann rested her eyes on him and her face softened. She placed a hand on his shoulder. “That’s sweet, Nub, but you’re way too old for me.”
She laughed. So did a few other guys at the bar.
But Nub didn’t. He put cash on the bar and left Benny on his stool. He was done here.
Leigh Ann called after him, “Hey, I was only kidding, Nub. You know you’re the only man for me.”
He waved her off.
“Nub, don’t leave. It was just a joke.”
Nub shouldered open the steel door and trudged into the parking lot. He walked to Benny’s mangled Ford and leaned against the fender, watching the choreography of a winter sunset at play. Cattle trucks bounced across the railroad crossing. Ed’s Feed and Seed still had a few rusted F-100s slumming in the parking lot. The paper mill’s recovery boiler in the distance was outlined in red obstruction lights. The smokestack was spouting emissions into the air that made the world smell like severe flatulence. The train was whistling in the distance. The water tower still said “PAPK.”
Love on the crown of her head,
Love on the soles of her feet,
Love way down in her heart.
He was another year older, another year poorer. Poor in spirit. Poor in family. Other men had spent their lives accruing love, children, memories, and joy. Nub had spent his life doing . . . doing what precisely? He wasn’t sure. Jack squat. He had no relationship with his daughter. His ex-wife hated him. So did every other woman who had ever been unfortunate enough to get close to him. So did half the town.
Benny startled him by tapping him on the shoulder. “Can I borrow a buck?”
“What for?”
“Pinball.”
“No. I’m about to go home. Get in the truck. I’m tired.”
Benny shook his head. “I’m staying here.”
Benny never stayed at the Legion without Nub. Benny never did anything without Nub, not since they were two years old.
Nub ran a hand over his face and massaged his eyes. “What’re you gonna do, Benny, walk home?”
“Cal said he’d drive me.”
“Great. Well then, why don’t you get Cal to loan you the dollar since he’s such a Samaritan tonight?”
“Can’t. Cal said if he loaned me a dollar, I’d never appreciate its true value. He told me to ask you.”
Nub reached into his wallet. “Cal has a point.” Nub handed Benny two fives. “You realize how much you owe me now, you big dummy?”
Benny looked at the cash and smiled. “Nub Taylor, you’re a good man.”
Nub stepped into the vehicle and slammed the door. “You really need to get out more, Benny.”
* * *
It was sunset. The world was red and gold. Shug looked into the cavernous grave at Celia’s coffin. A pauper’s coffin. The wood was finished, but only slightly. It was dull, like the finish you see on a baseball bat. A light coat of lacquer, that was it. There was no scrollwork, no flowery molding. Just a plain box. Pine. Cheap pine at that. The kind of pine they used for pallet wood. It was a poor person’s grave.
He had been standing at a distance during the funeral service earlier that day. He’d heard his daughter sing farewell to her mama. He had watched the emotion overtake his daughter as she stood at the graveside. It was the first time he’d ever seen her. She was marvelous in every way.
He had almost cried like a toddler when his eyes found her. But then, Sugar Bass didn’t cry, not anymore. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. It was that he lacked the upper octaves of emotion. Soldiers do not cry. Neither do inmates. You hold it in. If you cry, you are already dead.
The gravediggers were standing nearby, waiting for Shug to finish his moment of reflection. They weren’t rushing him, but they seemed ready to get this show on the road.
Three other men were standing a ways back, their white Cadillac parked close by. They were leaning against a tree. Shug was too tired to care right now.
The strangers never took their eyes off Shug. After several minutes, Shug took two steps back and told the gravediggers to go ahead and cover his ex-wife. One of the gravediggers crawled into the seat of the Bobcat backhoe and used the duty bucket to scrape a massive pile of red dirt into the gaping hole. The falling dirt made a loud thud on the lid of the casket, then the operator used the back side of the bucket to tamp down the earth atop Celia’s grave. The whole thing was done in a matter of minutes. And just like that, a human body was buried, six feet down, gone forever. In less than a few hundred seconds.
When the burial was finished, the backhoe motored away and the men with shovels followed. Shug remained at the graveside and placed a small object into the freshly packed pile of dirt. It was a small model plane. The Spirit of St. Louis. He tucked fresh earth over the figurine and put a hand on the moist dirt.
“Don’t you worry, Cece,” he said. “I’ll watch out for our little girl.”
On his way out of the cemetery he passed the men from the white Cadillac. The suits were motionless as he walked by, smoking cigarettes. They followed Shug only with their eyes.
“Long time no see, Shug,” one of them eventually said.
“Welcome home,” said another.
Shug just kept on walking.
“You sure got a pretty daughter,” one man said.
* * *
The phone rang.
It rang again.
And again.
And again. But her father wasn’t answering. Emily almost hung up, but she didn’t. It was three in the morning; she should have hung up. But something prevented her.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Nothing.
She was seated on the aluminum sofa glider on her back porch, moving back and forth. The cord from her kitchen phone was stretched to capacity, snaking through the open sliding glass door, following her into the covered porch area. She wasn’t sure why she was calling him this late, except that maybe she needed to hear his voice. It would calm her down. Nub Taylor’s voice had that unique effect on her. He could bring her back to center. She was about to hang up when . . .
Click.
“Yeah?” said Nub’s voice.
He sounded surprisingly awake. Sharp and alert.
She did not speak.
“Hello?” he said again, perturbed.
She opened her mouth to say something, but she wasn’t able to find the words. Nothing came out. Then Emily started crying. She covered her mouth so she wouldn’t make any sound, but it was no use. She could hear herself sobbing.
“Who is this?” he said.
She still couldn’t speak. She only cried quietly. Finally, she gathered herself together and took a long, silent drag from her cigarette.
“You’re smoking again,” he finally said.
Emily wiped her face with her sleeve. She felt a smile crawl onto her tearstained face.
“No, I’m not.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
She laughed. “You shouldn’t have bought me these things. You trying to encourage bad habits?”
“Honey, I am the Monet of bad habits.”
She laughed again.
“What’s up, punk?” he said.
“Did I wake you up?”
“I don’t sleep.”
She started to say it. She started to tell him everything, but her voice got stuck.
“What are you doing up at this hour?” he asked. “Watching the test signal on the TV?”
“I don’t sleep either.”
“You’ve been crying.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Your nose is clogged.”
“Pollen.”
“Yeah, it’s been bad this December.”
She sniffed her nose loudly.
“You need me to come over?”
“No. Oh my God, no, Dad. It’s three o’clock. I’m just tired. I think I just . . . I don’t know.”
“You must be hard up if you’re calling me.”
“I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“You could never bother me.”
Emily opened her mouth and tried to speak again. The words were right there, stuck in her voice box, ready to come out. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak.
“I’m sorry I called, Dad.”
“I’m not.”
“Good night.”
“It’s morning.”
“Well, you know what I mean.”
“No, actually I don’t.”
A long silence.
“I love you, Emily.”
“Okay.”
And she hung up the phone.
* * *
The Birmingham Catholic Children’s Home was squalid. The room she was sleeping in was plain. Ominous. Sad. Barren. There were no pictures on the cracked plaster walls except for a very spooky picture of a blond, decidedly Catholic-looking Jesus. Why did Jesus always look like a cross between a California surfer and a Ken doll?
Minnie spent the entirety of the day counting tiles in the communal bedroom. There were twenty-two beds in this particular room. Eleven on each side. Iron cots. Pancake mattresses. She could feel the springs digging into her backside as she hummed the theme song to Bonanza. There were 2,912 linoleum tiles on the floor and 2,611 ceiling tiles. Three flights of twenty-one steps to get to the third floor. There were nine floors in total, ergo there were 189 steps. She wanted there to be something special about 189, but there wasn’t.
Both rows of eleven teenagers were snug in their beds, dressed in pajamas and nightgowns. They all kept their distance from Minnie, as though she were an untouchable. Life was all about the rank, and the others were trying to figure out where she fit in the rank and file.
Minnie walked into the bathroom; she slid on her mother’s old gown. Pink with white flowers printed on it. The fabric still smelled like her mother. Still smelled like her old house. Like her old life. Like her childhood. Like all the things she had lost. When you lose someone to suicide, their clothes become religious relics.
She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. The gown was too short on her. It barely covered her bottom. Her mother had been a much smaller woman than she was. She had inherited her height from her father’s family, her mother told her. And that was about all she knew about him. His name was Clarence. He died in the Korean War. He was a war hero of some kind. He blew up bridges with dynamite or something like that. And he had been tall. “Your daddy was big enough to build a barn all by hisself,” according to her mother.
Minnie walked the hallway toward the bedroom, past rooms filled with adolescents. The orphans all glared at her. Some were younger than she was. Most were about her age. She was at least three feet taller than everyone in this place, including the nuns. When she arrived at the bedroom, four girls were sitting on Minnie’s bed, rummaging through her belongings. Her suitcase was slung open and her clothes were strewn on the floor. Her new Converse shoes had been confiscated by a girl whose hair was in braids. The girl was peeling off the stickers. Another girl was already wearing Minnie’s Carhartt jacket.
Minnie said, “Take off that jacket.”
The girl in braids ignored her and put Minnie’s shoes on her small feet. The shoes looked like water skis on her feet. The girl sauntered toward Minnie. She was small. Wiry. Tough. She wore a look that said she had been in more fights than anyone else in the room.
“Take those off,” said Minnie.
“I can see your butt in that nightgown,” said Braids. She pushed Minnie and her toadies all laughed.
“How tall are you?” asked another kid.
“Can you breathe all the way up there?” said another.
“Fee-fi-fo-fum,” said another.
Minnie shifted her weight and pointed to the shoes on the girl’s feet. “I said. Take. Them. Off. Now.”
The girl with the braids met Minnie chest to chest. Actually, it was more like chest to belly button. The wiry girl placed a finger on Minnie’s sternum and poked. “If you want these shoes, Big Butt, you’re going to have to take them off my feet.”
Minnie was happy to oblige.
Chapter 15
The gymnasium at Park Union High was a fire marshal’s worst nightmare. The bleachers were filled to capacity. Nub couldn’t remember which basketball team Union was playing tonight because he didn’t give a rat’s fundaments about basketball. He hadn’t followed high school sports for well over fifty years. And even fifty years ago, he hadn’t cared much about basketball. The game was too fast. Nub was a musician, not an athlete. It wasn’t that he didn’t like sports; he loved them. But only when beer vendors were present.
But then, he was not here because of athletic interest. He was here because Charlie Jr. was starting tonight. And ever since Emily’s late-night phone call, Nub had been worried. He knew his daughter better than she thought, because she was just like him. Something was going on.
“There he is,” said Benny as they edged across the crowded bleachers. “There’s Charlie Jr.” Benny waved at Charlie Jr. wildly.
Charlie Jr.’s tank top hung like a parachute on his wire-thin body. Charlie Jr. did not wave back. He looked embarrassed. The boy wore a common facial expression Nub was used to seeing on his family members. The coach was still on the court, pep-talking his players who stood gathered around him and nodded at whatever he said. “There is no I in team,” “Can’t never could,” “If you believe it, you can achieve it,” blah, blah, blah. The sinewy boys of Park Union High School’s boys’ basketball team were all limbs and bones. They did not exactly portray Class 4A dominance. The Park Union High basketball team looked as though they could use some hearty dinners, quality time in the sun, and a round of basic inoculations.
“Hey, Charlie!” shouted Benny, pumping his arm in the air. “Charlie Jr.! It’s us! Uncle Benny! And your granddaddy! We’re here!”
The kid slinked into his shell.
“Keep it up, Benny,” said Nub. “You’re really winning him over.”
It had been years since Nub had been inside this gymnasium. When Emily was a majorette, he came to games now and then. One game in particular stood out in his memory. Emily had just broken up with her boyfriend, Mickey Burns, who had evidently cheated on her and called her a terrible name. During the fateful game, long ago, Nub had taken the opportunity to find Mickey’s locker in the empty hallway, whereupon he jimmied the door open and urinated inside the locker. He was caught in the act and promptly asked to leave the premises. He was helped to vacate the building by a gaggle of concerned fathers before he was even able to zip his trousers. It was ugly. Nobody had forgotten it. People rarely forget the antics of a drunk.
Tonight Emily was seated with a group of teachers positioned in the nosebleeds where she could keep her eye on the wayward youth in front of her. Her hair was down, scattered on her shoulders. She wore jeans and a peasant blouse. She looked leaner than he remembered. And paler too. He couldn’t help but stare in her direction. Emily had the unique ability to always be the most important person in the room.
“Don’t you wanna go talk to Emily?” said Benny.
“In a little bit,” said Nub.
“Why not right now?”
“I’m trying to blend in tonight.”
“You miss one hundred percent of the chances you don’t take.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
Benny gave a slow rally clap and shouted, “Come on, Charlie Jr.!”
“Benny,” said Nub. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re kind of embarrassing me.”
“Thanks. That means a lot coming from a professional.”
Leigh Ann was weaving through the crowd, moving across the bleachers. She seemed genuinely surprised to see Nub and Benny here. She was carrying a bag of popcorn, and she wore jeans that fit so tightly, Nub could read the directions on the laundry tag.
“Wait a second,” Nub said as she passed. “If you’re here, then who’s running hell?”
“I didn’t think you two ever joined the human race,” she said. “I’m here to watch my daughter play trombone. Don’t tell me they let you two enroll here.”
“We’re thinking of trying out for track,” said Nub.
“You’d be an improvement to our current team.”
Leigh Ann smiled at him, and Nub felt his chest get tight. Then she touched his arm. “I know Charlie Jr. appreciates you coming, Nub.”
“Yeah, he’s thrilled. Just look at him.”
“He’s a teenager,” she said. “They don’t have souls.”
The event began with the Park Union High band playing a song at an earsplitting volume. The band finished with a Gershwin number that sounded more like a nuclear weapons field test than it did music. Then the basketball team took to the court, and everyone started howling. Park’s mascot was a wild boar hog. Sometimes the whole gymnasium would break out into spontaneous oinking and squealing. A truly frightening sound.
The first two quarters of the game were uneventful. Hillcrest High School marched all over Park Union like a herd of bison. The Hillcrest fans were animated and annoying, but they were nothing compared to the communal oinking. Park came back in the second half, scoring on a few lucky shots. After the third quarter it looked like it was Park’s game. Nub leaned toward Benny to announce his upcoming visit to the men’s room.
“Don’t break into any lockers,” said Benny.
“You’re hilarious, you know that?”
“I try.”
Benny had barely finished his sentence when an object struck Nub on the jaw. Hard. The impact knocked Nub backward and he tumbled down the bleachers. The world turned into a blur. When Nub finally quit falling, he was three rows away from where he’d started, lying in the laps of several young men who wore Hillcrest colors. The gym had gone silent. Nobody was oinking anymore.
