Gradle Bird

by J. C. Sasser

  She had been waiting for this time, for this perfect hour when everything was asleep and still. While she knew his situation, while she knew the score, there was no fear, no puzzle in her mind. Although she had never mothered him at all, she knew exactly what a mother should do.

  She kissed his forehead and rose from the metal cot. She slid through the bars, and stopped at Gradle’s cell to look in on her. She admired the girl’s dedication. She admired the girl’s heart.

  Annalee walked down the hallway, down the stairs to the kitchen where the refrigerator hummed and cast out a warm light from its bottom. Her hand fondled the doorframe and found the nail where the key hung. She read the commandment on the sign: THOU SHALT NOT STEAL. She had heard thou shalts all of her life, and the words did not deter her from taking the key. She was already a criminal, had been guilty of worse crimes than theft, and was willing to risk the heat of hell if it meant setting her son free.

  Her fingers gripped the key, and she moved back up the stairway and through the steel prison bars. She knelt at her son’s bedside and inched her hand under his pillow. She found the tooth Delvis had secretly placed there and exchanged it for her portrait and the key. She cupped his tooth in her palm like a precious jewel. She brought it to her mouth and breathed upon it. He must have lost over twenty teeth, none of which she witnessed him teethe, none of which she wiggled and pulled, none of which brought her to his room in the middle of the night to take in exchange for a piece of magic. She had nothing to show, no collection of teeth in the far corners of her jewelry box, not even a memory. Delvis was sixty years old, she was seventy-five and dead, and until now she had never played his Tooth Fairy.

  She covered Delvis with the sheet, lay by his side, and cradled his body against hers. For the remainder of the night, she listened to him sleep, his breath whisper in and out, his dreams wander through his head. She drew in his sweet carrot scent and held her breath for as long as she could in an effort to bottle his smell, for it to seep into her bones, for it to become their marrow, so that if she ever needed to feel the intimacy she felt now, all she would need to do was break her finger or break her arm. She nurtured every dark minute. She held fast to every second, for she knew this time would pass and never come again.

  When dawn approached she could feel it at her back, creeping through the barred window, as if the early morning blue was not just a color, but also a touch. Delvis stirred under the sheets as if he had felt it, too. She tiptoed to a corner of the cell where she hid in the morning shadows.

  Delvis rolled away from the wall. His eyes opened, and he sat up. His feet hit the cold slick floor. He stared at his prison pillow scooped in the middle from the weight of his head and ran his hand under it. He retrieved the portrait, unfolded its creases, and found the key. His fingers traced over the lines he had drawn so long ago. He brought the portrait to his nose, closed his eyes, and sniffed.

  He opened his eyes and they hunted the cell. He searched under the bed, the table and chair, and inside his shoes. He looked in the corner and locked his eyes on Annalee.

  “Mama?” he whispered.

  Her hands fled to her mouth, and her eyes each pressed out a tear.

  He moved her way and stopped at a distance uncomfortably, yet comfortably close. He wrapped his fingers around her diamond ring, brought her hand to his face, and placed it on his cheek. His head tilted into her palm. He closed his eyes and petted her diamond ring tenderly with the top tip of his finger.

  “I knew you’d come back,” he said. He removed her hand from his cheek.

  He sat on the bed and picked up his shoe. He started to put it on, but stopped and placed it back on the floor. He pulled the sheet back, grabbed the blanket folded at the bottom of the bed, and formed it into the shape of his legs. He took his pillow and curled it into the shape of his torso, and once he was finished making his disguise, he covered it with the sheet and patted it gently with his hand. He put on his shoes, walked toward the heavy steel door, and pushed the key into the lock.

  The lock clicked. The door opened, and Annalee felt the cold air trapped inside her bones release.

  Delvis walked through the door and closed it behind him. He stared at her, this time, not at her ring, but deep into her eyes. He folded the portrait and hid it inside his clothes, beside his heart. “Fly away,” he said, and he tiptoed down the hall.

  Annalee brought Delvis’s tooth to her mouth and positioned it in the warm pocket under her tongue, believing soon, very soon, she would.

  ANNALEE STARED OUT of the attic window at the change gathering about her house. She squinted into the new sun’s light that pierced and broke apart the pall that had for so long loomed in its place. No longer could she smell the moonflower. No longer could she hear the flutter of the hawk moth’s wings. The vine was turning yellow and dropping its leaves, and where the flowers once bloomed there were dried brown pods with seeds hardening inside. If Annalee listened hard, she could hear them rattling in the next season’s breeze.

  She looked down upon the drive and remembered the day they came. The two of them. The old man and the girl. She remembered wondering who they were and who they were some of, never in a million years believing they were some of her.

  Annalee wondered what was next. She knew she was changing. Leonard said she was fading, and when she looked for her reflection in the window’s glass, she was not there, no rotting corpse, no beauty queen. But still, the next season for her was not clear. She could not feel its temperature or see its sun, yet she could feel it was close.

  From above, she watched Leonard race from the Chrysler and heard him pound up the porch steps, and run down the hall. He climbed through the flap. He seemed younger, his shoulders broader and stronger than she had ever seen them before.

  “Annalee?” he whispered.

  “I’m here,” she said. “By the window.”

  “Where?” he asked, his eyes trying to locate her. His arms went out in front of him, and they felt the air for her. “I can’t find you,” he said.

  “It’s happening, Leonard,” she said.

  “What’s happening?” he asked, but the panic in his eyes told her he already knew.

  She bit her lip, trying to bridle the tears. When they unleashed, she didn’t feel their weight or their warmth, but she saw them drop on the toe of Leonard’s loafers.

  He touched her tears with his fingers and looked up to see if there was a leak. He walked to the gramophone, cranked the handle, and positioned the needle in its groove.

  “Come find me,” he said. He held out his hand for her to take.

  Annalee placed her hand in his, and he pulled her into his body. He raised her arm up high and led her into a waltz she would never forget, even if this new place, this new season didn’t allow memories. They spun around the attic, and when she rested her cheek on Leonard’s shoulder, she could feel its temperature; she could see its sun.

  “‘Til death,” she whispered in Leonard’s ear, and she walked into the light, leaving Leonard alone in the attic, dancing by himself.

  GRADLE WOKE TO the smell of coffee and the sound of footsteps tapping down the hall. She wiped the sleep from her eyes, rose from the pallet she had made on the floor, and went to the cell’s gate where she wrapped her fingers around the cold steel bars.

  “You sleep well?” the sheriff asked, unlocking her cell.

  “Pretty good for a prisoner,” Gradle said.

  “Mr. Miles,” Sheriff Hill called out as he approached Delvis’s cell. “You feel like coming down for breakfast?” he asked, stopping at the door. He waited for Delvis to answer, but Delvis didn’t utter a word. “I’ll bring you a plate when we’re done,” he said. He turned to Gradle. “Breakfast?”

  Gradle nodded and followed Sheriff Hill’s footsteps as he made his way down the hall. She stopped in front of Delvis’s cell, hoping perhaps with a new morning she could somehow get him to stir.

  “Delvis,” she whispered, but he didn’t move, nor did he wh
isper anything back. She watched him for a while, waiting to see some movement, some sign of life. As she watched him closer, she thought there was something odd about him, something strange about his shape. His legs were slight, his shoulders not near as broad, and nowhere could she find his head.

  “You coming?” Sheriff Hill called from down the hall.

  “I’ll be down in a minute,” she said. She looked back in the cell. “Delvis,” she shouted in a whisper. She studied his shape again, and noticed his shoes were not under his bed. Her hand palmed her mouth, and a delighted smile spread past her fingers.

  She raced down the hall, ran down the stairs, and stopped herself as she neared the kitchen. She stuck her head in the doorway and saw Sheriff Hill reading his Bible as Nance prayed over a clutch of eggs.

  “I should go home,” Gradle said. “My grandpa is probably worried.”

  “He knows where you are,” Sheriff Hill said. “He’s been waiting for you. Been parked outside for some time now.” He marked his Bible and closed it shut. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  She tiptoed beside him. She was tense, worried that any minute he would discover Delvis’s escape. Once they reached the foyer, she relaxed a bit, knowing she was that much closer to getting out without being caught.

  “Thank you for your kindness,” she said. She kissed the sheriff on the cheek.

  “Don’t worry about Delvis. We’ll take good care of him.”

  She walked until she reached the sidewalk, and then she sprinted the rest of the way to Grandpa’s car. Grandpa walked around the Chrysler and opened the passenger door. She climbed into the front seat and waited for Grandpa to sit behind the wheel.

  “Delvis escaped,” she whispered as if Sheriff Hill, who still stood on his porch, could somehow hear.

  Grandpa turned the ignition, hit the gas, and threw her back. The Chrysler’s wheels hissed on the asphalt, and he sped through the streets of town, passed the city limits, and turned down the dirt road leading to Delvis’s house. As they passed his mailbox, Gradle noticed its red flag standing at attention.

  “Stop, Grandpa!” she yelled. She got out of the car and opened the mailbox’s lip. The padlock he used to keep his mail private and secluded to fans and real true friends only was gone. She reached inside and found an envelope sealed with duct tape and addressed to:

  G-4

  263 SouTH Spivey STREET

  JaNesboro, GA 30431

  She got back in the car, and they drove down the drive toward Delvis’s shack. Grandpa rolled to a stop and put the car in park. The engine ticked under the hood.

  Gradle took in the house and its yard and cocked her ear as if it could help her to better see. The barbed wire was gone, there were no locks on the windows and door, and the clapboards looked a paler shade of gray. The Opel Kadett was not in the yard, and the sunflowers in the garden had all gone to seed, their heavy heads bowed and weeping. The place looked like it had been abandoned many moons ago, even though there were fresh flowers atop Rain’s grave and water dripped from the hanging baskets of coral geraniums, as if they had recently been tended.

  “Delvis!” Gradle hollered, climbing the steps. A crow squawked from a scarecrow’s shoulder, and the Coca-Cola can whirligig spun in the fall-like breeze.

  She turned the knob and nudged the door open. Her eyes examined the one-room shack, searching for some clue that would tell her if Delvis had been there, how long he had been there, and if he was coming back anytime soon. The bed was neatly made, and every piece of junk was in its own special spot. She had been there just two nights before, yet the place felt as if it hadn’t been visited in years. The air smelled stale, like it had never been stirred, never been walked through, and all of the decorations looked faded and aged, the pink of the plastic flamingos, paler, the fur on the stuffed animals tacked to the wall, graying, the artificial flowers sitting on the windowsills, wilting.

  She scanned the room several times again, sensing something other than Delvis was missing, something important. She paused to concentrate, but she couldn’t grab it. She closed her eyes and imagined the place with Delvis in it, and when she did she saw bright colors and heard music. She opened her eyes and searched the room for his guitar and found it missing.

  She walked outside and sat on the top porch step beside Grandpa who was waiting there, staring out solidly at the horizon.

  “He’s not here,” she said. She turned the envelope over in her hand and tore through the duct tape. Inside the envelope was a portrait and a letter. The portrait was of the sad young woman who would never tell him her name. Its title read, POrTrAIT of ThE TOOtH FaIRY. She unfolded the letter and read it out loud.

  “Dear GRaDle,” she said. She swatted a horsefly from her knee.

  If yOu are geTTIng this I’m in the PLACE called Long GoNe with a capital L aNd G. YOU doN’t NEED to worry ABOUT me. Just PRAY for me in JESUS NAME always. I AIN’T PROUd of WHAT I done AND I AIN’T NevER goNna be able to get it out of mY heart. Thank YOU for fORGIVINg me. GRaDLe the Tooth Fairy FINALLY CAME AND GOT MY TOOTH. I figureD OUt I kNOwn her all my LIfe. She cAme for my TOOTH LAST niGHt aND LEFt a key UNDER MY PILLOW that loOkEd like thIs:

  Gradle’s finger traced the key Delvis had drawn in the letter. It was identical to the key Gradle remembered hanging by the jail kitchen’s doorframe. Her brows pitched, and she continued reading the letter.

  After MY esCAPe I put the KEY bACk iN WHere it beloNged so the ToOTH FaiRY WOUldN’t get into TROUBLE FOR stealiNg. TheM Nashville MUSIC MeN kNocked on MY DOOR just about aN HOUR AGO. They WAs passing through towN aNd said they hEARd MY music up at the Piggly Wiggly. THEY told ME There WAS A BOY up therE with BLoNde hair aNd a tattoo was PreachiNg with a Bible out of the back of his truck. They SAid he hELd a cross made out of a caNe AND HAD My music playiNg in the backgrouNd. They described my souNd as humble and USED ANother WORD I hAD TO LOOK up speLLed B-E-G-U-I-L-E. They said my sound was HUMBLE and beguiles this cURrent day aNd age. I quote them on that. ThEY SAID THEY waNt to sign ME UP FOR A millioN DOLLAR music coNtract. ANd I ain’t eveN mentioNed my ART yet. ENclosed is the TOOTH FAIRY’s PORTRAIT for you to give to your graNdpa for keepsake. I thought he’d LIKE TO HAVE IT. It’s A REPLIcA of THE ORIGINAL. This portrait is the only oNe I left behind cause I got THE FEELING they goNe waNt to see my PIctures aNd purchASE THEm for very lARGe SuMs. I aiN’t bRAGGINg. JUST the FACTS. But by No means WILL I let thEM PURChase the replica portrait I drawN of you. It’s too Precious for moNey to buy. It WILL ALWAYs BE MY KEEPSAKE. I also took WITH me YOUR poNytail I cut off for you. I’ll MAKE SURE TO wear it eVEry chaNce I’m ON stage. It will enhaNce MY SIGNature style.

  Gradle paused and handed the portrait of the Tooth Fairy to Grandpa. “This is for you,” she said. He took the portrait and studied it, ran his fingers over the Tooth Fairy’s face, and stared back out at the horizon.

  Gradle read on.

  I’m GONNA need to take out a NeW CODE name. I’m a profESSIONAL at code Names. IT will no doubt be soMEthing the GBI and FBI won’t be able TO Track or break. No dog BLOODHoUND won’t be able to SNIFf it out BECAUse I’LL make sure it DON’T have no Smell. I’m thINKINg it mighT STArt WITH a G. But SHHHHH. DON’T TELL NOBODY.

  GRaDle, I was AFRAId for a WhiLE I might be dumb, but I done figured it out AND I reckon you done FIGUREd it out too that we is SOME KIND of kiN. It’s my preDICTiON GraNdpa IS GONNA TELL YOU a WHOLE lot ABOut me ANd the TooTH FAIRY if he hadn’t alREADy told you. TELL him I loVE HIM and I ain’t got no hard feelings.

  She stopped for a moment and looked at Grandpa, but he was deep in thought with the horizon. She continued to read the rest of the letter out loud.

  GRaDle, what I got to tell you next is very important. After you read THIS letTER You Need to GET RID OF IT. If pEOPle tried to tamPER with it they will be THROWN iN jail. TampeRING With mAIL IS A FEDeral ofFeNse. I learNed THAT in my uNDERCOVER AGeNt sTUdiEs. SET it TO FIRE OR TEAR it up iNto little pIEces and BUry them or seNd them off down THE RIVER wHAT
have you. CauSE THEY goNe be LOOKINg for me. I know I CAN trust YOU CAUSE yOU are the best REaL TRue frieNd I ever had. I GOT so much to TELL YOU AND WRITE BUT I got to get ON THE liCKety split. THEM music MeN ARE Outside waiting on me. It will TAKE eight hours TO get up to NasHVILLE AND when I get there I’LL be A REAL LIVE MUSIc staR. So listeN OUT for me ON THe radIO WaVes.

  ALwaYS a REAL TRUe frieND.

  YOurS TRULy,

  D-5 Delvis MiLes The LoNe SiNger

  Gradle read the letter to herself twice through and memorized every bit of it, every capital letter, every artistic curl, the expression of every realistic eye he had drawn to dot his i’s. She tore the letter into tiny pieces, placed each piece on her tongue, and chewed them up one by one. She stared off with Grandpa into the horizon and wondered what their tomorrow would bring. It was something she could not answer, something she could not see, and yet it didn’t make her afraid. The crow on the scarecrow cawed, and they watched it lift from the straw-veined shoulder and fly through the sky, a shimmer of black against the purest and most perfect blue.

  She thought about her dreams, how she always wanted to drive an eighteen-wheeler out to California and stop in the Petrified Forest along the way. That part of her life seemed so distant and so long ago. They say some dreams never come true, but these were no longer her dreams. As she watched the crow soar through the air, she found peace and a new perspective. Dreams change, and the ones that don’t, always come true.

  “Where you reckon he is?” Grandpa asked.

  “He’s on his way to becoming a real live country music star.”

  Grandpa wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. His lips turned up into his half-dimpled smile, and he looked her in the eye. And for the first time in a long time, he did not look through her or see into the past.

  Bren McClain, godmother, mentor, soul sister, and spiritual guide. My writing life would not be possible without you in it. It is a privilege to bear this beautiful cross with you by my side. Thank you for your discipleship.