I, Gracie

by Sharon Sala

  Within moments of her arrival, a saleslady approached. Gracie knew her, but in a town the size of Sweetwater, if you grew up here, you weren't a stranger to anyone. The saleslady's name was Jolene, and she'd gone to school with Mamie. Gracie eyed the turquoise tips on Jolene's blonde hair, distinctly remembering mousy brown hair, and then Jolene was at Gracie's elbow ending her muse.

  Gracie sighed.

  She's gonna want to talk about Mamie or Mama, and I don't want to talk to people. I just need to buy a dress.

  "Gracie Dunham, I swear to goodness, girl, you look amazing. I wish I was that thin. Do you do Keto?"

  "No, I don't do Keto," Gracie said. "I need a black dress and some nice shoes."

  Jolene's greeting shifted to the opportunity for a sale.

  "I heard about your mama. You have my deepest sympathies."

  "Thank you," Gracie said. "Now about that dress."

  At that point, Jolene did not mess around. A few minutes later, she had Gracie and seven little black dresses inside a dressing room.

  "I'll be right out by the checkout counter. If y'all need anything, just let me know."

  Gracie didn't bother answering because Jolene was already gone. So, she stripped down to her underwear and started trying on clothes. She had to give it to Jolene for picking out the right sizes. Gracie had lost so much weight, she wouldn't have had a clue that she'd gone from a size ten to a six.

  She quickly discarded four of the dresses for being too short. Women with legs as long as Gracie had to be careful about that. She could not go to Delia Dunham's funeral looking like a hootchie-mama.

  Finally, she was down to two dresses, and the one she loved best also fit her perfectly. Everywhere. But it was sleeveless, with a scoop neck and back, which also meant most of the scars Delia had put on Gracie's body showed.

  At the same time, she didn't see the need to try and hide them since everyone in town not only knew when it had happened but had seen Gracie at different stages of healing afterward. Just because her siblings were ignorant of her life didn't mean they needed their precious feelings protected.

  And with that in mind, she chose the one she liked best and came out of the dressing room with it over her arm.

  "I'll take this one," she said. Jolene promptly rang it up, then pointed her toward the shoe department.

  "I don't know if they'll let me off for Delia's funeral, but give Mamie my love, just in case," Jolene said.

  "Thank you for your help," Gracie said, grabbed her bag, and headed for shoes.

  It took even less time there, because as soon as she found a pair that were simple and comfortable, she bought them, then left the store.

  Her car was an oven inside as she slid into the seat, but when she started it up and turned on the air conditioning, it didn't take long for the car to be comfortable enough to drive.

  She was, as she used to tell her mama, starving. And as her mama used to tell her, "No you're not, Gracie Jean. Poor people are starving, but you are not. Go get a drink of water, and dinner will be ready soon."

  Gracie's eyes welled. She didn't have water to drink. She didn't have Mama, and she damn sure wasn't cooking a meal in that old farmhouse in this heat. So, she headed back to the Sonic because she could sit and eat in the car, and it would be cool.

  As she drove through the familiarity of Sweetwater, she kept wondering where life was taking her next. Wondering if there would be Sonics where she was going. Wondering if she would ever find work. Wondering if, at the age of twenty-nine, she had already missed all the brass rings with her name on them.

  She arrived at the drive-in and pulled into the stall to order, still teary and in a snit at the situation life had dealt her. She ordered a bacon burger, fries, and a chocolate malt, and then she sat there waiting with her money in hand.

  Everything bothered by today, and then, as if life wasn't through poking her in the eye just to watch her blink, someone knocked on the passenger-side window.

  She turned her head and stifled a groan.

  Redford Beaudine! She'd graduated high school with him. He no longer looked like the star quarterback he'd once been, but he still thought he was all that, despite five kids and two failed marriages.

  He knocked again, and then motioned for her to roll down the window.

  She let it down enough to hear him.

  "What?"

  "I just thought I'd say hi," Red said. "Sorry to hear about your mama. I know you've been cooped up out there on that ranch with her for years. Any time you'd like to go out, I'm your man."

  Gracie's eyes narrowed. She couldn't decide if she was pissed or just outright disgusted by his lack of sympathy and manners.

  "I wasn't cooped up, Red. I was taking care of my crazy mama. You do know what she had runs in our family...don't you? You still want to 'be my man'?"

  His mouth was open, but the smirk was gone. His eyes widened, and before he knew it, she was rolling the window up. He snatched his hand back just in time to keep from getting pinched and didn't bother waving goodbye.

  And then there was another knock, but this time at the driver's side window. It was the carhop with her order.

  She handed over the money and took her food, then rolled up the window.

  "Sorry I called you crazy, Mama. But we both know you were, and you taught me never to lie. I love you. I wish you were here in your right mind, stealing my fries," she said, and then stuck a straw in her malt and unwrapped her burger, savoring every greasy, salty bite of the food, and the cold, thick, sweet of the chocolate malt.

  Later, she stopped at the gas station on the way out of town to fill up, checked the air in her tires, and then headed home, back to the hot house and the silence.

  Gracie had been home for hours, cleaning and sorting and packing, when someone knocked at the door. She wiped her hands on her shirt and then hurried out of her bedroom and down the hall to the front door. When she saw their nearest neighbor standing on the porch with his hat in his hand, she sighed.

  Randy Jacobs. He hadn't set foot on this place since Mama had thrown a knife at him. Obviously, he thought it was safe to come back now. She opened the door.

  "Uh, Gracie, I hope I'm not disturbing you, but I just came to pay my respects."

  "Thank you, Randy."

  He nodded. "I also wanted you to know that if y'all plan to put your place up for sale, I'd like a chance to bid on it. I would give you a fair price."

  Gracie sighed. Randy was nice, but just like Red. One wanted in her pants. The other wanted what he thought she owned.

  "I'll let James know," Gracie said.

  Randy nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I know you had a real hard time here, and I'm sorry it turned out that way. Miss Delia was a fine woman. That Alzheimer's and dementia stuff is ugly business. My great-granny ended up like that. Ain't no one in this county who don't think you are one hell of a woman for ridin' it out with her."

  With that, he settled his hat back on his head and walked away.

  Gracie was gutted. It was the first genuine measure of sympathy she'd gotten, and it took her by surprise. She closed the door, and then headed back to her bedroom, but by the time she got there, she was shaking. She sat down on the side of the bed, stared down at the floor, and then burst into tears.

  Finally.

  Shattered by simple kindness.

  She cried for all the times she'd been afraid, and all the times she hadn't known what to do next.

  She cried for all the years she'd lost, and for what her mama had suffered. No one deserved a good life to end like that, and yet hers had.

  Gracie’s siblings had broken her heart, but they had not broken her. Tears weren't a sign of weakness. They were the release valve on years of pent up rage.

  She cried until her eyes were swollen and her shirttail was wet from snot and tears. Then she rolled over onto her side, facing the fan, closed her eyes, and slept.

  * * *

  Gracie was sweeping off the back porch when she heard the s
creen door squeak. She turned just as Delia shuffled out with a frown on her face, holding her hands out and shaking them, like she was trying to rid them of water.

  Gracie knew that look.

  "What's wrong, Mama?" Gracie asked.

  "You're gonna have to get me some new butter. Mine's gone bad. Just look at this mess. My fingers are all sticky, and it doesn't smell right!"

  Gracie smiled. Butter was the only word Mama could remember for lotions and hand creams, and lately, she'd been using quite a bit. She walked over to where Delia stood and felt of her mother's hands. They were sticky!

  She lifted one to her nose to smell and stifled a grin.

  "Your butter didn't go bad, Mama. You just got the tubes of hand cream and the toothpaste mixed up. That's toothpaste on your hands, and you don't stink. You're just minty fresh. Let's get you back in the house and all this washed off. Then I'll put some hand cream on you, myself. How's that?"

  Delia nodded, walking back into the house in Frankenstein fashion—stiff legged, with her arms straight out in front of her, still frowning.

  It wasn't until they got in the bathroom to clean Delia up that Gracie realized the other half of the story had yet to unfold.

  As she leaned over Delia's arms to turn on the water, Gracie saw something white at the corner of her mouth. When Gracie wiped it off, it didn't feel right, and so she smelled it, then rolled her eyes. Lilacs?

  Lord have mercy. Mama had just brushed her teeth with the floral scented hand cream, and the confirmation was Delia's toothbrush. It was slick with the stuff.

  Gracie's shoulders slumped.

  And just like that, one more cog had slipped within Delia's comprehension. She could no longer be trusted to brush her own teeth. One more worry added to Gracie's list, along with the knowledge that Mama was slipping further away.

  * * *

  The dream faded, and the sun was setting when Gracie awoke.

  She sat up, then staggered to the bathroom to wash her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed and still swollen, but she felt lighter. The weight of responsibility was almost gone.

  Afterward, she made her way to the kitchen through the darkening house and turned on the light as she entered the room.

  As usual, the screen door was covered in flies. She doused them in fly spray, and then shut the door as they were dropping.

  "Supper a la Raid," Gracie muttered, and turned on the fan to disperse the smell.

  She got out a plate and the bread, then opened the refrigerator. She had two choices of meat with which to make her sandwich. Ham or pickle loaf. She chose some of both, along with a slice of pepper jack cheese, and made her sandwich, slathering it with mustard. Ice cubes crackled in the glass as she poured in sweet tea, and then she sat down to eat.

  It was Wednesday night. Whatever was on TV would be summer reruns. She turned it on and opted for a game show because it took no concentration to follow. She didn't give a shit as to who won, or who lost.

  She was still eating when she heard the coyotes yipping. They were out beyond the house and running in the pastures. But there were no calves, dogs, or barn cats left on the premises. She was the only prey on the place now, and she wasn't their type.

  She finished her sandwich and took her plate to the sink, then thought about something sweet. That's when she remembered the honey buns she'd bought and got one from the pantry. She was peeling off the wrapper when a commercial for toothpaste came on TV. Gracie stopped, then turned around and smiled.

  "Hello, Mama. Yes, I was dreaming about you, but as you can see, I am taking care of business and doing just fine."

  The good cry and late nap had messed up Gracie's sleep rhythm. It was after midnight before she went to bed, but she couldn't get easy. Two more nights, and then she'd never be here again.

  Like Mama, Gracie thought. Delia had exited under her own terms by finally giving up the ghost, which left Gracie free to choose her own escape. And it was time. As uncertain as her future seemed, anything would be better than where they'd been.

  When sleep still wouldn't come, Gracie gave up fighting the bed, and as was her habit, stepped into a pair of slippers, grabbed a cold can of Coke, and went out on the back porch.

  The moonlight was bright enough for her to see where she walked, which mattered when you were out for a moonlight stroll across your porch.

  West Texas was rattlesnake country, and snakes were night crawlers with a partiality to rodents, which meant there might be a snake under their old porch, because they never had mice in the house. Rural living had its own rules and environment, and while Gracie was all about taking care of business, she also abided by rules. Out here, snakes had the right of way.

  She sat down with her Coke, feeling the condensation soaking through the fabric of her nightgown, and then held the cold can against her cheek for a few seconds before taking another sip. When she pushed off in the porch swing, it set the chain to creaking.

  Back-squeak. Forth-squeak. Back-squeak. Forth-squeak—like a rocking chair on a loose floorboard.

  As she looked out across the moonlit vista, she caught a glimpse of motion from the corner of her eye and saw an owl taking flight from the old barn. Likely the squeaking had disturbed its peace. It flew across the roof of the long-empty chicken house, and in that moment, sitting here in the dark, she remembered the night she'd awakened to the sound of Delia's footsteps long after she'd put her to bed, and then panicked when she'd heard the screen door slam.

  * * *

  Gracie was dreaming about biscuits and sausage gravy when something woke her. Immediately, she was alert and listening. Was it Mama? Stupid question. It was always Mama.

  And then she heard footsteps. Sliding steps. It was Mama. Gracie laid there a moment longer, hoping she'd just gone to the bathroom and was on her way back to bed. But when Gracie heard the squeak of the screen door, and then the slam as it went shut, she threw back the covers.

  Holy shit! Mama was out of the house! She'd never done this at night before!

  Gracie was in a panic as she felt around for her shoes, and then she grabbed a flashlight from the drawer and bolted.

  By the time she exited the house, Delia was nowhere in sight. She flashed back to the day she'd found Mama out on the prairie and was already running toward the fence, thinking she couldn't have gone far, when she passed the old chicken house and then stopped and turned around.

  The door to the chicken house was open, and it shouldn't have been. Mama had killed all the chickens one day, wringing their necks like they'd done in the old days, because she thought company was coming, and they needed a lot to eat.

  Gracie swung the flashlight toward the doorway, caught a glimpse of movement inside, and breathed a quick sigh of relief.

  Whatever she was doing in there, at least she wasn't lost.

  Gracie didn't want to frighten her, so she started calling out her name and aiming the flashlight toward the ground as she walked, just to make sure she wasn't about to step on a snake.

  "Mama! Mama! Where are you?" she called but got no answer. "Delia! Delia, honey! Where are you?" she called again, and then swung the flashlight around the dark interior. She saw her mama all the way at the end of the building, slowly walking along the wall of built-in cubbies, where the hens had always nested.

  "Hey, sweetie," Gracie said, as she slowly approached. "What are you doing?"

  "Gathering eggs," Delia said. "I need to gather in the eggs."

  "Can I help you?" Gracie asked.

  When Delia paused, Gracie saw her whole body stiffen. And then Mama ducked her head. "Do I know you?"

  Gracie's eyes welled. "Yes, ma'am."

  "Well, then," Delia said. "Come on along. But pick up that egg bucket. My hands are full."

  "Yes, ma'am," Gracie said, and then leaned over, picked up an imaginary bucket, and moved up beside her, making sure to shine the flashlight in every empty nest, just to make sure it was still empty of critters, too. And so, they went along the wall, with Del
ia gathering imaginary eggs and putting them in the imaginary bucket, until they ran out of nests.

  "Am I through?" Delia asked.

  "Yes, you are," Gracie said.

  "I'm tired," she said. "I believe I'll sit down a spell," and started to drop where she stood.

  "Oh, wait, wait," Gracie cried. "Let's go rest in the house. We can wash the dust off our hands, and I can get us something cold to drink."

  "I might like a drink," Delia said.

  "Me, too," Gracie said, and slowly cupped her mama's elbow, led her out of the chicken house, and back up the porch, then inside the house.

  Delia was covered in dust, but Gracie knew this was not the time of night to be concerned with clean feet and clean sheets. She poured them both a drink of water, and while her mama was drinking, Gracie knelt in front of her mama and began washing her hands and feet as best she could.

  "You worked hard today, Mama. It's time to sleep, now," Gracie said, walked Mama back to her bedroom, helped her settle in bed, then leaned over and kissed her forehead.

  The skin was soft beneath Gracie's lips, and her mama's breath was warm against her face.

  "I love you, Mama. Sleep tight."

  "...don't let the mud bugs bite," Delia mumbled.

  Gracie smiled. Mama had always said that when she put them to bed. Well, not exactly that, but close enough. Gracie pulled the sheet up over Delia's shoulders, then turned out the lights, and tiptoed out of the room.

  * * *

  A vehicle went flying past on the road out front. They must have had the windows down because Gracie heard faint sounds of music as it passed. It reminded her she was in the here and now—not lost in the past.

  So, she finished off her Coke and went back inside, locking the door behind her. Even then, she still wasn't ready to go to her room. So, she poked around in the house, walking the rooms without turning on the lights, and remembering the holidays they'd had under this roof.