The Watsons Go to Birmingham--1963

by Christopher Paul Curtis

  “Lemme tell you something, when—”

  We all heard the squeal of a car’s brakes outside.

  Joey and I ran over to the bedroom window that looked out to the street.

  The Brown Bomber had just parked in front of the house.

  Joey started blubbering.

  Byron’s legs dangled faster and faster.

  Dad got out of the Brown Bomber.

  I pretended I was holding a bugle and started playing that “Day Is Done …” song that they play at funerals.

  “Byron, why won’t you behave? Why won’t you think about what’s going to happen to you when you do something wrong? Why do you always do stuff to get people mad at you?” Joey asked.

  “Why don’t you make a break for it, Five Forty-one?” I asked.

  We listened to the noises of Dad coming home from work, the clump-clump of his boots coming off and being dropped in the closet by the front door, the whoosh his chair made when he sat in it, Dad saying, “Whew, it sure is good to be home,” the second whoosh of the chair when Momma sat in his lap, the sounds of kisses and giggles and laughs, then the words we’d waited for from Dad: “So what’s new on the home front, Mrs. Watson?”

  “Oh, not much. There is a surprise that one of your little darlings has for you, though.”

  “Good or bad?”

  “Hmmm, well, I guess that depends on your point of view.”

  “Let me guess, which one of the crumb-crushers is going to surprise Big Daddy today?”

  “Your first one.”

  “Oh Lord, what’d he do? How serious this time? It can’t be too bad, you seem pretty calm.”

  “Well, let’s just say I’m numb.”

  “That bad?”

  “It depends. If you were happy with your son the way he was, this might be pretty bad. However, if you’ve always wanted a child from south of the border, you might be happy with the new young Mr. Watson.”

  “O.K., what’s up?”

  “Let me put it this way, do you remember the line Big Daddy used to give every girl at Central High School?”

  “Hmmm, can’t say I do.”

  “It goes like this: ‘I can show you better than I can tell you.’ Ring any bells?”

  “Oh yeah, that does seem kind of familiar. Well, now’s as good a time as any. Show me.”

  “All right, you asked for it. Byron dear, could you please come down here for a minute?” Momma didn’t even raise her voice, she knew we’d been listening to everything they were saying.

  Byron took a deep breath, then jumped off the top bunk and started down the stairs. I followed right behind him pretending I was a reporter. I shoved an imaginary microphone in his face.

  “Any famous last words, Five Forty-one? Anything to say to all the little Chihuahuas before they start coming out of the woodwork? Do you think the governor might call before they pull the switch? Are you going to come clean and tell what led you down the road to crime?”

  By figured he didn’t have anything to lose so when we got about halfway down the steps he popped me square in the ear. Hard!

  Getting hit when you’re not expecting it can really shake you up. My legs started wobbling like my knees were made out of Jell-O, my eyes started leaking water, my nose started running.

  I tried to go tell on By, but all I could do was sit on the next-to-the-last step and hold my ear as tears jumped out of my eyes. My throat wouldn’t quit jerking up and down and making weird noises.

  Joey sat on the step next to me with tears jumping out of her eyes too.

  When Byron walked into the living room Momma said, “Mr. Watson, I’d like to introduce you to your long-lost son from Mexico City, Señor Byroncito Watson!”

  Joey made me quit sobbing so we could see what Dad was going to do, but for the longest time there were no sounds from the living room.

  We looked at each other.

  Finally the chair whooshed as Momma got off of Dad’s lap, then whooshed again as Dad stood up.

  After a long time Dad said, “Uh, uh, uh.”

  Then, “Well, son, what can I say? It’s pretty much permanent, isn’t it.” Dad’s voice was real calm and that was scarier than if he’d been yelling.

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “ ‘Yes, Dad.’ So there’s really nothing I can do, is there.”

  “I don’t think so, Dad.”

  “You don’t think so, Dad. Well, judging by the condition of your hair I wouldn’t say thinking is one of your strong suits, is it.”

  Byron mumbled something. Wow! He must have really felt like he didn’t have anything to lose, ’cause Momma and Dad just didn’t tolerate mumbling.

  Dad’s voice shifted. “Excuse me?”

  “I said, ‘No, Dad.’ ”

  “ ‘No, Dad.’ ”

  Joey started boo-hooing again. Whenever Dad repeated everything you said like this some real big trouble was about to follow.

  “Hmmm, you know, maybe there is something that can be done about this after all.”

  Suddenly Dad and Byron were in the doorway leading upstairs.

  Dad looked surprised to see me and Joey sitting there. He smiled at us.

  “Hi, Kenneth. Hi, Punkin. Why are you two crying?”

  I could just point at my ear but Joey said, “Oh, Daddy, please, what are you gonna do?”

  “Don’t worry, Jo, everything’s O.K., you just wait down here.”

  Dad and Byron disappeared into the bathroom and the door locked behind them.

  Dad hadn’t told me to wait downstairs so I ran up and stood at the bathroom door peeking through the keyhole. Someone had stuffed some toilet paper in the hole, though, so I had to drop to the floor and peek under the door to see what was going on.

  From the way Dad and By’s feet were standing I could tell that By was sitting on the toilet and Dad was standing at the sink.

  Dad was rumbling around in the medicine cabinet.

  I could hear By sniff a couple of times, then Dad started whistling that stupid song “Straighten Up and Fly Right.”

  Dad’s feet took the two steps from the sink to the toilet.

  Byron said, “Awww, man!” I heard a choo-chicka sound and the floor around their feet started being covered with stiff, reddish brown Mexican-style hair.

  Dad kept whistling and cutting.

  Choo-chicka.

  “Awww, man.”

  “Hold your head still, I’d hate to take one of these ears off by mistake.” Dad went on whistling.

  Choo-chicka.

  “Aww, man.”

  “Kenneth, what are you doing?” Momma called me from downstairs.

  I ran from the door and got halfway down the steps before I said, “Nothing, Momma.”

  “Come on down here and do nothing.”

  “Yes, Momma.”

  “What’s your father doing?”

  “He’s whistling ‘Straighten Up and Fly Right’ and cutting all of Byron’s hair off!”

  Momma laughed. Joey sat next to her still looking worried.

  The three of us sat on the couch for about half an hour before we heard By scream as loud as he could.

  Dad hollered down to us, “Just a little aftershave.”

  We heard the bathroom door open. Dad came down the steps first. “Mrs. Watson,” he said, “I’d like to introduce you to your long-lost son from Siam, His Royal Highness, Yul Watson!”

  Byron stepped into the living room with a real mean scowl on his face. Not only had Dad cut all of Byron’s hair off, he’d also shaved his head! By’s head was so shiny it looked like it was wet.

  “And, Mrs. Watson,” Dad said, “you can’t possibly deny this is your child. You can tell this boy has got a ton of Sands blood in him, look at those ears!”

  Poor Byron. If he’d have known how far his ears stuck out to the side I bet he never would have gotten that butter!

  Momma put her hand over her mouth and said, “Lord, don’t blame that on my side of the family, someone switched this child
at the hospital!”

  Joey laughed because she was relieved Byron hadn’t been executed, Momma and Dad laughed at Byron’s ears, but none of them laughed as hard as me.

  “Go get the broom and dustpan and sweep that garbage in the bathroom up, then go stay in your room. This is it, By. You’re old enough now and you’ve been told enough, this time something’s going to be done. Now beat it.” Dad’s forehead was all wrinkled when he said this.

  They sent me and Joey outside so they could have one of those adults-only talks.

  When me and Joey drifted back into the house after what seemed enough time for them to talk, Dad was on the telephone. He was holding the receiver away from his ear and making a funny face.

  I could hear someone yelling from the phone.

  Dad whispered to Momma, “Why does she think she’s got to yell into the phone for a long-distance call?”

  Momma slapped his arm and whispered back, “You leave my momma alone!”

  They were talking to Grandma Sands! All the way in Alabama!

  Me and Joey crowded up next to them on the couch and heard Grandma Sands yell, “This is costing y’all a fortune, Daniel, let me talk to my baby again.”

  Dad handed the phone back to Momma, then dug his finger around in his ear like he was going deaf.

  Momma gave Dad a dirty look and said, “O.K., Momma, we’ll be getting back with you. We love you. Bye-bye.” She said this stuff Southern-style.

  And that was it. We thought that was the end of Byron’s Latest Adventure until a week later when Dad brought home the TT AB-700 in the Brown Bomber.

  8. The Ultra-Glide!

  I don’t know why we didn’t catch on that something different was really going to happen this time, Momma and Dad started acting real strange right after they talked to Grandma Sands.

  First Momma started writing in a notebook and adding things up and subtracting things, then Dad and Joey and Rufus and me started driving all over Flint buying things for the Brown Bomber.

  We stopped at Genesee Junkyard and bought a new antenna for the radio and four new used tires, then we stopped at Mr. Biller’s Garage and had the tires put on the car, then we stopped at the Yankee Store and bought some spark plugs and some oil and antifreeze, then we got our next-door neighbor Mr. Johnson to help put all that stuff in the car, then we washed and waxed the Brown Bomber.

  When Byron walked by while we were working on it he said, “Y’all done real good. It still looks like a turd on wheels, but I gotta admit, now it looks like a polished turd.”

  We ignored him.

  While Joey cleaned the windows, me and Rufus washed the seats, even the parts that were torn and worn away. But the more we washed them the worse they looked and Dad ended up going back to the Yankee Store and buying some brown-and-white seat covers for the front seat.

  The Brown Bomber looked great! Not almost new, but not almost fifteen years old either. We brought Momma out and showed it to her and she gave us one of those big hand-over-her-mouth smiles.

  “Well, folks,” Dad said, and we all knew he was getting ready to cut up, “all it needs now is that final touch, that special something that sets it apart from all of the other buckets of bolts on the road, that one piece of all-American engineering that shows that this fine automobile is worthy of the name Brown Bomber. Any guesses as to what that is?”

  “A new hood thing?” I asked. The thing in the middle of the hood was a long chrome rocket that pointed out over the road. The only thing that was wrong with it was that one of the wings of the rocket was broken off.

  Like with everything else, Dad had a crazy explanation for that. He told us that right after he got the car from Uncle Bud both wings were there but that he had taken it to a special garage and had one wing “scientifically and mathematically” taken off.

  When we asked him why, he told us that that way when we came back from a long trip we’d be “coming in on a wing and a prayer.” That’s the kind of junk Dad thinks is funny.

  “No,” Dad answered my question, “it’s not a new hood thing. The one on there now is perfectly fine.

  “Joey, what’s your guess?”

  “I don’t know, Daddy, I don’t think anything can make the Bomber any better, I think it’s perfect.”

  “Bless you, sweetheart. Rufus, your turn, what do you think?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Watson, I like y’all’s car just fine.”

  “I knew there was something I liked about that boy. All right, Wilona, what’s your guess?”

  “I don’t know either,” Momma said, and rolled her eyes. “I think the car is per … per … per …” Momma was cutting up too. “… Oh my God, I can’t say it!”

  “Real cute, Wilona. Well, since Kenneth and Momma have insulted the Great Brown One, I guess that leaves it up to Rufus and Punkin to put the final piece on.” Dad handed the keys to Rufus. “Rufus, you open the trunk, and Punkin, there’s a small bag in there. You have the honor of putting what’s inside of it on.”

  Rufus popped the trunk open and Joey took a small paper bag out. She turned her back to everyone and looked inside.

  “Oh, Daddy, I love it!”

  “Do you know where it goes?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “O.K., time’s a-wasting, put it on.”

  She put her hand in the bag and, without pulling it out, said, “And now, the thing that makes this car more perfect …”

  Dad started helping Joey cut up. He said, “The final touch.”

  Joey repeated, “The final touch!”

  “The height of technology.”

  “The height of technology!”

  “The ultimate in American knowledge.”

  “The ultimate in American knowledge!”

  Momma couldn’t take any more. “For God’s sake, Daniel, what is it?”

  “It’s the pinnacle of Western civilization.”

  “It’s the pea knuckle of Western civilization!”

  “Now, Joey, dazzle ’em, girl!”

  Joey pulled her hand out of the bag and said, “It’s a smelly green pine tree!”

  Momma went “Ugh!” and walked back into the house.

  Joey hung the smelly green pine tree from the rearview mirror and scooted out of the car to let me and Rufus smell her fingers.

  But Dad wasn’t through adding things to the Brown Bomber. On Saturday morning Joey and me got up real early to watch cartoons and Dad was already up brushing his teeth and shaving. I went into the bathroom to watch him. I love the way that shaving soap smells.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Morning, Kenny, how’d you sleep?” Dad said this with his toothbrush in his mouth.

  “O.K., I guess.”

  Then Dad pulled one of his famous tricks on me. He said, “Kenny, look!” and pointed out in the hallway. Even before I could think my head turned around and I followed Dad’s finger. When I saw nothing and looked back Dad was smiling a mile a minute, acting like he hadn’t done anything but I noticed that his toothbrush was gone. I let him know he didn’t fool me. “Dad, how come you always hide your toothbrush, why don’t you keep yours with ours?”

  Dad laughed. “Well, Kenny, I guess I don’t keep my toothbrush with the rest of yours because unlike your mother, I was a little boy once myself.”

  I thought about this for a second, then said, “What does that mean?”

  Dad picked up my toothbrush and said, “Look at this, not only is this instrument perfect for brushing teeth, it has other wonderful uses too. You see, Kenny, I know that in a little boy’s eyes there isn’t anything in the world that is better for general cleaning than a toothbrush, and the greatest thing about it is that with a good rinse afterward no one can tell what it was used for.

  “I also know that the best toothbrush for cleaning stuff is always someone else’s. So, rather than wondering what my toothbrush last cleaned, I think it’s better that it only goes places that I know about.”

  Dad was right. I caught Byron using m
ine once to shine up some quarters and another time to brush Blackie’s teeth. I didn’t really care but Blackie didn’t like it. That was the only time he ever growled at someone in his own family.

  Dad was stirring the soap dish up with his shaving brush, and I got close to the sink to smell the soap. Dad painted his face with the soap, then bent down and rinsed it off. I know it sounds crazy, but he always did this twice, he said it really made your beard super-soft. He learned that ’cause he used to work in a barbershop when he was a little boy. That’s where he also learned that if you go to the barbershop you’ve got to make sure your neck is real clean, otherwise the barber talks about you like a dog after you leave.

  “So,” Dad said as he put the second coat of soap on his face, “let me guess why you’re standing so close. Could it be that you want me to soap your face up and hold you up here while you shave it off? It’s been a long time since we’ve done that.”

  “Aww, man, I’m way too old for that. Besides, I’m starting to get a real mustache. Look.” I stuck my upper lip out for Dad to see.

  “Where?” Dad leaned down and looked real hard. “I can’t see it.”

  “Here, look.”

  “Maybe if you got closer to the light.” Dad bent over and picked me up to the mirror. I automatically turned my head sideways when I saw my reflection. Some of the time I forgot all about my lazy eye.

  “Well, I don’t believe it! If you squint your eyes and look real hard, there’s no doubt about it, this boy’s got a real mustache going here!”

  I didn’t know if Dad really could see it or not, but I knew it was there. He put me down.

  “Won’t be long before you and I have to share the mirror in the morning, huh?”

  I couldn’t help it. Even though I knew he might be kidding, I broke out in a real big smile and nodded my head up and down.

  Dad started shaving. “Well, just so there’re no problems, I’ve got seniority on you, so I get the bathroom first, deal?”

  “Deal!”

  When Dad finished he asked me, “You too old for a little Old Spice?”