by Neile Parisi
Buddy Ray Preston lived with Alma, his great-grandma. She called her grandson, Daniel Ray, the father of Buddy Ray, in New York to invite him to the ceremony. Apparently, he and his girlfriend had had the baby boy, but neither of them felt they could raise him, so they packed him up and sent him to Easly to be raised by his great-grandma and great-grandpa, who gladly agreed. Buddy’s dad promised to visit often, contribute financially to his upbringing, and keep in touch. None of these things actually happened. Buddy’s dad was always in trouble with the law and life in general, and knew he couldn’t take care of himself, let alone a baby. He’d had a rough time in school, and nearly didn’t graduate. His mom was a mess, and hadn’t shown much caring or any parental skills. She herself had had her first of six kids at age sixteen. I guess it was expected that Buddy’s dad was destined to fail.
His grandma decided that wasn’t going to happen to her great-grandson Buddy. She loved him, and then she loved him some more. Buddy’s dad visited frequently in the beginning, but as the years passed, he became preoccupied with his own life and sent an occasional birthday gift or card, then lost touch completely. It reminded me of my sons. At first, they had kept in touch with my mom; but then, shortly thereafter, she became a memory too—just like me.
After the fire and almost losing his only child, Buddy Ray’s dad felt his heart soften, and he decided maybe he should raise his son. His grandma questioned him about it daily. “How are you going to do it? Where will you get the money to pay for everything? Who will watch him when you go to work? He is settled here. He is happy here. I can take care of him better than you can. I think it’s best that the boy stay with me.”
Buddy Ray’s great-grandma reminded me of my mom. She was a strong woman who had lived through many trials but kept her wits about her, her faith in God, and her ability to love. She was so similar to my mom, the matriarch. Everyone looked up to my mom. Buddy Ray’s great-grandma would say, “You don’t live to be eighty-five and not know things. Your years teach you so much. You learn to choose your battles—the ones you can win. You learn the right way to do things. Even though your children and grandchildren don’t believe you, you know in your heart you are right. Your years of experience have corroborated that to you.” Most importantly, she was raising Buddy Ray with this attitude about life. Love everyone, forgive everyone, and you will be happy.
His dad insisted that he try it his way, and took Buddy Ray to New York. He actually lasted three weeks before he called and said he would be bringing Buddy back to South Carolina. He came to his senses. His grandma didn’t reprimand him. Instead, she said she understood, and she just loved them both. “I knew it was best for him to stay with me, and you are welcome to stay also. I love you—I have and always will love you, and don’t you ever forget that. You should visit more.” Buddy Ray’s dad promised that he would make a bigger effort to visit his son, and even send money occasionally to help his grandma. Well, that didn’t happen, but now that he had been invited to the assembly, his heart softened again, and he decided to attend and even stay a little longer—and maybe reconnect with his son.
Buddy Ray’s dad remembered the summer months he had spent with his grandparents in South Carolina. It was always an adventure, with creeks to swim in, fish to catch, trees to climb, caves to explore, and kids to play with. He was never in trouble in Easly. He had too much to do, and school was not a part of it. He helped on the farm and respected his grandparents. In fact, he respected anyone older than himself. His grandma held him to different standards. He had chores to do, and was expected to be responsible and accountable. He cultivated good habits with the help of his grandparents. There just weren’t enough hours of daylight to do all that he wanted to do, and never enough to do all he had to do.
My mom was raised on a farm, and she said farm kids aren’t troublemakers. I believed it. You don’t have time to get in trouble. You also see and learn about life differently. She said after you watched animals being born—cows, chickens, horses—you looked at life differently. You respected the whole process to a greater extent. And you seemed to understand life more.
Dan had a different set of friends in Easly, kids who were mostly poor financially but rich in every other area. They were rich in family, memories, customs, and, most importantly, love. They seemed well-balanced, stable, and content. After a while, he was, too. They were God-fearing people, and attended church regularly and willingly. It was part of their culture. He went to church regularly for the first time in his life, and enjoyed it. His grandparents were there, and so were his friends. It seemed like more than religion. It was customary, like being with family. He could see why the church was packed every Sunday. It fulfilled a purpose for many. The weekly sermon provided answers to many questions, and the preacher appeared to be sincere, calling you by name as he shook your hand before leaving church. He always had some kind words to say to Dan, which made him like him even more.
Why was it different when he went home? What went wrong whenever he returned to his hometown? Every August, he cried when he had to leave and return to the crowded, noisy city. He promised he’d write to his grandparents, and couldn’t wait to see them again. That was why he decided to send his son to be raised with his grandparents. He knew it was the right decision for Buddy Ray to be with them. He wanted his son to have a better chance than he’d had at life. He knew he would be fine—no, better than fine, he would be outstanding, and have all the love he needed. Dan missed the country life. He missed the peace of it, but mostly, he missed the love he had felt in Easly. At least his mom had the sense to do that right. She should have left him there permanently. His life would have been better all around. He wouldn’t have been so discontented or feel like such a failure if he had stayed in Easly. Oh, how he wished he had stayed.
So now he was coming back to his favorite town, to his favorite people, to participate in one of the most important days of his life. He thanked God that his son had been spared, and committed to trying harder to be a better father, to be honest and true, and to set a good example for him. He even toyed with the idea that he could meet some nice Southern belle and marry, and settle down and have more children.
His grandma said it was never too late to begin again. She said she would keep her eyes open for someone who would be just perfect for him. And she did. She knew a girl around his age who worked at Honey Bee Bakery, and was so sweet. She was hoping she could fix them up soon. He had to promise to stay and get to know her and change. He had to be the kind of man who would deserve that kind of girl. His grandma said, “Always be the kind of person you would want to marry.”
Dan came a week before the awards assembly and stayed at the old familiar farm. There weren’t any animals there now except for some barn cats. He wandered into the barn, remembering all the good times he’d had there during his childhood. He decided that tomorrow, he would take his son fishing after school at the creek where he used to fish. He would pack a lunch and spend quality time with Buddy, just the two of them. He could try to make up for lost time. After school, he was waiting with the rods and lunch and a heavy heart. “Hey Buddy, ready to show your pa how to fish?” Buddy nodded his head as he grabbed his dad’s hand and started to skip along the dirt road. His dad wiped a tear from his eye, thinking about how much he had missed. But Grandma had said he could start today.
“So, how do like living here in Easly?”
“I just loves it here, Dad. Are y’all gonna stay here with us? Y’all can sleep in my bed. I can sleep on da floor. I’s hopin y’all can stay.”
“I don’t know how long I can stay. We’ll see. I have to work out some things first.”
“Okay Dad, race ya to da creek!”
Dan loved this interaction. Why had he ever left Buddy here? Why hadn’t he stayed with him? He would have to work some things out, but he was leaning toward the thought of staying. They sat on the ground near the edge of the water. It was a perfect day. They sat in silence until Buddy Ray caught something o
n his line. He showed his dad how to reel it in just the way his great-granddad had showed him.
“See, Dad, this is how y’all do it. Y’all wanna try?”
“Yes, son, I do. Thanks for teaching me.”
The day continued in pure joy for both of them. Buddy Ray didn’t show any animosity toward his dad. He just accepted the fact that his great-grandma had said he was away, and couldn’t come see him right now.
Buddy Ray had been so excited when his great-grandma told him his dad was coming. He told everyone at school.
He said, “Miss Billie, guess what? My dad is coming to the awards assembly all the way from that big city. Wait till y’all meet him. You gonna like him.”
“I’m sure I will, Buddy Ray. I’m looking forward to it.”
They were inseparable that week, playing and talking before and after school. Dan wanted to talk to Buddy Ray about the fire and thank the teacher who had saved him. He thought maybe it would be difficult, so he decided to wait until the assembly, where he could meet her in person and thank her for saving his son’s life. It would be tomorrow soon enough.
The principal, the fire chief, the mayor, and some of the teachers greeted everyone as they filed into the Augusta Blackmoore Media Center. No one was surprised by the great turnout. There were no empty seats. Some people were standing in the back. The families of the deceased were in the first two rows of chairs. Behind them sat the faculty and their families. On stage sat Mrs. Baxter, the fire chief, the mayor, the president of the town council, and Mr. Sawyer. The awards recipients were seated throughout the auditorium. I was sitting near the back with Jonathan. Anyone who wanted to was invited to tour the school, then make their way back to the auditorium for the presentation.
During the next forty-five minutes, we listened to all of these speakers praise our principal and kindergarten teacher and talk about each of the twelve lost students individually, citing their accomplishments. Then they called the “heroes” onto the stage: eight volunteer firefighters and myself. I didn’t want to go up, but Jonathan pushed me out of my seat. We stood onstage as the crowd gave us a standing ovation accompanied by thunderous applause. I felt embarrassed. I watched as Mrs. Baxter presented a plaque to each person inscribed with their name and words of gratitude.
As they called my name and I approached Mrs. Baxter, Buddy Ray Preston jumped up from the front row and yelled “Yeah, Miss Billie!” We’d had a special bond since I saved him from the fire. I turned to look at him, and saw his dad pulling him down. I looked at his dad, and knew his face. I knew that face.
It was the face of Daniel Ray Sawyer. The Daniel Ray. The boy who had caused me to lose my job, my career, my life! He was the father of Buddy Ray Preston. How could it be? How did I not know? His middle name was Ray, but they had different last names. I had never connected the dots. Buddy Ray’s dad was from New York, and his grandparents were raising Buddy Ray. Daniel Ray had once destroyed my life, and now I had saved that of his son. How ironic. Buddy Ray’s great-grandma had never spoken his name. Buddy had said, “I can’t wait for you to meet him…my dad. Y’all gonna love him, Miss Billie.”
Our eyes locked, and Daniel Ray started to cry. He knew the truth, and now he had to face it. His son had said, “You’ll meet her, the teacher who saved me.” He never said my name until he yelled out, “Miss Billie.”
I stared at Daniel. I had such mixed feelings for him. I wanted to hate him, to scream at him, to ruin his life like he’d ruined mine. But that was so long ago, and I’d learned to forgive everyone. Then my heart softened, and as I stared at Daniel Ray, I mouthed the words, “I forgive you.” He nodded his head and acknowledged my words. Now I knew what it meant to feel peace and power, just as Coralee had taught me. The gift of forgiveness was complete. It was over. It was done.
EPILOGUE
Going Back Home
I MADE MY DECISION TO GO HOME. Many factors influenced my decision. Daniel Ray would now live in Easly. Even though I had forgiven him, it was still difficult to see him. My mom was getting on. She was nearly ninety years old, and she really needed me. Jonathan said he still wanted to see me. He suggested that we visit each other. I didn’t believe it would work—long-distance romances usually die—but I smiled and said, “I’d like that.”
He said he wasn’t ready to give up on me yet. “Is there anything I can say to persuade you to stay?”
I cried, and we hugged for a long, long time. “No, there isn’t, but I hope you meant it when you said we could see each other.”
I meant it, but I guess Jonathan hadn’t. We saw each other a couple of times. We visited both at home and in South Carolina, but it didn’t last. I knew it wouldn’t. How could it? I don’t blame him. It was not reasonable. I had to take care of my mom; she needed me. I knew I had sacrificed my future, yet it didn’t seem like a sacrifice. I know the Lord wouldn’t punish me for doing what was right. There would be blessings to come, after all. I thought about my life in Easly. It was so long ago, yet still fresh in my thoughts. I had grown and changed so much since those days. I was older now, but so much wiser. I knew what my mom meant when she said, “Your years bring you great knowledge.” I reviewed everything in my mind like a video on fast-forward. So much had happened: good and bad. I had made lasting friendships. Maybe I would return to Easly someday. I knew I would be welcome.
I haven’t heard from Jonathan again. I didn’t expect to, but I secretly hoped he would call me. I miss him. Oh, well, I guess it is over. Onward and upward to newer and better things.
Being home is not as strange as I thought it would be. I had to find a job. Having my wonderful, strong, brilliant mom still around helps every day. None of my friends have living moms. I am lucky. Her keen mind and positive attitude add to the pleasure of caring for her. She really does take care of me, though.
I met with my old friends and teachers with whom I taught years earlier. We gathered for lunch, and they would inevitably discuss school, lessons, principals, and students. It was so painful for a long time. Just the thought of discussing these subjects made me cringe. Sometimes, I would excuse myself and leave early. At other times, I would sit through the conversation, trying to change the emphasis from school to anything else. I knew they meant well, but it was still uncomfortable for me, and soon after that, I stopped meeting with them. I shared my concerns, and noticed that they asked me less and less to join them, except for my best friend Lee. She always stood by me. She had always believed I was innocent. She’d fight to the death for me. I still see her all the time.
I am a realtor now, and have been for years, since I moved back home. Interestingly enough, I have seen many of my old students in a variety of places since moving back home. Many of them have stayed in their hometown. I met a student pumping gas who recognized me, and asked how I was doing and if I was still teaching. I met another one in the grocery store, and he introduced me to his wife and children. He said he had such fond memories of my science class. Another was working as a bank teller. She told me she loved the experiments we did in class on Fridays. And one of my favorite students, who was now a salesgirl, said she still had the solar system project she had made in my eighth-grade science class.
Recently, a former student called me to help her buy a house. That was a fun experience. Again, I was teaching in a different venue. We found exactly what she wanted, and she was ecstatic. She thanked me over and over. Another student, who considered me a mom, invited me to go with her to her timeshare in Mexico, which I did, and had a fantastic time. One more who moved cross-country invites me to all the major events in her life. I have attended her college graduation, her wedding, and the baptism of her first child. And last month, when my car died, the tow-truck driver said, “Aren’t you Mrs. Murray, my science teacher? I’d know you anywhere. You look great, you haven’t changed. I loved your class.”
I also accepted a position as a Sunday school teacher in my church, which helps fill the void of not teaching. It’s not enough. I miss teach
ing and am still sad about it, especially at this stage of my life. I should be retiring with teacher’s benefits, but I’m not.
I have made a positive impact on many students and changed many lives. I am thankful for that. I am also thankful for this career opportunity, which allows me to make my own schedule and do what I want or need to do. I have been able to help take care of three aunts and uncles, including moving them, cleaning their homes, planning their funerals, and burying them. I would never have been able to do any of this as a teacher. I’ve also been able to take care of my ninety-year-old mom and keep her in her own home. My change in occupation allowed me to do this. It is true what they say: when a door closes, a window opens. I have been spared many a hardship. I’ve been able to support myself in my new career. I still find myself questioning how different things could have been had I never met Daniel Ray. I guess I’ll never know.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Neile Parisi is the author of Today My Name Is Billie based upon an incident in her life as an eighth grade teacher. Neile taught school for eighteen glorious years in public schools. She experienced both joy and tragedy in her classroom, but continually loved her students. Following her teaching career she became a Registered Sanitarian. Having a Masters Degree in Health Education, she was able to use her teaching skills to help educate workers in the restaurant world, teaching proper food handling skills, provide knowledge about radon, asbestos, and lead poisoning to home owners, investigate food poisoning, test beach water and pools for bacteria levels, inspect restaurants, day cares, schools and hospitals, and at times even trapping rats and rodents. Currently she is a realtor, who by the way, won Second Place in The Woman’s Arm Wrestling competition in Las Vegas, and promises she won’t let anyone “Twist Your Arm.” She is also a stand-up comic on the weekends, drawing from her varied background of occupations. This is her first novel.