I’d done asked Tom about it.
“I don’t know,” he’d said. “Look at the people that don’t have enough food to eat. Maybe that’s more important than a bridge.”
But I reckon there is plenty of time to talk him into it. Tom will be around a spell, and I am a patient man.
Arthur Lee has come by the Esso and asks me real close questions about Tom. Like where he’s from and what he does with his time. Mostly he sets around, I say. Tom says he’s supposed to set around and get acquainted with us.
“Where does he do his setting around?” Arthur Lee says.
“Lots of it in my yard,” I say.
“Is that so? Who else sets in your yard?”
“Most of the younguns.”
“I knew it!” Arthur Lee pulls a pamphlet out of his shirt pocket and smacks it with his hand. “That’s just what it says right here!”
“What’s that?” I say.
“Dusseldorf Rules. It’s a secret Communist document they found in Germany after the war. Corrupt the young people. It’s how them Commies do it.”
“Aw,” I say.
Arthur Lee has got big old thick eyebrows and they hump like woolly worms when he gets mad. If they was an eyebrow hall of fame, Arthur Lee would be in it along with John L. Lewis and that Leonid Brezhnev that just took over Russia. But I’d never tell Arthur Lee to his face that he looks like a Communist.
He waves them Dusseldorf rules under my nose. “Let me tell you something, Hassel. You stay away from that VISTA.”
“Be hard to do,” I say. “He’s renting my spare bedroom.”
I think Arthur Lee will swallow his false teeth. I am cleaning the windshield on a Buick and he keeps following me around. “Hassel,” he says, “do you like this job?”
“I like it fine,” I say, “but if it comes to that, he’s paying more rent than you are salary. It’s the government pays his keep, you know.”
Arthur Lee sticks out his chin. “Is that right?”
“That’s right,” I say.
“Is that right?” He turns around and walks to the door of the Esso. “Just who by Jesus do you think you are? Have you turned Communist too?”
“Lord, no. I aim to be a businessman.”
He laughs right out.
“It’s true. Tom says the government is giving fellows money to start them a business. I reckon he can help me get some of that there money. That makes me a capitalist, don’t it?”
Arthur Lee’s lip curls up. “You take money from the government, you aint no capitalist,” he says.
“Why,” I say, “I don’t aim to take as much as you do.”
That tears it. He fires me right on the spot. I been expecting it, so I don’t much mind. I know he’ll not fire Junior, because he won’t find another mechanic near as good. Besides, Junior is not living at the trailer right now, he is staying over to his mommy’s again. I told him keep out of Arthur Lee’s way and don’t go to none of them meetings Tom sets up. So if folks wants to go to Tom’s meetings, Junior looks after their younguns.
It turns out one thing a VISTA does is organize us into groups. Tom says there will be the Blackberry Creek Concerned Citizens, and we will have our own chapter at Number Thirteen that meets at the Holiness church. He goes to every house in Number Thirteen and tells people why they ought to come to the meeting.
The next night we walk to the church. Brother Marcum from Daisy Creek comes to lead the service on Sundays now, but I look after the building. I plug in the neon JESUS SAVES sign above the altar. The meeting is supposed to start at seven o’clock but nobody comes until seven-fifteen and by seven-thirty we only have six people. That includes me and Louelly. Tom stands at the back of the church, and I can tell he is disappointed.
He says. “Twenty-five people swore they’d be here.”
“Don’t you take it personal,” I say. “Folks hereabouts wouldn’t come out to watch Jesus Christ ride a bicycle.”
“I thought at least Betty Lloyd would be here. She seemed real interested.”
“Uncle Brigham’s laying drunk again,” Louelly says. “He smokes a lot when he’s drunk, and Betty don’t like to leave him for fear he’ll set hisself on fire. Besides that, people at the county been saying don’t go to them meetings or we’ll take away your food stamps. It scared off some.”
Tom says, “I dare them to touch anybody’s food stamps. If they try it, we’ll kick some ass. Maybe that should be the first thing on the agenda.”
Tom is good at talking like that. He wants to move along, get things done. But I’m glad I got elected president of the Concerned Citizens. One thing I figure, you could do your business in maybe two minutes if everybody bears down and speaks plain. But people won’t come to a meeting for that. They will want to visit, so you have to let them and don’t worry if somebody starts in to fuss about a spoil bank sliding into their vegetable garden and ends up asking Louella how she puts up her mixed pickles. You just don’t write up the mixed pickles in the minutes.
What we do, in between the visiting, we stick a sheet of paper up beside the JESUS SAVES and write down our goals. One goal is to get a car bridge built. I make sure that gets on the list. The other thing we decide is to start what Tom calls a food cooperative. That is because the company stores are all closed and the prices at the Pick-and-Pay in Annadel are high as a cat’s back. And if you take twenty dollars of food stamps to the Pick-and-Pay you will only get ten dollars of groceries. Tom says, “If we’re successful with this, people won’t have to buy from the Pick-and-Pay any more.”
We get back to the trailer at nine. Tom sets on the couch and drinks a Falls City.
“It’s a good thing you enjoy a cold beer,” I say. “Hit’ll comfort you after you get in trouble with Arthur Lee Sizemore.”
“Who’s that?”
So I tell him Arthur Lee is a boss for American Coal and that he’s on the county commission. “And that aint all.” I pop open a beer bottle, lean back, and stretch. “Arthur Lee owns the Pick-and-Pay.”
JACKIE, 1965
Tom Kolwiecki is the cutest thing in this world. He’s got a sweet face just like Paul McCartney and he’s real smart. None of the girls from Davidson know him and he wouldn’t like them anyway.
I’ll never forget when I first set eyes on Tom. All the kids were watching TV at Hassel’s trailer. We hang out there because it’s like a secret clubhouse, dark and mysterious and full of neat junk. Hassel’s got calendars on the walls from every funeral home in Justice County. He’s got shoe boxes stacked up that he keeps things in, and a grass-green ashtray from Myrtle Beach on top of the TV. Hassel doesn’t smoke but Junior Tackett does and the ashtray is always full of squashed cigarette butts.
Hassel also collects weird lamps. One of the lamps is a big fat pig with a skirt on and a light bulb in its belly. Another one is shaped like a ship with sails, and the lights turn so it’s like the waves moving. Hassel keeps the lamps on in the daytime because the trailer is always dark inside. There’s only one window with glass in it, beside the stove, and it’s covered with grease from where Hassel fries his food. The other windows are broke out and there is plastic over them that you can’t see through. Hassel keeps the door open unless it’s cold outside.
We were watching the “Andy Griffith Show” when he walked in the door. Hassel said, “Younguns, this here is Tom Kolwiecki. He’s staying with me for a spell.”
And I thought I would die because Tom is so cute.
Toejam Day said, “Whereabouts you from?”
“New Jersey, stupid,” said Doyle Ray Lloyd. “My daddy told you that yesterday when you was over to the house.”
Then Toejam, who is too slow for words, points at the television and says, “My favorite character on ‘Andy Griffith’ is Ernest T. Bass. Who’s your favorite character?”
“I don’t know,” Tom said. “I don’t watch much TV.”
On the TV, Barney Fife yelled “Nip it in the bud!” and everybody giggled. I didn’t laugh
. Tom sat on the floor beside me. I said, real low so the others wouldn’t hear, “I don’t like TV either. But nobody wants to do anything else.”
“What do you like to do?” Tom asked. He looked straight at me, and I felt real jumpy in my stomach.
“I like to go to movies and listen to music,” I said.
Then I realized Doyle Ray was listening in. “Jackie reads lots of stupid stuff,” he said. “That’s why she’s four-eyed.”
Doyle Ray always makes fun of my glasses because they are thick. I felt like crying but then Tom said, “Put a zipper on it, kid. There’s nothing wrong with glasses.”
Doyle Ray looked real surprised, because nobody ever talks to him that way. “Oh, yeah?” he said.
“Yeah,” Tom said. “You play football, big guy like you?”
“I’m going out for the team next year,” said Doyle Ray. He was still real mad and looking Tom over like he was trying to figure out if he was too big to hit.
“Defensive lineman on my college team wore glasses. You call him four-eyes, he’d pop you one.”
“Yeah?” said Doyle Ray.
“Yeah. He had a trick for moving the center off the ball. I’ll show you tomorrow.”
Doyle Ray sat up. “Sure,” he said.
Everyone started watching TV again, but Tom leaned over to me. “Do you like poetry?”
I wondered if he was making fun, but he looked serious.
“Yes,” I lied, guessing that was the right answer. It wasn’t a total lie because I do like Shakespeare.
“T. S. Eliot is my favorite poet.” Tom said it loud and looked at Doyle Ray like he dared him to make fun.
I never met anyone who had a favorite poet except Miss Meade my English teacher who likes Robert Frost. Then I knew Tom Kolwiecki must have made good grades in school and wouldn’t care if anyone made fun of him for it because he wasn’t scared of anybody.
Mom says I can have a party to welcome Tom to Number Thirteen. Once I saw in Seventeen magazine where you can’t be a successful teenager until you have a party and I don’t know anybody who has had one, so I will beat them.
Mom says, “Are you going to invite your friends from school?”
I say no, real fast.
“Not Vicky or Tammy? You haven’t mentioned them in a long time.”
“They’re dating,” I say. “They don’t have time for girlfriends any more.”
I don’t miss those girls. I don’t even care about them. Brenda is my friend, and I love Tom and Mom so that is enough.
“Do you want pizza?” she asks.
“And little Cokes and potato chips and onion dip.”
I send written invitations on pink construction paper cut in the shape of stars with silver glitter at the edges stuck on with Elmer’s glue. I buy a new blouse at Watson’s and six new 45 records at Murphy’s in Justice town, and a Seventeen magazine for last minute advice. One article is “Create Your Own Summer Party.” It has a big color picture of food I never heard of, like tacos and guacamole. I don’t know how to pronounce them or what is in them, but the guacamole is green and looks really gross. The tacos are in little baskets with red and white checked napkins. I shouldn’t have looked in Seventeen.
I model the blouse in my mirror. It is blue and white striped with lace around the collar. It looks OK with my navy blue shorts. The Seventeen magazine is open on my bed. There is another article in it called “Inner Beauty.” It says, “Believe in yourself and let the true you shine through.” I clean my glasses and try to see what I look like without them, but I have to stand so close to the mirror that the breath from my nose clouds the glass, so I can’t tell if the inner beauty is shining through or not.
The party is in what used to be the camp doctor’s waiting room. I have a green stereo that will hold five records at one time, and the wall has posters of the Beatles. The cups and napkins are on my mom’s card table in the corner, and the kitchen is next door with the CoCola in the refrigerator. I have made the Chef-Boyardee pizzas and Mom is watching them in the oven. She isn’t supposed to come in here except to tell me when they are ready.
Everybody except Tom comes to the party right at six o’clock, which is when I said on the invitation. Toejam has his invitation with him like he thinks I won’t let him in without it. We sit on the waiting room benches and look at each other. I am sick to my stomach because the pizzas will be done and getting cold and I know Tom is not going to come because he thinks this party is the stupidest thing.
Toejam keeps looking around like he is nervous. “I used to come here and get shots,” he says.
Doyle Ray Lloyd laughs. “What for? Being brain diseased?”
“You shut your mouth!”
“Shut it for me!”
They are both standing up. They fight about three times a week and Doyle Ray always wins. It is Doyle Ray who put the pumpknot on Toejam’s head.
“Don’t you fight at my party or I’ll kill you!” I am ready to cry.
Doyle Ray sits back down. “So where’s the food?”
“Everyone’s not here yet.”
I pass around a bag of Fritos. We eat the chips and it is so quiet you can hear people chewing. Doyle Ray says, “What do you do at a party, anyhow? You got any games?”
Mom sticks her head in the room. “Not yet,” I say, and she goes away. I get out Chinese checkers and Doyle Ray and Ethel start to play. Tom arrives at six-thirty. He’s got on a tan T-shirt with green letters that says Robin Hood Was Right. I run to the kitchen for the pizza, which Mom has kept in the oven so it is still sort of warm. When I get back I notice Tom is eating pretzels, so I will save the bag for a souvenir.
He eats two pieces of pizza. It has pepperoni and green peppers on it. “You make this yourself?” he says. “It’s good.”
“Play some music,” Brenda Lloyd says. She knows I like Tom. When I go to the record player she follows me. “Maybe he’ll dance with you,” she says.
“No, he won’t.”
“Want me to put him up to it?”
“Don’t you dare!”
I put on “Woolly Bully” by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs. Nobody gets up to dance, they just sit and look at their feet.
“You guys better dance,” Tom says. “That’s what parties are for.”
“Don’t know how,” Toejam says.
“Haven’t you ever watched ‘American Bandstand’? It’s easy.”
Tom gets them all to dance, even Doyle Ray. He is so cool. I try to stand behind him when I dance because I’m not very good and I don’t want him to watch me. When the record stops he turns around and smiles at me. I smile back. Then “Cherish” drops on the turntable and it is slow.
“How do you dance to that?” Toejam says.
“You have to slow dance,” Tom says. “Watch up.”
He takes my hand and puts his arm around my waist. We sort of walk around and sway a little. I try not to touch him so he won’t think I’m fast, but sometimes I bump him when I step the wrong way. My blouse is damp where his hand is on my back. When we turn I see Brenda grinning at me. I make a face.
“Boring,” Doyle Ray says.
“Let’s go down by the creek,” Ethel Day says. “I got some cigarettes off Junior this morning.”
She leaves with Doyle Ray. Brenda looks uncertain, then says, “I just remembered something,” and winks at me so I know she is leaving me alone with Tom on purpose. Only Toejam stays, watching us from a bench. Tom is humming along with the music and my ear buzzes. I can smell him. I thought from the TV commercials that men aren’t supposed to smell, but Tom smells like soap and sweat and something I can’t figure that is sort of pleasant like warm bread.
The record stops and we stand apart. Toejam is squirming on the bench. “Tom, you going to kiss that girl?”
“Toejam!” I cover my face with my hands.
“Cause if you do can I watch?”
I want to cry. I try to think how a Seventeen girl would handle the situation but I figure a Se
venteen girl wouldn’t know Toejam.
“We were just dancing,” Tom says. He is still smiling. “You can dance with someone who’s a friend, Toejam, and you don’t have to kiss them. Dancing’s one of the social graces.”
“Oh,” Toejam says.
“Speaking of social graces, I better not overstay my welcome. Looks like the party’s breaking up. I’d better get back to Hassel’s.”
“I’m glad you came,” I say. I am afraid to look at him.
“Me too. Do it again sometime.”
He leaves and it is all over. Nothing will be so wonderful, ever again. Toejam is still here. “Jackie, will you dance with me? Slow like that?”
“No way!”
“Why not?”
“You’re too young.”
“I’m eleven.”
“That’s still three years difference. Ask me again when you get out of grade school.”
That will take a while. Toejam is only in the third grade, since he’s been held back almost every year. “Aw,” he says, scuffing his feet on the floor.
“Go on home,” I say coldly. “The party’s over.”
I know I am being mean, but I don’t care. I have been wounded by love. I go in the house. Mom is watching TV with the sound turned down low. I sit beside her on the couch.
“Have fun?” she says.
I am about to cry so I don’t say anything. She puts her arm around me.
“Tom’s twenty-two,” she says. “He’s a grown man. Besides, I’ve heard he’s going to be a Catholic priest.”
I sob against her shoulder. He can’t be a priest. Only old ugly men should be priests.
“You don’t want to rush,” Mom says. “You’ll meet the right person when you’re older.”
I won’t ever get older. It’s too far away. And by that time Tom will be a priest. If I could grow up before he became one, I could change his mind. I go upstairs to my bedroom but I can’t sleep so I turn the light on and get out my notebook. I write
J. H. + T. K.
J. H. loves T. K.
Jackie loves Tom
Tom loves Jackie
The Unquiet Earth Page 20