by David Haynes
We drive a long way down Lindberg. Just past the Venture store we make a right turn. We pass a sign that says Laumeier Park. I park the car, and we take the picnic things and follow Sam.
“Look at this place,” Sam says. He lets out a big belly laugh. In front of us, all around us in a field, are sculptures—giant pieces of metal, welded, bolted, stacked against each other. Silver, fire red, rusted.
“What is this place?” I ask.
“A park,” Sam says. “Let’s go.”
Sam walks us over by a large orange piece that looks like overgrown bird’s wings. We unfold a couple of blankets and use the picnic stuff to stake it out. Then, as if called, we wander away in separate directions to circle the sculptures and gawk. Todd and Gayle circle a wooden thing that is made with old railroad ties.
I find myself standing in front of large rusted girders that are lying against each other as if by accident. I don’t know why, but there’s something familiar about it, almost friendly. I reach out to touch it.
“Watch your step there, boy.” Sam says. He says this coming up behind me. I jump about fifty feet.
Sam lays down on a girder that’s angled like a steep red ladder.
“Are you supposed to do that?” I ask him.
“Why not? Why in the hell not? Look at this thing. What do you think it is?”
I shrug. “I don’t know nothing about art,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Sam says. “I’m just an ignorant old colored man myself, but let me tell you what I think. This here looks to me like some giant dropped a stack of toothpicks and just let em fall where they might.”
“How did you find this place anyway?” I ask him.
“It was back a while after Rose left. Sometimes I’d drive around all day. Nothing else to do. I found myself here one day. Kinda by accident, I guess. I kept coming back. Sitting. Walking around.
“Look at that blue piece up yonder. It looks different from here than it looks from over there. You could spend forever looking around in here. Figuring it out.”
I say to Sam, “This is a weird place if you ask me.”
“But look at all this, Marshall. Why is it all my life nobody told me there could be a place like this? I found it by myself, but it was like it was here waiting for me all along. I think I see things different now than I used to. Look around, son. Tell me what you see.”
“I don’t think I can do that,” I say.
Sam shrugs. He lies back on the girder.
“That’s quite all right,” he says. “You just think about it.” While Sam lies there, I go over and do pullups on a parallel girder.
In a while, Sam sits up.
“Say,” he says. He says it a bit too casual I think.
“What’s your mama got to say. You know. In them letters she sent you.” He doesn’t look at me when he says it.
“I only got a couple.” I don’t look at him either.
I hear him adjust himself. “What she say?”
“Not much. This and that. You know.”
Across the way, Todd and Gayle wander around the garden.
“How she doing?”
I shrug.
“How you think she doing?”
“Look, I don’t know, all right?”
Sam harrumphs.
I turn and face him. “She sounded … I don’t know. She sounded like herself. You know how she is.”
Sam pats the girder, inviting me to sit by him.
I do.
“Yeah, I guess I do know how she is. Where’d you hear from her last? Vegas, right?”
I nod.
“Yeah, boy. She been wanting to get out there a long time. A long time. Think she’s okay out there?”
I shrug. “I really don’t care,” I say.
“Oh, now, Marshall, man. That’s your mama there we’re talking about.”
“She didn’t seem too worried about us when she went running off.”
Sam rubs his chin. “You still angry, huh.”
“What’s the big deal all the sudden? I put her out of my mind. Why are you getting into this?”
“You got all the answers, don’t you boy.” Sam gets up and strolls around the girders. “Well, I been thinking myself lately.”
“We’re doing pretty good, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, we’re doing fine. Me and you. But we got us a loose end out there.”
“Forget her.”
Sam stands behind me with his hands on my shoulders. Kneading them. “You’re too hard, son. You got to let go of that anger. It’s gonna hurt you. She didn’t mean you no harm. That’s just not how it was.” “What about you?”
“Me? Look at me. I’m doing fine, aren’t I?”
But for a while there …
“I ain’t got no complaints. Life is pretty good. For me.” Sam leans into me with his weight. “What about her? I worry about her. I can’t help it. I known her too long.”
“Huh?”
“I want to know—what’s she doing out there? What’s she thinking about? You get all kinds of ideas in your head.” He looks off into space.
“What about us? What about what we got here and now?”
Sam spins around almost like that girl in the Sound of Music movie. He looks clumsy and awkward. “This here is a beautiful day.”
“I like things just the way they are.”
“Well good for you,” he says. “Let me see that license.”
I unfold it from my pocket and hand it to him. Sam reads it and taps it against his hand.
“I was planning to show you how to drive. I was looking forward to it.” He hands back the paper. I fold it up slowly and put it away.
“You’re getting to be a man now. Just look at you.” He grabs my face and rubs his hands over my chin. “You been shaving?”
“No, sir.”
“Pretty soon. Pretty soon.” He goes behind me and grabs a handful of hair. “You and me, we in this together now. From now on. I won’t let you down. Never again. I’m gonna show you, son. Show you how a man does. You with me?”
I nod my head.
“It’s a lot of things, being a man. It’s the way you do folks, and how you handle yourself. It’s how you treat the women and it’s your word of honor. I’m teaching you everything I know. I was gonna start with the driving, but we can go on from there.”
He lets out a sigh. “Oh, I know old Gayle meant well. She’s a good old girl. But me, I was gonna show you the right way. You know I love em, but women don’t drive worth a shit. I’m proud of you, though. My boy got him a license.” Sam slaps me on the shoulder. A little too hard, I think.
“You gonna get me a car?”
He laughs long and hard, his loud laugh filling the whole park.
*
Later under the orange wings we feast on crispy fried chicken, bread and butter sandwiches and fresh strawberries. The May sun stands high overhead in a clear blue sky. I reach over to flip on the box.
“No. Listen,” Sam says.
The air is full of the soft sound of birds, almost trembling with their sweet music. A spring breeze sweeps around the sculptures, whispering as it passes.
Sam inhales deeply, taking in as much of the air as he can. Sometimes he seems like such a silly man. Worrying after people who don’t give a damn about him. At those times, if you took a knife to him you could cut through that onion skin and peel it away in a flash. Sam, the sap, but don’t you be fooled. He is not really that way at all. He is awesome. For nothing he could wrap his big hands around your neck and strangle the life out of you. You get on with Sam the way you get on with a pet tiger—on his terms. Sam lets out that air with a roar.
He rises at his place and orders us all to stand with him. “A toast to you all: Big things are coming—really big things. I hope, for you, Marshall, for all of us, that all our days are as happy as this one.”
We raise our glasses to Sam.
Still, later we lie separate on our backs, scattered like the rust
ed girders of the sculpture—yet just like them we are connected. It is a family sculpture, see. Each piece holds up another, and you can’t imagine what would happen should you remove any part. Though we are not touching I am aware of each one: Sam, his head near mine, Gayle just next to him, Todd, his arm parallel to my own. We lie in peace. The sun, crossing over to evening, warms us to the core.
16
IT’s AS IF Todd’s been electrified the whole week before Memorial Day. You tap him on the shoulder, he’s startled. The phone rings, he jumps.
“You’ve got to tell me what’s up,” I say.
Finally, on Thursday, he cracks. “You have to swear you won’t tell your dad. Or anyone.”
I hate it when people say that: You know it means trouble. Still, I do. I swear.
“I’ve been telling you something big was being planned. Saturday’s the day.”
I can’t myself believe these people are going to ruin a perfectly good holiday weekend with some demonstration. Still, I keep my mouth shut. I ask for the details.
“You’ve heard of Aaron Young, the peace activist. He’s been sentenced to two years for breaking into the Calhoun Nuclear Reactor site.”
“So you guys have decided to break in and go to jail with him.”
“We’re chaining ourselves to the fence of the Old Courthouse. We’re staying until he’s released.”
“Does this mean you won’t be having barbecue on Monday?” Sam always barbecues on Memorial Day—makes a big production out of it, invites the whole family and everyone else in Washington Park, too.
“I’m kinda scared,” Todd says. He gets up and starts pacing. “Mark says there could be trouble. Serious trouble. He says someone tipped off the cops.”
“I think they usually show up at this kinda thing anyway,” I say.
“Mark says that they have no intention of allowing any demonstration at all. He says to expect a confrontation. People may get hurt.”
“So don’t go,” I say.
“I have to do this,” Todd says.
“Why?”
“Because. For me. I don’t want people to think I …”
“Who cares what people think.”
“My effort …” Todd starts. He pauses and paces, just as if he were on the edge of figuring something out. “I can make a difference at this demonstration. I believe that. This my big chance. I have to do it. For me.”
Though this may be the only opportunity to get my two cents in, I resist. Todd is so serious just now, it somehow doesn’t seem right.
I say to him, “You gotta do what you gotta do.”
“I need for you to go with me, Marshall. Please.”
I shake my head to indicate I’m not sure.
“I don’t expect you to join the protest. Not unless you really want to, that is.”
“I’ll pass.”
“Just be around in case anything happens, okay?”
I tell him “Sure.” Then we go up to Miss Ida’s to ask Artie to drive us down there. Sam’s not about to loan me his truck—at least not until I’m shown “the right way to drive.”
We decide to leave Gayle out of this mess. She hasn’t been around in a couple of days anyway. It’s just as if she’s disappeared. I ask Sam about her, but he just shrugs. He says she’s around somewhere, he supposes.
*
The big demo’s set for ten A.M. Saturday morning.
At nine Sam and Todd and I are sitting around at breakfast. All of us are acting as dumb as can be. Sam’s got on one of his nice sports coats again.
“Nice day,” I say.
“Beautiful day,” Sam says. He exaggerates the “beautiful.”
“Yup, it’s gonna be a good day,” Todd says. “I can feel it.”
This is the general stream of the conversation.
Finally, Sam stands up and announces he’s got to meet some men up at the landfill. “Big doins,” he says, raising his eyebrows.
As soon as he’s out of sight, Todd and I take off running towards Miss Ida’s store. “Dammit, we’re gonna be late,” Todd says.
We go barreling into the store like robbers.
“You boys are in quite a hurry,” Miss Ida says.
“We’re late,” I say. I’m breathing so hard, that’s all I can say.
“I hope you all are not in a big rush. I don’t even know if Baby Boy is up yet. Let me call him.” She goes to the bottom of the steps.
“Arthur,” she yells.
Todd is practically coming out of his skin. He’s pacing around, pounding his fist into his hand.
Miss Ida is giving him the eye. She’s suspicious, I can tell.
At last, here comes old Artie ambling down the steps like he owns the store. He’s wearing his red and black breakdance outfit. It includes red sunglasses.
“Jesus,” mumbles Todd.
“Where’s my breakfast?” Artie whines. He’s got the nerve to be cranky and belligerent, too.
“I had breakfast out at eight o’clock,” Miss Ida shouts. “If you can’t get your lazy black butt out of bed, it’s not my problem.” She looks over to Todd and me and points her thumb at the door. “Get this simple boy out of my face.”
Artie stomps out, grabbing a Hostess cupcake on the way. We wave at Miss Ida.
“Keep him,” she hollers.
“All right, let’s move it,” Todd says. We tumble into Dentyne. Artie just sits there behind the wheel.
“I don’t have any gas,” he says.
“We’ll stop at Vicker’s and get some. Get moving,” Todd orders. He’s pounding on the top of the seat.
“I don’t have any extra money,” Artie says. “I got a date tonight with Susan.”
Todd and I look at each other. Todd’s about to strangle him.
“Drive down to my house,” I say. “I’ll run in and get some.”
Todd sits back and stews.
*
When we pull up in front of the crackerbox, Gayle’s Toyota is parked out front. I run inside and find her loading up stuff into a box and a suitcase.
“Marshall,” she says as if I had scared her. “I didn’t expect to see you.”
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
“Don’t you and the fellas usually go to the mall Saturday morning? I um .. She trails off. The handful of stuff she carries—sweaters, towels, blouses—hangs limp in her arms.
“Where are you going?”
She sits down in the recliner. “I’m a coward,” she says. “Maybe that’s the big difference between me and your mother.”
A loud honk comes from Dentyne.
“Did you and Sam have a fight?”
“I wish. I wish we’d had the biggest fight since Ali-Frazier.” She gets up. Says, “This isn’t good.” She takes a box to the kitchen to pack up her wheat germs, her herbal teas, her french mustards.
“Just like that. You up and leave just like that. Without saying goodbye or drop dead or …”
The horn honks loud and long.
“Your friends are waiting for you,” Gayle says. Cold and cool.
I run over to the screen door and wave at them. I yell, “I’m coming, just hold on.”
“Where is Sam? Does Sam know what’s going on here?”
“I don’t report to Sam Finney.”
The horn again. I go yell again. Todd’s standing outside the car with his arms crossed, red in the face—redder than I’ve ever seen him. I stick up five fingers, mouth “five minutes.”
“I think I deserve an explanation,” I say to Gayle.
“You don’t deserve nothing from me, boy.” She says this angry. A hard look sets on her face.
I go back to my room to get the money. I have no idea where to look for it. I open drawers, slam stuff around. I can’t think, can hardly breathe. My eyes are full of water.
Gayle puts her hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she says. She sits me down on my bed with her arm around me. There is the continuous drone of the horn. Mostly in my head.
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“What I’m doing is hard enough,” she says. “This part, the part with you, Marshall: I knew I wasn’t strong enough to do this.”
I ask her what it is she has to do.
“When I hooked up with y’all, I knew it might only be for a short while. I figured it might be worth a trip.”
She gets up and wanders around the room. “It has been, too—quite a trip indeed. This has been one of the best times in my whole life.”
I wipe away with my hand at the tears which I’m trying to control. “You don’t have to go,” I whisper.
Like a ghost she already is fading. “This isn’t my home. You know I can’t stay here, Marshall.”
“We were a family. A happy one.”
“Not your real family, Marshall.” Her voice sounds distant. A horn honks loudly.
“Your friends are waiting.” Gayle pulls me up from the bed and walks me through the house to the front door. She wipes at my eyes with a Kleenex. She’s picked up the crumpled ten dollar bill I’ve dropped. Mashing it into my hand, she plants a kiss on my cheek.
“Wait, please. Wait till I come back,” I say.
I see her smiling in the door.
Waving goodbye.
*
It’s nine forty-five. Todd is practically in pieces from nerves.
“Stop at the dump,” I order.
Artie whines, but I yell at him. “Just do it.”
Todd hits the back seat with his hand, cursing under his breath.
“Thirty seconds,” I beg. “Okay? A minute at the most.”
“Marshall, I promised I’d be at the Courthouse when they started. People are counting on me.”
“Then leave me. I’ve got to talk to Sam.”
I jump out before the car stops and run toward Sam. He’s standing on the hill with a couple of dudes wearing black suits. One of them is the lawyer, Slick.
Dentyne doesn’t move. I guess they decided to wait.
Sam’s probably in the middle of another story. About mafia cars. About little boys stuck in piles of silt. His audience is in his thrall.
“Can I talk to you, daddy?”
“In a minute, son. We’re about done with our business.” Sam has a clipboard full of papers. One of the suits indicates to the other one two points on the horizon.