Sweet Thang

by Allison Whittenberg

  Still, I hated Dinah. She had a boundless cruelty about her that there was no quenching.

  I found myself in chemistry with Mr. Mirabelle scrawling figures on the board, everyone else in the room hope-lessly scribbling things. Students copied but did not learn. At the beiU Demetrius handed me a list of items he wanted me to complete.

  What was the point of life?

  Why was I really on Earth?

  • • •

  At home, Tracy John continued with his showy anger at me. The way he looked at me was the way I looked at Dinah. I tried apologizing to him again, but he covered his ears and ran away.

  I wanted things to be like they had been before he'd decked me. But when I thought about it, I realized that wasn't possible. My bruised eye would go away, but I had a feeling he'd be bruised inside forever from my ignorant comment. How could I have done a thing like that? How could I have given him what someone had given me— such a profound, oppressive, stabbing emptiness?

  He didn't even want to come down for supper. He resisted Ma's coaxing, ignored Leo's request. Thank God for Daddy. Daddy didn't ask; he told.

  “Tracy John, you better bring your little tan self down here!” Daddy called from the steps.

  In double time, my cousin came front and center.

  Daddy waved him on. “You come to the table, and you sit with your family.”

  Tracy John made a face. The only seat open was next to me.

  “I don't want to sit there,” he said.

  Daddy shot him a look that could split wood. “You better sit your little happy behind down and break bread with us.”

  Tracy John looked my way and moved his chair away from me. He sat down cautiously.

  The plates went around with candied sweets, string beans, and fried chicken. And the conversation was the usual mix: we wondered how the army was treating Horace and discussed current events. Tracy John ate with-out speaking. Not even with Leo. He didn't look up at anyone.

  • • •

  After supper, Tracy John seemed much better. There was a game on, and he and Daddy watched it, cheering and jeering.

  He came into the kitchen while Ma and I were washing dishes.

  “Can I have a nice ice-cold beer?” Tracy John asked.

  Ma craned her neck around.

  “For Unc,” he added with an impish grin.

  I took a beer out of the fridge and opened it for him. He left without another word.

  I peeked into the living room at them. Tracy John was on Daddy's lap.

  “Ahhhhh, that's good.” Daddy slurped the beer.

  “Ahhhhh, that's good.” Tracy John took a fake slurp.

  “Ahhhhh,” they said together.

  I had been a recidivist.

  In recidivism, a criminal reverted to his or her old ways of wrongdoing. That was the old me.

  That night, I didn't sleep. Instead, I looked up at the moon and the stars, all the while hoping that God would help me understand. I thought hard about Auntie Karyn and came to the realization that she probably wouldn't like the fact that I couldn't get along with her own son.

  The next morning, as Ma put concealer over my shiner (who knew she had makeup?), she told me to be sure that Tracy John brought home his rubber boots.

  “I'm watching him this afternoon?” I asked her.

  “Of course, Charmaine; what's changed?” she asked.

  I thought for a moment and answered, “Nothing.”

  As I got home and took off my coat, the phone rang. Tracy John had been in a fight with Ralph Pemberton. So I put my coat back on and walked to the elementary school. There was frost in the air. The leaves were maple golden and crimson. Autumn was nearly over.

  I entered the school, passing through corridors of rocket paintings, red, white, and blue.

  Tracy John was alone on the bench. His shoulders were slumped like a defeated soldier's, and soft, delicate tears streamed down his face. He wiped them away when he saw me.

  “Where's Auntie?” he asked.

  “I'm Auntie today. You know that.”

  Tracy John looked away.

  “You going to be okay sitting here while I talk to your teacher?”

  He nodded.

  I stepped into the room to find the well-dressed, efficient-looking Miss MuUins. She had on a beige dress with an A-line cut.

  “You're not Mrs. Upshaw,” she said to me.

  “I'm Miss Upshaw.”

  “I need to see his guardian.”

  I pressed my lips together, thinking hard before answering. “Where's Ralph Pemberton's guardian ?”

  “I suppose they are at home.”

  “Why is that? Why is that?” I asked. “He should be here. He's the other party in this. We need to hear from all sides.”

  “Young lady, you are hardly in the position to speak to me like this.” She stood up.

  I was younger but taller. She was a pint-sized woman. I wasn't going to back down.

  I said, “My mother put me in charge till four-thirty.”

  “I really shouldn't be telling—”

  “I'm she. It. Me. Me. Me. Until four-thirty. It's me.” I overtalked her.

  “I have something very important—”

  “Tell me, then.”

  She pointed at me. “Your cousin has a behavioral problem. And he's learning disabled.”

  “Learning disabled? My cousin?” My feelings hovered between anger and sadness. Anger was winning out. “Do you have any evidence? Do you have facts, or is this just your opinion?”

  “I have a degree in education. I am going to recommend that Tracy John be sent—”

  “I want to see evidence before you send my cousin anywhere.”

  “He obviously cannot conduct himself properly with the normal children in this class.”

  “My cousin is just as normal as anyone else, maybe more so,” I told her, and yes, I did have my hands planted on my hips. “Can't you see that he's upset? Can't you see that Ralph has said or done something to upset him?”

  “I really have to speak to Mrs. Upshaw.”

  “Why is Tracy John singled out?”

  “I have to speak to your mother.”

  “Behavioral problems? Because he got in a fight?”

  “This is the second time,” she said dryly.

  I closed my eyes, took a breath, and put on a ready smile that was wide, even, and precise. “My cousin has been teading since he was three and a half years old” He understands fractions and long division. So next time you want to labd someone, you make it Ralph Pemberton. It's also his second time fighting with Tracy John. You'd better check him out!”

  As I turned to leave, I saw that Tracy John was at the door, mute with amazement. He'd been listening all the time. I went into the cloakroom to get his coat, lunch box, rubber boots, and book bag, thien took his hand and exited.

  “You pack better for school than you did when you were about to run away,”I told him.

  “Auntie said it was going to rain.… I'm going to take these boots next time I run away,” he said.

  “What do you mean ‘next time’? There's not going to be no next time.”

  “I'm going to stick my thumbs out on the side of the road. That's what they do in the movies,” he explained.

  I stopped walking. “You'd better be joking. You'd better not run away. I'd miss you.”

  “No, you wouldn't. You don't care about me.”

  “Then why do you think I stood up for you just now?”

  “You like creating a scene.”

  “Tracy John, I care about you.”

  “You don't even like me. You hate watching me.”

  “No, I don't.”

  “Charmaine, I hate you!”

  “Don't say that. You don't mean that.”

  “It's true. You ruin everything. Because of you, I can't go to practice. I got grounded and spanked,” he said.

  “I said I was sorry.”

  “I'm in more trouble than Horace was. He only got
grounded, and he got in trouble with the cops.”

  “Horace is a little big to be put over Daddy's knee.”

  Tracy John's nostrils flared at that, and he asked, “Is Leo?”

  I thought for a moment about my eleven-months-younger brother. “He's borderline. We'll see next time he acts up.”

  Tracy John frowned. “Leo doesn't act up.”

  I shook my head. “He has his turns. You just don't remember them.”

  “Do you have turns? Do you ever get a whooping?”

  I nodded.

  “When?”

  “Plenty of times. Mostly before you were born. Other times you're too young to remember. Daddy doesn't play. Neither does Ma.”

  “If I was a parent, I wouldn't whoop my kids.”

  “Children have to have rules. You can't have your kids running the streets.”

  “The streets of Bonsall Avenue,” he said.

  That made me laugh a little. Dardon was hardly rough-and-tumble. “That's right: the streets of Bonsall Avenue.” My voice softened. “Tracy John, you know, I didn't mean what I said. I was just frustrated. You were running around. Acting up. Not listening to me—but I didn't mean it. I know you don't believe me.”

  “I don't,” he said. His light-complexioned face was tinted red in the high sun. For someone with such a sweet face, he had a hard way about him. I put down his gear by the gray metal swing sets and asked, “You want a swing?”

  He took me iip on my offer.

  After a few good pushes that sent him soaring into the cool autumn air, he said, “I wish I had my own ma.” I could tell that Tracy John was almost in tears. Angry and sad at the same time.

  In my head, a dam broke. I stopped pushing him.

  I managed to get out the affirmation: “You do.”

  Tears leaked out his eyes as he said, “No, no, she's not here. I'm an orphan.”

  Kneeling in the dirt, I wiped his tearing eyes, and then he said something that really broke my heart. “If you don't have a ma of your own, you could get sent away. Anytime they want to, they can get rid of me,” he said.

  “What? What makes you think that would ever happen?'

  “They could,” he said. “Just like you said.”

  “I said something stupid, Tracy John. I'm sorry,” I said. “They wouldn't do that in a billion years.”

  Tracy John's clear round copper eyes welled tears; they slid down his puffy cheeks, wetting me. I held him in my arms.

  I didn't have any tissue. Tracy John was a mess of tears and snot. The front of my blouse was soaked.

  “Ralph called me an orphan.”

  “That's what you had the fight about?” I asked. I stroked the side of his face, trying to make him smile. “Tracy John—”

  “I know, I know, keep my hands to myself,” he said in a fiizzy voice that came from the tears in his throat.

  “Well, that's true. But I was going to say something different. Tracy John, you shouldn't pay any attention to people like Ralph. They have wicked hearts.”

  He broke from my embrace and stood in front of me. He folded his arms and said, “I'm just like the girl from the comic strip with the red hair and the dog.”

  “Tracy John, you are nothing like Little Orphan Annie. You don't live in New York City. You live in Dardon, Pennsylvania. Some bald-headed millionaire is not going to come into your life and whisk you off to his mansion. The home that you live in is not large, but it has a backyard. Your auntie is afraid of dogs, so no Sandy for you. But you have a whole family who would do anything to see you smile. Including me.”

  I wasn't sure whether any of that was sinking in for him, but it was sinking in for me.

  All that time, I'd never known that he missed his mother. Here I'd been feeling envious of him; I'd had no idea that he was hurtiitg so deeply.

  Before the first raindrop, I hugged him tightly and said softly, “Everything will be all right, Tracy John.” After a while, we walked home through the driving rain.

  Daddy had to work late, so he wasn't at supper.

  Tracy John was very quiet, moving food around on the plate, not eating it, like soriae fussy bird. Leo was going on and on about his mastery of the shimmy sham. He gave us the date of the spring poncert, April 13. Tiacy John stood up, walked over to Ma's seat, and asked her “Auntie, can I be excused?”

  “What's wrong, honey? Don't you feel well?” Ma asked, putting her lips to his forehead.

  He didn't answer. I was looking at him, but he didn't meet my eyes.

  “You go on upstairs I'll be up to look in on you,” Ma told him.

  I watched him walk toward the stairs.

  “Can I look in on him?” I asked Ma.

  “Why do you want to look in on him?” Leo asked.

  “Mind your business.… Ma, I know why Tracy John is upset.”

  “Why?” Leo asked.

  I turned: to him; “Are you Ma?” Then I went back to Ma. I was too incensed to mince words. ”Miss Mullins is off her locker. She wanted to put Tracy John in a special class. And Ralph Pembeiton, ooooooh. Ralph Pemberton is an instigating jackass. He started fights with Tracy John. … I'm going to take him some dessert.”

  I went into his room carrying a bowl of bread pudding behind my back. The light was off, so the hall light was my only guide.

  Tracy John was still in his day clothes, but he was beneath the covers.

  You're feeling better?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “You're feeling worse?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “What would you do if I asked questions that required something beyond a yes or no answer?”

  He shrugged.

  “Do you think you'll be able to talk to me tomorrow?”

  He smiled.

  I took the bread pudding from behind my back. “You want some?”

  He shook his head.

  I took a whiff of the cinnamon. “You sure?”

  He nodded.

  I smiled and said, “I'll put it in the fridge. It'll be just as good tomorrow.”

  • • •

  While doing the dishes, I filled Ma in more. “Auntie Karyn wouldn't want him to be shut away in some class for kids who have behavioral problems. How's he ever supposed to go to college? Auntie Karyn would want him to go to college just like she did. Auntie Karyn did—”

  Ma put the pots in the range rack. “Charmaine, Charmaine, take a breath.”

  “He shouldn't be left back; he should be … skipped.”

  “All right, Charmaine.”

  “Tracy John should be skipped. He reads well and knows fractions and long division.”

  “One thing's for sure,” Ma said, drying her hands on the red and white gingham apron, “we can't do anything about it now.”

  “Tomorrow, will you call and see?”

  “You two are exactly alike. You're both so sensitive,” Ma said.

  “Tracy John can't go into that special class, Ma. It's all Ralph Pemberton's fault. AH he does is pick. And nobody picks on my cousin.” The phone rang. I added, “Except forme.”

  The phone rang again.

  I ran to it, picked up the receiver, and said, “Upshaw residence.” It was Horace. He had snuck us a call during his cleaning detail.

  He told me that he was going out on the range the next day and that he hoped to shoot at least thirty-six out of forty, so that he might make sharpshooter. It occurred to me that he was breezing through things very competently. He told me that he had no weekend off and that going to the chapel each Sunday was his idea of an out-trig. I smiled, not because of what he was saying; it was just that his voice sounded good and strong and proud.

  “Tonight, I have to pull fireguard,” he said.

  “Watch out for those pyromaniacs,” I told him.

  I overheard Ma and Daddy in the foyer the next morning.

  “Woman, if you don't stop fussing over that little boy …,” Daddy said.

  “Let me just—” Ma began.


  “Woman, if you don't stop fussing over me …”

  I went down to see Ma still straightening Tracy John's and Daddy's ties. They looked pretty spiffy, all dressed like it was Sunday.

  It turned out Daddy had already called the principal and set up an appointment. While Ma paced and wrung her hands, Daddy radiated confidence. “We're gonna get all this worked out,” he told us, and then they were off.

  Tracy John just couldn't get placed in one of those behavior problem classes. They were like crime school. Kids there threw desks and used bad words in casual conversations. My poor little cousin couldn't thrive in that environment. Those boys would totally corrupt him. Next thing you knew, he'd be smoking. After Tracy John had spent a few weeks with those pint-sized delinquents, even Daddy would throw up his hands to him, because by that time, Tracy John would be carrying a knife or worse. Then they'd recruit Tracy John into some gang like the Dardon Knights, or the Wheels of Soul, or the local chapter of the Crips. He'd probably drop out of school.

  I'd see him years later, and he'd be on heroin, living in a beat-up van, traveling the country with other niisdiag-nosed young men, all because of that confounded Ralph Pembertoh.

  By the time I got home from school, I had come to accept that Tracy John had been sweet when I had thought he was incorrigible, and that now he was going to have his sweetness extracted from him by this system, and he was going to be incorrigible for real.

  Leo was in the back room with a friend of his. She was almost as tall as he was and had marcelled hair. They were practicing a dance routine. They used their bodies as drums.

  “Aren't Tracy John and Ma home yet?” I asked.

  “Nope,” Leo answered.

  Dejected, I changed from my school clothes to my after-school clothes. I started on my chores. I finished the downstairs, bathroom and began on the upstairs one.

  “Where's Maine?”

  I heard his voice, and I took off the yellow gloves just in time for him to tackle me, He hugged me so tightly, he almost crushed my ribs. I returned the favor. I squeezed him back. He yelped, unable to speak.