Sweet Dream Baby

by Sterling Watson

  He looks stupid doing it, and his face gets red, but he’s out there, and I know Ronny and Bick wish he’d stayed with them. They smoke and watch. Quig dances with all of the girls for a while. They’re all out there, and from where I’m sitting on my Aunt Delia’s rock, it looks like they could take one step the wrong way and they’d be dancing on air. They’re all moving kind of loose and crazy to the music, and then Quig Knowles isn’t dancing with three girls. He’s dancing with just one, and it’s my Aunt Delia. He faces her, and each time she tries to slide back to Beulah and Caroline, he steps over in her way. He moves her off from the others, and they dance that way for a while.

  Caroline and Beulah don’t like it. They look at each other like they do when my Aunt Delia drives too fast or changes their plans without telling them or tells them to stop biting their nails. Beulah says, “Come on, you two. Dance with us.” Ronny and Bick look down at their penny loafers. Then they look back up at the white sky, and Ronny blows a smoke ring. Bick says, “It’s too hot to dance. Let’s go over to Warrington. I know a guy who’ll sell us some shine. We’ll come back here and have a real party.”

  The radio plays a slow song, “Sleep Walk.” It’s all guitars, no words, but it makes even me want to get up and move. Quig Knowles takes my Aunt Delia by her waist and her hand and pulls her close to him. They dance that way for a while. Caroline and Beulah stop dancing. I guess they’d look silly dancing to a slow song together. Caroline looks over at Bick and Ronny. “What a couple of dorks,” she says. “Yeah,” Beulah says. Then Quig Knowles leans his head toward my Aunt Delia and tries to kiss her. She says, “Wait a minute, Buddy,” and pushes him hard, and he stumbles backward to the edge of the cliff. He waves his arms in wild circles trying to get his balance, and his face goes as white as the rock he’s trying to get a purchase on, and then he gets his balance and jumps away from the edge.

  Caroline and Beulah both stand with their hands over their mouths and they’re both white as rock, too. “Damn, girl!” Quig Knowles says. “Are you trying to kill somebody?”

  My Aunt Delia looks at him. Her eyes are cold. “Maybe. Are you trying to kiss somebody?”

  “Shit,” Bick Sifford says. “Let’s get out of here. It’s too hot up here. Let’s drive to Panama City and find some air-conditioning somewhere.”

  Beulah says, “Yeah, let’s go.”

  And Caroline says, “Yeah, I’m for that.”

  But Quig Knowles comes over and bums a cigarette from Ronny Bishop and says, “Naw, let’s stay here for a while. I like it here. I want to talk to Delia.” His hands shake when he pulls the cigarette out of the pack. His face is still a little pale. I think of what it would be like to fall. I think of the widow in her black veil floating down in the moonlight. I wonder if she screamed as she went down. I wonder what was in her mind.

  Quig Knowles says, “I think I know you, Delia.”

  “Sure you know me,” my Aunt Delia says. “You just tried to kiss me. You have to know a girl pretty well to do that.”

  Quig Knowles shakes his head. He takes a big puff on the Salem. He knows how to smoke better than Bick and Ronny. He smokes like my dad, pulling hard and closing his eyes when the smoke is way down in there. He says, “No, I mean I think I heard about you. You ever meet a guy named Morgan Conway?”

  My Aunt Delia closes her eyes and tilts her head to the side and says, “Let me think. Morgan Conway. Morgan Conway. Nope. It doesn’t ring a bell.”

  But something’s wrong. When she opens her eyes and looks at Quig Knowles, she slips her hands into her pockets because they’re shaking. I look at the others. They see it, too. Maybe not Bick or Ronny, but Caroline and Beulah. Caroline gets still and small, and Beulah buttons the top button on her blouse. They’re not thinking about Panama city and air-conditioning anymore. They want to stay and hear this. Quig Knowles walks out to the edge of the gorge and looks down. “Man, it’s a long way down there. Anybody ever fall off this damn rock?” He looks at Bick and Ronny. They both grin and shrug. Ronny says, “Some ole girl a long time ago. The widow of Widow Rock. At least that’s what I heard.”

  Quig Knowles looks down into the gorge again, takes a puff from his cigarette, flicks it out into the empty nothing, and says, “Man, that’s a long way down.” He turns and looks at my Aunt Delia. “This guy, Morgan Conway, and I go to school together.”

  Beulah pipes in, “Quig goes to the Masterson Academy. Lah-dee-dah.”

  Caroline says, “I don’t know what he’s doing out here in the piney woods with us common folks.”

  Maybe they’re trying to change the subject. Quig Knowles doesn’t even look at them. “Anyway,” he says, “this guy Morg, he’s a pretty cool guy, and he told me he met a girl named Delia last summer when he was a senate page in Tallahassee. He said she was some hot babe. He said she came from around here.” Quig Knowles looks at my Aunt Delia like she’s supposed to prove she’s not some hot babe.

  She smiles at him, and the two red dots get bigger on her cheeks, and her mouth is small and tight. She says, “Now I know what a Quig is.” She walks over to me and holds out her hand, and I take it. She says, “Come on, Travis, let’s go. We got to get our tummyaches back home.”

  We walk past Caroline and Beulah, and they look at my Aunt Delia like they don’t want her to leave them alone here. We walk past Bick and Ronny, and Ronny looks down at his loafers, and Bick smiles at my Aunt Delia, and I can’t tell what his eyes mean. Behind us, out on the edge, Quig Knowles says, “Ole Morg said it was just like baseball with that ole girl Delia. He said it was first base, second base, third base, and then, what do you know, home run. All the way around the bases with ole Delia. That’s what Morg said.”

  Caroline says, “Bick, tell your friend to stop that ugly talk.”

  Beulah doesn’t say anything. I don’t care if Caroline is dumb as dirt and her butt wiggles like a duck when she walks, I’m always going to like her.

  We’re in the trees, and then we’re on the path, and it’s slippery, and we have to be careful. My Aunt Delia says, “Take your time, Killer. We’re not in any hurry,” but she’s the one pulling me by the hand. She’s the one going fast. I can hear Beulah’s radio playing back there on the rock. It’s Del Shannon again, “As I walk along, I wonder, what went wrong with our love, a love that was so strong.”

  Nineteen

  My Aunt Delia drives fast and looks at the road, not at me. I know she’s mad, and I don’t think I should talk. Not yet. She doesn’t even turn on the radio.

  At home, Grandma Hollister asks where we’ve been. My Aunt Delia says we got to feeling better, so we went for a ride to cool off. Grandma Hollister wants to ask more questions, but she sees my Aunt Delia’s mad. They stand on the front porch looking at each other, and my Aunt Delia’s eyes are small and dark and cold. Finally, Grandma Hollister touches her throat and then the damp hair at her temple and says, “It is stifling. And there won’t be any relief until October.” She looks up at the sky. It’s clear and white. She says, “I wish it would rain.”

  My Aunt Delia says, “I’m going up to my room,” and she does. I’m on the porch with my Grandma Hollister. Grandpa Hollister is out doing the law. Grandma Hollister puts her hand on my forehead. “Are you feeling better, Travis, Honey?”

  I say, “Yes, ma’am.”

  She looks at the screen door. My Aunt Delia’s radio comes on upstairs. I can’t tell what the song is. Grandma Hollister says, “What’s wrong with your Aunt Delia, Honey?”

  I say, “I don’t know. Nothing, I guess.”

  Grandma Hollister says, “Did something happen on your ride?”

  I just shrug. I say, “No, ma’am. We just rode around to cool off a little.”

  Grandma Hollister looks worried, and I feel sorry for her, but I can’t tell her anything. She looks at the screen door again, touches her temple, and I see a drop of glow in the wispy hair in front
of her ear. Grandma Hollister says horses sweat, men perspire, and ladies glow. She says, “I’ve got to go talk to Marvadell about the shopping. Can you find something to do, Travis?”

  I say, “Sure.” Then, “Yes, ma’am.”

  I go up to my room and get my John R. Tunis novel. I’m reading the one about the catcher now. There’s a book about every guy on a major league baseball team. I started with the shortstop because that’s what I am. I’ve read the pitcher, the first baseman, and now I’m reading the catcher. It’s pretty good, but it’s hot up here under the roof. If you lie by the window and hold yourself still, it’s not so bad. I can hear the radio playing in my Aunt Delia’s room. It’s the Killer: “You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain. Too much love drives a man insane. You broke my will. What a thrill! Goodness, gracious! Great balls of fire!” I wonder what she’s doing in there. I want to go see her. I want to ask questions, but I think maybe she wants to be alone.

  It’s too hot, and I don’t want my Aunt Delia to be mad. I want her to be happy. I try to read, but the words don’t mean much to me, and after a while I start wondering if she’s mad at me. It’s driving me nuts wondering that, so I get up and walk down to the bathroom and pretend to go. I flush the toilet, and then I stand outside my Aunt Delia’s door. All I can hear is the radio. It’s Little Anthony again. “If we could start anew, I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d gladly take you back, and tempt the hand of fate.”

  I stand and listen. Little Anthony’s voice can get inside you.

  “If you’re gonna stand out there listening, Killer, you might as well come in.” She sounds mad, but not at me.

  I go in, and she’s lying on the bed over by the window. She’s got her white blouse on, but her blue jeans are on the floor in front of me. She’s got one arm thrown across her eyes, and she’s pulled the gold cross up from her neck. She’s twisting it with her fingers. “What did Mama ask you, Killer?”

  “Just if anything happened.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “I mean, I said nothing happened. We just went for a ride to cool off. Just like you told her.”

  My Aunt Delia laughs. It’s a quiet laugh, and it’s no fun, and she keeps her arm over her eyes. She lets the cross fall beside her neck. She says, “You’re a good liar, Killer. Not as good as me, but getting better all the time. Lying is one of life’s essential skills.”

  My dad told me not to lie. He says always tell the truth and live with the consequences of what you do. I don’t like my Aunt Delia saying I’m a good liar, but I want her to like me. Her long legs seem to float above the white bedspread, and I see how her stomach in her underpants rises and falls as she breathes. I hear the breath coming and going through her nose, and I see how her black hair fans across the pillow. I feel the thing sudden hard and hot in my chest, and I don’t know what it is, but I know I’d do anything for her. It doesn’t matter what, I’d do it. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s good, but it’s hard. It’s going to be hard to carry, but I know I have to do it. For my Aunt Delia.

  I stand by her bed, and she reaches her hand out to me, the one that held the gold cross. I take her hand, and she says, “You’re a good boy, Killer. You’re good to me. It means a lot to have you here right now.”

  “I’m not a boy. I’m just a guy.”

  She doesn’t laugh. I’m glad. She just says, “Okay. I won’t call you that again. You’ll just be my own special Killer. How ’bout that?”

  “Okay,” I say. Her hand is warm in mine, and she squeezes my fingers, and I squeeze back. I say, “What did that boy mean, that Quig Knowles? What did he mean about you and baseball?”

  She sighs, and then blows her breath out hot and hard on my hand. It smells good, like Spearmint gum and whiskey and her own secret spirit. I lean closer and watch her face. I like it that her eyes are covered. We can talk. “Tell me,” I say. I say it soft, almost a whisper. I squeeze her hand.

  She sighs again, long and hard and hot, and I know she’s going to. She says, “All right, Killer, I’m gonna tell you. Not all of it, but some of it. Only, you’ve got to promise not to tell anybody. Okay?”

  I wish she hadn’t said it. I say, “I already said I wouldn’t.”

  She says, “I know. But I had to ask. You can’t tell a person your secrets without getting a promise in return. That’s just how it is. Secrets are worth something.”

  I say, “Okay.” I know she’s right.

  My Aunt Delia keeps her arm over her eyes. I know it helps, and my hand helps, too. I want to get into bed with her and listen, but she doesn’t move over. She doesn’t pat the place beside her, so I just stand by the bed and listen. She says, “I did know Morgan Conway. I met him last summer when I went to Girls’ State.”

  “What’s girls’ state?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, Killer, just some meetings in the state capitol. They pick one girl from each high school—you’re supposed to be interested in public service—and they send you off to Tallahassee for a week, and you act like politicians for a while, and the whole thing is organized by a bunch of boozed-up VFW wives. It’s silly, really, but I did meet Morgan Conway there. He was a senate page, just like that ass, Quig Knowles, said.”

  I don’t get girls’ state, not exactly, and I sure don’t know what a senate page is—it can’t be a page in a book—but I don’t care. That’s not the story.

  My Aunt Delia says, “Anyway, me and some other girls snuck out one night and met some guys, and this Morgan Conway was one of them. He was a cool guy, and I liked him, and after a while, we were going out together without the other kids. You don’t know what love is, Killer, but that’s what happened with Morgan and me. We fell in love. I’ve never felt that way about anybody before, and I never will again. I guess that’s why we did some things we shouldn’t have done. Because I loved him so much. We talked about all the things we were going to do together. We talked about getting married. We made promises…”

  She squeezes my hand hard, and her arm is pressed down hard over her eyes, and I squeeze back and listen as her breathing gets shorter and rougher. “Did you tell secrets?” I ask. I believe what she told me about secrets and promises.

  She says, “Yes, Killer, we did, but I guess there was one secret I didn’t know about Morgan Conway. If he told Quig Knowles about me, there was one great big secret I didn’t know.”

  The first tear squeezes out from under her arm and leaves a silver trail down her cheek. It rolls slow at first then fast and splashes on the pillow and turns the white cloth gray. All I can do is squeeze her hand and listen. I don’t know what to say. I might say the wrong thing. She might send me away.

  She says, “I came home after that time with Morgan and we wrote to each other for a while, but then some things happened, things I can’t tell you about, and I couldn’t write him after that, and Susannah Cohen helped me. If it hadn’t been for Susannah, I’d be dead now. I truly believe that.”

  “Did she give you books to read?”

  “Yes, Killer, and she did some other things for me, too.”

  I want to know the other things, and I don’t want to know them. Knowing things is hard. It makes you older. I try to think what happened. I know I can’t ask her. She’d tell if she wanted me to know. I wonder if Grandpa Hollister found out about her sneaking out at night with Morgan Conway. Another tear slips from under her arm and splashes the pillow. It makes the gray place bigger. She says, “When the summer was over, Morgan went off to the Masterson Academy in Birmingham. I guess he really does know that shitty Quig Knowles. Excuse me, Killer. Your virgin ears.”

  “That’s all right. I’ve heard that word a lot, I guess.”

  “You shouldn’t hear me say it.”

  “Do you still want to see Morgan Conway? Are you gonna write him anymore?” I hope she says no. I do
n’t know why, I just do.

  She says, “No,” and the hard breathing turns into sobbing, and it’s loud now, and I know Grandma Hollister’s gonna hear, so I let go of my Aunt Delia’s hand and turn up the radio. The radio’s too loud, and my Grandma Hollister might come to the bottom of the stairs and call up, “Turn that infernal thing down, will you please, Delia?” especially if she’s got a headache, but I have to take the chance. I can’t let her hear my Aunt Delia crying.

  I come back to the bed and take her hand again, and my Aunt Delia says, “No. I can’t ever see him again,” and she’s crying hard, and I think this is it. This is what she cries about at night when it storms. This is why she said someone was lost. It’s Morgan Conway. He’s lost, and she’ll never find him, and that’s why she cries and needs me sometimes at night. I stand by the bed holding her hand while she sobs, and the radio gives us the Drifters: “But don’t forget who’s taking you home and in whose arms you’re gonna be. Oh, darling, save the last dance for me.”

  Finally, she lets go of my hand and turns her face to the wall. I stand there wondering what to do, and the sobs get quieter and turn into hard breathing and then softer breathing, and then my Aunt Delia says, “Thanks, Killer. You’re so good to me, but I need to be alone now. Okay?”

  “Sure,” I say. “Okay.”

  I go over and turn the radio back down. It’s Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs now, “Oh, won’t you stay, just a little bit longer.” I stand there listening, trying to understand. I know they’re called love songs, but they’re all about pain. I think Bick Sifford loves my Aunt Delia, and maybe Kenny Griner does, too, and both of them act like jerks, and it looks like they’re in pain. My Aunt Delia loves a guy named Morgan Conway, and I guess he doesn’t love her anymore, and she cries at night when it storms. I don’t know what books to read or who to talk to so I can understand love. I just know I have to understand it. I just know I’ve got it inside me now, and it’s a big hot hard thing in my chest, and it’s hard to carry.