Jimmy

by Robert Whitlow

  “Uh, I think it would be nice if you had a red coat.”

  “What does he mean?” Mr. Robinson asked Daddy.

  Jimmy wanted to shrink into the ground.

  “He means a red robe. It would give the court a little variety.”

  “That could be fixed easily enough,” the other lawyer replied. “The judge could join the choir and use the same robe on Sunday and the rest of the week.”

  Mr. Robinson shook his head. “A good idea, but my singing voice is perpetually trapped between two notes with no way to get out.”

  Jimmy pulled on Daddy’s sleeve. “Mama says it’s time to go.”

  “There is the true voice of authority in our society, gentlemen,” Mr. Robinson said. “I may hold sway in my courtroom for a few hours a week, but what is that compared to the perennial power of a woman?”

  Jimmy and Daddy found Mama talking to Grandma.

  When Jimmy came close, he heard Mama say, “We need a plan. I’ll talk to you later in the week.”

  They got into the car, and Daddy turned the air conditioner up as high as it would go. Jimmy glanced sideways and saw Mr. Morton leave the parking lot with his car window down and a red kerchief pressed against his brow. People leaving the church caused five minutes of busy traffic on the otherwise empty streets.

  They drove home but didn’t change clothes. Sunday dinner with relatives was part of the day’s religious activities, and everyone wore nice clothes. Only after the dessert plates were carried to the kitchen did the men take off their jackets and go into the den to watch sports on TV.

  Jimmy held the front door open while Mama carried out hot casseroles. Daddy arranged the dishes in a large cardboard box in the trunk of the car and wedged them in with towels to keep them from sliding around and spilling.

  It took about five minutes to drive to Uncle Bart and Aunt Jill’s house. Daddy pulled into the driveway and parked in front of the two-car garage. Several other cars were in the driveway.

  “Look at Bart’s lawn,” Mama said. “It’s so green.”

  “He put in a sprinkler system that runs at night,” Daddy responded.

  “Does Walt cut the grass?” Jimmy asked.

  “No, his father hired a company to do it.”

  As they walked to the front door, Jimmy spoke to Mama.

  “Can I stay with you? I don’t want to play with Walt.”

  “You have been getting along fine recently, and I’m sure you don’t want to hurt his feelings. I’ll make sure not to let you wander off together.”

  “Sometimes he’s nice, but mostly he’s mean.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out for you,” Mama said. “Have a good attitude.”

  Jimmy followed his parents.

  “Do you want to ring the doorbell?” Mama asked.

  “No, ma’am.”

  Aunt Jill opened the door. She was taller and heavier than Mama with blond hair and brown eyes. Uncle Bart, Mama’s younger brother, shared his sister’s reddish-brown hair but had a bigger nose.

  “Come in,” Aunt Jill beckoned. “Everyone else is here.”

  Inside were friends whom Uncle Bart and Aunt Jill considered close enough to invite for Sunday dinner. In addition to the adults, there were several very small children and three teenage girls. Walt wasn’t in sight. None of the other guests were relatives of the Mitchells. Jimmy kept close to Mama’s side during the round of greetings and hugs.

  “Where’s Walt?” he whispered.

  Mama glanced around and then turned to Uncle Bart, who was carrying a basket of rolls to the dining room table. “Bart, where is Walt?”

  “Upstairs in his room. He’s being punished until we sit down to eat.”

  Jimmy wanted to know what his cousin had done wrong, but Uncle Bart offered no explanation.

  There were three tables set up for the meal: adults only, children who could eat unsupervised, and children who needed parental assistance. Jimmy, the teenage girls, and Walt were in the second group.

  When the food was ready, Uncle Bart called upstairs. “Walt! Come eat!”

  There was no answer. Everyone grew quiet. Uncle Bart walked partway up the stairs.

  “Walt! Can you hear me? Come eat!”

  Walt appeared at the top of the stairs and slowly came down. He was a male version of his mother, tall and slightly overweight with sandy-blond hair. He would be a junior at the high school in the fall.

  “Walt, you’ve grown an inch or two in the past month,” Daddy said. “Has Coach Nixon seen you recently?”

  “Football bores me,” Walt answered.

  “I’ve tried to encourage him,” Uncle Bart said. “In a few months he could bulk up enough to make varsity. He’s a lot stronger than he realizes. His arms are busting out of his shirt.”

  Jimmy looked at Walt’s arms. They were definitely getting bigger. Jimmy knew that special boys weren’t allowed to play high school football; however, Daddy had told him that he might be able to serve as a manager. Jimmy wasn’t sure what that meant, but Daddy had promised to explain it to him during the upcoming season. The Mitchell family, like many residents of Cattaloochie County, never missed a Friday night game.

  Daddy spoke. “In my day, it would have taken a medical excuse for a big healthy boy like you to avoid going out for football.”

  “I like football,” Jimmy added in a soft voice.

  “Then why don’t you play?” Walt asked.

  “Walt!” Uncle Bart said. “Do you want to go back upstairs?”

  Walt didn’t answer but walked past his father toward the kitchen. Daddy and Uncle Bart moved toward their seats at the table for grown-ups. Mama helped Jimmy pour a glass of iced tea. He took it to a table set up in a wide hallway between the dining room and den. A hand gripped his left arm.

  “What’s up, squirt?” Walt asked.

  Jimmy didn’t answer. He tried to pull away. Walt’s grip tightened, and he spoke into Jimmy’s ear.

  “Don’t ignore me when I’m talking to you. It’s not good manners.”

  Jimmy looked for Mama, but the adults were not in sight.

  “Stop it,” Jimmy said. “I want to get my food and eat.”

  Walt released his hold. “Of course; we’ll go together.”

  Jimmy knew it was useless to complain. Adults had decided that Walt would be his tablemate, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Dinner was served buffet-style with the smaller children going first. Mama helped Jimmy fill his plate.

  “Walt is in a bad mood,” Jimmy whispered after his cousin had left the line.

  “That’s because he got in trouble before we arrived. It will be better after we eat.”

  Jimmy sighed and went back to his table.

  “Do you want me to cut up your meat?” Walt asked.

  “No, thank you,” Jimmy said.

  Walt picked up the table knife and rubbed it against his thumb. “Are you safe to use this? You might cut yourself.”

  “No. I have a real knife at home.”

  “I’d like to see it. I can do lots of things with knives.”

  “I’d have to ask Mama. It’s not a toy.”

  Walt leaned over close and said, “I know you’re a mama’s boy, but there isn’t anything wrong with that. I think it’s kind of cute.”

  One of the girls at the table spoke to Walt, and they began to talk about school. Jimmy wasn’t very hungry, but he picked away at his food, keeping his head down and trying to think about something happy, like washing Deputy Askew’s car. He finished eating without any more trouble from Walt, who seemed to like talking to the girls.

  Aunt Jill rang a little bell, signaling that the dessert table was open. Jimmy didn’t need Mama’s help in choosing dessert. Everyone rushed into the room, creating momentary chaos around the banana pudding bowl. Jimmy liked Aunt Jill’s banana pudding but didn’t try to force his way to the large round container. He waited his turn and took a piece of Mama’s pineapple upside-down cake along with a thin slive
r of German chocolate cake. He stopped by to show Mama his plate.

  “How are you doing with Walt?” she asked.

  “Okay,” he answered. “Are we going to stay a long time?”

  Mama patted him on the arm. “We can’t eat and run. It would be bad manners.”

  Jimmy had an idea. “Can I help clean the dishes?”

  Mama looked down at the nice china. “You would have to be very careful.”

  “I’ll hold each one with both hands,” Jimmy promised.

  “We’ll see. Go enjoy your dessert. Thanks for selecting my cake.”

  Jimmy returned to the table. Walt had a massive portion of banana pudding that threatened to spill onto the tablecloth. He looked at Jimmy’s plate.

  “Hey, I can’t eat all this. Why don’t you have some?”

  “Uh, thanks.”

  Walt scraped some pudding onto Jimmy’s plate. Jimmy saw a salt shaker near Walt’s hand and took a small bite of the pudding. Several times in the past, Walt had given Jimmy bad food and then laughed at his reaction. Today it tasted fine.

  “What do you want to do after we eat?” Walt asked.

  “I’m going to help with the dishes.”

  “Are you in trouble?”

  “No.”

  “Then skip it.”

  Jimmy didn’t answer. He finished his dessert and took his plate into the kitchen. Aunt Jill, wearing a white apron trimmed in pink, stood at the sink scraping excess food down the disposal.

  “I’m here to help,” Jimmy announced.

  Jill looked over her shoulder. “That’s sweet, Jimmy, but the ladies will take care of it. You’ll just be in the way. Check with Walt. I’m sure he has something you can do together.”

  Jimmy remained planted in the middle of the kitchen floor.

  “I’m here to help,” he repeated. “I’ll be careful not to break anything.”

  Aunt Jill dried her hands on her apron and turned toward him.

  “No, thank you,” she said in a voice that left no room for debate.

  Walt stuck his head in the kitchen door. “There you are. I told you not to mess with the dishes. You’ll break more than you clean.”

  “Don’t be mean,” Aunt Jill said. “You should offer to help sometime.”

  Mama came into the kitchen.

  “Jimmy wanted to clean the plates, but I told him to go have fun,” Aunt Jill said.

  “I’ll read to him,” Walt suggested.

  “Go ahead,” Mama said. “I’ll help clean up.”

  “Come up to my room,” Walt said.

  Jimmy followed his cousin upstairs. Walt had a large bedroom. He, like Jimmy, did not have any brothers or sisters. A computer workstation filled one corner of the room. A large-screen TV with surround-sound speakers sat in another.

  “How does it feel being retarded?” Walt asked as soon as they entered the bedroom. “I mean, what is it like to be inside your stupid head?”

  Jimmy stopped. “I’m going to tell Mama what you said.”

  Walt stepped around him and blocked the door. “I’m kidding. Can’t you take a joke?”

  Jimmy wanted to push the larger boy aside.

  “Be nice, or I’ll tell,” he responded.

  Walt held up his hands. “I’m terrified.”

  Walt closed the door and locked it. He opened the bottom drawer of his computer desk and took out several magazines. He flipped through them and handed one to Jimmy.

  “This is a good one,” Walt said.

  Jimmy pulled back at the picture on the cover. A huge man with a bloody board in his hand stood over another huge man lying on the floor. Bright red blood covered the face of the second man. They were both wearing bathing suits.

  “What’s wrong?” Walt asked. “Don’t you like wrestling? There are better pictures inside, but it’s all fake. That’s not real blood.”

  “No,” Jimmy said. “I don’t like it.”

  Walt jerked the magazine from his hand. He opened another drawer and took out a clear plastic box.

  “The pictures in here are real,” he said.

  Jimmy liked photographs. It was fun to stare at a moment in time that never changed and think about what he was doing in the picture. Walt dug through the photos and handed one to Jimmy. A strange woman with brown hair was standing next to Daddy on the porch in front of the Mitchell home.

  “Who is that with Daddy?” Jimmy asked.

  “Your mama,” Walt said.

  “No, it’s not,” Jimmy replied. “Her face and hair isn’t right, and she’s too tall.”

  Walt laughed. “If you don’t like her face, you should check yourself out in the mirror. You look just like her. Haven’t you ever seen any pictures of your real mama?”

  Jimmy’s eyes grew big. “Where did you get these?”

  “I think your mama wanted them out of the house because she was jealous, so she gave them to my dad.” Walt picked up another one. “This one is in front of the Christmas tree at your house.”

  Jimmy stared at the familiar scene. Daddy and the woman stood beside a Christmas tree in their living room. Jimmy recognized ornaments on the tree.

  “This is my favorite,” Walt said, handing him another one.

  The woman lay in bed cradling a tiny baby in her arms. Daddy stood beside her.

  “That’s you in the hospital after you were born,” Walt announced. “See how happy they are? At first, they didn’t know you were retarded.”

  Usually, Jimmy ran out of the room when Walt talked like that, but today he couldn’t pull away from the picture. He stared into the woman’s eyes. She seemed happy. Daddy was smiling too. He’d seen baby pictures of himself, but never one that included his other mom.

  “Here’s a goofy one,” Walt said.

  The woman was holding a toddler’s hands in the air as he stood in front of the coffee table in the living room at their house.

  “Her name is Vera. That’s a creepy name, isn’t it? She’s trying to teach you to walk. My mom says it took you a long time to learn how to walk. That’s one way they realized you were dumb.”

  Jimmy had heard Mama and Daddy say Vera’s name, but he’d never seen her face.

  “Can I have the pictures?” he asked.

  Walt snatched them from his hand. “No way. I’m keeping them forever.”

  Walt put the photos in the box and slammed the drawer shut. Jimmy stared at the drawer.

  “Now, get a kid’s book to read,” Walt said. “The stuff you might like is on the bottom shelf.”

  Jimmy sat on the floor, unmoving.

  Walt spoke. “You still can’t walk very well, can you? I’ll guess I’ll have to get a book.”

  Walt retrieved a book from the bookcase. “The Story of Edward,” he said. “I know you like this one. The story of a talking donkey for a real-life dumb—”

  A loud knock at the door interrupted him.

  “Who is it?” Walt called out as he unlocked the door.

  The door cracked open. It was Mama.

  “Are you boys okay?”

  Before Jimmy could answer, Walt held up The Story of Edward. “Yes, I’m going to read this book to Jimmy.”

  “That’s a good choice. Please leave the door ajar so I can call Jimmy if I need him.”

  “Sure.”

  Mama left, leaving the door wide open.

  “Your mama watches wrestling on TV after you go to bed,” Walt said after Mama’s footsteps faded. “I bet she has the same magazine in her bedroom.”

  “No, she doesn’t,” Jimmy managed.

  “How would you know? You’re asleep.”

  Jimmy could not think of an answer.

  “Come sit on the bed, and I’ll read the book,” Walt said.

  Jimmy reluctantly sat next to his cousin. Walt opened the book and began to read. Jimmy knew by heart the story of the donkey’s adventures across the French countryside; however, today the words and pictures didn’t take him to the place of imagination. The woman with the baby fil
led his mind. When Walt finished, he patted Jimmy’s knee.

  “You’re kind of cute in a weird way,” he said.

  “HOW WAS YOUR TIME WITH WALT?” MAMA ASKED DURING the drive home.

  “He showed me some of my baby pictures but wouldn’t let me keep them.”

  “Why not?” Daddy asked.

  “Because of my other mama.” Jimmy paused. “I don’t know what to call her.”

  Mama turned in her seat. “Was your birth mother in the pictures?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What was Walt doing with pictures of Vera and me?” Daddy asked.

  “Uh, I think I showed some to Bart when we first married,” Mama answered.

  “Walt has no business dragging that up.” Daddy put his foot on the brake. “Let’s go back and—”

  “Please, Lee,” Mama said. “Not now.”

  Daddy grunted and didn’t say anything but stepped on the gas.

  “Jimmy,” Mama said as the car picked up speed. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  THAT NIGHT WHEN MAMA CAME INTO JIMMY’S ROOM TO PRAY and tuck him into bed, she had something in her hand. Turning on the light near his pillow, she handed him a photograph. It was his birth mama in a white dress standing next to Daddy.

  “This is the day your birth mother and Daddy got married.”

  “They look happy,” Jimmy said.

  “They were for a while.”

  Mama handed him a photo of a baby in a stroller being pushed by his birth mama. The baby was wearing a tiny blue cap.

  “This is when you were six months old. I think this is your first cap.”

  Jimmy studied the picture. “I wish I still had the cap. I couldn’t wear it, but I could put in on a shelf.”

  “I don’t know what happened to it.”

  Mama handed him a third picture. In this one, the baby was sitting in a sandbox in the backyard. The woman was sitting on the grass beside him with a tree behind her. She had her hand behind Jimmy’s back.

  “I know that tree,” Jimmy said. “It’s the one with the tire swing on it.”