by Lisa Samson
I’m glad you’re going to fight for the farm! What’s your plan of attack? As for me, I’d start by planning what you’re going to plant this year. But you might want to start visiting Harmony Baptist, get to know the people there, get them on your side.
They’ve given me a date of May 29. So that leaves a little over two months. I’m relieved, but at the same time, somewhat terrified. Although I have to wonder, can a person be “somewhat” terrified? Does that even make sense?
Take care, May.
Eli
March 23, 2004
Dear Eli,
You never did answer me about your daily routine. Is that some sort of penitentiary secret or something? If so, that’s okay. You don’t have to answer. As for my daily routine, it now includes walking into town to do my own grocery shopping at Jack’s. Can you believe it?
Thanks for the good suggestions about getting the farm back. I took your advice and went to Harmony Baptist yesterday. Marlow’s jaw dropped when I slipped into the back pew. I sat next to Sister Racine, who, by the way, makes a great three-bean salad. Something strange happened, though. I went in there as strategy, you know? But after the service, the folks gathered around me, and I thought of Claudius. I felt really close to him then. Sister Racine and Brother Ben invited me to have lunch with them at Dooley’s Purple Cow, and I did! I got a bacon grilled cheese sandwich, and I just sat and listened to them critique the pastor’s sermon for the next forty-five minutes. Sister Racine drove me home. All in all, it was good, and I’m praying again. I still have a lot of questions for God, and I’m looking for his explanations on a lot of things.
I’m getting ready to run this business. Case in point, I sold my flowers, bulb flowers, downtown on Saturday and sold out. But nobody came up when I was sitting there. So I saw the busboy from The Purple Cow get off after the breakfast shift and asked him if he wanted to make some money. His name is Wayne, and he said yes. So he sat there and sold out in an hour. $150. I gave him fifteen, and he said that was more than he’d ever made in an hour. Obviously I’m going to have to beef up my image. Or beef it down. Something new, that’s for sure.
Do you have e-mail? I finally figured it out! Glen showed me how to open a Hotmail account. So far I only get offers for the weirdest things, some I can’t even name—me, the reformed college bad girl! That’s how weird it is on the Internet. Oh, boy.
On that glorious note, I’ll close. But despite that, I feel like I’m doing better than I have been in a long time.
May
• 19 •
May picked up the phone, which seemed to be jangling
extra loudly for some reason.
“May-May, honey!”
“Sister Ruth.”
No wonder the ring was so loud. May laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Just you. It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“I’ve got news!”
“You’re staying in Florida.”
Silence.
“Well?”
“You took the wind right outta my sails, honey.”
She’d just had a feeling. “I’m happy for you, though, does that count?”
Sister Ruth sighed. “I guess it’ll have to. I heard you were trying to sell those flowers downtown. And you been going to Jack’s too!”
“You sound proud.”
“Honey, I am! Oh, I sure am.”
“Maybe your leaving was one of the best things that could have happened to me.”
“Now, now. Don’t go too far.”
March 26, 2004
Dear May,
Glad to hear you’ve been walking to town. It’s about a mile, right? How do you carry your groceries home, or transport your flowers up that killer hill? Please don’t tell me you take the wheelbarrow. You do, don’t you? Another word of advice, get your stall back at the Lexington farmers’ market. Quick!
It’s true you may have to beef up your image, although I can’t imagine you look as bad as you say. You were a knockout in college. It would be hard to ruin those kinds of looks no matter how hard you try. Don’t think I’m being creepy or anything, just thinking you’re probably too hard on yourself, like most people. Well, strike that. Some of the guys in here aren’t hard enough on themselves and haven’t been for a good long time.
Okay, my daily routine. It’s pretty bland, as you might expect. Up at seven, breakfast soon after. Around nine we’re let out to either go into the yard or to the activities room. That’s where I paint. I’ve been painting for a while now. Almost since I got in here. My mom and daughter have a bunch of my pictures. They started out pretty chaotic, which isn’t surprising, but they’ve gotten increasingly more orderly. I can’t control much about my life, but I can control my art, so I work hard at it. (I always liked to draw as a kid.)
Then back into my room for a couple of hours. I’ve heard some death row inmates are in their rooms as much as twenty-three hours a day. It’s not like that here, and I’m thankful. We have another time in the afternoon where we can either exercise or go to the activity room. Usually I just stay in my room and read. The gossip gets a little wearing to say the least, and it’s not even good gossip. Dinner. Back to the room. Lights out at ten. That’s pretty much it.
You’re probably going to ask if I’ve made any friends, and the answer to that is no. Best to keep distant. I’ve had no problems like you imagine in prison. We’re kept on constant surveillance. Still, I try to remain brooding and crazy-eyed just in case. I figure it can’t hurt.
So back to your spiritual journey. I guess I can’t blame you for wanting God to explain himself. We all do, to a certain extent. Most of us don’t come right out and say it, though. I’m sure the relatives of Roy and Faye ask those questions too. But we’re talking about you here, not me and my situation. My question to you would be how do you think God should go about explaining himself. In my experience, God’s spoken more times than not through circumstances and people. If you’ve spent a decade out of circulation, and haven’t gone anywhere or done anything outside of what makes you comfortable, how do you think God should explain himself? Maybe you haven’t given him a chance. It seemed like he was trying with Claudius. Do you think it was a coincidence that the person who took care of you after Rwanda was someone like that? And then when Claudius’s time to depart came, Sister Ruth was there. Two people who seemed to understand what walking with God meant, and neither of them got through to you in that way. And then, Sister Ruth left and Father John showed up. Maybe God was telling you he was taking care of you, because all you went through happened through no fault of your own. Now I realize that doesn’t answer your questions about Rwanda, but it might help you realize the answer to some of your questions about you, and that’s as good a place to start as any, don’t you think?
Glad to hear you’re praying again. Is God talking back?
Well, I’ll close for now. Tell Father John I said hello next time you see him. And regarding your farm, you might need a little help now that Sister Ruth is in Florida. Maybe Callie could help you out. She’d sure be cute selling flowers too.
Eli
Sassy thought Callie and May would do just fine in Lexington together. May agreed. The girl dressed in jeans and a hoodie, and tucked in the pocket was a sandwich and a baggie of Cheetos. May wore the same, her old UK sweatshirt sent years ago by her dad. She bought a pair of regular old jeans at Rose Brothers too. Nothing weird about those!
She’d called at the last minute and arranged to get her old stall back at the market. And Sassy’s husband, Buell, offered the use of his old pickup. He’d dropped it off the night before.
“Let me help you load up those flowers,” he’d said, climbing out.
May liked him instantly. He looked a little like Santa Claus, only fatter and with aviator glasses and a T-shirt.
“We’re behind what you’re doing, May.” He grabbed a couple of sugar buckets full of daffodil posies. “Whatever we can do to help you, we’ll do.
You should keep this farm.”
It encouraged May. Maybe it wasn’t such a far-fetched idea.
Then again, Buell and Sassy didn’t know Marlow the way she did.
“Let’s head ’em on out, Callie.” She opened the door of the black pickup truck, and Callie hopped in. May had acted to Sassy like it would be a fun outing, but she knew she needed the responsibility of having Callie along to keep her from another freak-out.
—Who’d freak out in front of a fragile ten-year-old?
Not even May. At least that’s what she was counting on.
She slid into the driver’s seat. “So, you ever been to the farmers’ market, Callie?”
“Nope. I only been to Lexington a few times before. But I’m game to do anything that gets me away from Beattyville.”
“I’m kinda nervous,” May confided.
That was easy enough to do. Callie was that type of girl with a very innocent, round face, soft and pink of cheek, but the smoky brown eyes in her sockets were about thirty-five years old. According to her grandmother, she wasn’t the most popular kid at school and had learned to keep to herself years ago.
Callie split her ponytail and pulled, tightening the arrangement. “Well, I imagine it’s going to bring back memories for you too. Mama told me you went to UK.”
“Yeah. That seems like forever ago.”
“Oh, it was!”
The girl’s nod was much too effusive for May’s comfort, but she had to laugh.
She backed out of the driveway, put the truck in drive, and headed down Route 11. She could picture herself walking along the road with a wheelbarrow full of flowers; it was an odd sight. Five minutes later she realized she was driving! And it was fine. All the instincts had remained intact.
—Well, good then.
May shoved down the fear that surfaced with the recognition of her accomplishment. She could do this. People had done much bigger things after trauma. She was just driving a big old pickup truck. That was it.
She’d renew her driver’s license later, stick right to the speed limit for now.
Callie asked if she could turn on the radio.
“Please!” May almost screamed the word.
Callie looked at May, then touched her shoulder. “Mama told me you’re a hermit, kinda. You sure you’re gonna be okay?”
“I’m going to have to be.”
“I know what you mean.” She leaned forward and worked the buttons. “I feel like that every day when I walk into school.”
May couldn’t have been prouder of Callie had she been her own daughter. The child ran the table, interacting with the customers with a warm politeness, giving suggestions, and how did she learn so much about flowers?
“Oh, I researched things at school when I found out I was coming with you,” she said as they ate their sandwiches and drank Cokes from a nearby stand. “You know, if we added greens to some of the bouquets, we might could charge a little more. They’d be more like arrangements.”
May sighed. “I know I should learn to arrange flowers better than I do. It would be fun to open a little shop, wouldn’t it?”
Callie nodded. “I could help you run it.”
“You’d do a good job of it, that’s for sure.”
“I love putting stuff together.”
May didn’t have a hard time believing that.
“You’re back!” a happy voice yelled.
May wheeled around. Who could forget the lady with the wild gray hair and the turquoise jewelry?
“I am!”
The woman ran around the table and pulled May into a hug. “There hasn’t been a Saturday market go by that I haven’t thought of you. Where have you been all these years?”
“It’s a long story.”
She pulled back. “Well, it’s good to see you, sweetie.”
May gave her three free bouquets. Somebody remembered her. She could hardly believe it.
The customers came and went, remarking on the flowers even if they didn’t buy. She’d forgotten what a boost that was. Thankfully, nobody she knew came by, except an English teacher from Lexington Catholic she’d never had.
Sold out a few hours later, they packed up the truck.
“What do you say we head over to campus after we eat? My treat.” May slid the last bucket into the back. “I brought my camera. Maybe your dad would like to see pictures of his old haunts.”
“Okay.”
An hour later, after a hamburger from Triple J Farm’s trailer, they parked by the student center. May unpacked her camera on the lawn by the Young Library, a lightly imposing building built after her time. “I guess I should show Eli some of the new stuff too.”
“Do you think that might make him feel bad?” Callie asked.
“I think he’ll be glad things are moving forward, don’t you?”
“Probably.”
After she snapped off a few pictures of the massive brick structure complete with arches and a large cupola, they ventured onto the older part of the campus. May felt herself grow younger with each step, as if all the years collected between her shoulder blades and rolled down her spine one by one.
On that bench in front of Funkhauser—she clicked off a few frames—she’d sit with her girlfriends and they’d drink soda and talk about boys and dreams and they’d laugh out loud, a little too loudly, to garner a bit of attention from the other passing students.
Callie and May strolled on down Rose Street, the evening sun red on their necks and the aroma of Thai cooking drifting from the restaurant on the corner as they passed the Singletary Center for the Arts. They turned left onto Avenue of Champions and stopped in front of Memorial Coliseum where the women’s basketball team used to play.
“I watched a lot of games here. And down at Rupp Arena.”
Callie just shrugged, and May snapped off a few shots of the slightly Art Deco, blond brick coliseum. The memories rolled by in her head. Screaming their heads off and jumping up and down and wearing Kentucky Blue and shouting “Go Wildcats” over and over. “You know, I didn’t always have to have a date to the games. Sometimes I’d just go with girlfriends.”
“That’s good. Granny’s already told me not to be too dependent on men for everything.”
“That’s real good advice.”
“I mean, not that they don’t have their uses,” she said. “It would be terrible if you had to always be the one to carry the heavy suitcases.”
May laughed out loud. “Men are just fine. Good ones, anyway.”
“Did you ever have a nice boyfriend, May?”
She shook her head. “No. I didn’t go steady with guys. I just went out on a lot of dates. I was more about having a good time in those days.”
“Did you ever love anybody?”
“No.” They continued on down the avenue so she could take pictures of the student center and the old gymnasium.
“That’s so sad.”
Amazing she couldn’t see that then.
May sighed. “Too late to worry about it now, though!”
“I don’t know. I read on the Web the other day about a couple, ninety-five years old the bride was, who just got married.”
They snapped some shots by the student center, and May remembered sitting on the sofas there sometimes, reading or studying by herself. She wasn’t always with groups of people. Sometimes she could be quiet and centered and focused. She’d forgotten about that.
“I graduated with pretty good grades,” she said.
“You seem really smart.”
She lowered the camera. “Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
—She said it so matter-of-factly she must really believe it. Huh.
“Do you ever think about going back to college? Mama says she’d love to go to college sometime.”
“Not really. I guess there are lots of way to learn things.”
“She says you can make more money with a good education.”
May changed the camera setting to auto. “Dep
ends on what you’re learning to do!”
“What did you study?”
“Journalism. I loved it.”
“Then why aren’t you doing it anymore?”
“That’s a long story.”
“You ever going to do it again?”
“Hmm. Don’t think so.”
Callie flipped back her hair. “What a waste of time and good money!”
“Oh boy, are you ever right about that.”
“I’ve already started saving up for college. I want to get away from the kids in my school as quick as I can.”
They took more pictures of the campus, weaving along on the paths between the buildings. May took pictures of Callie too. She’d look back at those pictures someday and think My dad was still alive then. And then she’d look at others after the execution and think Now that was taken after he died. When the time came, it was going to be all over the news. It would be horrible.
They stood in front of a stainless steel sculpture that looked like a praying mantis. Callie imitated the pose.
“Just think, Callie, maybe someday you’ll be a student here, and you’ll look at these pictures and remember your first visit.”
“That would be nice, all right.”
“Let’s head back to the car and drive to the stadium. Eli would definitely want to see a picture of that.”
Callie agreed. “He was a good football player, right? Did you see him play?”
“Yep. I sure did.”
May remembered him there on the football field, blocking, pushing, all manner of manly brutish things. The roars of his teammates, the accolades, then finishing the game, showering and heading out with friends for the evening. Having beers bought for him, being the college athlete. He wasn’t the best player on the team, but he was solid, always dependable to perform to the level everyone needed him to. May guessed he’d been like that in the military too.
—And now, look. What a lifetime can bring to someone.
She took a few frames. “Let’s go,” she whispered. This was just too sad. Classrooms were one thing. But the stadium? The contrast was unbearable. “The light is fading too much now anyway.”
May remained quiet as they loaded themselves and the gear into the truck.