Wild Stars Seeking Midnight Suns

by J. California Cooper

  Sometimes you are handed a plate of life and, if you are poor, there ain’t too many good choices on the plate. Some things look good, but they ain’t. And some choices are hidden under something else on that plate.

  People think rich people don’t have to worry, that their life is taken care of, but that ain’t true. Cause life ain’t worth living if you don’t have something valuable in it, besides money, for your spirit. That’s why some people be rich and miserable as any other fool who thinks more money will make their life better. It won’t. Money don’t feed the spirit. Money may buy you a little lust; what you get for greed, sometimes, or envy. But money won’t buy you love. Money may fill your eyes and your hands, but it won’t fill your heart and spirit.

  Rich people commit suicide, too. Like any other miserable person.

  These kids committing suicide today? This world is feeding them poo-poo and telling em it’s good for em. That it’s all they need. But it don’t feed their spirit. Their spirit grieves.

  All this dope millions of people take today? What they trying to get? Where they trying to go? Out of emptiness into emptiness.

  Another thing, plenty people spend millions and millions of dollars, and their whole life, trying to prove to people that God does not exist. They’re lying. And, why would they spend their life, and their money, trying to help you? Keep you from believing in God? Why they want you to starve your spirit?

  God feeds the spirit. Love feeds the spirit. Your spirit feeds your life. There ain’t too much of God and Love in this world. I don’t care how many people are lying about it. Takes thinking to live life. Thinking.

  Well, that’s enough of that because I’m not a preacher.

  What I was telling you about things being on your plate of life when you are born is what I was thinking about this morning. Thinking about a woman in this town I have known since she was a child, Harriet.

  This ain’t no big town, but it don’t have to be. Things happen here just like they do everywhere else in the world cause people is people, don’t care what color they are or where they are born. We got a body of water here, piece of the ocean, that brings a lot of port business and sea-people. A whole lot of business goes on in this place. All kinds.

  I don’t live far from the busy section of the coast and right down the street from me is a rooming house that stands for the Oceanview Hotel. Long ago, when this was just a middlin-poor section of town, that “hotel” used to belong to my husband’s friends, Jefferson and Matilda Long.

  Jefferson owned it. He was a sailor when he won the rooming house at the gambling table. He was not too clean, with a real dirty mouth. He was old by the time they married. Matilda was bout the only one who would marry him. Matilda was from a real, real, poor, poor family and wasn’t too good-lookin herself. That’s probably why she married him; wasn’t much on her plate, you see.

  They staggered into each other one night at the Water’s End Bar, got happy, and got married. That old man could still make babies, though. I really believe they was his. She was so happy to be married and be taken care of, even if she had to do all the work. I don’t believe she cheated on him. They had two children, Harriet and Star. Fine girls, when they was born.

  Some years passed and he died first, cirrhosis of the liver. Scared Matilda and she didn’t go over there, to the bar, to drink so regular. She stayed home and ran the business and took care of her children. She was a good mother for a long time.

  The hotel was a good business because it sits right across the street from the Water’s End Bar. Young and old, seamen, businessmen, prostitutes, and some ladies and a preacher or two went there. People staggering out late at night came straight across the street to get a room. So it was a good business.

  Ships always coming in or going out. My husband used to go to the Water’s End Bar. Sometimes I’d go with him because I like to see things, watch people, and look at life going on around me. The bar stayed busy. They hated to have to close sometimes, but they did have to.

  Them girls, Harriet and Star, were nice-looking girls, but Star was the best looking when they were young. And fast, she was the spoiled baby. When they got older, in their teens, Harriet was the best looking. She was also sweet, which I think made her pretty. Star was arrogant and mean and selfish. She didn’t like to do her share of work either.

  You know, it ain’t too many pretty people in this world, that’s why them people who make face-paint make so much money. People can make a new face for themself. A new one every day, do they want to.

  Anyway, while the girls were in their teens, Harriet was fooling around up on the garage one day, and fell off. That fall messed with her back and she still can’t stand up straight no more ever. And something in her nervous system causes her body to shake real hard whenever she gets excited or angry, otherwise she is fine. Still, she is the naturally prettiest one, such as she is. Star is pretty with that paint working for her.

  The years passed and Matilda forgot about her husband, Jefferson, dying from the liver trouble. Her memories of “good times” and loneliness got the best of her mind. She thought her plate was empty. She slowly began moseying cross that street again. To the Water’s End Bar. She forgot about the full plate right there within her business and her children. It wasn’t too long before the liquor ate up the rest of that poor woman’s body and, then her plate really was empty.

  But Matilda had taught the girls well, and had even put a little money by. In the months following her funeral Harriet had to take over the business. It just naturally fell to her. She had dropped out of school earlier because of her accident. She didn’t like to take a chance on shaking in front of everybody, but, still, she was smart.

  Harriet didn’t like to go out of her hotel-home for nothing. But Star was always gone. So, naturally, Harriet finally was the one who did all the paperwork and everything else. Star treated Harriet like she was her employee or an old woman without no possibility for a life.

  Harriet hired a lady, Ms. Poker, to change the beds, see to the clean linen, and vacumn every week. She kept the business working for the money they both needed. That house wasn’t making no fortune cause they couldn’t charge much. What it mostly was to people was a quick convenience.

  Star couldn’t do any work, for long, sitting at that desk that sat in the front window looking directly at the Water’s End Bar. She loved watching all the goings-on round the bar; looking and laughing at the people. She would tell Harriet, “Pay somebody to watch this ole piece of junk! I ain’t got time to do this mess! I’m too young to be stuck inside this place all the time! I ain’t dead and I ain’t shaking round ugly all the time.” Star loved Harriet, but in her own selfish way.

  But Star would put her hand in the till and take what money she needed when she needed it. She always found some there. So.

  Ms. Poker watched the young women a while as she did her own thinking. Soon she stopped Star, a little, without her knowing it. Ms. Poker took a old cigar box and, every time she passed through the office with her dustin rags, she took half the money out of the cash register whenever she knew some money was there. She would put it away until she could give it to Harriet later. She thought to herself, “I got to see that she got money to pay me, cause I need my money.” Harriet was grateful because she thought she shouldn’t treat her sister, Star, that way. Huh!

  The most money came from renting the three rooms set aside for prostitutes for twenty minutes at a time. A few rooms were rented to a couple of old-timers on a steady basis. The rest were rented to sailors who were unable to make it back to the ship. Very seldom, if ever, did the townspeople rent a room.

  Another thing Harriet had learned in school was how to sew. So that filled in some of her time. In the beginning she had planned to make pretty clothes for herself, but she began to make dresses for the townspeople and mend pants and things for the men. She would sit in the front window to sew. It broke the monotony. Always in that window, she could look out, seeing who was coming an
d going at that bar.

  It’s pretty busy, if you know waterfront life. These people love to drink and party like tomorrow may not be coming. She used to see her mother over there, but now she saw Star. I’m talking years.

  I used to go over there to that bar, more when my husband was alive than I ever would go now. I notice that no matter how long, no matter who has done gone and ain’t coming back, and whoever is new and just started coming, they all look alike. The new women begin to look like the ones who left. They all laugh all the time, same empty loud laughter. They mostly all need to see a dentist. And after a while they don’t look healthy. Maybe it’s just me, but that’s what I think. All that darkness and smoke and lying just steal into your skin.

  Star, too! I told you she could make herself pretty. When she was younger you’d see her round, pretty face in there tween them grey, homely, and used ones. She became a regular regular. Oh, it takes a little time, just like age, but every day something’s happening, changing you. Course, you throw some alcohol on top of that, cheap or expensive, it happens faster.

  Over the years, yes, years, it happened to Star. Bar too close. She couldn’t come out of her house without that bar beckoning to her. She would run in for a few minutes and stay a few hours. Too many men talkin sweet to her. Telling her lies they had picked up from places all around the world. Some men she got to know was nice, but they mostly belonged to somebody else at home.

  Now Harriet looked out that window, too! She saw what looked like fun to her. But she did not dare to let herself out for everyone to really see. She wanted that desk counter to hide her. She’d go to the store or something, shop for material cause she didn’t mind the townspeople, who had known her all her life, seeing her. It was strangers who would never know how she had been when she was young, who bothered her.

  Harriet could hear that music blasting and all the revelry going on in that bar at all hours till three or four o’clock in the morning when it closed. She longed, I know!, she yearned to go over there and meet some of them men and make a new friend. Must’a dreamed of how they might fall in love with each other. She wanted to have love. . . . Well, who don’t? with any sense! Love and God is what life is all about. She went to church every Sunday. But she was too scared and shamed to go cross that street to that bar. So, through the years she grew older, watching the bar doors open and close, looking and pretending she might see a man for her own.

  Through the years, now and again, Star brought a man home. Well, she was young and pretty. One time one of her loves wanted to marry her and take her away, to home, with him. She thought someone better might be on the next ship, so she stayed, waiting, to see. Then a man might stay with her a day or two, or keep her awhile longer. But she was so selfish and mean, she couldn’t keep a future planned with them.

  She thought she had found true love a few times. And was happy, a few times, I guess. I think she gave up a lot for such empty happiness. Life will lie to you! Specially if you already lying to yourself! She was hoeing her row and raking in the wrong garden.

  Star was no whore, she didn’t charge a dime. So pretty soon, you know the prostitutes didn’t like her no more for stealing their business. So they took to lying about her, to whatever man she was getting close to, so she couldn’t keep him. Or he didn’t want to keep her. Finally, time came when no one asked her for her little soft, growing ugly, hand in marriage anymore.

  Star never did look back over her shoulder and think about her sister being lonely in that house all the time by herself with only Ms. Poker for company. Star never did look around and think about anybody, but herself. She needed that money from the hotel, though. In some clear moments, she thought about, and bought vitamins for Harriet. To keep her well and working. Harriet already slept well, she and Ms Poker ate well. So Harriet was healthy and strong.

  Now . . . I happen to believe every Cinderella has got a Prince somewhere.

  I sit on my porch a lot, and watch the world go by myself. I go down there and visit with Harriet when I need a little change of scenery and, also, because I sincerely care about her. Sometimes I have something I want sewn. And I like to talk to her. Most time I just sit at home and read. I belong to a book club.

  Over time, one day there was a middle-age man, named Issy Evers, who came to my house for one of my rooms. Almost everybody close to the port will rent a room out now and then. He worked as a cook on one of them ships. Fair-looking man with a few grey hairs mingled with the brown. Must’a been about thirty-nine or forty years old.

  It was plain to see Mr. Evers had a back problem that gave him a gimp leg that made him seem kind of crippled. Least he couldn’t walk smooth and sexy like some of his shipmates. His back was bent a little, real rounded of his shoulders. He was shaped like a slender “S.” His hips pressed forward. He couldn’t move his back from side to side, he had to take a whole step, not lean over sideways. But he didn’t act crippled. And he worked!

  I saw loneliness printed on his face, mostly in his sad, unexpectant, eyes.

  I let him stay at my house one time, so I could see what kind of man he might be. I learned he had been to prison for something he didn’t do. He was working on the ships to stay away from crooked police. And probably cause he didn’t have no other home. I asked him about his wife. He quietly laughed, and looked at me like I was confused or something. Then he said he didn’t have none.

  I told him, “You can’t bring any women here to my house, son. I don’t ’llow that. This is a clean, safe house.”

  He gave me that same look again. Said, “I respect you, lady.”

  I told him my name. “Ms. Realer, son.” I could have said “Mrs.,” but that takes too long to say. I like “Ms.” cause it’s quick and easy.

  He nodded his head and said, “If you need to know, it’s been a long time since I put myself in that position. I had a woman, but she died two years ago with cancer. She understood me. I took care of her.” He lowered his eyes a moment. Then he said, “There’s too much sh . . . stuff out there now. You can’t be sure no more. And I don’t like people, women, thinking they are doing me a favor. I’m a grown man. If I ever just really have to, I’ll wait till I get somewhere I know. Does that settle your mind, Ms. Realer?”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Evers.” He stayed at my house four days and I enjoyed his silences, our talks, and his peace. He paid in advance for when he would return because his ship had a run that would stop here once a month for four or five days.

  Emmh! Emmh! Emmh! It’s sad for people to be without anybody in this crowded world. If there just wasn’t so many fools in it, things would be way better for everybody; the fools too!

  The next time he came to town and wanted a room from me, I had already decided I didn’t want him staying at my house. I didn’t give his money back. I lied, but I had to. I told him I had relatives coming in, but I knew just the place for him and had already reserved, and paid for, a room for him. Then I took him down to the Oceanview Hotel, and introduced him to Harriet. Told her, “This is the good man I gave you the money for to reserve one of your rooms.”

  I turned to Issy (that’s what I had come to call him when he stayed at my house). Said, “Mr. Evers, this is Miss Harriet Long. This is a good hotel. Safe.” Star wrinkled my mind a minute, but I threw the thought out. “I think you will be comfortable here. They gonna feed you, too, good food, so you don’t have to eat at the greasy-spoon cross the street.” I knew he wasn’t interested in going over there anyway; he had already passed it up once.

  Since then, Mr. Evers always rented a room at Oceanview. Said he was tired of viewing the ocean, but, “Your hotel is nice and homey, Ms. Harriet.” That’s what he said to Harriet. I was there.

  I forgot to tell you, Issy Evers didn’t never hardly look nobody in the face and eyes either. I think he thought he was ugly, well, he kind’a was. Had a scar cross his face from trying to keep somebody from raping him when he was in prison. Stay out of prison if you have to use everything in your brain y
ou can, cause life ain’t never the same, I don’t b’lieve.

  Now, I didn’t have no reason or anything for taking him down there, just sometimes your heart tells you to do something. I didn’t need his money. Lord knows, I’m old and I got enough. It ain’t no million dollars or nothing near that, but how much does a person need? You can’t spend it all. That Solomon was right, life is a vanity. Spend all your life doing something like making money and you still got to leave it behind. Cause it can’t buy you life. Besides, I pay attention to my heart; see how it’s beatin and all, and hear what it’s trying to tell me.

  He didn’t like lookin at people straight in the face and that desk was in front of Harriet. She didn’t like people to see her body, I don’t really know why; her body did not look crooked. Only she knew the shaking going on inside of her. They could’a passed each other by, just like that.

  I told him, “You can come down and talk to Harriet just like you talked to me. She likes to read, too.”

  She smiled and frowned at the same time, but at least she smiled. She said, “Yes, come on down. I like to hear stories about the different places you have been. I haven’t been anywhere.” See, she didn’t know him, so she thought she wouldn’t get excited and shake in front of him. She continued, “We’ll call you when your dinner is ready.” She handed him the key. “You got a lucky room, number seven.”

  They must’a made friends cause Issy went back to the Oceanview Hotel every time his ship was in port. Sometimes he came by my house to see me.

  I forgot about it because I have my own stuff to tend to. But I did drop in on Harriet when I had to pass by. We talk and I watch her fingers make the needle go in, go out, then the machine go up and down. All them stitches and probably one her dreams stuck in em. One time I went, she was making a wedding dress for someone. Someone else’s dream with hers mixed in.