“I told your mama what to buy,” he said. “But she said you’d want the money.”
“But you always get me something nice. And I never told her I wanted a check. Where’s she getting this from?”
I didn’t know that my mother was listening on the other extension. “You should be happy with that check! Some folks don’t even have clothes or a roof over their heads or a decent plate of collard greens and corn bread.”
“I’m sorry, Mama—”
“—your father had a heart attack! I’ve been taking care of him, night and day, since he was released from the hospital. But I’m so sorry I ruined your birthday. I know that’s more important than anybody’s health.”
She hung up.
“Oh God,” I said. “Now she’s mad.”
“Don’t worry, darling,” he said. “I’ll smooth it over. It’ll be fine. But I don’t like this strict diet your mama’s got me on. No bacon, no cream in my coffee, no eggs. I didn’t even know your mama could make food taste bad, until she started listening to my doctor. You didn’t hear me say that, though. I don’t want to end up in the hospital again from a beating. Your mama beats me all the time, and yet I love her desperately.”
“You’re silly. She does not.”
“She’s capable of it. I hope you know that.”
His laughing turned into a coughing fit before he caught his breath. I told him, please take care of yourself.
The next day, Baybay was at work but had loaned Boukie the car. He told me he had a birthday surprise for me: he was taking me to the mall in Milledgeville. Boukie acted like that was a big deal, and I guess it was. Chicasetta only had a dollar store that sold everything from towels to clothes, now that the old dime store had shut down.
At the mall, we encountered a group of girls coming out of the department store. I recognized one who attended Red Mound irregularly. She was cute but shaved her eyebrows off and drew them back on with black pencil. The summer before, she’d been sitting between the boys, and in the middle of the foot-washing ceremony, she’d left. I’d assumed she was visiting the outhouse, which you couldn’t pay me to go near after the wasp incident. Boukie left minutes after, and then Baybay. None of them had returned until near the end of services. When the girl walked to her seat, there’d been runs up and down her stockings.
Boukie walked away a few steps, talking to the girl. Her friends looked me up and down, and I crossed my arms.
“Rhonda, it won’t my fault I ain’t call you,” Boukie said. “My mama had forgot to pay the phone bill.”
“Ooh, you lying!”
“Don’t be like that.”
“And anyway, you coulda walked to my cousin Pookie house and called.”
“Why I’ma do that? I ain’t even know he was some kin to you.”
By the time he drove us to the creek, the june bugs were out, and so were the mosquitoes. He lighted the citronella pots and laid the blanket on the grass. I was nervous, because blankets went on a bed and my mother had warned to stay out of beds with boys. She’d told me that when my period came. She’d given me that advice, along with sanitary napkins, though I’d wanted tampons.
On the blanket, Boukie moved in close to me, but I leaned away.
“Is Rhonda your girlfriend?”
“Who?”
“That girl at the mall, Boukie? The one you were talking to?”
“Why you need to know all that?”
“I’m just curious.”
“I see. You curious. Naw, baby, she just my friend. Like you and me is just friends.”
I stood up and brushed the back of my dress. When I gave him my hand to pull him up, I didn’t look in his face. Those eyelashes might have changed my mind.
When his summer schoolteachers threatened Boukie with failing, there was no more riding in the Eldorado, but the other boy still visited. My granny had no problem asking Baybay to complete chores at her house. On his days off, he pushed the mower around the big field and trimmed the hedges at the house front. When Baybay finished, he and I would sit on the plastic-covered couch in the front room, waiting to eat Miss Rose’s delicious, heavy meal, our thighs slurping against the plastic.
One Saturday she told us, get out her house and go walking. We were too young to be sitting up underneath the air conditioner. It would make us sick. Baybay and I walked across the field to the burned plantation house and sat on a blackened wall. We trailed our feet in the dirt. He slid closer, and when he kissed me, it wasn’t anything spectacular. Just a few smacks on the lips.
“That’s enough,” he said. “I don’t want to be disrespectful or nothing.”
The next weekend, Baybay and I took a drive into town. It felt more formal without Boukie there. He was rude and profane, but he did like to talk. Baybay didn’t say much as he maneuvered the Eldorado through the narrow highway into town. At the Six-to-Twelve, he handed money for wine to Mr. Lonny, who returned with a paper sack.
Behind us, there was a flash of blue lights. The short beep of a siren.
Baybay touched my knee. He handed over the sack and told me put that under my seat. Real quick. “And don’t say nothing, okay? No matter what happens, be cool.”
When the sheriff walked to the car, Baybay didn’t seem nervous. His hands were on the wheel at the ten and two positions. He smiled at the white man who leaned into the window.
“Hello, Sheriff Franklin, sir. How are you this afternoon, sir?”
The man smiled back. “Baybay James, right?”
“Yes, sir, but my mother named me David.”
“That’s a real good name.”
“Thank you, Sheriff Franklin. I appreciate that, sir.”
“Baybay, can I see your license and registration?”
“It’s in the glove compartment, sir. Can my girlfriend get it for me?”
I looked at Baybay and raised my eyebrow.
The sheriff leaned further into the window. “Young lady, please open the glove compartment.”
My hands were trembling, but Baybay was patient as he directed me, his hands still on the wheel. His license and registration were in his wallet, and that was under that Jet magazine. Right there. See it? When he handed the items over to the sheriff, the man didn’t even glance at them. Instead, he asked Baybay, if he searched the Eldorado, would he find anything else?
“You might, sir. I got a calculus book back there.”
“What you need that for?”
“I’m in advanced math at school, sir.”
“I think I did hear you were going to college. What about you, young lady? You planning on college, too?”
I didn’t say anything until Baybay spoke my name.
“Um, I guess so . . . sir.”
“Well, isn’t that nice? Both of y’all going to college. Ain’t that something? I bet everybody is real proud.”
“We hope so, sir,” Baybay said.
When the sheriff handed over the license and registration, his smile dropped. It was like a cold wind blowing. Not enough to chill me, but enough to give me goose bumps.
“Boy, don’t let me see you at this liquor store again. You hear me? Not until you turn twenty-one. I see you here again, I’m arresting you and Lonny. And I’d hate for you to have an arrest on your record, especially if you got something in this car besides a math book. Jail don’t agree with college boys.”
Baybay nodded his head. “I understand completely, Sheriff Franklin. Thank you, sir.”
The sheriff straightened. His smile was back, his gray eyes warm and kind. He tipped his hat to me.
“Young lady.”
Baybay didn’t say anything on the drive back out to the country, and he didn’t steer the car onto the road that led to the creek. He stopped in the driveway in front of the house and let the car idle.
“I thought we were going to hang out,” I said.
“I didn’t know if you still want to,” he said. “I thought you might be mad.”
“About what?
; “You know. The sheriff and all that. I didn’t want for that to happen. I’m sorry, Ailey.”
“Cops stop Black dudes all the time up in the City. That wasn’t your fault. He’s just an asshole.”
“You sure you’re not mad?”
“No, but I was really scared, though. That guy was creepy.”
“I was scared, too.”
“You were? You seemed so calm.”
“That’s how you gotta be. But my heart was beating real fast. Still is.” He lifted his T-shirt, then took my hand and put it on his bare skin. “See?”
His chest was so warm. I wanted to lay my head there, but then I felt weird for thinking that.
“So we gone hang out or what?” I asked, and he backed out of the driveway again.
At the creek, he laid the blanket on the grass, then told me wait a minute. He would be right back. He’d left something in the trunk. When he returned, he had a small, rectangular box in his hands. He sat down, but with distance between us.
“I was working on your birthday. But I did get you something. I didn’t want to give it to you until we were alone.”
In the box, there was a pen and pencil set.
“Did you buy this yourself?”
“What you mean, Ailey?”
“Like, did somebody pick this out for you? Like, a girl?”
“No, Ailey. I chose it myself. You don’t like it? I can get you something else. Give it here.”
He held out his hand, huffy, but I put the box on the blanket.
“I love it, Baybay. I really do. Thank you.”
I scooted toward him. Tugged on his shirt, telling him, sit closer to me. This time when we kissed, there was plenty tongue. He lay back on the blanket and we kissed some more.
Soon, he asked, was it okay if he touched my breasts? I took off my shirt and he reached behind me, unfastening hooks, but I put my hands over my breasts. He touched one of my hands, tugging at it, then lowered his head to my nipple. Licked and sucked until I thought I would lose my mind.
He looked up. “Ailey, do you love me?”
“Sure, I do. You’re Baybay.”
“No, I mean, do you love me for real?”
I thought about it. “Yes, I do.”
“Call me by my government name, then. Call me David.”
It sounded peculiar, as if he’d gone down to the courthouse and changed it. When he asked, did I want to be his girlfriend? I agreed. It seemed the polite thing to do. Then he asked permission again: could he put his hand in my shorts?
I buried my head in his chest. I thought about Gandee, what he’d done to me in the bathtub. Those nasty things that made me feel dirty. But then again, Gandee had been an old man, and I hadn’t had a say in the matter. And David was only a boy, and so sweet. Maybe it was all right if I did with David what I already wanted to do. Maybe I wouldn’t be dirty.
“I say something wrong, sweetheart?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“You sure, Ailey? We don’t have to do anything else. I promise I won’t take advantage of you.”
“Yes, I’m sure, David. I really want to.”
He unzipped my shorts, easing a hand inside my panties, and, oh, it was so wet, he told me. I put my arm over my face, but he said, don’t be embarrassed. He liked it wet like that, and did that feel okay? I nodded, lifting my hips, and he nuzzled the side of my face, finding my mouth. We kissed as he moved a finger around. He wanted me to feel good, he told me, flicking a spot. He slipped the finger inside me slowly. When he started sucking my nipples again, I reached for his fly, but he moved his hips.
“Stop, okay?”
“What’s wrong, David?”
“We got to go.”
“It can’t be curfew yet.”
He stood, jogging in place. Breathing hard. I held out my hand, but he stepped back. Turned around for a few seconds, talking to himself. When he turned back, he told me he had to fold the blanket. Come on, and I headed for the car. I tried not to cry, wondering, what had I done wrong? Did he think I was gross for letting him touch me like that?
At the house, he opened the car door for me. “You’re not mad at me, are you, Ailey?”
“I guess not.”
“I gotta work tomorrow, but can I see you on Sunday? After church, I mean?”
“For real? Yeah! I mean, sure.”
When we kissed, he moved his hips back. “Go on inside, please. I don’t want to get you in trouble. I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, too.”
When I let myself in, my granny called out from the back. In her bedroom, a window fan moved a slight breeze.
“I’m a little sleepy, Miss Rose. Can I go to bed?”
“In a minute. Come on in and sit with me, baby.”
I settled beside her, but not too close. I didn’t want her to smell David’s aftershave.
“You know, Ailey, I didn’t want your mama to leave here. My only daughter. My baby girl. I missed her so bad, even though her college was right up the road.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Then she married your daddy. I was sad, ’cause I hoped she’d marry somebody down here. But your mama never really belonged here. Some places make you feel good for a while, but you can’t stay. You real smart, Ailey, so you know what I mean, don’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I didn’t have the slightest idea what she meant, and I wanted to get to bed, to remember the moment David had put his hand down my shorts.
“Tell me the truth, and whatever you say, your granny won’t be mad.” Miss Rose looked at me, her eyes moving back and forth. “Are you still a good girl?”
“Do you mean am I a virgin?”
“Ailey Pearl, don’t you play with me.”
“Yes, ma’am. I am still a good girl.” I hoped I was telling the truth.
“Oh, thank you, Jesus.” The words came out in a whisper. When I went into her arms, she kissed my face. “You go on to bed, baby. Me and Pauline need help with peeling tomorrow.”
Pecan Trees and Various Miscellanea
Though Uncle Root and his late wife had visited his relatives often, they hadn’t ever lived long in Chicasetta. They’d both taught at Routledge College, and resided in the faculty house until she passed away in the late ’50s. Their apartment had been small, but Uncle Root told me they’d liked their lodgings. They were only twenty-five miles away from family, but far enough to maintain their privacy.
It took two decades after Aunt Olivia died for Uncle Root to buy his first house in Chicasetta. That place had been in the designated Black part of town—called “Crow’s Roost”—but the street that the old man had lived on was the fanciest one in that neighborhood, where the one Black doctor, one Black lawyer, and every Black teacher had lived. In the mid-1980s, Uncle Root had bought his second house in Chicasetta, after he’d retired from teaching. He was the first African American to live in his new neighborhood, which was called the “silk stocking district” among the white families in town. He’d bought the house at a rock-bottom price when an elderly white couple passed away—the wife, and soon after, the husband—and their children had no desire to move back home. The house was imposing, with nine huge rooms, ten-foot ceilings, and a wraparound porch.
Mere hours after Uncle Root moved in, somebody left a bucket of spoiled fried chicken crawling with wormy, opaque bugs on his front porch. The next week, a case of malt liquor. Then a ripe watermelon, which he’d kept, and it had been quite delicious. It took months for the harassment to stop.
When I asked Uncle Root why he’d purchased a house in a neighborhood where he knew he wasn’t wanted, he replied it had been 1985, not 1885. Further, he liked to stomp on people’s last nerves, and since he’d retired and didn’t have a job to keep him occupied, fighting with racist white folks gave him pleasure. Those things left on his porch were harmless, he told me. Nobody had burned a cross on his lawn or tried to hurt him. And he wasn’t scared of violence anyway. If one of those crackers decided
to actually come for him, well, he’d lived a good, long life. Whenever God called him, he’d be satisfied.
But Uncle Root’s mother might have fainted if she’d lived to see her son owning a house in an all-white neighborhood. Even the father of her children hadn’t lived in the same house as she had. There had been a racial dividing line on the farm, which was the road that edged the lawn of the old plantation house. Once you crossed that road, you were in the African American portion of the farm.
The other advantage of where the old man lived was that his very good friend lived close by. The day we visited, a younger Black lady answered the door.
“Good afternoon, Miss Sharon! You’re looking stunningly beautiful as ever.”
When she smiled, there was gold at the front. “Mr. Root, you a mess!”
“I take that as the highest compliment.”
In the living room, a silver-haired white lady sat on the sofa. She wore a fancy paisley dress. Her earrings might have been diamonds, too, but she wore slippers over stockings.
“Jason! Come hug my neck.”
He kissed both of her cheeks, European style. “Ailey, this is Mrs. Cordelia Pinchard Rice. You met her a very long time ago.”
I didn’t remember her, but I shook her hand. “Hello, ma’am. It’s so nice to see you again.”
“It sure is! It’s six months of Sundays since I’ve seen you. You were so little. And don’t you have the nicest manners? You sit with me, honey.”
Miss Sharon served sweet tea in crystal glasses and slices of pound cake on china plates. She left the pitcher, and I drank two more glasses while the old man and Miss Cordelia talked. The library wanted to add another room and was begging for money. That big oak in front of City Hall was eaten through by rot.
On the return walk, he told me that the old white lady was his niece.
“Nobody else would call us relatives, least of all Cordelia. But yes, we are related. Big Thom Pinchard was her grandfather. His wife died in childbirth, but the baby boy lived. Tommy Jr., named after his father. When he grew up and married, his wife had Cordelia.”
“Ladies died having babies? For real?”
The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois Page 17