Watermelon Days and Firefly Nights: Heartwarming Scenes from Small Town Life

by Smith, Annette

  “When my dog got hit by a car, I cried for a week,” said Lindon.

  “You did?” Trey rolled over and faced the seven.

  “I cried for a month when my dog died,” offered Carl.

  “I cried for three months when my cat died,” topped Rudy.

  No one knew what to say next.

  “Man, I’m hungry,” said Kevin. “Anybody got anything to eat?”

  “I do. I’ve got Pringles and M&Ms,” said Lindon. “I’m starving too.”

  “Me too. I’ve got some jerky,” said Max.

  Just then Ralph rolled over and Pancho’s snoring stopped. “Shhh! Keep it down,” hissed Josh. “We’ll get in trouble if anybody finds out we’ve got food. Let’s go to the bathhouse. Nobody’ll catch us there. Everybody grab what you’ve got and let’s go.”

  “Come on, Trey.” Kevin helped Trey slide out of his bunk. “Where’s your shoes? Careful now. Do your hands hurt?”

  “Just when I move ’em.”

  “Stick your foot up here and let me tie.”

  “Thanks, Kevin.”

  “No problem. Ready?”

  THE NEXT MORNING, when Ralph realized that he’d drifted off, he felt really bad. He told Pancho that he feared Trey might have cried during the night. “Trey? Time to wake up. You sleep okay, buddy?”

  Trey didn’t want to wake up.

  But, then again, neither did Josh, Kevin, Rudy, Carl, James, Max, or Lindon. The whole cabin acted like they were worn out.

  “What’s up with you men?” teased Pancho. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that y’all had been up all night running around the camp or something.”

  Sixteen bare feet hit the gritty cabin floor. “We’re up,” said Kevin.

  “Yeah, we’re up, Pancho,” the rest agreed, suddenly intent on looking wide awake.

  Pancho looked over at Ralph and shrugged. “Whatever. Flagpole devo in ten. Let’s not be the last cabin there.”

  When he stepped out of the cabin, Trey must’ve remembered that Maggie was gone, because he looked like he was about to cry. Max, who had walked out with Trey, threw his arm across Trey’s shoulders. “Come on. It’ll be all right. You ready? We don’t have to wait on those guys.”

  The others, minutes later on their way down the hill to the flag, discussed a plan of action amongst themselves. “Man, he lost his best friend,” Lindon said.

  “Trey was crazy about that dog,” Josh agreed.

  “We gotta keep him company so he don’t feel so bad,” Carl said.

  And so they did their best.

  That afternoon, Max played in the dirt with Trey while the other guys shot hoops. They made roads and bridges and tunnels and stuff.

  Josh and Kevin sat by Trey at lunch and listened to him tell knock-knock jokes. Some of the ones he told were funnier than the ones printed in their book. “We gotta write that one down,” said Josh. “Trey, you want me to open up your milk?”

  Their efforts, though well meant, weren’t enough. Trey was still sad.

  “We should have a funeral for Maggie,” Lindon suggested.

  “You mean with prayers and preaching and stuff?” James asked.

  “We can’t. It’s too late. I heard Pancho tell Ralph that the staff buried Maggie behind Craft Hall last night,” Carl said. “You can’t have a funeral without a body.” Having recently lost a great-uncle, Carl was knowledgeable about such things.

  “It could be a memorial service then,” Lindon said.

  Memorial service. You didn’t have to have a body for one of those. The cabin agreed that Lindon had a good plan. And despite day-long whispered preparations, the boys managed to keep the service a secret until sunset.

  “Don’t ask any questions. Please. Just come with us,” the boys said to Pancho and Ralph. “Trey, come on. We’ve got something to show you. Up the hill. Behind Craft Hall.”

  “But that’s where they . . .”

  “Come on, Trey.” Josh and Kevin took him by the hands.

  “Quiet please. Gather ’round,” said Lindon when they arrived at Maggie’s grave. He removed his cap. The other guys took theirs off too. “Maggie was a good dog.” He coughed. “She was Trey’s special friend. We’re gonna miss her.”

  Carl had made a cross for Maggie’s grave out of two whittled sticks and a leather lace from one of his hiking boots. Reverently, he stuck it in the ground at the northernmost end of Maggie’s grave. Josh and Kevin had gathered enough smooth stones from the creekbed to surround the mound of her grave. When Lindon gave them the signal, they pulled the stones from their pockets and placed them all around. Max had picked a big bunch of wildflowers. When the stones were in place, he pulled out the bunch from under his shirt and placed it on her grave.

  James read Psalm twenty-three, and Rudy said a dismissal prayer. Everyone raised their head. At first, no one seemed to know what to say or do next.

  It was Josh, finally, who broke the silent, solemn spell. “Amen.”

  “Amen,” said the rest in unison.

  “Last one to the cabin’s a rotten egg!”

  “Come on, Trey!”

  “Trey, wait for me!”

  As Pancho and Ralph stood back and watched the boys urge slow-moving Trey along, as they saw Max catch him when he stumbled and Carl bend to tie his shoe, as they took note of the entire rowdy bunch stalling so that Trey wouldn’t come in last, they concluded that Josh was wrong. There wasn’t a rotten egg in the bunch.

  While Maggie had been Trey’s first camp friend, she was not his last.

  I AM A SPIRITUAL PERSON. I believe in God and Jesus, in heaven and in grace. I believe in angels too, though there’s a lot about them that I don’t understand.

  What do they look like?

  Do they have halos and wings?

  Do they all play gold harps?

  The Bible, in Hebrews 13:2, says “Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.”

  They appear incognito?

  Now that’s a thought.

  Can you imagine a better disguise for an angel to don than scruffy brown fur and a cold, wet nose?

  Not me.

  7

  MILLARD AND MILLIE

  MILLARD AND SUGAR FRY MOVED from Chicago to Ella Louise in the fall of 1958, soon after they got married.

  Having lived all of their lives north of the Mason-Dixon line, the Frys, especially Sugar, wondered how they, a black couple, would be accepted in a small Southern town.

  “You think we’ll have any friends?” asked Sugar. “Are there any other people like us living there?”

  “I don’t know,” Millard said optimistically. “Might be a few. Now Sugar, it’ll take a while, but we’ll be all right. Don’t worry about it. We’ve got each other. What more could we need?” He pulled Sugar to him and plopped a kiss on her cheek.

  Sugar, who was leaving behind her two big sisters, her mother, and her best friend since third grade, kept her thoughts to herself. However, she could think of a lot more things than just Millard that she needed. A man is a good thing to have, but women need friends. It’s in their natures, her grandmother had always said.

  “Long as we work hard, we’ll be fine,” Millard assured her. Millard, a carpenter and handyman, was not afraid of hard work.

  “We’ll make us a good life, baby. You’ll see.”

  And though it took them almost a year to get used to Southern ways, as well as Southern foods (“Okra? What do I do with it?” asked Sugar the first time Millard brought home a sack of the fuzzy green stuff), Millard and Sugar were quite happy in Ella Louise. He found plenty of work, and the two of them became good friends with another newlywed and new-to-the-community couple, Alfred and Tiny Tinker. The fact that Millard and Sugar were black, Alfred and Tiny white, mattered not a whit.

  Within a year of moving to Ella Louise, Sugar gave birth to a sweet little baby girl, whom Millard named Shonda. He was wild with plans and with pride.

 
; “She’s gonna have the best of everything,” he proclaimed. “Books, pretty dresses, and music lessons. I’ll see to it.” And he worked even harder than before.

  As Shonda grew up and blossomed into a lovely young lady, one who caught the eyes of young men, Millard began to fret. “Shonda, don’t even be thinking about boys. You’re going to college. And you’re going to do good. You’ve got to keep your head in your books. Understand?”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Me and your mother never had the chance to go to college.”

  “I know, Daddy.” Shonda had heard this lecture about a million times before.

  Millard’s obsessive determination that Shonda get an education provides explanation as to why he was so upset when the disturbing word got back to him. Someone had seen his baby girl, by now a university student, sitting in a Chevy pickup at the Sonic Drive-in, necking with some boy. At 2:00 in the afternoon!

  Now, it is joked in Ella Louise that if a person hasn’t heard a rumor by noon, it’s that person’s civic duty to start one. So Millard figured the story to be nothing more than a silly town rumor. Hadn’t he raised Shonda better than that? Of course he had! Still, on the off chance that there was even a shred of truth to the tale, he thought it best to have a little daddy-daughter talk with his girl.

  “Sugar, get on the phone and tell Shonda that she needs to come home this weekend. I want to talk to her.”

  But Sugar wasn’t able to reach Shonda.

  “What do you mean, not in? Ten o’clock on a Tuesday night? Well, then leave a message at the dorm. Tell her to call home as soon as she comes in.”

  When Shonda didn’t call back for three days, Millard fumed. When she finally did call, she spoke to the answering machine. “Sorry Mama and Daddy. Can’t come home this weekend. Lots to do. Maybe I’ll make it in another week or so.”

  “She probably has a test to study for,” Sugar said, trying to soothe Millard. “Honey, it’s her junior year. She’s got more on her mind. She’s not our baby anymore, and we can’t be ordering her around like she is.”

  Millard did not see why not.

  ON THE WEEKEND that Shonda finally did come home from school, which was an hour’s drive away, she did everything she could to avoid being alone with her daddy. On Friday night, she went with her mother to buy groceries. After that, they went to Wal-Mart, where they stayed until after 10:00. Millard got to yawning so bad that he finally gave up and went to bed. On Saturday, Shonda didn’t get up until Millard had already gone to work. That night, she stayed holed up in the bathroom for what seemed like forever. When she came out, she said she had a headache and went up to her room. Not until Sunday did Millard find time to have a word with her.

  “Come sit with me on the porch, honey. Let’s talk.” He patted the spot on the swing next to him. “How’s school?”

  “Good, Daddy. Really good.”

  “You like your new roommate?”

  “Well, she snores and she has to have a light on at night, but other than that, I like her all right.” Shonda smiled.

  “How about boys? You been talking to any boys?”

  “A few.” She sat on her hands and unsuccessfully tried to look him in the eye.

  “Been out on any dates?”

  “Just a couple. Daddy, I’m twenty years old.”

  “There’s time for that later, girl. You know me and your mother expect you to get your degree.”

  “Daddy, why are you asking me all this? You know I’ve got lots of friends. Some of them are boys, and yes, sometimes we go out on dates. Everything’s fine.”

  Millard called her bluff. “Jerry Jeff Maffett was traveling through. Says he saw you and some boy in a car at the Sonic. Said he saw you kissing.”

  Shonda did not blink.

  “That true?”

  She did not answer.

  Millard drew a breath. “Little girl, I raised you better than that. You know I did. I best not be hearing any more of you hanging all over some boy, putting on a show for the whole town. If ever I do, you can kiss college good-bye. I will bring you back home to where me and your mother can look after you. Do I make myself clear?”

  He thought he had.

  TWO MONTHS LATER, Millard and Sugar got a late-night call. When they heard the ring, they picked up on different phones at the same time.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello?”

  “Mama? Daddy? It’s me. I need to come home.”

  “Tonight? Honey, what’s wrong?” Sugar could tell Shonda had been crying. Millard could too.

  “I-I-I just want to come home.”

  “What do you think’s the matter?” asked Millard after they’d hung up.

  Sugar couldn’t guess.

  When Shonda pulled up into the driveway well after midnight, she looked a mess—nose runny, skin blotchy, hair in her eyes.

  Sugar reached her first. “Honey, come on in the house.” Shonda fell into her arms. Millard guided the two of them up the steps.

  “What’s happened? Are you cold, honey?” Shonda was trembling. “Millard, she needs that afghan off the rocker to put around her shoulders. There now.” Sugar tucked the blanket close. “Baby, what is it?”

  Shonda wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Millard handed her a clean handkerchief out of his back pocket.

  “There was a car wreck. This afternoon.” Shonda rocked back and forth.

  “Are you hurt?” Millard said sharply.

  “No—yes—I mean, it wasn’t me. My friend was on his way home from work. They say he ran a red light. I went to the hospital as soon as I heard, but it was too late. I never even got to see him.” Her face crumpled. “I thought he would be all right, but he wasn’t. They say that he died, but I can’t believe he’s really gone. I just can’t believe that it’s real.”

  Millard gathered his little girl in his arms and breathed a silent, selfish prayer of thanks. It could have been his child killed tonight. Even though she was twenty years old and had been driving for four years, every time he watched Shonda get behind the wheel of a car he worried that it might be the last time he would see her. So many kids have accidents. So many get killed. What agony the family of the young man must be going through right now!

  “I’m so sorry, honey.” He kissed the top of her head. “You did right coming home. We’re so glad you’re here. Was the boy someone from around here? Did he have a family?”

  “He had me.”

  Millard stroked her hair. Sugar leaned close.

  “You were dating this boy?” asked Millard.

  “Yes.”

  “Were you serious?”

  Shonda drew her knees up under her chin, laid her head on her mother’s shoulder, and whispered, “We were going to get married. I’m going to have a baby, Mama.”

  For a long, long time, no one said a word.

  Finally, Shonda reached for Millard. “I’m sorry, Daddy. Please don’t be mad. I know what we did was wrong. We wanted to get married, but we couldn’t figure out how. I tried to tell you, but I couldn’t. I’m so sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean for this to happen. Really, I didn’t. I know you’re disappointed. But please, Daddy, please don’t be mad.”

  Millard didn’t respond.

  It is hard to speak when one has no wind.

  Sugar spoke instead. “Shonda, are you saying that the boy who was killed in the accident tonight was the one who . . .”

  “Yes.”

  “What was his name? Do his folks know about . . . about . . .” Sugar’s voice trailed off.

  “They don’t know.”

  Millard blew his nose. When he finally spoke, his voice was hard. “Shonda, you have hurt your mother. This is not what we expected of you, and it is not what we wanted for you. You knew better. Things around here will be different from now on. You—well, you have made your bed, young lady. Now you’ve got to lie in it.”

  Later that week, when Shonda and Sugar moved Shonda’s things out of the dorm and back into her old room, M
illard did not offer to help. When Shonda made his favorite pie, placed it, hot out of the oven, in front of him, Millard offered no thanks. When the two of them met in the hall during late-night trips to the bathroom, Millard looked down and gave her wide berth.

  Millard spoke to Shonda only when necessary and never looked her in the eyes. Weeks went by. The bigger Shonda grew, the more Millard let on that he was repulsed by the sight of her.

  “Mama, why is Daddy acting like this? I can’t take back what’s happened,” Shonda grieved. “Is he never going to forgive me? And what about when the baby comes? Mama, there is going to be a little child in this house. He can’t ignore it.”

  Sugar, caught in the middle, tried to soften Millard up. “Shonda’s not going to finish the semester, Millard. She doesn’t think she’d be able to hold up.”

  “Suit herself.” He held the newspaper up in front of his face. Yet he wondered if Shonda was all right. She did look tired. He knew she wasn’t sleeping, because he heard her up walking almost every night.

  Sugar tried again another day. “Shonda’s resting. Her feet are swollen. Dr. Strickland says she needs to stay out of the heat.”

  “Fine by me.” Millard turned on sports. Swollen feet? Was that a serious sign? One of the waitresses at the Wild Flour Café had had something called toxemia a little while back. She nearly died. If he recalled right, it seemed like her trouble started out with swollen feet.

  “Shonda’s going to the doctor tomorrow. She thinks she’ll find out whether the baby’s going to be a boy or a girl. Don’t you want to come along? You wouldn’t have to go in. You could wait out front. It would mean so much to Shonda if you would.”

  “Sugar, I don’t want to hear about it. Do you understand? Shonda is mine and I take care of my own, but she made a choice. She knew how I felt. She threw away her morals. As long as I live, I will never accept any baby born like that as one of my kin.”

  Sugar pushed harder. “Millard Fry, this little one will be our first grandchild. It didn’t ask to be brought into this world. It’s a little baby, as innocent as innocent can be. It’s not going to have a daddy. Least you can do is be its granddaddy.”