Zane's Nervous

by Zane

  “Momma was heated,” I said. “But she still shouldn’t have said something that malicious.” I took over Flower’s job and pushed us off. “I didn’t know you had written her letters. She’s never mentioned it.”

  “Hmph, why would she? She hates me.”

  “How do you feel about her?” I pried.

  “Oh, I will always love your mother. I’ll admit that our marriage went through its ups and downs but I expected to be with her forever. Until that sorry-ass bitch showed up on Thanksgiving Day and ruined everything.”

  “What about the child she was pregnant with?” I asked.

  He raised his voice. “There was no child. I never slept with that woman. In fact, I’d never even laid eyes on her. I tried to find her though, afterward, but after searching every street corner in the hooker district, I gave up. Besides, the damage had already been done and your mother wasn’t trying to hear any kind of explanation. Not that I needed to justify my actions, because I hadn’t done anything.”

  Something about the way he talked made him seem like an innocent man. “Daddy, do you swear it wasn’t true?”

  “I swear,” he said. “I’m not a perfect man, Jonquinette, but that I did not do. I never cheated on your mother and I’ve only been with one woman since. Allison was more of a release than anything else but I’m glad I have Flower. She gives me a basis to live.” He got up off the swing. “I’m going to go tuck her in. I’ll be back.”

  “Can I do it?” I asked.

  He chuckled. “You sure?”

  “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

  He waved me toward the house. “Be my guest but I have to warn you, she expects to be read to before she falls asleep.”

  “I can read,” I said jokingly. “Even made it through college.”

  “So I heard.”

  “From whom?” I asked.

  “I have my little spies. At least one of your relatives felt some compassion for me. I even have your graduation pictures from high school and college and copies of the ceremony programs.”

  “Who gave them to you?” I kept prodding.

  “I’ll never tell. In case you disappear again, I need to know how to keep up with your life.”

  I touched him on the arm. “I won’t disappear again, Daddy. I promise.”

  I spotted a tear forming in his left eye but he swiped it away before it could land on his cheek.

  We didn’t say anything else; I just went into the house to find Flower.

  She was in her room watching a rerun of Sister, Sister on the Disney channel on a thirteen-inch television. She had on a black Barbie nightgown and a pair of pink slippers. I pulled the slippers off her feet and tucked her into bed.

  “You don’t mind if I put you to bed, do you?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Nope. Can you read me a book?”

  I giggled. “Ha, how did I know you would say that?”

  She wasn’t a stupid child. “Because Daddy told you I would say it.”

  “Okay, you got me. I looked around her room, which was the only room in the house that looked like a woman had something to do with it. There were pink sheer curtains, posters of teddy bears in ballerina outfits hanging on the walls, and a few stuffed animals strewn about. “Where do you keep your books?”

  Flower pointed to a toy box by the window. I got up and walked over to it.

  “Any particular one you want me to read to you?”

  “Hmm, how about Isra the Butterfly Gets Caught for Show and Tell?”

  I went through the toy box and located the book by Christine Young-Robinson. After turning off Flower’s television, I sat down beside her on the bed and started reading the book. She was asleep within minutes. I sat there for a while and just stared at her. I thought about my childhood and how confusing it was. My blackouts, all the accusations, all the teasing and bullying.

  I started crying and looked up at the ceiling. “Dear God, please guard this child and don’t let her go through the things I went through.”

  I pulled myself together and I was about to go back out on the porch to check on Daddy. But, when I passed his room, I heard snoring. I peeked in on him and he was fast asleep. It had truly been a long day and the serious discussion I needed to have with him could wait.

  24

  jude

  I couldn’t believe she actually went through with it; going to see Henry fuckin’ Pierce. And trying to actually bond with the motherfucker at that. I thought about doing something really foul like climbing into the bed with him buck-ass naked to make the two of them think they had actually fucked each other the next morning. Only one thing saved Jon and the bastard. Flower was in the house. She was a cute little something.

  Nevertheless, I needed to seriously blow off some steam, so after Henry and Flower were fast asleep, I located the keys to his Ford Ranger, the only vehicle he had except for his tow truck.

  I headed into town, what there was of it, hunting for some action. I stopped by a twenty-four-hour convenience store and there were some lowlifes hanging out front drinking forties of beer. I asked them about the local night life and they all started laughing.

  One of them finally told me about a “juke joint” called The Crystal Palace. His friends all looked at him like he was tripping. I should have suspected he was up to no good. The Crystal Palace was down a dark dirt road and I knew something was wrong when I pulled up beside a pickup truck that had Redneck’s Toy fancily painted across the back of the bed.

  I sat there and surveyed the place for a few minutes. It was fifteen minutes after one and the parking lot was packed with nothing but pickup trucks and hot rods. I had never seen so many Novas and Chargers in my life. Nor had I seen so many Confederate flags hanging or stickered in windows. Those black men at the store were trying to set my ass up.

  Two white boys pulled up on four-wheelers and parked beside a pickup that had a dead deer lying on the back. I had stumbled into Deliverance; it was like something right out of the movie.

  I didn’t leave, though. The thought of walking into a place full of “good ole boys” enticed me. Whether they wanted to acknowledge it or not, all of them had probably fantasized about fucking a sister at least once.

  An inebriated couple stumbled out the front door and started making out in the middle of the parking lot. My voyeuristic side surfaced and I watched them get more and more into it. My eyes followed them as they made their way over to an older model Pontiac on the side of the building. I could still see them from my vantage point.

  The girl went down on him with the speed of a bullet and he came just as fast.

  “Amateurs,” I said aloud. “This town sucks.”

  I waited for them to get into their car and drive off before I got out of Henry’s truck, put on my fuck-with-me-and-I’ll-fuck-you-up face, and stormed toward the entrance.

  “Something Like That” by Tim McGraw was playing when I went in. The place was off the fucking chain. People were on the dance floor line dancing and a couple of scrawny white girls were on the bar swinging tits and ass they didn’t even possess.

  It wasn’t long before all eyes were on me. No big surprise. I knew there wouldn’t be any other black people in the place before I went in. No one else was bold as shit like me to walk into a club full of rednecks. If I had been male, a brotha, an instant ass-kicking would have been in order, but since I was female, they didn’t know what to do except stare.

  I went over to the bar and waved the bartender over. She acted like she didn’t want to be bothered with the likes of me, but I smacked my lips and she came over taking her little sweet time. I asked for a blow job but her dumb ass didn’t know what it was, so I asked her, “Are you sharp enough to make a rum and Coke? That means you put some ice, rum, and Coke in a glass. Got it?”

  She rolled her eyes and then skulked away to get my drink. I watched her like a hawk to make sure she didn’t try any shady shit, like spitting in my glass or being skimpy with the rum.

  After s
he came back with it and told me it was four-fifty, I slammed a five on the bar and told her to keep the change.

  The music suddenly stopped and I thought, Aw hell, they’re about to lynch me up in here, female or not.

  I was wrong. Some drunken bastard got up on their little makeshift stage and broadcasted that is was time for the karaoke contest. Now I was really laughing at their country asses. I searched the place for some bingo tables but found none. I was convinced there was a bingo hall in Trinity someplace, though.

  The first bitch that took the stage was ghastly. She couldn’t hold a tune if her life depended on it. I was amazed someone didn’t swing a beer bottle at her head. If Dolly Parton had been in the house, she would’ve been justified in doing it since it was her song that was murdered. Someone needed to tell that whore to sit down, so I did. I yelled out, “Sit down, whore! Sit down, whore!” just like the people on Jerry Springer.

  Everyone swung around to look at me. One fat motherfucker at the bar, whose head was bigger than a watermelon, leered at me and said, “Why don’t you shut up? That girl can sing.”

  I poked his arm, which was thicker than a country ham, and replied, “If that whore can sing, I’m Halle Berry.”

  “Who the hell is Halle Berry?” he asked.

  “Never mind,” I said, after smacking my lips in disgust. Then I got curious and started acting straight-up indignant. “Have you ever heard of any famous African Americans? Martin Luther King Jr.? Malcolm X?”

  He got cynical with me. “No, but I’ve heard of that colored boy out in California that sliced up his wife and her buddy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “He never got convicted.”

  He took a swig of his beer and said, “Just shut up and let me enjoy the show.” He must not have been able to resist being nosy because five seconds later, he was asking me, “What you doing in here anyway? You can’t be from around here.”

  “What makes you think I ain’t from around here?” I responded in a countrified accent and pretended like I had chewing tobacco in my mouth.

  “’Cause you ain’t,” he said. “The coloreds around here know better than to come in here.”

  “The coloreds?” I chuckled. “Why’s that? I didn’t see any ‘For Whites Only’ signs on the front door.”

  He sneered at me. “Some things don’t have to be said for people to know them.”

  “I feel you. I mean, no one has to tell me that you’re a fat fuck for me to know it.”

  His friend beside him, who was a complete contrast, and as skinny as the bar rail asked, “What did she just say to you?”

  I responded by yelling over the music and horrible singing of the next contestant who was murdering another artist’s song. “I said, no one has to tell me that he’s a fat fuck for me to know it!” The scrawny one just stared at me like he was sizing me up. “You think you can take me? Jump, motherfucker, jump!”

  “Leroy, let me handle this,” the fat fuck said, holding his palm up in front of the undernourished one’s face. “Missy, if I were a lesser man, I’d do something mighty ugly to you, but my daddy raised me better than to hit a woman. So I’m just gonna let this one slide.”

  I laughed in his face and mocked him with my country accent. “Well, I sure do appreciate it.”

  I was growing bored. The karaoke was giving me a headache and the drink was weak because most of the ice had melted. I was about to leave when they announced the next contestant.

  “Umph, look at him!” I said aloud.

  Fat Fuck turned to me and chuckled. “So you got a thing for white meat, huh? No wonder you’re up in here.” He nudged his friend’s shoulder. “Hey, Leroy, this one over here has that ‘jungle fever’ in her blood.”

  “I have a thing for dick period,” I said bluntly.

  “Boys have dicks. Real men have cocks,” he said.

  I shook my head. “A cock is a chicken. A dick is a dick.”

  “Well, since you put it like that, I happen to have a dick,” he said, licking his lips. “So does my buddy over here. How about you take the two of us on a little adventure tonight? I got a pickup right outside with a comfy bed on it.”

  “Let me guess. Yours is the one that says ‘Redneck’s Toy’ on the back?”

  “How’d you know that?”

  I scowled. “Figures.”

  “So how ’bout it?”

  Fat Fuck was distracting me from the hunk on the stage who was the first decent contestant, both in looks and talent. He was singing “These Boots Were Made for Walking.”

  “So how ’bout it, Missy?” he asked again.

  “First off, you redneck fuck, your stomach is so big that I probably couldn’t even get to your dick and your friend’s so skinny that I’d probably need a magnifying glass to find his. I’m gonna have to pass.”

  Leroy leaned in closer and asked, “What did she say?”

  I yelled out at him, “Get a hearing aid, pencil dick!”

  I stayed for another half-hour until the contest was over. Mr. Boots Were Made for Walking lost to the first whore, who must have been sucking major dick in the men’s room to win because the bitch straight-up couldn’t sing. I decided to be his consolation prize and followed him outside. He was the one driving the Monte Carlo.

  “Excuse me, do you have the time?” I asked him when he was about to unlock his ride.

  He lifted his wrist close to his face so he could make out the dial. “It’s two-thirty.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” I climbed up on the hood of his car, spread my legs, and lifted my skirt to give him a good visual. His eyes almost came out of his head. “I want to know if you have the time to tap this ass.”

  By three, we were parked side by side in the middle of a field and I was lying on his trunk with his dick inside me getting the much-needed release I craved after Jon’s fucking ass decided to come to Trinity in search of resolutions she would never find.

  25

  jonquinette

  “How did you sleep last night?” Daddy asked me the next morning when I descended the stairs.

  “Like a log,” I responded, since I didn’t remember much about it. All I knew was that I woke up and felt like I was still exhausted. Generally that only happened to me when I had slept too well.

  He grinned. “Good. The country air at night does wonders.”

  “Yes, it does. I kept my windows open.” I noticed the sun beaming through the panes of the front door and added, “Now the country heat during the day is another matter.”

  We both laughed.

  “I don’t have much to cook for breakfast. I could go into town and pick up something.”

  I leaned on the banister. “Do they have a decent restaurant around here? I’d love to treat you and Flower to breakfast.”

  “We don’t have any fancy restaurants, but we do have a pretty good diner.”

  “Sounds good to me. Food is food, whether it’s served on china or a paper plate. Remember when you used to always tell Momma that?”

  He nodded. “I’m amazed you remember.”

  “I remember everything.”

  He picked up a hairbrush off the entry table and brushed his hair back. Then he unplugged his cell phone and slipped it into his pocket.

  “Flower just got out the bathtub and she’s getting dressed,” he said. “We should be ready to go in about fifteen or twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll be waiting on the front porch. I’ve grown fond of that swing. I always wished we had one when I was a child.”

  “Really?” He looked at me in bewilderment. “You never told me that.”

  I cringed with my back to him as I went out the door. There was so much I had never told him.

  • • •

  “So Flower, what’s your favorite subject in school?” I asked her after we were seated and eating at The Golden Spoon; the first place I had seen fully integrated with all races since I’d hit town. Good food was good food. All of the waitresses were white but I knew who was
in the kitchen.

  Flower’s bright eyes looked up at me. “Hmm, I guess it would be math, but I’m not sure yet. I’m only in the first grade.”

  She was seated beside me in the booth and I admired the great rush job I had done on her hair. “Yeah, well, you have plenty of time to decide,” I said, patting her on the shoulder.

  “Thanks for doing my hair again.”

  “You’re so very welcome.”

  Daddy was quiet. I guess he was just enjoying his two children interacting with each other.

  Flower said, “I like music.”

  “Is that so? Do you play any instruments?” I asked.

  “No, but I want to learn how to play the piano.”

  “What a coincidence. I played the piano when I was a little girl.”

  “You did?” she asked with disbelief, like she was the only child in America who had ever wanted to play it.

  I thought back to how much I had enjoyed taking lessons from one of our neighbors, Mrs. Duncan, a couple of blocks over. Then Robert, the boy who lived next door to her, teased me something horrible one day and I never went back. My mother insisted that I continue, but I just couldn’t. My nerves were shot.

  Daddy’s expression told me that he was remembering the incident also.

  “Yes, but I didn’t keep up with it,” I said to Flower. “Promise me that once you start taking lessons, you’ll never stop.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good girl.”

  Daddy finally interjected. “I’ll find someone to teach you this week. Okay, sweetie?”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  Daddy took pride in introducing me to the numerous people he knew at the diner. Some of them eyed me suspiciously, like I was probably a younger lover he was trying to pass off as his daughter since the age difference was totally inappropriate.

  One lady, Mrs. Mabeline Harris, spent almost ten minutes standing beside our table filling Daddy in on the latest town gossip. All I could do was be grateful I didn’t live in a small town and have to deal with people constantly in my business. Not that I had any exciting business to talk about.