Dog comes in acting all surprised by my behavior. “Damn, who licked the red off your candy?”
“Piss off,” I growl.
I grab a sweatshirt and march straight through the living room to the front door. “I’m going out,” is all I say, knowing it’s going to kill Mama all night wondering if I met up with them kids or not. As if!
I ride my bike straight to the 7-Eleven to use the pay phone. I’ve got to find out if Stef knew about tonight’s secret agenda. She about keels over when I tell her what Joie had planned.
“She was trying to get us to cheat on our boyfriends so she could get one?” Stef yells. “Of all the low-down, two-faced, scheming . . .”
Suddenly I feel like we’re a team and it doesn’t even matter if Jimmy’s just a dumb little kid. It dawns on me that it’s possible Stef is the only person that may have some notion of what I’m feeling.
“Hell. Meet me at the theater. We’ll go see a different movie, just the two of us,” Stef suggests.
“What about Joie? We can’t just ditch her with all them guys.” I am pissed, but that’s downright cold.
“I got to think on that one,” she says. “I’ll take care of Joie. Just meet me at the movies.”
I wait for Stef, hoping we don’t run into Joie. That would just be too much, having to stand her up to her face. Maybe we should have gone somewhere else. It must be hard for Joie, her two best friends being in relationships, even if the guys don’t live here, I think, as I watch all the couples heading into the theater. It seems like near about everybody is half of a pair these days. Everywhere I go it’s just couples, couples, couples. Most of them are making out right there in public. They could at least wait until they get inside and the lights dim.
Stef comes marching up, looking agitated. “I done told her we was both canceling out. She was madder than a wet hen in a tote sack, too.”
“Bless her heart, but she done brung it on herself,” I say. “If she’d at least told us what she was planning, maybe we could have worked something out. But that right there was just deceitful.”
“Let’s go watch us a movie and forget about these durn people trying to run our lives,” Stef says.
And for the first time all summer, she is finally making some sense.
19
We’re shelling peas for supper when Mama says, “Hon, I know you’re all mad about Joie’s plan the other day, but it just ain’t right for you to put all your eggs in one basket.”
I do not want to get into this with her right now. “I’ma have to make that choice for myself,” I say, hoping she gets the point.
“I’m just saying, you can’t exactly expect a grown man to wait on a young’un like yourself when y’all live at such a great distance. I’m sure Jackson’s got other girls interested in him over there in Greenville.”
Anger, like a tornado, tears right through my chest. “Why are you saying this to me?” I cry, throwing the peas down on the kitchen table. “Jackson ain’t like that.”
“You may not think so, shug, but men just are not to be relied upon. Look what happened with your daddy; he walked away from his family and never looked back. Trust me, I understand these things better’n you think.”
“You don’t understand! You think you do, but you don’t. Jackson ain’t nothing like Daddy, so don’t even try to compare ’em!”
“Men are all the same, darlin’. They are always gonn’ let you down.”
“That may be true for you. But it ain’t gonn’ be for me.”
Mama laughs. She actually laughs like I’m some dumb kid that just doesn’t get it, and damn but that burns me up. And suddenly her face looks so hateful, I can’t hold back.
“Maybe you have rotten taste in men,” I say, and I know I am pissing her off on purpose.
“You best watch your mouth, there,” she says. And I can see she’s steaming.
“You done spent the last twelve years pining over him and he didn’t deserve but one minute of it. He was a no-count, good-for-nothing . . .” My words stop as I feel the sting of her hand across my face. Mama looks about as stunned as I am.
All these years she ain’t never laid a hand on neither one of us, and now she goes and does it—over him?
“Yeah,” I say, biting back my tears. “That’s just what I saw the day he left.”
An image has just crashed its way into my head that I’ve been trying to blot out as long as I can remember. It takes up all the space in my brain and spills right out my mouth. “Y’all thought I was napping like Dog, but I wadn’t. I heard the loud voices.” And now it’s as fresh in my mind as the slap stinging on my cheek. “I crept down the hall and peeked in through the keyhole. Y’all were arguing, which wadn’t anything new. I saw you trying to unpack the suitcase he was packing. You picked up a blue shirt, turned to put it back in the closet. You were yelling about how the young’uns needed him, and he wouldn’t take it no more. I seen that click in his eyes, that moment when he’d just had it and he hauled off and hit you but good.”
Mama gasps as if she’s been struck, grasping her face. “You couldn’t possibly remember that,” she whispers. “You weren’t but three years old.”
“Some things leave their mark,” I say. “I couldn’t believe he’d done that. Not my daddy. I drew in my breath, and you turned as if you’d heard me. And I saw his big ol’ nasty fist print on your face. And I started hollering, just hollering my dang head off. I don’t even know why or what I thought it would do.” I am positively bawling at this point. But the floodgates are open and there ain’t no stopping now. “He came stomping out the room, and I thought he was gonn’ hit me, too. And I kept right on screaming. And he ran out without even looking my way.” I stop to catch my breath, remembering how Mama picked me up then to quiet my tears.
“Stop,” Mama whimpers, “just quit.”
“Jackson ain’t one bit like him.” Though for the tiniest of moments the image of Jackson punching his cousin in the face pops into my mind. I remind myself that was to defend me and send that old image on its way. I turn and stomp out the front door just exactly like my daddy did all them years ago.
I ride my bike hard and fast, tearing down the street like a cat from a coyote, hoping to God I know what I’m talking about. Of course I do. Jackson is different. I just know he is. Please, dear Lord, don’t let me be wrong on this one. I ride until I find myself out past that construction site, past that trailer. My sign is gone, but them rocks are still down there in the sand. I set down my bike and climb on up, panting like a dog. I’ve just got to catch my breath, that’s all. I’m shaking from head to toe, can’t even believe the things that just came out of my mouth. What is wrong with me lately? Treating my friends like crap, hurting Mama like that, this just ain’t like me at all. And now I went and wore out my lungs. And fool that I am, I ain’t got my inhaler. I left the house in such a tizzy, I didn’t stop to think. I’ve just got to calm down is all, ’cause this here situation is bad. My chest is all closed up. I’m wheezing like crazy, miles from home, nobody likely to go looking for me anytime soon and certainly not way out here. Good Lord, Savannah, you’ve gone and done it now.
I slither down the rocks to my bike, pick it up and wheel it back out to the street. I ain’t got a choice. I’m going to have to ride myself over to Mercy. I’ll just have to go real slow is all. But things are looking kind of wavery. I’m seeing some sort of black spots in the air. Suddenly, one of my strange feelings comes over me. It don’t make much sense given how bad off I am at the moment. ’Cause what comes is the notion of good times on the way, a sense of excitement and adventure.
“You all right there?” a voice calls.
I try to focus on the figure in the distance. It all seems like shadows, but then I see that guy with the caterpillar mustache standing out on the steps of the trailer, the one who threatened to call the cops on me when Jackson couldn’t take that painting gig. He’s leaning on the railing out front, a cigar blowing smoke in his face.<
br />
“I remember you,” he says, pointing at me, and he sounds none too happy.
I give up the goat, quit fighting to plow forward through what feels like molasses, and let myself drop to the ground. Only somehow, I manage to whack my head on a lamppost on the way, and next thing I know, I’m slipping into darkness.
20
There’s a sweetness in the air—a fresh sort of springy crispness. Not a lick of humidity. The grass is as soft and green as the day it first came up out of the ground. There’s little colorful flowers everywhere and the trees look practically like they sprung up out of a storybook—just perfect for a tire swing or a tree house. Jackson’s standing right under one of them, a big ol’ grin on his face. And as I look around, I realize we’re back at the church picnic. Everybody looks sort of different, though, and Mama’s nowhere to be seen.
I simply glide on over to Jackson. He takes me into his arms like I’ve been dreaming about for so long. And Stef ’s there and she can plainly see that this is way bigger than her little ol’ crush on Jimmy.
The cool air breezes across my face. My chest feels clear as day. I’m breathing so good, my lungs feel ten times their usual size. Jackson’s smiling down at me, and his face is moving ever so slow toward mine. But then we hear a siren positively blaring like it’s right on top of us. I wish it would shut on up so we can get back to what we were about to do. But then there’s a dag light glaring in my eyes, giving me a headache, it’s so bright.
“Come on, little lady, hang in there,” says a vaguely familiar voice.
I wish it would go away so I could get back to where I was at. But I take a peek, and that grouchy guy with the mustache from the construction site by the HOUSEPAINTERS NEEDED sign is looking down at me, and beside him is some other fella in a white uniform, and come to find out we’re bouncing around in the back of an ambulance!
My head is blaring with pain. I try to ask them what on God’s green earth is going on, but they can’t hardly hear me through the oxygen mask.
“I still had your number on file from that bogus application you put in,” Caterpillar Mustache says. “Your mama’s on her way. She’ll meet us at the hospital and your bike’s safe inside my trailer. You’re lucky I come out for a smoke when I did, I tell you what.”
Well doesn’t he have all the answers? Now if he could quit his yammering so’s I could find my way back to wherever I was at, I sure would be grateful. Ah hell, I just realized, it was all some kind of dream. I wasn’t with Jackson at all. It seemed so real. Now that’s about the saddest news I done ever heard.
This hospitalization ain’t at all like the last one. For one thing, Mercy is old and run-down, and the head honcho doctor is that mean old baldy guy who insists on blaming me for having this dang asthma. For another, Mama seems to have changed sides of the court, jumping on the bandwagon of blaming me for riding off in a huff and not bringing my inhaler. And to top it all off, Jackson’s too busy working to trouble himself with coming down to check up on me.
In the two days I’ve been in this Godforsaken hole, I’ve had exactly three visitors. Dog was bored silly, saying, “How do you stand it in here?” as if I had a choice. Meanwhile, he gets to go stay over with his best friend. Gina came with him, but she doesn’t really count since she was here to see Mama. Dave waited down in the lobby the whole time. He doesn’t like hospitals. Then there was Stef, who would not shut up about Jimmy the Great, because, Lord save us all, he is coming out here next weekend with his Bible group. And finally, Mr. Caterpillar Mustache! Now why in the world would he want to come visit? Says he feels responsible since he helped rescue me. I told him I don’t need another daddy thank you very much. Mama went and scolded me for being rude. And now, grosser than gross, he is getting all flirtatious with her. Can we please remember this is a hospital, as in with sick people in it? Lord, sometimes folks just ain’t got no respect. Besides, she needs to be worrying about how to keep her job at Harris Teeter, not turning on the charm for some old guy.
Out of sheer boredom, I call Joie. “What’s up?” I say, aiming to show her all is forgotten.
“Why are you calling me?” she asks, rather rudely.
“I’m in the hospital,” I say, thinking that might cause her to calm her tone.
“I heard,” she replies coldly.
“Thanks for checking up on me.” I laugh.
She’s silent.
“What are you mad for?” I ask. “You’re the one that tried to trick us.” Now I’m getting pissed again.
“I have to go,” she says. “My true friends are meeting me at the beach.”
“True friends?” Now what is that supposed to mean?
“Bye,” she says.
I’m telling you, this hospital has got some bad juju.
Mama rouses me from a nap to tell me Jackson’s on the phone. He’s been calling me every day since I got here. He promised he’s going to come down to visit on the weekend sometime real soon. My head hurts so bad from where I knocked it on the lamppost, even him calling can’t cheer me up. I’ve got a bruise the size of Texas back there. I’m lonely, bored, and rightly sick to death of this place.
“Hey,” I say, sounding as pathetic as I feel.
“Y’okay?” he asks.
And suddenly, without even putting any thought to it, I say, “Tell me the truth, Jackson, would you ruther be done with me?”
He’s dead quiet at first, scaring the bejesus out of me. But then he turns all serious and says, “Ain’t nut’n changed on my end of things. That how you feel?” And his voice sounds all hurt and tight.
“Me? Are you kidding? Lord, Jackson, I’d give my right arm just to see you for ten whole minutes!”
He laughs and tells me I done scared the pants off him. I feel so relieved, my mood finally brightens. And even though it took me getting all melancholy to get to where I could ask him that question, I sure am glad I did.
“By the way,” I say, “I’ve been meaning to tell you, I went by the art gallery at the junior college one day and I told the guy there about your paintings and he said he’d really like it if you’d bring some by for him to take a look at.”
He’s real quiet. “Why?” he finally says.
“Why what?”
“Why should I bring ’em over there?”
“I don’t know. He said he’s always interested in meeting talented young people.”
“What good will it do me?” He sounds nearly angry.
“It’s a connection,” I say. “You never know.”
“Hm,” is all he says. Then back to the usual, “I got to run.”
Oh well, at least we cleared up the heavy-duty question. I believe Mama nearly had me convinced that he was through with me, had me imagining him out there in Greenville dating all sorts of girls. Shoot. Maybe now she’s got a man interested in her (even if he does look old and scummy), she’ll lay off of dumping on Jackson.
Speak of the devil, here comes Mr. Caterpillar Mustache for yet another visit, stinking to high heaven of cigars and Aqua Velva. I understand he helped get me an ambulance when I needed it. But he ain’t fooling nobody. The way he’s drooling all over Mama, wouldn’t nobody believe he’s here to check up on me. Mama is pretty. I’ve always known it. But salivating over her right beside her daughter’s hospital bed seems to me to be in bad taste.
“Hey there, Savannah,” he says, his eyes on Mama. “Miss Porsha,” he says softly, bowing slightly.
“Hello again,” Mama says, looking a mite irritated by his presence.
I’ve got to hide my smile on that, not like anybody’s looking.
“Thought maybe I could take you out for a walk, get some fresh air,” he says to Mama. “If that’s a’ight with you,” he asks me.
Like I care. Least it’ll get Mama out of my hair for a spell. Having her around every minute of every day usually means she ends up riding on my nerves.
Mama gives me a slight shake of her head like she’s wanting me to say no. But I ain’t i
n the mood for games.
I shrug. “Y’all go on ahead,” I say.
“You want to come with?” she asks me.
I hate walking around attached to the IV pole. “I’m tired,” I say, laying my head down like I’m fixing to go to sleep.
Mama looks pissed. But I know she won’t turn him down, she owes him that much, and truth be told, she could use some fresh air.
Soon as she goes, the nurse comes in for my next nebulizer treatment, which I’m getting awful sick of, thank you very much. After she finishes, I flip channels on the TV, feeling sort of sorry for myself. Least I ain’t half as bad as the crazy folks what air out all their dirty laundry on daytime television. What in the world can they be thinking?
Jackson calls back, rescuing me from my boredom.
“Guess what?” he says.
“What?” I ask, hoping maybe he’s coming to visit.
“My Aunt June just called.”
“How come?” I ask.
“Billy Jo and Junior got into a knock-down drag-out over some girl they both liked. While their parents was pulling them off each other, Junior got so mad, he told ’em how Billy Jo brought that punch in the nose from me all on hisself, goading me by calling you names and such.”
“Are you serious?”
“Sure am. Then, get this, he said the whole party was Billy Jo’s idea, not mine, and Billy Jo said it was Junior’s. Their parents got so mad, they took away the boys’ truck for a month and grounded ’em both.”
“Holy cow!”
“My aunt said she was calling to tell me they were sorry for blaming me and kicking me out and all.”
“That’s amazing. I reckon you were right about giving ’em some time. You sure are smart.”
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