LESTER PHONED his sister from a restaurant payphone near Ocala while Alex stood next to him in the shade of the red brick building. He was concerned about being a nuisance to Lester’s sister, and he wondered if there’d be a spare bed for him. “Lunch was a bit of a wait,” Lester said to his sister. “But we’re making good time. Kid’s a good driver.” He gave a nod to Alex. Then he ended the conversation by saying, “See you tomorrow, sis. I expect mid-afternoon.”
It was Lester’s turn to drive. He adjusted the seat and mirrors and accelerated up the northbound ramp. “Figure we’ll stop for the night in Valdosta, maybe further.”
Alex unfolded the map and examined their route. “Tomorrow looks like an easy drive.”
“More scenic too,” Lester said. “We’ll be getting off the interstate for good.”
Alex put the map aside. He looked at Lester, straight ahead, then back toward Lester but didn’t say anything.
“What’s on your mind, kid? Cough it up.”
“I’m just wondering,” Alex said timidly. “Do you think being gay is a choice?”
“Ah,” Lester said, “thinking about your father.”
“Yeah, well I was just wondering.”
“It’s only my opinion,” Lester said. “But I think it can’t be a choice. Who in his right mind would choose a life of being shunned by the mainstream?” He shook his head to stress the point. “Nope, it’s got to be something in the wiring.”
“So my dad was born that way?”
“I’d say so. Doesn’t mean you’ll be that way. Genetics and biology are crazy, complex things—probably more than we’ll ever know.”
“You think it’s immoral to be gay?”
Lester paused for a moment, and then he said, “You’ve got some bad thoughts brewing in that brain of yours.”
“I just found out my dad’s gay. What do you expect?”
“If it makes you feel any better, no, I don’t think it’s immoral. It’s just a trait—somewhere between skin color and tastes for certain foods.”
“I’ve heard people say it’s immoral, like a sin, or a curse from God.”
“Well, you’re smart enough not to hang with that camp.”
True, Alex thought, but it felt good to hear it from someone he respected instead of just sitting in silence, replaying his own negative thoughts. “So you think my dad might be okay?”
“Kid, I don’t know about him personally. But if someone’s willing to go out and face the world with that hanging over him and still be successful, he’s got to have some fortitude.”
“I never thought about it that way.”
“Well, maybe that’s the way you ought to think about it.”
Alex nodded slowly. It was good advice. Then he looked at Lester. “When are you going to tell me why you never got married?”
“If you’re thinking I’m gay, you’re wrong. I like women fine. It’s just that they don’t care for me…at least not a certain part of me.”
They passed the exit for Gainesville and the University of Florida. “What do you mean?”
Lester sighed. “I’m sure I’ll be sorry for telling you this, because nothing good’ll come of it.”
Alex didn’t reply.
“You want to know why I never got married.”
It wasn’t a question, but Alex said, “Yeah.”
“All right,” Lester said. “I got me a small pecker. That’s it. That’s the reason.”
No comment from Alex.
“It’s okay,” Lester said. “You can laugh.”
“I don’t want to laugh.”
“There’s a stereotype about black men being well hung. Well, I’m here to tell you, it ain’t always so.”
Alex was silent. It was the most uncomfortable conversation they’d had so far. He would have preferred talking about death.
“I’ve had three embarrassing sexual encounters,” Lester went on. “First one—Gwendolyn was her name—said, ‘Is that all?’ when she looked at it. Right out of the gate, that’s what she said. Second woman, I don’t remember her name, but I do remember the feeling. Like I was tossing a hot dog down a hallway. Not sure if that speaks worse of her or me. Last woman was a nurse. When we finished, she said I could’ve used a finger cot instead of a condom—you know what a finger cot is?”
“No,” Alex said. “But I can guess.”
“Never you mind,” Lester said. He gave an awful wince. “Anyway, I figured three strikes you’re out. That’s what I figured.”
“I’ve never had sex,” Alex said.
“Don’t be too eager.”
WHEN THEY stopped for the night, Alex made a priority of starting his new exercise regime by swimming twenty laps in the over-chlorinated pool and hammering out twenty poolside push-ups. His arms gave out after fifteen, forcing him to do the last five girl-style. He did stomach crunches on his wet towel then a series of stretches he knew from gym class. At last, breathless and satisfied, he announced that he was done.
The old man sat in a patio chair reading a section of paper. “That’s good,” he said. “Keep it up and you’ll be the next Charles Atlas.”
“Who’s that?”
“Way before your time, kid.” He set the paper aside. “Let’s get us a healthy dinner to go along with your new lifestyle.”
Later that night, Alex stood in front of the bathroom mirror, posing and flexing his slender muscles. He pictured their mass after six months of grueling work-outs. Biceps, triceps, traps and abs—all ripped with layers of muscle. Everyday he’d inch himself toward the powerhouse body of his dreams. It would be the kind of body girls like Britney Garrand would talk about and admire. Just the thought of it made him smile. He wouldn’t settle for being anything less than a hundred-percent man.
Then he noticed something from his salad, probably a piece of spinach, trapped between his teeth. It made him feel ugly all over again.
AFTER CHECK-OUT they headed west and north through Georgia back country. Lester drove, taking occasional sips of coffee. Alex ate a complimentary motel banana.
The trees lining the highway were animated by a steady headwind, but there were only a few clouds. Alex’s eyes settled on a field of white dots on black limbs. Orphaned white stuff had blown off and gathered into clumps along the shoulders of the highway. A few clumps skittered across the road.
“Is that cotton?” he asked.
“It is,” Lester said, slowing the car and pulling over. “Grab yourself a piece.”
Alex got out and tracked a small wad that was whiter and puffier than the surrounding pieces. Back in the car, he examined it. There were a couple of hard seeds, but the rest was like a miniature pillow. Lester pointed to the piece and said, “There’s a dark side to what you’re holding.”
“Okay,” Alex said, bracing himself for the upcoming lecture.
“Aren’t many cotton farms around here these days, but for generations that was our money crop.” He cast an open hand across the windshield. “Hundreds of thousands of acres of cotton, hundreds of thousands of slaves to tend it. Entire Southern economy was based on cotton production. And for a long time the South was the world leader. King of the crop.”
Alex rubbed the puffy wad between his thumb and forefinger.
“Meanwhile,” Lester went on, raising a professorial finger, “the North was becoming an industrial power. Slaves weren’t needed for the northern economy to thrive. Fact, slavery was becoming a worldwide embarrassment. That’s how you had such a split in this country—cotton-farming, slave-dependent South, industrial North. They could’ve been on different planets.”
“I thought the war was because people in the north had better values than the people down south.”
“You thought wrong,” Lester said. “One thing you ought to know—north, south, black or white—economics trumps values. Remember that next time you open a history book.”
Alex said, “Will do.” He was grateful not to be talking about death or undersized penises.
> CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As they entered the town of Terrell, Alabama (population 925, according to a pockmarked sign) Lester was full of chatter about the old days compared to the way things were now. They drove up Main Street, but it wasn’t called Main Street anymore. It was renamed Martin Luther King Jr. Drive in 1982, according to Lester. There was also a new traffic light in the center of town that always flashed yellow one way, red the other.
The street had exactly five operational businesses: a barber shop, miniature post office, Laundromat, a two-pump gas station with a convenience store and, Lester’s favorite, Ernie’s Catfish Shack. There were also three Christian churches in town, an elementary school and a middle school. “If a kid lives here long enough to go to high school,” Lester said, “he gets bused over to Union Springs, the county seat.”
As they rolled through downtown, Lester looked right and did a scowling double-take, as if he’d spotted a vandal. Alex saw what had grabbed the old man’s attention. In the gaps between buildings, a series of boxcars rusted away on an abandoned track. Each car was engulfed in a green ocean of vines.
“Looks like they’ve been here awhile,” Alex said.
“Nearly thirty years. If the railroad company had taken them out when they promised, it would’ve been an easy job. Now, forget it.” He swatted his hand in disgust. “If this town was even half white, those cars would’ve been long gone, along with that goddamn kudzu.”
This gave Alex a guilty sting, as if his whiteness somehow connected him to the bigwigs at the railroad company. He kept looking, counting nine cars in various states of decay. He contemplated the history of the cars—what they had carried, where they’d been before. A small cutaway in the vines made him think of hoboes with kerosene lamps. The idea was thrilling and exotic. If he joined these mythical squatters, how long would it take his mother to find him?
The Laundromat seemed to mark the end of downtown. They went another block and turned left onto Grove. Lester pointed to several of the houses, reporting who he thought still lived there. Then he said, “Someone ought to come around here with a paintbrush or two…and a weed-whacker.”
And the old man was right. It looked as if the residents of Terrell were competing over who could neglect their home the most. First prize: dinner for two at Ernie’s.
“Doesn’t look like your neighborhood,” Lester said. “But this is home.”
“It’s not that bad.” Alex searched for something positive. “Lots of trees.”
“Those are magnolias, prettiest trees you’ll find.” Lester turned left onto a gravel driveway. “This is it,” he said. Then he shook his head. “I’ll be damned.” Parked straight ahead was a red Scion with New York plates. “We got company.”
“Whose car is that?” Alex asked, but then he remembered from his bedroom window, and it made him feel ridiculously nervous.
“That would be Miss Rebecca,” Lester said, turning off the engine. “Let’s go see what the fuss is about.”
Alex didn’t budge. He stared at the car then looked up at the old clapboard house. Meanwhile, Lester had retrieved his stick from the backseat and was on his way to the rear of the house. He stopped and turned. “Come on, kid.”
Finally, Alex stepped out. There were two rickety steps up to the back door and a railing that didn’t look sturdy enough to hang laundry, let alone support a grown man. Lester probably knew this because he held onto his stick and took the steps slowly. “Coming in,” he said.
The door swung inward, and there was Rebecca wearing a white sleeveless shirt and beige slacks that stood out against the baby blue cabinets of the kitchen. “Mr. Bray,” she said, “and Alex. You don’t know how relieved I am to see the two of you.”
“Fine seeing you too, Dixie Cup.” Lester tapped his stick on the side of the house then stepped into the kitchen. “I’m more popular than I thought.”
Alex was still outside, but he could hear an old woman saying, “Well, look at you,” all filled with mock surprise. It must’ve been Earlene. She was sitting at the kitchen table with a half-empty glass of iced tea in front of her.
Across the table was a pretty black girl who rose out of her seat. “I’ll help you up, ma’am,” the girl said to Earlene. “So you can give your brother a proper greeting.”
“Hey, sis, you look good,” Lester said. But all Alex could see was fat. He guessed the old woman weighed 400 pounds—fifty apiece for her breasts. She could have strung together a couple of mop buckets for a bra.
Earlene took the pretty girl’s hand and began to rise. “Why, thank you, Les. I had to lose me some weight. Otherwise I’d break Selma’s back.”
“Take it you’re Selma.” Lester looked at the girl. “Glad to meet you.” He stepped forward and shook Selma’s hand. Then he looked back at Alex. “Don’t be shy, kid. Got us some fine women here to visit with.”
Alex finally stepped past the door and waved to Earlene and Selma.
Rebecca patted Alex’s shoulder. “You and I’ve got some talking to do.”
He half expected his mother to pop into the room.
“Well, let’s not make the boy nervous,” Earlene said, now standing on her own. She gave Lester a hug, nestling her face against his. “So good to see you.”
“Good seeing you too, sis.” He hugged her, but his arms weren’t long enough to make it all the way around.
Earlene sat back down and looked at Selma. “Would you mind pouring us some sweet tea?”
“Not at all, ma’am.” The girl was polite.
“And how about getting another chair?” There were five people and only four chairs at the table. “This kitchen’s too small.”
“That’s okay, Miss Earlene,” Selma said. “Y’all sit. I’ll stand.”
“How’d you get such a lovely friend?” Lester asked Earlene.
“Selma’s my very favorite home health aide. I thank the Lord everyday I got her.”
“Believe I would too.” Lester took a seat across from Earlene while Alex sat next to Lester. Rebecca sat opposite Alex.
“Don’t let him butter you up,” Rebecca said to Selma. “These two look like fine gentlemen indeed. But the truth is, they’re fugitives.” Her face remained stern.
“Here we go,” Lester said, elbowing Alex. “Nothing she says’ll spoil the good times we’ve had.”
“That’s right.” Alex felt less nervous thanks to Lester—partner in crime.
“Well,” Rebecca said, “while the two of you’ve been out gallivanting around the country, having a fine time, I’ve been hearing bloody murder from two sources.”
“Let me guess.” Lester applied another elbow. “One of them’s his mother.”
“That’s right.” Rebecca was staring at Lester. “The other is Elder Spring. The entire board of directors has their fingers pointed at me. You and I are still under contract, Mr. Bray. I’m responsible for your wellbeing. When you run off like this, I’m the one who suffers.” She flipped her hands in the air. “You’re making a fool out of me.”
“Sorry about that, Dixie Cup. I had no intention of doing you wrong.”
“Sorry won’t take care of our problem.”
“I figured,” Lester said. “No one drives over a thousand miles for an apology.”
“She didn’t drive straight through,” Earlene said. “Isn’t that right, Rebecca?”
“Well, that is true,” Rebecca said. “I saw my folks in Marietta first.”
“Now it’s starting to make sense,” Lester said, looking at his sister. “While I was in the hospital, recovering from my coma, you and Rebecca developed a nice little friendship. And you tipped her off as to when we were coming.”
“I had to, Les,” Earlene said. “You got to be honorable by these people. Live up to what you agreed.”
Lester took a long sip of tea and said, “Ah, that is good.” Then he gave Alex another nudge and pointed to Earlene. “One year older and she thinks she’s got lifelong rights to lecture me. You’re lucky you�
��re an only child.”
“Oh, Les,” Earlene said. “Lord knows there ain’t enough lectures for you.”
Lester seemed to glare for a moment then turned to Rebecca, “Let’s see what else the lovely Dixie Cup has to say.”
Rebecca talked as if she’d come well prepared. “First off,” she said, “I’m happy to see the two of you are in good health. I was worried.”
“Amen,” said Earlene.
“Second thing is where we go from here. By running off, Mr. Bray, you put yourself in violation of our contract.” She steadied her brown eyes upon him. “But I was able to talk the board into letting you back,” she raised a finger, “under one condition.”
Alex wondered why Lester would want to try living with another family after the current fiasco. But Lester merely looked at Rebecca and said, “I’m listening,” like he was under her spell.
“You’ve got to be back in Albany before the close of business Friday. Today’s Tuesday, in case you lost track.”
Lester took another sip of tea while Rebecca crossed her arms. The silence was jarring, like an Iranian nuke standoff. Neither party was going to come away happy.
“I think we can manage,” Lester finally said. “If we leave Thursday, that’ll give us two nights and one full day in my hometown. Not much, but it’ll do.” Then he leaned forward and said, “Does this mean you got another family lined up?”
“I might, as long as you don’t mess it up.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re angry with me.” Now Lester crossed his arms to match hers. “You’re too sweet to be angry…doesn’t sit well with you.”
“I’m not the only one who’s angry,” Rebecca said, now turning to Alex. “Your mother’s about fit to be tied. That’s the other reason I’m here.”
“I’m glad it’s you and not her,” Alex said.
“That’s what we social workers are all about, doing other people’s dirty work.”
“Nothing dirty about what we’re doing,” Lester said. “We’re having a nice summer vacation, pure and simple. If that bitch of a mother he’s got was a little less controlling and a little more understanding, we wouldn’t be having these problems. Ain’t that right, kid?”
Cadillac Chronicles Page 11