Sweet Potato Jones

by Jen Lowry

  “You seem to fit right in—except with the singing and the dancing and the talking and the joking and the loud hollering. I could go on.” He laughed again, and I knew I loved him.

  “I love that.” You.

  He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

  “Your laugh.” I knew it sounded ridiculous, but I couldn’t help myself. What was wrong with me? Was I coming down with something?

  Claim him. You can. He’s single. You are definitely single. You can be bold. You can walk in the sight of the Lord in this place and not be ashamed. Not here, anyway, not where food for the soul came in daily doses or something like that.

  “I love your eyes.” He was still smiling, seeming to enjoy the banter. And what he said seemed so genuine. Like he truly meant it.

  I rolled them, shaking my head, which was a mistake because it made my glasses slide a little down my nose. I quickly pushed them back up and turned away. “What do you see when you look at them?”

  His eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. When I look in them, I see them wanting to say something, and it’s just a mystery.”

  That sounded ludicrous, and I was flooded with relief when I heard the jingle of the bell—my cue to get up and escape from looking like a reject. Too late. I let my rambling mouth open. Mistake number one. No, mistake number one was thinking I could claim the sky. Number two was actually trying to.

  Throughout the day, Ray had a puzzled look on his face every time he looked at me. Maybe he was trying to figure out what I’d been trying to say. His momma kept calling him, and he kept disappearing. So, I went to the task at hand, taking orders, smiling, trying to lose myself in the gospel singing on the radio. It all seemed to swing into gear for me, like a well-oiled machine, like I was meant to be in this place. Like it was the natural order of things. Maybe this was as close to normal as I was ever allowed to get.

  It was soon a Friday, and Mrs. Sunshine prided herself on paying me, even though we hadn’t worked an entire week. She said that didn’t matter one bit, and she sent me home with a more-than-generous paycheck, together with two full bags of food that Mr. Joe packed up for us. He gave us enough to last us an entire weekend, not a Friday-night, end-of-the-workweek kinda celebration. They didn’t know how scarcely we ate, or how sometimes in the past we’d tell Bell we were fasting for the Lord when in fact we didn’t have anything. I had a feeling being four minutes from this place would guarantee we’d never go hungry again, and it wasn’t all about the belly. It was more about the soul. The name sure did fit the place.

  Ray walked me home. He held the two large, brown bags easily in his hands and still managed to open the door for me. Carrying the bags meant he couldn’t hold my hand, and I was aching for it. I wondered if this was going to be a nightly occurrence for twenty weeks, and if so, what that would do to me on twenty-weeks-plus-one-day. Him walking me home, holding my hand, could eventually mean an arm around me, a stolen kiss, a promise. It could. I could dream, couldn’t I? But even dreams end. I knew that.

  “Do you ever feel the need to talk? I want to hear your voice.” He couldn’t help but smile again.

  I wondered if that was all he ever did. If I had his life, I’d probably only smile, too. A stable family, a working family. A future. He was free.

  “Where is your home?” I’d seen them escape two nights in a row through the swinging, silver doors after Mrs. Sunshine switched off the light.

  “Behind the restaurant, like an attached place. It’s nice enough, though. All we need.” He walked a little slower.

  The four minutes might drag tonight. I closed my eyes and imagined myself as a box turtle, taking my very own sweet time.

  “Let me guess. It’s purple?” I could imagine how Mrs. Sunshine’s flair for decorations carried over into her home if it was anything like the restaurant.

  But it would be a beautiful place, one that I’d never want to leave once I’d entered. Kinda like Soul Food. For some reason—and it was more than Ray—I felt like I had a connection to the physicality of the place like it was already an extension of me, and I spiritually lived among those Bible verses and warm, caring people.

  He laughed. “How did you know?”

  “Lucky guess. Can you take that off?” I pulled on the apron strings, and he stopped short, the bags tipping.

  He put the bags down on a bench behind him. “What are you trying to do, Sweet Potato? Pull off my clothes? I tell you, I’m not that kind of—”

  I interrupted him. “I want to read your apron. I have to read it.”

  He glanced down at the front of the apron as if expecting to be already able to see what was written—like it was a gold etching of his very soul. For some reason, I had a feeling that it was.

  “Why? Why would that matter to you?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t rightly know. It just does.”

  I put my hand around my waist, holding in my own words of Scripture. God valued me even when I didn’t feel good enough. That was what she meant when she gave me that verse—like she knew the self-loathing that was stitched along my heart. What would his say? I thought of the old song, “You Are My Sunshine.” His momma would have gotten a kick out of typing that in her gold lettering. I was sure he was her morning sun.

  He stared into my eyes under the dim streetlamp, searching me out. “I see what is there.” His voice was low, almost a whisper.

  And all at once I knew what he meant. It got real super quick. Oh, Lordy. I loved Ray. It was all-consuming love that rushed through me like a violent storm, wrecking me and making me shiver.

  “I can’t hide it very well, can I? Trust me, I’m trying mighty hard.”

  I bit my lip, scared to go any further. I broke from his gaze to stare down at the apron, wanting to pull it off and uncover his hidden secret. He had already discovered mine.

  “Is it true, then?”

  He reached out a hand to mine, and our fingertips brushed together. He slid those fingers down to hold my hand firmly in his.

  I whispered, “You said that you can see it, so it must be true. As crazy as it all is, it must be.”

  I could feel it. Even though I’d never felt love for a boy, I was as sure about this as I ever could be. I knew that I loved him. Strange as it was, I knew right down to the very core of my being. He was to be my Ray. Thank you, Jesus.

  He stepped closer. “I need to hear it, too.”

  I could smell the sweetness of him right there so close to me, and I felt the tears beginning to creep forward. I couldn’t tell him I loved him. I couldn’t say that out loud.

  He would have to wait. “Show me your apron.”

  I found myself stepping around him to pull the strings apart, my hands shaking. He lifted the apron off and handed it to me.

  “Momma gave me my apron when I was twelve. I never knew the full meaning of those words until Monday, when I saw you.”

  Even though it was too dark to make out the words, my eyes scanned the lettering as he spoke them softly against my cheek. Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I lift my soul. Rescue me from my enemies, O LORD, for I hide myself in you.

  “Me? What do I have to do with these words from the Lord?”

  “I’ve put my trust in the Lord every day since then, trusting in God to lead me. I’ve served him patiently, waiting for the day when He would reveal my life’s purpose. God’s proof of His love came to me the morning you walked into my life. And I knew the second that you smiled at me God had yet again shown me a purpose more than myself, and that was to love you and take care of you. I love you, Sweet Potato Jones.”

  With every part of me screaming with joy and complete elation, I wanted so badly to say it aloud. To let the words flow out of me like they had done for him. Instead of stepping back, he moved one more step in and rested his cheek against mine. So close to my firs
t kiss, yet so far away. It was intimate. It was right. And that was enough for my Ray Patterson. That was enough for me.

  Daddy was waiting by the fence this time, not the stoop. He had that look on his face like I’d been caught with my hand in a big, off-limits cookie jar, and since Ray was all sweet and brown sugar I couldn’t resist. I’d stolen him, and now he was mine. He was a part of my very being now, because he’d told me he loved me, and I’d believed it. Ray wasn’t no player. He didn’t have that way about him. Ray was pure light. A godly man, and from a strong, stable family. Oh, Lordy! How could Ray love a homeless girl? Was this just a hand-out mission to him? Some outreach community service project that he’d been forced into by his youth group?

  “Mr. Jones. Nice to see you, sir.”

  Ray handed the food bags to Daddy, and Daddy nodded back slowly. I could tell he was about to put on his conductor hat and pull rank, and that train was going to collide right into us any second. Bam.

  He huffed. “Ray. Sweet Potato, it takes four minutes to come home. I expected you home around five after nine, with a minute to spare for tying a shoe, if need be. It’s fifteen after, and I was about to leave them youngins up there to come after you. And you know I can’t leave them up there more than a minute.”

  “I’m sorry, really, Daddy. I didn’t mean for you to get all worried. We had to wait on the food, and Ray walked me home.”

  He eyed Ray and me with this beady-eyed suspicion. It was like the world must know everything about me as if I could broadcast news across the features of my face. Now that the love was between us, Daddy’s eyes changed. And they didn’t have any light in them, only dark.

  “Ray?” It came out like a question—an accusation, even.

  Ray squared his shoulders, taking a battle stance. “Yes, sir.”

  Daddy pointed up to the steps. “You want to come in for a spell?”

  I thought that I’d fall out right there and start having my own heart palpitations. “No, Daddy. No!”

  Tears formed behind my eyelids. It usually took a lot to make me cry, but this was a category five hurricane. Heavy rain predicted.

  Ray said, “Maybe tomorrow night, Mr. Jones. Momma will be looking at the clock, just like you. She’s probably already pulled out the shotgun and started the walk on her own.”

  Daddy nodded. “Okay, then, young man. Go on back, but I expect me and you to do some talking tomorrow night. Let your momma in on the plans I’ve established.”

  Ray smiled at Daddy and at me. “I’m looking forward to it, sir. I’d like to meet the rest of your family.”

  I couldn’t return his smile. Daddy was punishing me for loving him. Why? Why would Daddy be so vindictive? He didn’t operate like that.

  In our room, Daddy set the bags down, and the kids jumped in on them like a pack of wolves, devouring the burgers almost without getting the wrappers off first. Daddy eyed me with a trepidatious look and muttered under his breath, “Roof.”

  I didn’t want to follow him, but I had no choice. I heard the way his breathing was abnormal as he made it up them clackety stairs. He was laboring over this talk before it began, and in all honesty, we might as well have it now.

  He went right back to the vent and leaned against it. I stood holding onto the iron railing, as far away from him as I could possibly get. Daddy wouldn’t physically hit me. I knew that. But sometimes words could be just as hurtful, and this was my way of bracing myself for the pain.

  He laced his tired-to-the-bone fingers on top of his head, leaning forward, trying to gulf the space between us. “Sweet Potato, what have you up and done?”

  I shrugged, not really knowing what I’d done. I was innocent. No crime committed here, or I didn’t think so. I didn’t do anything to make him ashamed of me—around here, or at Soul Food, or in front of anybody, ever. There were many roads I could’ve diverged down many times before. But I kept the straight and narrow, and I didn’t need or deserve this kinda talk from him. Especially after all the weight I carried for him.

  His deep voice bellowed across the distance. “I never would have thought that it would have happened to you. And now here we are, and they are some good people. I tell you; they are good people. What have you up and done? No need to go up solid on me now. Talk to me, Sweet Potato, right now.”

  He took two strides and was right there in front of me. I wasn’t afraid of him, but from the way he was looking at me I couldn’t help but feel intimidation.

  “They are good people, Daddy. I agree.”

  They truly were. Among all the folks we’d called acquaintances and friends, this family was like the top, prize-winning crop at the state fair—worthy of the ribbon and fame to go with it.

  “I know that. I’ve done told you that. That’s why you can’t go messing this up.” His voice was soft, but his eyes were still all contorted.

  “I’m not planning on messing nothing up, Daddy.”

  But I knew full well about plans and how they could sometimes change, and this meant a new move down a dirt road out of sight might come quicker than I’d even thought possible.

  “But you love him, Sweet Potato?” He searched me out and then sighed. “Did you tell him so?”

  “No.”

  He shrugged again and leaned up against the brick wall, hanging on the same iron bar as me. “Maybe you should keep it that way. It will be easier on the both of you when you go.”

  He paused, looking up at the stars. “But he told you he loved you, didn’t he?”

  I nodded, still not wanting to speak about all that out loud. It was like my secret was now going to be on the bestseller list. I Love Sweet Potato Pie—a recipe book for all the ways you could make sweet potatoes melt. And every single person in the universe would see me, immediately ask for an autographed copy, and ask me questions like, “How does it feel to love for the first time? Sugar and spice and everything nice?” Or something stupid like that.

  “He’s Mr. and Mrs. Patterson’s boy. And he’s nineteen and you’re sixteen, and you are not even thinking about going out with him.” He nodded matter-of-factly.

  “I’m almost eighteen, Daddy, remember? And I know who his momma and daddy are, and they are fine people. I don’t have to go out with him, if that’s what you think is best. But I do, well, you know … I do love him.”

  Daddy started to cry. I hadn’t seen him cry in a long time. After years on the road, you accepted the life you walked in, and the crying stopped—unless it was for big-time things, like Momma getting swept away playing spoons. Since then, not much rain in our forecast. Was this one of those big-time things for Daddy?

  “I wished that you had your momma to talk to about these things. Loving a boy means you and I have to talk about some particulars.”

  Oh, no.

  “No way, Daddy. I’m not having them buzzing bee talks with you. Don’t you go off worrying about me none. I have not once never even kissed no boy, and even though I love this one, I ain’t planning on making no honey in no beehives with him. No, siree.”

  He laughed nervously. “Okay, calm down, child. I trust you. You are good people, Sweet Potato. I find it hard to stomach that you’d be after a guy, that’s all. You ain’t no little seedling no more, just a big old bushel of a plant.”

  “Thanks, Daddy. I guess that’s supposed to be a compliment. At least you recognize I’m grown. Do me a favor. Don’t talk to him, Daddy. Please.”

  He was already patting his stomach. I was sure he was wanting to get one of those burgers before Bean devoured them all.

  “Already been done, Sweet Potato. I expect a young man on this roof with me tomorrow night at nine-oh-seven, approximate. It’ll take us about three minutes to walk in, pull down the step ladder, and climb on up here before me and him talk about a few things.”

  “No! Now, I’ve got to draw the line right here.” I was totally beyond freaking out now.

  He passed me by. “Come on. Don’t you worry your
pretty, little head over nothing. I’m going to find out what his intentions are.”

  “Oh, Lordy, no!”

  “I almost forgot. Thanks to the Lions Club, you can get you a new pair of frames after you visit the bus a corner down.”

  There was so much to be thankful for in this place.

  I prayed as we made our way back to the kids. Lord, please don’t let Daddy scare off Ray. Please don’t let this place scare off Ray. We are just your people trying to do the best we can. Doesn’t it say I’m a worth-it person because I’m yours? Don’t I deserve to love? Can’t I love in a normal way? Lord, don’t let this place scare off Ray. Amen.

  In the room, everybody was already settled in the bunks, waiting for the story of the evening. Daddy turned on the flashlight and pointed it at me. “Go ahead, Sweet Potato. Time to work the night shift.”

  I closed my eyes and let a song come.

  Lord, there’s a harvest, souls a-plenty

  Lord, can’t you hear them crying out to you?

  Falling at your feet, begging for your mercy

  Lord, why don’t you come see about me? I am a part of your harvest, too.

  Fill me up, Lord, and I’ll be a laborer for you.

  Everybody clapped, and Daddy said that should be added to our prayers each night, and would I teach it to them? I told him not to worry. He’d soon hear it blaring from the speakers at Soul Food.

  I told Bell the story about the red bird family that helped a whole flock of geese fly south for the winter. But as soon as the story left my mouth, I regretted it. Why had I given Daddy the idea to fly again?

  I took the folded-up, notebook paper out of my back pocket and stuck it down in my clothes bag, to the very bottom. No thoughts of kissing trees, or I would never sleep. I rubbed my hand against my cheek. I could still feel the warmth of Ray there pressed beside me.

  Saturday morning sleep-ins were things of the past. It was five forty a.m., and I didn’t care if I had to wait five more minutes outside to have Ray swing open that jingling door for me. I hadn’t slept a single wink the night before, and there was no point in me trying to keep myself in that room. Daddy frowned at me and pulled the tan cover back over his head, letting his feet pop out in the process. Blankets and cots at temporals didn’t fit us tall people all too well. I did hear him grumble out a thank-you before I crept out of that room of snoring, little warthogs. I wanted to holler, “No, Daddy, thank you!” I would have meant it from the bottom of my grateful, loving heart, but I refrained out of respect for the sleeping.