Sweet Potato Jones

by Jen Lowry

  I remembered the tiny, scrolled writing on the bottom of the Soul Food menu as clearly as I could feel the touch of Ray’s fingertips circling my palms. I whispered to Ray, “‘This is the day that the Lord hath made …’”

  Daddy exhaled deeply. “I know this one. ‘Let us rejoice and be glad in it.’”

  Ray grinned that special way when the talk turned to the Lord. “I’ll seek the Lord, and the Lord will not fail us. Even in all of this.”

  Daddy clapped Ray on the back as we made our way down the hallway, stopping him before our room. “So, you really going to be a preacher one day?”

  He smiled. “I knew it from a boy of twelve that I was called by the Lord, sir. I’ve been waiting on Him to get me there.”

  Daddy laughed. “To see ‘First Lady Sweet Potato’ on that billboard …” He sighed deep again. “I guess that could make a daddy proud. Just would have never thought it to be so.”

  When Ray left us, and the kids were all packed up right proper, layered up and color-coordinated with their uniforms neatly folded beside the bags, I prayed aloud in thanksgiving for the giving hearts of the Assembly and Mrs. Sunshine. I took the flashlight and shone it right on Bell.

  She jumped off the bunk, clapping her hands and shaking her little head. Her bare feet shuffled across the cool, tiled floor in a tap-dance frenzy. “My turn?”

  Daddy settled down in his cot, and the rest of us gathered on the floor at his feet. We could get a front row with Bell, and it was a special occasion. We found joy and comfort in church. We held each other up in the times of pain and hurtful rejection that society threw at us. And we loved the sound of that girl’s voice more than any other sound on the face of God’s green earth. When Bell sang, we heard it with all the layers of a symphony in the background. The way she would start soft, then build it up—we’d be on top of a mountain somewhere, soaring. Not in The Home. Not in poverty. Just soaring. As we would hum along or softly sing her backup, we all knew that Bell would be famous one day, on a stage with bright lights. We were sure of that. One day, when it came to pass, it would be a special occasion, indeed.

  Just like on any other first day of school, Bell and Bean were excited. Me and Maize were ill to the point of throwing up in the shared bathroom. Our nerves were all bundled up, like a live wire waiting to electrocute the innocent passerby—which happened to be the bus driver.

  We had to wait down by the corner for the bus. The line didn’t run right up to The Home—for good reasons, I supposed. They didn’t want to draw attention to where we came from. They decided it would be best for us kids to walk four minutes in the opposite direction from the chain-link fence and broken sidewalk.

  The only problem with the four-minute walk was that it wasn’t the one that took me to Soul Food. It would have been right fine by me if it was, because I would have had the opportunity to see Ray through the window. Maybe he would come out and hold my hand while I waited for the bus. Maybe he’d even hug me and wish me a blessed day. That would be a great way to start off any morning, even a dreadful first day of school.

  But the four minutes took me to another world—a world that was a deep-space black hole. Knowing I’d have to walk that way every single morning for however many calendar days we had left here scared the living daylights out of me, because in the forefront of my mind I kept seeing Maize being sucked right into a spiraling great void, to be lost forever.

  This place reminded me of the kinds of places we’d go with Momma while she was looking for snow—boarded-up shops, shiny cars popping by with dark tinted windows, flags hanging out on white clips, waving in the wind. Doors hung open on the houses across the street, and the sidewalk was a lot more broken even than it was by The Home. It wasn’t the street signs gave the name of the street, but the spray paint tagged along the broken sidewalks and abandoned buildings.

  Bell stepped in closer to me, and Maize stepped two steps in the opposite direction. Oh, Lordy. Here it was. The great divide. There were a couple of shady creatures hanging by the bus stop, and I knew they weren’t there for a ride to school. Instead, they were passing to the exploited pushers—Class A stuff, yellow pills or blue ones or powder. Whatever the kick was, these days.

  Thank heavens to mercy we were never really exposed to this kinda life. Daddy might have taken us to a run-down hotel a time or two, or even to shacks in fields, but nothing had been like this. The tiny, little hairs rose on the back of my neck and on my arms. Something was not right about this place. It was a four-minute trip to hell, and this was a pretty hot corner.

  The bus rolled on up, taking its time. The driver opened the swinging door. “Jones family? The Dream Academy chauffeur, at your service.”

  He shook all of our hands and smiled at us with genuine warmth. I’d never had anybody from transportation treat me like I was a VIP. He sat us down behind him on the front-row seats, saying we got special treatment, being new and all. He wanted to get to show us everything up close on our first ride. It was weird, I tell you.

  I watched in silence as uniformed kids walked up from the projects and loaded onto the bus, leaving behind scenes of despair and tragedy. I kept my eyes dry, not wanting to show my fears, but inside I prayed, Lord, keep our heads up regardless of our circumstances—each and every one of us on this yellow ride.

  “Just stay close to the little ones on the corner in the morning. I’ll be there as soon as I can. We can’t control who stands by the stops.”

  The driver said it a couple of times to some of the older ones, the ones like me who were looking after younger kids. Lots of us had that “Momma” look—not because of how many diapers we’d changed, but because of how many hands we’d held or hearts we’d tried our best to mold, even with our own hearts cracked and bleeding.

  He had a caring heart, that man with the blue tie and white dress shirt. He was different from any of the school people I’d had in the past. He almost seemed like he wanted to pick us all up and keep driving—to give us the world, if only he could.

  I was bold. “Can you not pick us up at that corner anymore?”

  He frowned. “That’s your scheduled stop.”

  I frowned right back. “But it’s not a nice place for us to wait.”

  I heard a couple of people behind me tell the others to hush so they could hear. It wasn’t loud on the bus anyway. Usually, we’d be getting slapped all in the head by now, or a shoe would be thrown at the front, missing the driver by a thinning hair. This bus had order. Had to be first day.

  “But I have the route mapped. You must live near there.” He kept his eyes on the road, but he did seem interested.

  Maize pushed me on the leg to stop me talking, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “We are staying at The Home; four minutes’ walk the other way. Could you pick us up at our fence in the morning, please? I couldn’t risk having the kids down on the corner … I saw …”

  He cut me off right quick with a look. “Hmm-mmm …”

  I should’ve thought about what these kids saw every day. Maybe that was even one of these kids’ family members, exchanging money for little bags of colored stuff.

  “No problem, Jones. I’ll be at The Home starting this afternoon.”

  Maize had leaned over in his seat, and I wasn’t quite sure if he was breathing. He pressed his face against the window, letting the silver frame press against his skin. Bean and Bell were protectively holding on to their bookbags, missing what had just occurred. Maize’s eyes were brimming with tears.

  “Thanks, Sweet Potato. Thanks for making my first day of high school memorable for me. I’m sure it will be all I dreamed of and more, now.”

  I shook it off. It would only take one kid overhearing what I’d said, and by the end of first period everybody would know about the homeless kids. But I was tired of living like it mattered. It wasn’t what I had. It was who God was. And I still had to look after Maize. Something told me that corner wasn’t right, and if we we
nt down there another morning, we would find out why. I had to listen to that something. Maize would have to get over it.

  I grabbed his shoulder as we walked to the fenced-in school. “We can’t go to the Devil’s playground or allow the temptation to suck us in.”

  The school was pristine. It had this almost otherworldly feel to it, like it was some fancy college or private school—all gleaming, white paint and glass. Teachers in swagged-up clothes were welcoming us onto the grounds, holding doors for us. I wondered where the sniffing dogs and metal detectors were. At our last school, uniformed officers had been the ones patrolling the grounds and guarding the doors.

  People called out names and shook hands like everybody in this place knew everybody. There had to be a catch. I shivered, waiting for somebody to come popping out of some bushes and start hacking away at us. Maize stayed closer to me now, hitting the side of my shoe with each step he took. Bell and Bean had to separate from us, and I kissed Bell on the head. I wished Bean a blessed day and made him promise to pay attention and get in no trouble, not even one bit.

  An elderly woman caught my arm. “Hello, sweetheart. Welcome to The Dream.”

  She was good people, too. I could sum her up right away by her tone, all pleasant and reassuring. In fact, everybody seemed to be good people. We found Maize’s first-period class, and as we separated, I whispered encouragement in his ear. No matter what happened today, we would survive it like we always did.

  First period was an unexpected turn of events, to say the least. When roll was called, I clenched my teeth until I could almost hear them creaking and rattling.

  Mrs. Barrington called out, “Sweet Potato Jones?”

  No one snickered. Some glances came my way, but nothing else.

  I feebly raised my arm. “Here.”

  She pushed her pencil into her soft, black, bunned-up hair. The typical English-teacher move. “Nice to have a new face this year. Welcome, dear.”

  I bit my lip. Nothing? Nobody whispering or pointing? Clock chimed. Bell rang. I moved and went to class number two. Same thing. Number three. Ditto. Number four was AP Biology, split into two sections with a lunch break in the middle. I was dreading lunch more than the name-calling. Having to walk into that open place with fifteen hundred faces all staring up at me, some flicking food, or others laughing right out in my face and never letting me be. As Mrs. Wethington was going over the syllabus, I was privately praying for Maize to be strong. For Maize to be able to make it through lunch. That he’d survive it with minimal scars.

  Thank God, He heard what I didn’t pray for. I was too busy fretting over Maize’s adjustment to pray for myself. God still provided.

  A girl named Chanel came up to me right as we were standing up from our seats. “You want to come hang with us today?”

  She pointed at a group by the doorway, all wearing happy smiles. I nodded and tried to smile my nervousness away. Embarrassingly enough, I was not able to find my voice.

  Chanel introduced me with this elaborate drawl. “This is Sweet Potato Jones. She’s new here, and she’s with us.”

  Dorothy, a strikingly beautiful girl with dark hair, put her arm right through mine as if she’d known me my whole life, and they started chatting as if I was already their trusted companion. As we moved down the hall, I couldn’t help but peek through each window, hoping to get a glimpse of Maize. I needed to see his face. That would be all it would take. Just a quick glance, and I would know the entire story from beginning to end.

  The lunch period was actually not eventful. Everyone seemed to be talking about the community basketball game over the weekend or what they’d done over the break or making plans to go to the movies downtown—safe stuff. None of the nastiness or foul language that I was so used to hearing at lunch tables at my old schools. We were at a place that seemed to be on another planet altogether, or at least a different continent. Did places like this truly exist for people with pasts like mine?

  Sixth was drama class, and that meant I would finally get to see Maize. I guessed Daddy knew what he was doing, putting us together like that. I’d have to somehow pull him aside and thank him for it. It dawned on me that I would get to go with Maize to meet Bell and Bean, afterward. Maize wouldn’t have to be alone when most of the dirty, after-school action would take place. Either Daddy planned it, or God did. I’d thank them both, just in case.

  I waited at the door for him, to get a glance before he could notice me. He was walking with five other guys. A couple of them were shorter than him: he’d found the freshmen. All of them had goofy, childish grins plastered on their faces. They gave each other side punches —oh, no, here goes a fight. I wanted to scream to the nearest officer, but the punches turned to laughter. They were horse-playing around. I breathed a sigh of relief, the fresh taste of tears right on my tongue. I turned to the doorframe, so he wouldn’t see me looking at him, and then quietly stepped into the room, finding a seat at the back, knowing that was where he would go. I was always a front-seat kinda girl, but not with Maize around. I’d sacrifice my place for him.

  He came in, straight-faced, and sat down beside me, amazingly enough. He wasn’t going to separate from me, so maybe that meant he forgave me for the bus-ride announcement. Praise Jesus.

  I whispered right before the teacher took to the podium, “You okay?”

  He nodded, a little look of bewilderment crossing those handsome features of his. “This is high school, Sweet Potato? Is it real?”

  I wondered that, too. I was beginning to feel like this was some sick joke, and right before the final bell rang the devils and demons would start to pop out. My fears were cut off by our drama teacher, this lanky guy with a goofy attitude. He had us all get in a line and do a silly skit about checking times at a bus stop. Ridiculous, yet fun, all at the same time. Daddy signed us up for some stress relief at the end of the day, because all of that pent-up anxiety between me and Maize somehow seemed to vanish inside this safe theater classroom, and I prayed to the Lord as I heard the last bell ring that this was real, that it wasn’t a dream. I couldn’t go back to the nightmare, not after I’d had this taste of pure, one-hundred-percent heaven. That would be the cruelest joke of all.

  Back at The Home, the kids sprawled out on their bunks with their homework, which gave me a chance to change out of my school uniform and into my work t-shirt and jeans. I was completely down for the count, plain floored. Leaning against the sink, I glanced up at the ceiling and wondered if it was going to fall on me because we’d all had one nice day. It was astounding—downright spectacular. Bell had smooth sailing and made a new friend in gym class. Bean even got a smiley-face sticker on his little report sheet. We even stopped by the Lions Club since Daddy had made me an appointment, and I got fitted for a brand-new pair of glasses right then and there. With Maize’s help, he found me the perfect pair that I called “studious” and he called “fly.” Either way, they suited me fine.

  Daddy paused at the door when he got back. I was sure he was expecting wailing. The typical scene would be Maize and Bean pouting, with me trying to soothe it all over with sweet balm. Bean would usually come home from school ill-tempered, because he had so much pent-up anger and energy. Honestly, this weird peacefulness made me more exhausted. Strange, but that was it: right down to my toes tired.

  Daddy frowned. “What happened? Who died? You don’t like your glasses?”

  I sighed heavily. “No, that’s not it. I love them. They had a great day.”

  “And you? You didn’t? I hear that tone.” He patted me on the shoulder, trying to console me.

  I shrugged. “No. I had a good day, too.”

  “Well, then. What’s with the long face?”

  I whispered, not wanting to spoil the tranquility. “It was too good to be true, I guess, Daddy.”

  I couldn’t get my hopes up. I was already doing that with Ray, and it was dangerous, I tell you. I couldn’t do it with school, too. Too much to handle all at once
, and I felt it chipping away at my core.

  “I had a good day, too. I got my own work apron today.”

  I’d told Daddy about the importance of the apron and what it meant for Ray and for me. He seemed mightily proud that he was now in on the heavenly secret.

  “What did it say?”

  I eagerly waved at him, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he passed out little, smiley-face notes from Mrs. Sunshine, wishing the kids good luck for the school week. There were suckers taped on with invisible tape.

  “I’ll show you later. Go on and get to work. They’ve had a mess of people, and they need you. Mrs. Sunshine is worn out running them orders and that register.”

  I hadn’t thought about how my school day would affect the runnings of that place, and I hated I’d left them short-changed. “What you been doing in there?”

  He smiled—beamed, even. I almost had to shield my eyes. “I been cooking me up a mess of food today, Missy.”

  I was astounded. “Cooking? Mr. Joe let you back there?”

  “Mr. Joe was diving into them glass pie containers and enjoying the break, it seemed.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Mrs. Sunshine liked that, I bet.”

  He went over to peek at the goings-on of the homework. “Sure did. She seemed to get a kick out of what I could fix up. And she seemed mightily pleased that Mr. Joe had a break. Something about Mr. Joe hadn’t had a break in—”

  I said, “Twenty years. Yeah, I’d heard that the other day, too.” I kissed him on the cheek. “I want to talk to you a second, Daddy. We ain’t got to go up on no roof, though. Just let’s pile in the hall.”

  He patted the kids all on the head and shuffled out with me. “You okay, honey? I see the world on you. Did something happen today? Was it bad for Maize?”

  “No, Daddy. I wanted to thank you for putting me and Maize together at the end of the day in that drama class. And I wanted to thank you for letting Bell’s finger fall, because I’ve been thinking about that, too.”