Chasing Lilacs

by Carla Stewart

  “In Matthew, it tells us to ‘Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.’ We think of Jesus’ words as being the key to heaven, and they are. But for you, Joe, Sammie, and Mrs. Cox, I encourage you to follow these instructions not for answers to what has happened or why, but to find peace and everlasting joy in the memory of your wife, your mother, your sister. May the God of all comfort fill your hearts today.”

  The air swirled around me, not heavy as before, but light and breezy. How had he known Mama’s words, the verses she underlined in her New Testament? Before I had time to think about it, Mr. Johnson stood at our pew to usher us out, and I saw Hilltop Church filled with people from Graham Camp, my classmates from school, and near the back, Mr. Howard, his face flushed red as a ripe tomato. Someone whisked me to the car, and we followed the hearse to the Mandeville cemetery.

  Tears welled up as we passed newly plowed fields and pastures of parched buffalo grass. As we glided by, a pump jack dipped its head and bowed.

  When we got to the cemetery, Daddy guided me along to a row of folding chairs under a green tent held up with skinny poles. The rich, earthy smell of the newly dug grave filled my nose, and I breathed it in. Big gulping breaths so I would remember the tickle the smell made in the back of my throat. I got a whiff of Juicy Fruit. I turned to see Aunt Vadine, one hand dabbing her eyes with a hankie, the other linked in the crook of Daddy’s arm. My neck prickled like a spider crawling inside the collar of my dress. The way Aunt Vadine hung onto Daddy twisted something inside me.

  As soon as everyone sang “Amazing Grace” and Brother Henry prayed and dismissed us, I ran up to Mama’s grave. I tore off the white gloves Aunt Vadine had insisted I wear and broke a rose from the pink bouquet spread across the casket. A thorn pierced my finger, and I sucked the blood off. Then I scooped a handful of Mama’s grave dirt and filled one of the gloves.

  When I turned around, Tuwana stood beside me, her eyes red and mascara streaking down her cheeks. “It was a nice service.” She sniffled.

  “Nice? It was my mother’s funeral. I wouldn’t call it nice.” My voice trembled.

  “Mother said Brother Henry did a good job under the circumstances. I’m sorry. I really am. Anything I can do?”

  “No, Tuwana. I’d rather be left alone.”

  She frowned and opened her arms. “I’ll still be your best friend. If you want me to, that is.” She gave me a quick hug.

  By now people started closing in on me, putting their hands on my arms and my back, offering hugs and crooked smiles that looked like their faces might break. Every time someone touched me, it felt like they took a part of Mama with them. I wanted her to myself. I wanted to see her casket and think about how she looked inside. Stop touching me! Can’t you see I don’t want any of you here? All I want is Mama. The words shouted in my head, and my skin felt dirty from all the arms reaching out, grabbing, clawing at me.

  I broke away and ran to the car. In the backseat, tears leaked from my eyes, a few at first, and then a river of them splashing out. I laid on the seat and let them come. The sobs came in waves like the ocean, and I could hear deep groans snarling my throat. My fingers cramped from clutching the glove. I sat up, letting the last sniffles drain down my throat, and looked out the window. Overhead a clear blue sky circled the earth above the green funeral tent. Mama’s copper coffin hovered over the open spot in the ground, and figures milled around like ants at a picnic. When I twirled the pink rose in my fingers and sniffed its sweetness, a glimmer of an idea popped into my head. A way I could keep Mama to myself.

  I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the seat, waiting for Daddy and Aunt Vadine.

  * * *

  After the dinner the ladies at Hilltop Church laid out, Daddy, Aunt Vadine, and I went home. We sat staring at each other in our funeral clothes. Aunt Vadine had brought in a wooden sewing basket and pulled out a ball of thread, which she worked with a silver crochet hook. A toothpick bobbled between Daddy’s lips. Any minute I expected to hear the splash of water and smell the scent of lilac wafting from the bathroom.

  After a while Daddy mumbled something about fixing the squeak in the Chevy, the one that had been there since we went to Red River. He changed into Levi’s and an old shirt, leaving me alone with Aunt Vadine.

  “I thought it quite odd”—Aunt Vadine looked up from her handwork—“taking a handful of dirt from your mother’s grave. What came over you?”

  “It felt like the thing to do at the time. The smell and all…”

  “We’ll probably never get the dirt stains out.”

  “I’m leaving it in the glove.”

  “And ruin a perfectly good pair of dress gloves?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Later she started in again. “Tell me, Samantha, about your mother, her last days.”

  I gritted my teeth. I hated being called Samantha. So prissy.

  “Please, call me Sammie. And to answer your question, I don’t care to talk about Mama right now.” I don’t even know you.

  “Confession is good for the soul.” She rested her hands in her lap. “I have needs to know about my own sister too, you know. Surely you had some inkling, some clues she left….”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “You don’t have to be so huffy. I hoped we could comfort one another. And your daddy. We’re all he has left, you know.”

  My face felt hot, but Mama’s sister or not, I couldn’t tell her anything.

  Aunt Vadine went back to her crochet, and when Scarlett, who’d been snuggling beside me, stretched and opened her mouth in a wide yawn, I stood up. “Scarlett needs to go outside.”

  “While you’re up, would you be a sweetie and get me a glass of iced tea? No sugar.”

  After getting the tea, I took Scarlett outside. The elm leaves, browning around the edges like pieces of burnt toast, floated from the trees. The tingly air cooled my face, but not the burning ache inside.

  Scarlett chased after a leaf. With my chin resting on my knees, I sat on the porch and watched her. A pukey-green feeling came over me when I remembered the three suitcases Aunt Vadine had Daddy lug in yesterday.

  A glove full of dirt does sound crazy. But it was part of the idea that had come into my head. I wanted to keep a memory box of Mama—things I could touch and smell and look at that reminded me of her, that would keep her close to me.

  After supper Aunt Vadine touched Daddy on the arm. “You know, Joe, I feel like taking a walk. Maybe you could show me around the neighborhood.”

  “Suits me. You want to go, Sis?”

  I shook my head. With the house to myself, I went to my room and collected my penny-loafer box, the dirt-filled glove, and the casket rose, which I pressed between two layers of waxed paper. Next I dug to the bottom of my underwear drawer and got Mama’s New Testament and slipped the sandwiched flower between the pages. To keep it from bulging, I wound a rubber band around it three times and did the same to the wrist of the glove to keep the dirt from spilling out. I closed my eyes and sniffed to get the earthy smell where Mama now rested into my head. My heart thumped loud and fast as I tried to think about her not as dead, but just off somewhere taking a walk. Maybe a cool stream trickled nearby where she could take off her shoes and stick her toes in the water.

  From the bathroom I took a sliver of lilac soap from the edge of the tub, Mama’s hairbrush, and a box of bobby pins. The last two things for the shoe box were Mama’s pearls in their leather case and Gone with the Wind. I yanked a piece of notebook paper from a spiral in my desk and scribbled a note: Mama’s things, the day she was buried. September 8, 1958. I hugged the box to my chest, then stashed it behind my old dolls on the closet floor and went to the kitchen.

  Dirty dishes filled the sink. I put the rubber plug in the bottom of the sink, squirted in the Palmolive, and turned the water on hot. I scrubbed the dishes, rinsed them in a dishpan, and put them in the drainer to dry. Doing something ordinary that I’d done
a hundred times before calmed the banging of my heart against my chest. Wash. Rinse. Drain. The hot water stung my hands and turned them red, but I kept on until every last dish was clean. I was running the dishrag around the countertop when Daddy and Aunt Vadine trooped in.

  “Your father showed me around the neighborhood.” Aunt Vadine took a clean glass I’d just put in the drainer. “Can I get you a glass of tea, Joe?”

  “Mmmm.” Daddy’s answer could have been a yes or a no. He hung up his hat and went to the front room. Low voices hummed from the television.

  “Nice setup here at Graham Camp; makes me wish I’d paid a visit sooner.” She poured the tea and handed the empty pitcher to me. “Here, might as well get this too while you’re at it. Funny how death draws people together, isn’t it?”

  “You think Mama’s dying was funny?” I washed the tea pitcher and felt the pounding start up in my chest again.

  “Not funny… that’s not what I meant at all. Simply that death brings people together in mysterious ways sometimes, doesn’t it?” She smacked her gum and carried the two glasses from the kitchen.

  The only mystery to me was how Aunt Vadine could have ever been Mama’s sister.

  I dried my hands and went to the front room. Aunt Vadine had situated herself on the couch with her crochet, the fine yarn streaming from the box at her feet. Scarlett had nosed into the box, and when she heard me, she lifted her head, a tangled ball of crochet thread in her mouth.

  Aunt Vadine grabbed a magazine from the end table and swatted at her.

  “No, naughty dog. No!” She swung at Scarlett, who tried to run away, but the matted yarn ball caught in her teeth, hanging like a stringy Santa Claus beard from her chin. I reached down to pick her up. She jumped sideways and yanked the crochet from Aunt Vadine’s lap, looping it somehow around my aunt’s foot.

  “Come back here!” Aunt Vadine screeched and fanned the magazine in the air. When she tried to stand up, her feet tangled up in the yarn. Petrified, Scarlett jumped onto Daddy’s lap, dragging the unfinished, now unraveled creation with her.

  “Here, girl, calm down,” Daddy said, and chuckled under his breath. Looking at the mess Scarlett had made, I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. Scarlett’s scraggly yarn beard and Aunt Vadine’s face, the color of pickled beets, sent me into a giggling fit. The more I tried to stop, the deeper the howls came. Tears ran down my face, and my sides ached. When I looked at Daddy, he smothered a grin on his face, which tickled me even more. Daddy’s calm, steady fingers loosened the yarn from Scarlett’s pearly white teeth, and when he finished, he held a slimy ruined mess.

  Tears splashed on my face. Crying, aching tears, not those of laughter. How did that happen? My face grew hot. I ran into my bedroom and threw myself across the covers, sobbing until I thought my head would burst. My arms and legs ached, deep burning pain as if I’d just rounded the bases from hitting a home run. Weak and trembly, I wished I were dead for the hundredth time that day. Dead with Mama and baby Sylvia.

  [ TWENTY ]

  THE NEXT MORNING Aunt Vadine shook me awake with her square hand. “Time for school.”

  “No, I can’t…. Not yet.” I turned over on the couch, my bed now since Aunt Vadine slept in mine under my chenille spread. How could I face anyone? Let them give me those creepy stares like I had a brand on my forehead announcing my mother died. No. I wouldn’t go, and no one could make me. Not Aunt Vadine. Not Daddy. No one. I shut my eyes and drifted off.

  Soft licking on my face woke me up a second time, and I rolled over, pulling Scarlett into my arms.

  “You need to take that mutt outside. Why your daddy ever agreed to let you keep a dog in the house is beyond me.” Aunt Vadine had on one of Mama’s aprons over her shirtwaist dress. The smell of linseed oil hovered in the air. “Best get going. If you’re staying home, you can help me.” She smeared a rag along the baseboard. “Lord, I wonder how long it’s been since this woodwork had a good oiling. One thing about your mother, she didn’t put any stock in keeping house.”

  She rearranged the furniture, putting the couch under the watercooler and Daddy’s platform rocker on the opposite wall, with the TV in front of the west window. I cringed. Daddy would not be able to see the six o’clock news with the glare of the evening sun. Not good.

  “Now that we’ve freshened things up a bit, you can buff the furniture. Hard work is good for the soul. Helps work out the grief in a body.” And that’s the way the whole day went, her directing me to dust this, move that, until I wanted to scream.

  After a while Aunt Vadine flopped onto the sofa and finagled a throw pillow under her feet. “Whew! Guess I did a bit too much today. Think I’ve strained my back. Maybe when you get through polishing the end table, you could heat up some of that ham. The one with the cloves, not the canned one. That slimy gel turns my stomach. Your daddy will be home soon, and he’ll be hungry.”

  While I worked in the kitchen, heating up leftovers, Aunt Vadine called out, “Maybe an ice bag would help my back, Samantha, if it’s not too inconvenient.”

  Then she wanted the television channel changed and asked me to fetch the Doan’s backache pills from the medicine cabinet. On and on. I wanted to shove the pills down her throat. Maybe going back to school wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  Tuwana came by after supper, and we sat on the front porch. “You’ll never guess who’s playing for the fall formal. Sonny and the Spinners. Everyone says they are so cool. Mike’s cousin is the drummer, which is why we were so lucky to get them. Can you believe it? Our first dance.”

  “Since when do they let the junior high kids go?”

  “Since never, but they’re trying it out this year. Mike’s mom is on the committee, and he’s already asked me. A real date. Maybe Cly will ask you.”

  “I don’t think so. We’re just friends—you know that. Besides, I don’t have anything formal to wear.” And going to a dance would not be right. Not so soon after someone’s mother died.

  “You don’t have to wear a formal; they just call it that. Suits for the guys and nice dresses for us. Like that new ruby sweater and skirt your mom got you before school started. That would be perfect.”

  “I don’t know. I’ll probably wait until next year.”

  “The dance isn’t until the first Saturday in November. You’re going to have to get back in the groove sometime. Mother says the best medicine is moving on after a tragedy. You’ll see.”

  She stood up and tossed a tennis ball for Scarlett to chase and then pulled something from her pocket. “I almost forgot. Mrs. Gray asked me to give you this.”

  She handed me an envelope with my name printed in neat block letters on the front. My heart skipped a beat.

  “Go ahead, open it, before it gets too dark to read out here.” Tuwana tapped her foot.

  I slid my finger along the seal on the back flap and took the note out. It had a fresh, flowery scent.

  Dearest Sammie,

  How saddened I was to hear of your great loss. My innermost sympathy to you and your father.

  I have reserved a place for you on the Cougar Chronicle, the name chosen for this year’s junior high newspaper. Your writing and your summer paper impressed upon me your kindness and ability to capture the essence of good reporting. We would love for you to work with us if you can.

  With regards,

  Mrs. Gray

  A catch came in my throat. Mrs. Gray wants me for the paper. A warm feeling came over me, and all of a sudden I couldn’t wait for tomorrow so I could go back to school.

  Cly waved me back to his seat when I got on the bus the next morning. He stood up and let me in beside him. Tuwana gave me a little finger wave from the seat in front where she sat with PJ. They had out their compacts and giggled while putting on mascara as the bus bumped along.

  Cly stared straight ahead while I turned to look out the window. “Sam, I’m sorry…. I know I should have come over or something, but… well, I think you know what I mean.” He smelled
of Vitalis and something sweet.

  “Yeah, I know. I saw you at the service. That was nice.” I shrugged and smoothed out a wrinkle in my skirt. Cherry Life Savers. That was the smell.

  “Got any more Life Savers?” I tilted my head toward Cly.

  He peeled the foil and wax paper from the roll, handing me one.

  I popped it into my mouth. “So, did you go to the football game?”

  “Nah, Doobie’s pop had to work. Besides, Slim needed company. He feels lousy about your mom.”

  “Oh.”

  “We all do.”

  A gap hung in the air. I sucked my Life Saver down till it was as thin as paper. “How’s basketball?”

  “I made the first cut on the team. Me and Doobie.”

  “Congratulations.”

  The rest of the ride to school he told me about basketball defenses and offenses, drawing X and O plays on the back of his algebra homework.

  When we got off the bus, he handed me the roll of Life Savers. “Here, you might wanna suck on these once in a while… to get your mind off stuff. It helps me sometimes.”

  The day went by in a blur. I figured out if I let my eyes float in their sockets I couldn’t see people giving me strange looks. Like when Gina hugged me and her lips got all quivery, I looked off at the blackboard and smiled. Things like that. Mostly kids barely nodded at me or acted like nothing had happened, and the teachers went on teaching in their ordinary way. When Mr. Apple announced a pop quiz in fourth hour, my stomach lurched, and I ran out of the class into the restroom and locked myself in the stall. I pulled out a cherry Life Saver and sucked it down to the last sliver. Cly was right, I did feel better, and later Mr. Apple told me not to worry about the pop test; he hadn’t meant for me to take it anyway.

  When seventh hour arrived, I marched into Room 12 and told Mrs. Gray I was ready to work on the Cougar Chronicle. Her topknot had slipped off center, and strands of toffee hair had worked their way out and flew about her face like wispy feathers.