Down Home Blues

by Phyllis R. Dixon

  Maybe the few days apart have done us some good. Derrick sent me several romantic texts and even agreed to go house hunting in the morning. I have a Victoria’s Secret nightie that still has price tags that I plan to surprise Derrick with. I’ll be the dessert. I parked in the garage and could hear voices in the kitchen. The aroma of greens met me as I unlocked the door.

  “Hey, babe,” Derrick said as he rose to greet me. “Mamalil cooked for us. Isn’t that great?”

  Our pizza date for two ended up being a soul food dinner for three. Ordinarily I would have relished a dinner of greens, homemade fried chicken, pinto beans and cucumber salad with cornbread. Derrick’s grandmother cooks almost as good as Mama – although I would never have let my mother know that. But I wasn’t in the mood for company. And by the time Derrick took his grandmother home, took out her garbage, looked at her dryer to see why it was cutting off early and stopped her toilet from running, he was so tired he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. However, my Victoria Secret purchase didn’t go to waste. We made up for the night before with an early morning loving session. We had a morning appointment with the realtor and grabbed granola bars on our way out the door to keep from being late. Five hours, and ten houses later, we were finally back home.

  “I feel like I’ve put in a full day’s work,” Derrick said as we walked in the door.

  “So which house did you like the best?” I asked.

  “They were all good enough,” Derrick said as he grabbed the pizza box and a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

  “I liked everything about the house in Wellington except the color. Who paints their house royal blue? Then again, the house in the new development in Pine Hill was stunning. I know we said we didn’t want the headache of building, but we can have a large lot and an updated kitchen. Supervising a remodeling job in some of the older houses will probably be just as much work as building a house. You still haven’t said which one you liked.”

  “They’re all so big,” Derrick said. “I’m not trying to spend my weekends doing yardwork.”

  “I’ll help you. I always wanted a flower garden like my mother.”

  “You don’t even fool with the few flower beds we have here. We don’t need a house that big.”

  “I guess we don’t need it, but we can afford it, so why not? For now, we can each have an office and we can use the other extra bedroom for a guest room. Who knows, we may have some little people in those bedrooms one day.”

  “Carolyn, don’t start. And, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m very uncomfortable with the prices. Our mortgage payment is going to be over fifteen hundred dollars.”

  “I was paying that much for a smaller place in Chicago.”

  “You may be used to those big numbers, but I’m not. This house is paid for.”

  Derrick’s two bedroom, one bathroom bungalow was built right after World War II for returning veterans. I feel like I’m living in the yesteryear exhibit at the Smithsonian with popcorn ceilings, window air conditioner units, and florescent lights. A hand-held hose connected to the tub faucet serves as the shower and worst of all, there is no dishwasher. My mother said these houses were considered ultra-modern when they were new because they were the first houses in town built on a slab, rather than a crawlspace, and they had an attached garage. The one car garage is now pretty much storage, although some neighbors have insulated them and converted it to living space. If it weren’t for the late-model cars in the driveways, the street looks the same as it did back then, with one key difference. The neighborhood is now almost all black with just a few older white residents left.

  Derrick offered to enclose the garage, add a bathroom, and get new appliances to update the house. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but that would be like putting lipstick on a pig. Most of my boxes remained in the garage. I don’t intend to unpack until we move to our real house.

  “We can afford it. We actually prequalified for twice that amount.”

  “Just because we qualified, doesn’t mean we should do it,” Derrick said.

  “It’s not just to get a big house. I still feel like this is your house. I want us to have our house,” I said as I pulled paper plates from the cabinet.

  “Yeah, our house and our big mortgage. Why get in all that debt? We can use the money we were going to use for a down payment to remodel the kitchen and add another bathroom. Then, it will feel like your house and we’ll save money. If we’re going to spend that kind of money, I’d rather get a house on Lake Council. I’d have easy access to my boat and still be close to Mamalil.”

  “We’ll be able to spend more time together if we move. I’ll be closer to work and can cut my commute time.”

  “Well, I have another solution. Why don’t you find a job closer to Eden? Your brother and his wife found jobs.”

  “Raymond is in a teacher certification program. They pulled strings for him because they wanted him to coach. And nurses can always find work. Sick people are everywhere. Geneva got a position at the new dialysis center.”

  “You’re selling yourself short. There aren’t a lot of lawyers around town. I’m sure you could find something.”

  “But I’ve been with the IRS almost twenty years. I’d lose my retirement.”

  “If we stay where we are, we don’t need as much money for retirement. If you find another job, you’ll probably make less money, but we’ll need less and we can spend more time together. Makes perfect sense to me. And if you’re not so tired, maybe we can make a baby the regular way.”

  “What did you say?” I asked as I put the pizza in the microwave.

  “I believe you heard me. Shall we get started?”

  BEVERLY

  April fourth is always a day of reflection in Memphis. It is the day Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. Historical programming is on TV all day. There are prayer breakfasts, heavy-weight politicians come to town, and we close the salon. Some of it is depressing, but it also makes you realize that we have made progress. It’s easy to think current problems are insurmountable, until you remember how bad things used to be. But today is a day of reflection for me, not because of Dr. King, but because of Mark.

  He’s been to Memphis twice this month and we talk almost every day. His texts make me smile and I enjoy his company. Right now we’re just friends, although he hasn’t hidden the fact that he’d like it to be more. I’ve been the one putting on the brakes. He thinks it’s because I’m still hung up on Anthony. But that’s really not it. If I’m honest with myself, it’s because he’s white.

  Black men have no problem dating any race as long as the woman has a vagina and two legs (the legs aren’t even mandatory). I’ve always thought of myself as a caring person and race doesn’t matter. I was the one Paul came to when he was concerned about bringing his wife to the family reunion. I told him this is the twenty-first century and a black and white couple isn’t news anymore – even in Dwight County. But on a day like today, when race permeates the media and conversations, I wonder what Mark’s family was like back in the day. Were they part of the lynch mob, or to go further back, slave owners? And what if they were? That doesn’t have anything to do with Mark – or does it? We’ve spent hours on the phone and together, but race is the one thing we haven’t discussed. Every time I think there’s no way for us to be a couple, he gives me another reason to keep him around.

  We talked three hours last night. The first call lasted an hour and within ten minutes he called me back. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked when I answered the phone. “Before you brush me off and say you’re fine – you don’t sound fine, and unless you say you don’t want to talk to me, I’m going to bug you until you tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I guess I’m just in a funk. I went to Eden to spend the weekend with my father and felt like a visitor. His lady friend has taken over the house. She’s taken the plastic off the couches and rearranged my mother’s kitchen.”

  “I would think that wo
uld be a good thing. Unless your father is a chef, he probably needs someone to cook for him. Don’t you like her?”

  “She’s okay, and I try to be nice. But that’s the problem. I don’t want to be nice and polite when I go down home. It doesn’t feel like my parents’ house when she’s around.”

  “Just focus on your father. If she makes him happy, that’s what matters. At least you don’t have to worry if he’s lonely or eating properly. So that’s what has you in a gloomy mood?”

  “I was going to spend the night since the salon is closed today, but I felt out of place sitting with them while they watched TV, so I came back to Memphis. You know Daddy sat next to her on the couch? I don’t ever remember him sitting on the couch. He was always in his recliner. Then, this morning, my son called. He was supposed to get leave this summer, but they’ve cancelled it and now he doesn’t know when he’ll be home. I’m so worried about him.”

  “You’ve got to have faith, and knowing you, you’d worry no matter where he was. Worrying won’t help him and would probably make him feel bad if he knew.”

  “I just wish I had kept him from enlisting.”

  “You should be proud that you raised a responsible young man. That was a very mature thing to do. These days’ kids think their parents are supposed to take care of them until they’re thirty. My mother felt the same way when I went in the Army. I left Tupelo and came to Memphis to get a job, but couldn’t find anything paying a decent wage. The factories weren’t hiring like they used to. From the end of the war until the sixties, my uncles and cousins moved up here, got good jobs at places like American Can, Kellogg, and Goodyear. But by the time I got out of high school, those jobs were gone and if you didn’t have a degree or know someone at the post office, the best you could do was to find a minimum wage job. That wasn’t enough money to pay for my own place and help my mother too, so I joined the Army. That was the best thing I could have done. I served my twenty years, retired, got my own truck, then met you.

  “I guess you’ve always been industrious,” I said.

  “I don’t know how industrious my motives were. I just wanted my own place so I would have a place to take girls.”

  “Now the truth comes out. And I thought you wanted to serve your country,” I said, smiling at the thought of Mark as a player.

  “I hear a smile. That’s better,” Mark said.

  We talked another hour, and by the time we hung up, I was in a much better mood.

  He sent me a text at five this morning. It was a quote from Dr. King. “Faith is taking the first step, even when you don’t see the whole staircase.” How sensitive of him to know what day it is since this isn’t generally a red letter day for people outside of Memphis. And, he sent it just four hours after we hung up. It’s nice to know someone woke up with you on their mind. I know people are basically the same and Mark is definitely saying and doing all the right things. So why am I tripping?

  CARL

  Since leaving Franklin Contracting, Carl had pretty much given up on trying to find a job. Every now and then, he answered an ad or posted a resume online. He did that to keep up appearances. His real plan was to build up his savings. His arrangement with Perry was working fine so far. He now had a five-figure savings account, and sent money to his sons. He was grateful for this opportunity and vowed he would not be greedy. As soon as he made enough money to catch up on his bills and move, he would be gone. He was meeting Perry in Memphis for a pick up at a post office box. Perry was going on to Atlanta and Carl would make a delivery in St. Louis then turn around and come right back to Eden.

  Carl went to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee to take with him.

  “So where are you headed this early son?” C.W. asked as he entered the kitchen.

  “I’m going to put in a few applications in Memphis,” Carl said. “I was hoping the rain would subside.”

  “All this rain isn’t good for the watermelons,” C.W. said. It had rained ten consecutive days as a weather system stalled over the mid-South. “But I guess we shouldn’t complain. Cece said they got snow.”

  “That is one thing I do not miss,” Carl said. “A little snow is all right, but we would get buckets of snow in Chicago. At least down here when it does snow, everything stops. Up there you have to make your way through it. Although, I guess it really doesn’t matter much now since it’s not like I have a job to go to.”

  “When it does dry out, we’re going to have a short window to get the sorghum. I’ll need your help.”

  “No problem, Dad. I doubt if anything comes up between now and then.”

  “You mean anything like a real job? You’ve been looking in Memphis and Little Rock, and trying to work with whoever will hire you, and you’re ignoring a job right under your nose.”

  “What’s that?”

  “This farm.”

  “I helped out during planting time and I fixed the fences and the irrigation pipes, but I need a real job.”

  “Don’t you see those men coming here every day? This is a real job. And I’m not talking about just driving a tractor or combine or fixing stuff. This place needs a manager. You were dropping fries working your way up to assistant manager and trying to earn your own store, when you have your own business right here. I grossed almost two hundred fifty thousand dollars last year. I just assumed Charles would take over. Then when he died, I thought maybe Tony would take over since he showed some interest in the place. But he left too, so I thought maybe I should just sell out. But this land has been in our family almost one hundred years. I know I always said having this land meant you always had a home. But it also means you always have a means of support. You can make your own living.”

  “I guess I never thought about it like that.”

  “And I blame myself for that. I wanted all of you to have more opportunities than I did. I wanted you to get an education and be able to go anywhere you wanted. But just because you have an education and choices doesn’t mean you have to reject what you already have. You need an education to be a farmer these days. Farming isn’t like it used to be, just putting some seeds in the ground and hoping for rain. Derrick showed me new trends in seeds and planting techniques. He told me I could improve my yields and fuel costs if I got a computer, but I’m just not ready for all that. But I see how smart you are on computers. It would be easy for you to catch on. I’m not a religious man, but maybe the reason none of them other jobs panned out is because this is what you’re supposed to be doing. Just think about it.”

  “I will, Dad,” Carl said as he grabbed his jacket. “But I got to go now.” The phone rang and C.W. waved as his son opened the screen door. Carl rushed to the car and glanced at his watch as he put it in reverse. He sent Perry a text to let him know he was on his way and happened to look in his rear view mirror and saw his father on the porch waving his arms.

  “What is it?” Carl asked as he backed up and rolled down the window.

  “There’s been an accident. We need to get to Memphis right away.”

  “O way down yonder by myself

  And I couldn’t hear nobody pray.”

  Negro Spiritual

  Chapter 8

  AND I COULDN’T HEAR NOBODY PRAY

  It’s only eight o’clock and it feels like I’ve already put in a day’s work. I was too tired last night to finish Aunt Belle’s wash, so I got up at sunrise to wash and fold her last two loads. How can one person have so much laundry? When I got to her house, she said she was hungry and I was taking too long, so she had tried to fix coffee and oatmeal. The walker got caught on the kitchen table leg, and she dropped the milk. I mopped, cooked then did dishes. She’s always been independent and I know being housebound is working her nerves. But she’s working mine. I know I shouldn’t complain. Her injuries from the accident could have been much worse.

  Her Sassy Seniors Social Club was on its monthly bus trip to the casino, in Mississippi when an eighteen-wheeler hit the bus. She broke her leg in two places and spent two
weeks in the hospital in Memphis. They released her with instructions to strictly adhere to her exercise regimen if she wanted her leg to fully heal. That meant I went to her house three times a week to help her do her physical therapy exercises. Carl was home all day and could have gone, but she said she didn’t want a man handling her leg. I could tell she was disappointed

  that I didn’t sit and eat with her, but Derrick and I have an appointment this morning. So when I finished my shift with Aunt Belle, I came home and cooked another breakfast. I should be worn out, but I’m too excited. Between our jobs, the weather and family obligations, Derrick and I haven’t done much house hunting. Our calendars today are clear and I’m glad we’re finally getting back on our schedule. It was beginning to feel like we’d never move.

  “This is the last stack, I promise,” I said as I placed a stack of papers next to Derrick’s coffee cup. “I’ve already emailed a list to the realtor and we’re meeting her at the house in Forrest City. But if there are some you absolutely don’t like, no need in wasting time looking at them.”

  “Carolyn, let’s do this later. I told Mamalil I’d take her grocery shopping this morning. She says the food is fresher the earlier you go. Knowing her, she’s already waiting on her porch,” Derrick said as he put on his jacket.

  “But I told you we have an appointment with the realtor this morning.”

  “I thought we decided to stay put and you were going to look for a job closer to home.”

  “We discussed it, but it was contingent on me finding a job, and I haven’t seen anything worth even applying for. I’ll keep my eyes open, but we should continue house hunting. There are some good deals out there.”

  “I already told you these prices are too high,” Derrick said as he thumbed through the stack.