Forgiveness Road

by Mandy Mikulencak

  “Could we change the subject, please?” Cissy stuffed more brisket into her mouth.

  Letitia didn’t seem put out by the request, and they all finished their food without speaking much more than niceties like “Pass the bread, please” or “May I have another paper towel?”

  Grandmother asked Leroy if he could recommend a motel for the night, and he removed a pen from his shirt pocket to draw a map on a clean corner of the butcher paper. Letitia asked if Cissy wanted braids like hers. She didn’t have to ask twice. Cissy jumped up without a word and straddled the bench in front of her. Letitia’s touch was much gentler than Grandmother’s when braiding. Cissy rubbed her fingers along the tight, neat rows.

  “Quit your touching and let me finish.” Letitia slapped Cissy’s hand away.

  “I like how they feel,” she said.

  “They’re called corn rows ’cause they look like rows in a field,” Letitia said.

  While she worked her magic, Cissy asked if she’d ever met Elvis, seeing as how they both grew up in Tupelo.

  “Not everybody from Tupelo knows Elvis personally,” she said with a snort that made Cissy feel silly and uninformed. “Besides, he moved to Memphis a long time ago. All we got now is tourists wanting to see where he was born and where he got his first guitar.”

  “He got his first guitar here?” Cissy sat in wonder, hoping to hear more about her favorite music star.

  “You’re not much of a fan if you don’t know that, Matilda,” she chided.

  “Well, tell me, then.” Cissy got up to straddle the bench in the other direction so she could face this interesting and knowledgeable person.

  Letitia told her of the day in January 1945 when Elvis’s mama brought him to the Tupelo Hardware Store to pick out a present. He wanted a rifle god-awful bad, but his mama said it was too dangerous. Folks who witnessed it said Elvis cried and cried because he wanted that darn rifle so much. The proprietor urged Elvis to try out a guitar instead, and that’s the present his mama ended up buying that day.

  “Did he show a natural talent at it?” Cissy asked.

  “It’s not like I was there in the store, girl.” Letitia laughed at her ignorance. “I wasn’t born until much later.”

  “Miss Matilda, I’m guessing he showed a natural talent right away,” Leroy said, and it made her feel better. “How else would he have become the King of Rock and Roll?”

  “Exactly!” Cissy agreed.

  “Maybe if you have time on your driving vacation you should head to Memphis and see Graceland in person,” Letitia suggested. Cissy whipped around to see Grandmother’s reaction.

  “The only place we’re heading now is a motel,” she said, getting up from the table. “Thanks so much for the barbecue and good company.”

  “Nice to meet you all,” Cissy said, and walked over to the car, yawning and wishing she was already tucked beneath the sheets with her head on a pillow.

  The Christmas lights had almost made her forget it was just September. She could see them even with her eyes closed as they drove off to find beds for the night.

  * * *

  The next morning, Cissy closed the motel bathroom door softly so she wouldn’t wake up Grandmother. She wanted to speak to God in private and this seemed their only option. Cissy asked if She’d prefer to sit on the toilet, but She hunched down in the bathtub, still wearing that darn blue-green chiffon dress.

  “Isn’t the porcelain cold? Won’t you mess up your dress?” Cissy asked, concerned she might be inconveniencing Her. “And why don’t you wear anything else?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I wear. Seems there are other things you should be more concerned about right now.”

  “Like what?” Cissy worried she’d missed something important in their previous conversations. It’s not like they had a lot of privacy with Grandmother around, so she could only speak to God in brief snatches here and there.

  “Last night when your grandmother wanted to go to bed, you went on and on about how you wanted to visit Graceland. Don’t you realize you’re not on vacation?”

  “But it’s just two hours away!” Cissy said. “We have to drive somewhere anyway. I don’t see why it couldn’t be in that direction.”

  God closed Her eyes and Cissy wondered if She was exasperated or bored.

  “You’re acting a little selfishly right now,” She said, stretching out Her legs.

  Cissy squirmed on the toilet seat. Its coolness pierced through her thin nightgown, making her wish she’d grabbed the blanket from the bed to wrap around herself. Even though the tone of God’s voice didn’t come across as judging, Cissy felt ashamed and hurt she’d been called selfish.

  “I’m just trying to make the best of the situation.” Cissy had been on the road for just a day and had no idea what constituted being selfish. She turned the little motel soap over and over in her hand, wondering why the public couldn’t buy miniature soap bars if the motels could.

  “Did it occur to you that your grandmother is more than tired?”

  “You’re scaring me and I don’t want to talk to you right now.” Cissy got up to brush her teeth at the sink. She rubbed her hair, still trapped in braids, and considered what a time-saver corn rows could be on hectic mornings—although she hadn’t had any of those since last school year.

  “You need to take care of your grandmother as much as she’s taking care of you,” God said.

  Cissy concentrated on brushing every single tooth, up and down and across, up and down and across. She didn’t appreciate God speaking to her as if she were some child who didn’t know anything, so she continued to ignore Her. After a few minutes of vigorous brushing, Cissy was relieved to find the tub empty again. God had gone off to wherever She usually went.

  “Cissy? Are you okay in there?” Grandmother rapped on the door. She opened it and stood before Cissy, looking like a child in an overly large nightgown, hair sticking straight up from a night of sound sleeping on her left side.

  “You slept a long time.” Cissy pushed past her to get to her suitcase. Grandmother didn’t seem like a grown-up without her hair done and nice clothes on. Cissy couldn’t bear to be the adult right now despite what God had told her.

  “I can’t believe it’s nine a.m.,” Grandmother said. “You should’ve woken me.”

  “You needed the rest. Yesterday was a long day. For both of us.”

  Grandmother showered while Cissy dressed and repacked her suitcase. Even she tended to muss things up retrieving clean underwear and socks. When Grandmother came out of the bathroom, she laughed to see Cissy sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed and ready to leave.

  “Anxious to get on the road?” Her smile didn’t hold a trace of fatigue or worry, and Cissy made a mental note to thank God later, just in case She had anything to do with Grandmother feeling better.

  “Just thought I should get in a routine if we’re going to stay in motels for a while,” Cissy said.

  Her comment erased any light in Grandmother’s smile and seemed to tie cinderblocks to her legs. She took so long to put on her hosiery and shoes, Cissy almost jumped up to give her a hand. Sensing Cissy’s frustration, she suggested she turn on the television. The Price Is Right had ceased to be Cissy’s favorite show. She’d watched reruns so much in the hospital, she’d grown quite good at guessing the prices of appliances and groceries and vacation packages, and it didn’t feel like a challenge anymore. Still, it kept her mind somewhat occupied while Grandmother dressed and put on her face.

  Because they arrived at the motel after dark the night before, Cissy hadn’t noticed the Waffle House just a block away. She looked over at Grandmother, who shook her head no.

  “Let’s just grab something on the road,” she said.

  Cissy’s eyes screamed please and before she knew it, they were in a bright orange booth sipping hot coffee and planning their day. Cissy remembered breakfasts out with Mama, Lily, and Jessie. She could almost feel her sisters’ tiny legs kicking underneath the tabl
e.

  “The waffles here don’t even need syrup,” Cissy said. “They must use a lot of sugar in the batter, almost like muffin batter, don’t you think?”

  Grandmother scanned the menu, deaf to the commentary. She ordered the hash browns scattered, smothered, and covered, which meant spread out on the grill to get nice and crispy, and then topped with onions and cheese. That seemed like a pretty sloppy dish for someone so refined, but Cissy didn’t comment.

  “I can’t believe I’m hungry after all the barbecue we ate last night,” Grandmother said, taking a breath between bites.

  “I’m always hungry. Mama used to say my legs must be hollow to fit all the food I eat.”

  Grandmother said she’d not had such a robust appetite since right before her stay in the hospital.

  In the instant Cissy grasped the meaning of those words, the mug near her mouth clanked against her teeth, sending scalding coffee down her chin. “Hospital? When were you in the hospital?”

  Grandmother’s expression betrayed her, admitting she’d let an important cat out of the bag. Cissy gave her a stern eye, warning she wanted nothing less than the whole story. So Grandmother described the day she set out to buy the blue sweater, how she felt sick to her stomach and fell asleep in the hot car. She told Cissy about the teenager with tanned skin who found her and took her to the emergency room. She tried to convince Cissy heat stroke wasn’t dangerous, but a word like stroke demanded to be added to her List of Banned Words.

  “Were you scared?” Cissy’s teeth chattered like it was the dead of winter. She wanted to stuff napkins in her mouth to stop the noise they made in her head.

  “Not really, dear, but for a moment I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I woke up in the hospital and your mama and sisters and Ruth were standing around me like a hallelujah chorus.”

  Cissy didn’t find her joke funny. Grandmother cleared her throat in apology.

  “Seriously, Cissy. There’s nothing to be alarmed about. I had a touch of heat stroke. I stayed in the hospital a couple of days and then felt good as new,” she said. “Well, except for the appetite part, which appears to be fine now.”

  Cissy sensed she left out some pretty important details in the retelling of the story. And the tone of her voice seemed plastic and too cheery for such a scary subject. Still, her Grandmother wasn’t one to lie.

  When their food arrived, Grandmother resorted to small talk to cover up what wasn’t being said. Cissy only half listened because she figured a response to the rambling wasn’t required. Instead, Cissy counted the squares in her waffle before cutting them neatly with her knife and munching each row individually. When she’d finished, she asked if she could order another waffle and Grandmother complied. This time, Cissy added butter to every other square so that the waffle resembled a chess board.

  “Aren’t you a little old to be playing with your food?” Grandmother asked, knife and fork raised upright in each hand, pausing before her next bite.

  “Aren’t you a little old to be busting a crazy person out of a mental hospital?” Cissy asked, then immediately covered her smart mouth in regret.

  Grandmother took the Lord’s name in vain and slammed her utensiled fists on the table, causing instant tears in Cissy’s heart that she wouldn’t allow to escape. The waitress and two other diners looked over at them with admonishing eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Grandmother. I don’t know why I’d say such an awful thing.” She blinked hard several times, keeping her tears confined. She’d made Grandmother cry again, the one person who still cared about her.

  “Is your smart remark hiding something you’d really like to talk about?” Grandmother finally asked through the tight lines of her fuchsia lips.

  The waffle didn’t sit well in Cissy’s stomach. She scanned the restaurant for the restroom just in case she couldn’t keep it down.

  “I guess I’m scared, Grandmother. Scared you’re not telling me something about your hospital stay. Scared about hiding out from the law. Scared I can’t remember parts of my life. Maybe scared I’ll remember the parts I shouldn’t.”

  “Child, I’m scared, too.” Grandmother put down her fork and knife, and offered both her hands to Cissy. “I’m making this up as I go along. I need you to trust I will take care of you.”

  Cissy nodded until her shaking unleashed the tears she had previously held back. Even when snot nipped at her upper lip, she didn’t let go of Grandmother’s hands. Something told her that she had nothing else in the world to hold on to.

  “Why did you take me from the mental hospital?”

  Grandmother hesitated just long enough for Cissy to suspect the answer wouldn’t be completely truthful.

  “I didn’t think you’d get well if you stayed in the hospital. I figured being with family might make the difference.” She stared at her half-eaten hash browns as if they were about to speak in tongues when all Cissy wanted was for her to look her in the eyes.

  “What makes you think I’m not well? I thought the hospital was just taking the place of prison because most folks don’t understand why I had to kill Daddy.” She brought a hand to her belly.

  This time, the waffle was coming up for certain. She pulled away from Grandmother and ran for the restroom, both hands over her mouth in a feeble attempt to hold back the dread she’d gulped down with breakfast. She never made it to a stall, and waffle chunks and orange juice and milk sprayed before her. When she looked in the mirror and saw similar pieces on her face and in her hair, Cissy’s stomach gave up whatever was left.

  The door to the restroom swung open and the waitress stood before her with a mop and yellow bucket on rollers.

  “Well, goddamn it.” She placed the back of her hand against her nose.

  “I’m so sorry,” Cissy blubbered. “I . . . I . . . tried to make it to the toilet.”

  “It’s not the first time I’ve seen waffles in this state,” she said. “Ain’t your fault. Nobody pays good money for breakfast and wants it to end up like this. Wash your face and go back to your granny. I told the other waitress to bring you some water.”

  Cissy tried to imagine what made someone take a job at the Waffle House, suffering the heat of the griddles and the strain on the body only to be rewarded with ungrateful tips left by tightfisted vacationers and truckers. From a distance, you’d think she was Cissy’s age until you noticed the hardness of life around her eyes and mouth. It shamed Cissy to add to that hardness, but she returned to the table as instructed.

  “You all right?” Grandmother asked.

  Their plates and glasses had been cleared except for the ice water the waitress had left. She could still see the oily haze of the dishcloth used to wipe up the tabletop.

  “I’m not sick. I mean, I’m not sick in the head.” Cissy figured she could say scary things out loud now that her stomach was empty.

  “Child, you’re seeing things that aren’t there. That’s not well.”

  Cissy thought about asking her what she meant, but already knew her grandmother meant the conversations with God. No doubt Dr. Guttman had mentioned it since he seemed so certain Cissy’s cracked mind had conjured up an imaginary friend instead of believing God could speak to humans in person.

  “Don’t you believe in God, Grandmother?”

  “Of course, I believe in God, but I don’t believe He runs around appearing to us,” she said with certainty.

  “He’s a She.” Cissy set her jaw as her grandmother had set hers.

  “God is not a woman, Cissy. I’ll not have you talk crazy around me. I have enough on my mind.” Grandmother closed her eyes and laid both palms on the table as if waiting for anger to pass her by.

  “I do see Her.”

  “Enough already! I don’t want you hiding in bathrooms talking to yourself, or looking into the backseat as if somebody is traveling with us. You won’t get better until you let go of childish things.”

  Cissy didn’t think she’d been childish to talk to God. But she grew uneasy as m
ore and more people expressed doubt and concern over God’s appearances to her. In one of her sessions with Dr. Guttman, he had suggested it was quite normal to have an imaginary friend or guide when a person was experiencing a deep trauma. The person who caused her the most uneasiness was Martha. She’d been the one to tell her that Cissy was moving the chess pieces, and not God. If that was true, why couldn’t Cissy remember it? Was it the same as the memories she kept locked away for fear of coming undone?

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sure you’re right.” She looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap, willing them to stop shaking.

  “Drink your water, Cissy.”

  She lifted the glass with both hands to avoid spilling water. She took in most of it in one long gulp. She needed something in her stomach to fill the pit left by the vomiting and Grandmother’s request.

  “Where are we going today?” Cissy asked, hoping they could stop talking about God.

  “Might as well head to Memphis so you’ll hush up about Graceland.”

  She left a twenty-dollar bill on the table and got up to leave, not asking for any change. Cissy supposed the waitress deserved a big tip for having to clean up her mess in the bathroom.

  Chapter 26

  Despite Cissy’s pleading, Graceland wouldn’t allow visitors past the main gate. Janelle stopped at a nearby gas station to buy a picture book about the residence to stop her granddaughter’s sobbing. At least the girl would be able to envision what would have been included on a real tour.

  “Do you think he’s inside the mansion right this very minute or touring in some big city like Las Vegas?” Cissy asked, absorbed with all the details of the brochure, her initial disappointment erased. “Listen to this. Elvis has his own meditation garden. That’s where he goes just to think.”

  Janelle had never known how much Cissy adored her idol. She went on and on about how tired she’d become of people commenting on his weight or how ridiculous he looked in his white jumpsuits now, or that his twenty-three-room mansion was gaudy, or that he took too many drugs.