The Chicken Dance

  I figured that it would be better if I waited for her to talk to me before I asked her just so she didn’t yell at me, “Don! Don’t speak to adults unless you’re spoken to!”

  I didn’t think she’d do that, because like I said, she seemed a lot different since we’d gotten back from New Orleans. But I didn’t want to take any chances.

  I figured it would be easy to get her to talk to me because she’d always tell me stuff when we were in the store, like, “Go get a cart,” or, “We need some toilet paper,” or, “It’s hot in here.”

  So when we walked into the store, I was all ready for my mother to tell me to get a cart, so I could ask my question. But right when she pointed at them and opened her mouth, Mr. Bufford walked up with a cart and said, “Here you go, ma’am.”

  My mother smiled real big and said, “Thank you.”

  He smiled back and said, “You’re welcome.”

  My mother just stood there for a few seconds looking at Mr. Bufford and smiling. It was the most I’d seen her smile in a long time. I thought it might be a good time to ask her if I could go to the chicken-judging contest, but then one of the cashiers said, “Mr. Bufford, your wife is on the phone.”

  When Mr. Bufford walked away, my mother stopped smiling and started to look sad again. But then her face kind of changed from sad to mad and she turned and looked at me and said, “Let’s go, Don.”

  She pushed the cart real fast to the back of the store where all the food was, and I followed behind. We walked through the furniture section, and my mother stopped at a sofa that was the same orangey color as her pantsuit. She looked at the sofa, and then at her jacket sleeve, and then back at the sofa, and let out a noise that sounded like urrr.

  Then she took off again until we got to the frozen food section. My mother put a bunch of dinners in her cart and then looked at her shopping list. I’d seen toilet paper on the list and I knew that she’d ask me to go and get it because one time somebody had spilled some juice and she’d slipped and fallen and refused to go down that aisle ever again. I was wondering if I should ask her about the chicken-judging contest when she asked me to go and get the toilet paper.

  But then someone said, “Hello,” and we both stopped thinking about toilet paper.

  “Hello, hello,” I heard again.

  I turned and saw Leon’s mother push her cart up to my mother and me. My mother smiled a little but not a whole lot, which surprised me, because she needed a perm and I figured she would be excited to see Mrs. Leonard.

  “Where have you been hiding yourself, Janice?” Mrs. Leonard asked.

  “I’ve just been busy,” my mother answered.

  “I know how that is,” Mrs. Leonard said. “Hey, did you hear about Betty Bufford? She has chicken pox. Both she and her daughter are covered from head to toe in a rash. It’s a shame because they are both going away next weekend to Betty’s mother’s house in Mississippi. They’ll be fine by then, but they’ll be covered in spots.”

  My mother’s eyes opened up a little, and she didn’t look as sad and mad as she had right before. She smiled a little and said, “Oh, really?”

  Then Mrs. Leonard said, “If I didn’t know any better, Janice, I’d say you look kind of happy about it.”

  My mother stopped smiling and said, “No, oh no. I’m not happy about it at all. I’m just a little surprised and sometimes when I’m surprised, it looks like I’m smiling.”

  Mrs. Leonard said, “Oh, well, that makes sense.”

  “So, do they know how long she’s going to be sick?” my mother asked. “Is the rash going to leave scars?”

  Mrs. Leonard said she didn’t know, and then said, “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go back and change this toilet paper. I got all the way to the checkout and realized that I picked up the wrong one. Lyle likes the kind that smells.”

  My mother looked at the toilet paper and said, “Well, isn’t that a coincidence. That’s the brand I use, and we need toilet paper. Do you mind if I take this one?”

  Mrs. Leonard said, “No, not at all.”

  She handed the package of toilet paper to my mother and then said, “You guys have a nice weekend.”

  She started to push her cart away, but then turned and said, “Janice, I have a wonderful idea. Since the boys will be away next weekend, why don’t you and Dick come over to my place for dinner and board games?”

  My mother looked at Mrs. Leonard like she didn’t understand the question, but I know she must have because she said, “I’m afraid Dick is going to be out of town for a convention next week, so we won’t be able to make it.”

  Then Mrs. Leonard said, “Oh, well, you don’t want to be all alone in that big house, so why don’t you come over anyway?”

  My mother looked at me like she’d just asked me a question and was waiting for an answer. I figured she was wondering what Mrs. Leonard was talking about, but since she hadn’t really asked me anything, and I didn’t like her staring at me, I bent down and untied one of my shoes and retied it.

  My mother watched me do it and then asked Mrs. Leonard, “What do you mean that the boys will be away next weekend?”

  “Have you forgotten?” Mrs. Leonard said. “They’re going away to the chicken-judging contest in Baton Rouge.”

  “What chicken-judging contest?” my mother asked.

  “Don,” Mrs. Leonard said. “Didn’t you tell your mother about the contest?”

  I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if it was a good thing that Mrs. Leonard had brought up the chicken-judging contest or not. I had the chance to ask if I could go, but I kind of felt like I’d been caught doing something wrong. I thought about this for a couple of seconds and realized that I hadn’t done anything wrong, so I stood up from the ground.

  “Not yet,” I said.

  Then Mr. Bufford walked up to us and said, “It’s such a pleasure to know that two of the most beautiful women in Horse Island shop at my store.”

  Mrs. Leonard laughed out loud and said, “Oh, Bobby!”

  My mother smiled a little and then kind of looked off into space like she was thinking about something. She made that face like those people on TV make when they’re thinking about something and a lightbulb pops above their head like they just got an idea. But no light-bulb appeared above her head.

  “It’s true,” Mr. Bufford said.

  “Oh, I know.” Mrs. Leonard laughed.

  Mr. Bufford laughed too and then said, “Let me know if you ladies need anything.”

  Then he walked away and Mrs. Leonard said, “He’s such a card.”

  My mother smiled a little and turned to me and asked, “So you’re going to this contest next weekend in Baton Rouge?”

  “Can I?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I think that’s a great idea.”

  “Well,” Mrs. Leonard said. “It’s settled. You’ll come over to our house.”

  My mother smiled and said, “You know, Lucy, thank you so much for the offer, but to tell you the truth, I don’t think I’ve ever been alone in that house for an entire weekend, and I think I’ll just stay in and enjoy the peace and quiet.”

  Mrs. Leonard nodded her head up and down and said, “Well, I can certainly understand where you’re coming from. To tell you the truth, I’m a little jealous. I never have a second to myself. But if you get a little lonely, give me a call.”

  My mother said, “I definitely will. Have a great day, Lucy,” and then Mrs. Leonard turned around and pushed her cart down the aisle.

  My mother walked over to the door of the refrigerator with frozen sausages and looked at her hair. I didn’t know why my mother went from sad to mad to glad, but I didn’t care because she was going to let me go to the chicken-judging contest. I started talking to Stanley in my head and told him how great it was that we’d be able to go to Baton Rouge and find Dawn, and he told me, “I know. It’s going to be great. We really need to thank Mother for letting us go.”

  I said, “Okay. I’ll go
thank her right now,” and then Stanley told me, “Don’t tell her thank you. Tell her something else, like how beautiful she is.”

  I had never thought to tell my mother she was beautiful, but it sounded like a good idea. So when she said, “I should get my hair permed soon,” I said, “You don’t need to perm your hair because you’re beautiful.”

  My mother turned and looked at me and her face turned red the way it did the first time she met Mr. Bufford.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You don’t need to perm your hair,” I told her.

  “No,” she said. “The part about me being beautiful.”

  “You don’t need to perm your hair because you’re beautiful,” I told her.

  My mother put her hand on her chest and said, “Oh my god, Don, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  Then she started to cry and dug around in her purse and pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  She looked at me and smiled and said, “Oh, Don, thank you. Thank you for appreciating how much work I do to make myself look this good every day. It means a lot.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Then my mother pushed the cart toward the front of Horse Island Food and Furniture and started talking the way she had before the trip to New Orleans. She talked about people in the community, stuff she’d read in the paper, and how she was excited about being alone the next weekend.

  Then she stopped walking and asked me, “You ever notice how all the people in this town have the same letter for their first and last name? You know, like Taylor Touchet, Jessica Jaubert, Julia Jay. I can understand naming your kids with the same letters, but even the married women have the same first letter of their first name as the first letter of their husband’s last name. Not every one of them, but most of them.”

  Stanley told me to answer her and so I did. I said, “Maybe it’s a law here that women can only marry men whose last name has the same first letter of their first name.”

  My mother laughed and said, “That’s pretty funny, Don.”

  Then I said, “Maybe you and Father are breaking the law and you’ll have to get a divorce or go to jail.”

  My mother laughed harder and pulled a tissue out of her purse again and wiped her eyes and said, “Oh, that was funny, Don. That’s exactly what I needed. A good laugh, and you gave me one. You know what, I don’t think we ever got you a gift for your birthday. What do you say after we drop these groceries off at home, we go over to Horse Island Shoes and Toys and pick something out for you?”

  That afternoon my mother and I went shopping, and she bought me a book about a little boy who grew up on a chicken farm and sheets with chickens on them. Then my mother told me that we needed to buy me some new summer clothes.

  I couldn’t believe how happy my mother was just because I had told her she was beautiful and had told her a joke. I liked it and wished I had told her she was beautiful a long time ago. The whole day was great, but then it got really weird during dinner that night.

  My father was home because it was Saturday and my mother said she was going to eat with us instead of in her room that night. So my father and I sat in front of the television set and waited for my mother to cook us dinner. It was the first time my father and I had been alone together since New Orleans.

  “How has school been?” he asked me.

  “Okay,” I told him.

  I wasn’t sure why he was asking me that, but like I said, he’d been acting weird since New Orleans.

  “And your chickens?” he asked.

  “They’re good. Some of them are getting old and don’t really lay that many eggs anymore, but they still have good feathers.”

  Then my mother walked into the living room carrying the three dinners on a tray. I took mine, and my father took his, and then my mother put hers on her television tray. She didn’t sit down in her love seat like she usually did, though. Instead, she moved her television tray by me and then sat next to me on the sofa. Both my father and I looked at her until she asked, “Why are you staring at me?”

  My father raised his eyebrows and said, “I’ve never seen you sit on the sofa for dinner.”

  My mother picked up her knife and fork and said, “I just thought it would be nice for a change. Besides, Don and I spent a wonderful afternoon together and I want to be close to him. He said the funniest thing. Tell him what you said, Don.”

  Before I could speak, my mother said, “You know. What you said about women in this town only marrying men whose last name begins with the same letter as their first name and that your father and I must be breaking the law and might have to get a divorce. Tell him.”

  I opened my mouth, but then my mother said, “Never mind, I’ll tell him. Dick, Don said—”

  My father cut her off and said, “I heard what he said,” and then he turned his head back to the television.

  My mother took a bite of her food and said, “Don’t you think it’s funny what he said about you and I breaking the law and that they may make us get a divorce? Wouldn’t that be funny?”

  Then my father said, “That would be hilarious,” and he turned the volume up on the television.

  My mother looked at me and said, “Your father has no sense of humor. Not like my little Donny here.”

  She leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. It was the first time I ever remembered her giving me a kiss. I thought I might be dreaming, but then I looked in the mirror that was on the wall and I could see a pair of red lips on my face.

  Twenty-Four

  I couldn’t really sleep the night before we left to go to the chicken-judging contest in Baton Rouge because I kept thinking about Dawn and the contest. I probably would have thought about this until the morning if I hadn’t heard a noise in our living room around one in the morning. I thought it was strange that one of my parents would be up, but I figured that they were in the bathroom or something. I heard a noise again, though, so I got up and walked over to my door and opened it a little. My parents’ door was closed and I could see a light on in the living room, so I walked down the hall and took a look.

  My father was standing by the bookcase and looking at one of his accounting books. He was in his white pajamas and slippers, and in the light, he looked kind of like a ghost. He put the book back on the shelf and then took off his glasses and rubbed his face with his hands a bunch of times. Then he put his glasses back on and took a deep breath.

  All of a sudden, a dog barked, which was really weird because we didn’t have a dog. My father looked out of the living room window for a couple of seconds and then he walked toward the kitchen. I stepped back into the hallway and then I heard the kitchen door that led outside open and close.

  I went into my room and looked out of my window and I could see his white pajamas standing on the steps outside the kitchen door. He was holding something in his hand like a pot or a pan and was shaking it.

  And he was yelling, “Get out of here, dog! Go home!”

  I didn’t see the dog, so I don’t know who it belonged to. I figured it was probably a stray and that I should get up early the next morning and make sure there weren’t any holes around the fence of the chicken yard that he could get into. He’d really scared my chickens and they were clucking and running all over the yard.

  My father stood on the steps for a couple of seconds and then walked up to the gate of the yard, opened it, and went in. This freaked me out a little because he never went into the chicken yard anymore and I didn’t know if he was going to hurt them. I didn’t know why he would, but I didn’t know why he’d been doing a lot of the stuff he’d been doing since we got back from New Orleans. So I figured that I had better go and make sure that he wasn’t hurting my chickens.

  When I got to the yard, I heard a bunch of the chickens clucking and running out of the coop. I walked up to the side of the coop and looked through a small hole in the wall and saw
my father standing there. He was holding a chicken and she was moving and clucking and I thought about running into the coop and yelling, “Let go of my chicken!”

  But then my father said, “Shhhhh. It’s going to be okay.”

  The chicken calmed down and my father walked over to a bucket and turned it upside down and sat on it. He petted the chicken for a couple of minutes and then started talking.

  He said, “You know, you have a good life, chicken. All you do is sit around all day and lay eggs. You don’t have to worry about getting married or having children or finding the perfect job.”

  The chicken clucked a little like she understood and my father laughed and then said, “I see why Don likes you so much. You’re a good listener. I wish I’d known you before I made the biggest mistake of my life. You could have talked me out of it.”

  My father stopped talking for a couple of minutes and I tried to think about what the biggest mistake of his life could be. I knew he was sad that he wasn’t an accountant but wasn’t sure if that’s what he was talking about. Before I could think of anything else that might be the biggest mistake of his life, my father started talking again.

  He said, “At the time, it seemed like the right thing. There was a baby coming, so I had to marry her. But now my daughter’s gone and my wife is being unfaithful.”

  Then my father closed his eyes and said, “I could have been an accountant. I could have married a woman I loved. I could have been happy. But I messed up and not only have I ruined my life, I’ve also ruined the boy’s life. He’s a good kid and has had to put up with our misery his whole life. Something has to change.”

  My father started shaking his head and asked, “What am I going to do, chicken? What am I going to do?”

  I felt really sad for my father because he looked like he was about to cry. I kind of wanted to go up to him and hug him, but before I could, he kissed the chicken on the top of the head, put it back on the ground, and said, “Good-bye, my friend,” and then went back into the house.