Julia Watts - Finding H.F.

by Julia Watts

  “I called information while Memaw was out watering her flowers. Her number’s unlisted.”

  Bo gets up off the rock to pace, then trips over a root and sits back down. “Sugar, I know you’re upset, but I can’t just take off and drive you all over hell’s half acre lookin’ for your momma. Daddy would beat the tar out of me.”

  “He wouldn’t if he thought you was goin’ off for some legitimate reason.”

  “And findin’ your illegitimate mother is a legitimate reason?”

  “No.” I wince. I hate that word “illegitimate.” I’ve heard teachers and doctors and nurses use it to describe me all my life—like because I was born out of wedlock means I’m not a real person. “Your daddy don’t have to know a thing about me goin’ to find my momma. You can tell him...” I try to think of a good lie, but like Memaw says, I’ve always been an honest soul.

  Of course, today I’m starting to learn that when you live in a world full of lies, you’ve got to turn yourself into a liar just to survive.

  “I know!” I say. “You can tell him there’s a college down in Florida that’s offerin’ you a full music scholarship. We can even fake up a letter on one of the computers at school.”

  “Now, why would a college in Florida want to offer me a full scholarship if they ain’t never heard me play so much as a note?”

  “Think about it, Bo. We’re comin’ up with a story to tell your daddy. You really think he’ll stop drinkin’ beer and watchin’ ESPN 2 long enough to think up a question like that?”

  Bo shrugs. “Well, Daddy ain’t exactly the sharpest crayon in the box, that’s for sure.”

  “Exactly. So the story you tell him don’t have to be that good.”

  Bo runs his hands through his hair, which doesn’t mess up even one strand. “OK, H.F. Now, I’m not sayin’ I’m gonna do this, because I still think you’ve lost your damn mind, but just for the sake of talkin’ about it, what are you gonna tell your memaw?”

  “I’m so mad at that old woman, I don’t want to tell her nothin’. I just want to go—run off like my momma done. Because, Bo, today I just about see why she done it.”

  Bo’s face gets all serious and hurt looking. “Now, I want you to know, when you talk that way, what you’re talkin’ about is killin’ an old lady. And I don’t care how mad she made you—that don’t mean the poor old thing deserves to die.”

  Bo’s right. Memaw may have lied to me, but she’s also fed and clothed me for the past 16 years. Even though I’m still mad enough to spit nails, I guess I owe her a lie so she won’t worry too much. Besides, she lied to me, and one lie deserves another.

  “All right, then,” I decide, “I’ll tell her I’m goin’ with you to look at the college—that you asked me to come along because you’re a nervous wreck. Of course, Memaw wouldn’t want me going nowhere without adult supervision. So I’ll tell her...” I stop to think. “I’ll tell her you’ve got an aunt in Knoxville and that we’ll just drive as far as Knoxville by ourselves, and she’ll drive us the rest of the way.”

  “Your Memaw ain’t like my daddy. She actually worries about you. What if she was to call my family to check out your story?”

  I don’t even have to think before I answer. “She wouldn’t do that. She...she trusts me to tell the truth.” My chest tightens because I’m thinking about the china cat with the broke ear. For a second I feel bad about breaking Memaw’s trust, but then I remember how she broke mine.

  “All right now—and I’m still not sayin’ I’m doin’ this,” Bo says, throwing a rock in the creek, “but if we did do it, what would we do for money?”

  “I’ve still got my birthday money from Memaw and Uncle Bobby. So that’s 50, plus I’ve got a whole milk jug of change I’ve been savin’—there’s got to be at least 15 or 20 dollars in there. How much you got?”

  “I’ve got about 92 dollars put back, but I’ve had my eye on this jacket in the Casual Male catalog that I’ve kinda been savin’ up for.”

  I’m not any good at doing math in my head, but I’ve still got enough sense to know that between the two of us we’ve got enough money to make it to Florida as long as fine food and luxurious accommodations aren’t part of the travel package. “We can do this, Bo! We’ve got enough money for gas. We can sleep in the car, and a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter will hold us till we get to Florida.”

  “Where, I guess, you’re expectin’ a home-cooked meal from your momma—who don’t even know you’re comin’.”

  I close my eyes, and I can see Bo and me driving down miles and miles of open road—not the roads of Morgan that always end up somewhere you’ve been before, but a road that goes on and on for hundreds of miles until it ends at the door of the woman I’ve been waiting my whole life to see. And who knows? Maybe she’s been waiting to see me too.

  “So what do you say, Bo? You’re always complainin’ about how nothin’ ever happens in this town. Are you ready for an adventure?”

  Bo looks out at Deer Creek and then down at his hands, which are folded in his lap. His face is as impossible to read as some of those fancy books Wendy likes. Thinking about Wendy makes me flinch.

  When Bo looks up, he says, “H.F., do you know that the only time I’ve been out of the state is when I’ve gone on a beer run across the state line with Daddy?”

  Looking at him, I know I’ve won. This is the hardest time I’ve ever had trying to convince Bo to do something. Of course, I’ve never had the guts to do something this big before. “Are you in?”

  “On one condition: I don’t want to drive down there and drive straight back. If we’re usin’ my car, then we have to stop when I want to. I know there’s intelligent life out there, H.F., and I want to see it. I’ll get you to your mother, but I want to take my own sweet time doin’ it. Deal?”

  He’s the one with the car, so there’s no arguing with him. “Deal.”

  “But just so you know, I still think takin’ off to find your mamma is a harebrained idea. I’m just bored enough to go along with it.”

  As we drive back up on Deer Creek Road, I almost want to tell Bo just to hit the interstate and keep on driving. I know better, of course. School’s not out till next week, and we can’t just disappear. We’ve got to get our money together and our stories straight. In my mind, though, I’m already on the highway, speeding away from Morgan, away from Wendy’s anger and Memaw’s lies, and heading toward my momma, toward a place where people tell me the truth and love me just the way I am.

  Part Two:

  The Journey

  Chapter Ten

  Getting away wasn’t easy. Last week, when I told Memaw the story I’d cooked up about Bo wanting me to go with him to look at this college, she pushed her plate away and dabbed at her eyes with a paper napkin. “I swear, Faith, it seems like you’re always runnin’ off to one place or another... first to stay all night at your little friend’s, and now you’re wantin’ to go all the way down to Florida. But I don’t reckon I can do nothin’ about it. I just have to get used to the idea that you’re a grown girl. Lord, I was married when I wasn’t much older’n you. I reckon before long you’ll be wantin’ to run off and get married too.”

  I told Memaw that was one thing she’d never have to worry about.

  All the time I was getting ready, putting my coins into paper rolls so I could trade them in for paper money and folding up my jeans and T-shirts and sticking them inside an IGA bag, I kept hoping Memaw would say, “You know, your mother lives down in Florida. I’ve got her address. Maybe you ought to pay her a visit.”

  But she never did. I guess I could’ve told Memaw I was going to South Carolina or Alabama or some other state, but I figured that by mentioning Florida to her, I was giving her a chance to tell me the truth. She never said a word, though, and by the time I got up this morning, I already felt a thousand miles away from her.

  When Bo came to get me, Memaw followed me out to the car, wadding a piece of Kleenex into a tight little ball in her fist.
As I was about to get in the car, she reached down the front of her dress and pulled out three 20-dollar bills and held them out to me. I felt guilty—60 dollars is a big chunk out of Memaw’s Social Security check—but I pocketed them anyway. She tapped on her cheek and said, “Give your old memaw some sugar,” so I kissed her, feeling for all the world like Judas Iscariot.

  “Now, you call me when you get to Knoxville so I’ll know you got to Bo’s aunt’s house all right,” she said.

  “I’ll call you.”

  “Drive careful,” she said to Bo.

  “I will, Mrs. Simms. Bye now,” Bo called. As we pulled out of the driveway and headed down to the street, Memaw half ran alongside the car, waving and crying.

  Only now that we’re on the interstate can I look behind me without feeling like she’s running along behind me in her house slippers.

  “Is she still gainin’ on us?” Bo asks.

  “I believe we’ve finally lost her,” I laugh. “Good God a-mighty, Bo,” I say, looking out at the four lanes of highway stretching out in front of us. “I can’t believe we’re really doin’ this.”

  “Me neither. Half of me’s happier than I’ve ever been, and the other half’s a nervous wreck. I keep feelin’ like we’ve forgot somethin’.”

  “There ain’t much to forget when you’re travelin’ light.” Yesterday evening me and Bo went to the IGA and bought a loaf of light bread and a jar of JFG peanut butter. We both agreed what brand we wanted, but we still had to argue for ten minutes over whether to get creamy or crunchy. Bo’s the one with the car, so creamy won. We also bought a gallon jug of water. The label says it came from a mountain stream, but I figure it came straight out of somebody’s sink.

  After we finished at the store, we drove over to the Pilot, filled up the car with gas, and bought a road map of the United States. I hope we can read it better than we can fold it.

  “Besides,” I say, “if we did forget somethin’, we’ve got that 60 dollars from Memaw, so we can buy whatever we need.” Except for one thing—I reach inside my pocket to make sure my mom’s address is still there. It is.

  When we cross the sign that says WELCOME TO TENNESSEE, we let out a “Wahoo!”

  “I’ve always wondered if there was more to Tennessee than the state-line beer stores,” Bo says.

  “What, do you think that after you pass the beer stores, you just fall off the edge of the world and the monsters eat you?”

  “For all I’ve seen of the world, it could be flat,” Bo says. “I bet most people in Morgan don’t know no different.”

  The car starts climbing a big mountain after we pass the beer-store exit. My ears pop as we go higher and higher. The interstate is packed with big semi trucks that look down on Bo’s little Escort like an elephant must look at a beetle. They all have the names of places printed on their cabs, like Portland, Oregon, and Kansas City, Missouri. “Bo, just think about how much of the world them truckers has seen. Maybe I’ll be a truck driver when I get out of school.” Of course, Memaw’s too scared to let me get anything more than a learner’s permit right now, but once I’m not living under her roof anymore, I can get my license. I look up to see the face of the trucker beside us, but his face is so tired and bored that I figure the whole country is just a blur of gray highway and truck stops to him.

  “H.F., if you wanna be a trucker, you’re welcome to it. Just don’t pull your big semi behind my Escort and proceed to crawl up my ass. Drivin’ down Deer Creek Road’s no preparation for drivin’ in this mess. It’s like the difference between ridin’ a BigWheel and a Harley-Davidson.”

  I laugh when I see an exit sign that reads STINKING CREEK. “Stinkin’ Creek,” I say, “Well, I guess there’s worse places to be from than Morgan.”

  Bo laughs too. “Can you imagine? You’d spend your whole life makin’ up names when people asked you where you was from.”

  We drive on a ways till there’s a sign that says SCENIC OVERLOOK. Right away, Bo pulls over. “What are you doin’?” I holler. “We ain’t even been on the road a full hour, and you’re already stoppin’.”

  Bo puts the car into park. “Look, H.F., when you’re a truck driver you can drive straight from one place to another without payin’ attention to nothin’ but the road signs. But I’m doin’ the drivin’ now, and I ain’t a trucker—I’m a tourist. I’m takin’ the first vacation of my life, and I aim to see the sights...at least the ones that don’t cost nothin’.” He swings his door open. “Now, you can come with me or you can wait in the car.”

  I’m not used to Bo getting on his high horse like this, so I shrug and get out too.

  The overlook is scenic, all right. I lean over the guard rail and look at the mountains swelling up before us, all green with their trees’ summer leaves. Way down below is a valley sprinkled with little white houses and barns and churches. It puts me in the mind of the little towns that go with toy train sets. I take it all in, then say, “Yep, it’s pretty, all right. Well, I reckon we’d better be gettin’ back on the road.”

  Bo doesn’t say anything right then, and when I look at him, he’s staring down in the valley like he’s hypnotized or something. “Look how tiny all them houses is,” he says finally. “Can you imagine how tiny the people down there must look? I bet we couldn’t even see ‘em from up here. All them little-bitty people livin’ little-bitty lives.”

  “Uh-huh,” I say, itching to get back in the car.

  Then Bo looks right at me. “I don’t want to be like that, H.F....a little-bitty person down there livin’ a little-bitty life.” His eyes are as blue and lit up as the sky. “I want to live me a great big life, not the kind where you spend most of it just scrapin’ to put some baloney and light bread on the table and the rest of it sittin’ in front of the TV. I want a life with...with music and friends and, oh, I don’t know what all.”

  Me and Bo bicker like an old married couple sometimes, but moments like this, I remember why he’s my best friend. I drape my arm around his shoulders, and we walk back to his car.

  East Tennessee don’t look that different from Southeastern Kentucky. There’s the mountains all around us and every once in a while exits for little mountain towns, which I figure are pretty much like Morgan... towns that became towns in the first place because of coal mining and now are just dried-up husks put out of business by the Wal-Marts and McDonald’s out by the interstate exit.

  We promised Memaw we’d call her when we got to Bo’s aunt’s in Knoxville. Since Bo’s aunt is what you might call a work of fiction, we’re not exactly sure where to get off when we get there. I can tell Bo is nervous. He keeps squinting at all the exit signs and tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “I ain’t used to this big-city drivin’,” he says. “Where do you think we ought to go?”

  “I don’t reckon it matters much, as long as we find someplace we can make a phone call.” I see a sign marked DOWNTOWN and point to it. “Why don’t we go that way?”

  When we get downtown we see the most amazing thing. Rising in the sky is a globe made out of what looks like gold glass. It’s cut like a gemstone, and the sunlight sparkles off the facets. “Good God a-mighty” Bo says. “Look at that!”

  “It looks like one of them disco balls from Saturday Night Fever,” I say. “Or like a big, round spaceship that’s about to take off.”

  There’s a gas station across the street from the big globe, and Bo pulls into it so we can look at it some more. We get out of the car and stand there, gawking.

  Y’all ain’t from around here, is you?” The strange voice makes me jump. When I turn around I see it’s just the gas station attendant. He looks to be around Uncle Bobby’s age. According to the tag sewn on his shirt, his name is John Ed.

  “No, sir,” I say. “Kentucky.”

  Bo nods across the street. “So what is that thing?”

  “I look at that dadblamed thing ever day of my life,” Jim Ed says. “It’s left over from the 1982 World’s Fair.” He grins. “Shoot, I bet y
ou kids wasn’t even born in 1982.”

  “No, sir,” I say.

  “Well, you didn’t miss much,” Jim Ed says. “Nobody much came.”

  “Is that a fact?” Bo says, still staring at the big globe. “Looks like everybody’d want to see something that looked like that.”

  “You like it, do you?” Jim Ed shrugs. “I never really think about it one way or another. I guess if you look at the same old thing day after day, it gets so you don’t even see it after a while. So, was you kids needin’ some gas?”

  “No, sir,” I say. I look around and notice the pay phone for the first time. “We just wanted to use your phone.”

  “Help yourself,” he says and heads back toward the rundown service station.

  The pay phone don’t look like something you’d want to put your mouth against, but I pick it up anyway, push zero, and tell the operator I want to make a collect call.

  When the operator connects us, Memaw says, “Faith, I ain’t been worth a plugged nickel this mornin’. I couldn’t wash the dishes nor nothin’ for sittin’ here worryin’. I’ve been in my chair all mornin’, prayin’ to Jesus that you’d get to Knoxville safe.”

  “Well, we’re here safe.”

  “You at Bo’s aunt’s house?”

  “Uh...yes, ma’am.” Something I’ve noticed about myself lately is that if I tell a lie, I say “uh” a lot. Even if I was a better liar, I don’t know how convincing I’d sound right now. From all the traffic whizzing past the pay phone, Memaw must think Bo’s aunt lives in a cardboard box in the middle of a four-lane road.

  “Could you put her on for me?”

  “Uh...I beg your pardon?”

  “Could you let me talk to Bo’s aunt for a minute? I just want to make sure she’s takin’ good care of my girl.”

  “Uh...just a second.” In a panic, I drop the receiver so it swings back and forth all crazy. “Bo,” I whisper, but it has to be a loud whisper on account of all the cars zooming by, “Memaw wants to talk to your aunt! What are we gonna do?”