by H. M. Mann
Not bad, not bad. Think how much better your writing would be if you had some sunshine running through your veins. They called Charlie Parker a genius, Manny. They could call you a genius, too.
Go away. I’m broke, remember? It takes money I don’t have.
Rufus’s drawer is open. Better close it. And don’t peek, now.
I look through the sliver of space and see a few bills sticking out.
Might be enough. He won’t mind.
I swallow and shut the drawer. I wish Mary’s voice would come to me right now. I write as furiously as I can:
We the people
are minimum wage workers who can’t afford to be bankrupt
who wait in line to get on waiting lists
who consolidate our poverty into a bigger pile
to lay away fantasies of one day leasing to own
a slice of the American dream that one day we’ll be
I stop. We’ll be what?
“Free at last? Free at last! Thank God almighty, we’ll be free at last”!
Shut up! That’s enough.
Mary can’t get enough of those young bucks, but can you blame her? Bet the baby ain’t even yours. Your chromosomes gotta be all messed up. You’re a junkie, nothin’ but a mixed up junkie. Yeah, you’re gonna still be a junkie ten years from now, if you live that long. Tattoos are only skin deep, but you are a junkie to the bone.
I’m not.
Prove you’re not, then. Go out on the town. Quit being such a baby hiding on this boat. Go on, now. And take some of that money with you.
I take two of the three twenties from Rufus’s drawer and tear out of there, running west without looking back. I don’t know where I’m going. I just know that I’m going.
I pass some graffiti that asks, “Got Heroes?” No, I don’t. I run on, following the shore mostly. Didn’t I hear something about Muhammad Ali or some other fighter who threw his Olympic gold medal into the Ohio? I wonder if anyone ever found it.
I turn away from the river and run further west, running so far that I hardly notice how dark it’s getting. Where am I? Is that a park? I’m on Twenty-Second Street and … is that Greenwood? There aren’t many streetlights here. Boarded up houses, businesses with metal bars, “No Trespassing” signs everywhere, alleys, and not a tree in sight.
And little red and green caps on the ground.
I stand on a broken sidewalk under a single streetlight that barely lights up anything. This feels right. I’m on someone’s set, and if I stand here long enough, I’ll get served.
A moment later, a dark black boy wearing a black hooded sweatshirt rolls out of an alley up to me on a thousand-dollar mountain bike. Yeah, I’m on the set, all right.
“What you need?” he asks.
I finger Rufus’s money in my pocket. “What makes you think I need something?”
He smiles. “You got the look, man.”
This boy is your friend. He already knows you by sight. Let’s get this party started!
Shut up.
“And you got on long sleeves on a hot night,” he adds.
“And you’re wearing a sweatshirt,” I say.
“So? You want something or not? I ain’t got all night, nigguh.”
I ain’t no nigguh. “I’m just lost is all.” And that is the truth. “Which direction is the river?”
He rolls his eyes and shows me a bundle of little bags. “Right here, nigguh. This is the river you want to find.”
See, I told you he was your friend. He knows what you really want. He—
“I ain’t no nigguh,” I tell him. “I need directions to the river.”
He rolls away, muttering, “Crazy fool,” vanishing into the dark alley.
“Yeah, maybe I am,” I whisper as I cross the street. “But sometimes crazy makes sense.”
Don’t leave, Manny.
“Watch me,” I say out loud. I look up and see the glow of the city to the east. I just need to run to the light. That’ll get me to the river.
You’re going to regret this, Manny.
“No.”
You can’t tell me you don’t miss it, Manny.
“I don’t miss it.”
Liar.
I’m too tired to run anymore and break into a little jog toward the light. Sweat spills down my face and beads up on my back and I’m a little thirsty, but other than that, I feel pretty strong. When I break out of that dark neighborhood onto Broadway and into downtown, I feel a little lighter, like I’m not carrying as big of a weight on my back. I still don’t recognize any streets, but I’m starting to feel cooler.
It’s cool down by de river.
A new voice. A female voice, but it’s not Rose. It’s young and a little sad.
You know you gettin’ close cuz you feels de coolness on your skin. Even de sun don’t feel so hot. Breezes seem to blow better down by de river, too.
It’s soft, so soft, and peaceful, that voice. And as country as Rufus. I want her to keep talking.
I walk past some folks sitting outside at a little café, most of them drinking and carrying on, and past the next tall building, I see the water. Thank you, country girl, whoever you are.
I also see a payphone.
Mary. Call Mary.
Since I don’t have any change, I dial her number collect, say “Emmanuel” when I’m prompted to, and wait while it rings and rings and rings. Nobody’s home. Oh yeah. It’s Friday night. Mary always works late on Friday nights, and her mama does, too. I hang up and get my bearings.
Now you jes’ foller de river wit’ de sunset at your back till you gets to a place where de crossin’ is easy, chile.
Another female voice, this one older, wiser, and definitely more confident. Thank you, ladies. Since we landed before we hit the interstate bridge and the baseball stadium to my left, I know I have to go east. I get off the street and walk along the shore, hearing the moan of a bullfrog and seeing the reflections of lit buildings shining out on the water. Gnats and mosquitoes buzz me pretty good, but it’s a nice walk with no one to bother me. And when I see the American Queen all lit up like the Fourth of July, I break into a trot.
There’s always Memphis, The Voice says as I stride toward the gangplank.
“See you in Memphis then,” I say as I run up the gangplank and take the stairs two at a time to my room.
I throw open my door and see Rufus staring up at the TV. “Where you been?”
Is it that late? It has to be late. I’ve been gone for hours. “Out walking. Tried to call my girl, too.” I dig in my pocket for his money. “Borrowed this from you in case I got hungry. I didn’t need it though. I hope you don’t mind.”
He squints as he takes the two twenties. “What was you plannin’ to eat with forty dollars?”
“I, uh, only meant to take twenty.” Which is a little lie. “I guess the other one stuck to it.”
He squints and hands them back. “Uh, put ‘em back where you found ‘em.”
I open the drawer and slip the twenties under the one still in the drawer.
“You found ‘em in there?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I close the drawer. “I, uh, I won’t do that again. I promise.”
He jumps out of bed and opens the drawer, smiling at the money. “Now who would have put all that there?”
Huh? “That wasn’t your money?”
“Nah. All my money except for a little allowance I give myself gets deposited down at my bank back home.” He counts out the money. “Sixty dollars. Why would someone put sixty dollars in my drawer?”
“I don’t know.”
“This isn’t really your money and you just forgot about it, is it, Manny?”
“No.”
He sits on his bed with the money, and I sit on mine. “So someone just came in here … and gave you sixty dollars. They must have thought that drawer was yours.”
“Why?” Wait, I think I know. Mrs. Walker. She feels bad about what happened. But how would she have access to the roo
m? Oh yeah. She’s rich. Rich people can do whatever they want.
“For your new baby is why,” Rufus says.
“What?”
“Come on, now, Manny, you knew we was gonna talk about you when you didn’t come out with us. Congratulations, man.” He throws out his hand, and I shake it reluctantly. “Rose told us all about it.” He puts the money in my hand. “What you gonna name him?”
I stare at the money. “Luke.”
“Ah, the physician.”
“No, that’s the name of the guy who helped me out on the Boonesboro.”
He chuckles. “It’s also the name of one of Jesus’ disciples, you know, Matthew, Mark, Luke.”
“Oh yeah.” Luke Slade was a man of healing. Auntie June will like that name.
“Bet it was Rose.”
“Huh?”
“Rose could have put the money in there. She got the key, you know, so she can do inspections on you.”
I shake my head. “She wouldn’t have. I, uh, I shouldn’t have any ready cash, you know? It’s too much of a temptation.” And tonight I nearly blew it.
“Well, who you think it was then? Penny?”
I get up and tuck the bills into the pocket of my vest. “I doubt it. She’s as hard up as the rest of us.”
“Yeah. She barely had enough for her meal tonight.” He smiles. “I paid for her.”
“Yeah?”
Rufus looks like he’s just won the lottery or something.
I smile. “Are you getting a little sweet on Jessica Anne?”
He shrugs, and I feel the breeze. “Maybe I am.”
But is little Penny sweet on Big Daddy Rufus? “Well, I’ll find out who gave me this money tomorrow.” I turn off the light.
“It’s already tomorrow.” He turns off the TV. “Manny?”
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t know if I’d see you again, man. I’m glad you came back.”
So am I. “Good night, Rufus.”
“So, uh, you think maybe Penny is a little sweet on me, too?”
I bite my tongue. “Good night, Rufus.”
“All right, all right. I was just wonderin’ if maybe you noticed her lookin’ my way, you know, maybe cuttin’ her eyes at me—”
I snore as loudly as I can.
“Okay, okay.”
Silence.
“But she sure is cute, ain’t she?”
I put the pillow over my head, but it’s no use. I can still hear him singing Penny’s praises. “Look, Rufus, I’ve got to get some sleep.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
Silence. I pull my head out from under the pillow and settle in.
“It’s just that—”
I jump up and turn on the light. “What is it, Rufus? What do you want?”
He looks away. “It’s just that I’ve never, uh, I’ve never been sweet on any girl, you know?”
“Never?”
He shakes his head. “I just don’t know what to do about it, you know?”
“You’re asking the wrong man, Rufus.”
He sits up, putting his pillow behind his back. “Well, you’ve, uh, been with lots of girls, right?”
I sit on the bed. “Yes, but none of them were right for me. Just Mary.”
“How’d you know she was right for you?” Rufus asks.
I shouldn’t have turned on the light. “I don’t know, Rufus, I just did, that’s all. And I’m really tired, so—”
“Did she look at you a certain way?”
I nod. He’s not going to let me rest until he knows. “Yeah. She did.”
“What way?”
“Like … like she knew me. Like she had been waiting for me all her life.”
Rufus closes his eyes. “That’s deep, Manny.” He pops them open. “How soon did she look that way at you?”
“Huh?”
“I mean, you met her, right? And then you went out, right?”
I think back to the first time Mary spoke to me. She has always looked at me that way. “Rufus, there’s no formula for any of this, man. It just happens or it doesn’t. Have you let Penny know how you feel?”
“Nah. I can’t do that.”
Big as a mountain with the confidence of a speck of sand. “Sure you can.”
“Nah. Not me.”
I turn off the light. “You’ll never know until you try, right?”
Silence. Yes! I slide under the covers and close my eyes.
“But what should I say, Manny?” Rufus asks.
Oh … no. “I know what you should say, Rufus.”
“Yeah? What?”
“Say ‘good night.’”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry.” I hear him turn over. “You’re tired. I’m sorry. We’ll, uh, we’ll talk about this some more tomorrow, okay?”
Silence.
“Okay, Manny?”
“Rufus, okay! Now leave me be.”
“Oh. Sorry. Good night, Manny.”
I growl.
“Sorry.”
Silence.
“It’s just that …”
I am not going to sleep at all tonight.
9: On the American Queen, Louisville to Memphis
It’s raining again.
The dining room is more crowded than ever, and the windows and even some of the passengers are steamed because the service is slow.
And I’m the reason.
Mittie’s sick from too much partying, Rose says, and I end up serving an entire section while I’m trying to keep from yawning.
“You can handle it,” Rose says. “Just make haste slowly and smile a lot.”
It is so hard to smile when you’re yawning. I’ll just have to get some earplugs if Rufus is talkative again tonight.
I end up mixing up several orders, pouring coffee over tea bags, and generally making folks mad. The humidity doesn’t help as glasses slip from my fingers with clunks, and cups and saucers rattle in my hands.
And, of course, Mrs. Walker sits in my section.
I approach her with a false smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Walker.”
“But I thought—”
“A server is sick, Mrs. Walker,” I interrupt gently. “Otherwise I wouldn’t be out here.”
“Oh.”
“And here’s your money back.” I hand the sixty dollars to her. “I don’t want it.”
“But this is … This is all the money I’ve given you, isn’t it?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“My goodness, Emmanuel. I didn’t realize that you felt this way.”
I look over at several of my tables, plenty of empty coffee cups to fill. “I’d rather earn it than have it given to me.” As charity.
“I see. Then how should I tip you? All the meals are included in the package.”
“Just tip me what I deserve and nothing more. Your usual breakfast?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Coffee?”
“Uh, no thank you.”
Even though I’m serving more people, I’m serving them badly. My collective tips so far barely break twenty. I need more hours. And after last night, the more hours I work, the fewer hours I’ll have to wander around listening to The Voice or to Rufus.
When I take Mrs. Walker’s order out to her, she says, “You’re awfully busy today.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“It must be so hard to serve so many.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Emmanuel, do you really find it hard for people to be nice to you?”
What is this about? “I don’t have a problem with people being nice to me, Mrs. Walker.” I top off her glass of ice water. “I do have a problem when folks are being nice to fix their guilty consciences.”
I’ve just jinxed Mrs. Walker’s tip, too, but I don’t care. I approach Rose while waiting for the order for a party of eight. “Rose, I need more hours.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“I hear the laundry could use a hand.”
“I’ll mak
e beds, clean, anything.”
“I’ll ask around. Oh. Did you find that money I put in your drawer?”
Did she just say— “What money?”
“You haven’t found it yet? I put it in your top drawer.”
I close my eyes. “Uh, yeah, I did find it, but …” I open my eyes. “I just gave it to Mrs. Walker.”
“Say what?”
“I gave it to her because I thought that she gave it to me.”
She shakes her head. “You’re going to have to explain this one to me.”
I sigh. “I got tired of getting over-tipped, so I—”
“There ain’t no such thing as over-tipping, if you asked me.”
“Well, it hurt my pride. So when I saw the sixty dollars in the drawer, I thought it was for the three meals I didn’t serve her yesterday. You understand?”
“Not at all.” She smiles. “So Mrs. Walker has my money?”
“Your money?”
“I knew you weren’t going out with us, and I wanted you to keep it so I didn’t have it. I’ve been feelin’ kind of motherly these days, know what I mean?”
I nod.
“And trust me, in the old days I could drink sixty bucks’ worth of gin in a night at any bar in town. I gave you that money so I wouldn’t be tempted to drink.” She peeks out at Mrs. Walker. “And now a rich old white lady has it. Ain’t that the way of the world.” She lets go of the door. “I’ll see about some extra hours, for the both of us.”
An hour later, there is no transition from breakfast to lunch because I was so slow. I go around collecting tips, most of them in change, but when I get to Mrs. Walker’s table, I see the money I gave her plus another sixty. A hundred and twenty? What is this lady thinking? Didn’t she hear me at all?
Wait. I have a baby on the way. This money will help my future wife and child. This is my money. Well … half of it.
I hand Rose sixty dollars.
Rose just stares at the money. “She gave it back?”
“And then some.” I shake my head. “What is wrong with her?”
“I don’t know, but I hope it’s catching.”
The lunch shift goes a little better but not much. This time I have trouble remembering who gets sweetened tea, unsweetened tea, sweetened tea with lemon, unsweetened tea without lemon, or herbal tea with lemon and orange. The other servers keep everything in their heads, but I have to write everything down and I still get the orders wrong.