“‘Well,’ he said, ‘I need to fix that sign. It’s supposed to say, “Open To White Folks.” Y’all don’t look too white to me. Yeah, I need to get that sign fixed.’”
“That’s the meanest thing I’ve ever heard,” I said.
“There’s a lot of mean people in the world,” Hazel continued.
“Anyway, we drove away from that gas station without a drop of gas.”
“I’d of made him sell me some gas, if I was you,” I said, outraged.
“Child, they might of found us dead in a ditch somewhere if we’d of stayed around out in the middle of nowhere arguing with a mean-looking white boy like that. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t run my mouth in that instance, not without a gun in my purse at least. We thought it best just to keep driving and try to find another gas station somewhere.
“We drove and drove. They didn’t have a gas station every two miles back then like they do today. We drove until finally that old model T started sputtering and coughing. George pulled it off the road just in time for it to cut off. And there we sat. George said we should wait until someone came along and gave us a lift. That car was like an oven too. It was July, you know. We sat there, and we sat there. Every once in a while a car or truck would drive by, but most of them seemed to speed up when they saw us. It got dark, and no one ever offered to give us any help. We spent the night cramped up in that hot car, trying to sleep. I couldn’t sleep, though. I was terrified. It was the worst night of my life.
“The next morning, praise the Lord, an angel, dressed up as a rough-looking old white man with a grey beard, showed up in a beat up truck. He asked if we needed some help. George explained what happened. And do you know, he offered to pick us up some gas. I gave him a dollar that I was sure I’d never see again, and he left and came back in a little while with a can of gas. He even gave me the change back. I tried to make him keep the change, but he refused. He told us to stop at that gas station any time we needed to, since that mean boy didn’t work there anymore. It turns out that the old man owned the gas station. I never will forget that man’s kindness.
“At that point, we just forgot about driving all the way to Georgia. We would have been late for the reunion anyway. I cried all the way back home. I cried every time I thought about it for a while. I never did wear that pretty dress. Just couldn’t bring myself to wear it. I got it out a few times, but it just made me cry, so I put it back up. You know, I’ve still got that old thing tucked away somewhere, my cedar chest, I think. I can’t bear to look at it and can’t bear to throw it away.”
“That’s sad,” I said. “I wish those people hadn’t of been so mean. You should have told them off.”
“You got that right. I should have let them have it. Who knows what would have happened, but at least I could have shown them that I had some pride in myself. George should have said something. But we were afraid. We didn’t want to rock the boat and maybe flip it over. If the world had depended on people like me and George to make a difference, black people would still be eating unsalted fish and potatoes out the back doors of ‘whites only’ restaurants.”
“Wow,” I said, “I didn’t know about all of this. That makes me sad.”
“Just take it as a lesson. Just remember to be kind and treat everyone fairly. If everyone did that, the world would be a better place.”
“I’ll sure remember it. Do you have any more stories to tell that I can learn a lesson from? I could listen to your stories all day.”
“Well, I can tell you about the time my father learned not to disturb any graves.”
“Oh, please tell me. It sounds scary.”
“This happened years ago, long before you were born. My father and my uncle Joe were asked to move a grave that was in the way of a bank that was going to be built. You know the bank, the First Kentucky Bank on South Main Street. Back then it was just a lot that had a single grave on it, surrounded by a fence. Well, they dug and dug. They were in a hurry because it was looking like it was going to rain, and wouldn’t that have been a mess if it had rained. Finally, they got down to the coffin. And when they dug the dirt out from around it, they saw that the coffin had a window on top. When they looked inside, they saw a skeleton. And do you know what?”
“What?”
“That skeleton was wearing the prettiest blue suit you ever saw.”
I gasped.
“They were doing okay until they started to move the coffin out of the grave. Uncle Joe let the coffin slip, and when it hit the ground the glass cracked.”
“Oh, no!”
“Yes, and when they looked inside, they saw that something very strange had happened.”
“What was that?”
“That beautiful blue suit had turned to dust. I guess the fresh air hitting it after all those years caused it to disintegrate.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. My father took that as a bad omen. Uncle Joe didn’t believe it. He thought my father was crazy for worrying about it. Daddy wanted to bury the coffin back and leave right then, but Uncle Joe wouldn’t hear of it. Being good hearted as he was, Daddy didn’t want Uncle Joe to have to move it by himself, so they went ahead and finished the job together.
“Well, that night Daddy had a dream. In the dream that skeleton dug its way out of its new grave. It walked to Uncle Joe’s house and climbed in an open window. When it got to the bedroom where Uncle Joe was sleeping, it pointed a bony finger at him and said, “You disturbed my grave and ruined my blue suit.” Uncle Joe woke up, but he was too terrified to speak. He grabbed his chest, clutching his heart. He was so scared, in fact, he died.”
“That’s terrible,” I said.
“Yes, but then the skeleton climbed back out the window and started towards my daddy’s house.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yes. It walked right in the front door. And just as it started to open the door to the bedroom, my daddy jumped awake. Dream or not, that door went ahead and opened. It opened even though my daddy was now awake. It was like his dream was powerful enough to push that door open a squeak. He just knew at that point that the skeleton was going to walk right in the room, but only a cool breeze came in—the cool breeze of death. He said it took him a few minutes to realize it had been a dream. It seemed so real.”
“That was certainly a very scary dream,” I said, spellbound.
“After Daddy thought about it for a while, he wasn’t so certain that the whole thing had been a dream.”
“Why’s that?”
“For one thing that door squeaked open, and the next morning he found out that Uncle Joe had died in his sleep from a heart attack.”
I gasped again.
“Yes, it’s true. After that my daddy never disturbed another grave. His days of moving graves came to an end. He told this story to be the truth until the day he died, and I believe it. He wasn’t one to go around and make things up. So remember this story. And after I die, never let anyone disturb my grave. Of course, I don’t think there’s too many people out there trying to disturb graves anymore. So you shouldn’t have too much to worry about.”
“Man, that was a scary story,” I said. “I guess I didn’t learn as big of a lesson as I did from the other stories, already planned on not digging up any graves, but I sure did like hearing you tell it.”
“Of course, some lessons are more important than other others,” said Hazel. “But they’re all important in their own ways.”
After talking to Hazel for a little while longer, my short attention span started to run out, and I told her I had to get home.
“Take care, Child.”
“Okay, see you later,” I said.
I went home with a whole new appreciation of Hazel. I had learned a lot from her stories, as I would learn a lot of other important things about life before the end of that summer.
Chapter 5
At home that night I sat on the back porch with my parents. We ate a watermelon my mother had picked up at Piggly Wi
ggly. My dad puffed on a Cuban cigar my uncle had given him after a trip to the Caribbean. It was a warm, muggy night, quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner motor.
“I’m going to Nashville with Brenda tomorrow,” said my mother. “Brenda called earlier and wants to go. We haven’t done anything together in a while.”
“I guess I won’t see you again till midnight. I think you two must have some boyfriends in Nashville.”
“Oh, you guessed it. You figured out our big secret. I’ll have my boyfriend drop me off on his motorcycle when I get back tomorrow night.
“By the way, I met your brother’s new girlfriend today.”
“Where’d you see her at?” asked my dad.
“They pulled up and talked while I was at the gas station. She seemed really nice. Nicer than that last one he had.”
“I hope she’s nice,” said my dad puffing on his cigar, “because she ain’t much to look at. I’ve seen prettier mud fences. Looks like she’s had too many good times.”
My mom looked over at me and said, “Now remember, Son, when you go to find you a wife, beauty is only skin deep.”
“Yeah, Son, and ugly is skin deep too,” replied my dad, “so you might as well find one that’s got skin worth looking at.”
My dad and I had a good laugh, but my mother didn’t seem to find it so funny.
My dad suddenly pointed to the sky and said, “Look!”
I looked up in the sky in time to see a shooting star. “That’s neat,” I said.
“You know what that means, don’t you?” my mother said.
“What?” I asked.
“My grandmother always said that it means an angel has earned her wings.”
“Your grandmother must have been off her anti-psychotics,” said my dad.
“Why do you have to make some kind of smart-assed remark about everything I have to say?” said my mother.
“If you’re going to run off to Nashville all the time, I can make any kind of remarks I want.”
“What does that have to do with anything? You can come up with some of the most off the wall stuff I’ve ever heard sometimes. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I like to get out of the house about once a month, and you throw a fit. I know what it’s really about: you don’t want me to have a life. You think I should just sit at home and cook and clean and wait for you to get home so I can wait on you some more. Well, I’m here to tell you, you married the wrong woman if that’s what you want.” She picked up the remainder of the watermelon and tossed it into the yard, then went in the house, slamming the door behind her.
“What’s eating her?” my father said and took another puff of his cigar. “I don’t care if she goes to Nashville or not. I tell you, these women stay in some kind of tizzy about something all the time. You need to find you one of those Japanese geisha girls when you get married.”
“What’s a geisha girl?”
“Ask your mother about that tomorrow. Tell her you been thinking about getting one.” He let out a big laugh.
“Now don’t repeat that I said it, but if you want a good wife, you’ll find one just like your mother. I know we get in our little arguments sometimes, but deep down we really care about each other, and I wouldn’t trade her for any other woman in the world, except maybe Farrah Fawcett.” He let out another big laugh.
“I guess I need to go to bed,” I said.
“I’ll probably be gone when you get up in the morning. I’m leaving early so I can put in Hazel’s new air conditioner. I was supposed to get over there today, but I had to meet with clients all day. She should be okay tonight; it’s not too bad out, but she’ll be madder than a wet hen if I don’t get over there tomorrow.”
“Yeah, she was talking about that air conditioner when I was over there earlier,” I said.
“She’ll have my hide if I don’t get it in tomorrow.”
We said goodnight, and I whistled for Bruno who ran up on the porch and went in the house in front of me. I told my mother goodnight and went to bed. I slept well that night, unaware that tomorrow was going to be a bad day.
The next morning I was awakened by the sun shining on my face through the opening of the parted curtains. Despite the sunshine, thunder rumbled in the distance. It was going to be one of those humid, electric summer days, a violent storm threatening to pop up at any moment. I got dressed quickly and started towards the kitchen. On the way there I could hear my mother talking on the phone.
“Oh this is just terrible. Bruce found Hazel lying on the floor in front of that recliner she always likes to sit in.”
Tears filled my eyes. I knew from the way my mother talked that Hazel was gone. There were a lot of things I’d miss about Hazel, her stories for one. Even though her stories often made my hair stand on end and kept me up at night, I was always ready to hear another one the next time I saw her. Hazel believed God, superstitions, and ghosts all fit naturally together in God’s world. “There are some things that can’t be explained,” she’d say. “Only God knows about some things.” There was so much more I wanted to ask Hazel, but now she was gone.
For some reason, I thought of a little house I’d seen at a cemetery once when I was younger. I was probably about four years old, and I didn’t really understand what a cemetery was. I was there with Hazel. Hazel had told me we were going to visit her mother. I was confused when we pulled into a cemetery. She told me her mother had passed away years ago and was buried there. I found this to be a bit disturbing. At that age I didn’t really understand the concept of death. As we were walking across the cemetery lawn, we came upon a little house. I found the house to be fascinating. It was just a little taller than I was at the time. I looked inside the windows and saw tiny furniture. “Why is this little house here?” I asked. “There’s a little girl buried here,” explained Hazel. “Does she live in this house?” I asked, totally fascinated. “No, she’s gone up to heaven. She passed away a long time ago.” “Does God let her come down sometimes and play in the little house?” I asked. “No,” said Hazel, “Once you go to Heaven, you don’t come back.” “Then why does she have the house if she can’t visit it? Why does it just sit empty? Why doesn’t God let her take the house with her?” I asked. “Child,” said Hazel, “you leave this world with the same thing you came here with—nothing. This little house ain’t doing a thing but giving people like me the creeps. “
The image of that little house came back to me now. I thought of Hazel’s house and of how it would now be like the tiny house at the cemetery: an empty shell, devoid of life, a constant reminder of a life that once was, a life that will never again be tangible on earth.
“She was unresponsive,” my mom continued. “She’s been a diabetic for years, you know, and there was a napkin with a half-eaten cookie on the table beside her chair. It looks like Brian must have taken her some cookies. He knew better than that. Bell said she told him not to take Hazel cookies because of her diabetes, but he did it anyway. Now look what’s happened. And for some reason, that nosy deputy Chet Houchens was over there asking questions. I guess he heard the ambulance call and decided to investigate. It wouldn’t surprise me if that idiot arrested Brian for bringing her cookies. He gave me a ticket last year for going five miles over the speed limit. He’d arrest a cat for jaywalking.”
Arrested? I felt suddenly lightheaded as though I were going to faint. My heart started racing. Why would he want to arrest me? I didn’t mean to kill Hazel. But I’d heard about other people getting in trouble for accidentally killing someone. Only recently I’d heard my parents talking about an old man who went to jail after he got drunk and backed over his wife. He didn’t mean to kill her, but he went to jail anyway. Now it looked like I was in the same boat as that old man, minus the alcohol.
I nearly went into a panic. I shouldn’t have taken her those cookies. She ate the cookies and died. The deputy would keep investigating until he found out that I took her the cookies. My fingerprints were all over the rema
ining half-eaten cookie. And of course, the deputy would interview my grandmother, and she would say, “I told him not to take her those cookies. He must have snuck them over to her when I turned my head.” The deputy would want to know why I had given cookies to someone I knew to be a diabetic. I’d be in all kinds of trouble. I was a naïve eight-year-old, still many things to learn about the world.
I didn’t know what to do. I heard a police siren in the distance that was getting louder. I felt certain that the siren was meant for me. I ran back into my bedroom and grabbed the backpack I had already packed for our planned trip to Truck Mountain. I climbed out the window and took off across the field behind my house. Bruno cheerfully followed with not a care in the world. I didn’t know where else to go, so I decided to go to Charlie’s house. Charlie would know what to do.
Chapter 6
I was trying to figure out the best way to get to Charlie’s house without being seen. Riding a bike was out of the question; I’d be caught within minutes. Then I remembered the railroad tracks. The railroad tracks were only the distance of a few acres, across the field behind my house, and passed fairly close to Charlie’s house. I could easily follow the tracks to get there without getting lost. I headed in that direction. In the distance the sky was growing dark, and I realized I didn’t have an umbrella with me. What would I do if a bad storm came up, and I was way out in the field with no umbrella? It was indeed looking to be a dark day for me, no hope of better days ahead.
As I was walking across the field, I remembered my encounter with Miss Green. “So Miss Green is a witch,” I said to myself. “She knew this was going to happen. The serpent eyes must have been some kind of omen of bad luck.” I also wondered if maybe she deliberately caused the bad luck. If that was the case, what else was going to happen? I briefly, very briefly, thought of going to her house and asking her to remove the curse.
The thing that bothered me most about this whole situation was the fact that I probably liked Hazel more than anyone else I knew. And now everybody was going to think I killed her, accidentally or not. Poor Hazel, I hoped she hadn’t died thinking I intentionally tried to kill her. I thought it over a little longer and realized she would never have thought such a thing.
Chips of Red Paint Page 5