Catfish

by Madelyn Bennett Edwards

  She was a beautiful girl with skin the color or cashews, deep brown eyes and long hair she had straightened every week. Annette was a year behind him at Southern and majored in secondary education with a concentration in English. She was a huge help when Rodney needed someone to edit his final papers and projects.

  In his last semester of undergrad, Rodney needed to attend a number of university-related functions and was expected to bring a date to most of them. He asked Annette and she readily accepted. He bought her a corsage for graduation night and they danced until the band quit at one o’clock in the morning. Rodney’s family came to graduation and met Annette. His mother fell in love with the pretty, intelligent girl from New Iberia, Louisiana. She was charming, well read and had a bubbly personality. And she was colored, available and perfect for the Thibault family.

  Rodney was a bit overwhelmed by his mother’s reaction but let her talk him into accepting an invitation by Annette to visit New Iberia and meet her family before he returned to attend summer school in anticipation of Law School.

  When he arrived at the Dunnings’ home, they greeted him as if they knew him.

  “Annette’s told us so much about you, Rodney,” Mrs. Dunning said. “It’s nice to finally put a face with a name. And not a bad looking face,” she said, looking at her daughter. They both giggled. Rodney blushed.

  Mr. Dunning shook Rodney’s hand forcefully, and said, “So glad to know you,” so many times Rodney lost count. They offered him a drink and he finally settled on a beer, although he wasn’t much of a drinker. Mr. Dunning made a pitcher of Martinis, brought it out on the veranda and served Annette and her mother.

  “Sit down, son,” Mr. Dunning said and patted the pillow next to Annette on the small settee that required the two to sit so close their hips pressed against each other’s. Rodney was uncomfortable with the arrangement but tried not to show it because the Dunnings were falling all over themselves trying to make him feel welcomed.

  “Would you like something to eat? I just took some brownies out of the oven.”

  “He doesn’t want anything sweet with beer, honey,” Mr. Dunning said to his wife. “How about some nuts Rodney, or some chips.” Annette seemed nervous. He could feel her body shake a bit, so he put his hand on top of hers for reassurance. She looked at him, smiled and calmed down. Rodney was suddenly aware that he was touching another girl and drew his hand back, as if he’d been bitten. He told Marianne later that he kept trying to remind himself that it was over between us, that we’d both said we needed to move on, but he was struggling with actually doing it. Marianne told him I was probably dating some rich, white guy and had forgotten all about him.

  He put his hand back on Annette’s. He had to make himself learn to live without me, he said when he explained Annette to Marianne weeks later.

  The Dunnings lived in a modest home on Bayou Teche and both parents were schoolteachers at the local high school, now integrated. Mr. and Mrs. Dunning were not happy with integration, they said it took kids away from their neighborhoods and placed them with prejudiced white students and teachers who made their lives more difficult than they already were.

  “We thought our kids needed to go to better schools where they had access to books and other learning materials, where they would be in air-conditioned classrooms and have decent lunches. We thought it would give them a better chance to learn and grow and have more opportunities to go to college or get decent jobs,” Mr. Dunning said.

  “We were wrong,” said Mrs. Dunning. The couple wanted to start a private colored high school after Annette returned to New Iberia with a teaching degree the following year.

  Rodney liked the Dunnings, even if they were a bit overwhelming. It was nice to be accepted by a girl’s family and to have her accepted by his. He also liked it that the Dunnings seemed loving and kind, like his folks, not violent and hypocritical, like the Burtons. Yes, there were benefits to dating one of his own. But the thought of marrying anyone but me, he told me much later, the thought of making love with anyone else, the thought of sharing his innermost self, well, that was out of the question.

  Or that’s what he said he thought at the time.

  Ray Thibault called Rodney at the Dunnings to tell him he passed the LSAT and was accepted to Southern University Law School. Annette and her parents insisted on a celebration, a couchon-de-lait dinner that was an all-day affair in South Louisiana. All of the Dunnings’ friends and Annette’s high school classmates came to the boucherie the next day, where they butchered a hog and made boudin, cracklins and sausage out of all the innards, then spread the gutted pig like a star, between two sheets of chicken wire, fastened with twisted pieces of metal. The spread-eagle animal hung from an old swing set frame in front of a huge bonfire. Men sat on straight-backed chairs, drinking beer and poked the side of the pig with a long cane pole to turn it slowly in front of the heat. The smell of grease-splattering on burning wood spread throughout the huge backyard that sloped down to the Bayou Teche.

  Everyone congratulated Rodney, slapped him on the back and insisted he toast with them to acknowledge new friendships and future success. They automatically accepted him into their fold.

  By the time the pig was cooked and everyone ate, it was after nine o’clock at night and Rodney had lost count of the number of Budweiser’s he’d had. He’d never been a drinker. Occasionally, to fit in with his college buddies, he would buy himself one beer and nurse it all night, usually leaving a half-full bottle of warm liquid on a table or bar at the end of the evening.

  After the celebration dinner in New Iberia, he was drunk. Annette asked him to take a walk with her and he decided it might help to clear his head. They disappeared into the darkness and walked until they reached a clearing on the bayou behind the Dunnings’ home. There was a crude-looking boathouse with a deck on top and two boat slips that jutted out into the bayou. Holding his hand, Annette led him inside where a sofa and several outdoor chairs surrounded a fireplace. There was a bar across the back of the cabin with cabinets behind it and a bed sat in the far left corner. It smelled musty, and mildewy.

  Other than a courtesy kiss on the cheek after the few dates he had with Annette, Rodney had never touched her. He didn’t think about kissing her, but as soon as they entered the boathouse, she wrapped her arms around his neck and started to kiss him, passionately, probing his mouth with her tongue. He stood dumbfounded, his arms hanging limp, eyes opened wide, unresponsive. She didn’t seem to notice his lack of interest.

  Annette led him to the bed and began to unbutton his shirt. She stared into his eyes, but all he saw was a blur. He tried to tell her he was drunk but she kept saying, “Shhhhh,” and put her index finger on his lips.

  She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and began to stroke his chest. She made guttural sounds like, “Ohhhhh,” and, “Ahhhhh.” Rodney tried to focus, but, mostly, he just stood there unable to respond or to walk away. When Annette began to unzip his jeans, he took her hands in his and removed them from his crotch.

  “No, Annette,” he said. “I’m not even coherent. I’ve had too much to drink.”

  “That’s not a problem, Rodney,” she said. “This might be the only way I ever get you to have sex with me.” He felt dizzy and sat on the edge of the bed, his face in his hands, elbows on his knees. He must have blacked out.

  The next morning he woke up with a headache and Annette, naked, next to him. His clothes were in a heap on the floor. He slipped out of bed, stepped into his jeans and went outside to pee. He walked, shirtless, into the bayou to clear his head. The water was warm and it felt good as he went under, blew bubbles to the surface, came up and shook his head to get the water off his hair and out of his ears. He climbed onto the bank and sat in the grass in his wet jeans. Unconsciously he pulled a long blade of St. Augustine grass and put it in his mouth, chewing on it with his molars.

  When he looked up he saw Annette standing in the doorway of the boathouse with a grin on her fa
ce. She wore a robe, tied at the waist but opened down the middle to reveal her breasts and the hair between her legs. His eyes took it all in and he immediately looked away. She laughed aloud. She saw me nude, he thought, remembering that his clothes were piled on the floor when he woke up. He must have seen her naked, too but he couldn’t remember.

  “How you feelin’ this mornin’, mon chere?” she asked. He liked the sound of her voice, her Cajun accent, her smile. He felt comfortable with her, but he wasn’t in love with her. He had to end this before she fell for him and got hurt. His heart wasn’t available just yet.

  Rodney avoided Annette the next six weeks until he was forced to go to the library one evening, hoping she’d gotten off earlier in the day, but she was sitting at the desk when he entered.

  “Hi, handsome,” she said as if nothing had changed. Then he remembered nothing had, except in his own mind.

  “Hi,” he said. “What time do you get off. I was hoping we could grab a burger and talk.”

  “I’ll be off in an hour. Sound good?”

  “Sure,” he said and he walked into the reading room and spread his books on the table. He’d take her to Joe’s, sit in a booth in the back and tell her it was over. He just couldn’t keep dating her now that he knew how she felt and how she had tried to trick him into maybe having sex.

  He parked in the parking lot across the street from the restaurant. As soon as he cut the engine off, she grabbed his arm.

  “I need to tell you somethin’, Hon,” she said.

  “Yeah. I want to talk to you about something, too.”

  “Me first,” she said. She looked excited, elated about something. Maybe she had good news. Maybe she’d be going off to graduate school.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said. A sound like a heavy wind blew through his ears and filled them with a roar. He couldn’t breathe—he felt like he’d been hit in the gut with a pile driver. He put his arms over the top of the steering wheel and lay his forehead on them.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered. He heard her sniffle and knew she was crying. He didn’t care.

  “I thought you’d be happy.” She whimpered

  “Happy?” He raised his voice louder than he’d intended. “Happy?” he repeated, quieter. “Why would I want a baby just when I’m about to start law school? That would mean no law school.” He didn’t lift his head. It was as if he was thinking out loud.

  “I didn’t do this by myself,” she said.

  “I don’t remember having sex with you, Annette,” he said and he looked up and glared at her. “How do I know I ever did?”

  “You think I’m lyin’ to you?”

  “Are you?” He started the car and drove out of the parking lot. He thought about how his dad warned him and Jerry so many times, “Get a girl pregnant, you marry her and raise the child.” Rodney didn’t take chances. He didn’t want a child, not right now. Not with Annette. They didn’t talk until he pulled up in front of her apartment.

  “Annette,” he said. “I need some time to think about this.” He got out the car and walked around to her side and opened her door. He grabbed her hand to help her out the car. She looked up at him before she stepped out.

  “What’s there to think about, Rodney? I’m pregnant with your child.”

  He drove off in a stew. He’d have to drop out of law school before he got started. How else could he support a wife and baby. What about Susie?

  He had to talk to someone, but he couldn’t talk to the person he shared all of his innermost feelings with. He told Marianne he knew I’d tell him to do the right thing and would drop out of his life, for sure. He couldn’t tell his parents, or his brother. He knew what they would say. The thing that nagged at him the most was that he didn’t remember having sex with Annette. You’d think I’d remember something like that, no matter how drunk I was.

  Rodney drove to Jean Ville and went to the Quarters to see Marianne that weekend. She was studying for summer finals in nursing school. Rodney sat on the edge of her bed and watched her write in her notebook.

  “What are you studying?” he asked.

  “Biology.”

  “Hmmm. You learning anything you want to tell me about?” He laughed under his breath, but she heard him.

  “What you doing here?” She looked up from her desk.

  “I need to talk to you about something.” She put down her pen and closed her book.

  “You want something,” she said. She looked at him lounging across her bed. Rodney stared at her beneath his thick eyelashes. She was a beautiful girl. She had fewer Negro features than he did. He searched her to see if there were still angsts over the Klan’s abuse she had suffered seven years back. He didn’t see any.

  “Well, I need some womanly advice,” he said. Suddenly he felt embarrassed. Marianne was no longer a little girl. Did he still know her?

  “Well? You gonna ask or lay there and stew. You in trouble?” She got up from her desk chair, sat on the floor in front of the bed, and crossed her legs like a pretzel.

  “Sort of.” He wanted to get up and pace, but the room was small and full of piles of girlie things.

  “Susie?”

  “No, Annette.” Marianne made a funny face, like, I told you so.

  “Hmmm. That’s what you get for having too many girlfriends.” She laughed, got up from the floor and sat next to him on the bed. “What’d she do?”

  “She says she’s pregnant.”

  “Oh, God, Rod. Is that possible? I mean, did you ... you know, did y’all?”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t know.”

  “Well listen, older cousin. I might not be as experienced as you, but I know this—if you have sex with someone, you remember it. It’s not something that slips your mind.” She rolled her eyes and tilted her chin towards the ceiling so her hair hung behind her in heavy waves.

  “That’s what I was thinking.” Rodney told her about the night in the boathouse and how he didn’t remember having sex with Annette. Marianne got up and walked to the window. She looked out at her Uncle Sam’s house next door. The memory of her lying on that porch when she was barely thirteen crossed her mind, but it no longer caused pain.

  “She’s trying to trick you.” She spoke to the window, but he heard her.

  “You think so? What do you mean?”

  “She in love with you?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “She want to marry you?”

  “Probably.”

  “You want to marry her?”

  “No. At least not now. Maybe in a few years, if at all.”

  “You tell her that?”

  “Yeah. I’ve told her I’m not ready. That I want to go to law school first.”

  “That’s your answer.”

  “What?”

  “Boys are so dumb.” She faced him, her hands behind her back. “Want some cousinly advise?”

  “Yeah. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Give it three or four months. Don’t have sex with her. See if it’s true.”

  “You really think she would ... ?”

  “90 percent.”

  “What do I tell her? She thinks I’m shirking my responsibility.”

  “Tell her you’ll marry her before the baby comes. It takes nine months, you know.”

  “Yeah.” He thought about that. Maybe. Hmmm. Maybe that would work.

  He thought about it all the way back to Baton Rouge. Something about Marianne’s advice bothered him. He wasn’t sure what it was. He was in a pensive mood when he walked into the dorm room he now shared with Jerry, who was pulling on a pair of basketball shorts.

  “Going to shoot hoops?” Rodney asked.

  “Yeah. Wanna come?”

  “No. I, uh, well, uh ...” Rodney sat on the edge of his twin bed and put his elbows on his knees and folded his hands almost as if in prayer.

  “What is it, bro?” Jerry stood still and stared at his older bro
ther.

  “Oh, nothing. Forget it.” Rodney rested his chin in his hands.

  “Come on, Rod, I’m your brother. What’s bothering you. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?” Rodney stared at his little brother, now two inches taller at almost 6-feet, 8-inches, a basketball standout at Southern. He admired Jerry. They had shared a room since Jerry’s birth, exactly two years after Rodney’s, until Rod went off the college. Rodney went home every month, holidays, and semester breaks for the first two years, then Jerry came to Southern and they resumed their roommate status. It felt right.

  Now that they were both in college, their brotherhood grew into a close friendship. They were inseparable. They studied together, even took a few classes together. They bowled, went to football games, played intramural basketball and met for most of their meals. Lots of students on campus thought they were twins

  Jerry would be a junior when the fall semester started in a week. He had been recruited to play basketball for dozens of colleges in the South but easily chose Southern and received the Freshman Athlete Award after his first year. His sophomore year he was the lead scorer. All the professional teams were after him, but Jerry said he would finish college before he agreed to play pro ball. No one did that. If you were called up, you went and left your education behind. But Jerry was solid, responsible. He said he’d rather be a lawyer than a professional basketball player.

  Jerry volunteered at the newly organized Big Brothers clubhouse in Baton Rouge and had, “adopted,” two pre-teens. He brought them to campus, took them to games, the library, the Student Union. He spent hours with them throwing Frisbees, footballs, baseballs and kicking soccer balls. And they played basketball on the outside courts on campus and at the clubhouse every free moment.

  Jerry never missed mass on Sunday and often attended daily mass during the week. He kept a small bible in the back pocket of his jeans. Rodney didn’t know how often he read it, but it was dog-eared and ratty.