Fly Like a Bird

by Jana Zinser

  Since she had found out that her mother was alive, Ivy had searched the phone books, calling or writing to anyone with a similar name. But everything was a dead end, as if her mother had fallen into a secret world hidden from the little girl she left behind. Ivy’s life was such a strange puzzle and she was determined to find the missing piece.

  Although Maggie moved to Kansas City right after King died, Ivy thought she would still see her a lot. But as the years passed, Maggie came home less and less. Ivy felt her pulling away. Miles Jones, Maggie’s new boyfriend she’d met at the restaurant and bar where she worked, consumed most of her time. But she came home to Coffey for a visit as the fall winds of change blew in, pushing away the warm air of summer.

  Ivy parked the Monstrosity and she and Maggie went into the Coffey Shop for lunch. Miss Shirley put her hands on her wide hips and stared at Maggie. “Well, if it isn’t the big city girl. I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays. How are you, Miss It?”

  Maggie looked around the restaurant as if expecting Conrad Thrasher to be lurking on a nearby stool, challenging her right to be there. “Good.”

  “What’s this?” Miss Shirley said as she touched Maggie’s hair. Maggie stopped straightening her hair and let her natural curls grow into a small afro. “I told you, girl, curls drive men crazy.”

  Ivy laughed. She remembered her first visit to the Jacksons’ barbershop. “Nothing finer than a real natural black woman.”

  “Mm-hmm. Now you talking some sense.” Miss Shirley turned back to cleaning the grill.

  Ivy looked in the rotating glass pastry keeper to see which pies were left. A fly landed on the glass. Ivy flicked it away. “So, what’s your new boyfriend’s name again? Leon Wilson?” Ivy swung her leg over a red stool and sat down. She smiled and ran her hands slowly down her hair.

  Miss Shirley wiggled her finger in the air. “Stop. Don’t say it.”

  Ivy smiled. “Wig.”

  Miss Shirley scowled and then bent over with laughter. She flipped her white apron at Ivy. “Oh, go away.” She turned to Maggie. “Now seriously, City Girl. Is that Miles guy still your main squeeze?”

  Maggie blushed and patted her hair. “Yes. Going natural was his idea. He’s teaching me to be black.”

  Miss Shirley scraped the grill with a big metal spatula. “Girl, you was born like that. There ain’t nothing he can teach you about that.”

  “He says that some black people, like my mom and dad, have forgotten how to be black. He doesn’t really like white people very much.”

  “Neither does Virgil Jackson, but he likes me,” Ivy said.

  Maggie shook her head. “But you’re not a Doll Baby, are you?”

  “Not yet, but someday I’ll be the first Caucasian Doll Baby.”

  A fly buzzed by Ivy’s ear.

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “Don’t hold your breath.”

  Ivy exaggeratedly took a deep breath, puffing out her cheeks. Maggie reached out with two fingers and pushed in Ivy’s cheeks. They both laughed. For a moment, Ivy felt like everything was the same.

  Ivy and Maggie ordered tenderloins, French fries, and Green Rivers, their favorite drink since they were little girls. Some things hadn’t changed.

  Miss Shirley pulled the wax paper off the tenderloin patties and tossed the meat in the fryer. They sizzled and popped as they bobbed in the hot grease.

  Ivy took a drink of her Green River. “So when will we finally get to meet your white-people-hating boyfriend?”

  “See, that’s why you meeting Miles isn’t a good idea.”

  Ivy reached over and hugged Maggie. “I’m sorry. I was just kidding.”

  Maggie pulled away.

  Miss Shirley slid a red plastic basket with a tenderloin sandwich and fries in front of Maggie. The pork tenderloin hung out beyond the sides of the bun. “Here’s your food, my soul sister.”

  Ivy pouted. “What about me?”

  Miss Shirley gave a little bow and set Ivy’s basket down. “Here’s your food, Snowflake.”

  “And future Doll Baby,” Ivy said as she took a bite of the steaming sandwich and set it back down to cool. “Hey, Maggie, maybe I could drive the Monstrosity down and see you some weekend.”

  The fly buzzed in front of Ivy’s face. She swatted at it, waving her hand close to Maggie’s face. Maggie flinched, raising her arms to protect herself. She cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t know. I’m pretty busy right now.” She took a bite of a fry and dipped it in the ketchup. “I’m moving to a new place and you’ve got college.”

  Ivy glanced at Miss Shirley who raised her eyebrows and clicked her tongue. Ivy picked up her sandwich and nibbled around the edges. “But I’ll see you at Christmas, right?”

  Maggie kept eating her fries with her head down and she didn’t answer. Things had definitely changed. Ivy set her sandwich back in the basket. She no longer felt hungry.

  Shortly after her visit to Coffey, Maggie stopped returning Ivy’s phone calls. The loneliness of not having Maggie to talk to overwhelmed her. The months passed.

  Max, still working as a mechanic at the Mobil Station, overhauled the Monstrosity’s engine and tuned it up. It still ran well. So, one weekend, out of loneliness and frustration, Ivy climbed into the truck with the homemade camper and drove to Kansas City without telling Maggie.

  Ivy honked as she pulled up outside Maggie’s two-story apartment building at the new address Pinky had given her. Maggie appeared at the front window of the second floor.

  Ivy got out of the truck. She jumped up and down and waved, puckering her lips and blowing Maggie exaggerated kisses. The front door to the building was open and Ivy dashed up to Maggie’s apartment, taking two steps at a time. Maggie stood in the doorway, her face swollen and her eyes puffy. Her hunched shoulders seemed to be pulled down by many layers of clothes.

  At the doorway, the apartment smelled like burned toast and Ivy could see stacks of dishes piled high in the sink of the tiny kitchen. Huge metal support posts were inconveniently situated in the middle of the open room.

  “Maggie, what’s going on?”

  “Ivy, why are you here? You shouldn’t have come.” Maggie’s matted hair stuck out at strange angles. Her skin flaked ashy. Maggie looked over her shoulder down the hallway leading to the other room. Her fingers danced nervously in her palms.

  “You don’t answer my calls. Are you okay?” Ivy asked, grabbing Maggie’s arm.

  Maggie grimaced at Ivy’s touch. “Yeah. Everything’s okay.” Dark rims circled her eyes.

  “Maggie, have you looked in the mirror lately?” Ivy reached out to touch Maggie’s face.

  Maggie flinched and pulled away.

  “You look like Rosie Buckley.”

  Maggie looked away and Ivy’s smile faded. “What’s wrong? It’s your boyfriend, isn’t it?”

  Maggie took a step back. “No. You will just never understand what it’s like to be black.” She glanced behind her down the hallway of the dark and dirty apartment.

  “You’re right about that, but I know what it’s like to be your friend.”

  “I wasn’t your friend. I was your lifetime Chickadee community service project.”

  For a moment Ivy stood still, stunned by the accusation. “Are you out of your mind? Have you forgotten who we are?”

  Maggie shook her head. “You don’t know who I am. I’m just beginning to know who I am.” She leaned against the door frame.

  Ivy grabbed Maggie’s arm, but Maggie pulled away. Ivy swallowed hard, and her eyes filled with tears. “I miss you, Maggie. Everyone’s gone.”

  Maggie tossed her head back and looked at Ivy. “Well, I’m glad I’m gone. I’m sick of living in your world. Mulberry Street. Sectioned off like we don’t belong.”

  A door opened and heavy footsteps thudded down the hallway. A tall, good-looking black man with dreadlocks pulled back in a ponytail came up behind Maggie who still blocked the doorway. He yawned. His brown eyes rimmed with dark circles were hazy and distant. I
vy felt a sudden rush of fear and a desperate desire to flee. She turned to Maggie.

  “I agree with you.”

  Maggie suddenly cringed and clutched her stomach, doubling over.

  “Maggie, what’s wrong?” Ivy stepped protectively toward her friend, but Miles stuck out his arm in front of Maggie. His forearm showed a tattoo of a hammer dripping blood. The words “Alliance” circled the hammer. He leaned menacingly toward Ivy.

  “Listen, Ellie May, why don’t you get back in that Beverly Hillbillies truck of yours and get on out of here before something real bad happens to you.”

  Still holding her stomach, Maggie looked up. “Please just go away, Ivy.”

  Miles jerked Maggie back inside the apartment by her hair. Then he stepped out in the hall, pushed Ivy against the wall and leaned in close. The vein in his neck bulged. “You heard her. Get out.”

  He stepped back into the apartment and slammed the door. Ivy leaned against the wall and breathed deeply. She tentatively took a few steps forward, resting her hands and her forehead on Maggie’s apartment door, unable to leave. Maggie was in danger. She took a deep breath and pounded on the door with her fists. “Maggie! Maggie, please. Fly like a bird!”

  Inside footsteps pounded and then the door locked, shutting out all hope for Maggie’s flight. Cold loneliness swept through Ivy like an icy winter rain. The same kind of bone-chilling emptiness she felt when she thought about her mother and father.

  Ivy waited in the cab of the truck outside Maggie’s apartment in case she changed her mind. The curtain in Maggie’s apartment moved once. But when it got dark, Ivy gave up and drove home.

  Later that night, back in Coffey, Ivy stopped by Russell’s apartment as she drove back into town. She needed someone to complain to who wouldn’t give her wise sayings, just sympathy.

  They sat at Russell’s round kitchen table, drinking Dr. Pepper and eating strawberry Twizzlers. The hollow ache of losing her friends and the frustration of being stuck in a town that wouldn’t let go, overwhelmed her. She pulled the heart on her necklace along the chain from side to side. If only she could find her mother. Her mother would understand.

  “Have you ever heard your dad or mom talk about my mother?”

  “Sure.”

  Ivy gently touched Russell’s arm. “What’d they say?”

  “Just that they had to get married. She was pregnant. My mom called her a harlot and my dad said being with Barbara came at a high price.”

  “How come you never told me that?”

  “You never asked.”

  When Ivy got home that night, Grandma shuffled down the hall. Her Keds tennis shoes with the holes flopped untied and she used them like slippers now. Her soft magenta robe billowed over her body. She had lost some weight.

  “What’s wrong?” Grandma asked as she motioned Ivy into the kitchen where the tea kettle was on the stove.

  Ivy sat down at the table and pushed a strand of her hair out of her eyes. “My life isn’t working out like I planned.”

  Grandma sat down and patted Ivy’s back. “It never does, my dear. It never does. But believe it or not, that’s what keeps life interesting.”

  The tea kettle whistled. Ivy got up and poured the water for Grandma’s tea. “There’s no place for me anymore. The world’s moved on without me. I feel like I’m just sort of fading away.”

  She set the steaming mug in front of Grandma, who added a little milk and stirred. “Everyone finds their own path through life. But it’s not where you end up that’s important, but how you got there.”

  Grandma dunked the tea bag in the water and then twisted the bag around the spoon. Ivy sat down again. She traced her fingers in a circle on the table. “My path is a circle around Coffey. There’s like an undertow that keeps me from leaving. It’s dragging me under.”

  “Sometimes things don’t work out like we planned,” said Grandma, watching the steam rising from the teacup. “But sometimes what we want can be disappointing when we get it. And other times, life’s disappointments turn out to be blessings. Those are the seasons of life.”

  “I need to ask you a question, Grandma. Was my mother pregnant when she married my dad?”

  Grandma looked at Ivy, stirring her tea. “Yes. But having you was the best thing to ever happen to Robert. It gave him a purpose he never had. He grew up for you.”

  Grandma sipped her tea. “Ivy, I’ve been thinking. I’m feeling fine nowadays. I’m back to my old surly self. You go ahead and get out of Coffey for good. There’s no reason for you to stay around here anymore. I’m good. Really.”

  Ivy hugged her Grandmother and snuggled in the folds of Grandma’s soft robe. Maybe she could get out of Coffey after all. “Are you sure?”

  “Indeedy.”

  Later that night, Ivy stared out her bedroom window in 4120, which had been her home for her entire life. She grieved for the comfort of childhood and her friendships with Jesse, Nick, and Maggie. But her heart filled with hope that a new world waited for her just a few months away. She would be free of Coffey. And soon, she hoped, she would find her mother.

  Chapter 26

  THE WOMAN AT THE WINDOW

  The December wind blew the snow in chaotic patterns, dancing like ghosts across Mulberry Street. The mulberry trees shivered as the cold gale whispered through their bare branches.

  Ivy stopped by the weekend barbershop on Mulberry Street. She opened the door to the cozy living room of the Jacksons’ house where most of the neighborhood had gathered. “Hey, everybody.”

  Max made the sound of an alarm into his closed fist as he flapped his long fingers. “Honkey in the house.”

  Virgil pointed at Ivy. “Look out, it’s the Caucasian invasion.”

  Miss Shirley motioned to Ivy. “Hey, Snowflake. Come on in.”

  Ivy laughed and handed Miss Shirley an envelope. “Special Christmas delivery from Grandma.”

  “Bless her heart,” said Miss Shirley as she slipped the envelope into her pocket.

  Ivy hung her coat on the coat rack as if she was a regular at the Mulberry Street barbershop. Otis sat on the stool in the middle of the room getting his hair cut. “Come tell us a story, Ivy.”

  Nine-year-old Justin smiled at Ivy. Justin was turning into a handsome boy. He reminded her of his big brother, Ben.

  Thelma Sampson sat on the end of the couch, her feet dangling above the floor, but when Ivy entered, she scooted off the couch and stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind her.

  “I’m guessing she still doesn’t like me,” Ivy said as she watched Thelma’s dramatic exit.

  Ruth rolled her eyes and swished her hand through the air. “She doesn’t like anyone.”

  Virgil raised his eyebrows. “But she especially doesn’t like you.”

  “Why?” said Ivy.

  “Because white peoples get away with stuff,” Virgil said. “That don’t seem right. A white man can kill his wife and get away with it, but Otis and Ben get arrested for something your uncle and his friend did.”

  Ivy remembered when Otis and Ben were locked up because of Weston’s made-up charges.

  “Walter and Ivy were the ones that sprung us,” said Otis.

  “Our freedom shouldn’t depend on the charity of white people,” Virgil said.

  Ivy agreed. She thought that life shouldn’t rely on other people’s consciousness but on the community of truth. She sat down on the couch beside Virgil. “You said a white man can kill his wife and get away with it. Were you talking about Conrad Thrasher? Did you really see him throw his wife’s body in his pond?”

  All the conversations in the barbershop stopped.

  “Where’d you hear that?” Virgil asked. “I told your Grandmother not to tell anyone.”

  “Grandma didn’t tell me. Maggie did, when we were little.”

  “She shouldn’t have told you that.”

  “Grandma knew?”

  “She can keep a secret. That man has too much power in this town.”
/>   “So, is it true?”

  Virgil didn’t answer.

  Ruth finished cutting Otis’s hair. She brushed the tiny curls of hair off the cape on his shoulders. The clips of hair landed on the floor in dark half-moons. “Course it’s true,” she said.

  Ivy looked at Virgil. “Did anybody else see him do it?”

  “Doubt it. Except the other person in the house,” Virgil said. “I was out chopping wood at Deadman’s Woods near that clearing at the cemetery, but there was somebody at the window.”

  Ivy’s eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open. “Who?”

  “Couldn’t tell.”

  Ivy shivered. The barbershop hushed, but the wind whistled around the corners of the house, blowing its power across the Iowa prairie.

  Otis finally broke the silence as he stood up. “Conrad Thrasher used to be a pretty decent guy. That’s how he first got elected mayor.” He brushed a few hairs from his neck.

  “Yeah, but something changed after he killed his wife,” Miss Shirley said.

  “That’s what I’m saying. He never was right in the head after that,” said Max.

  Ruth shook her black smock. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  Just then, a train barreled behind the house. Virgil grabbed the coffeepot so it wouldn’t fall off the table from the rattling vibrations. The screeching howl of the train faded as it raced on into the distance. Otis moved his toothpick to the other corner of his mouth and cleared his throat. “Well, Ivy, have you heard? Maggie isn’t coming home for Christmas.”

  “Not surprised,” Ivy said.

  “I guess we’re not good enough for her no more. She be acting mighty uppity,” Virgil said.

  Ivy shook her head. “No. It’s her Alliance boyfriend. He’s—”

  “He’s in the Alliance?” Otis asked. “How do you know?”

  “He has a tattoo on his arm with a hammer dripping blood.”

  “Maggie’s got herself into a real bad fix,” Ruth said.

  Ivy picked up the broom resting against the wall and began sweeping up the hair on the floor. Maybe she shouldn’t have said anything.