Not the same, definitely not the same. Oral had on one of
Merritt’s striped T-shirts and the same pair of dungarees he’d worn yesterday. Both boys sat at the table yawning. Uncle
Virgil wore one of Daddy’s white T-shirts, his skinny arms
ropy with muscle and tan below the sleeves only. I pictured
doing laundry till kingdom come. I got up and put pieces of
bread on a pan to toast.
“Anybody want eggs?” I asked.
There was an odd dancing of eyes between our “guests.”
I made it a statement. “I’ll fix eggs too.”
Aunt Juanita said, “I want mine fried.”
Ignoring that, I cracked several open into a bowl, and be-
gan beating them within an inch of Sunday.
Daddy said, “Mr. Naylor over to Lore Mountain Road has
a place to rent.”
I dumped the eggs into the skillet and swirled the spoon
through the pale yellow liquid, waiting to hear how that
would be received.
Uncle Virgil said, “I ain’t renting again.”
Daddy said, “I don’t care what all you do; I only mentioned
it as an option, if’n you want it.”
Uncle Virgil said, “Ain’t but one option, in my mind.”
Daddy threw his hands up, and went out to the mailbox to
get the paper.
Oral, voice innocent as a two-year-old, announced, “Mer-
ritt says Uncle Easton’s got money buried all over this place.”
Aunt Juanita pressed her lips tight, and then did what Uncle Virgil would routinely do. She popped him on the head.
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Chapter 13
Just like the Murrys’ still, the house fire made front-page
news. The Wilkes Journal-Patriot said nothing more than the renters had lost everything and more had to be done to determine the reason for the blaze. The fire chief was shown
against the backdrop of flames, pointing to the house, stating the only thing they could look for was signs of gasoline and that process would take a while.
Uncle Virgil talked for days after. “Shit, we know who it
was; we don’t need no official ruling from them. I say we
get’em now.”
Of course Daddy gave him more money to keep him from
doing something irrational and Uncle Virgil took it, because as he said, it was owed him. I saw how Oral’s eyes glittered and he found ways to be near the back door when Daddy
went out, like he was trying to figure out where he kept his stockpile. It was apparent Oral had a hankering even stronger than the liquor held on to his daddy.
The last day of school came and final test scores were
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ment. Yearbooks went hand to hand, everyone busy getting
friends to sign the bound dark green leather books adorned
with a gold pinecone design. Engraved in gold as well were
the words “Piney Tops High School Warriors, 1959-1960.”
I held mine tight to my chest, the pages without one single
signature. I eventually saw Aubrey standing with a bunch of
people, including Cora and Stacy, laughing, having herself
a grand old time. She saw me hovering at the edge of the
crowd, and I started to raise my hand, to wave her over. I
hadn’t told her about Uncle Virgil’s house, proof the Murrys were no good, and dangerous, the sort intent on only causing trouble. She ought to distance herself from Willie, if she knew what was good for her.
Someone said something and she turned away. Everyone
took turns placing their books on each other’s backs, and
scribbling in the sort of notes I surely wouldn’t see on my
blank pages. Like, “It was great getting to know you in Mrs.
Walker’s history class, hope to see you this summer!” Or,
“Hey, beautiful, here’s my number, call me and we’ll get to-
gether!” At the moment, I had no idea why I’d even bothered
to buy one. The longer I watched the joyful interactions, the more uncomfortable I became of how I might look, like a dog
begging for scraps. I left, and when I passed by a trash can I tossed the yearbook into it. Why force myself to look through pictures of people who didn’t know I existed, and the ones
who did acted like they wished they didn’t?
I went to my last class and sat waiting for the final bell to ring. The room was empty. Out the windows to my left were
my classmates standing or sitting under a perfect blue sky, a buttery sun shining warm on their flawless world. I saw myself in their midst, a mar on their perfection, a weed in their manicured garden. The bell rang and the quiet room filled
with noise, laughter, the scuffling of shoes on the slick tiles.
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them, wearing the scent of fresh air, mixed with starched cotton, soap, and sweat. I fingered the edges of my science book, the last one to turn in for the year. I listened to their conversations, occasionally interrupted by a burst of laughter, happiness overflowing. A pair of legs appeared by my side, feet in scuffed oxfords, skirt midway to the calves. I raised my
head and encountered the obscure eyes of Darlene Wilson.
She popped a wad of bubble gum, made a show of looking
under my desk, and then at the science book I fiddled with.
“Yearbook?”
Self-conscious, I hoped no one paid us any mind.
“I tossed it.”
Her jaws quit moving for a second.
“Trash?”
I gave one nod.
I couldn’t say she smiled, but she appeared to approve.
She said, “Superfluous junk.”
She plunked herself on the seat in front of me. I wanted to
get up and move away.
She said, “You’re like me.”
I started to shake my head and stopped.
She said, “No friends. Nope.”
Her lips popped on the p.
“Aubrey Whitaker’s my friend,” I argued.
“No, she ain’t.”
I said, “Well, I don’t see you talking to anyone except yourself.”
She got up, chomping on her gum faster, and said, “That’s
what you think. There is one bit of difference between us. I know who I am.”
She sauntered over to sit in her usual spot by the windows,
wearing a tiny smile. What did she know? Nothing.
When the final bell rang, I didn’t wait like usual for the
class to empty before I made my way out. I didn’t want Dar-
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lene handing out any more of her weird wisdom. I followed
the rest of the students into the hot sun, my head turning left and right, hoping to spot Aubrey. Darlene made sure I saw her watching me, that same stupid grin on her face. Exasperated, I moved toward the bus while scanning the parking lot where
Willie Murry’s car was parked. Just before I got on, I noticed Aubrey with him. She had her head tilted as he talked and I
couldn’t imagine what he could be saying, but it couldn’t have been good, because she looked serious. I kept glancing at her, hoping she’d break away and come find me. She didn’t. She
got in his car, and I saw he didn’t even open or shut the d
oor for her.
I climbed the bus steps, and because I was earlier than usual, there were only a few students already on, and still plenty of empty seats. I chose the one Aubrey and I had always used,
feeling a little sad about that. Soon others filed by talking about summertime plans of visiting relatives, swimming in
the Yadkin River or at Moravian Falls, of summer picnics.
I half-listened as I stared toward the front, but when Willie Murry unexpectedly got on the bus, I bent my head and focused on the rubbery mat that lined the aisle. His Wearmas-
ters came into view and stopped. He eased himself into the
seat beside me.
He said, “Give me your yearbook. I got something to write
in it.”
I kept my arms crossed tight.
I said, “I ain’t got it.”
He looked under the seat, and then beyond my lap to the
small empty space between me and the side of the bus.
He said, “Don’t lie. You were carrying one earlier.”
I ignored that while I went to cussing in my head. I could
hear the whispers starting up behind me.
He said, “Fine. I’ll just tell you what I was going to write.
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Let’s see, it would’ve been something like, ‘Watch out. There’s more to come.’ Yeah. That would’ve been it.”
It was as close to admitting they’d been responsible for our still and Uncle Virgil’s house as it could get. I kept my head turned so he couldn’t see my fear. The seat rose and I knew
he’d left. I leaned my head against the window, understanding I’d made a big mistake.
Uncle Virgil and Aunt Juanita quickly settled into a routine at the house, and soon got to acting like it was theirs. No matter where I went, they were either sprawled in the living room watching TV, sitting in the kitchen waiting on food to be
put before them, or taking naps in my room all hours of the
day. Daddy got up every morning and went to work, while
Uncle Virgil and Aunt Juanita got up about midmorning and
expected me to cook them breakfast. Uncle Virgil sat at the
kitchen table, rubbing on his belly and yawning, while Aunt
Juanita took about an hour in the bathroom doing herself up
only to sit around the rest of the day. After her first offer to help cook, she hadn’t offered again, other than to make a new pot of coffee sometimes. It didn’t seem to bother either of
them how it looked and it was easy enough to see why Uncle
Virgil couldn’t hold him a job. Sometime before noon dinner, he would go out to their car, and come back in with a jar.
He’d unscrew the lid and start in on his daily dose of shine.
He smacked his lips and said, “Ain’t nothing better than
strong coffee followed by a little jumpin’ juice.”
After he had a little more, he went into the bathroom, shut
the door, and then it was him in there for some time, smok-
ing, drinking, shaving. He’d come out smelling like Daddy’s
Aqua Velva, and by then, the liquor was working on him, and
he paced around the house raving about revenge on the Mur-
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he’d had more than enough as his voice grew louder, and he’d get to acting more ridiculous.
Aunt Juanita went along until he got like that, and then she told him, “Shut up, Virgil, for God’s sake! You’re giving me a headache!”
She got ahold of one jar once when he made the mistake of
setting it down, and dumped it in the sink. He got mad, went outside, and came back with another. He held on to them
after that like they would sprout legs and run off. He had to have a stash, jars that should’ve been sold, but he’d somehow managed to have kept hidden for his own personal enjoyment.
Uncle Virgil hadn’t been at the chicken houses far as I could tell since he’d been here. Aunt Juanita prodded him a time or two about getting on to work, but it was one reason or another as to why he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—as the days went
by. Daddy went down the hall the second week they were
there and banged on my bedroom door.
He yelled through it, “Ain’t you got to go into work?”
Uncle Virgil hollered back, “I ain’t got that job no more!”
Daddy said, “Ain’t got the job? What the hell, Virgil.”
Uncle Virgil opened the door and said, “I figured we’d
do some runs, and you’d pay me. You’re always saying how
much more money you can make. Hell, what do I need that
chickenshit job for?”
He laughed at his own joke and when Daddy came into
the kitchen, his expression was the exact same as when he
was mad at me. I didn’t need to tell him about Uncle Virgil
drinking all day. I was pretty sure he knew. Later on when we sat down to supper, Uncle Virgil propped himself up on his
elbows, weaving back and forth. Eventually he was slouched
over his plate, slurring words.
Aunt Juanita poked him and said, “Nobody wants to be
around you like this. Sit up, act right.”
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He went to slide his fork through some mashed potatoes,
and the food fell off. He frowned at the fork, perplexed as
to where the potatoes went. He dropped it on his plate and
started crying, declaring how much he loved her. This didn’t set well with her, him blubbering, and trying to hold her
hand.
She pushed him away and said, “Sit up, Virgil, for God’s
sake. Act like a man. And quit bawling. Christamighty.”
Oral tossed ugly looks at his daddy while he ate, and for the first time I could recollect, I felt sorry for him and his situation, even though he acted like a little twit most times. Aunt Juanita showed her own ragged edges at Uncle Virgil being
underfoot, more sharp edged, and snappish. She stabbed out
one cigarette only to light another one. She took little bites of food now and then between long puffs and exasperated exhalations. Uncle Virgil eventually leaned back in his chair with a groan. Before long his head fell forward, chin resting on his chest, and he started snoring. Aunt Juanita looked relieved, while Daddy said a word I was sure I’d only heard out of his mouth once when he banged his knee against the bumper of
Sally Sue. He sprang up and grabbed the back of Uncle Vir-
gil’s chair and hauled him away from the table. He twisted it to one side and dumped him on the floor. Uncle Virgil came
to for a second, saw where he was, then rested his head on his arms and passed out again.
Daddy said, “Oral, Juanita, y’all grab a leg, and I’ll get his arms, and let’s get him to the bedroom.”
They did as he asked, faces flushed with the effort or shame, I couldn’t tell which. They struggled under the dead weight, but lugged him down the hall, where a solid thump signaled
he’d been deposited onto the floor.
The door slammed, and before they got back to the kitchen,
I pointed my finger at Merritt and whispered, “See? Now
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ain’t that a pretty sight? You want to end up like that, you just keep talking about how much you like it. Ain’t a damn thing
it
’s good for.”
He was silent, and I was satisfied I’d made a point. The
rest of them came back and sat down to finish eating. Even
though nothing more was said, the mood around the table
relaxed. I watched them eat, counted the mouthfuls I took,
and hoped the scale would be kind.
The next morning I fried bacon and listened to Daddy talk
to Merritt about getting his new arm. Merritt’s disposition
had improved somewhat, and he was already going on about
what he’d be able to do once he got it.
Daddy approved, and said, “You’ll be good as new.”
Merritt said, “Yeah, I’ll be able to go outside and toss the ball, maybe even start back to practice, and play on the team again when I get back to school.”
Oral said, “Yeah, once you get it, it’ll be like nothing ever happened.”
The wound was raw with a red, raised ridge and tender-
looking. The flap ends of skin were drawn together above
the elbow joint and stitched together. I couldn’t picture him trying to cram it into that plastic cup thing in the brochure Daddy brought home one afternoon. They’d gone for a plaster mold, and fitting, and while there was soft material inside, it would seem like anything resting against that delicate spot would hurt. It made me cringe. I kept turning the bacon, the grease popping and hitting me now and then. The smell made
my mouth water and I looked over my shoulder to see if any-
one was looking. No one paid me any mind, so I snatched a
piece and plopped it in my mouth.
I finished frying the rest of the package, and filled a pot
with water for grits when Daddy motioned for me to follow
him outside. Wary, I set the pot down, turned the burner off, and wiped my hands down the front of my pants. The boys
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stopped talking as I went out the back door behind him. He
walked across the yard and stopped by the truck. He leaned
against it and waited until I was within a few feet of him.
My back to the house, I inhaled deep the scent of morning,
a mixture of dewy grass and wild grapes. He pulled his pack
of cigarettes out of his pocket and tapped the filter against the fender before lighting the opposite end. He blew smoke
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