Aunt Sookie & Me

by Michael Scott Garvin

  From inside the house, Loretta hollered, “There’s a gawd-damned goat drinkin’ from the toilet bowl!”

  I turned to Pearl. “Well, I’d best get goin’.”

  Loretta’s room was the third door on the left. I followed her as she dragged her cases up the stairs and down the long hall. She pulled back the lace curtains and fought open the window, allowing the slightest breeze to filter in. I lay across her bed with my elbows bent and my chin resting in the palms of my hands.

  I asked, “Where ya been off to, Miss Loretta?”

  “Oh, baby, where hasn’t your momma been? Let me see. I was in Memphis for a spell and then Tulsa.” She unfastened her scuffed pumps and kicked each one free from her feet. “I met a lovely boy in Atlanta and spent a few months in Richmond.” Unbuttoning her dress, Loretta let it drop to a puddle on the floor at her feet. She walked about the room in her lace bra and panties. “Richmond has flies the size of gawd-damned parakeets.” Blotting her face with a moist cloth, she complained, “Sweet Jesus, I don’t believe Savannah could be any more gawd-damned hot.” She wiped a damp cloth under her pits and below each boob, complaining, “It’s like you’re swimmin’ in a gawd-damned swamp.”

  Miss Loretta went about unpacking her cases, taking each garment from the Samsonites and placing them inside the bureau drawers. Arranging her brushes, powders, creams, lotions, and potions on the side table, she lined them up like the makeup counter at Levy’s. She placed her raggedy hats atop the four posters of the carved bed and hung her stockings over the footboard.

  I asked, “What about your fella in Houston?”

  “That cowboy was the kind of stupid that hurts. He couldn’t pour piss from his boot without instructions written on its heel.” Crossing the room, Loretta caught a glimpse of her rump’s reflection in the mirror. Inspecting her image, she sighed, “Oh, Lordy, look at me, I’ve blown up like a fat tick on a hound dog.” She adjusted her bra strap. “I look like a big tub of lard.”

  “Ain’t true, Loretta,” I said. “You look plenty fine to me.”

  Anytime Miss Loretta was doing the dope, she’d come back home just a walking skeleton, nothing but skin and bones. I was always relieved to see her arrive carrying a few extra pounds, a sure sign she was winning her battle with the dope. I’d exhale and thank the good Lord if I detected ten extra pounds on her frame, like my life depended on it.

  “You’re so sweet, baby doll, but the mirror don’t lie.” She moved in for a closer examination. “And look at these dark rings under my eyes. It looks like I got sucker punched by a prized fighter. And this awful ratted hair of mine resembles a tumblin’ tumbleweed.”

  Reaching for her teasing comb, she stuck the end of it into her pile of sprayed, ratted hair, trying to lift it. “Good Lord! It’s all catawampus!” She said. With both hands, she carefully went about shifting the mass of frozen hair like she was trying to balance a bowling ball on the head of a pin. “Well, shit! I give up.”

  Inside Loretta’s forearms were bruises lined with healing needle pricks the size of skeeter bites. Her rusty elbows and knees were in need of a good scrubbing. Her bare feet appeared as if she’d been walking a long dirt road.

  “Never grow old, Poppy. You hear what I’m sayin’?” She turned to me with weary eyes. “Never grow old.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Stay young and lovely as long as you can.” Miss Loretta took a seat by me on the edge of the bed. “Beauty is the single thing we gals have that sets us apart.” She peered deep into my eyes, like she was sharing the only truth she knew. “Men have power and money and pride. But us Southern women gotta hold tight to our beauty and our figures, or life will slip through our fingers like the tiniest grains of sand. You wake up one morning, and you got bags under your eyes, and your knockers have slipped deeper south.” She grinned and shimmied her big titties. Laughing, she fell back onto the bed, beside me. “Men age like a fine red wine, but we women age like buttermilk left in the afternoon sun.”

  For as long as I could recall, men were hypnotized by Miss Loretta’s bountiful bosoms. Passing fellas gazed longingly at her knockers like they were the first set they’d ever seen. Her massive pair were prized and praised among the admiring men back in Mountain Home. She bathed, moisturized, powdered, and polished her two bulbous trophies every day before venturing out into the public. Obliging local fellas would accommodate her every request—a complimentary oil change, a free tire rotation, or unlimited soda pops at the picture show. Even my late Grandma Lainey admitted she’d consider getting herself a pair of knockers if it got her a discount with Kirby, our local plumber.

  “Has your Aunt Sookie been good to you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Very good. Well, you make sure to listen to her, and remember your manners. Say thank you and no thank you.”

  I said, “I miss my Lainey.”

  “Aww, baby.” Loretta took my hand and kissed it, then held it to her cheek like something cherished. “I bet you do. Your grandma is in a far better place. Lord knows that old woman has been knocking on heaven’s door for a long, long time. She always had one foot in the grave. The Almighty must have finally said fuck it and let her stroll through the pearly gates. She’s probably up there right this very minute, instructing the good Lord how to best arrange the sun, the moon, and the stars.”

  “Loretta, I found her sittin’ upright in her rocker on the front porch.”

  “What, child?”

  “Grandma Lainey was sittin’ upright with her eyes open wide, lookin’ out to the yard, like she was enjoyin’ the fine day parading right before her.”

  “I’m so sorry, baby.” Loretta gently ran her fingertips along my forearm.

  “No, Miss Loretta. I sat right at her side for the longest while.”

  “Aww, that’s so sweet.”

  “No. I sat there and talked to grandma for the better part of an hour without the slightest knowin’ that she’d passed over to the other side.”

  Loretta tilted her head slightly and thought on it. “Oh, I see. Well, Poppy, I ain’t a bit surprised. Frankly, it’s understandable. Your grandma was always a bit of a bore. God bless her soul. She was a woman of few words, and most of them words could put a hummingbird sound to sleep.”

  “I felt awful. It wasn’t until a house fly buzzed directly into grandma’s open mouth did I realize she had passed on to glory.”

  Loretta cleared her throat. “I see.” She ran her hand over the floral quilted bedspread. “Poppy, when I was your age, your Grandma Lainey sent me up here from Mountain Home to visit Sookie. I don’t think a single thing has change. Just look at these awful bed linens and those pitiful paper flowers. And is that old woman still wearing that gawd-damned bed robe?”

  I giggled, “Yessum.”

  “Well, that’s disgustin’. I’m certain critters are burrowing deep inside her pockets. I think we should take ourselves to Montgomery Wards and buy her a new one. What do you say?”

  “Absolutely not!” Sook objected, standing in the open doorway. “I see no good reason for lavish spending. Why squander a hard-earned dollar when this dressing robe is perfectly adequate?” She pulled the terrycloth sash, cinching it a bit tighter around her bloated belly.

  Loretta laughed, “Sookie, that ragged thang is thread bare, and you look like you’ve just battled a muddy hurricane. It’s well past time that it’s tossed in the bin.”

  “Nonsense.” She dismissed Loretta’s suggestion with a wave of her hand. “So, is it your intention to stay for a spell?”

  Loretta nodded her head. “Just for the shortest spell, Sook, until I can get my feet under me.”

  Sook remarked, “Poppy, looking at Miss Loretta standing here with her udders exposed to all of Savannah reminds me that the ice cream truck should be comin’ along anytime now. Go fetch me my change purse.”

  “No ma’am,” I protested, remaining on the bed, planted next to Miss Loretta.

  Sook looked at me hard. “Tha
t wasn’t a question, child.”

  Loretta gave my arm a push. “Run along, Poppy, like your Aunt Sook says.”

  I walked from the room but stopped short in the hall and listened on.

  “Loretta, I won’t have you startin’ no trouble here.” Sook’s tone took a harsh turn. “This ain’t Mountain Home, and I don’t have a soft underside like that fool-hearted Lainey. The first time I start missing money from my change purse or any of my silver goes missing, you’ll be booted out on the street so fast you won’t know what happened. You understand me?”

  The room went quiet. I pressed my ear closer to the door and could hear Loretta’s soft sniffles.

  “Sook, I need a break. I need to find my footing. It’s been so hard for so long. I promise I’ll be as quiet as a church mouse. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  “Loretta, you’ve never done right by that child, and I won’t have you comin’ into town messing with a young soul who’s already battling such peculiarities. I just won’t have it!”

  “Sook, all I need is a single chance to prove I’m on the straight and narrow. I swear, I’m clean as a whistle.” She held her forearms out in front of Sook, “Look, I’m on the mend. Three full weeks, clean as a whistle. Please, just one blessed chance.”

  “Sookie, I say, we give her a chance.” I poked my head inside the open door. “I promise I’ll keep a watchful eye on her.” I walked over and sat down at Loretta’s side. “If she steps out of line, Sook, I’ll come running. You’ll be the first to know.”

  Arms crossed tight, Sook grumbled low.

  Miss Loretta pulled me into her chest, my nose planted directly in between her two heaving bosoms. They smelled like sweat and the sweetest perfume.

  “Loretta, you can’t come spinnin’ into Savannah like a tornado and think I’ll permit your foolishness.”

  “Sookie, please,” I said. “Pretty please.”

  Loretta searched Sook’s eyes for a teaspoon of compassion. “I’m beggin’ you, Sook.” She pulled me even closer and pleaded, “Savannah was the only place I knew to run. I just had to come find my precious little baby boy.” Loretta squeezed me tighter. “Sookie, please, don’t keep me away from my baby boy.”

  CHAPTER 9

  There ain’t no use explaining something that don’t make a lick of sense: a soul being birthed into a world without the knowing of where it belongs. I suppose it will remain a mystery and lost to me for all of my days—a reckoning that lies just out of my understanding, like a hushed whisper too quiet to be heard.

  Grandma Lainey loved me in her way—as much as a person can love my sort. Being a God-fearing Christian, Grandma did her damnedest to grasp a hold of my predicament. Gripping my hand, she kept me near her side, protecting me from any mean-spirited folks back at Mountain Home.

  Delivering me to the front steps of our Baptist Church, she requested for our preacher to exorcise my perversion. Old Pastor Barnett kneeled at my side and placed his palms over my eyes. He prayed with a vengeance for my soul’s salvation, reaching for the sky, like Jesus was handing him down my redemption from the heavens. Suddenly, the pastor’s raging fire burned down to a silent ember. He mournfully mumbled through a long prayer while my grandma Lainey stood by, bawling sorrowful tears. The preacher cupped my chin in his hand, bringing my eyes to his, and asked, “Samuel, are you are healed? Are you redeemed in the blood of our Lord savior?”

  Being reared to be a respectful, considerate, and polite young boy, I nodded my head up and down.

  He shouted out, “Hallelujah!” like the final number on his bingo card had been announced over the loud speaker.

  Later, driving back to the house, Grandma Lainey adjusted her rear mirror to view me, sitting in the back seat. With concerned eyes, she asked, “Samuel, do you think it stuck? Do you think you’re healed?”

  I shook my head in the negative. “Nope. I’m suspecting Pastor Barnett didn’t pray on me with enough conviction to fix my broken parts.”

  It wasn’t long after our pastor’s failed attempt on a sweltering Sunday afternoon in a room behind the pulpit that Grandma Lainey asked the church ladies to pray for the healing of my abomination. The women gathered around, shedding anointed tears, and laid their hands on me. With their arms stretched high to the heavens, they praised Jesus and called on the Almighty to cast out my dress demon. I sat small on the folding chair while the church ladies whipped themselves into a fitful fury. Even though the summer sun was sizzling and the Holy Ghost was cooking inside the little back room, I reckon my pie was done baked. While the ladies were praying, I was itching to change from my britches and into my cool, cotton summer dress waiting for me back at home.

  After Jesus couldn’t unravel my messy, tangled affair, a worried Grandma Lainey whisked me away to Little Rock to visit with a fine fella once a week.

  Doctor Penn wore black-rimmed glasses and a pinstriped suit. He sat across from me, behind a big oak desk, and scribbled serious notes on a pad of paper.

  During those weekly sittings, I sat directly in front of the fellow while he gazed into my eyes like he was looking for a speck that he couldn’t find. For a solid hour, the nice man asked me a string of questions.

  “Samuel, can you tell me why you feel it necessary to wear these particular clothes?”

  I shrugged my shoulders up to my ears. “Dunno.”

  “Son, can you expand on this matter any further?”

  “Ain’t sure I understand what you’re askin’.” I surveyed his office, with its cherry-paneled walls and rows and rows of thick books.

  He cleared his throat. “Samuel, you’ve chosen to come here to meet me today in a girl’s dress. Most young boys wouldn’t desire to wear such attire. I’m sure you are aware that your grandmother is very concerned about this peculiar predicament.”

  “Yessum,” I answered. “She’s none too pleased. I don’t think she’s slept a wink in a month of Sundays.”

  “Do you think wearing this pink dress is the appropriate attire?”

  “No, sir. I wanted to wear my yellow one for you, but it was in the dirty-clothes hamper.”

  The dark-haired man bit down on the end of his pencil, chewing it like he’d skipped lunch.

  “The yellow dress is my favorite,” I confessed. “It has delicate white lace around the collar and small pearl buttons all the way down the back. If you’d like I can wear it for you next week.”

  His face turned the color of a ripe pomegranate. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you.” He gathered himself. “Did your grandmother purchase you the pretty yellow dress?”

  “Oh, no. She’d never do that. Miss Loretta bought them all for me. When she comes to town she’ll take me shopping. But, Grandma Lainey always hides my clothes. Twice, I found them buried in the bottom of the garbage bin out back.”

  “I see.” The doctor raised his eyebrow as if he’d discovered the missing word from a crossword puzzle.

  “When was the first time you decided you looked best in girls’ clothing?” He asked.

  “I was two months from turning eight years old. Loretta had come home to me. Her beau from Porterville had promised to marry her, but he got cold feet and ended up leavin’ Loretta in a motel outside of Fresno. She was mighty upset and got herself awfully messed up.” I added, “Doctor Penn, you’d best know my momma is a dope fiend.”

  He nodded his head. “Yes, Samuel. I understand that is the case.”

  “The best I can recall, Grandma Lainey sent Miss Loretta enough money for a bus ticket back to Mountain Home. And one afternoon, me and Loretta were in her bedroom. She was getting all gussied up to go out to the honkytonks for the night. We were laughing and carrying on. Just playing dress up. Bein’ silly. She pulled me over to her side, lined my lips with her colored stick, and then powdered my cheeks with a brush. In the mirror she fixed my hair with a lavender ribbon, pulled one of her blouses over my head, and slipped a pair of her cha-cha heels on my feet. Then Loretta took me down the stairs and paraded
me in front of Grandma Lainey. Poor ole Lainey pitched a fit and demanded, ‘Loretta, you take that boy upstairs and wash that makeup off his face, right this very moment!’

  “Miss Loretta laughed at Grandma, like she always does, and paid her no never mind.

  “Lainey grabbed me by the arm and with a washcloth scrubbed my face clean. But it was too late. It could never really be washed off,” I said. “After that day, I just knew.”

  “You knew what, Samuel?” He inquired.

  “I dunno, sir. I just knew that it felt right,” I replied. “The same way I feel when Grandma plays a hymn on her upright piano or the way the sun shines warm on my face. I understood that it was as it should be.”

  “Was it during this same period of time when you decided to let your hair grow out?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered. “And that didn’t sit well with my grandma Lainey. I woke one night to find her tiptoein’ into my room, like a cat burglar with a pair of her scissors.”

  “I told her, there in the dark, ‘Grandma, you can shave my head smooth as a bowling ball, but you can’t cut the girl from me.’”

  “And how did she respond? Samuel, what did your grandma Lainey say?”

  “Nothin’ at all. Grandma just stood there for the longest while, quiet as a ghost. And then, she left and closed the door behind her. After that night, I slept with a stocking cap.”

  “Are you frightened of being discovered by other folks? Or other little children?”

  “Doc, after those older boys busted me up, Lainey pulled me from school. Taught me from books, sitting at our kitchen table. I’ve always been a runt, so most folks have never known no better.”

  “Are you fine with being mistaken for a little girl?”

  I looked at him straight. “Doctor Penn, I am a little girl.”

  After my visits with the kindly doctor in the pinstriped suit, Grandma Lainey would treat me to a corn dog and a root beer at the A&W. When we had gobbled up our lunch, before we’d leave Little Rock for Mountain Home, Lainey and I would stroll, hand in hand, along the shops on Main Street in Little Rock.