Just when the leaves were turning was when Grandpops started getting sick.
“Where’s your grandpa?” Fuller asked me the second day I walked all the way to school with them.
“He ain’t been feeling good,” I told him.
Think they liked getting a ride in Grandpops’ truck, but I liked the walking ’cause it meant I had more time with Little Leonard and Fuller. Half the time we raced each other till we were just ’bout out of breath. But soon as we saw the school bus coming down the road, taking the white kids to their school across town, we’d jump in the ditch to hide so we didn’t get the dust from the wheels in our faces and have to hear the nasty words they yelled from the window. Only when it passed good, we’d throw rocks at the back of the bus, knowing we’d miss, but feeling good we did something. Sometimes we’d yell our own bad words, not so loud anyone could hear, then laugh till our sides just about bust.
When Grandpops hadn’t gone to work for two weeks and wasn’t getting any better, Ma started making less food, not even enough for second helpings. First, I thought it was ’cause Grandpops was barely eating, then I saw her counting coins out of her purse ‘fore she went into town for groceries. Ma prayed half the night, begging God to “see us through.” Didn’t know if she meant the money, or Grandpops, or both. Was barely enough food for my lunch sack.
Now, every day I got home from school, Grandpops was sitting up in bed looking smaller and smaller. After the doctor came and looked Grandpops over good, Ma told me the doctor said it was his heart. But when I asked Grandpops how his heart was feeling, he told me, “Still pumping,” and I thought that meant he was getting better.
When I came home from school, first thing I went straight to his room.
“There’s my Lymon,” he said, like he’d been waiting all day for me to come home.
“Look at this, Grandpops,” I’d tell him, ’cause just ’bout every day I brought something home to make him feel better. Grandpops was always looking over the things I collected like I found buried treasure. So, I showed him the rock that looked like a star and a brown and white feather with fat stripes all the way down.
“Woowee, you got some finds today, didn’t you,” he said so quiet I had to lean in close. I put the feather in his hand. His skin felt dry as tree bark. The wiggly veins sticking up made his hand look like a map.
“What kind of feather you think this is?” I asked him.
He turned it over and looked close. “This here’s an owl feather. Probably that one we hear making all that fuss outside your window all hours of the night.” He smiled.
“When I get up from this bed, me and you gonna have to do some more feather hunting. But let me rest just a bit more now.” Grandpops closed his eyes. When his breathing got heavy, I went out to the parlor and took out his guitar. Polished it up for him. It was a long time since he had his Friday night friends over to play.
Next day when I got home from school, I didn’t have any treasures, but Grandpops said, “Play a little something for me, son.” I ran and got the guitar.
“I polished it for you,” I told him.
“Can see that. You taking such good care of my baby, I’m gonna have to give it to you to take care of till I get back on my feet.”
“Me?” I asked him.
“Yes you. Now let’s see what you got.”
I started in playing.
“Careful now with that chord,” he’d said when I messed up. “The C sharp can be tricky.”
Ma stopped fussing after me to do chores long as I was in with Grandpops. She let me sit hours by his bed, and never said one thing ’bout setting the table or taking out the trash. Seemed every day Grandpops talked less and less till he finally stopped talking at all. Even then, I’d sit by the bed, rubbing his hand. I even told him ’bout how pretty Miss Stokes was and the bad words I yelled at the white-people school bus. But nothing could made him talk.
Aunt Shirley came by every Sunday with her almost grown-up daughters, Sis and Flora, and I could hear them in the kitchen talking ’bout Grandpops and crying to Ma. Grandpops’ Friday-night friends started coming ’round too, Mister Joe, Mister Bastion, and Mister Stroud. They stood at the foot of his bed, heads hung low. Heard Mister Joe singing one of Grandpops’ favorite songs, not loud like he sang on Friday nights, but soft as a whisper, like he was telling Grandpops a secret.
FOUR
Vicksburg, Mississippi 1941
ONE day after school, Ma had me wait out on the porch while she brought in the basin of hot, soapy water to wash up Grandpops. It was finally cooling down some, and I was in the front yard flinging pebbles at an empty bottle of soda pop when I heard a car coming down the road.
I hadn’t seen Aunt Vera and Uncle Clark since before my daddy went away. And even though their big gray car was covered in dust, Aunt Vera looked like a fancy movie star when she got out. She had a red scarf tied around her head and sunglasses and high heels women wear to church on Sunday mornings. I ran to the trunk to help with the suitcases, and she kissed me ’bout ten times.
“I can’t believe how big you’ve gotten, Lymon,” she said, and kissed me some more. Uncle Clark shook my hand hard.
First, I was just glad to see Aunt Vera, till I realized if she was home and it wasn’t summertime, there must be something important going on. Right away Aunt Vera went in to see Grandpops. He wasn’t talking anymore then, but you couldn’t tell Aunt Vera that.
“Daddy, I’m here,” she told Grandpops. “How you doing today, Daddy?”
I thought Ma should have told her that Grandpops couldn’t answer. Uncle Clark got their things settled into her old room, and finally Aunt Vera left Grandpops’ room, wiping her eyes. She changed into a flowery housecoat and went into the kitchen to help Ma with dinner. Uncle Clark sat out back smoking a cigarette while they talked.
‘Fore long I heard Aunt Vera crying some more.
“Deliver him, God,” she said over and over. “Deliver him.”
“Hush now, Vera,” I heard Ma tell her. “He can still hear you.”
In the morning, Ma didn’t wake me up like she usually did, but I could hear Aunt Vera crying and praying, and Uncle Clark saying, “It’s gonna be all right, Vera.” Didn’t hear nothing from Ma. The door to Grandpops’ room was open wide. Ma’d been keeping the curtain closed so the room stayed cool, but now the curtains were pushed away from the windows so it was bright as could be. Aunt Vera and Ma looked up as I walked in. Grandpops was lying still in the middle of the bed.
“He’s gone on, Lymon,” Aunt Vera said.
“Gone on to heaven?”
“Yes, Lord willing.” Aunt Vera pulled me close.
They laid Grandpops out in the front room to wait for the funeral people to come and get him the next morning. I sat outside, missing supper, afraid to go in till Ma told me to come on and get washed up for bed. She let me hold her hand when I walked past Grandpops. That night after all the lights were out and the house was quiet, I lay in my bed wide awake, wanting to go out and make sure he was really gone, but too scared to do it. When I sat up, I heard Ma, moaning low. Sounded like her head was in her pillow.
Aunt Shirley brought me a shirt and hand-me-down suit, too long in the arms. I had to wear my old shoes, but Ma polished them up good.
“Your grandpop be proud to see you looking so strong and handsome,” Aunt Shirley said. “Looking just like your daddy.”
“Is he coming?” I asked her.
“Is who coming, baby?” she said.
“My daddy.”
She put her head down and fussed with the collar on my shirt. “Your daddy can’t come just yet, but we need you to be a little man for today.”
I nodded, and I didn’t say my daddy was a real grown man, not a boy like me dressed like one.
I still waited for Daddy to come, all the way till we got in the car to go to the church.
* * *
People I never seen before shook my hand. Told me, “He’s gone on to a bette
r place” and “You take care of your grandma now, hear?” Felt like they were talking to someone else. Ma hit my arm to tell me it was time to walk up front with her one last time, ‘fore they laid him down. I walked as slow as I could till I was the last in line. Looking at Grandpops in his best suit and tie he wore to other folks’ funerals, I stood there just wishing I could hear his voice one more time.
When no one was looking, I reached in my pocket and pulled out the owl feather I brought and put it on top of his dry hand ‘fore they closed the box he was laying in.
FIVE
Milwaukee, Wisconsin 1942
AFTER Grandpops passed, Aunt Vera, Uncle Clark, and Aunt Shirley had a meeting, sitting ’round the kitchen table with Ma. I stood close outside the room so I could hear.
“Ma, me and Clark think you and Lymon should come on up to Milwaukee with us,” Aunt Vera told her.
“We ain’t going nowhere,” Ma said. I could hear the mad in her voice but a little bit of scared too. “I’m gonna stay right here.”
“Ma, we barely had enough to put Daddy in the ground. There just ain’t enough…” Aunt Vera said.
“I’ll stay with Shirley.” I didn’t hear nothing from Aunt Shirley but a long breath, like she was tired. “Ma, you know I ain’t got the room for both of y’all.”
I heard Ma push her chair back and I had to run into my room so she couldn’t tell I was listening.
After that, it felt like Ma was dying slow just like Grandpops. She stopped speaking and wouldn’t eat her supper.
“Can I go outside?” I’d ask her, just to get her to talk, but she pretended she didn’t hear a word.
Aunt Vera told me, “Don’t mind her, Lymon. She’ll come around soon enough.”
And one night she did. Ma was in the kitchen washing dishes, when Aunt Shirley came by. She went into the room with Aunt Vera and the two of them whispered for a long time. They came out together and walked into the kitchen. I stood quiet outside the door, listening. Aunt Vera said, “Ma…we gotta talk.” But instead of Ma answering, I heard a pot bang in the sink.
Just when I thought they were gonna get tired of waiting for Ma to say something, Aunt Shirley tried again. “We’re gonna help you pack up all your things, Ma. I think you’re gonna like Milwaukee. Vera and Clark…” Ma didn’t stop washing the dishes.
“How you know what I’m gonna like?” Ma said.
I put my hand over my mouth ’cause I almost made a sound.
“Milwaukee’s a real pretty city, Ma,” Aunt Vera said. “And my pastor, Reverend Lawson at Calvary…”
“I ain’t going,” Ma said.
It was quiet again.
“Ma…we told you—” Aunt Vera started soft and slow.
“And I told you,” Ma said, mean as I ever heard her. “We’ll make out fine here. First I lose Frank, and then I gotta lose my home?”
Aunt Vera ran out the room crying so fast she didn’t see me standing near the door.
I waited to see if Aunt Shirley was coming out too, but then I heard her talking again. “Ma, you ain’t got no choice. Daddy would want us to see you and Lymon were looked after. This is the way it’s gotta be.” Aunt Shirley walked straight out the house and I heard her start her car.
Even though the water was still running from the faucet, I could hear Ma crying, “Lord, Lord…”
* * *
After that, Ma seemed too tired to fight with Aunt Vera or Aunt Shirley. I didn’t hear any more crying or moaning at night, just quiet. ’Specially when she started packing up all our clothes into four beat-up suitcases. Don’t think she said more than two words in the car, all the way to Milwaukee.
* * *
Wasn’t so much that I was looking forward to going to school in Milwaukee, but I spent the whole summer watching Ma get meaner and meaner. To me, Aunt Vera, to just ’bout everybody. And I wasn’t used to having to live with so many people. My cousin Dee and her husband were living there with their baby. I slept in one room with Ma, and they slept in the room next door, but their baby, Essie, cried all night long. Milwaukee wasn’t as quiet as Vicksburg, but I had to go outside just to hear myself think. Most times I played in back by myself on the worn-out patches of grass, digging up ants and worms or playing soldier, sometimes just trying to remember the songs Grandpops taught me on the guitar. When we left Vicksburg, we could barely fit all the suitcases in the car, and then Uncle Clark told me, “We don’t have room for that guitar, son.”
Ma spoke loud then.
“We’ll make room,” she told him. Uncle Clark squeezed it in the last spot he could find.
Right before school was starting, we moved from Aunt Vera’s onto Lloyd Street. Miss Dot lived next door with her son Lenny, but he was old too. A man with a cane lived across the street. Some of the houses were empty, and one house looked like a house but it was really a church. We could hear the whooping and shouting every Sunday morning and sometimes in the middle of the week when Ma said they were having Bible study. “Ain’t a need for all that shouting when you learning the Word,” she said sucking her teeth. When Ma wasn’t looking, I threw up my hands and made like I got the spirit too.
* * *
Aunt Vera signed me up for my new school at Fourth Street Elementary in Milwaukee. I tried not to get too sad thinking about how on my last first day of school, I sat with Grandpops in his truck, now I was walking with just me and Ma. I think Ma was trying not to think about it too ’cause she let me wear my best shirt and the pants from the suit I wore to Grandpops’ funeral. She got up early and made me more eggs and bacon than I could eat. She could walk pretty good then, but we left early so she could take her time. I was in a hurry, hoping I’d finally meet some boys in Milwaukee. I walked so fast, I had to keep turning ’round to come back for her. She told me more than once to “slow down.”
Even though she left early, Ma walked so slow we got there same time as everyone else. Everyone came walking with their mommas or daddies, sometimes both, but not a one that I could see came with their grandma. That’s when I slowed down. The girls were in dresses and the boys dressed as nice as church Sundays.
This school looked like the picture in my head. Big and brick with steps in the front. Made me stop to take it all in.
“What you waiting for?” Ma said too loud when I stopped walking. “Go on ahead.”
I saw some of them turn and look at me and look at Ma and her swolled legs and raggedy dress. I had to hold her hand to go up the stairs, and by the time we got to the door we were the last to go in.
“I’ll go by myself, Ma,” I said. Hoping maybe some of the others didn’t see me with my grandma.
“I come all this way, now you want me to go home? Let’s get on to the class.” We walked down a long hallway to room 114 till we saw a tall white teacher waiting at the door.
“Good morning,” she said to Ma. “Welcome to Fourth Street Elementary.” She was young and pretty, with her two front teeth sticking out far like a rabbit, but nowhere near as pretty as Miss Stokes. “I’m Miss Arthur. And what is your name?” she bent low to ask me.
“That’s Lymon,” Ma said, ’fore I could even answer. “He gets fidgety, but if he acts up, you let me know.”
“I’m sure we won’t have any problems, right, Lymon?” she said smiling.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Say goodbye to your…mother?”
“I’m his grandma,” Ma said.
“Oh? Will I be meeting his parents?”
“No, you will not,” Ma said. “Like I said, if he don’t mind you, let me know.” Ma nodded at me, and Miss Arthur told me to go in and find a seat.
I walked into a room with windows across one whole wall. There wasn’t a potbellied stove in the corner for heat like at my old school, just a big ole radiator in the corner. Didn’t take long for me to find some boys to sit with. All the girls with their pretty dresses and bows sat on one side. Every one of them dressed fancy, with their hair pressed and shiny with Sweet Georgia Brown
pomade like it was Easter Sunday, sat up front near the teacher’s desk. Could tell here I wasn’t going to find anyone like Little Leonard and Fuller. I tucked my scuffed shoes under my seat. One of the boys sitting close to me asked, “That’s your momma who brought you?”
“Nah,” I said. “That’s my ma.”
“So that is your momma?”
“No, that’s my grandma.”
“Why do you call her Ma?”
Said I didn’t know, just what I called her.
“She looked old.”
One boy asked, “Where’s your real Ma?”
I moved away and found another seat. Miss Arthur walked in and looked as white as cotton in a room filled up with brown faces. She gave us pencils and paper and Miss Arthur told us to first write our names at the top and copy the words from the chalkboard. She walked up and down the rows looking from side to side at our papers, saying, “Nice work” and “Beautiful penmanship,” but when she got to me, she stopped.
“Take your time, Lymon,” she said. “We do our best work in this class.” The boy behind me laughed soft. I moved my arm on top of my desk, half covering my paper, so no one could see my big, wobbly letters. I didn’t have Miss Stokes to put her hand over mine and help me, and when I thought about her, I pressed down hard and broke my pencil.
When I left in the morning, I could barely wait to get to school, but between Ma and the questions, the fancy dresses and the boys in their shirts and ties, my wobbly letters and broken pencil, all I wanted to do now was go home.
* * *
School never did get much better after the first day. Nice as Miss Arthur was, she wasn’t Little Leonard or Fuller or even Miss Stokes. Out on the playground, sometimes I joined in with the other boys playing tag or kickball, but when it came time to walk home, seemed like everybody went to one part of town and I went to another. Even though I was never ’shamed about having a daddy at Parchman, I was ’shamed now ’bout Ma and her swolled legs and not having any people in Milwaukee ’sides her and Aunt Vera’s family. In Vicksburg, it felt like just ’bout everybody was family. And if they weren’t, they knew the type of people I was from.
Leaving Lymon Page 2
