Forever This Summer

by Leslie C. Youngblood

  “And seriously, lose the sandals. If you want to keep up with me, you gotta be ready to jet in a sec. See ya.” She saluted, then bent down and tightened a bolt on one of the wheels. “Oh, and if you have a few dollars, bring it.”

  “What do you think I’ll need it for?”

  “You just never know… incidentals,” she said and laughed. After two steps she added, “Go straight home and don’t take any candy from strangers. I don’t want your face all up on that Walmart bulletin board.”

  I gave her a lame thumbs-up. I headed the way I hoped was home. When I turned around, expecting to see Markie strutting down the street with her stroller, she was gone. Every time I could, I remembered landmarks we had passed, including an abandoned Coca-Cola building, which was itsy bitsy compared to Atlanta’s Coca-Cola world. I felt like I was on a scavenger hunt. Once I saw that beat-up-looking Food Depot sign my heart fluttered. From there I knew I could find my way back to the diner. I would just stop in to let Grandma and Aunt Essie know I was okay.

  It didn’t matter what it was Mama had for me to do tomorrow, whatever it was, I’d do it as my passport back to the diner.

  5

  GEORGIE ON MY MIND

  The next day, when I readied to leave the house, Mama sat on the front porch like a gargoyle. On the positive side, Aunt Vie sat in a rocker next to her. Since I’d been in Bogalusa, it was the first time she’d sat on the porch.

  “Good afternoon, Auntie.”

  Hugging her wasn’t always the best move. Mama taught me to wait. See how she reacts. But this time her eyes widened, and her face lit up. She was like a butterfly. I barely budged, scared I’d do or say something and she would go away.

  “How is your day, Aunt Vie?”

  She reached out, grabbed my hand, and squeezed it. It was warm and smelled of that lotion Grandma Sugar kept in the bottom of her purse. When I thought she’d let my hand go, she pulled me closer. Mama stood up so I could sit next to her. The grip she had was tight like the way you hold a balloon when you’re outside and afraid the wind will steal it.

  There was a neighbor watering plants across from us who waved. Mama and I waved back. When Aunt Vie waved, too, Mama and I smiled at each other.

  “It’s good to see you,” I said. “You look so pretty, Aunt Vie.”

  The wrinkles around her eyes looked like they’d even out with a light touch of your finger. Mama had braided her hair in six plaits and twirled them into Bantu Knots like she styled my hair for Cultural Appreciation Day at Sweet Apple. Aunt Vie didn’t let either of her sisters touch her hair the first few days we were in Bogalusa, so I knew this was something special.

  Aunt Vie studied me but didn’t speak. Then she reached out and ran the tip of her finger along my eyebrow. I closed my eyes and the gentleness of the touch was like her saying “I love you.”

  “’Bout time you come visit,” she said.

  I shot a glance up to Mama, who still had a light grip on Aunt Vie’s arm.

  “Why do you stay away so long?” She jerked her arm away from Mama and pulled me closer. “Why don’t you come more often? I missed you so.”

  “I missed you, too, Aunt Vie,” I said.

  And that was so true. But it was also true that I wished that I could have known her better. That I wished I had more memories of us. I hated what was happening to her that made her world like a chalkboard someone had erased. My heart ached thinking of Aunt Essie trying to label everything in the kitchen to help her remember. I’d give anything if Aunt Vie’s memories were permanent, like markers.

  We hugged and rocked back and forth. The scent of fresh-cut flowers sweetened the air.

  I closed my eyes. “I miss you, too.” I teared up. And that was really true. Even though I didn’t have memories of her, I knew there were memories of me that were locked in her heart. She’d share them with me if she could. Mama dabbed at her eyes. Since I’d been in Bogalusa, this was the closest I’d been to her knowing me. Remembering me.

  Mama said she used to sing verses of “Georgie on My Mind” to me. “Georgie, oh Georgie. Georgie, a song of you comes as sweet and clear… ” Mama said when I visited as a baby that was my lullaby. Mama, Grandma Sugar, and even Daddy sang it to me, as well. But she was the first, and I wished that she could look at me and sing it. Just a verse. And I’d remember it forever.

  Easing toward the screen door, Mama said, “Let me go get some lemonade.” She held the door so it wouldn’t slam behind her. Before she disappeared inside she said, “You okay, Georgie.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. It was a chance to show Mama that I wouldn’t do anything to upset Aunt Vie. I enjoyed sitting with her. And even though I hadn’t worked with Aunt Essie at the diner, at night we played Scrabble. She said that it was Aunt Vie’s favorite board game since they were kids because she loved to spell.

  She would have been the spelling champion of not just her school, but the entire town. But the local championships were held at the Bogalusa Country Club and Black people couldn’t attend events there. Black women could only cook and clean, and Black men could only be caddies.

  “Aunt Vie would have dusted all those kids,” Aunt Essie said and shook her head.

  “When she stopped wanting to play as often these past few years, I didn’t think anything of it at first,” Aunt Essie said. “There were so many clues that she wasn’t herself.”

  I didn’t know if I liked Scrabble more or less after that moment. Our English teacher taught us about the first African American girl to reach the final five of National Spelling Bee, MacNolia Cox. I wrote a book report on her and didn’t know that one of my great-aunts may have had a dream like MacNolia’s.

  Aunt Vie kicked her feet out a bit to rock. I did the same. I expected Mama to return any second, but her cell rang. Then I heard her talking on the phone to my stepdaddy, Frank. Through the open windows her laughter was soft and girlish like it used to be with Daddy.

  I glanced over at Aunt Vie and the question I’d been wondering floated out in the humid air.

  “Do you remember ‘Georgie on My Mind,’ Auntie?… Do you? Georgie, Georgie, such a sweet little girl, keeps Georgie on my mind.”

  My spirits lifted when she faced me. Mama said that it’s possible that sometimes what the doctor called “moments of clarity” come. My knees were shaking.

  “Why don’t you come to visit? I’ve missed you so much,” Aunt Vie said.

  “I missed you, too, Aunt Vie.” And even though I didn’t know her like I knew Grandma Sugar, who I’ve seen almost every day of my life, I heard stories about Aunt Vie, about Sweetings. And I remember talking to her on the phone a few times. I just thought when I saw her again, things would be how I imagined.

  Was it okay to miss that? I felt my throat tighten. Maybe it was what Mama felt: a feeling that changing the past wasn’t possible but you didn’t want to feel helpless. The grown-ups were all doing what they could do. It wasn’t Aunt Vie’s choice. It was that disease that was stealing memories that belonged to her, to us.

  There had to be something that I could do.

  I closed my eyes and imagined a way I could help. Mama said straightening the house was enough. But it couldn’t be. That wasn’t helping beat up this disease. That wasn’t stopping it from stealing from other people either. A few kids walked by and just like that, I had an idea.

  Aunt Vie squeezed my hand. “Marlashonda Jean. You’ll come by more?”

  My face fell. “Marlashonda Jean?”

  “Such a lovely name. But I know you like Markie better.”

  I figured that Markie worked with Aunt Vie at the diner. Or even if she’d started working there after Aunt Vie couldn’t, I knew Markie had to know Aunt Vie. Grandma said Aunt Vie knew most people in the community. But the way Aunt Vie said Marlashonda and wished that she was there with her, they had to have spent time together. Markie knew Aunt Vie much better than I did. And Markie didn’t mention it. Didn’t ask about her. My chest heaved. She had those memories an
d didn’t even seem to care.

  “Markie Jean?” she called, as if answering my unspoken question.

  “Yes, Auntie,” I said. Now I felt stupid thinking that Markie was the “summer me” because she worked at Sweetings and had more freedom than I had. Those things didn’t stack up to what I was realizing now. Markie had something I would never have: time with Aunt Vie before the bully took over. And that tingle of jealousy was prickling my skin again.

  “You won’t forget me, will you? You won’t forget about me, Markie Jean? I did the best I could.” She squeezed my hand tighter. Her eyes were watery with tears that must be falling on the inside.

  I didn’t want to press her, upset her. But she seemed alert. If she remembered Markie. Maybe I was in her mind, too.

  “Do you remember me? Georgie, Aunt Vie? Georgie on my mind? Do you remember that?”

  She patted my hand and looked beyond me like all the memories that were escaping her were in the leaves of that oak tree.

  Before I had a chance to ask again, Mama stepped onto the porch. In a singsong voice she said, “Got your favorite, Auntie.”

  I cleared copies of the Daily News and Essence from the wicker table between us as Mama sat down a tray containing four glasses and a pitcher of lemonade, cloudy with pulp.

  Aunt Vie kept rocking. I stood up and let Mama have my seat.

  “Everything go okay?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “Is it okay if I go up to the diner now?”

  I didn’t want to hear about Markie’s connection to Aunt Vie from Mama. I was going straight to Markie.

  “That’s fine,” Mama said. “And you know the rules, right? Diner and back home.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  Clearly neither Grandma Sugar nor Aunt Essie had told her that I’d left with Markie yesterday. And anyway, Mama was focused on Aunt Vie now. Her rocking was so forceful that Mama reached out and grabbed the arm of the rocker.

  “The lemonade is here, Aunt Vie,” Mama said.

  Before I headed to the diner, I realized I’d left my notepad. I needed to start planning out my way to help Aunt Vie.

  “Left something upstairs, Mama. I’ll be right back.”

  Once I was upstairs, I could hear Aunt Vie’s rocker clanking against the house. When I got to my room, I opened my door and picked up my notepad off the desk. I flopped on the bed. I flipped to a clean page and wrote the one word that had been circling in my head. FUNDRAISER. Before I’d mention it to Mama or any grown-up, I’d do my research. To get Peaches out of the hospital, I did all that I could. But Aunt Vie needs a different kind of help.

  When I was back downstairs, I heard Aunt Vie’s voice louder than I’d ever heard it.

  I walked toward the door until I heard Mama’s voice. The sadness in it made me stop, unsure if she’d want me to intrude and make matters worse.

  “Where is Hannah? Where is Hannah?” Aunt Vie shouted. “Tell me what you’ve done with her, Essie.”

  Ms. Hannah. I’d never met her, but Grandma Sugar said that she was Aunt Vie’s closest friend.

  There was no use in me trying to help Mama convince Aunt Vie that Mama wasn’t Aunt Essie. From the living room, I could see each of them, and I couldn’t do anything but stand there. The tears were coming just because I knew how Mama must be feeling. She wanted her auntie back. She made lemonade and wanted to sit and drink it with her. Two other glasses for company that happened along. But that bully was there. It snatches everything away from everyone. My whole body was tense. Calm down, Auntie. Please, calm down.

  “She’ll come and visit soon, Vie,” Mama said.

  Her words were soft and soothing. My heart pounded. I stood there helpless. I hated that disease as much as I hated the meningitis that tried to take Peaches from us. I balled up my fist until my nails dug into my skin. “Please calm down, Auntie. Please,” I said aloud this time, though I knew that she wasn’t in control.

  “You’ve never liked Hannah. You and Lilly both. Let us be. Let us be.”

  Instead of rocking, Aunt Vie leaned forward and tried to stand. Mama’s hand grabbed Aunt Vie’s wrist. Then there was just my heart beating. The world in slow motion. Aunt Vie yanked her hand away and she slapped Mama across the face. Mama’s cry of surprise and pain froze me where I stood. I’d never seen anyone hit Mama. And I wanted to shout out but I was scared to frighten Aunt Vie more. Then I saw Aunt Vie sit down. And slowly start rocking again. I ran outside. Mama stood holding her jaw.

  “Are you okay, Mama?” I whispered with a voice I fought to find.

  I wrapped my arms around her waist. She held me closer. Her chest trembling. “She didn’t mean it, Georgie,” Mama said. “She didn’t mean it. It’s the disease. My auntie would never hurt me. She loves me. She’s done so much for me. I should have come home sooner. Why didn’t I come home sooner?”

  “It’s okay, Mama,” I said. Aunt Vie sat rocking. “You’re here to help now. We’re both here.” Cars continued to ride by. The neighbor from across the street was standing at our gate. Mama held up her hand. He nodded and backed away. Mama kissed my forehead, then spoke into my hair. “I’m okay now. Are you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I knew I wasn’t, but I knew she wasn’t either. That’s just what people say sometimes when they’re trying to make the hurt go away quicker.

  “Just go on down to the diner. The heat. This heat is too much. I’ll get her back inside.”

  Aunt Vie stared at me. It wasn’t that she didn’t recognize me, but like I wasn’t there.

  I went to hug her, but Mama put her arm out to block me like she does in the car when she comes to an abrupt stop.

  “Not now, Georgie. Let’s not startle her,” she said. “And let me be the one to tell your grandma and auntie about this, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. She didn’t have to tell me why. I’d heard them talk about Aunt Vie’s mood changes and “how long” they’d be able to keep her home.

  “Get going. We’ll talk later.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  I wanted to forget the slap. But I was scared to forget anything. I heard about Alzheimer’s before, but it was different seeing its effects up close. Aunt Vie had spent all her years meeting all those people on the wall in her diner. They’d all left something for her to remember them by.

  And what about her family? Her sisters? Mama? Memories of them, of me and Peaches, were lost in her mind. At that second, I tried to remember every face I’d ever seen, everybody at Sweet Apple. All the good times we shared. It seemed only right that I tried my best never to forget anything. To never take memories for granted. My head ached as I fought. Maybe Aunt Vie couldn’t make more memories herself, but I could find ways to make more memories with her. And I knew there was something else I could do.

  We did it all the time at Sweet Apple. Once, we raised money for St. Jude Children’s Hospital by walking around the track. When I was sitting with Aunt Vie and those kids walked by, it made me think of it. People pledged money based on how many laps we walked. Nikki and I completed twenty laps. Mama and Nikki’s parents committed to five dollars a lap. Daddy “went big” with ten dollars a lap. I knew I wanted to do a fundraiser to help with research to find a cure. And I knew just the person who would help me.

  6

  MY BAD

  As I walked to the diner, I had so many questions floating in my head. Aunt Vie knew Markie, so Mama probably knew Markie better than she let on. Why wouldn’t Markie come see Aunt Vie? I needed to talk to Markie. When I arrived at the diner and opened the door, James Brown blared from the jukebox. A balding man stood with one hand pressed against it and the other hand fanning himself with a dollar bill.

  “You gotta update this jukebox, Mrs. Essie,” he said, “but I do love that lunch special.”

  I looked at the chalkboard behind the counter and read the special: Red Beans and Rice. Pork Chop or Chicken (Baked or Fried). Cornbread. Unlimited Homemade Sweet Tea or Lemonade. Bread P
udding or Peach Cobbler.

  “Did you fly here, girl?” Grandma Sugar came over and smoothed hair that had loosened from my twists. She then kissed my cheek and held me at arm’s length.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Oh, just hot,” I said. “I’ll cool off soon. Is Markie here?” I asked, looking around.

  “Now, did you come here for Markie or to help out today?”

  “To help,” I said, which was a little bit of a fib.

  “Well, could use help wiping down that counter over there and taking the dishes to the back.” She handed me a towel.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, and she was off greeting a customer. I cleaned the counter while sneaking peeks out the window, looking for Markie. I piled all the dishes on the tray. Forks and spoons sprouted out of the glasses like antennas. I took them through the swinging doors to the kitchen.

  Aunt Essie was standing over a skyscraper of gumbo pots. Steel pans hung from hooks on the ceiling. A griddle that had just recently been scraped clean was still sizzling and three fry baskets hung over pools of hot grease.

  “Hey, Georgie,” she said. “How you doing this morning?”

  “I’m fine, Aunt Essie,” I lied.

  “Glad your mama let you come over to help today. We’re putting gumbo on the dinner special. That normally brings in the crowd.… Sit those over there. Somebody’ll get ’em. Check with Markie Jean and see if she needs help.”

  “So she’s here?” I said and kissed Aunt Essie’s cheek.

  “’Fore day this morning,” Aunt Essie said. “Behind that partition there.” She nodded to the right, just after a baker’s rack stacked with cast-iron skillets.

  I sat the tray on the counter and peeked into the pot. “What’s all in it?”

  “Snow crab, andouille sausage, and, of course, the Holy Trinity.”

  “Green peppers, onions, celery.”

  “Bingo.”

  “Grandma Sugar taught me that. She puts chicken in her gumbo, though.”

  “There’s about as many variations of gumbo as there are beads at Mardi Gras,” she said and laughed.