My Water Path

by Timothy Joseph

  The pantry provided plenty to eat, including cans of soup and stew, peanut butter, jelly, tuna fish, bread, and cookies. I added utensils, a can-opener, and kitchen towel, stuffing everything in the bulging backpack. I tried to secure it to the little platform over the rear wheel of my bike, but it wasn’t very stable, so I put a broom handle down the little V formed by the frame at the back of the seat, and guided it into the bottom frame. I marked the length I needed and cut the broom off with a handsaw. I jammed it down again near the kickstand mount and it was nice and tight. I tied the backpack to the platform and the broom handle, and other than the bike being top-heavy, it held just fine. There was no way I could use my kickstand with so much weight on the back of the bike, so I leaned it against the shop bench.

  Seeing the bacon in the refrigerator made me hungry, and I wanted to eat a good meal before I left. Turning on the stove, I filled a pan with bacon strips and scrambled four eggs while bread was toasting. After eating, I cleaned the kitchen, went to my dad’s room, made his bed, put on his baseball cap, and looked around at his things for the last time.

  After studying the map from Dad’s car, I decided to go to the closest big town on the Mississippi River. West and a tad north was Greenville. I looked south, saw Vicksburg a little further away, and thought it made sense to go more south than north, for further away was probably better. On a slip of

  paper I wrote, South on Highway 49 to Yazoo City—30 miles, then Highway 3 south through Satartia, on to Redwood, about 40 miles, then Highway 61 south, 10 miles to Vicksburg. I put the paper in my pocket, folded the map, stuck it in the backpack, and set the odometer on the speedometer to zero. I was sure glad Dad had gotten me the speedometer. I knew it would help me know where I was by counting the miles.

  I drank as much cold milk as my belly would hold, put fresh water in the canteen, tied it to the backpack, and I mounted my bike. I started down the driveway and when I turned to go down the street, I glanced back at the house for the last time. I looked at the front door and wanted to go back inside and crawl up in Dad’s bed, but I knew what I had to do. “Goodbye, Dad,” I said aloud to the house. “Wish me luck. I wish you were going with me.”

  I rose off the seat, pushed down on the pedal, and headed toward the unknown. The weight of the loaded backpack threw the bike from side to side, but in no time, I was used to it. I headed out of Tchula thinking about buying a rowboat as soon as I reached the Mississippi River. I’d rig a top for it using the tarp, and I’d have a place to stay. I could head down river and explore and maybe find a good place not too far from Vicksburg and set up a permanent campsite. I’d have my bike, or boat, to go back and forth from town for supplies. A plan indeed, just like Huckleberry Finn.

  It was a long way to go, but I had plenty of time. I just needed to get as far away from Tchula as I could by Sunday evening. I had a full moon lighting my way and the going was easy. When I finally got tired, I looked at my dad’s watch and it was midnight. There was a pine thicket next to the road. I stopped, and using a flashlight walked my bike into the woods, leaned it against a tree, untied the tarp and the sleeping bag, and lit the lantern. Dinner was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, chocolate chip cookies, and orange-juice. I brushed my teeth and rinsed with water from the canteen. I spread out the tarp, unrolled the sleeping bag, and climbed inside. Being on top of all the pine needles it was quite soft. Sleep came instantly.

  * * *

  The sun was bright when my eyes opened. I crawled out of the sleeping bag, ate a few Ritz crackers with peanut butter, finished the orange juice, and packed up the tarp and sleeping bag. I headed down the road again figuring I wasn’t far from Yazoo City. I coasted down a long hill and wished it were downhill all the way to the Mississippi. There were few cars on the road, but occasionally someone would honk their horn and wave as they passed. I pedaled around a sharp curve and noticed ahead an old, green, Ford pickup truck on the side of the road. As I got closer, I saw someone rolling a tire toward the empty rear wheel well, and another tire lying nearby with a big flat spot in it.

  It was an old, colored man, and in the front seat was an old woman, surely his wife. I stopped when I got up to the truck. “Hi there. Need any help?”

  “Well, hello to you too, young man. Looks to me like you gots yourself two good tires. I gots three good ones and one that done went flat on me. Figure that.”

  “Sure is flat, all right. If I get a flat I’m in trouble; I don’t have a spare.”

  “You’s won’t likely get no flat, bike tires lasts a long time.”

  “Can I help you put the tire on?”

  “I’s just nearly gots it done, but it sure is heavier than it looks.”

  I leaned the bike against the truck and stood over the spare just as it was lined up with the lug bolts. I grabbed it with both hands and lifted as he lifted from the bottom, lined up the holes, and pushed it on. I reached down, took a lug nut, and spun it on.

  “I thank ye. Looks to me likes you’s a boy on a journey. Bout’s where you heading?”

  I spun on the others. “I’m heading for the Mississippi river. I’m, uh, meeting my cousin and we’re going camping on the river.”

  “Mighty long way to the Mississippi. You’s got lots of pedaling to do. Gonna take yous a piece for sure lessen you can really pedal fast.”

  “Well, I’m not in a hurry, and I love riding my bike.”

  He reached for the tire iron and made sure each lug nut was tight.

  “I sees,” he said. Gripping the top of the tire he stood up, and I helped him toss the old tire in the back of the truck next to a few hay bales and a couple of suitcases. “Jack goes up fine, but it don’t go down worth a flip.”

  “How will you get it down?”

  “Shows you.” He reached in the cab, released the hand brake, and put the tall shifter into neutral. We went to the back of the truck and started pushing. “On three,” he said. “One, two, three!” We both pushed hard, the truck inched forward, and off the jack it went with a thump, rolling a few feet forward. He reached down, grabbed the jack, and tossed it in the back of the truck with the tire.

  “Well, it sure worked,” I told him.

  “I’m taking Freda to her sister’s place. It’s quite a ways down the road and a whole lot closer to the Mississippi when I’s gots to turn. How’s bout I give you a lift for helping me? Seems the least I could do. Save you lots of pedaling.”

  “I don’t want to trouble you none, but thanks.”

  “You ain’t troubling me none, and there’s lots of room in the back for your bike. You’s can ride up front with me and Freda, lessen you’d rather ride in the back.”

  This was a good opportunity to put some miles on and get as far away from home as possible. “Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind.”

  “If’in I’d a mind, now I reckon I ain’t a asked. You wants to ride out here on the hay, or up front with us?”

  “Why, up front of course, if you’re sure there’s room enough for me.”

  We put the bike with my backpack in the back of the truck against the hay. He opened the passenger door. “Sugar, we’s gots us a young passenger. Scooch over a little.”

  I looked up at a petite, old woman with the nicest smile ever. Her eyes were brown crystals and she had the voice of the perfect grandmother. “Hi Sweetheart,” she said, “I’m Freda; now climb on in next to me. Nice to have some company.”

  She had a flowered bonnet on and what looked like an apron made with the same material. Her face had almost as many wrinkles as her husband’s, and they both carried an infectious smile. She reached out her hand and helped me pull myself up onto the seat next to her. I could smell her perfume, or maybe it was a soap smell, but it surely was the sweet smell of a grandma, if grandmas had a smell.

  “Thank you ma’am,” I said.

  The old man got in behind the wheel and slammed the door. He looked at me. “Jethro’s my name, friends call me Jeb.” He stuck out his big, black, wrinkled hand
.

  I shook it with a solid grip like my daddy showed me. I remember him telling me, “Always shake hands with a man sized grip; girls shake hands gently, men squeeze hard.”

  “Glad to meet you, Jeb, I’m Jory.”

  The old truck rattled down the road not a whole lot faster than I could do on my bike going down a steep hill. Freda asked me some questions about where I lived and where I was going. Jeb noticed my fishing pole and told me how he made a long cane pole out of bamboo. A while later Jeb slowed the truck way down and pulled to the shoulder, came to a stop, and shut off the engine.

  “We’s got’s to visit a tree—hope’s you don’t mind. Them gas stations don’t all have a bathroom for colored folk, and the ones that does, you don’t want to go in em, so’s we use the woods.”

  We got out and they crossed the road. Jeb went left and Freda went right. I headed into the woods on my side to do the same. In a couple of minutes we were all back in the truck and moving down the road as if we’d never stopped.

  We pulled into a gas station to fill up. There was a small café next door and I was getting hungry since I hadn’t eaten much for breakfast. “Can we get something to eat at the café?” I asked.

  “Not’s us,” he said, “we can’t go in there. But if yous want something, yous goes right ahead. We’ll go on past the café and wait for you.”

  “That’s all right, I don’t need anything.”

  “Yes you do, now you’s just go get something, have them put it in a paper bag, and you can eat in the truck.”

  I got out and walked to the café. I hopped up on a stool at the front counter and a nice woman asked me if I knew what I wanted. I asked her for three big hamburgers with cheese, and three french-fries, and three bottles of coke. “You must be really hungry,” she said, “coming right up.”

  “Oh, please put them in a paper bag, my mom and dad are getting gas.”

  “Sure will, Honey,” she said, smiling at me. I went to the restroom, unbuckled the belt around my chest, and took out one of the hundred dollar bills and put it in my wallet, figuring this was a good place to break it. I went back out and hopped back up on the stool.

  A few minutes later she handed me two warm brown paper bags and another with the sodas. “Here you go sweetie. Has anybody told you how cute you are? You have the prettiest curly hair I ever did see on a boy; you’re just precious. If you weren’t no stranger I’d hug you something fierce.” All I thought about was the kids at school teasing me about my curls.

  I looked down, embarrassed. When I handed her the bill she stared at it. “Ain’t seen one of these in a long time.” She took it to the cash register and brought back my change. She counted it out as she put it in my hand. “Now don’t lose this or your daddy will get mighty upset.”

  When she handed me the coins, I put fifty cents on the counter. “Is this enough for a tip?” I asked. “I’m not used to paying.”

  “It sure is honey. You’re just a sweetheart.”

  I hopped back in the truck with the bags. Jeb looked at me, “Lookin like you’s got yourself plenty to eat.”

  “Yup,” I replied.

  A few miles down the road Jeb asked, “Why ain’t you eating? You said you’s was hungry.”

  “I am. Would you mind pulling over to the side of the road?”

  “No, course not. You’s got’s to go again.”

  He pulled the truck off the road and turned off the engine as I opened the sack with the burgers. I handed Freda one, gave Jeb one, and put one in my lap. I handed each of them fries wrapped in white paper, and a cold bottle of coke. I got the napkins out and handed one to each.

  “What’s yous go and do that for? We’s gots some things to eat in the back of the truck.”

  I took a big bite of my hamburger; delicious. “Better start eating while it’s still warm,” I said, popping a French-fry in my mouth.

  “Then you lets me pay for these, okay.”

  “Nope! You paid for the gas, saving me lots of pedaling, so it’s an even trade, I’d say.”

  Freda took a bite of the burger, sighed, and said, “This is one mighty good hamburger. Tain’t had one like this in a long while. And I sure’s love fries.”

  Jeb took a big bite, and after chewing a moment said, “Yuppin, this shore is good. I declare, no one ever boughtin me a hamburger, surely not no little white boy. We thanks yous, young Jory; you’s be a mighty generous young fella.”

  I sat there in the old green pickup with old Jeb and old Freda feeling like they were family. I kept hearing, “Ummm! Ummm! Ummm!” as we ate our burgers and fries.

  We headed back down the road, and I was beginning to nod off. I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes. Sometime later I woke up against Freda. She had turned slightly sideways to lean against her husband, and pulled me into her. Both her arms wrapped around me, and my cheek was against her chest. When I opened my eyes, saw, and felt her arms around me, I wondered if this wasn’t exactly what it would have felt like if I had a mom. I felt comfortable, safe, and cared for; and these were perfect strangers. I didn’t want to change positions. I wanted to stay in her arms forever. I closed my eyes again and concentrated on the feeling to hold on to it for a few more minutes.

  We talked about all sorts of things, and I loved listening to Jeb’s stories. I looked at my watch and it was nearly six o’clock. Jeb pulled the truck over to the side of the road again and we all disappeared into the woods. When we got back to the truck, Freda said, “Okay, it’s my turn for vittles.”

  Jeb slid an old ice cooler over to the tailgate. Freda opened the cooler and took out a container with cold, fried chicken. I’d never had fried chicken cold before, but I was hungry again. She had a big, round loaf of homemade bread and sliced us each a big piece.

  “She smiled at me. “You likes legs, thighs, or the breast? Gots em all.”

  “I kinda like legs,” I said, feeling selfish for saying it. “But I like any part just as well so it doesn’t really matter.”

  “Well ain’t that something? You likes legs, Jeb likes thighs, and I likes the white breast meat. No fightin in this family is there now?”

  “Nope, sures enough works out perfect, I’d say,” Jeb replied.

  She held the open container toward me, and I reached in and took out a leg. I smiled and took a bite of the chicken wondering if I’d like it cold. Well, I didn’t like cold fried chicken, I loved it. It was the best fried chicken I ever ate, even if it was cold. I finished every scrap of meat on the bone and tossed it in the woods. “Boy that was really good, thank you.”

  Freda smiled at me again. “There be two legs on every chicken,” she said, handing me the container again. I took out the other leg, which I really wanted, and she handed Jeb the other thigh.

  “Thank you.”

  “Thanks you for the hamburgers, Mr. Jory.”

  Mr. Jory. I thought back to what my dad had told me at the store about how colored folk respect you when they use your first name with a Mr. It made me smile.

  Without looking at me, Jeb asked, “What’s yah running away from, Son? Has you gots a mean daddy? You can trust old Jeb.”

  My heart picked up speed. I knew I could trust Jeb and Freda. “No… I had the best daddy in the whole world. He died a couple of weeks back. The State is going to send me to a horrible place. The kids there call the woman Momma Bitch. I can’t go there, not ever.”

  “Heavens, boy,” Jeb said, "I’s so sorry ’bout your daddy. My, my.”

  Freda’s hands were at her mouth. She put her arm around me and pulled me against her. “Oh, I declare! I’s so sorry. Oh, my word! You poor boy.” I heard her sniff, and saw tears leaving her eyes.

  Jeb said, “How you’s gonna get along by yourself?”

  “I’ll do fine. Don’t exactly know how, but I’ll do fine anywhere but at that place.” I didn’t want them worrying. “I’m going to my second cousin’s place and see if I can stay there.”

  “Well, that’s good. And
I’m sure they will want such a fine boy,” Freda said. “Ifin yous were colored I’d take yous to lives with us.” I thought about how wonderful that would be.

  When we were done eating Jeb said, “We’s got’s to turn north at the junction up ahead. Redwood is just down a piece and yous don’t have very far to the Mississippi. It’s be getin dark so yous can’t make it today. What’s yah gonna do for tonight?”

  “I’ll just camp out like I did last night in the pine woods. It was fun.”

  “Well, yous be careful, you hear?”

  “Yes, Mr. Jeb.”

  Several miles down the road, Jeb pulled the truck over on the shoulder and got out. I opened the door and turned around to say goodbye to Freda. “Well, I best be moving on,” I said, “I sure thank you for having me along.”

  Freda looked at me with a smile, only this time it was a sad smile, and her eyes glistened with tears. “You’s ain’t going nowhere without giving Freda a big hug goodbye first.” I reached up and she gave me one big bear hug and patted me on the back. “I’s wishin you’s was my grandson, I’s shore do. Oh, Honey, now yous takes good care of yourself, yous hear me? I’s gonna be thinkin bouts you, and worrin. Oh, my! I don’t want yous to go, I’s just don’t. Oh my!” She squeezed me harder. I didn’t want to go.

  “I’ll be careful, and thank you again.”

  She let go, and as I moved away, she kissed my cheek. “Goodbye son, you’s takes care.” I figured her calling me son was even more of an honor than being called Mr. Jory.

  “Goodbye,” I said, and reached up and kissed her on the cheek, and we hugged again. As I closed the door of the truck, I saw Freda wipe her eyes with a flowered handkerchief.