Give Me Wings

by Joy Redmond

  Carnikko’s face brightened. “That’s right Daddy. We’s as good as anybody.”

  Daddy patted her leg and said, “That’s right, Punkin. We’s poor, but we ain’t trash like them damn Winstons say. They think your mama married beneath her because she speaks all proper and she’s got a high school diploma. And I’ll tell ya somethin' else. We ain’t no wimps either. We don’t take no shit off nobody!”

  Carnikko nestled her head against Daddy’s chest as he stroked her hair and continued, “I was a poor kid too. I didn’t even have as much as you do when I was yer age, so I don’t wanna hear no bellyachin' about fancy clothes.”

  She raised her head and said apologetically, “I didn’t mean to be bellyachin', Daddy. I was just tellin' ya what happened today.”

  “I know ya didn’t, Punkin,” Daddy said softly. “When I was in school, I only had one pair of britches, and they were about three inches too short. It looked like I was expectin' a flood. I only had one shirt, and half the buttons was gone—and my coat sleeves was so short they come up almost to my elbows.” Daddy paused to take a long drag, then exhaled the smoke through his nose. “I’ll never forget that gawddang coat.”

  Carnikko put her head on her daddy’s chest again and played with the curly hairs that stuck out above his T-shirt collar as he continued. “My shoes had holes in the bottom, so Pappaw cut up pieces of cardboard, and I stuffed ꞌem into my shoes to keep the snow out.”

  Carnikko felt her feet begin to chill as she thought about snow filling Daddy’s shoes. She shivered as Daddy continued.

  “In the summertime, I didn’t have no shoes at all—I just run barefoot. There was days that I didn’t have nothin' to eat, either. I was a cold, hungry ragamuffin, that’s for sure.”

  Carnikko looked into Daddy’s eyes and said, “But, Daddy, did the kids laugh and make fun of ya when you were in school?”

  Daddy tossed his cigarette butt away and said fiercely, “Well, lemme say this, Punkin. Ain’t no sumbitch ever laughed at me more than onced. I put knots on a bunch of people’s heads who thought they was better than me.”

  Before Carnikko could say anything, Daddy looked at his daughter and said, “Don’t ever let nobody run over ya, Punkin. Ya stick up for yerself and don’t let no damn morons fu—er, I mean, fool with ya. Be like yer ol’ man—one tough sumbitch!”

  Although Daddy didn’t finish his word, Carnikko knew what he almost said. Daddy only said the “F” word when he was what Mama called rip-snorting drunk. She almost giggled but managed to say, “Daddy, can I bust those kids in the mouth like you did? I ain’t scared of ꞌem, but I’m scared of what might happen with the teacher if I do,” Carnikko said resolutely.

  Daddy was silent for a moment, then said, “Yeah, I say bust ꞌem a good one—and if ya get in trouble with yer teacher, I’ll go to that school and stick up fer ya. We’re Randalls, and there ain’t nobody gonna push us around—and don’t you ever forget it!”

  “Okay, Daddy. I’ll think about what you said, but I s’pose they’ll find somebody else to pick on tomorrow, anyway.”

  “Maybe,” Daddy said, nodding his head, “but you remember what I told ya. If you need to bust a few heads, I’ll back ya up. Now let’s go in the house. Mama’s probably got supper ready.”

  At the supper table, nobody said a word. The look in Daddy’s eyes, and the smell of whiskey on his breath told them it wouldn’t be a good idea.

  That night Carnikko couldn’t go to sleep for a long time as she thought about what her daddy had told her. She dreaded going back to school in the morning, but Daddy told her to hold her head high and not be ashamed—and she was determined to try.

  And if she couldn’t do that—well, she’d just fly away.

  Chapter Ten

  Carnikko managed to make it through her first year of school without having to tear into the mean girls, even as much as they deserved it. Each time they tried to get to her, she crossed her arms over her chest and gave them the “evil eye.” Daddy had always said that nobody ever started trouble with him because his mean looks scared them away. Carnikko was happy to discover that the same thing worked for her.

  One mid-October afternoon, Carnikko sat on the front porch swing, waiting for Daddy to come home from work. There was a nip in the air, the leaves were turning colors, and some of them had already fallen. Fall was her favorite time of the year.

  When she heard the tractor-like roar of the Model T as it climbed the hill, she jumped off the porch swing and ran across the yard, but she stopped when she saw Daddy open the car door, then lean back inside and wrestle with something on the front seat.

  “Whatcha got there, Daddy?” she asked.

  Daddy laughed and said, “It’s a baby pig. Ol' man Gish said it was the runt of the litter and that I could have him if I wanted to fatten 'im up.”

  He took the squirming piglet and held it out to Carnikko. “Here, take it. It’s gonna be yer responsibility.”

  “Really, Daddy?” She wrapped her arms around the piglet, which immediately began to squeal and kick. “I don’t know, though, he don’t seem to like me!”

  Daddy laughed and said, “He likes ya fine, but hold on to 'im. If he gets loose, we’ll never be able to catch 'im. He’ll get used to ya after while. Then he’ll stop fussin'.”

  Daddy put his hand on Carnikko’s shoulder and led her toward the house. As they stepped into the house, Carnikko called out, “Looky what Daddy brought home! A pig! We gotta fatten him up.”

  The boys ran to her side, each trying to grab the piglet from her arms. The piglet again began to squeal and squirm, so the boys backed away.

  “It’s okay,” Carnikko explained. “Daddy says once he gets used to us, he won’t squeal no more.”

  The boys didn’t seem interested in the pig. They just watched as Carnikko hurried to look for one of Evan’s blankets. “Don’t worry, Piggy, I’ll keep ya warm,” she said as she wrapped the pig tightly. She carried him around like a newborn baby for the rest of the afternoon. After supper, Carnikko fed Piggy the scraps. He didn’t seem to have much of an appetite, but she figured it was because he was a baby. When he finished eating, she wiped his mouth on her dress hem, then wrapped him in the blanket and held him tightly to her chest as she hummed.

  Daddy sealed off an enclosure for the pig under the back porch before they all went to bed.

  The next day was Saturday, and Carnikko quickly ate a bowl of oatmeal, then slipped on a sweater and headed out the back door to check on Piggy. She squatted, reached under the porch, then let out a bloodcurdling scream.

  Daddy was in the chicken house gathering eggs, but came running when he heard Carnikko screaming. He found her frozen in place, staring under the porch in disbelief.

  Daddy squatted down and when he looked under the porch, he saw the pig was belly up. “I’m sorry, Punkin. I guess Piggy was just too little—”

  “Wake 'im up, Daddy!” Carnikko wailed.

  “I can’t wake 'im up, Punkin. He’s dead,” he said with sadness that Carnikko had never heard in his voice before.

  “Dead? No!” Carnikko wailed even louder.

  “I’m sorry,” Daddy repeated, “but sometimes animals just die.” Before Carnikko could say anything more, he added, “I know it’s not easy, but death is part of livin'. We don’t have to like it, but that don’t change it one bit.”

  Daddy picked up Carnikko, carried her to the porch, and sat her down on the top step. “You sit tight till I get back. I’ll take Piggy to the woods and bury 'im.”

  Carnikko jumped up and said, “No, Daddy, I’m goin' too. I wanna tell Piggy bye before ya bury 'im.”

  Daddy sighed. “Okay, follow me.” He walked to the tool shed where he found a shovel and a burlap sack. He returned to the porch and stuffed the tiny pig into the burlap, flung the sack over his left shoulder, and picked up the shovel.

  “Come on, Punkin, let’s go,” he said with the same sadness. Daddy didn’t sound like one tough sumbitch at that moment
.

  She followed close behind him as they made their way into the woods, and she squatted by the hole as Daddy dug in the soft ground. She was silent as Daddy dropped the burlap sack into the grave and began to shovel the loose dirt back into the hole. When the hole was filled, he packed the dirt with the back of the shovel. He held out his hand and said, “Okay, Punkin, that’s that.”

  Carnikko didn’t say a word as they walked slowly back to the house, but when Daddy looked down, he saw tears running down his brave little daughter’s face. He gently ruffled the top of her head and smiled, but she didn’t smile back. She reached out, grabbed Daddy’s coattail, wiped her nose and eyes, but didn’t say a word.

  As he was putting the shovel in the tool shed, he said, “Hey, we’d better hurry and see if Mama and the boys are ready. It’s Saturday, and we hafta go see Mammaw and Pappaw. Mammaw’s probably wonderin' where we are.”

  Carnikko’s face brightened. “Yeah, I wanna see Mammaw. She’ll tell some funny stories, and she’s always got fried rabbit and squirrel and biscuits and gravy.”

  Mama and the boys were ready to go when they walked into the house, so they all went out and piled into the old Model T. Most Saturdays there’d be eight or ten cousins at Mammaw and Pappaw’s house and there’d be lots of laughing and playing, followed by a late afternoon game of hide-and-go-seek.

  Carnikko was the first one out of the car. She bounded the steps and flung open the front door that led to the living room. Mammaw was sitting in the rocker next to the front window. Carnikko climbed onto Mammaw’s lap before her brothers were even in the house. She loved Mammaw—and especially her stories. Mammaw had a flare for the dramatic, just like Daddy, and when she told a story, the events seemed to unfold right before Carnikko’s eyes.

  She nestled her head between Mammaw’s large breasts, which felt like soft pillows. It was comforting, peaceful, and warm. “Tell me a story, Mammaw,” she said.She loved it when Mammaw laughed while telling stories because her shaking body bounced Carnikko’s head around like a rubber ball.

  As the others joined them in the living room, Mammaw began telling the story about how Daddy and Uncle Carl lugged their haul home after they had raided ol’ man Gilmore’s apple orchard and watermelon patch. When Mammaw paused to take a breath, Carnikko looked at her and asked, “But, Mammaw, ain’t that stealin', and ain’t stealin' a sin?”

  Mammaw paused for a moment, then smiled down at Carnikko and replied, “No, child. At that time, it wasn’t stealin'. It was survivin'. When yer belly is so empty it gnaws on yer backbone, ya gotta do whatever it takes to fill it up.”

  “Oh,” Carnikko said. “I reckon that makes sense.”

  Mammaw went back to her story. “Ted and Carl kept raidin' ol’ man Gilmore’s watermelon patch until one day he took a hypodermic needle he used for vaccinatin' his hogs and injected the melons at the end of the patch with croton oil. Those poor boys got the trots so bad I thought they’d run themselves to death.”Mammaw laughed and Carnikko bounced against her soft pillowy breasts.

  “I had to feed them boys a whole block of commodity cheese before I got ꞌem plugged up good enough for ꞌem to make it to the outhouse in time. Ya should have seen ꞌem holdin' their butt cheeks together with their hands as they run out the door.”

  As everyone laughed, Mammaw added, “Pappaw overheard ol’ man Gilmore tellin' somebody what he’d done to the melons one day at the store. After that, Ted and Carl went to the middle of the patch and got the good ones.”

  After the story, Mammaw stood and said, “Well, we better get food on the table. You youngens are probably starved half to death.”

  After the meal, Mammaw left the food on the table and covered it with a tablecloth, saying, “That’ll hold it till the others get here and finish it off.”

  Soon, the house began to fill up with cousins, aunts, and uncles. The adults gathered at the table and finished off the food. The children started playing, and Mammaw and Pappaw went into the living room. Mammaw sat in her rocker by the front window. Pappaw sat in his rocker by the fireplace.

  Carnikko climbed back into Mammaw’s lap, hoping she’d hear more stories as her cousins and brothers ran through the house playing tag and hide-and-go-seek.

  Pappaw shook his head, mumbling, “Halley, how do you stand all these youngens makin' so much noise? Seems likely ya be needin' some peace and quiet after raisin' nine of our own. This house ain’t never seen a day without runnin', screamin' youngens.”

  “Ah, Ruben, that’s what makes a house a home. 'Sides, I like the sound. After so many years of hearin' it, I’d probably go crazy if they was any quiet in this here house.”

  Carnikko watched Pappaw light his pipe, close his eyes, then push back and forth in the rocker. It was as if he was in his own world, just like Daddy often was.

  Daddy usually slipped off to the corner bar for a few hours on Saturdays, but he didn’t get drunk, just a little tipsy, and he didn’t spend half of his paycheck anymore. He’d come back and visit with his brothers and sisters, and he’d be in a playful mood.

  As the sun was going down, Daddy announced to his family that it was time to go home. Mammaw hugged and kissed the children and said, “We’ll see ya next Saturday. Love ya.”

  The children smiled and said, “Love ya too.”

  When they arrived home that night, Daddy pulled the oak rocker across the linoleum floor and placed it close by the radio stand. Although they had electricity, they still used a battery-powered radio, which had a lot of static.

  Mama fixed a thick pallet on the cold linoleum floor for the children to sit on so their legs wouldn't get too cold as they waited for the music.

  Daddy had the radio tuned to WSM, Nashville, TN. The announcer’s voice rang out, “Live from Ryman’s Auditorium. Presenting the Grand Ole Opry. Let ꞌer go, boys!”

  That night, Daddy grabbed Carnikko and twirled her around and around as the music rolled out of the radio. When the song was over, he stood her on the floor, but she was so dizzy that she staggered backward and fell onto the pallet.

  Daddy laughed and said, “Now that’s what ya call a cheap drunk!”

  The kids laughed as they always did when Daddy was acting silly. He could be so funny when he was just tipsy.

  They listened to Ernest Tubb, Hank Snow, Hank Williams, and Little Jimmy Dickens, and they knew many of the songs by heart. When Ernest Tubb had finished singing, ‘I’m Walking the Floor Over You,’ Daddy said, “Why the devil did that moron go through all the trouble to bury his wife under the house just so he could walk the floor over her?”

  The children laughed harder.

  When the Grand Ole Opry was over, Mama helped the children get ready for bed. She made sure they used the tin pot, or slop jar as Daddy called it, which was by the back door.

  The house got quiet as everyone went to sleep.

  Suddenly, Carnikko bolted upright, screaming, “Get ꞌer out! Get ꞌer out!”

  Mama turned on the lamp by their bed as Daddy ran to Carnikko’s side. “What’s the matter, Punkin?”

  Carnikko’s eyes were wide and her body was trembling as she cried, “Get Mama out of the hole, Daddy!”

  Daddy hugged his daughter tightly. “Mama ain’t in no hole, Punkin. She’s right over there, in bed.”

  Carnikko looked over and saw Mama sitting up and looking at her with concern. “Mama? You’re okay?” she whimpered.

  “I’m fine, honey. It was just a dream. Do you want to crawl into our bed?” Mama said softly, holding out her arms.

  Daddy scooped Carnikko into his strong arms and carried her to the bed. Mama turned out the lamp. As she snuggled between her mama and daddy, Carnikko said, “Mama, you were in a deep, dark hole—and a big ugly man was throwing shovels of dirt on top of ya. I reached down to pull ya out, but my arm was too short, and I couldn’t reach ya, and the big man wouldn’t let ya out. He just stood there like he didn’t see or hear me—he kept throwing more dirt down on ya.”

 
; “Shh, honey,” Mama said, petting Carnikko’s stomach. “It was just a bad dream. I’m right here, and I’m fine. Now go back to sleep. Everything’s alright.”

  The next morning, Mama awoke, gently touched Daddy’s cheek, and whispered, “Teddy.”

  Daddy opened his eyes, looked at Mama, and said, “I know, it’s Sunday—but no, I ain’t goin' with ya—but I’ll drive ya to church. Do we have to go through this every damn Sunday?”

  Mama gave Daddy a harsh look and headed into the kitchen.

  Carnikko rolled her head on Mama’s pillow and looked around. Then she called out, “Mama, I don’t feel very good. Can I stay home with Daddy this mornin'?”

  Mama came back into the room, felt Carnikko’s forehead, and said, “Well, you do feel a little warm. I suppose the Lord will forgive you if you miss one Sunday.”

  As the rest of the family left for church, Carnikko drifted back to sleep. She awoke when Daddy walked back through the front door.

  “Hi, Daddy,” she mumbled.

  Daddy touched her forehead, smiled, and said, “You don’t feel quite as warm now. Do ya want me to lay down with ya for a little while, or would ya rather have me make you a couple eggs?”

  “Lay beside me,” she said softly, “and tell me a story.”

  Daddy stretched out on the bed, his hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling, then said, “Okay, Punkin, what would you like to hear?”

  “Tell me about when you bit yer teacher’s leg because she made you lay yer head in her lap to embarrass ya in front of the other kids when ya was in first grade, like me.”

  “Ah, I told ya that one a hundred times. How about the mornin' you were born? It’s a birds and bees story.”

  “Ya had birds and bees the mornin' I was born?” Carnikko said, looking over at her daddy. “Okay, tell me that one.”

  Daddy chuckled, then said, “Nah, we didn’t have no birds and bees. That’s just an old sayin', and it ain’t got nothin' to do with birds and bees. It’s about bein' born—well, bein' born is part of it, but—oh, never mind.”