“The Almighty took six days to make the world, so I want you to pray six times a day that Sophie won’t come against you. That she won’t take that boy.”
“Glory,” Miss Belinda shouted.
Her words fired up Brother Bailey like a gas stove. “Faith can move mountains, but only if you got enough of it. Call it by name now. Say she won’t take my boy.”
As Brother Bailey and Sister Belinda stood over her, Nana mumbled and then grew louder. “She won’t take my boy.”
Brother Bailey had his hand on Nana’s shoulder. “I don’t know, sister, I always figured your girl had herself a Jezebel spirit. But hear me out, her evil ways shall not prosper against you.”
I pressed my sneaker harder against the back of the pew in front of me. Creasing the edges of the paper plane, I licked the point with expert precision. It was sturdy, with a sharp point at the end. Ready for takeoff. As Brother Bailey grabbed the side of his belt and pulled the baggy pants high around his waist, I leaned back with all my might and threw my creation. It glided high above the rows of benches and sailed even with the attendance board. I pictured myself in the pilot seat steering it towards an exotic land yet to be discovered. But before I could call out Mayday, it happened.
Just as Brother Bailey opened his mouth, the plane crashed into the side of his neck. He slapped as if an overgrown mosquito was after him.
“Brandon, what in the world? You could’ve put out Brother Bailey’s eye with that thing,” Nana said.
But his eye remained strong as ever. Eyes that were too close together and too small for any normal person pierced right through me. The way he squinted, I knew he thought that my meanness came natural. I was a part of the Jezebel spirit. I’m not like her, I wanted to yell. But the real proof was resting at his feet. Cream-colored paper filled with prayer requests and joyful hymns.
The day the deputy with brown cowboy boots appeared at the door, I sat Indian-style in front of the TV. Even with the papers in hand and the stricken look that made Nana’s mouth open, she still tried to pass it off. “Just some business stuff. Don’t you worry,” Nana said and then slipped the thick white envelope underneath the black telephone. That night at supper we talked about a sick sow, the farmer down the road getting his leg cut on bob-wire, and the decreased price in cattle. Never any mention of the chance that the car with the blue door might appear again and that my mama would swipe me away forever.
Nana continued to follow Brother Bailey’s orders to the letter. She even took time to pray at the Farmers Market. She would slip into the truck halfway through the day and close her eyes real tight like she was in a deep trance. Scattered conversations bounced around the high concrete walls until the words themselves sounded to me like they were coming from a gigantic blender.
“What’s wrong with her?” Poco whispered. He irritated me the way he liked to kneel down next to the side of the truck and watch Nana’s mouth move and twist in silence.
“Leave her alone.”
Poco wiped the sand off of his jeans. “Is she sick?”
“No, dummy. She’s praying is all. She’s just religious, okay.”
“How come she don’t have her beads?”
“What beads?” I asked, afraid Brother Bailey had messed up part of the instructions.
“The rosary. Daddito has one.” Poco pointed towards Mr. Calato’s truck and the beads hanging from the rearview mirror. “I bet he’d let her borrow them. Is she praying about your mom coming back?”
“No.” I jumped from the truck tailgate. “How come you know about that?”
“I heard Daddito and Miss Naomi talking about it. She said your grandma is worried. Worried to death even.”
I stomped my foot so hard the jar from the concrete raced up my leg. “She’s not that worried. My mama is here just for a little while. Just for a visit.”
Poco sighed like he was older than his own grandfather. “Yeah. Just like my dad.”
Before we packed up, I saw Nana and Poppy in front of Mr. Calato’s truck. They stood right in front of the discolored beads that dangled from the rearview mirror while Mr. Calato propped his boot on the edge of the bumper. Poppy leaned forward, his forehead almost touching the sweat-stained brim of Mr. Calato’s cowboy hat.
“You figure some of your kin, down say in Miami, might be able to help us?” Poppy’s words were slow, but his eyebrows stretched with anticipation.
Mr. Calato didn’t say a thing. Nana coughed a couple of times as if to signal Poppy to try again.
“It’s just that we hear…”
“Brandon your boy. Just like Poco…my boy. If this storm don’t blow over, help will be close.”
Nana squinted and held up an open hand as if to grab Mr. Calato’s words before the early morning breeze had scattered them away.
Five
Miss Douglas had told us important people were coming to school that day. All the high-ups, she called them. Her chalkboards were as black as a starless night, and all the erasers were lined perfectly along the metal sides. The big map of the United States was pulled down, and Miss Douglas gripped the wooden pointer until her knuckles looked milky.
“Boys and girls, who can tell me the capital of Texas?” Miss Douglas asked with the end of the pointer hovering over Louisiana. She craned her chicken-looking neck towards the opened door. A shuffle of footsteps and soft whispers echoed down the sidewalk.
Dewayne Pickings raised his arm, and the musky scent caused me to jerk my head towards the windows. “Ooh, ooh,” he moaned. “I know.”
The voices grew louder, and I heard Mr. Jenkins, the principal, tell the group that Miss Douglas was one of the best. When the shuffles stopped outside the opened door, the soft blonde hair stood out from the group of men with wide ties. Her smile scanned the room, and for a second I thought maybe she recognized me.
The lady senator. She was standing right in my classroom with a dress so yellow it almost matched her hair. What if she remembered me? She’d remember what Nana had told her about my mama and what trash she was to show up and take me away. She’d tell Miss Douglas, and then whenever she came to my name on the roll call each morning, Miss Douglas would mimic the guidance counselor’s slanted smile of pity.
“Uh, yes, Dewayne.” Miss Douglas pulled at her skirt and the pointer fell deeper into Louisiana.
“Baton Rouge.”
Miss Douglas’s wide eyes looked even bigger behind the glasses.
“Now, Dewayne. We studied this state just last week. Try again. This time let’s put on our thinking cap.”
Dewayne propped his hands on the roll of skin that hung from his chin and pretended to tie a ribbon underneath a cap that only existed in his mind. “Baton Rouge, Miss Douglas.”
She cleared her throat and glanced at the special guests. “No, it’s Austin. Austin, Texas. Now let’s move on to…”
Dewayne’s arm shot back up and his scent must have hit Miss Douglas too, because she snatched her head towards him real fast. “You’re pointing to Louisiana, not Texas. What’d you expect?” Dewayne asked.
The group of high-ups snickered, and Miss Douglas adjusted her glasses before faking a chuckle herself. “Well, Mr. Dewayne Pickings, you’re right as usual. I can always count on my little scholar to keep me on my toes.” Miss Douglas tilted forward and giggled along with the guests.
And then as the group turned to leave, the lady senator looked at us once more. The powdered face was lined even with my desk. When her eyes landed on me, she clutched a necklace of pearls. There was no half-turned smile of pity. Just a slight nod and wink before she turned and followed the others.
After the visitors left, Miss Douglas claimed one of her sick headaches and passed out clumps of worksheets. The way she looked at Dewayne while she counted the sets of papers reminded me of the way Brother Bailey had looked at me the night I nearly poked his eye out with the paper plane.
Halfway through one batch of worksheets, my name rang out over the intercom. The brown box
with gold wiring made me flinch as the words flooded out. “Miss Douglas, we need Brandon Willard up at the front office.” My stomach tightened as Miss Douglas stopped rubbing her temples long enough to nod.
As I reached down for my book bag, Dewayne leaned down across from me. With his face turned sideways, the fat in his cheeks gathered under his eyes, making his face look like it was a filled cream puff. “Sizzle, sizzle, says the electric paddle.”
“Dewayne Pickings! Get to work this minute,” Miss Douglas screamed.
As I walked down the sidewalk, Dewayne’s words raced in my mind but did little to make my heart beat any faster. Little did he know that a cigarette burn and a punch to the back beat an electric paddle any day.
Rounding the corner towards the office, I saw the school secretary, Miss Parnell, right next to the poster that the art class had made of the American flag.
“I know it can’t take this long to get him out here.” The raspy voice scarred from too many cigarettes caused my legs to freeze.
Through Miss Parnell’s thinning teased hair, the white sunglasses from my past swayed back and forth like a cork caught in a windstorm. I tried to hide between the rows of lockers. I needed time to think how to handle Mama without Miss Parnell getting all nervous the way she did whenever the line to purchase pencils got too long at the front-office window. I pictured Miss Parnell calling the guidance counselor for backup. They would offer slanted smiles as they examined my mama and me standing side by side.
“Baby?”
Miss Parnell’s pouty lips and Mama’s wide smile were on me tighter than security cameras. “Hey,” I said more for Miss Parnell’s benefit than Mama’s.
The retarded boy who helped sell pencils opened the office door next to Miss Parnell. She never lost her glare on Mama as she moved to let the boy enter. “Now look here, missy. Like I told you, your name’s not listed as guardian.”
Mama pushed her sunglasses back and flung out her hip. The painted flower on the jeans flapped as if a breeze had just swept past. “Miss Parnell, you know me, okay. You know I’m the boy’s mama. I want you to go on and fill out whatever it is that…”
The steady tapping from the feet of important visitors drowned out Mama’s official comment. Flocked together like geese with the lady senator as a bright yellow canary, the group rounded the corner behind Mama.
“Now, Senator Strickland, did I mention that we received some of the highest rankings on English in the state?” Mr. Jenkins was still smiling when a man with a black camera showed up to take their picture. If they had been standing any closer, Mama and Miss Parnell would have been in it too.
Mama pulled her tight T-shirt down. She stared at the principal the same way she might examine a potential boyfriend. “He doesn’t have time to talk with you. So get that notion right out of your head,” I heard Miss Parnell warn.
Before the group broke their posed smiles, another set of footsteps rattled the hall. A brown pocketbook was strapped to Nana’s wrist and swung back and forth as she marched forward.
Just as the camera flashed, Mama threw her hands up in the air. “Oh, shit.”
“You best watch your mouth,” Nana said in hushed tones. “When are you going to learn?”
“Umm, umm, umm.” Miss Parnell’s hair rotated back and forth as she shook her head.
Mr. Jenkins was speaking extra loud and watching the commotion all at the same time. The only person still looking at me was the lady senator. Senator Strickland’s eyes were motionless and seemed lower than they had in the classroom. It was a stare that made me think someone she might have known was standing behind me.
“By the time I’m done, y’all are gonna have your asses in court.” Mama jerked away when Mr. Jenkins tried to grab her arm.
“Young lady, either leave or I’ll call the police and have you escorted out.” Mr. Jenkins propped his hands on his white belt. I wondered if he thought of getting the electric paddle and beating her but good.
Mama dramatically kissed her index finger and waved it at me. All the eyes that had been studying the wild creature slowly drifted towards me. Watching her flower-painted jeans flap like wings, I wished she would’ve taken flight. Along with their pitiful stares came the weight of being her son. Right then part of me wanted to take flight with her and soar high above the school to a place where nobody knew about a past that always hovered nearby.
If my mama didn’t do one thing else by showing up at school, she did manage to put Poppy and Nana into motion. In a weakened condition Poppy even agreed to meet with the colored lawyer that Senator Strickland had told Nana about.
The brightly colored balloons that were painted on the dingy block building seemed out of place. Like fresh ribbon tied around some forgotten gift that had been found in the attic. A big white sign welcomed us: “Child Advocacy Network ‘CAN’ Make a Child’s Destiny.” While Poppy scratched the stubble on his chin and Nana straightened her skirt, I studied each of the block-shaped letters. They seemed as foreign as the Egyptian words that were stenciled on the sides of temples in my social studies book.
“A.B.” Nana stood at the front door with the pocketbook balanced on her wrist like a scale.
Poppy got out of the car in a hunched-over way befitting an old man. “Never guessed I’d end up using a colored lawyer,” he mumbled.
Nana never turned around as she led the way up the sidewalk. “They said she’s the best for this sort of thing. So hush your mouth and open up your ears.”
Inside, photos of various children ranging from infants to ones older than me greeted us on the bulletin board. Guarding the photos at the front desk was a young woman with braids of strawberry-colored hair.
Slumped in the small vinyl chair, Poppy pulled the brim of the John Deere cap even lower over his forehead. When our lawyer appeared from behind an office door, I heard Poppy mumble again.
She had a wide piece of gold material wrapped around her head. A matching dress dared to touch the points of her body. As she glided towards us there was no smile. For all I knew she might have been toothless. But the way she tilted her head ever so slight told me she was equipped to take on anything that got in her way. The sharpness in her cheekbones made me think of the drawing of Cleopatra.
“Hello.” Her earrings swung wildly as she reached out for Nana’s hand. “I’m Nairobi Touchton.”
Nana smiled and introduced herself and Poppy. His hands were planted deep into pants pockets, and his gaze never seemed to settle on one particular person.
Nairobi leaned down and the top of her dress opened to reveal the edge of brown breast. The way my eyes danced around the room I’m sure she thought nervous eyes ran in the family.
Nanny and Poppy met with Nairobi behind a conference-room door covered with gold-colored plastic grooves. It all seemed to take on the feeling of a CIA type of mission that would be best suited for G.I. Joe. Their shapes were distorted through the imitation glass, but there was no denying where Poppy sat at the table. His slump gave him away.
Drifting closer to the bulletin board, I studied the photographs. Babies lined the top row, and a few had little gold balls on their ears; variously colored adults clutched them with surprised smiles. Orphans, I figured. When my glance fell to the bottom of the poster, so did my spirit.
The boy with the name Alfonso stenciled underneath his picture caused the hair on my neck to stand at attention. It was the emptiness in his eyes. A boy deserted not at a hospital, but most likely in a neighborhood or a shopping center. Deserted like the cat Mama said we could no longer afford, so she shooed him out of the car on a street filled with two-story homes and swimming pools. Taffy, the cat, had long been forgotten, but suddenly his green eyes were as wild as the boy’s on the poster and just as frightened. Without a calling card to announce its arrival, the hatred that had been buried beneath a need to take care of Mama rose to the surface. While the lady at the desk was busy writing down instructions from a caller, I snatched the photo off the poster with one
clean swipe. Alfonso rested inside the pocket of my Toughskin jeans as comfortable as he would have in any two-story home with a swimming pool.
No matter how many times Nana prayed, my mama never did leave town. The farmhouse soon became a place filled with muffled words and worried stares that would magically turn into tense smiles whenever eye contact was made.
The light from the kitchen bled across the hall floor. I gently stepped on the board that always creaked regardless of where I placed my foot. Nana coughed, and I paused to determine her location.
As I turned the handle to the hall closet, the click from the light switch might as well have been a firecracker. Nana jumped the same time I did, and the hall light shone on me like a police searchlight.
“What in the world are you doing up?” Then she looked down at the urine-soaked pajama leg.
I opened the closet door and reached for the sheets. Her hand was warm against my arm. The pat was as gentle as her voice. “We’ll fix it.”
Not another word was shared as we stripped the soiled sheets and balled them in the middle of the floor. The popping sound of crisp clean sheets reminded me that all was still in order in the farmhouse. Nana’s long gray ponytail swung side to side as she bent down to secure the sheet. She smiled and nodded towards the dresser. Pajamas decorated with cowboy hats were neatly folded in the corner of the drawer. I clutched them to my chest and hoped the clean smell from fall air had been captured from the clothesline. A smell so clean that it would protect me from the darkness that had seeped into my mind and caused it to take flight with nightmare.
When I returned from changing in the bathroom, Nana was smoothing out the wrinkles and had the sheet folded down tight like I’d imagine a fine hotel would do. She fluffed the pillow and lifted the edge of the sheet. After I was secured in bed, she kissed my damp hair. I wanted her to stay and lay beside me, to tell me everything would be fine come morning. I wanted to hear the words from our usual script. But tonight she just smiled from my bedroom door. Against the backdrop of the hall light, she looked like an angel standing at the doorway.
Slow Way Home Page 5
