As he stood, the air-vent handle scraped the bald spot of his crown. “I’m Albert Davidson. Pleased to meet you, sir.” I laughed when he shook my hand and massaged his scalp all at the same time.
“Good gracious alive, let me get back to these dishes before the water turns cold.” Nana continued to shake her head and wash the dishes until the grime of underworld fingerprints were erased away.
Poco’s daddy had even lined up a job for Poppy down at the marina. After years of working on broken-down tractors and old cars, he picked right up on fixing boat engines. He even seemed to like working with the men who didn’t ask questions when Poppy introduced himself as Albert Davidson from down the state.
“Down the state” was the answer we gave everyone when asked where we were from. Most people looked at us like any part of Florida that didn’t stretch out over the Gulf of Mexico was a foreign country and were not interested in hearing any more about our make-believe address. Everyone except Miss Travick.
My new teacher was fresh out of college and drove over from Tallahassee to teach us. Her hair was golden like the lady senator’s back in North Carolina. She wore short skirts, butterfly hair clips, and long beaded necklaces. When I first saw her standing outside the classroom, the smell of butterscotch perfume made me dizzy-headed.
“Where are you from, Brandon Davidson?”
By this time I had the line down perfect. “From down the state. We moved here so my granddaddy could work at the new marina.”
Nana’s feet shuffled on the concrete sidewalk behind me. “I dropped the records off at the principal’s office. It’s all in there.”
“Oh my gosh, where down the state? I’m from Fort Myers.”
My eyes searched behind Miss Travick. Rows of new classmates stared back at me. The pencil I had just purchased from the school office began to feel slick in my sweaty hand. Words and names we had rehearsed swirled in my mind, but the town printed on the school record was nowhere in the script.
“We’re from Anglers. Nothing more than a little knock in the road. Down past Melbourne.” Nana spoke the words so confident even I was beginning to believe her.
Miss Travick regained with another wide smile. “Oh, well, you never know. We don’t get many new people.”
The first day at lunch nobody would let me sit at their table. Every time I approached an open seat, someone would move over and stretch their arm across the table so I couldn’t put my tray down. The laughter made me hunger for something that food could not provide.
Trying not to capture the attention of the teachers, I smiled like I had wanted to sit by myself all along. Pouring iced tea from a pitcher at the teacher’s table, Miss Travick caught my eye and smiled back. I saw her get up and whisper to a boy three tables away. His wide brown eyes searched the room until he saw me. Nodding, he got up and brought his tray to my table.
“Hey,” he said. “You’re new, right?”
“So?” I said.
He gulped from a carton of milk. “My name’s Beau Riley. I sit two rows over from you in class.”
“So?”
He shrugged and picked up a french fry. “Don’t pay no attention to none of those jerks. They’re just testing you is all. Where you from?”
“Mars.”
“I hear it sure is cold up there.” He cracked a smile and kept on going. “You like to fish?”
“Yeah.”
“You ever eat mullet before?”
Turning to see if there was another table to move to, I stopped when I saw the others looking at us. “I don’t think so.”
“Some dummies think it’s a trash fish. Now, I don’t know how they think up there in Mars, but it’s good eating. My mama and daddy are carrying us mullet fishing this Saturday. You interested?”
Two girls with matching T-shirts printed with smiley faces walked over to our table. “Hey, I’m Ashley and her name’s Lisa,” the blonde one said.
“He’s…hey, what’s your name again?” Beau asked.
“Brandon. Brandon Davidson, from down the state.”
Beau Riley was the only person in my life who made me be his friend. Soon it didn’t matter if Miss Travick had told him to talk to me or not. Beau was the president of our class and held up his head with a confidence that reminded me of a grown man. By the second day kids who wouldn’t let me sit at their tables were lining the lunchroom seats next to Beau and me.
He even worked his magic on Nana and Poppy. When Nana first refused to let me go fishing with strangers, Beau had his mama stop by so we could see that she was decent. She had curly red hair and a beauty mark on the side of her chin just like Miss Kitty on Gunsmoke.
“Where y’all from?” Bonita asked. She let the standard answer fly past and soon started telling Poppy that she heard a big government contract was going to bring in a lot more work to the marina where he was working.
“Well, that sure is good news,” Poppy said and brushed away a gnat.
“Yeah, well I heard it the other day down at Nap’s Corner. It’s a restaurant just the other side of the bridge. I work there four days a week. And what about you, Pauline? You working?”
Nana pulled her shirt down lower. “No, but I’ve been studying about trying to pick something up. You know, just while Brandon’s in school.”
Bonita waved her hands like an excited baby. “Ooh, ooh…you ought to come down and talk with Nap. But Nap’s not his real name. They say it’s really Enoch or some other Bible name. Anyway, we got a spot open on the lunch crew. He fired that other girl. I warned her that Nap wouldn’t put up with being late. Anyway, the tips are real good and the best thing is you can be home when school lets out.” She ran her hands through Beau’s hair until he edged away. “I sure believe in being home when my kids walk through the door.”
When Bonita and her husband, Johnny, returned with Beau the following Saturday, a boy not more than six was sitting on top of a big spare tire in the back of the truck. Later Beau introduced the boy as his brother, Josh. The dark-skinned boy with auburn hair smiled to reveal a missing front tooth.
Johnny brushed off his hand and removed a faded baseball cap. He nodded patiently and answered Nana’s questions about the safety of his boat. Feeling blood burn my face, I was relieved when Poppy patted her shoulder. “I want y’all to bring us back a mess now.”
Out on the sea, the heavy sun broke the November chill. The boat rocked with the currents, and a band of seagulls seeking handouts followed close behind. We settled near a marshy island. Besides the seagulls, the only visible life on the island was an eagle’s nest tucked on top of a dead tree.
Salt from the air tickled my tongue, and when no one was looking, I stuck it out to see if any would gather.
“Brandon, honey, do you need to put on your windbreaker? It’s getting chilly,” Bonita said.
I shook my head, and watched as Johnny arranged a folded net on the plywood that covered the back of the boat. The net squished together to form the shape of an accordion that Johnny played like a skilled musician. Then, without saying a word, they all took their places as Johnny drove the boat around in a wide circle.
“Hey, man. You better get over here and help. We ain’t catching your supper for you.” Johnny’s broad smile and a point at the steering wheel was all I needed. Gripping the sun-baked metal, I could see Johnny out of the corner of my eye. He lit a cigarette and pretended like he wasn’t watching.
The front of the boat dipped to meet the white-crested waves. I dug my toes deeper into the soles of my shoes and rocked only a little bit. Johnny laughed and yelled to the others. “Look at ol’ Brandon. He’s working it now.” Only twice did he reach down and adjust my direction. His touch was that of leather, and his thick fingers were nicked in a way that made me think of tree bark.
We circled wide, and then Johnny took back control, directing the boat into the middle of the net we had dropped off. Beau and Bonita yanked the motor up with one swift pull. Once inside the net’s circle, they lowere
d it again and Bonita gave him a thumbs-up sign. As if reading my mind, Beau nudged me with his elbow. “He’s fixing to turn the motor back on to scare the fish into the net.”
Later when we pulled the net, I leaned into it just like Johnny showed me and yanked with more determination than I knew I had. We were all together fighting to bring in our catch. Wearing long yellow gloves like the ones Nana used to wax the floor, Bonita and Beau grabbed a hold of the twitching fish that clung to the net like ornaments on a Christmas tree. “Yeah, man,” Johnny yelled as the ice chest filled up with silver-colored fish.
Watching Johnny laugh and tousle the younger boy’s hair, I felt the old ache. The same one I used to feel whenever I saw Uncle Cecil driving up the driveway with Mary Madonna and Mac in the backseat. The same way I felt whenever I looked too long at the picture that now sat on the small dresser in the camper. A family portrait taken at Sears with Mac’s stiff hand propped on Uncle Cecil’s shoulder and Mary Madonna’s arm touching Aunt Loraine’s skirt.
Moving away to the other side of the boat, I looked towards the island. I could hear them laughing and teasing each other about who would eat the most fish that evening. The eagle had returned to its nest and turned to see where the noise was coming from. Its head twitched from side to side until the gold beak was directly on me. We held our stare, daring each other to break away. When Johnny cranked up the engine again, the bird snatched a twig from the nest and flew away.
The length of Nana’s hair wasn’t the only thing that changed. To my surprise she took Bonita up on her suggestion and let Bonita put a permanent in her hair. Nana even took a job at Nap’s Corner working the lunch shift with Bonita. Since we only had Poppy’s truck for transportation, Bonita would pick her up and bring her home the days she worked. Sometimes they would pick Beau and me up after school and we’d all go to the state park down by the beach. Beau, Josh, and me would sit at the concrete tables and eat the hush puppies and fried fish that were left over from lunch rush. We’d walk along the sand and try to capture tiny crabs in Styrofoam cups while Nana and Bonita sat on the car hood talking. Whenever the wind would shift, pieces of their conversation would roll down to the beach like driftwood that floated in with the changing tide.
Mostly Nana shielded her eyes from the sun and offered a smile or a look of worried concern depending on the information Bonita provided. I figured Nana liked being with Bonita because she never had to do any of the talking. There were no lies that had to be told with Bonita.
No one in Beau’s family questioned why I lived with my grandparents. The made-up answer sat on the edge of my tongue ready to be discharged on a second’s notice. I had made it all the way to Thanksgiving without the topic ever being discussed; I had been relieved and maybe even too comfortable.
“How much longer till school lets out for Thanksgiving?” Josh asked. The inlet water came up to his knees, and Beau had told his brother to stand still once already.
The long pole that arched above Beau’s head looked like a rake except for the net that hung at the end. With one fast jerk, he swatted the water. Through the murky water, we could see the crab race away. “Dog, Josh. I told you to be quiet.”
“I didn’t even move. You just missed is all.”
We trudged towards the tall brown grass and mass of pine trees. The thick mud sucked us down deeper, and I wondered if we had discovered quicksand. When I turned to see if Josh was still with us, the tall bridge that led into town was far behind us.
A pelican drifted inches above the water and then swooped down for lunch. Sunbeams sparkled off of the broken water until the area began to seem like one big kaleidoscope. Splashing sounds echoed from deep within the nearby island, and I pictured the land as one big kingdom. The tall pines became noble kings and bushy stalks of saw grass turned into queens dressed in ball gowns. Bright green palmetto stalks fanned out across the edge of the beach to guard their fortress.
That inlet where sea and fresh water connected made my nerves feel healed right down to the wiry ends that our science book illustrated. A place where the past could be buried deeper than the bottomless mud floor we walked across.
When we had made it to the prickly brown grass, Josh sat down on a patch of sand and poked his finger at the crabs. The sound of their claws rubbing against the tin pail reminded me of fingernails on a chalkboard. “Beau, I need to know. When is school letting out?”
“Next Wednesday. Brandon, you got one to your left.”
Hunching over the murky water, I was as still as a trained bird dog. The pinchers on the crab below were wider than his body. He paused when I lifted the pole, and his eyes never flinched as the net came down. “He’s mine now,” I yelled. Flailing in the net with his underside facing us, the crab displayed a pearl white belly that glistened in the sun.
“Can we have crab claws for Thanksgiving?” Josh asked.
“We’ll see if we can’t get you some,” Beau poked my arm with the side of his pole.
“Yeah, Josh, you should ask your mama to fix you some crab,” I added.
“What y’all doing for Thanksgiving?” Beau never turned to look at me as we treaded back through the mud.
“Just stay here I guess.”
“Brandon, are you a orphan like Superman was?”
“Shut up, Josh.” Beau shook his head at his brother.
“Well, that’s what mama said he was.”
Trying to ignore their words, I stared at the mud that churned with our steps. If only the sound of sloshing water could have been louder.
“Don’t pay no attention to him. He’s just a first grader. He don’t know nothing.”
“I do too. I asked mama how come he don’t live with his own mama and daddy and that’s what she said.”
Jerking the bucket from my hand, Beau held it over Josh’s head. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll throw ever one of these crabs on your head and they’ll pinch it shut.”
Josh’s eyes were big only for a second. He squinted at Beau and twisted his mouth. A spray of spat shot out of his mouth and landed on Beau’s T-shirt. Before Beau could grab him, Josh was running and splashing water all the way to the bridge.
Beau waited until Josh had made it to the base of the bridge before he said anything. “Johnny ain’t my real daddy.”
I stopped, but he kept moving forward, never looking back. When I caught up with him, he was looking down as if reading words from the water’s surface.
“My daddy left when I was just a baby. I don’t remember him too good. Except for this one time. He sat me up in a kitchen cabinet to see if I would fit in there. I remember him laughing real loud. I can’t see him, but I can still hear him.”
“What about Johnny?”
“He married my mama when I was just two years old. Josh don’t know nothing about it but I just wanted…Hey, don’t say nothing. Okay?”
Beau didn’t know that he was dealing with the master of secrets and part of me wanted to toss the script, but by then it had all become a habit. “I won’t. I didn’t know my daddy neither.”
Beau glanced over at me and nodded. “How about your mama?”
Telling Beau about her travels to Canada working the pipeline and about a trip she made to Hawaii, I felt closer to her than ever.
As we moved towards the bridge, it seemed taller than a skyscraper. Barnacles clung to the wide pilings that held it in the air.
“How’d she…you know, pass?”
“She got killed over in Africa. Doing work in that Peace Corps thing Miss Travick told us about.”
“What, a lion get a hold of her?”
“No, worse. A big fat rhino. People don’t know how mean those things are. Ripped her right down the middle like a slaughtered hog.” The image of a newspaper with Mama’s picture as a local hero came to mind. She would be dressed in a safari coat and her hair would be all fixed like it was the time she met us at Dairy Queen.
Beau grimaced. “Dog. When’d it happen?” His words echoed under
neath the bridge.
I could see Josh clearly now. He was sitting on the concrete boat ramp, acting like he wasn’t listening. “I can’t talk about it.”
That night Poppy and me watched the tiny black-and-white television with tinfoil wrapped around the antenna. Nana’s words competed with those of Hoyt Franklin, the reporter who drove around the country in a motor home until he had found the oldest living veteran or a farmer who had trained a hog to jump through hoops. Watching his show, Navigating the Nation, had become a new ritual.
Nana tapped Poppy on the shoulder. “Did you hear what I said about Bonita? She wants us to come over to her place for Thanksgiving.”
Poppy’s eyes rolled up towards Nana. “A bunch of people gonna be there? We sure don’t want a bunch of people asking…”
“Nobody’s going to be there except Johnny’s mama and from what they say she’s a little touched. She runs that junk stand just past the curve.”
The sounds from the television filled the camper as Poppy rubbed his chin. “Well, if you think she won’t get all in our business.”
Nana grabbed the recipe box that was stacked on top of the cluttered shelf. A stack of mail fell on the floor near the edge of her shoe, but she never looked down. She began flipping through the cards with an energy that I hadn’t seen since she cut her hair with the butcher knife. “I’m going to fix pecan pie and turnip greens. Bonita will know where I can get a fresh mess. Thanksgiving is just not Thanksgiving without my turnips. I can hear Cecil telling me now how he loves my…”
Clutching the recipe container as if it were a safe-deposit box, Nana opened the camper door and stood outside. Poppy never looked away as the TV reporter interviewed a woman in Iowa. The sound of crickets competed with the woman’s televised voice. All the while, the camera scanned an imaginary world the woman had created for herself out of a collection of dollhouses made from dollar bills.
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