Slow Way Home

by Michael Morris

  Beau lived near town in a white block home. When we got there, paper turkeys with top hats, the kind that Miss Travick put up on the bulletin board at school, were taped on every window of the house. Bonita had the front door open before we could get out of the truck.

  “Y’all come on in. Now the turkey is a little tougher than I like, but Johnny got to talking to his mama and left it in the smoker too long.” Bonita rolled her eyes and imitated a flapping mouth with her hand.

  Johnny’s mother, Mama Rose, was dressed in a pantsuit the color of Pepto-Bismol and had a matching vinyl purse with an outline of the state of Florida printed on the side. But Nana missed the mark when she told Poppy that Mama Rose would keep quiet.

  As the turkey was passed, Mama Rose told us all about her business. A mercantile, she called it. An eternal yard sale, where plywood tables filled with secondhand goods were converted into fancy store displays thanks to colored construction paper and Mama Rose’s neat penmanship.

  “You heard about that fire over in Panama City? The one that took out that store on the strip?” Mama Rose looked around the table and inhaled real loud. “Well anyway, I got a pile of fancy paperweights filled with beach sand for ten cents each. Ten cents, mind you. I can sell them for at least fifty cents, maybe even seventy-five. Yankees pay big money for anything with genuine beach sand. Now y’all aren’t Yankees, are you?”

  “Come on, Mama.”

  Poppy chuckled and nudged Johnny. “No, ma’am. I assure you we aren’t.”

  Mama Rose patted the flamingo pin on her jacket. “Well, you never know these days. Especially with you being from down the state. Yankees come down here and just take over. I can spot ’em in no time flat.” She pointed a fork at Poppy and bugged her eyes until the fake eyelashes spread out like wings.

  After lunch Mama Rose offered to let Beau, me, and Josh have first dibs on her latest merchandise if we agreed to help her unload it out of the trailer she used as a storeroom. Nana only let me after Johnny said he would drive us down there and pick us up when we were through. When I ran back inside for my jacket, I received Nana’s final warning.

  “And don’t you take food from her,” Nana whispered at the front door. “No telling what kind of nasty shape her kitchen’s in.”

  Little did Nana know, but to me Mama Rose’s front yard, with long moss that hung like banners from the trees, was a natural wonder. Rows of plastic flamingos were propped around the plywood tables as if they had been frozen there during migration. As we unloaded the boxes that still smelled like smoke, she directed us where to place them.

  “No, Beau. Use your head. Don’t you know that table can’t hold that heavy box. Put it down at the other one. And don’t break a thing.” Beau never seemed to notice the clipped tones in which Mama Rose spoke to him. He would just change the subject or laugh like it was all a joke. I wondered if she was the only person in town who didn’t know he held elected office.

  Placing the paperweights on the plywood table covered in a red paper, I examined one of the glass balls filled with water. The sand would scatter whenever I secretly shook it. Mama Rose had given us strict instructions not to shake the weights. Watching the word “Florida” appear as the sand was released from the bottom, I remembered a similar paperweight sitting on the bookshelf in Uncle Cecil and Aunt Loraine’s home. Looking into the glass like a crystal ball, I tried to picture what they were doing. They would probably have finished Thanksgiving dinner. Uncle Cecil would be unfastening the top of his pants by now and watching football on TV while Mac and Mary Madonna sat in the old car pretending to search the highways for me. Aunt Loraine had probably stopped criticizing us for leaving by now. Maybe she would even feel sorry for my mama and invite her over for leftover turkey sandwiches. Rubbing the edge of the paperweight base, I felt a hard place where the fire had melted the imitation wood. I rubbed the groove like a lucky penny until Mama Rose snatched it out of my hands.

  “You’re as bad as Beau. I’m not paying you to daydream. Get to unpacking.”

  Josh laughed, and Mama Rose winked at him.

  “He’s probably thinking about his mama getting ate up.”

  Mama Rose planted both hands on her hips. “What?”

  “Josh, you better watch your mouth,” Beau warned.

  Mama Rose never turned away as she held up her hand towards Beau. “Wait a minute. What is this about your mama?”

  I felt her eyes on me tighter than radar; my ears began to ring with the rising blood. “She had this…umm…”

  “She was in the Peace Corps and got tore up by one of them rhinos,” Beau yelled.

  Mama Rose leaned down closer. A scar lined the side of her wrinkled chin. “You been telling stories to these boys?”

  Never turning away, I forced myself to look into her eyes. “No, ma’am. She was down in Africa working with the Peace Corps just like Beau said. A big rhino got a hold of her and ripped her wide open.”

  Mama Rose waited for me to look the other way, but I only bit my lip like I was fixing to cry over the grief.

  “Peace Corps? That bunch Kennedy drug all over the world? Well, they’re nothing but a bunch of communists.” The thick eyelashes swatted her skin. Before she could ask any more questions, a station wagon with an Ohio license plate pulled up.

  As Josh showed the guests some of his favorite things on the stand, Beau moved closer. In a stage whisper he said, “Don’t mess with Mama Rose. She’s a natural born nut, and a mean one at that.”

  Watching Mama Rose smile and wave her hand across the table full of smoldered merchandise, I thought of the warning Poppy had given me about fishing in weedy places. A water moccasin will give off a musty scent right before it strikes. With Mama Rose the only scent she gave off was day-old perfume.

  Eight

  By the time Santa Claus appeared in the middle of the river on an airboat, we had settled into a normal routine. He landed out of the blue one Friday afternoon and looked as out of place as a flying saucer. As we were passing through downtown, Nana pointed at a snowman sitting on a small boat clutching a fishing pole. “Look, how cute.” No matter how much she tried to pretend, I could see her finger twitching as she pointed to the plastic figure. Nana’s nerves always got keyed up whenever it was time to call Uncle Cecil.

  When we pulled up next to the gas station, Nana slipped out of the truck and used a washcloth to wipe down the receiver of the pay phone. The other washcloth held the necessary change for making a five-minute call to the construction company where Uncle Cecil worked. Every Friday afternoon at four-thirty we stopped at the gas station to make the long-distance connection back to our past. The old man who ran the gas station had gotten used to us by now. Whenever we pulled up, he raised his arm to wave, just high enough so that a roll of pasty skin showed underneath his shirt.

  The conversation was always one-sided, with Nana listening to updates that Uncle Cecil might offer. Standing around the pay phone, Nana and Poppy would rotate with the shifting wind that delivered the smell of aged urine from the nearby bathroom.

  “How you and the kids getting along?” Nana asked. She wrinkled her brow and nodded. Before the operator could come on and warn her that two minutes remained, the phone was passed to Poppy.

  “Hey, son. The mortgage note come in on the farm yet?” Poppy used the toe of his boot to push a piece of gravel deeper into the dirt.

  “Well, just keep yourself a record, and I’ll wire you the money.”

  “I want to talk to Uncle Cecil.”

  Nana shook her head. “Poppy’s talking business right now.”

  No matter how many times they called Uncle Cecil, the phone calls never lasted longer than five minutes. Conversation was kept polite and censored like greetings being passed along to an acquaintance in the grocery store. Time was too valuable to pass along descriptions of the good life down in Florida.

  Christmas day, I woke up as soon as Poppy opened the camper door. “You better get on up. It looks like somebody left so
mething for you out here.”

  A spray of morning sun fell on me like a spotlight. I rubbed the stickiness out of my eyes and was grateful that Poppy did not try to claim Santa Claus had stopped by.

  Nana was clasping her hands and bouncing to an invisible beat of excitement. Next to her was a brand-new bicycle. A green one with wide handlebars. Just like the kind Beau had gotten for his birthday. Jumping out of the door dressed in my underwear, I grabbed the silver handlebars. Their laughter was loud, and Poppy threw his head back. Touching the cool metal, I knew it was real.

  Riding up and down the driveway of the campground, I pictured my old bike back in North Carolina. I was sure Mac was mining it for spare parts by now. It was only right. The bike was his to begin with and came to me only after Aunt Loraine bought him a new one. As I dipped down into another washed-out place in the road, it hit me. They probably thought we’d never come back. Our things would be picked over and tossed around until some family on welfare would benefit from our departure. I pictured Mama walking through the house claiming my things and storing them up for my return.

  In the truck to Beau’s house, the new perfume Poppy bought for Nana competed with the smell of sweet potato pie. Pulling up to the house, Poppy was still talking about how happy he was that Mama Rose would be spending Christmas day with her other son. “Even if she is Johnny’s mama, the poor old thing runs her mouth too much.”

  I fought to lock hold of the happiness I had felt whenever I saw the sparkling clean bike. But try as I might, the thought of my own mama stayed near. Walking inside the door draped in gold tinsel, I decided that if Johnny could put up with his mama not being with him for Christmas, I could too.

  Looking at the colored bowls covering Bonita’s kitchen table, Nana served my plate. “You want some ham?” she asked, and then without waiting for an answer she moved to the platter of turkey. “Oh, yeah, you don’t like it when it’s cold.”

  I wondered if my mama knew that. Would she be eating ham with her new rich boyfriend in a fancy restaurant? Or maybe she was too busy driving around town in the new car he had given her. One with a convertible top so that she would have to wear a scarf on her head like a movie star.

  “Now I know you want some of this corn,” Nana said. She never looked at me as she dipped the spoon into the bowl.

  Johnny’s hand was heavy on my head. “This is good eating. You better try it all.” He moved around to the end of the table and motioned for Beau to try a piece of sausage.

  Watching the Rileys pass bowls of food like they’d known us their whole entire lives, I wished that my mama would stumble on people like Johnny and Bonita. During the blessing, I silently added a request that a similar woman with a matching beauty mark like Bonita Riley’s would walk into her new beauty shop.

  The day after Christmas, Beau, Josh, and me had covered downtown and the side of the river twice. Nana had warned me not to ride my bike on the highway, but I did it anyway. Besides, it was the only way to reach Mama Rose’s stand. She had promised Josh that she would give him a bike flag for Christmas. Beau and me would get one too if we promised to help her move boxes down from the attic.

  Mama Rose used a small key to unlock the door that led up to her attic. “You never know what kinda valuable treasures you might have sitting around in a bunch of dust.”

  By the looks of it Mama Rose could’ve opened up a whole new chain. Every square inch of the floor was covered with boxes that looked liked they had been painted with dust. One tiny window let us know that it was still daylight outside. Specks of dust that hadn’t yet decided where to settle danced in a ray of sun. The stale smell of unwanted gifts passed along one too many times filled our lungs.

  “Now while I’m setting up the twenty-percent-off table, you boys go ahead and straighten up. Then I want you to bring these boxes down to the counter.” Mama Rose pointed to a stack of boxes with dried-up electrical tape dangling from the sides.

  While she watched, we began dragging the boxes to the edge of the stairs. The thick air made our breathing sound like that of the girl at school who missed PE on account of her asthma. I dared not speak until I had heard Mama Rose’s footsteps and the closing door down below. “She sure does have a lot of junk.”

  “Maybe junk to you, but it’ll be a treasure to one of them Yankees.” Josh repeated the line he had heard Mama Rose say until he had it memorized.

  “Nobody’s gonna buy any of this junk,” Beau said, the front of his hair now darker from sweat.

  “They will so.” Josh was wearing a gold necklace with an odd-shaped medallion. “Hey, what about this? It’s genuine gold.”

  Beau brushed sweat from his eyes and moved closer. “That ain’t gold.”

  “Is so.” Josh pulled away when Beau tried to reach for the necklace.

  “What’s that thing hanging off the end?” I asked.

  A cross like the one Nana wore was in the center. There were four symbols, one in each corner. Small misshapen symbols like I had never seen before.

  “Where’d you find this thing?” Beau asked.

  Josh pointed to the box with its side caving in. “Personal” was written across the top in uneven letters.

  “Dog,” Beau said. He pulled a thin white dress from the box. The sleeves were wide and an image of the medallion was stitched right over the heart.

  Snatching it away, Beau flung the material in the air as if setting up a tent. “Must be some big fat woman’s dress.”

  Looking inside the box, I saw the edges of crumbled, yellow certificates. The kind like I had gotten when I had graduated from kindergarten.

  Beau brushed against my shoulder and dug his hand deep inside. “There’s more stuff down here,” Beau said.

  The white hat was folded in half. Beau pulled the top, and it stuck up like a dunce cap. A long flap fell forward. Two circles were cut out for eyes, like a homemade mask someone might wear for Halloween.

  “This thing’s creepy,” Josh said.

  Beau cast his eyes towards me. A half smile formed across his lips. He held the hat by its pointy tip. “I heard about this. It’s one of them ghost hats. Mama Rose probably bought it from some dead man’s family. Some dead man kept it stuffed in his closet and wore it to spook people. But then Mama Rose showed up and bought all the man’s clothes. This probably got picked up in the deal.”

  When Beau cast his eyes towards me again, I picked up my cue. “Yeah. Some man who got his head cut off.”

  Wide-eyed, Josh turned to look in the direction of the door.

  “The man’s ghost wore this hat ’cause he didn’t have a head. You couldn’t pay me to put that hat on. Beau, I don’t think I’d even be touching it,” I said.

  Beau’s smile widened, and I could tell he was pleased with my performance. Josh picked at the leg of his pants and shuffled his feet. Just when he turned to walk towards the stairs, Beau threw the hat on the floor. “Ooh, I see blood right there on the side. Hey, look, Brandon. Ain’t that blood?”

  Using a pool stick with a piece of spider’s web hanging off of the end, Beau picked the hat back up. The white hat dangled from the pool cue.

  I craned my neck, but kept a distance. “That’s blood, all right. Pure blood from a dead man.”

  Stepping backwards, Josh was pinned in by the boxes. The light from the window made his face look even paler.

  Beau stretched the pool stick out towards him. He held the stick like a fishing pole and the bait moved closer to Josh. “I’ll give you two dollars if you put that hat on.”

  The sound of Josh’s sneakers brushing up against the box made me flinch and look over my shoulder.

  Beau laughed and moved it closer. “Scaredy cat. It ain’t gonna bite you. Just a little blood from a dead man is all.”

  As I watched Josh pinned in against the boxes, part of me wanted to tell Beau to stop, but the part that won out tingled at the idea of the fear Josh was feeling.

  Josh’s eyes bulged and when the tip of the hat brushed up a
gainst his neck, he went into a screaming fit, twitching and breathing harder than ever. His arms swung wildly and boxes began falling to the floor. Before we could grab him, the nose of a stuffed bobcat behind the boxes touched his arm. The high, piercing scream that he let out was sharp enough to crack the tiny attic window.

  “We’re just kidding. We’re just kidding,” Beau kept repeating, but Josh was too far gone. All he could do was scream and swing his fists. His right fist landed on Beau’s chin and caused him to land against the box marked “Personal.” When the box landed on the floor, yellowed stained certificates and old newspaper clippings spilled out.

  “I hate your guts,” Josh screamed. He picked up the pool stick and lifted it high above his head. The anger in his eyes raged as hot as a grown man’s. Before he could swing at Beau, I moved behind him and locked my arms around his elbows. “Let go of me, you ol’ orphan!” He twisted and turned, trying to bite me.

  “What in sand’s hill is going on up here?” Mama Rose stood on the top of the stairs with her mouth hanging open and her wig twisted to the side.

  Before Beau could put the scattered contents back into the box, Josh was pointing at the hat. “They was trying to put that dead man’s hat on me.”

  “What?” Mama Rose followed Josh’s point to the white hat that had landed on top of the stuffed bobcat.

  Red streaks appeared on her neck, and she blinked so fast I thought the heavy false eyelashes would leave bruises. She clutched the hat the way a veteran’s wife might clutch the flag that had been draped over her husband’s casket. “Beau Riley! You keep away from my things.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll put it up,” he said. “We shouldn’t be playing with your stuff. I’m sorry.”

  But Mama Rose was immune to Beau’s wide smile. “Have you no respect for honor, Beau Riley? Oh no, why should I think something as no-count as you would have any sort of respect like decent people.” She pulled Josh to her side, but he remained stiff, staring at the white hat that hung over her arm.