Slow Way Home

by Michael Morris

  The woman with the purple handkerchief was holding both hands high in the air while Sister Delores kept her head bowed in prayer. My heart slowed even more when I looked up and saw Him. Sitting in the tall preacher’s chair behind Sister Delores, He was wearing a long beige shirtdress and His hair was the color of honey. His eyes never left me. They were magnets pulling out layers of poison from a wound that wouldn’t heal.

  When I moved from behind the pew, not even Beau’s yank at my shirttail could keep me still. It was Jesus, looking just as sun-tanned as He had on the funeral fan. Only this time Jesus was smiling and threw His head back. When His hands reached out, I saw the holes and wanted to touch them. To put my hand in His and believe. To believe that He would fill the holes that my own mama and daddy had left in me.

  With each step I made down the aisle, I saw Him waving me on to the finish line. His fingers were long, long enough to pull me up to where I belonged. “Come home. Come home. He who is weary, come home.”

  I reached up as high as the woman waving the purple handkerchief. Higher than any hurt I had ever been given. Just when I had made it to the first step of the altar, Sister Delores pulled me closer to her. The silky material that covered her round stomach brushed against my cheek. Floral perfume and the scent of grease from Nap’s Corner were trapped in the dress. Smelling salts that brought me back to this world. A world that was not my home.

  Eleven

  A mist of rain danced in the air the day I got baptized. The cowboy singers stood under the concrete canopy at the state park right next to a bucket of chicken. Their harmonized lyrics floated with the breeze and came in and out like an amplifier that was on the blink. Sister Delores stood knee deep in the ocean water dressed in a white gown. When she first told me I’d have to wear the dress, I resisted until I was convinced that others would have one on as well. We lined the beach in various sizes, with our bare feet digging deeper into the soggy sand. A man Poppy’s age stood in front of me wringing his hands until Sister Delores called out for him to move forward. Church folks spread out across the concrete benches; their various shades made me think of a bunch of brown M&Ms with a cluster of white ones that somebody had forgotten to paint. I searched the crowd until a woman dressed in a red dress moved away to wipe her baby’s nose. In the gap I saw Nana’s face appear and disappear with each swipe of the truck windshield wipers. Poppy leaned next to the concrete piling as if he was holding the shelter up.

  Between the clip of windshield wipers I watched Nana turn her head away each time the crowd yelled a war chant of “Glory” to signal another person had been dipped into the ocean. When it came my turn, the cool water chilled my spine. Sister Delores reached out for me and smiled as wide as I’d ever seen her smile. “Come on, baby, I got you. I got you.”

  The pull of the sea kept us in a steady rocking motion. She put her fingers over my nose and held up the other hand high towards the graying sky. “Brandon Davidson, by your profession of faith in Jesus Christ and your willingness to turn you heart over to Him, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” With a slight shove, Sister Delores pushed me under the choppy water. Even though her fingers pinched my nose, it did not stop the saltwater from rushing down my throat. All the while I kept worrying whether the baptism would be for real because Davidson was not my real last name.

  Rising up to the water’s surface, I heard the crowd shout “Glory” once again. Brushing away the stinging salt from my eyes, I looked towards the truck just in time to see the windshield wipers take away a mist of rain. This time Nana did not look away. She stared straight at me and dabbed her eyes.

  “I don’t know why you wanted to get dunked for,” Beau said at the school the following Monday. “You looked funny coming outta that water with your hair all stuck together and wearing that dress.”

  Opening my notebook, I ignored his comments. Ever since Parker Townes and his shiny black patrol car had started stopping by Beau’s house, he seemed full of piss. Sister Delores told us the Bible says not to give pearls to a pig or something along those lines. Since Beau was acting like a pig that wanted to woller in slop, I decided to let him.

  That afternoon for the first time Bonita and Parker Townes picked us up from school in the patrol car. Groups of kids from our grade and those younger gathered around the car, which was so shiny their faces gleamed back at us. I jumped inside the back of the car, where Josh was already pretending to be criminal clutching the bars that separated the backseat from the front. Bonita laughed, and waved for Parker to get out of the car to greet the students. His big silver gun stuck out as if it was an extra bone on his hip. While he answered questions about whether he had ever shot anybody, Beau moved away towards the door to the front office. Then it occurred to me that, given my circumstances, I too should be hiding from the patrolman with snaggled teeth instead of being piled up in his backseat. From the backseat, I watched Beau jerk away when Bonita tried to rub his shoulder. After a pull at his arm, he walked obediently back to the car and never looked up as the younger students squealed when the flashing lights of the patrol car came on.

  At the camper Nana greeted me with the usual Pepsi. She waved at Bonita, but I was too busy trying to reach my snack to see if Beau waved back or not. The smell of fresh-baked cinnamon rolls hung in the humid air. Inside, Nana turned off her afternoon story on TV and motioned for me to wash up. My eyes never left the plate of rolls as she slid a knife through the bread and white gooey icing stretched towards her.

  “I’m glad Bonita and Parker are seeing more of each other.”

  I decided not to tell Nana of Beau’s recent bad attitude or to remind her of how scared she acted the first time she had met the patrolman at Nap’s Corner.

  As I ate the warm rolls, Nana would reach over and occasionally wipe icing from my chin. “Is it good to you?” she’d ask.

  She was caught up in the flavor of it all as much as I was and that’s probably why neither of us heard the knock at the door the first time.

  “Hello. Anybody home?” Sister Delores’s voice never did seem right outside of church. “I’m telling you, it’s hot out there today.” She filled the entrance of the camper, and Nana nervously reached for a paper napkin.

  “Thank you. I just wanted to stop by to see how y’all doing. We sure did miss you at the baptismal.”

  “Oh, I was there,” Nana said. “That sprinkle of rain kept me inside the truck, but don’t you worry none, I was there.”

  Sister Delores wiped her brow. “I figured so all along.”

  Nana looked at the schoolbooks I had scattered over the so-called sofa. “Brandon, pick up those books so Sister Delores can have a seat.” I cut my eyes back at Nana. It was the first time she had called the preacher by name.

  “Oh, I know how these boys need time to do their lessons. I don’t want to be in the way. Maybe we could just sit out here under this shade tree.”

  Nana looked at Sister Delores the same way she did the new people we met in town who tried to press too hard with questions they had no business asking. “I’ve got just a few minutes before I have to get supper started.”

  Watching them sit together next to the cook-out grill that was guarded by concrete blocks, I felt as if I was watching a movie with two actors I had known from different TV shows. Their lives seemed like an H with me being the line that connected them. I cranked the window handle just enough to hear their voices, and their words floated in on waves of wind.

  “I’ve been seeing your husband at church a time or two.”

  Nana brushed away invisible lint from her pants. “A.B. never was one for religion. Back home, uhh, down the state where we’re from, he never did care for our preacher.”

  “Oh, I know what he means. I got no use for religion.”

  Nana slowed her nod. “Beg your pardon?”

  “Oh, you know, a bunch of folks all the time talking about rules. I got no use for such as that. Those kind made me quit church back when I wa
s just a Sunday morning Christian. Now relationship is what I’m after, not a bunch of laws. I want to lead my church the same way Jesus did it. He stirred up those religious people just like a bunch of hornets. He sure did, now.”

  The afternoon train sounded in the distance. Sister Delores looked towards the beach across the road. “You got yourself a good boy. You raising him right.”

  “And just so you know, as long as he’s lived with me he’s been in church. I just got to work some things out right now. You know, just me and the Lord. Everybody goes through a desert now and again.”

  “You’re right about that, now. We’ll always have us a desert to pass through. Well, call if y’all need me.” Sister Delores reached for the edge of the grill and pulled herself up from the picnic table.

  Nana wiped away chips of concrete from the table, her eyes never following the steps of our guest.

  Sister Delores’s words competed with the creaking of her opening car door. “We all go through those dry spells from time to time. We sure do. But just be careful. If you stay around in the desert for too long, that camping tent you pitched just might end up becoming a fine brick home you don’t want to give up.”

  Sister Delores drove away, and Nana’s arms remained folded long after the Impala had disappeared down the driveway.

  The day the Spring Fair opened, we stopped by the gas station to make our weekly call to Uncle Cecil. While Nana and Poppy huddled closer to the phone receiver, I stood at the corner watching the rows of trucks and cars that lined the entrance to the fair across the street. Tents and trailers transformed the empty lot into a place of high excitement. The owner of the gas station played with the change inside his pants as we stood watching the traffic. Jingles from the change accompanied the only words I had ever heard him speak.

  “A fella from Waycross come down here to put that Ferris wheel together. Said it was the biggest one south of Albany. Said you could see all the way over to Tallahassee on a clear night.” He raised up on the balls of his feet and stretched his head high. His words were almost as intoxicating as the multicolored lights that lined the side of the Ferris wheel. The commotion and noise from across the street got Nana and Poppy off of the phone faster than I could have.

  Grass killed from the scorching sun crunched under our feet, and the smell of corn dogs blanketed the air. Passing people I knew from town and school made it feel more like a family reunion. Right then my old life back in Raleigh seemed like nothing more than yellowed photos in a dust-covered album.

  We met Bonita and Parker at the shooting booth. Dressed in blue jeans and a western shirt, Parker looked smaller without the uniform and pistol. But his marksmanship gave him away as an expert shooter. Bonita held the three teddy bears to prove it.

  “Here, Pauline, take one of these. I’m running out of hands.” Bonita handed Nana the teddy bear dressed in overalls.

  Poppy laughed and snuggled the bear closer to Nana’s chin before she swatted at his hand.

  Not looking up from the gun, Parker said, “Brandon, your teacher came and got Beau. She needed him at the snow-cone booth. You might want to check it out.” Bullets clipped as I turned to go.

  Nana grabbed my shoulder. “Now where exactly are you going to be? That white tent right over there?”

  Poppy gave her a look, and then she let me go. All the while I felt her eyes watching each step I made.

  After we had poured blue liquid on the last snow cone of our shift at the school booth, Beau and me took Josh for a ride on the Ferris wheel. We waited in a long line while the man who operated the machine told us all the details that the gas station owner had already spilled. I watched the way he smiled at the girls and whispered close to their ears until they laughed. Right down to the belt buckle engraved with the words “Groove Thing,” he seemed like somebody Mama would bring home. Maybe that’s why I didn’t laugh at his one-liners the way Beau and Josh did. He locked us in the yellow-seated cart and kicked us off in such a way that the cart began to spin. Josh clamped harder on to the handle and tried to make us think he liked it by yelling real loud. The night sky filled our senses as we moved higher and higher towards the stars.

  “I bet this is what the astronauts see right when they’re taking off,” I said and threw my head back until the rocking of the cart made me feel dizzy.

  “Look at them down there. They look like little bitsy ants.” Beau pointed at our classmates selling the snow cones. Miss Travick’s blonde hair might as well have been straw pasted on a stick figure.

  “They say you can see clean over to Tallahassee,” I added.

  When the Ferris wheel suddenly stopped, Josh never looked down. “What’s that over there?” Josh let go of the safety bar long enough to point in the direction south of town.

  Red streaks rose up from a clearing of trees. The flames danced higher out of the darkness and clawed at the stars.

  “It’s Dead Man’s Curve. See it? There’s a fire right over there.” Beau’s finger held the position, and he turned to look at me.

  Due south of Dead Man’s Curve could have been either of our places. I pictured our camper boiling in flames and ashes of money from the pickle jar drifting all the way up to the Ferris wheel.

  We must have had the visions at the same time, because all at once we started yelling, “Fire. Fire. Let us down!”

  Josh was flailing around, making the cart swing faster than it did when we first took off. The man down below was laughing with a girl who had her hair pulled back in a braid. She pointed up, and only then did he snatch the lever that made us come back to earth.

  Beau was the first to reach Parker at the booth with basketball hoops.

  “Fire! Something’s on fire just past Dead Man’s Curve.”

  We followed Parker across the street to the gas station. On the same phone that we used to communicate with our past I watched Parker dial the sheriff and then the volunteer fire department. All the while my stomach twisted in a knot that I had thought it had forgotten how to tie. A knot that was supposed to be left back in North Carolina.

  The big cross planted in the middle of the churchyard seemed to be filled with electric currents. Angry flames shot out in all directions. The symbol that was stamped on the Bible that Sister Delores had given me suddenly seemed like something ugly. Behind it the roof of God’s Hospital caved in and flames busted upward towards the trees. Even the whine from the fire-truck sirens couldn’t break my stare. When the church steeple broke off and tumbled to the ground, I pictured the same soot that rose up in the sky dirtying my insides.

  Men still dressed in clothes they wore at the fair began spraying water on the sanctuary. Magnolia trees that had blanketed us for dinners on the ground now popped and twisted against the flames.

  Beau looked at me and then ran towards the trees. He pulled the garden hose from the house next door and began spraying. “Are you just gonna stand there?” he yelled. But as much as I wanted to move, all I could do was watch as God’s Hospital, Sister Delores’s church, my church, sank down right along with my spirit.

  Twelve

  Sister Delores sat in the back of the sheriff’s car with the door wide open. Sounds from the radio crackled and then fell silent. I figured Sister Delores, like the radio, was all cried out. Tears had left a map down her face. She just sat staring at the smoke that drifted away from what remained of the charred building. The lone cross that had been electric with flames in the churchyard had long since fallen and lay broken in two pieces, charred and blackened.

  While men in orange shirts walked around kicking the edges of the building and placing pieces of the church into plastic bags, Bonita and Nana stood with Harvey behind the sheriff’s car. With the rhythm of an old hymn, Bonita kept a steady pat on Harvey’s shoulder.

  Parker and two deputies took a piece of the cross and placed it in a bag. When one of the gloved men peeled away the gold medallion, I stretched against the barrier of yellow tape. The deputy held it up as if it might be some treas
ure unearthed in the scorched grass. Part of the gold circle was twisted towards the grooves. My heart raced as the strange necklace and medallion that Josh found the day we cleaned out Mama Rose’s attic swept through my mind.

  Regular church members crowded behind the sheriff’s car. They stared at Sister Delores like she was one of the women the fair had left behind. A woman with snakes growing from her hair. The crowd began to mumble when Sister Delores stepped out of the car. Harvey ran to her and whispered something unknown but to God and the two of them. She pushed his hands and slid underneath the tape.

  She moved as if the cross might revive and produce a new spray of flames. When she kicked it, a trail of smoke escaped. Not even the crunching sound of burned wood could mask her scream. A scream so piercing that I turned to look for a protective nod from Nana, a nod indicating only a minor setback. But Nana was like all the rest, her brow wrinkled and jaw clinched as she took it all in.

  Sister Delores fell to her knees, and Harvey stood behind her trying to pull her up. She lifted her head high towards the trees; pine straw filled her clinched fists. “Lord, I did everything you told me. But I can’t do this no more. You promised strength to the weary and power to the weak. Well, Father, bring it on, because I just can’t do this no more.”

  By the time Parker and Harvey had lifted Sister Delores from the ground, she was moaning a deep growl that I had first heard playing on the eight-track tape in her car. But this time my heart managed to translate each octave of pain.

  Within a week, traffic was able to pass by the church without so much as slowing down. The charred foundation soon seemed nothing more than an unfilled cavity.

  It began slowly at first, with the clearing of black crumbled wood, and then two weeks later new pilings began to rise up along with our spirits.