A Place Called Wiregrass

by Michael Morris

  “As a committee member, I started not to say anything,” Prune Face said. She stood up from the pew and turned towards the crowd. Looking at her from behind, I discovered one of her secrets. Underneath the curls of ash blonde was a beige pad, visible at the base of her so-called hairline. A falsey on a falsey.

  “But after meeting upon meeting with city council members, United Way, and other churches, I cannot in good faith put this home near our beautiful church.” Prune Face sat back down and was straightening her skirt when she saw me. With her looking right at me, I rolled my eyes and slowly turned my head towards the front of the church.

  “And I don’t mean any harm at all by saying this,” the older man said with his hand placed over his heart. “But tonight with that poor man.” He paused and closed his eyes. “Well, let me just say if this home opens next door we’ll see many more like him. All sorts coming around here. Half of them probably drug addicts and the like.”

  If I had more education, I would’ve stood and said something about the old man’s comments. And he calls himself a judge. When I turned to read Miss Claudia’s reaction to the judge’s comment, she had disappeared.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, as you all know, this was my proposal for our church.” Miss Claudia stood in front of the church, both hands on top of her cane. Her sweet half-smile told me that she was giving in and walking away from her vision. She had been a member of this church for fifty-two years, she had told me on the drive to the service. She was a part of this world, and there were unspoken rules to follow.

  “I still believe this home is what God wants. Whether it’s done here or elsewhere makes no difference. Because the One who calls me is faithful, and He will do it.”

  “Amen,” the woman who stood up and defended the home said.

  “What troubles me more is some of the talk I’ve heard tonight in the Lord’s house.” Miss Claudia glanced at Dr. Winters and sighed. “I declare, how far have we gone when we’re not moved by what we’ve seen by that man who spoke to us? When all we do is argue and carry on? It is the call for us to be the light for Jesus. And quite honestly, it hurts me to say all I see are dull bulbs.” She bit her lip and cleared her throat. I looked down at my bare legs, longing to go put my arm around her. Dr. Winters approached her, but folded his arms when she raised an eyebrow at him.

  “And Judge Harland, I beg your pardon. But you’re out of line with some of your remarks. The women needing this home are not the bottom of society’s barrel like you said. They’re decent, smart women who’ve been punched down to the bottom.”

  “Amen,” I yelled out. The echo of my voice against the high walls made me flinch. I quickly cut my eyes to see if anybody was staring at me.

  After Miss Claudia took her seat, a floor vote was taken. If Miss Claudia was successful that evening, it was in making sure the defeat of her home would not be unanimous. The church would not support a safe haven for battered women within ten blocks of First Methodist. But the church noted its moral support for a home placed elsewhere in Wiregrass.

  We left through the side door, the same one that the undesirable had earlier exited. We walked through the hallway with white Sunday school doors on either side. Photos of new members and children’s hand-painted prints on construction paper decorated the entrances. I trailed behind Miss Claudia, not knowing how to handle her disappointment. Our shoe heels and her cane tapped, out of sync, on the beige tile floor.

  While Miss Claudia put on her nightgown, I called Kasi to make sure Cher was within her sight. “You old mother hen. Her and Laurel are laying here on the floor watching a scary video,” she said. I hung up wondering if Cher had complained to Kasi about me calling and checking on her like it was her first overnight trip.

  I poured the steaming water into a china tea cup. The white Sleepy Time tea bag floated to the top.

  “Thank you, sugar.” She sat in her bed and looked grayer than usual against the mahogany headboard. “You’re going to spoil me yet.”

  “A little spoiling will do you good,” I said and placed another pillow against her neck. “I hate how everything turned out. You know, with the home and all.”

  Her hazel eyes looked tired and weary. “This is where faith comes into play. Now we just sink in our heels and pray, knowing God will do it.” She sat the white china cup down on the tray and stared at her armoire.

  “I’ve been a member of that church ever since I married Wade Tyler.” She rubbed the tea-bag label between her red fingernails. “Oh, even back in those days it was snooty. Only thing was, I prepared myself for it.”

  “After Wade married me, he sent me off to Miss Porter’s. Some high-brow finishing school in Atlanta.” She laughed.

  “That poor old thing earned every penny with this backwoods girl from Apalachicola, Florida. I learned how to eat, how to walk, and especially how to talk.” Miss Claudia pressed her back firmly against the pillows, clasped her hands, and pursed her lips together until she looked so prissy that I burst out laughing.

  “She taught me to drawl the letter ‘I’ out so I didn’t hit it so hard and sound crackery. I declare, I was just too precious for words.” Miss Claudia closed her eyes and stuck out her tongue.

  I leaned into the wingback chair. I liked laughing with her. For me it was the same type of feeling I imagined LaRue and Suzette got from cocaine.

  “But Miss Porter didn’t have to teach me about clothes. I was the craziest thing over clothes you ever did see. And after living with Nettie in the quarters, I knew how to make those flashy dresses like she used to wear.” Miss Claudia slapped her bed. “Can you imagine if all those high-society women at Miss Porter’s would’ve known I learned my taste from a colored harlot.”

  She wiped the tears of laughter from the corner of her eyes. “But no, I was so excited when I got back to Wiregrass and those ladies in the church accepted me. All their sweet little luncheons and circle meetings. It wasn’t until Wade died that I really stopped playing church and got into a love relationship with God. That poor soul tonight was the final straw. His words hit me square in the eye.”

  “I know. I even wanted to get up and say something to that old judge.”

  “No, not Judge Harland. He’s always been a little touched. I’m talking about the man who looked so pitiful.” Miss Claudia gazed across the bedroom at the closet door.

  “I declare, it was just like the Lord spoke to my heart the very minute that man opened his mouth. That man could’ve been me, before Miss Porter’s school.” She was quiet and looked into the cup of tea sitting on the tray. “You know, Erma Lee, I’m ashamed of myself. I should’ve told that church. Told them that I was one of the women they feared having near their precious church house.”

  “At least you had the guts to get up there to start with.”

  She rested the back of her head against the tall headboard.

  “All these years, I’m still hiding behind smoke and mirrors.”

  During my drives home from Miss Claudia’s I began circling around the Garland Motel. Each time I maneuvered my car by the glass motel office, the air would get caught up in my chest and I would have to remind myself to breathe. I’d sit in my humid car hearing the steady rap of crickets and the occasional roar of a semi truck and think of ways to destroy him. A bomb planted inside his white van. A sniper planted under the faded green slide by the weeds and high grass. The spot at the motel where a swimming pool must once have been.

  As I watched the usual motel clerk with short brown hair and square glasses stare at Wheel of Fortune on her office TV, I reminded myself that revenge belonged to the Lord. I thought of the Bible readings Miss Claudia and me did on Paul and how he had a thorn placed in his life that the Lord would not take away. Miss Claudia said we do not know what Paul’s thorn was. Who knows, maybe Paul had a LaRue in his own life. “Lord, please take him away from here,” I prayed for the thorn that sat inside room 107.

  If one thing Bozo’s drunken fury taught me, it was that life had to
go on whether I was smiling or not. Frowns always drew too much attention. To prevent Gerald from thinking anything out of the ordinary was going on in my life, I invited him to supper.

  Earlier that day Miss Claudia met with the city planner about using city funds for the rescue home, and Richard offered to go with her. “No need bringing your credentials up to the poor man. Everybody knows you have your law degree. Just let me do the talking,” Miss Claudia instructed. Looking into the mirror of a small compact case, she drew her red lipstick, and Richard lifted sofa cushions searching for his car keys.

  After they left, I went home to do some last-minute cleaning for Gerald’s arrival. Cher’s little pink radio blasted country music while I dusted, swept, and mopped. Whether I wanted to or not, I was going to force myself to be in a good mood. The floor slightly bounced like a trampoline as I danced around the sofa, sorting through the clothes and linens I had cleaned earlier in Miss Claudia’s washer.

  LeAnn Rimes’s voice trailed down the narrow hallway. I fumbled over the words trying to sing along and carry Cher’s fresh-smelling bed linens at the same time. Chicken-fried steak, sweet potatoes, and black-eyed peas. I selected the menu for Gerald’s dinner and stretched the pale yellow sheet over the corners of Cher’s mattress. I was still thinking of a dessert choice when I lifted the bottom edge of the mattress with my knee and tried to force the shrunken sheet over the corner. Down by my bare foot on the box springs, I saw what looked like a long, skinny spitball. The wrapped ends and the black burnt markings convinced me the object was not a classroom nuisance. My weight fell to the bed, and I held the joint of marijuana in the palm of my hand as if offering a guest a piece of candy. In the second it had taken me to drop the mattress, the thorn in my life had grown to become a poisonous tree.

  Canceling the meal with Gerald was the last thing on my mind. I jumped into my car and sped down the asphalt driveway. Blood boiled in my ears, and I dared Miss Trellis to step out of her white block office and get onto me for speeding in her trailer park.

  Cher never saw me pull into the main parking lot of the city swimming pool. The section Cher had forbidden me to enter. The squeals and splashes of the young kids who lined up behind the high diving board drifted into my car. My eyes searched through the windshield for the green bathing suit she had purchased with car-wash earnings.

  She was standing with Laurel and three other girls behind the chain-link fence in the back corner of the pool. Probably talking about how her no-count daddy can get them all a supply of pot. I pounded the black asphalt parking lot with my lace-up work shoes.

  Laurel was the first to spot me. Her mouth dropped, and she tapped Cher on the arm. When Cher looked at me and rolled her eyes, I wanted to run up to the fence, stick my fingers through the metal gaps, and yank a handful of her brown hair. She put her hand on her hip and said something to the girls. Waiting for her to walk through the side gate, I folded my arms and tapped my finger.

  She moaned like I was an inconvenience to her sun-filled day. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to park by the baseball field.”

  “Get your stuff and get in the car.”

  “Uh, I still got another hour…” Cher lifted her hands up in the air.

  “I said now.”

  She looked over her shoulder at Laurel and the others standing behind her. Casually she walked over to the gate, and Laurel handed her the plastic shopping bag containing a sunflower sundress and towel. She draped the towel over her shoulders and placed the black sunglasses, another car-wash revenue, on her face.

  “What’s up with you?” she asked in a whiny tone.

  With her lagging behind me, I stomped towards the car.

  “Just get in the car.”

  She never made it past the hood. “I don’t feel comfortable with this, you know. You come down here and embarrass me. And won’t even tell me what this is about.”

  The car door squeaked when I opened it. I stood behind the door glaring at her. “Get your butt in this car, young lady. And I mean now.”

  “No. Not until you tell me what your problem is.” She tilted her head back towards the baking sun.

  I slammed the car door and bolted towards her so fast, she took a step backwards. “Let me just show you what my problem is.” I pulled the joint out of my jeans pocket and held it in front of her peeling nose. Before she could reach up and take the offering, I closed my hand and hid it back in my pocket.

  She stared at me with her mouth open. “I just…we just found it.”

  “You just found it, huh? Try another one on me.”

  “Laurel’s boyfriend…”

  “Can’t you even take responsibility? I told you. But, no ma’am, you wouldn’t listen to dumb ol’ me.” I raised my hands in the air and turned my back to her. “I told you he was trouble. And now he’s got you all strung out on drugs, just like your sorry mama.”

  Cher opened her arms like a defensive tackle ready to launch. Her mouth was gaping open. “How did you…”

  “Don’t stand there acting like you pulled one over on me neither.” I turned to face her, so mad her image made me feel heat behind my eyes. “You don’t think I’ve seen you with him. Those nights riding around town smoking God knows what in that white van.”

  “This has nothing to do with my daddy. Laurel’s boyfriend gave it…And why do you care if I see my daddy?”

  “Because he’s trouble, girl.” I put my hands on my hips and leaned down towards her face. “He ain’t nothing but a cokehead and never will be nothing more.”

  “You’re not telling anything, you know. He already told me about all that. He’s changed now.”

  “Huh. He’ll change the day his toes turn up and the undertaker puts him in the ground.”

  She grimaced at me and squeezed her hands into two fists. “Oh, you make me so mad,” she screamed and stomped her foot. “He said you’d do this. He said you’d come between us. Just like you’re doing.”

  My scrunched up eyes reflected back at me in her fancy sunglasses. “I saw what he did to your mama. The man’s poison, Cher.”

  She leaned towards me and screamed, “You’re nothing but a sorry liar.”

  The cracking sound from my hand meeting her face echoed down the parking lot and towards her friends. For an instant there was no splashing water or laughter from the pool area. Just an uneasy stillness that made me hope the situation was a nightmare and that I’d soon awake to hit the snooze button.

  Her prized sunglasses, first scouted out in Seventeen magazine, landed on the pavement. She looked up at me, and the red indentation on her cheek outlined the spot where my long fingers had settled.

  Before I could open my mouth, she ran in between parked cars and towards the dense trees behind the swimming pool. Her white plastic bag rattled in the wind, and with each stride plastic flip-flops slapped at her feet.

  “Get back here,” I yelled over the splash and squeals of innocent kids. Normal kids enjoying their carefree summer day. Once she had disappeared beyond the shrubs and trees, I picked up the designer sunglasses and noticed a crack on the front of one lens.

  Twenty

  After searching the woods behind the pool, I walked over to Laurel and the girls Cher had been talking with.

  “You seen Cher?” I asked Laurel.

  Laurel bit her paint-chipped fingernail, shook her head, and looked at the other girls. They stared back at me with the same blank look Cher had given me after I slapped her. “Laurel, stay here. I’ll be back in a minute,” I said and walked to my car.

  I drove around the side road of the swimming pool, looking deep within the pine trees and oaks that filled the woods. The area was as long as a city block. A convenience store sat at the end of the street. I asked a young woman pumping gas if she had seen a fourteen-year-old in a green bathing suit. “I sure haven’t,” she said with her hand planted on the car trunk as if there was not a worry in the world.

  If LaRue had not been in town, I wouldn’t have grippe
d the steering wheel as tightly as I did. His high-cheek-boned face was the first thing that popped into my mind. I just hoped Cher had not thought of him too.

  “You mean that good-looking feller that drove the van with the ladder on top?” the Garland Motel clerk said. “He’s done checked out.”

  “Do you remember what time?”

  “Baby, I reckon it was about two hours ago,” she said, adjusting the big square glasses on her nose. “Why? He ain’t in no trouble I hope.”

  “I hope not either,” I said and heard the silver bell at the top of the office door ring when I left.

  Riding around the streets of Wiregrass, searching for my biggest asset, I felt trapped. Roped in my own frustration and torment, I drove down Elm Drive and passed Miss Claudia’s big brick home twice before convincing myself to stop.

  Walking up the side porch to the kitchen, I could see Miss Claudia through the tall windows. She was at the stove heating up the pot of field peas I had cooked for lunch. Richard sat at the table reading the newspaper. They looked content and safe. Just when I turned to leave, Miss Claudia saw me on her porch and held up her hand.

  “Erma Lee, what in the world,” Miss Claudia said at the screened kitchen door.

  “Cher and me got in a fight. I thought she might be here.” Not wanting her to see my hands tremble, I tucked them in the back pockets of my jeans.

  Miss Claudia wiped her hands on a dish towel with little red cherries. “I’ll be watching for her,” Miss Claudia said and patted my arm. “It’s difficult at her age, don’t you know.”