Send Me Down a Miracle

by Han Nolan

  I let myself be carried by the swing until he let go of me, and then I caught myself on the threshold and spun back around on him.

  "I've already been pushed down a flight of stairs, practically breaking my neck, and now you're yanking on my arm and paddling my bottom. Nobody else better touch me again."

  I glared at Daddy and held my hands in tight fists against my sides.

  Daddy took a step toward me. "I don't believe you heard what I said. I want you out in that car, now!"

  "No, sir!" I backed away from him. "You took that chair, and Mad Joe's needing it. How could you be so cruel? I thought Jesus said for us to love our neighbor. You're always quoting Scripture, Daddy, but never that line. What about loving our neighbor?"

  "There is a difference between loving our neighbor and loving Satan, and Satan's in this house. In this very house. You, child, are consorting with the devil, and I will not have it!"

  Daddy lunged for me then and grabbed both my arms and started dragging me off the porch.

  "No, Daddy. Let go. Let go of me! I hate you."

  "If you won't get in the car, I'll put you in the car myself," Daddy said, grunting and struggling to keep ahold of me.

  I was wild. I could feel it inside. This wild, evil creature was raging inside of me, and I just let it loose. "No! I hate you. Everyone hates you. Everyone!" I broke free and stood panting in front of the car. "Mama hates you. That's why she's staying away. It's your fault. It's all your fault Mama's gone." I pounded the car and then I ran, and Daddy didn't call me back and he didn't come after me.

  22

  I didn't know where else to go but to Sharalee's. They were just setting out for church when I arrived.

  "Lordy, Charity, you aren't going to church, even?" Sharalee said when I told her what had happened.

  "I don't know who God is anymore, so why bother," I said. "And anyways, I don't want to hear anything my daddy's preaching."

  "Law!" was all Sharalee could say.

  When they got back from church, Sharalee and her mama were all full of stories about how Daddy preached a mighty strong sermon on the evils of idolatry and how the church was split right down the middle, with half wanting the chair put back and half wanting it gone. Mad Joe and Old Higgs were leading one side, and Sharalee's mama and papa, and my Daddy, of course, headed up the other.

  "Folks are wanting to put it to a vote," Mrs. Marshall said, "but your Daddy said Miss Adrienne's not wanting it in her house anymore, so what's the use of that?"

  Mrs. Marshall sat at her kitchen table picking at a sweet roll and looking smug while Sharalee looked on, winding her hair ribbon round and round her wrists.

  "I thought they were voting on whether they were going to keep the chair or get rid of it altogether. That's what they wanted," Sharalee said.

  Mrs. Marshall shook her head. "But not that Mad Joe. It's over to Miss Adrienne's or nothing. There was just no end to his carrying on." She tinned to me. "I told your daddy, Charity, that he'd better lock that chair away good, or that madman'll come and steal it right out of that church. Oh, and I told him you were staying with us, so he wouldn't worry. Most likely he'll be over here to talk to you soon."

  I didn't want to see Daddy and I reckon he didn't want to see me, 'cause he never came by, which got Mrs. Marshall talking and digging at me all through dinner. And seeing as how she wouldn't quit till she dragged something juicy out of me, I let out that I had taken a tumble down Adrienne's stairs and that she and I had had a falling out, which set Mrs. Marshall's eyes to dancing, and I could tell she was just itching to get to the phone.

  I noticed Sharalee setting across from me looking glum and not hardly touching her dinner. I figured once we got up to her room and closed her door she'd perk up and tell me what was going on, but she just flopped down on her bed and gave me this look like she was wishing I wasn't there.

  "I know," I said. "I know you're wanting the chair put back so you can lose your weight."

  Sharalee rolled onto her side, facing the wall instead of me. "Sometimes I just hate your daddy," she said. She waited for me to say something, but I didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry, Charity, but really." She rolled back over and sat up, grabbing her pink pillow and hugging it.

  Everything in her room was sewn up in shades of pink. It was like I was sitting inside a strawberry milk shake.

  Sharalee sighed and dragged herself over to her bureau. She pulled out two nighties, one for me and one for her. She tossed mine toward her spare bed without even looking to see if it made it.

  "Law, Sharalee," I said, picking the gown up off the floor. "I'd think at least you'd be happy to see me."

  "Oh yeah, I am, really," she said, her voice as flat as a freshly starched shirt.

  "Well, that's a load off my mind," I said, turning my back and slipping on the nightie. I climbed onto the bed.

  "No, I am."

  "Well, even if we did get the chair back, Adrienne's not wanting it, so what would be the use?" I tucked my feet under her perfectly quilted blanket with the silky pink bows tied between each patch and fluffed up the pillows behind me. I leaned back and all my lumps and bumps and bruises seemed to go soft and melt away.

  I watched Sharalee getting into her nightie and when she turned around again to face me, I saw her face was gripped with some kind of worry.

  I tried to cheer her up. "Shoot, Sharalee, looks like the weight is just falling off you. I reckon soon enough you'll be skinnier'n me, even."

  That seemed to be the right thing to say, 'cause she perked up and came and sat on my bed.

  "Yeah, I have lost more. Four pounds total."

  "Law, isn't that some kind of record or something, losing so fast like that?"

  She shrugged. "Probably most of it's water weight. That's what Mama says."

  I looked Sharalee over again, thinking maybe I could tell if it was fat or water she was losing, but I couldn't. All I could see was her eyes all puffy, with blue shadows under them, and seeing them made me feel sad and lonely, like maybe I had lost my old best friend.

  "One thing's for certain," she said, "that Jesus chair's sure been working the miracles."

  "I reckon."

  Sharalee frowned. "What do you mean, you reckon? 'Course it has. Miss Becky's been found, and the Encyclopedia Sisters are cured, I've been losing the weight, and even Boo's got a hair."

  "Really?" I hadn't heard about Boo.

  Sharalee chuckled. "It's growing out of his shoulder."

  "That's not funny, Sharalee. He can't help it he's bald."

  "It's true."

  "No, you're just saying that. Aren't you?...A hair? One single hair sprouting up out of his shoulder? Who wants one there? You're just fooling."

  She raised her right hand. "Honest, I'm not. And guess the color."

  I shrugged. "Blond, I reckon."

  Sharalee laughed her old high-pitched trickling-water laugh and I knew my best friend was back. "It's gray! I swear on a stack of Bibles, it's gray. Now did you ever?"

  "I declare, Sharalee, you're putting me on," I said, slapping at her arm and laughing with her. "Who told you this? Miss Tuney Mae?"

  "Cross my heart, I saw it with my own eyes. Ask Mama if I didn't."

  I wiped at the tears running down my face and tried to stop laughing. "That Boo, I always said he was an old man. Didn't I? Didn't I say?"

  Sharalee nodded and wiped at her own tears. "Who knows, fast as that chair's working, he could have a whole garden patch of gray hairs growing out of his shoulder by now."

  I rocked with the laughter, and the tears kept coming. Then, before I knew what was happening, I found my laughing tears had turned to crying tears.

  "Hey, Charity, what's wrong? What's wrong, honey?" Sharalee inched forward on her quilt and put her arm around me.

  I shook my head. "I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know if that Jesus chair's still in one piece. Daddy was so mad about—about stuff and all. And everybody's counting on it, you know? Me pray
ing for Mama to come home soon, and you praying for your miracle weight loss, and Mad Joe—Lordy, Mad Joe praying hardest of all."

  "Shh, it's okay. It's okay." Sharalee patted my back. "The twins are already cured, really. I went with Mama to see them the other day and all those sores on their legs were healed and they weren't yella or anything. And don't you worry about me any—I'll lose the weight, I'm real determined. And I bet your mama's turned around and is headed back this-a way right this very minute. Now come on, you're all wore out. You're needing some sleep."

  Sharalee set my pillows flat, covered me over with the sheet, and kissed me good night, and for the first time since Mama had left I felt comforted and safe, and I realized what Mama had meant to me all my growing years.

  "Sharalee?" I whispered after she had turned off the light and settled into her own bed.

  "Yes?"

  "You'll make a great mama someday."

  "'Night, Charity."

  "'Night," I said, and then kept talking. "I know that chair's good. I know Jesus is there. Don't you feel it? Sharalee? Don't you feel Jesus is there when you kneel down and pray?"

  "Mm-hmm."

  "I don't know. It's like this real holy calm comes over me. Like Jesus is there whispering words into my soul like 'tranquil' and 'fluorescent' and 'silk.' You know? Gentle words. Sharalee? You know?"

  I reckon I fell asleep soon after saying that, 'cause it's the last thing I remember thinking about, and the next thing I knew I was listening to some sound coming from far off. I couldn't tell if I was awake or asleep, but the sound was the same each time I heard it. It was a quiet crinkling sound, and I'd hear it for just a second and then it would stop, and then a few seconds later it would come again—crinkle—silence—crinkle—long silence—crinkle. At first I'd hear it, dream a little, then hear it again, but then as I started to become aware of the sound I began to wait for it, and the more I waited the more awake I became, and I realized the sound was coming from somewhere in the room.

  I lay there awake with my eyes closed a good while just listening for the sound, and then the sound changed and I started to hear a once-in-a-while clinking noise. I opened my eyes and found I was on my left side, facing Sharalee's bed. I strained to see her but the bed was empty. I rolled onto my back and sat up, the quilt still covering my shoulders, and looked out beyond the end of my bed.

  "Sharaleel" I called in a loud whisper. "Lord love a duck, what on earth—!"

  I leaned over toward the nightstand and switched on the light.

  "Charity, what are you doing?" Sharalee whispered back, her mouth full of ice cream. "Turn that thing off before Mama comes in here and fries both our heads in butterfat."

  I switched it oft but not before I got a good look at all the goodies piled up around her. Stuff like Moon Pies and Twinkies and cupcakes with two-inch frosting. There seemed to be every kind of cookie set out, too—chocolate chips and coconut shavers and lemon twistees—and then there was the ice cream, which she must have stored in the cooler I saw by her leg.

  I crawled to the end of the bed, got down on my stomach, and hung my head over the edge. Sharalee was still eating, and eating fast, even knowing I was looking at her.

  "Sharalee?"

  She didn't look up from her bowl. She just kept scooping the ice cream into her mouth. "I know this looks bad, but don't worry," she said, talking around her mouthful.

  "Don't worry? I'm scared to death! Honest, I am. Sharalee, the miracles are over. Daddy must have destroyed the chair. I didn't tell you about seeing Vonnie and Velita yesterday morning, but they didn't look so cured to me, and they had only just heard about Daddy and the chair. And now you. Sharalee? Are you hearing me?"

  Sharalee nodded and grabbed a chocolate chip cookie and crunched it into her ice cream.

  I got out of bed and started scooping up some of the junk.

  "You've got to stop this. I swanee. In just this one night you're going to put on twice the weight you've lost."

  I reached for the box of Moon Pies, and Sharalee's hand came down on my wrist. "Leave it. Just put it all down. Okay?"

  "No, this is not okay. Whichever way you look at it, this is not okay."

  With her hand still wrapped around my wrist, she twisted at my arm and pulled me down to her so we were face-to-face and I could smell her chocolate breath.

  "Leave me alone now. Charity, and go on back to bed." She let go of my arm.

  "Sharalee, you're going to make yourself sick eating all this."

  Sharalee tore the cellophane off a Moon Pie and stuck half of it in her mouth.

  I looked at all the food and reached for one of the lemon twistees. Sharalee slapped my hand.

  "I bought all this with my own money at the Food World. You get your own job and buy your own stuff," she mumbled, the crumbs spitting from her mouth and hitting my face.

  "Sharalee, I've never seen you like this Never. Why, you're like a pig. A real pig."

  "Shut up! What do you know about it? What do you know about going all day with your mama standing over you watching every bite you shouldn't be eating? What do you know about it?"

  I reached for the strands of hair that had fallen in her face and ran them through my fingers. "Nothing. I know nothing about it, 'cepting that you're starving yourself all day and stuffing yourself all night and killing yourself all the time. Sharalee, what are you doing this for?"

  "You know."

  I hugged her and stood up. Then I climbed back in the bed and said good night.

  She didn't answer. I listened to the soft crinkle of another Moon Pie being opened, and I thought about Vonnie and Velita being ready to die but hanging on for their papa's sake, and I wondered if a child ever gets to just please herself.

  23

  Tuesday morning I was sitting alone in the Marshalls' kitchen munching on a mouthful of cereal when Grace came to the door and called through the screen. "Can I come in?" she asked.

  I looked around, wondering if it was okay to let someone into a house that wasn't mine. All the Marshalls had gone to work.

  I hopped off my stool and set my bowl in the sink. "I'll come out there," I said.

  I pushed through the door and Grace slipped her hand in mine easy as you please, like we'd been holding hands all our lives. We sat down on the porch swing hanging from the branch of a tree and started a lazy push, back and forth together, heel-toe, heel-toe.

  "I miss you," she said.

  "Me?" I was surprised. Grace never seemed to notice I was even around.

  "I don't know what to say to the reverend. You were always there. I always talked to you."

  "No, you didn't. Grace, you never talk to anybody, just like Mama, 'cepting maybe Boo."

  "Well I miss you."

  We sat in silence, listening to the creaking of the swing and closing our eyes to the damp heat settling on our skin.

  Grace broke the silence. "I can't see Boo anymore. Can't hardly go out, 'cause Daddy's wanting me close by. He doesn't know I'm here."

  "Is he still so angry at me?" I asked, not looking at her.

  "He's angry at everybody. Lots of folks come by last night wanting the Jesus chair. Mad Joe come over drunk and saying Vonnie's dying. He tried to break into the church."

  I set my feet flat on the ground and stopped the swing. "Do you know what Daddy did with the chair?"

  "Yes."

  I waited for her to say but she just sat there calm as calm, letting this daddy long-legger crawl up her arm.

  "Well, tell me, then."

  "It's over to the church. The reverend said Miss Adrienne gave it to him. Said she wanted it out of her nouse."

  I stood up. "I know that, but is it all busted up, or—or what?"

  She squinted up at me. "It's still whole. It's locked up. He's holding it till folks come to their senses."

  "Poor Mad Joe," I said. I sat back down and we pushed at the ground again. The swing creaked back and forth. I closed my eyes.

  "Why's he so mean?" Grace as
ked, and I knew she was meaning Daddy.

  "He didn't used to be, Grace, remember? Remember how he used to take us out for ice cream after Sunday dinner?"

  "No."

  I opened my eyes. "Well, you were kind of young then, but remember one time in the drugstore in Dothan, when you saw that plastic shovel and pail and you just cried and cried 'cause you just had to have them even though we weren't going to the beach or anything, and Daddy bought them for you? And remember when, just last year, Mama decided to give all her birdcages away at the church picnic, and then when folks were saying they were going to make lamps out of them or use them for real live birds. Mama panicked, and Daddy rescued the birdcages back from everybody? Remember? Remember how Mama just hugged and hugged Daddy?"

  "Maybe," Grace said, removing the spider and setting it on the ground. I closed my eyes again, enjoying the floaty way the swing made me feel, and then Grace said, "Boo's got a hair."

  I peeked an eye open and looked at Grace. Her face was serious.

  "I heard." I closed my eye.

  "He's needing the chair back."

  "So're a lot of people with worse problems than his."

  Grace stopped the swing. "You could get it back."

  I laughed and opened my eyes. We looked at each other.

  "Of all the people on earth, I'm the least one could get that chair away from Daddy."

  "You could, too. You can do anything."

  I knew my eyebrows had raised clear up to my hairline. "Since when?"

  She shrugged. "Since always, I reckon."

  I laughed. "Since never," I said, but for the first time in my life I felt like an older sister. And it hit me, I'm setting here with my sister. I have a younger sister and here she is and we're talking like real sisters.

  "I can do some things, Grace," I said. "Some real good things, but not everything. Nobody can fix everything." I took her soggy hand in mine and we pushed the swing again, back and forth, together, heel-toe, heel-toe.

  24

  The next few days were quiet. Too quiet. And it wasn't just that Sharalee and her mama, like most everybody in town, went off to Dothan to work every morning, leaving just kids and farmers and old folks behind. It was the change in the weather, too. The days were dark. The clouds hung lower and lower over the town, still and threatening, like a held breath about to give way, needing to give way, yet holding on a little longer, and a little longer. The heat, thick and suffocating, seeped through the cracks and keyholes of the Marshall' house, and the central air-conditioning puffed and puffed but couldn't blow it back out.