Chasing Lilacs

by Carla Stewart

  “For an ankle-biter, you’re pretty funny.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “For a kid, you’re all right. That’s all.” Cly started up the sidewalk after me, hands jammed into his Levi’s pockets.

  The air suddenly felt thicker, the sky blacker. The sidewalk stretched out in front of me a mile long, and my breathing had turned weird, sort of shallow and fluttery. Why was Cly walking with me? Tuwana would have a conniption.

  I wiped my sweaty palms on my shorts, then clenched them into fists. Puffing out my cheeks, I let out a slow breath. Cly walked close enough I could feel his shirt brushing my arm.

  “A kid? So that’s what you think?” I opened my mouth, and that’s what came out.

  Just a few more steps to the porch. The fixture beside the door made a yellow circle of light that seemed to say hurry, hurry.

  “I’m home. Safe and sound. You can go now.” My voice had a scritchy sound.

  “Just one thing… I’ve been wondering…. Everything cool with you here at home?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?” What was this all about? Earlier today he’d asked almost the very same thing.

  “Doobie told me about your mom being gone. I thought maybe… Well, I just hoped things were righteous, ya know.”

  “Doobie? What does he know? My mother’s doing fine. As a matter of fact, she’ll be back on Monday. Good as new. Besides, I don’t think it’s cool for Doobie to be talking about something he knows nothing about.” Just because his mom had gone to the same hospital as Mama didn’t mean he knew beans about our situation.

  “I’m all ears if you want to talk about it.”

  “I’m fine. My mother’s fine. And besides, I heard you had plenty of your own problems to deal with. I don’t think you need to be butting into mine.” My mouth had taken on a mind of its own. I didn’t know exactly what Cly’s problems were, but they weren’t the same as mine. Not even close.

  “Where’d you hear that?” His chin lifted a notch, and a dark look crossed his face.

  “Never mind. Just forget I said anything.” I climbed to the top step.

  “Wait.” Cly grabbed my arm and pulled me around. “What did you hear?”

  “Sammie, you by yourself?” Daddy said from the other side of the screen. “Thought I heard voices out here.”

  “Yes, Daddy… I mean, no, I’m not by myself. Cly walked me up the sidewalk. He’s going home now.”

  I yanked my arm away from Cly’s grip and marched into the house.

  Daddy sat in his rocker, watching the weather on the television. I wondered if he’d heard my conversation with Cly. I hoped not. And another thing. I wished Cly had never walked me home and that Edsels hadn’t been invented. When the weatherman finished, Daddy went to the kitchen and filled his thermos with coffee and made a sandwich for his lunch box.

  “I’ll be on graveyards for two more nights. Guess you’ll be going over to the community hall to clean up tomorrow.”

  I nodded. He gave me a peck on the cheek, picked up his battered hard hat, and left for his shift at the plant. After taking a bath, I tried reading Gone with the Wind, but the words blurred together. All I could think about was why Cly asked me so many questions. I concentrated on the words in the book, but I was too sleepy to make any sense of them. I turned out the light and thought about Mama. Only two more days and she’d be home. The last thing I remembered before falling asleep was wondering if a person was allowed to eat fried chicken when receiving shock treatments.

  The next morning Tuwana lit into me the minute I showed up for the cleanup. “What? You didn’t bring Cly along so you could kootchy-koo while we sweep the floors?”

  “What?” I stepped away from her.

  “Don’t act so dumb, like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” she hissed.

  “If you’re talking about when Cly walked home from my house, I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  “Yeah, and sitting on his lap in the Edsel wasn’t your idea either, I suppose.” She crossed her arms and slitted her eyes at me.

  “For Pete’s sake, Tuwana, I don’t know how you come up with these harebrained ideas. You’re the one with the big crush. Not me.”

  “You say that, but I know you ride your bike past his house all the time, show off on the basketball court….”

  “Think whatever you want. Trust me. I’m not trying to steal your boyfriend. Now maybe we ought to get busy.” I picked up a wooden folding chair and stacked it near the wall.

  Thankfully Cly didn’t show for the cleanup. Every time the door opened, I looked up, half wanting it to be him, half scared to death. Sometimes I could still feel his hands around my waist as we’d sped along in the Edsel. Is this what a crush feels like? I didn’t feel all swoony or anything, so I guessed not.

  I kept my distance from Tuwana and worked outside, picking up stray paper plates and burned-up sparklers from the night before. When we finished, I walked home alone and spent the afternoon reading the last fifty pages of Gone with the Wind while Daddy took a nap before his graveyard shift.

  What did Mama love so much about this book? The adventurous Scarlett? The rascal Rhett? Maybe when Scarlett’s little girl, Bonnie, died, it reminded her of Sylvia. I personally didn’t think that would be a good thing. Still, I couldn’t wait to see her and tell her I’d read her favorite book, the whole thing.

  I’d just finished when Daddy woke up and asked me to come outside with him. He lowered himself onto the porch step and lit a Camel.

  “I had an interesting conversation down at the plant last night.” He sounded odd.

  “What was that?”

  “Norm MacLemore told me you’d been spending a lot of time with his nephew.”

  An up-and-down roller-coaster feeling started in my stomach.

  “Not really. He hangs around with all of us, actually.” What was going on?

  “What’s he like? The nephew.”

  “Well, at first…” I took a deep breath. “When he first came he acted different, talked like they do in California, I guess. But now he seems like everyone else. Riding Doobie’s motor scooter. Playing basketball. Just regular stuff.”

  “Norm thinks I oughta keep a better eye on you. Says his nephew’s been in trouble at his school. He doesn’t want anything to happen here.”

  “Trouble? What trouble?” Tiny prickles danced up my spine.

  “Skipping school. Running with a bad crowd, from what I gathered.”

  “He seems all right to me.”

  “I saw him grab your arm last night on the porch. Now, I ain’t saying he was up to no good, but you’re only twelve. The nephew’s fourteen. Probably be best for all concerned if you stayed away from him.”

  “You mean I can’t even pick my own friends?”

  “Not if it’s the MacLemore kid.” He stubbed out the cigarette butt in the Folgers can. “It’s times like this I wish your aunt Vadine had come to stay while Mama’s gone. You’re too young to be on your own.”

  “That’s not fair. I haven’t done anything. Mr. MacLemore got it all wrong.”

  “Life’s not always fair. I’ve told you that. It wasn’t fair when your sister, Sylvia, died, and that’s what’s kept your mama worked up all these years. Thing is, we don’t know anything about this kid, and you adding to Mama’s problems when she gets back wouldn’t do. Not at all.” He got up and went into the house.

  End of conversation. Great. Tuwana hated me. I could never see Cly again. Daddy didn’t trust me. All this time, I’d thought we were doing all right. What had I done wrong?

  The most disturbing thing, though, was the idea Mama might still have problems when she got back. Half the summer wasted, and for what? Angry tears stung my eyes, but I didn’t know if they were for Mama or for me.

  [ TEN ]

  ON MONDAY, DADDY LEFT before sunup to get Mama. He apologized about leaving me home. “Rules are rules. No visitors in the hospital under fourteen.” I didn’t mind. I had thi
s idea of decorating the house for Mama. Daddy’s Old Spice filled the house as I hung chains made with construction paper. I strung a Welcome Home sign in big cutout letters over the kitchen doorway.

  When I finished, I went over to Goldie’s.

  “Exciting day for you,” Goldie said. “Nervous?”

  “A little. What do you think Mama will be like?”

  “Probably anxious, like you. Maybe embarrassed.” Goldie clicked and banged the feeding tins for the parakeets while I filled the watering bowls.

  “I hadn’t thought about that.” I unwired the latch to the outdoor flight and shooed out the birds from the top two rows. Goldie had shown me how to keep the birds separated into the four different levels divided by chicken wire. They splashed and flew around, chirping like it was Christmas or something.

  “Your mother’s been through a lot. You may have to give her some time for the routine to return.” Goldie helped me whoosh the next batch of parakeets out. “It’s not like my loves here, always flapping and eager to enter the fray. Let your mama get her wings back.”

  With the birds out, we scoured their boxes (Monday the boxes, Tuesday the floor, every day its own job), and then we fixed macaroni and cheese for lunch.

  “Let’s cut a few of George’s roses for your mama.” Goldie dug in the cupboard and pulled out a tall, flared vase. Wearing canvas gloves, she snipped a handful of thorny stems from the side yard and arranged them.

  “Fill it with water and add a teaspoon of sugar when you get home. And give your mama my love.”

  Old Spice still lingered in the house, but fainter now with the roses I’d brought.

  A long soak in the tub got rid of the aviary stink, and I put on my best pair of Bermuda shorts and a cotton eyelet blouse I’d ironed the day before and waited for Daddy to bring Mama home.

  On about my millionth trip to peek out the window to see if they were coming, the Chevy pulled up in front of the house and Mama got out. My heart skipped a beat. I ran out the door and straight to her. She hugged me so tight I thought I would faint. Then she held me at arm’s length and looked me over, her blue eyes as sparkly as sapphires. “Just look at you, all tanned and smart looking. Mercy sakes, I’ve missed you.” She drew me in again, close to her. I closed my eyes and inhaled. Mama smelled of Ivory soap and something I couldn’t place. A mixture of disinfectant and the way the house smells after we’ve had the flu. Hospital smells, like when Grandma Grace died.

  Daddy carried Mama’s brown suitcase, and we all went into the house.

  “Well, now…” Daddy winked at me and then Mama. “Here we are.”

  “Look at that, will you?” Mama pointed to the welcome sign. “Oh, and paper chains. Just like a party.” A party for just the three of us, but it felt right. And what’s a party without presents? I ran into my room for the coming-home present I’d bought for Mama at Willy’s store.

  “I have something for you.” I handed it to her. “Lilac soap. Imported from Paris, Willy said.”

  Mama held it in her pale fingers as if it were fine china, worked the tissue wrapper off, and sniffed it. When she tossed her head, red and gold curls spun off in spirals. “Lilac. Mmmm. Luscious. I’ll use it tonight in the bath. What a treat. A whole month with only a drippy shower. Funny, I spent more time longing for a bath than I did eating. Thank you, sweetie.”

  And that’s the way it went. Not at all like Goldie said, easing Mama back into her old life. She changed from her gingham shirtwaist into shorts and one of Daddy’s old work shirts. She padded around barefoot, stopping to touch everyday items as if she had just laid eyes on them for the first time.

  Daddy fried sausage patties and whipped up pancake batter. On the griddle, Mama dropped teaspoons of batter that came off no bigger than silver dollars, golden with crisp brown edges. She moved the roses to the enamel table on the back porch, where we ate supper.

  No one mentioned the past four weeks, and for once, I didn’t care about the hospital and what went on there. Mama had come home just like in the Tide commercial—new and improved.

  We sat on the front porch until way after dark, listening to the crickets and Mama’s tinkling laugh. Once in a while the smoke from Daddy’s cigarette would curl up like skywriting headed for the Milky Way. Mama and I traced the Big Dipper with our fingers.

  Daddy slipped his arm around Mama’s shoulders and nuzzled her neck. “You know, I’m beat. I think it’s time my girls and I got some beauty sleep.”

  Curled on my side clutching Pedro, I listened to the roar of bathwater filling the tub. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten to tell Mama about reading Gone with the Wind. At least I’d have tomorrow and a thousand tomorrows to share it with her. The last sound in my ears was the glug-glug-glug of the water going down the drain and Mama’s soft giggle.

  The next morning we sat on the couch in our pajamas, cross-legged, sipping coffee—Mama’s black and mine the color of soft caramels since I’d put more milk than coffee in it.

  “My roommate was Marilyn Monroe…. Leastwise, she told everyone that. Big, pouty red lips and a penciled-on beauty mark.” Mama’s face glowed as she described the various people she’d met in the hospital.

  “Oh, and Rose, poor thing. Piled on all her clothes, just layers and layers of sweaters, blouses, heaven only knows how many pairs of underwear—every stitch she owned—all at once. The attendants would say, ‘It’s hot today, Rose. Take off your sweater.’ She would take every stitch off and rearrange it all, ending up with her bra and panties on top, and say, ‘Happy now? I’m plumb down to my undies.’ ”

  Mama made it sound like she’d been off on an adventure, a voyage into the weird and wacky. I kept waiting for her to slip me a tidbit about what torture they’d performed on her, but she just sipped her coffee and said, “Let me tell you about our calisthenics instructor….”

  She uncurled her legs and reached for her cup. “You just can’t imagine the awful taste of institutional coffee. Any thicker and it would’ve been motor oil.” She stood up and stretched, taking her cup to the kitchen for a refill. Over her shoulder she said, “Well, now you know all about my summer. Tell me about yours.”

  “You’ll never guess what Benny Ray Johnson bought. A new Edsel. It’s dreamy and fast and he loves taking everybody riding in it.”

  “An Edsel, huh? Don’t believe I’ve ever seen one of those. What else did you do?”

  And next thing I knew I was telling her about the Fourth of July and Cly walking up the steps with me. How it made Tuwana get all in a snit and then Norm MacLemore talking to Daddy.

  “Daddy told me I had to stay away from Cly, but he’s nice, Mama, he really is.” I gushed like an oil well, spewing it all out. I stopped for a breath, and a bell went off in my head. This is my mother I’m talking to. My own mother who does care about me. Goldie’s words came back to me: “Let her get her wings back.” All of a sudden I felt shy, tongue-tied, like maybe I shouldn’t dump everything on her at once. A gap slipped into the air.

  Mama sipped her coffee, waiting for me to continue. A tiny sigh escaped her lips.

  “You’ll never guess what else I did,” I finally said.

  “Oh my, I guess I wouldn’t.”

  “I read Gone with the Wind cover to cover.” I waited for Mama to pounce on that and start divulging her favorite parts, but a funny look had settled on her face, like an eraser had wiped over it and left a chalky blank slate.

  “How wonderful,” she said, her tone flat.

  Racking my brain trying to think what to say next, I jumped when someone knocked on the door. I peeked around the curtains and saw Tuwana standing there holding something. I opened the door for her.

  “Mother thought you might like this.” She shoved a pie into my hands. “Peanut butter icebox pie.”

  “Thanks. Come on in and see Mama.”

  She stepped inside.

  “Mama, look what Mrs. Johnson…” Mama had disappeared. The door to her room was closed.

  “Mam
a and I were having coffee in our pj’s.” I shrugged at Tuwana. “She’s probably getting dressed.”

  Tuwana stayed by the front door, looking off at a fly on the ceiling or something.

  “Thank you for the pie.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Peanut butter. That’s your mom’s special recipe, isn’t it?”

  She shrugged.

  “Tuwana, are you all right?”

  “I’d be a lot better if you would accept my apology for what I said the other day.”

  “Apology? When was that?”

  “Now, you big doofus. I’m apologizing. I’m sorry for what I said… about you trying to steal Cly away.”

  “Well, then… apology accepted.” I wrinkled my nose at Tuwana. “Now will you sit down?”

  “PJ thinks Cly is playing hard to get, trying to make me jealous.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  I watched Mama’s door, thinking she would come out any minute. Tuwana flopped into Daddy’s platform rocker and after a bit mouthed the words, “How is she?” and pointed to Mama’s bedroom.

  “Fine. Just fine.” I took the coffee cups to the kitchen and put the pie on the counter.

  “How’s your cheerleading?” I asked, filling up the space of time waiting for Mama to come out.

  “PJ’s got shin splints or something. Lays around watching her soaps all day.”

  “Good ol’ PJ. I think I’ll go check on Mama. See if she wants some pie.”

  Mama sat on her vanity stool fastening tortoiseshell clips in her hair. She had on bright coral lipstick but no powder, so her freckles shone like tiny constellations on her face.

  “Tuwana still here?”

  “Yeah, I wondered if you were coming out to see her?”

  “Sure am.” She spritzed on some lilac water, stood up, and followed me into the front room.

  Mama chattered away with Tuwana, talking about how grown-up she looked with her new poodle haircut, and I could tell Tuwana was surprised at Mama’s perkiness.

  “Let’s have a slice of whatever your mother sent.” Mama whooshed into the kitchen.