BOMAW 7-9

by Mercedes Keyes

  Shawn2 looked at his father. "Can I go now?"

  "You keep what you heard, and what we've discussed to yourself, you understand?"

  "What if they ask?"

  "You tell them, I said, come talk to me." Derrick finished. "Now go, use this door here, not the one upstairs." He directed.

  Shawn2 was only too happy to get out of there, he was gone in a shot. Outside, he put on brakes, catching sight of his Uncle Jake across the yard, standing in the dark, leaning against the fence, one foot propped up behind him, smoking a cigarette. The end of it glowing yellow/orange as he inhaled from it. His silhouette was tall and shadowy, just an image in the night, that he would always remember, permanently planted in his mind. It didn't matter what anyone said about his Uncle Jake. He admired him. He looked up to him, he was his favorite Uncle, knew him better than his Uncle Shawn, who had just returned. His Uncle Jake was funny, fun and had always taken them for rides in the woods. Camped out with them, joked around and played with them. This was the first time he'd ever shown himself to be mad at him. He didn't care what anybody said, he hoped, one day, he would be just like him. Looking away, he trotted off towards where their camp tents were set up across the road, leaving his Uncle Jake to stand alone.

  * * *

  "I can't believe you don' got me up here, fixin'ta stay with some white folks—I'on even know these people!"

  "They your daughter's in-laws! We up here so we can get to know'em." Lydia answered, riding next to her husband as he drove, following Gert as she led them to her home.

  "I'on care! Hell, an' that white woman crazy as hell! Talk nonstop. I hope you know, we gone have to sit and listen to that all evenin'?! I'on know these people—"

  "You done said that already, Lucas."

  "I'on care, say it again! I could be down in Chicago, making some money—naaaw, I'm up here, gone have to sit and talk t'them all night! What the hell I'm suppose to say?!"

  "Anythang you feel like! I can't believe you—you use to like white folks!"

  "I only like white folks I know. White folks I work with. I'on socialize with'em, though. End o'the day, they go 'bout they way, I go 'bout mine! I ain' at they house, they sho' as hell ain't at mine. And here you go, gone tell them, we gone stay with them!"

  "It's just for the weekend, Lucas."

  "I ain't stayin' this whole weekend!"

  "Why not!?"

  "Woman! I got a business to run!"

  "That business gone be all right! It's just a few days."

  "Few days, I be don' got robbed blind!"

  "It ain't nothin' but a yard full o'junk, Lucas!" Lydia snapped, loosing her patience with him.

  "Yeah, see, that's—that's how you see it! But it kept them checks comin' to you! Keep my bills paid! People need somethin', they come to me! Lookin' for me! Wanna go through my junk! As you call it! An' fo' yo' information, I ain't no junk dealer, I run a scrap yard! Car parts! Recycled from wrecks! People make appointments to go through my yard! You wouldn't know nothin' 'bout that, though! 'Cause to you, it's a junk yard! Just like years ago, you—"

  "Lucas, I'm sorry... please don't start. I ain' mean nothin' by it. But—you ain't seen your daughter in years. None of yo' kids, for that matter. All you gotta give is a weekend, least you could do, is give her that. Don't spoil it fo' her, Lucas, she so happy. Don't that mean nothin' to you?"

  Lucas sat quiet, fuming. Following behind the Lincoln Towne car, he suddenly wondered, how long now had he been, a grumpy old man? Years gone by, things that happened along the way, made him cynical about everything and everyone. Used to be a time when he was quick to smile, always one to help anyone he could. Back when his children meant the world to him, and seeing his lil' Lucy run to him was the icing on his cake. Now, he could see that he was much like the world. As far as he was concerned, from what he could see, the world didn't like you the way he used to be. To him, the world, is a mean and ugly place. As far as his experiences in life had shown him, anyone living in it, better learn quick, not to smile so fast, not to help so quickly, and if you were quick to help, better charge. Everything had to come at a cost. His appraised point of view was, you either gone pay out your pocket, or you gone pay out your ass. Smiling too quick, eager to help, make you pay out your ass. 'Hell with that.' Was the thought he exclaimed. He'd had to learn, what he knew the hard way. Now, years later, his guard was up, his suit of armor was in place, problem was—he didn't know where and when to take it off. Years had been spent learning to suspect that everyone was capable of doing everything to screw him over. Now as an old man, he didn't "take no shit from nobody"! He didn't figure himself no Bill Gates, not by any means, but for a black man, things he set into motion, didn't turn out too bad. He ran his own business, his way—with profit to show for it. Therefore, the money he made, went into his pocket. Lucas Henry Martin, didn't have to ask anyone, for anything; people usually came to him asking. Depending on how he felt, how they came to him, he might give some a better deal than others; depending on what mood he was in and whether they got on his nerves or not, either way, he gave nothing freely. Especially his time. Time was money. Having taken off when he had, left him with no family around him to meter his time out to. Right or wrong, his time was his own. Even with that being the case, he gave little of that to himself, time that is. He gave himself, just enough time to eat. Just enough time to sleep. Just enough time shower and dress. All the rest, was money-making time. Even Roy Lee knew not to mess with his time.

  Now, he had his wife back in his life. His daughter back in his life. What did they want? His goddamn time! Begrudgingly, he gave it. Having done that, it had to be worth his time to give it to them. For the life of him, he didn't see how staying with some white folks he didn't know, equaled up to spending time with his daughter? That's where he needed to be, with her…not sitting up listening to some silly ol' jabbering white woman talkin' nonsense. Thinking back to how she went on and on at his daughter's house. She talk too much! Followed on the tail of his last thought, that's how he saw this women Gert; his white son-in-law's mother. That wasn't how he wanted to spend his time. His wife was glaring at him sideways, he could see it; well, he could glare too.

  "Lucas, don't be difficult." Lydia pleaded.

  "I ain't bein' difficult! I thought we was here to spend time with Sylvia, that husband o'hers?!"

  "Lucas, this is all part of that. Don't you know how good it make her feel, that we meetin' his parents, gettin' to know them?"

  "I can tell you right now, I'on like'em already!"

  "You don't even know'em, Lucas! You just met Gert, you ain't meet her husband yet."

  "Don't wanna meet'im! Meet his boys, three young cracka's! Three young cracka's mean there be a ol' man cracka' somewhere!"

  "Now I'm gone tell you right now! You leave them alone! I like'em! All three, from Sylvie's to m'devil Jake!" Lydia defended.

  "Yo' devil!" Lucas grumbled cynically, "Ain't normal—all three got black women?! Three cracka's! I ain't too sure I trus'em either!"

  "Derrick's wife Puerto Rican."

  "Same thang! Just a negro doin' the rumba, instead o'the boogaloo!"

  "Lucas, I can't believe how you done changed! You never use to be this way."

  "Same can be said 'bout you! You ain't the same either!"

  "Well, I would hope not. Bein' the way I was, lost me my boys. Lost me, us. I don't never wanna be that way again. And as for you, whatever you need to do to make Sylvia happy, you need to do. You owe her this. For all the time you stole from her, when she was growing up. You ain't got forever to pay it back, you know."

  "I know that, woman! I'm here, ain't I? Ain't I here?!"

  "But you grumblin' 'bout it."

  "You shoulda got us a room!"

  "Lucas, there wasn't no reason t'turn down these people hospitality!"

  "They ol' batty mama, reason enough! Crazy talkin' woman!"

  "Lucas, that's wrong! I like her, she nice as she can be! She good to her children, love them
like I wished I'd love my own! And our daughter love her! Now, it ain't gone kill you to be kind! If I can be, you can too!"

  "I come here to see my lil' Lucy! Not them!"

  "I'on wanna hear it, Lucas, we here. They offered us a place to stay, I took it. Don't get up here and embarrass me! Embarrass our chile!"

  "I can tell you now, I ain't here to impress nobody! Hell! You don't know, they get us up here, we li'ble to go missin'!"

  "Lucas, you need to stop! Don't make no sense, we here now!" Lydia fussed and then looked out her window and gasped, "Oh, my goodness, ain't this just beautiful, Lucas! Look at they home!"

  "Ain't nothing new, white folks always get the best, leave all the crap land fo'us."

  "Lucas, I ain't gone let you ruin my time here! Took me a long time to get 'round the fact that there more t'our lives than us! We gone enjoy this weekend and make our baby happy, even if it kill us tryin'!"

  "'Bout will!" Lucas grumbled.

  "Oh, that's they daddy! Lo-o-ord, that middle boy look just like his daddy!" Lydia exclaimed.

  They'd made it over the last road that brought them to the ridge looking over the farm house, and now drove down it into the yard. Hearing their arrival, Bart stepped from his pole barn to greet them. Stopping first, to his wife's car as she pulled up, and parked under the lean to for her car, when she was out and about. After a few brief words to her, Bart turned to them with a smile and pointed to a spot for them to pull up to, and park. "He smilin', Lucas, now you smile."

  "I smile when I get ready! Leave me alone!" He grumbled and nodded, giving a quick courteous smile to Bart. He would do that much, but Lucas was ever suspicious. It was one thing to settle for Shawn, his son-in-law and his brothers; they were born at a time, when everyone was trying to learn not to racially hate. But their father, that was totally different. The man Lucas was looking at now, lived during the time when lynching was a normal occurrence in the South. In fact, any white man Bart's age or older, set Lucas' guard up. As he stared at him, he wondered if he'd ever donned a white rob, and if he had, where did he keep his white sheet and hood tucked? Standing as tall as he was with that military hair cut, he looked the part as far as Lucas was concerned; certain he'd done some KKK marching back in his time. Now here they were, pulling into their drive as he directed. Lucas took several deep breaths, girding himself for an evening with strangers, 'White folks! Mr. KKK and Minnie-Pearl!'

  Stepping out of his truck, Lucas braced himself as Bart approached with his hand out. Eyes cut suspiciously, Lucas nodded, offering his hand. Both men, made sure to grasp on to the other with a firm grip, one eying the other as they shook them. Lucas made sure to look directly up into Bart's eyes, showing no fear, as if daring him to be condescending in anyway. Having missed nothing, Bart realized looking at the black man, his daughter-in-law's father, that this would prove to be a challenging evening for him. Doing his best, Bart smiled once again, starting out, saying, "It's mighty nice finally meeting you two. We consider ourselves right lucky, to have your daughter as part o'our family. You should be proud of her, our son sure is." Bart complimented, while in his mind, thinking, 'Cut me any look you want! But where were you, when time come to walk her down the isle?'

  "Well, so far, from what I can tell, yo' boy ain't too bad hi'self."

  "I would hope not. If I must say so myself, I'm pretty proud of'em." Bart returned.

  Gert, for once, was a bit on the nervous side. Lucas Martin, she could already tell, was one of those older black men that still held certain resentments and mistrust of anyone white. She could only imagine what things in his life made him feel as he did, considering the time period of their generation and all the hell that existed between black and white from back then. Gert hated that time period. Hated all the events of it. Hated the history of blacks and whites in America. Hated that here they were, in the year 2004, and still there were those who couldn't let it go. Granted, for good reason. But it hurt. Hurt because she'd always loved everything there was about the black race. Loved that she could claim a vein, a line of it in her own history, her own gene pool. If she were given the power for one thing, it would be to wipe out the way lives were destroyed in the past. Wipe out the curse that all suffered under, from slavery. Wipe the horrific ugliness of racism that burned through so many lives after it was abolished. For once, she was scared, because she wanted so much for it to be known that they, the McPherson's were of a different sort.

  Her entire early life, she'd been passionate about equal rights. Having spent so much time of it trying to be present for the marches. She'd made it a point to raise her sons, her daughters with the absolute moral fact, that people were people. One, no better, than the other. She'd pressed home with them, that if the Lord had wanted them to live separately, be divided up, he would have created several sets of Adam and Eve. A white Adam and Eve, a black Adam and Eve, a Spanish one, Indian one, and so forth and so on. He hadn't done that. He'd created one couple... just one. And though it made Bart flinch to hear her theory on that, she'd spouted it often enough anyway.

  Her belief was that Adam had been black. She'd reasoned, telling her children,"...after all, was he not formed from the soil of the earth?" She remembered clearly when Bart tried to subtly curb her enthusiasm for that theory. She stood her ground, stating, "Since no one knows for absolute, it's got to make sense if you think about it, Bart! What color is the soil of the ground?" Bart had hemmed and hawed about it. While he did so, she went on to say, "And I believe Eve was white. When the Lord took his rib, formed her around it, seein' as how the Lord is not biased, not partial, why would he make her skin tone a certain color? He wouldn't! I don't think he would! He'd simply cover her with skin, fleshly color! That's why all God's children are in rainbow colors, he seen to it, because he knew within that black man, was all other men that would come outta his wife! Black as him, to lighter and finally, white... like her! Now that's my feelin' and I'm stickin' to it! You ain't got to like it!"

  "Well, don't teach our children that. Bible don't say all that!" Bart had finally found his voice to argue.

  "I teach my children what I want! They mine! I will not raise a bunch of prejudice bigots, thinking they better than all else! Don't care if you don't like it!" As time had gone by, Bart argued and tried to change her thinking less and less. When Gert was determined on something, there was nothing no one could do to turn her from it. As much as it went against his grain a bit, even Bart found himself wondering about that thought she'd raised, about Adam being black. As time had gone on, deep deep down in the hidden recesses of his mind, he began to wonder if it might not be so.

  Bracing herself for their evening, Gert realized, whether Lucas Martin liked her or not, she was going to be herself. Plain and simple. If he didn't like her, well then, so be it. He wouldn't be the first person not to like her. Her forward thinking, and outspoken manner had turned a many to look at her as if she were crazy. Didn't matter, she figured she was what she was, and she wasn't about to start trying to change it now. Tamping all else down, she went to Lydia's side of the truck, Gert met her coming out, taking her arm, she introduced Lydia, formalizing the greetings, with a big smile on her face.

  "Bart, this is Sylvia's momma, Lydia." They walked up to him, he turned from Lucas, gracing her as well with a smile, shaking her hand, nodding, "Nice meetin' you, Mrs. Martin."

  "Nice to finally meet you! I just love me yo' boys! All three, as well-mannered as any man could be proud. Seen your girls, too—lovely as can be." Lydia was on her best, Lucas was making faces behind them all.

  "I'm glad to hear you think so, I guess we didn't do too bad." Bart returned.

  "Well, if it's all the same to you, we thinkin' our daughter mighty lucky to have your son." Lydia stated, following Gert, saying, "Ain't that right, Lucas?"

  "From what I see so far, I guess they look a good couple."

  "I happen to think she made for our Shawn. He come back home from California, you see. He was married once before, wanted
to come home, but that wife wasn't interested in living here, she wanna stay out there. Frankly, I don't see what the big deal is there! Cost o'livin' high as can be! Not that she couldn't afford it, coming from the wealth that she do. Bart and I, we just simple folks, ain't that right, Bart?"

  "Yes, missus, it is."

  "...long as we got our family round us, that's all we need. Now that Shawn back home, and meet your daughter, he here to stay."

  "Well, one thing for sure, I don't think she ever been happier."

  "Look, now, we can carry this on in the house, you all get your bags and come on in, make yourself comfortable." Gert directed, leading the way to the front porch as they'd taken their bags and were carrying them along.

  "How was the drive up here?" Bart asked Lucas, dropping back to let him walk ahead. "Traffic! Bumpa' t'bumpa'! Yo' boy tell us how to take a back road that bring us on in. Can't believe the people that come out Chicago, come up here. They mus' be out they min'!"

  "It's like that every year, for Wisconsin Dells; you ever been?" Bart asked. They were at the stairs of the house, making their way in.

  "Ain't had the time fo'it. Runnin' a scrap yard business." Lucas informed them lightly.

  "Scrap yard? Like what?"

  "Cars, wrecks, parts and such."