Fingering The Family Jewels

by Greg Lilly

  The casket sat in front of the altar, and from my position, I could see Walterene’s powdered profile. How pale and quiet she looked. Nothing like the fiery, joyous woman she had been. The coffin held nothing more than a shell that had housed Walterene. Our Walterene had dissipated into each of the lives she had touched. I knew she lived in me. Tears blurred my sight. I tried to not blink to keep from knocking them out of my eyes and down my cheeks. I looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

  As the pastor droned on, I looked at the family gathered around. Time had turned teenagers into parents, parents into grandparents, grandparents into humbled antiqued souls waiting for their turn before the altar. Old man Ernest’s blood seemed to keep his surviving daughters, Grandma Eleanor and Great-Aunt Ernestine, stronger physically than their sisters-in-law. Great-Aunts Rebecca and Louise had both buried their husbands years ago, and I was honestly surprised they were still alive. Ruby’s mother Rebecca lived in Sharon Towers under constant care. Today she sat humped in a wheelchair at the end of our pew, staring at a stained glass window. Louise sat behind her children, Edwina and Roscoe, rocking side to side with the music in her head. The only sibling left was Great-Uncle Earl, the youngest of the original children and the only male still alive. He lived in Manhattan and hadn’t been seen in years.

  My attention came back to the casket because Tim and Vernon ‘s boys and several others had surrounded it.

  There was Mark.

  He stood next to his brother Mike and brother-in-law Gerald. He hadn’t changed much since I last saw him, still the perfect Harris male. Thirty years old with boyish looks, thick black hair that wouldn’t quite stay in place, wide eyes and thin nose; even in his black suit, I could tell he still had the build of a college wide receiver. They flanked the mahogany box that held Walterene’s body. The men from the funeral home folded the satin trim inside the casket, and then closed the lid on her. I wanted to rush to it and touch her one last time, to say good-bye, to beg her to come back, to say how sorry I was that I wasn’t with her when she died. Tears spilled down my face, and I wiped them away with my sleeve; I would never see her again. The pallbearers lifted the casket with slow movements and carried it down the aisle. We filed out behind it in silence.

  The limousines took us to the rolling hills of Sharon Memorial Park. We gathered under a large green tent where I ushered Valerie and Ruby to seats, then returned to stand behind the family. Overly sweet roses, lilies, and lavender surrounded the dark hole where the coffin would be lowered; warmed by the morning sun, they gave off the sickening scent of a spilled bottle of vanilla. A carpet of white roses covered the lacquered box. I watched as honeybees and yellow jackets found the flowers and began their orgy in the arrangements. After more words from the pastor, a bagpiper in full, kilted, Scottish regalia played “Amazing Grace” as the casket was lowered. The family began to disperse, sobbing and dabbing their eyes.

  I turned to find Mother standing behind me. Her narrow face held vertical lines from her frown. Red-rimmed eyes stared at me through Liz Claiborne bifocals, and her thin body acted as a hanger for her DKNY suit. She looked so fragile, but so does a scorpion before she strikes.

  ”You shouldn’t have come,” Gladys the Bitch said in a harsh whisper.

  “I didn’t come for you. I’m here because I loved Walterene.” I stepped toward her, but she held her ground.

  “Fine.” She clipped the word. “So you’ll be leaving today?”

  Was it a question or a command? “No, I plan to stay with Ruby for a while. She needs someone around.”

  “There’s plenty of family here to take care of Ruby.” A tight smile appeared. “Derek, go back to California.” She turned to walk away, but I moved in front of her, blocking her retreat.

  “I am family, and I’ll decide how long I stay. Gay or not, you can’t control me.” I stepped back so she could leave.

  She turned to me with narrow eyes. “Don’t be stupid, Derek. This part of your life is over; let it stay part of your past.” Gladys the Bitch spun on her heels and left without another word.

  As soon as she disappeared into the crowd, Tim appeared without his wife or kids. “So, little brother, how’s life in Frisco?” He slapped me on the back and tried to get me in a headlock. I goosed his side to escape. His mannerisms still smelled of a frat boy grown old.

  I had to smile because he never seemed to change. “The city is much more easy-going than here.”

  “Yeah, well, Charlotte ‘s a moving town. I got a new subdivision in the works south of Ballantyne. It will make those original Ballantyne mansions look like Wilmore shacks.” Tim held onto my arm as he talked. “Damn boy, you been working out. I better look out; you might kick my ass for all those tricks I played on you.”

  I slapped his belly. “Looks like you haven’t been working out.” I teased him, but he had honestly gained weight in his stomach and face, making him look older than he was. “Forty’s coming up this fall, isn’t it?”

  He hugged me close to him, and whispered, “I may have a few gray hairs here and there, but I can get it up on command.”

  “Tim, you’re not fooling around on Laura, are you?”

  “Me?” He feigned innocence.

  “Keep your dick at home. AIDS isn’t just for us queers.”

  “Shit.” He drew the word out into three syllables. “Hey, it’s Saturday night. Let’s go find a pretty young couple. You take the husband, and I’ll take the wife.”

  The stern look I gave him must have shocked him.

  “Just kidding, just kidding. Laura and I are the perfect pair. Oh, there she goes now. You staying with Valerie?”

  “No,” I called after him, “Ruby.”

  “I’ll call you.” He caught up with Laura. She eyed me and nodded, then herded the children and her husband toward their Mercedes.

  Streams of people flowed toward the line of cars, and I saw Valerie helping Ruby back to the limo. Just as I headed toward them, Mark tapped me on the shoulder. I turned, and he pulled me to him and hugged me hard. We broke the embrace, but he held my shoulders at arm’s length and looked me over.

  “You look great, Derek.” His faint smile faded. “I’m glad you made it in for the funeral. I’m really going to miss Walterene.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed the funeral. I just wish I could have seen her before…”

  “I know. I get so caught up in work; I can’t remember the last time I stopped to see Ruby or Walterene.”

  I let the silence fall between us.

  “I hope you plan on staying for a while.” He brightened up some. “Kathleen and I would love to have you over for dinner.”

  “That would be nice,” I muttered. Did he not have any feelings for me? “I hear you live in Fourth Ward.”

  “That’s right. We have a place in the TransAmerica building. You wouldn’t believe Uptown.” He became his old happy self. “I love living in town. I walk to work and to the Uptown Y; restaurants and bars are popping up everywhere.” A woman walking by offered her condolences; he nodded in return.

  “Mark,” I got his attention back, “I still have feelings for you.”

  “Come on, Derek, we were just kids fooling around.”

  “Maybe that was it for you, but it meant more to me.” Seeing him again brought back the old emotions. I had never had a relationship that compared to what I had with Mark. Maybe it was the excitement of the first love, maybe the thought of cousins having sex-an incestuous relationship forbidden because we were related and because we were both men-but at that moment, I would have given up everything to be back in his arms. Love had eluded me since Mark; the world never revealed another to take his place. “I-I… I just wanted you to know that I still love you.” My voice broke as I said it.

  His face flushed, and he led me away from the crowd. We stood beneath a large willow oak surrounded by the gravestones of strangers; low-hanging branches shielded us from the eyes and ears of others.

  “Derek, please let that stay bet
ween us. I’ve moved on; I’m a different person now. Kathleen and I are very happy.”

  Who was he trying to convince? Then it hit me: Why bother? There was nothing here for me. These people didn’t want me around. Mark wouldn’t even admit to himself what an extraordinary connection we had; the past was past. Love couldn’t last through the restraints this family put on its children-we would all be beaten down, molded to the forms and principles set by Papa Ernest Harris. Gladys the Bitch was right, although I hated to admit it. I smiled and patted his shoulder. “That was the past. It’s not worth bringing up again. I’m staying at Ruby’s for a couple of days. If I don’t see you before I go home, good luck with Kathleen and the job.” I pushed one of the low-hanging limbs aside and started to walk away.

  “Derek,” he called after me. “Maybe we’ll see you during the holidays?”

  “Yeah, that would be nice,” I lied.

  THE LIMO TOOK us back to Sedgefield Road. Ruby wanted to lie down for a while. Valerie and I opened a bottle of wine and nibbled from some of the covered dishes in the refrigerator. “Val, I’m going back to California on Monday.”

  “We’ll miss you,” her voice dropped.

  “Do you think Ruby will be okay?”

  “I can look in on Ruby on my lunch hours and after work. She’ll be fine in a few days.” Valerie forced a smile.

  “It would be great if you and Ruby lived in San Francisco.”

  “Our lives are here.” She wrapped up a dish and set it back in the refrigerator. “Why don’t you get some rest, too. I’ll be back for dinner.” She hugged me good-bye.

  I went back to the guest room and drifted off to sleep.

  I WOKE TO the squawk of the attic stairs being pulled down, and called out, “Ruby, let me help you with that.” I grabbed the cord, and helped her lower the stairs down into the hall.

  “Just wanted to take a look at some things in the attic. Walterene was always good at packing away her memories. She even kept old Christmas cards.” Ruby ascended the steps; I followed. The sun warmed the asphalt shingles above, creating a mix of tar and musty smells. The floorboards creaked as she clicked on a bare bulb and maneuvered a path between boxes, rolled up rugs, old chests, and framed paintings. Two more lights lit the entire space. Christmas decorations and boxes of old clothes seemed to support the roof. I helped her move a few boxes until she found what had been on her mind. She opened a tattered cardboard box filled with crumpled newspapers and pulled out a stuffed toy-an elephant. “This was one of Walterene’s favorites from when we were girls. She used to drag Willie around everywhere she went.” More newspapers spilled out of the box as Ruby dug through it. “Oh, look.” She held up a yellowed perfume bottle. “Mr. Sams gave this to her.”

  “Mr. Sams?” I took the bottle she held out to me. The thick glass felt heavy and warm in my hand. I smelled the top; the sweet aroma of the funeral flowers invaded my head again.

  “Mr. Sams was an old black man who helped around the Dilworth house.” She grabbed the bottle back, rewrapped it in paper, and stuffed it back in the box. “I need to go through all of this.” She contemplated the cluttered attic, then glanced at me. “Will you help me?”

  “Aunt Ruby,” I tried to think of a good way to tell her, but it just came out, “I’m leaving on Monday to go back to California.”

  “No,” she pleaded, “please stay awhile. We haven’t had any time together. There’s so much to be done. I don’t know if I… I can’t do it alone.”

  She pulled at my heart. “I guess I could stay a couple of days longer, but I need to get back.”

  “Yes, yes.” She gave me a smile, the first I had seen on her all day. “Just stay for a few more days. There’s so much to be done, so, so much to be done.”

  Chapter Four

  SUNDAY AFTERNOON, EDWINA and Roscoe stopped by the house to visit with Ruby. As twins, they always seemed to be together. Edwina favored flashy colors and had on a teal, magenta, and lemon-yellow nylon wind-suit that crinkled when she moved, whereas Roscoe wore black polyester Sans-a-Belt pants that had been buffed to a shine by years of dry cleaning and a short-sleeved white dress shirt with a too-short, too-wide navy blue striped tie. Apparently, that one chromosome that kept them from being identical twins skewed them into different universes, hers flashy and opinionated, his meek and agreeable.

  “Derek, what is it you do out there in California?” Edwina spoke to me, but looked at the muted television as if I would appear on the news to answer her.

  “Edwina?” I tried to catch her eye with a snap of my fingers. She refocused her attention to me with a lazy turn of her head. “Is there something on TV you want to see?” I sat up straighter in Walterene’s wingback chair.

  “Derek,” Ruby scolded, “Edwina is a very visual person. She’s looking all the time, but she hears everything you say.”

  “Right you are, Ruby. Young man, I’m waiting to hear about your job and,” she glanced back to the television, “I’m looking to see if Vernon is going to be on TV shaking hands and kissing babies.”

  Roscoe perked up. ” Vernon ‘s good at shaking and kissing.”

  A rough, gravelly laugh erupted from Edwina like it was the funniest thing she had heard. Ruby looked at me and shrugged. ” Vernon thinks,” Edwina continued, “his next stop will be Washington, leaving those boys in charge of the company.” With a crinkle of fabric, she folded her plump arms across her pumpkin body. “If he thinks I’ll stand by and let him put my money in the hands of those wild boys, then he’s got another thing coming.” She ended the sentence with a sharp nod of her head, as if she had typed the final period with her chin.

  “They’re grown men,” Ruby offered, “and they have been in the company all their lives…”

  “Don’t matter, don’t matter one bit. Vernon has been president since Daddy died. Hell, Roscoe should take over if Vernon doesn’t want to run it any more, not some snot-nosed kids.”

  I looked over to Roscoe on the edge of the couch, cleaning his fingernails with his pocketknife. “Roscoe, do you want to run the business?”

  “Maybe,” he glanced at his sister. “I could do better than the boys.”

  Tiring of this subject, I offered to go to the store for Ruby. I drove toward East Boulevard for the few groceries she had on her list. The dogwoods bloomed like white puffy clouds in yards along the way with burgundy and pink azaleas lining driveways and sidewalks. I pulled onto Dilworth Road -one of the neighborhoods where few of the aging old money of Charlotte still held on against the younger affluent banking executives. I passed Latta Park and rounded a corner to see my grandparents’ home. A three-story brick mansion sprawled across an acre of green lawn and towering oak trees. Porticos flanked either side of the house. I remember the older kids, Tim, Margaret, and Mike, had claimed one side for their headquarters, leaving the other side for the younger kids, Mark, me, and a neighbor girl named Alice. The older ones claimed we couldn’t steal their “magic geranium,” but we did and ran as fast as we could around the house to the safety of our headquarters. That summer, the geranium must have circled the house from portico to portico at least fifty times.

  My grandmother, Eleanor, still lived in the house, but Mother and Father had moved in “to take care of her.” Knowing Gladys the Bitch, I wondered what taking care of her meant. A vision popped into my head of Gladys slipping strychnine into her mother’s coffee, then grabbing the will, hopping on her broom, and flying out the attic window to the lawyer’s office, cackling the whole way.

  Deciding to come back to visit Grandma when I knew Mother wouldn’t be there, I pulled the car back on the road and headed on to the grocery store.

  EDWINA AND ROSCOE had ambled on to their next relative’s house by the time I came in with the groceries. Ruby said Mark had called and she’d told him I was staying for awhile. “He said he and Kathleen wanted you to come over for dinner tomorrow night.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yes you can,” Ruby insisted. “You n
eed to see your cousins while you’re here. Anyway, I already told him you would be there-eight o’clock. They live downtown on Church Street in one of those new buildings.”

  “Ruby! I can decide if I want to have dinner with Mark.”

  “Go, go, you can’t stay huddled up here with me the whole time.

  I’m okay. Go have fun.”

  Fun? Yeah, right. But I knew she had made up her mind, and I was a little curious about Kathleen.

  THE NEXT DAY I drove Ruby to the lawyer’s office to finalize some of Walterene’s affairs. We had lunch with Valerie. She said Mother attended a book club on Monday afternoons, so Ruby and I decided to drive back to Dilworth to visit Grandma. I pulled into the circular driveway and parked in front of Grandma’s door, then helped Ruby out of the car.

  “I could get used to this kind of treatment.” Ruby smiled as I offered her my hand up the steps to the front porch. Ferns swung in the warm breeze along the porch, near wicker chairs arranged in groups for evening gatherings after dinner. I rang the doorbell and Martha, Grandma’s maid, answered.

  “Mister Derek, how nice to see you.” Martha had to be almost as old as Grandma. She had always been so sweet to all of us, even in the seventies when Margaret and Valerie tried to liberate her from white elitist dominance. Margaret had even convinced Martha to wear her hair in an afro; that lasted about one day before she combed it out.

  We walked into the entrance hall, and I could still smell my grandfather’s pipe and grandmother’s Chanel No. 5. A staircase curved gracefully up to the second story. The living room to the right had the same furniture and pictures I remembered; even the carpet held the same straight tracks from the vacuum cleaner. Grandma hated to see footprints on the carpet.

  “Your grandmother is feeling good today,” Martha said. “She has her good days and bad days.”

  “Bad days?” I asked.

  “Well, sometimes she gets stuck in the past.” Martha led us back to the sunroom where Grandma sat reading the newspaper. Grandma’s hair was thinner than I remembered, but she sat up straight with her diamond rings and in her designer dress, hose, and pumps as if she waited to go to a church luncheon. Her beige hose sagged around her ankles and her rings slumped on her thin fingers; they had been bought for a more robust Grandma than I saw seated at the wicker table.