Part of Me

by Kimberly Willis Holt

  Cooter grinned. “Yes, sir. I just have a baby face.”

  “How old are you?” Merle Henry asked, knowing good and well he shouldn’t have. He expected his momma or daddy to snap at him, or at least give one of their disapproving looks, but they just stared at Cooter, waiting for an answer.

  Before he could say a word, Aunt Pie grabbed Cooter’s hand and pulled him to the floor. “Old enough to dance,” she said. “Gordie, turn that radio up.”

  Gordie had been reading the newspaper. He leaned over and turned up the volume, and everyone watched Aunt Pie and Cooter move around the little living room floor to the music coming from KALB radio. Merle Henry tried to memorize every step they took.

  * * *

  The next morning Merle Henry woke to a plan. Maybe it was because he’d dreamed about dancing with Lily Bea around the gym floor. He decided he’d play hooky and stay home to study that dance book. After watching Aunt Pie and Cooter dance for a few songs, it was bound to click with him. And if it didn’t, he’d just be sick the next day, too. That idea sounded like the best yet. He’d get out of dancing, and keep Lily Bea from going with anyone else since it was too late for her to get another date. Maybe she’d even feel sorry for him and bake him a lemon cake or peanut butter cookies. Or she might get real mad and not ever talk to him again.

  He hadn’t really talked to her much anyway. Tommy had done the talking and he didn’t seem to mind at all. Merle Henry had watched him speaking to Lily Bea from across the cafeteria and they got along just fine. Remembering that now caused Merle Henry to open the book and start studying.

  The only thing nagging Merle Henry about playing hooky was that he couldn’t run his trap line. And though he’d trapped eighteen possums, and three raccoons, he still hadn’t caught a mink.

  Twenty minutes later, Gordie was already dressed and out of their room. The morning was nippy like most February mornings in Forest Hill, that wet morning chill that comes from so much humidity. Merle Henry hid the book under his pillow and raised the sheet until it reached his chin.

  Rose cracked open the door. “Merle Henry, you’re running late. You’re gonna have to walk to school if you don’t hurry up.”

  Merle Henry let out a groan. “Momma, I don’t feel so good.” He hadn’t played hooky since second grade and his mother had known all along that he was pretending. Back then, she had let him stay home, but she’d given him so many chores, he decided playing hooky wasn’t that much fun.

  Rose walked over to him and touched his forehead. She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a fever.”

  “It’s my belly. I feel kind of sick.”

  She let out a sigh. “You’re not the only one. Cooter must have hugged the toilet in the outhouse on and off all night. Nobody can out-drink your daddy.”

  “Cooter and Aunt Pie are still here?”

  “Mm-hm. It was like musical beds last night. Pie and I slept in my room, and your daddy slept on the couch. Cooter just conked out wherever he landed.”

  Rose picked up Merle Henry’s pants off the floor and folded them. “I guess you want to stay home. You do remember that dance is tomorrow night?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She placed his pants on the end of his bed. “I suspect you better stay home or you might break that little Lily Bea’s heart if you’re sick tomorrow. Although I think you’re too young to get sweet on a girl.”

  His mother was always talking about how she wanted her boys to go to college. “You could be something great,” she’d say. “Maybe even a writer.” Merle Henry wanted to tell her that going to college and becoming a writer were not in his future plans.

  After Rose eased the door closed, he heard his brother leave the house for school. Soon Merle Henry could concentrate on learning to dance, but his mind was on those traps.

  A few minutes later, Rose appeared again. “Blue is whining something awful. You think he’s missing the woods?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I sure do.”

  “Well, I’ve got to go over to Faye’s this morning. She got into a mess of poison ivy. I’ll go the short way through the woods and check on your traps. If you have anything, I’m sure Gordie or your daddy will take care of it later today.”

  Maybe Daddy, thought Merle Henry. Never Gordie. It amazed him how his mother still didn’t realize how different Gordie was from him.

  Before she left for Faye’s, she said, “If you need anything, Pie will help you. I guess you better tell me where to find your traps.”

  An hour later, Merle Henry heard Aunt Pie and Cooter in the kitchen.

  “I’ll make you some eggs, Cooter,” she said.

  Cooter groaned. “That’s the last thing I want.”

  “I know what you need.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A good shot of whiskey,” said Aunt Pie.

  “Oooh, no, ma’am. Thank you. That’s what got me into this mess.”

  “Well, I warned you. You should have stuck to the dancing.”

  Her words brought Merle Henry back to why he was home. He opened the book, then started to read and study the pictures. There was no way he was going to learn to dance just by reading. He threw the sheets back and stood on the floor, holding the book straight in front of his eyes. If the book was going to be his dancing partner, he’d have to give her a name.

  “How you doing, Matilda?” he said to the open page. “Some nice words you got there.”

  Suddenly he heard someone snicker. He swung around and discovered Aunt Pie in the doorway. Her hand covered her mouth, but Merle Henry could tell she was smiling by the way her eyes had shrunk into tiny slits.

  He dropped the book. His ears burned like the day Coach had hold of one of them. His stomach was starting to really ache now.

  “Oh, Merle Henry, I wasn’t making fun of you. I just never heard of a dancing partner named Matilda. Maybe Carol Ann or Suzie or Joyce Lynn.”

  Merle Henry turned his head and gazed out the window. He didn’t want Aunt Pie to think he was a fool that talked and danced with books.

  Aunt Pie walked over to him and picked up the book. She read the title and flipped the book open to the front page. She started to laugh again. “I’m sorry, but, Merle Henry, this book was written in 1914. That’s over forty years ago. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to learn to dance? I can teach you.”

  Merle Henry didn’t say anything. He just stared at the floor.

  She had one hand resting on her hip and the other stretched toward him. “Well, are you going to ignore a lady offering to teach you to dance?”

  “But I’m supposed to be sick.”

  “Yes, sir, I can see that.” She was smiling at him and now Merle Henry smiled back.

  “But Momma will—”

  “Oh, she’ll be gone for a while. Besides, we’ve got the same genes. You’re bound to be a fast learner.”

  Grabbing his hand, she led him out to the living room where Cooter was laying on the couch, a washcloth over his head. She flipped on the radio. A tune played that he didn’t recognize, but the song had a good beat.

  “Does that have to be so loud?” Cooter asked, his hands protecting his ears. He sounded like a whiney little boy to Merle Henry. Aunt Pie sure could pick them!

  Aunt Pie sighed. “Cooter, do yourself a favor and take a good long swig of that Jack Daniel’s. I’m telling you, I know what I’m talking about.”

  Cooter pulled the washcloth from his forehead and opened his eyes. “You mean you’ve been in this state before?”

  “Never. But I’ve known plenty of men who have.”

  Pie placed one of Merle Henry’s hands on her waist and the other on her shoulder. “Now, Merle Henry, pretend I’m your girl. Follow me, and soon I’ll be following you.”

  “Are you sure I should do that?”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “I’m sure, honey. You’re the man. You’re supposed to lead.”

  For the first three songs, Merle Henry was her shadow, following h
er steps and listening to the music and her voice carry him through the song. “One, two, three,” she said, first loudly, then by the third song the words came out in a whisper. Aunt Pie’s voice was spun sugar on a paper cone. Merle Henry heard it as if it were his own heart beating. And standing this near, he could smell her sweet perfume.

  At first his hands felt like putty and his feet were heavy as bricks, but by the fifth song he was leading, spinning her around the room.

  “Oh no,” Cooter cried, rushing off for the outhouse.

  When he returned, they were slowing their pace to a ballad. Cooter braced the doorway. “Where’s that whiskey?”

  “In the Ritz Cracker canister over the sink,” said Aunt Pie. She kept her gaze on Merle Henry and never missed a step.

  Merle Henry thought it was nice that Aunt Pie knew where to find things in their house. It kind of made it her home, too. She never stayed in one place long anyway.

  An hour and a half later, Aunt Pie stopped moving and dropped her arms to her sides. “Young man, you’ve worn me out. You’re going to be the most dashing gentleman at that school dance.”

  Merle Henry beamed as if he were six feet tall.

  She raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t sick at all, are you?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Cooter’s more sick than you.”

  “I’m starting to feel better,” Cooter said, now sitting up on the couch. “That whiskey does do the trick. And I’m not drunk either.”

  Aunt Pie flopped on the couch beside him. “I doubt you will be for a while.” She combed her fingers through his hair. “If you know what’s good for you, sugar, you’ll remember this morning.”

  Merle Henry’s feet tingled. They wanted to keep moving. Aunt Pie was right, dancing was in his genes. He’d never seen his parents dance even though they said they used to dance in Houma every Friday night. He felt like they’d been keeping an important secret from him. Gordie never danced, but he didn’t seem interested. Girls were always making goo-goo eyes at Gordie, and Merle Henry had seen him sneaking looks at girls. But Gordie was probably too shy to ask someone to the dance. Then again, Merle Henry hadn’t exactly asked anyone either.

  Aunt Pie picked up the Indian Chief notepad on the end table and thumbed through the pages like someone shuffling a deck of cards. “Does your momma still write those stories?”

  Merle Henry pointed to a box in the corner, filled with dozens of notepads. “What do you think?”

  “I wonder where your momma is,” Aunt Pie asked, looking at the clock.

  “She went to Faye’s house. Remember?” Merle Henry said.

  “But that was two hours ago. Rose told me she was just taking a bottle of chamomile lotion to Faye.”

  “You could call her,” offered Merle Henry. Merle Henry’s family had finally gotten a telephone the month before when his father started worrying about the baby coming and him working all the way in Oakdale. And it hadn’t cost too much since they shared a party line with eight other families.

  “Good idea.” Aunt Pie dialed Faye’s number. She talked a few minutes about meeting Cooter and her new job at Fort Polk and how she was getting a chance to go hear Johnny Cash sing. Then she asked if Rose was still there. As she listened, her eyes grew wide.

  “I better go,” Aunt Pie said and quickly hung up.

  “What’s wrong?” Merle Henry asked.

  “Rose never made it over there.”

  Merle Henry tried to swallow the big lump gathering in his throat. Finally, he said, “She might be in the woods. She was going to check my traps on the way to Faye’s house.”

  Aunt Pie bit her lower lip and yanked on her hair. “Lord, I hope she didn’t fall. Maybe she’s having the baby out there. Oh, mercy, what do we do?”

  Merle Henry wished Aunt Pie would shut up. All her chatter was making him nervous. How could the magic he felt just a moment ago be swept away with one big swoosh?

  “Now hold on,” Cooter said, standing. “Let’s think calmly.”

  In that instant, Merle Henry changed his mind about Cooter. He was glad he was there. Someone needed to think calmly. Talking crazy like Aunt Pie wasn’t going to help his mother.

  “I know the way to the woods,” Merle Henry said. “I’ll just be a second.”

  He ran to his room and changed into his pants and shirt. If anything happened to his mother he’d never forgive himself. He was the reason she went through the woods. Sometimes she chose to go that way to Faye’s, but maybe she wouldn’t have today. Thoughts spun in his head. He rushed past Aunt Pie and Cooter, and headed toward the front door.

  “Wait for us,” hollered Aunt Pie, racing after him.

  “You better stay put,” Cooter told her. “Rose might come back and if she sees all of us gone, she’ll worry.”

  Aunt Pie stepped off the front porch anyway.

  They didn’t need to go much farther, though. Rose was walking toward them. She had a quick pace, and Blue was trying to keep up with her, his tail aimed toward the sky. As she came closer, Merle Henry noticed something small and dark in her hand.

  “It’s a mink!” Rose hollered. “I got the mink!” She held the fur up high in the air.

  Merle Henry thought he was about to lose his wits. Since last year he’d tried to get a mink, wanted it more than anything, and now his momma was practically skipping toward him with a mink in her hand. He knew he should be relieved to see her alive and safe, but he felt something rising inside him that wanted to explode.

  “Well, hot damn!” yelled Cooter. “Your momma is something else. She can fry chicken and trap a mink!”

  Rose was so close now Merle Henry could see the mink’s beady eyes. “Oh, I didn’t trap this mink. That young man standing next to you trapped it. I just happened on him. He was half drowned when I found him.”

  Aunt Pie’s eyes grew big. “You mean he was still alive?”

  Merle Henry was starting to think Pie’s hair was too blond and her eyes too small. She was more appealing when she was quiet and dancing.

  “He sure was alive,” Rose said. “I thought to myself, now what would Merle Henry do? And I realized, well, he’d put that poor mink out of its misery.”

  “You shot him?” Cooter asked. He was clinging to her every word.

  “No! I don’t have a gun. I found a forked stick and held his head under the water until he finished drowning. I thought he’d never die.”

  Merle Henry felt numb.

  Rose looked up at him. “Did I do right, son?”

  Merle Henry looked at his momma standing there with that mink in her hand. Her hair was wild, and her dress had smudges of dirt. His brother would never have done it, but his momma did. She did it for him because she knew how much he’d wanted a mink. And she was right. He did trap it, after all. She was just delivering it to him.

  “You did just fine, Momma. Now hand that mink over to me so I can dress it out.”

  “Aren’t you sick?” she asked, so bewildered that Merle Henry realized she had believed him.

  “I’ve had a miraculous recovery,” Merle Henry said, taking the mink from her. It really was a beautiful sight.

  Blue barked and twirled in a circle, as if he were part of something special.

  Aunt Pie laughed. “Well, look at Blue. Even he has our family’s dancing genes!”

  Annabeth

  Fairy Tale

  (1973)

  ANNABETH WAS READY to kill her brother.

  “How to Be Popular, by Annabeth Harp.” Ryan’s voice came from the back porch.

  “One: Smile all the time unless your friends say something sad.” Ryan announced each word loud enough for their grandmother’s neighbors to hear two acres away.

  By the time Annabeth arrived at the back porch, Ryan had escaped somewhere else. She should have known better than to leave the list under her pillow. And to think she’d been concerned about Gamma Rose’s discovering it. She hated the thought of her practical grandmother thinking she was silly and
concerned about frivolous things like being popular. But after what happened at school last year, she was going to make sure eighth grade at her new school was different.

  “Two: Join clubs and run for an office,” Ryan hollered from the front porch now. Annabeth dashed past her grandmother in the kitchen and headed toward the porch where she discovered Ryan had already fled.

  What happened last September had ruined the entire year. If she’d only known she might start her period that day, she’d never have worn white jeans. Before that she’d felt invisible. By the end of the day, everyone knew her name. One moment was so fragile, so important.

  Next year, she’d be prepared. When she left Gamma Rose’s she’d have memorized her how-to-be-popular list. And she’d be tanned. Having a tan might make that possible. At least her thighs would look thinner.

  “Three: If a boy tries to kiss you, let him, unless he has mono. Four—” Ryan yelled, but he didn’t finish because Gamma Rose grabbed him by the arm and snatched the paper. With an outstretched arm, she continued holding squatty Ryan by the wrist. Gamma Rose’s black pants and blouse made her look even slimmer and taller than she was already. And the contrast between her and Ryan made Annabeth think of a pilgrim showing off a plump turkey for a Thanksgiving meal.

  Without looking at the list, Gamma Rose returned it to Annabeth, who was trying to resist punching her brother.

  Gamma Rose released Ryan. “It’s Tuesday,” she said. “Let’s go to the bookmobile.”

  Relieved to have something else to think about, Annabeth walked by her brother and pinched him in his chubby gut.

  “Ouch! Hey, Gamma Rose, did you see that?”

  Gamma Rose’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, I did. And frankly I would have belted you one if I was your sister.” She unsnapped her purse and slid the pink frosty lipstick over her lips.

  Annabeth gathered her books from last week and joined her brother and grandmother in the old Buick warming up outside. She loved going to the bookmobile, even though the selection was small compared to her junior high library in Gretna. It made her think about how her mother and dad had gone to the same spot each Tuesday. Even Miss Erma was the same librarian at the bookmobile back then. Annabeth’s dad had told her Miss Erma had been kind of pretty years ago, but now Miss Erma was plump and wore glasses as thick as Coke bottles. A pencil always stuck out of her loose bun.