Darnay Road

by Diane Munier

  He is looking at me, burning me up.

  “I won’t tell Easy. I would never tell,” I say.

  “That why you have me around here? You feel sorry for me?” he says unkindly.

  “No,” I say. “You know I love you Easy.”

  He gets sad then, so sad. He puts his plate on the little table. “If you got to tell, let me know ahead,” he says.

  “No. I don’t have to tell. I would never tell. But I always knew.”

  “How? They won’t let me stay if they find out.”

  “I just felt it. I just knew,” I say.

  “Does Granma know?”

  “No. She’ll pretty much stay with what you tell her,” I try to comfort him.

  “I ain’t going into a home,” he says. “They try that they’ll never find me.”

  Fear just runs through me. He can’t go away, just disappear. “You wouldn’t just go off, would you? You wouldn’t just….”

  He shakes his head. I love him so much I can’t breathe. He’s all alone. But then he isn’t. He’s got me. And my Granma.

  “I can’t go back there—to Tennessee,” he says.

  “Is your mother coming back?”

  “I don’t know. She says she will, but there’s no money left-over . I been trying to earn but I got bills on the electric. Twenty-four dollars. Sixty dollars rent.”

  “You can’t pay that. You have to live here.”

  “Don’t say that. Your Granma don’t want another.”

  “She would if she knew.”

  “I got to keep the house so Mom and Cap can get back.”

  “But how will they pay, Easy? If your Mom can’t get them back, how will they help you?”

  He is quiet for a while. “I ain’t going back to school this year,” he says.

  Missing a whole year of school when he’s already been held back? I never heard of such a thing. Suddenly I feel so much worry over Easy and his troubles I just wish I could run inside and get my Granma. We need someone big to help us figure this out.

  “You have to go to school Easy,” I say.

  “I have to earn money,” he says. “I can’t leave Mom and Cap down there. My Grampa is mean and my uncles….”

  “Easy, I have eighty-six dollars and forty-seven cents in my passbook. You can have it,” I say. It’s money from my whole life—birthdays and my baptism, first communion, good grades even. I thought it was a fortune, but comes to Easy it’s just a drop in the bucket.

  He stares at me for a minute, then he bows his head and covers his face with his hands. It brings me right out of the lounger.

  I didn’t mean to make him cry. I’m so, so sorry.

  “Don’t cry Easy,” I say patting his back, then I smooth over his hair. It’s so long he can’t go to school that way probably, that’s if he goes. But it scares me a little to see him break down. He never does.

  He wipes his eyes on his shoulder. I go down on my knees. I’d do anything, anything at all to see him smile again.

  “They could come home on my money, Easy. Then you could go to school. You can use your money on the bills, huh? If you need more I have savings bonds and silver dollars even. You just have to go to school.”

  He looks at me, and he blinks back those tears because I know he doesn’t want them.

  “Your Granma would be mad,” he says, wiping his eyes on his dirty sleeve again.

  “Granma can’t know everything. That money is mine and she always says once you give something it’s not yours anymore. You can use it to bring Cap and your Mom home. Then you won’t be alone anymore.”

  He pulls me to him and we touch our foreheads and he cries some more. Easy has the whole world in his hands, just like the song. But I put my hands on his, one the side of my head, the other where he holds my arm. I am sending love into him, just sending love.

  I am so so happy to be able to do something, really do it. Tomorrow morning I’m marching to the bank with my passbook and pulling out that money.

  “You’re not alone, Easy,” I whisper. “Didn’t you know?”

  I’ve never been hugged as hard as Easy hugs me then. It’s a little hard to breathe, but I’d never tell him to stop.

  Darnay Road 38

  Saving my money has always made me feel really wonderful. Well it hasn’t always made me feel wonderful. For most of my life Granma was saving it for me and I hardly knew. But she has shown me over the past year and now I have the passbook in my desk instead of Granma having it in her roll-top.

  And it does make me feel so happy to be an American when I put my money in the bank and watch the balance rise. If I was a Communist I probably couldn’t even have my own money so God bless America and please don’t ever let Kruschev put one big hairy toe on American ground. Amen.

  So I’m a teensy sad to know it’s going down now—my balance, but I’m not very sad. I am mostly very happy because Cap and Easy’s mom can come home and take care of Easy. I can’t imagine living in big white without Granma. And I love big white, but not so much I’d ever want to take care of it all by myself and pay for everything when I’m just a kid.

  So I get dressed that Saturday morning at the end of the first week of school and I ride my bike to Grand Avenue where the grocery and the show and the five and dime and Wellman’s and my bank are.

  Of course Granma thinks I am at the library. And I did ride past the library so I’m almost there, just further. I have my square purse in my basket and no Little Bit. My square purse holds my passbook. I am not taking all the money out, just thirty-six dollars. Easy has been very clear on this. He’s added up and he figures this is all his mom and Cap need to get up here on the bus. So I am going for thirty-six.

  I get to the bank and park my bike outside and go in. It feels strange to be here without my Granma. I have never even thought of coming to the bank without her before. But I know what to do. So I go to the round table and get a pink form and fill it out. It’s not hard. I’ve never taken money out before cause I just save my mad money in my pig. I rob her all the time, but I don’t touch my passbook until now. Granma puts her mad money in a jar and buries it in case the banks fail. I don’t know how they would ever fail or what it means. But Granma has explained how I put money into my savings and of course I wanted to use the pink forms right off and Granma said no, I had to use white. Pink are for withdrawals.

  So here I am walking to the window with the pink paper in one hand and my passbook in the other. My square purse is on my arm. It’s a metal box, its sides cut out in a lacy pattern. It has a pearl top and handle. Fake pearl probably, but it looks real. So it’s a little noisy when I set my purse on the counter and the lady looks at me with her drawn on eyebrows that look surprised even when she probably isn’t all that surprised.

  I give her the slip and my passbook and she looks at me. “Where is the adult on this account, Viola Green?”

  I see Granma right away, at home sitting on the lounger drinking iced tea.

  “Well Granma isn’t here. There’s just me today,” I say.

  “This isn’t signed,” she says turning the slip front to back. “Does she know you are taking this much money out?”

  “Well she’s across the street drinking a cherry soda so it’s okay. I’ll just take it and be back.”

  I reach for it, and she gives it back to me.

  “Thank you very much,” I say, hastening to get out of there.

  I’m outside and ever so grateful they didn’t arrest me. Then I think no, I haven’t done anything. But this is worse than returning my library books past the due date even.

  So I look that slip over and see where I need to sign Granma’s name. She is parent or guardian all right. I wondered about that but I thought she only signed it if she was the one taking out my money.

  I know what I’ll do. I put everything in my purse and walk my bike across the street to the five and dime. I go in there and look around some, but I can barely pay attention to the rows and rows of cute china statues of
elves and kittens. I am hatching my plan to sign Granma’s name and then go back in the bank to a different teller than before. I’ll just let some time pass and I’ll try again and it will be fine this time.

  I get over to the lunch counter and get a seat. I order a cherry Coke cause I need some energy. I’m moving back and forth on the chair and I look around and there’s just another lady eating a patty melt. So I keep my purse on my lap and get out the slip and my pencil. I lick the tip, look around again and set that slip on the counter and sign Granma’s name in my very best penmanship. I’m checking it over when the lady sets my cherry Coke right there practically on my pink paper. I pull it out of the way really fast so she don’t see it. But she doesn’t seem to care anyway. I count out my money and put it on the counter and put the pink slip in my purse and my pencil. Lord my heart is thumpity-thump like I stole something, but I never would.

  I take a drink and it goes down cold and fizzy. The girl comes back and swipes my money into her hand and counts it. “What’s a kid doing by herself on this hot day?” she says.

  I am taking another big sip and I have to break off and cough a little. “N…nothing,” I say.

  “All right kid, just asking,” she says. Then she gets a rag from under the counter and starts wiping the surface but she doesn’t move the napkin holder and I see sugar all around it.

  I drink the Coca-Cola too quickly and when I get off the stool I burp on accident. I look around but no one heard I don’t think. I get my purse then I stroll along the aisle like I don’t have a care but all the little things that fill the counters and usually hold mine and Abigail May’s attention for an hour, I just pass those by now. I have something more important, and I wonder if this is how it feels to be big.

  I put my purse in my basket and go to the corner and wait for traffic to thin out then I run my bike across the street. I get across the bank’s parking lot and burp about three more times, then I lean my bike against the building and get my purse and in I go. There is a man at the window on the far side, and I don’t want a man, but I guess I don’t have a choice cause it’s him or the eyebrows and I’m just too guilty to go to her again. But before I can take a step there is a hand on my shoulder and I look up and Lord a mercy.

  Granma.

  I swallow another burp. “Hello Granma,” I whisper.

  “Come outside,” she says, and there is no hint of a smile not in her face or voice or in the way she grips my arm and marches me right back out.

  Darnay Road 39

  “Granma I have to do it, I have to,” I say.

  She pulls me to Aunt May’s car and she opens the back door and I get in, then she gets in.

  I am so embarrassed in front of Aunt May and my Granma. “It’s my money,” I say so they’ll both know it’s not like I was stealing or something.

  “Georgia Christine--I said to myself I can trust her, I know I can trust her. After all she would not say she is going one place and be in another after the problem we had earlier this summer when she was in the river while I thought she was up the street being a good American,” my Granma says. I guess she’s talking to Aunt May but she’s looking out the side window and away from both of us.

  I say, “But I knew you wouldn’t be happy about it. It’s mine. You said when you give something it’s no longer yours so it’s mine.”

  “Stop,” Granma says. “You know it was wrong. I didn’t raise you to be confused.”

  “Granma I’m not confused,” I say, my eyes darting to Aunt May who is turned around in her seat. “Aunt May you and my Granma just don’t understand.”

  “You were taking money out of the bank and Millie called me because she knew I never would have allowed such a thing,” Granma says. “I have put that money in your passbook for years. You were getting that money for Easy and you were sneaking to do it.”

  How does she know that? Such a fierce need to protect Easy arises in me I shift my feet and knees to face my Granma. “It’s not his fault. You don’t know, Granma.”

  “Is he in some kind of trouble?” Granma says.

  Aunt May is moving around, talking to herself cause I can’t make out what she’s saying but it is something like, “Bringing children in this world…,” or something.

  “I can’t tell you, I promised I wouldn’t, but it’s not his fault. It’s all my idea. I have my own mind and my own words and my own brain-storms and my own money,” I say.

  Granma is staring at me. “You are a ten year old child and you must ask permission before you go getting this big for your britches.”

  I hate to think of wearing big britches or little britches gone high-water or something. It’s just the dumbest thing to imagine.

  “Granma I have to get that money. Please. Please.”

  “What is it for?” Granma says.

  I fold my arms and bite my lip for a moment. “Well I just can’t say Granma. But if you knew, you would say it’s okay.”

  “All the more reason to come clean because it would be wrong to take that money without my say so,” Granma says.

  “But this is a special case. Please believe me Granma.”

  “When you can tell me what it is for we’ll see. For now you get on that bike and get home.”

  “Oh,” I say. “You’ll let me ride home?” I can’t believe it.

  “Yes I will,” Granma says. “You need to enjoy this world while you can. It’s the last you’ll be seeing it except for school or church for a very long time.”

  I am looking at her and she is looking at me now. There are cracks in her skin but she has the prettiest kindest blue eyes. She’s ever so pretty, my Granma. But she is about mad as she can be at me I think.

  “You can do whatever you want, Granma. I’ll stay inside for the whole year. I’ll sleep on the floor and live on bread and water even. Just please, please let me get that money, Granma.”

  “Is Easy in trouble Georgia Christine because I know there is no other reason for you to be after such a fortune. Unless you are planning on running away.”

  I am crying now. “What? I wouldn’t do that, Granma. Golly you are just not thinking that I hope. But Easy doesn’t have someone to love him like you and me. He doesn’t have anyone to go to. No Aunt May,” I say that to May, “and no Granma,” I say to Granma. “He’s just so so alone.”

  Granma looks at May.

  “Why couldn’t he come to us if he’s in trouble?” May says. “We’ve certainly been good to the boy.”

  “Yes Ma’am. But Easy doesn’t ask for help. He doesn’t know he can,” I say.

  Granma hands me a hankie. I have one in my purse but I can’t open that lest Granma sees that pink slip. I wipe at my face but I don’t have time the words are coming so fast. “If you don’t let me help him he’s going to be in so much trouble. And he lost his dad and now….” I very nearly tell. I have to calm down. It’s very hard. “He’s just a kid. And no one…there’s no one…no…no….”

  “Georgia Christine,” Granma nearly yells like she does when I get overly dramatic. But I’m not dramatic now. I’m desperate.

  I fall against her. I am breathing so hard. If I fail at my mission then Easy has no hope. None. I think I’ve told too much, but I can only keep trying now. The bank closes at noon and I try to look at my Cinderella watch, but I can’t concentrate when I’m crying. Well not so much. I wipe my nose again. “Please Granma. Please. I’ll never ask for anything again. Not even for Christmas.”

  “Hush now,” Granma says and she pats my knee. I know she feels bad after she yells. “If Easy talks to me and I see he needs that money I will give it to him myself,” Granma says.

  “Of course we would,” Aunt May adds as if Granma has said they will both give money to Easy.

  “He’s just so proud,” Granma says.

  I put my arms around my Granma and squeeze, squeeze, the way Easy did with me.

  “Land sakes Georgia, you’re squeezing me too hard.” She takes my arms away and makes me look at her.
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  “Granma, I told Easy I wouldn’t tell. I promised. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.”

  “Oh for heaven sakes,” she says.

  “Please let me get that money and please don’t ask any more about it. You can punish me if you think you should and I won’t even fuss at all I promise, just please let me get that money for Easy.”

  “I thought I made myself clear,” she says.

  I can tell she is sorry for me, but she just won’t budge.

  “Well say it again.” I need her to clarify.

  “Easy can talk to me…,” she looks at Aunt May, “to us. If he needs help we need to know what for. Do you think I wouldn’t help him Georgia?”

  It’s one of those questions best not answered. I am regretful for what I’m about to do. “Yes Ma’am,” I say. I do think she would help him. It’s just that he won’t ask cause they could ship him to a home.

  “I’ll come on home then,” I say opening my door.

  “Are we clear Georgia?” she says.

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “Straight home,” Granma says. “Sure you’re not too upset? We can put that bike in May’s trunk I believe.”

  “Yes we can,” May says.

  I speak to my dear granma before I close my door. “I will be fine Granma. I am barely crying now,” I say.

  “All right. Straight home now.” She’s got the headache.

  I close the door and walk to where my bike still leans against the bank. I get that far and watch as Aunt May pulls out of the lot with my Granma still riding in the backseat. Granma looks back at me and I wave and put my purse in the basket. Then I wait and look again and the car is gone down the street. I get my purse back and go in the bank. I am suddenly not afraid at all. Eyebrows is busy with an old lady. Goodie gumdrops. I walk to the man’s window. I set my purse on the counter and get that pink slip.

  “Hello,” I say to the man.

  “Hello young miss. What do you need?”

  I lay the slip on the counter and he picks it up and reads it. He tells me normally the slip should be signed in pen. But just like I thought my Granma did not need to sign, only if she’s the one taking out the money. So that Millie did not need to call my Granma. She just knew her is all. She tattled.