Savvy (10 page)

“My poppa needs me,” I said at last, more to myself than to Lill. “He needs me to get down there to Salina. He’s like Sleeping Beauty and I have to wake him up.”

I ignored Lill’s unmistakable look of worry as I said this. I knew she believed that I was getting my hopes up to think that I had the power to do anything to help Poppa. But she was wrong, so I ignored her. I ignored her like I ignored all of the voices in my head—the ones that were supposed to be there, and the ones that weren’t. I would figure those out later, after Poppa was back home and better. I had no time for listening now.

“Your poppa sounds like a very nice poppa, kidling,” said Lill softly. “And that’s a very spiffy dress.” That made me feel proud at first. Then, looking down at the yellow fabric and the white rickrack striping, I couldn’t help becoming self-conscious as I remembered how the girls at the church had laughed at it.

“Yeah, I guess.” I shrugged, feeling low for my embarrassment, like somehow I was disappointing Poppa by doubting the special-ness of my special-occasion dress. After a pause and a quick glance at Bobbi, I said, “You don’t think this dress makes me look too much like a little girl, do you?”

Lill gave me a curious look. “Does it make you
feel
like a little girl?” she asked quietly.

“Only when I’m around Bobbi. She’s sixteen,” I said by way of explaining. Lill’s face broke into a broad smile as she too looked Bobbi’s way

“You know, that Bobbi makes me feel a bit like a little girl too,” Lill said with a laugh. “But I’ll tell you a secret about sixteen,” she continued, bending down to whisper in my ear. “Sixteen can feel older and scarier than forty-two, which is what I am. I think Bobbi’s just feeling sharp-edged right now, so don’t you mind her. Your dress is perfect.”

That made me feel better. I smoothed out the wrinkles that had become pressed into its skirt since I’d put the dress on back in Kansaska-Nebransas, overly conscious of the fact that Will was watching me.

Lill looked from me to Will knowingly. “Well, isn’t that boy of yours just the tomcat’s kitten?” she said with a smile, nudging me with her elbow.

“What? Will’s not— He’s just— He’s not—” I stammered in protest, feeling my cheeks burn.

“That boy can’t stop staring, and I know he’s not looking at me. It’s plain to see Will’s sweet on you,” Lill continued with a small laugh, patting my leg in a way that made me feel as though she and I had been friends for a long, long time. “You see, Mibs? You’re not such a little girl. You’ve already got a handsome boy looking your way.”

I sealed my mouth shut at that. I remembered the way Ashley Bing had kept her eyes glued on Will back at the church in Hebron. I also remembered the way I hadn’t liked her doing it. I could imagine Ashley’s voice in my head, “Missy-pissy’s got herself a
boyfriend,
” with Emma Flint echoing, “A
boyfriend!
”

“Don’t fret it, kidling,” said Lill. “Trust me, in a few more years Will Junior will be the least of your worries.” Lill put an arm around my shoulders and squeezed me to her just as Momma would have done. For a minute I thought maybe Lill might be an angel sent to look after us as we bumped our way along the highway in that big pink Bible bus—not a devil-tailed angel like Bobbi’s tattoo, nor a heavily perfumed and sappy-smiling angel like the air freshener hanging in the front window of Miss Rosemary’s minivan. A real angel. One with really big feet.

S
ometime later, Samson the shadow appeared soundlessly next to Fish, just as we were nearing the town of Emerald. He was clutching the empty potato chip bag. The blinking yellow lights of cross-street traffic signals lit Lill’s eyes as they widened in surprise and she looked at me questioningly, pointing at Samson where he sat whispering to Fish.

“And who is this critter?” Lill asked in a hushed tone, like he was a shy wild thing come out of hiding.

“That’s another one of my brothers. His name is Samson,” I explained. “He’s seven and he doesn’t talk too much.”

“The strong, silent type, eh? Hello, Samson,” Lill said kindly. Samson looked at Lill impassively, the way the animals look back at you when you are watching them at the zoo. Then he shot his eyes again to Fish, nudging his thin elbow into Fish’s ribs and crackling the empty bag.

“My brother’s hungry, ma’am,” Fish explained. “We haven’t eaten much of anything since lunchtime, and it must be well past supper by now.”

Lill looked at her wristwatch, holding it up close to her face in the dim light of the bus. She breathed a heavy sigh. “You’re sure right about that, Mr. Fish. It’s long past supper and long, long past the start of my shift at the diner. If there’s one thing I’ve got a knack for—a true talent even—that’s being late.” She looked around at all of us and her eyes crinkled with a sad and regretful smile. Her initial distrust of us seemed to melt away as I’d told her stories about Poppa and the accident. As I’d spoken, unable to hide the waves of fear and sorrow that rolled through me, Lill responded with sympathy. I imagined there was nothing like a heartsick girl with a sad story to win over a softhearted lady.

“But I’ll tell y’all this,” Lill continued. “If I get to work and find I still have myself a job, if my boss doesn’t fire me on the spot for being so late—late
again,
” she groaned, “I’ll see that y’all get a fine supper. I’ll even make sure you each get a slice of pie before you’re on your way again—my treat.”

“Do you have banana cream?”

Everyone turned to look at Samson, surprised to hear him speak above a whisper. His choir-boy voice was husky from disuse and under-cot dust, but still sweet as ever. I tried to remember the last time I’d heard him say anything out loud—a day? a week? a month? That was just the way it was with my broody brother. I smiled at Samson now; I never knew he liked banana cream pie.

“Oh goodie, he speaks,” muttered Bobbi. And with Samson still sitting stone-faced and solemn, a grinning giggle spread through the ranks, turning into a gut- busting crackup as the day’s tension released like waves hitting shore. If I could have forgotten about why I was where I was, I might almost have been happy. Despite the mayhem, for the first time, I felt like I might be making friends—and that even included Bobbi.

Lester followed Lill’s directions into the town of Emerald. The Emerald Truck Stop Diner and Lounge was on the far edge of town, lit up in weak green neon. Bright white fluorescent light cut through the darkness, spilling out through the glass door at the front of the restaurant. There were some rough and tough-looking motorcycles parked near the road. The parking lot was full of pickup trucks, and semitrailers were lined up like side-by-side train cars in a lot behind the building. Lester had to park the big pink Bible bus past all of these trucks and trailers in a back alley that was cluttered with smelly Dumpsters, stacks of splintered wooden pallets, and old, rotting cardboard boxes.

“I s’pose I c-could have let you all off up front,” Lester said apologetically, helping Lill down off the bus like she was a princess.

“Just stick close, kidlings,” said Lill, looking around the poorly lit alleyway. The rest of us climbed down from the bus behind the two adults, stepping past newspapers and torn sheets of dirty industrial plastic that rustled and snapped in the evening breeze. Whether or not the breeze was a normal earthly breeze or the result of Fish’s concern for Poppa, I couldn’t say; his face was unreadable as we marched down the deserted alley.

Lill took Samson’s hand and he walked between her and Lester without complaint, as though it was something he did every day. I was surprised to see Samson take so quickly to strangers. Though, from the set of his jaw and the stiff way he held his body, I knew that he too was scared and missing Momma and Poppa, and that right now Lill and Lester were the next best thing. Fish walked out ahead of everyone, like a scout making sure the way was safe; Bobbi tramped behind, and Will and I brought up the rear.

That’s when I saw something that made me jump nearly out of my skin. I stopped on the edge of the parking lot behind the Emerald Truck Stop where the alley fed out into the street. Past a rank Dumpster surrounded by mounds of overstuffed trash bags, a dirty hand was sticking out from under what looked like a pile of old clothes. The hand lay palm up, fingers outstretched like it was reaching out to me for help.

I grabbed Will’s arm and jerked him back toward me, hardly daring to breathe. The others walked ahead, not noticing the grimy hand or Will and me dropping behind to stare at it and the body of the man it was attached to. I looked at Will and he looked back at me, eyes round in the eerie light from the single nearby streetlamp.

Looking closer, we saw the still, prone form of an old homeless man, whiskered and filthy and stinking of drink and despair. Will tried to pull me away. He nodded toward several empty bottles scattered on the ground next to the man. “There’s nothing we can do for him, Mibs,” he said, sorry but firm like a police officer directing onlookers away from an accident. “Come on, Mibs, let’s go.” He pulled gently on my arm again, but I didn’t budge.

“What if he’s dead?” I said in a whisper. My heart was pounding. Watching the man just lying there on the pavement, I couldn’t help but think about Poppa lying just as still and lifeless down in Salina, and my heart came close to bursting.

“The guy probably just drank too much and passed out, Mibs,” Will said nervously, not wanting to linger any longer, wanting to go and catch up to the others. But I was hardly listening anymore, hardly feeling the touch of Will’s hand on my arm. All I could see was that unfortunate man. All I could think was that maybe there was something I could do to help him. I could wake him up. I could wake him up the same way I was going to wake up Poppa when I got down to Salina. No more silly voices in my head, it was time for my true savvy to kick in like it should. It had to happen now.

I took a step toward the lifeless lump of flesh that had once been a walking, talking, hoping, dreaming man—once been someone’s son or friend … or father.

“Mibs!” Will hissed my name and tried to pull me back, but I shook him off.

I knelt down on the pavement, barely feeling the gravel that dug into my knee. I got just close enough to reach my own hand out and place one timid, shaking finger on the inside of the prone man’s upturned wrist, as though I was trying to feel for his pulse.

I dug down deep into myself, searching for that thing, that spark, that powerful storm all my own—searching for the wellspring of my own savvy strength and concentrating with all my might on waking up the man on the ground in front of me.

Wake up.

Wake up.

Please. Wake up.

I thought it over and over in my head, whispering it like a chant just under my breath. I thought it harder than any thought I’d ever thought before. I concentrated so hard that my eyes began to water and my teeth ached from grinding them together.

My finger pressed harder and harder against the cold, bony wrist. I could feel the slow, almost hesitant pulse of blood beneath his skin. For a minute, nothing happened. Then a harsh and hollering voice blasted through my head, sending me backward and scrabbling against the pavement.

“Don’t want to see any more … feel any more. Just let me fade away … I’ve seen too much … too much!”

The voice in my head was filled with the undertow of bottomless despair. I felt the unconscious man’s ache and anguish just behind my eyes, rattling my brain like concussions of shrapnel.

“Seen too much! Leave me alone …”
But the man didn’t wake up.

I couldn’t wake him up.

That’s when I knew—then and there and sure as sure—that’s when I knew that there wasn’t anything—
anything
—I could do to help Poppa.

I felt as though someone had punched me in the stomach and pulled out all my bones, turning me into a queasy useless blob of Jell-O. The ruined man shifted on the ground without waking, turning his hand over to expose a dull tattoo of a soaring eagle inked years ago on the back of his hand. As I listened to the distress and despair of the voice crying out inside my head, that eagle flapped and screeched and beat its wings as if gone mad, like all it wanted was to break free and fly away.

I realized then that it had been coincidence, not my savvy, that had woken Gypsy up that morning, and that Samson’s dead pet turtle had played a trick on me, merely come out of its long hibernation on this most important day with no regard for savvies or hopings or misunderstandings. Nature simply did what nature does, and I mixed that up with me.

For the very first time since I was old enough to know what it meant to have a savvy, since the day that I’d begun to dream of what my own talent might come to be, I wished that I was more like Poppa and had no savvy at all. No savvy to cause me heartache. No savvy to make me hope, and then leave me useless.

“C
ome on, Mibs,” said will quietly, helping me up off the ground and brushing the dirt and gravel from my hands. “Let’s go. Everyone’s waiting for us.” He turned me away from the unconscious man. But Will didn’t know what I’d heard. He didn’t know what I’d seen. He could turn away easier than I could because he didn’t have to listen. Weak-kneed and shaken, it seemed impossible for me to walk away. Yet when Will took hold of my elbow awkwardly, I allowed him to lead me toward the glow of the Emerald Truck Stop Diner and Lounge.

The others were waiting at the front of the restaurant. Lester held the door open for each of us as we entered. Inside the diner, there were so many people you couldn’t stir them with a stick, and I understood bitterly exactly how wrong Rocket had been when he’d said that girls only got the quiet, polite savvies. Noise, noise, noise was all I’d gotten; when I stepped into that diner it was most definitely not
quiet,
and some of the voices and thoughts jangling in my ears were far from polite.

Walking into a diner full of tattooed bikers and truckers made me feel like someone had switched on a razzmatazz radio inside my head—a radio with a dial that kept spinning with a fizz and a zing from station to station to station to station without stop. Still reeling from my encounter with the homeless man, the new, added onslaught of all these strangers’ thoughts and feelings and questions and answers made me feel like I was going to be sick.