Slow Way Home (9 page)

Pieces of the dining-room light stretched underneath the bedroom door as if they were bony claws pulling me out of bed. For a moment Poppy’s words tricked me into thinking they might be coming from a detective show playing on the TV.

“I knew we should’ve done something before now. We’ve just been wasting time with all this notion of hope.”

“She sat right there in front of that government lady high as a kite.

And that lady just putting on like it was nothing out of the ordinary,”

Nana said.

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“That woman don’t care anything about him, any more than Sophie does.”

Poppy’s words cut deeper than the knife he was using to feed himself. He was wrong. My mama did love me. She loved the only way she knew how. Her love was like the insurance plan that the man came to collect money for each month. It was there if I should ever need it. The only thing was I hadn’t needed it.

The more Nana said, the louder her voice became. “And to think we don’t have no say in all this. We just pass him back to her like bringing back a loaf of day-old bread to the grocery store. No, this ain’t right, I tell you.”

Poppy coughed and the sound of tea pouring into a glass of ice drifted from the table. “Well, you know I wanted to do it back when she first got a lawyer.”

“I know, A.B. But you don’t have to rub it in my face.”

“Look, I just don’t have no more answers. We’ve talked it, talked it, and talked it. Brandon’s still going with her.”

“Why can’t they see?” Nana’s yell was as loud as it had been at the church revival. “They plain don’t care. It makes me so mad I just want to . . . I just got to . . .”

A whippoorwill called out from the night. The familiar sound let me breathe again. But the bird’s peaceful call was lost on Nana. Her scream filled every corner of the house.

“Pearl, get a hold of yourself,” Poppy shouted.

The sound of a chair hitting the floor made me run into the hallway. An old fear was ready to meet me again. Forgotten sounds of screaming and dishes being broken.

Sliding along the hallway wall, I turned just far enough to see the end of the kitchen table. Clutching a butcher knife, Nana used the other hand to yank her hair free. Wiry gray strands poured out of the bun and down her back.

“All my life I followed the rules. Paid what I owed, went to church, tithed. And what did it get me? The one time I need the Lord, He steps out on me. The one time!”

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Poppy’s wide eyes were fixated on the knife. “Okay, just settle down. It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not all right! I did the right thing, but God flat don’t care. Pray six times a day, no, seven, no, eight. Read the Bible. Had faith. And for what? Just to have the part of me I can’t stand to lose snatched back into all that mess. I tell you, I just flat can’t stand it! I’d rather be dead first.”

“Quit it,” Poppy yelled and lunged for the knife.

Staring at the black phone, I felt my heart pound and the back of my head vibrate against the hall wall. The sound of another chair being knocked over echoed in the hall. As hard as I tried, I could not reach the phone. My legs were cemented to the floor. All of a sudden the phone became two and then they faded into blackness. My mind was spinning around in a dust bowl just like the one Mama had left behind the day she drove away. As I slid down the wall, a splinter in the baseboard dug into my back.

Holding my breath, I inched my head so that one eye was exposed to the dining room. Expecting blood and bodies, I found instead strands of Nana’s hair clumped together in a nest on the floor. Jagged edges of hair were all that remained on her head.

Poppy slowly moved towards the fireplace mantel like he was a string puppet being guided by a master. His shoulders lifted and sank with each heavy breath. Finally he lifted up the mantel and pulled out two thick envelopes.

“If we do it, you know there won’t be no coming back,” Poppy said.

Nana never looked up as she continued to sweep the hair into an organized pile. “A.B., all my life I’ve done what people told me to do because they said it was the right thing. Now it’s time I do the right thing for this boy’s sake.”

It was raining the day I met Poco’s real daddy at a truck stop. Round scars tried to disguise the face, but the wave in his hair gave him away.

His tall frame filled the corner booth while he rubbed wide hands 60

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over coffee like he was sitting before a fire. His hair was ash dark, and he had a cowlick in the front just like Poco.

Drops of rain clung to Nana’s plastic bonnet. Each time the restaurant door opened and the beat of the rain drifted inside, Nana would jerk her head and the wet plastic would make a crinkling sound.

We had driven all the way to Brunswick, Georgia, to get the camper and begin our vacation. But the way we left before daybreak, carrying out every stitch of clothing that we owned, caused my gut to keep gnawing in a way that food could not satisfy. A steel guitar cried from a jukebox, and a waitress with hair the shape of a honeycomb approached with a tray filled with pancakes.

Scanning the booths with miniature jukeboxes tucked at the end of the tables, I wondered if Poco would have recognized him. The deep-set eyes only strengthened my charge that this was the man who left Poco for a life in Miami. A life Miss Naomi and others at the Farmers Market described with words like “exotic” and “underworld.”

“I appreciate you meeting us halfway like this,” Poppy said.

“Had some business in Jacksonville anyway.” Every time Poco’s daddy turned his neck, the silver chain and rectangle-shaped charm he wore would twist into his chest hair.

“Is everything all set up?” Poppy whispered.

Poco’s daddy cut his eyes towards me. “This him?”

Nana wrapped her arm over my shoulder. “Now we’re just buying a camper. Brandon is so excited about going on vacation in our new camper.” The word “camper” came out of Nana’s mouth slow and exaggerated, as if Poco’s daddy had a hearing problem.

His dark eyes held Nana’s stare. A crooked smile soon formed, and with his chin he motioned towards the door.

Outside in the parking lot black smoke rose from semi trucks to match the color of the sky. Thunderclouds floated away leaving behind a fine mist in the air. We stood around the white camper staring at our new possession. I was charged with so much excitement I
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thought that any minute my feet would start spinning up the asphalt.

But Poppy and Nana remained frozen, as if they knew touching the metal siding would require them to travel to a land of foreign tongues.

When Poppy finally began the customary kicking of the tires, I had already pulled away from Nana’s grasp. Inside the camper-trailer the smell of freshly laid insulation burned my nose. A bunk bed hung from the ceiling, and a small door hid a sleeper sofa at the other end.

A bathroom was tucked neatly in the corner, and a small kitchen separated it from the living room. Poco’s daddy reached for the folder on top of the kitchen counter and handed it to Poppy.

“Look, Nana, a TV,” I said and pulled a small black-and-white down from a corner compartment.

“Don’t mess with nothing. We’ll go through everything when we get down the road.” Nana tightened the straps on her rain bonnet.

Reaching inside his windbreaker, Poppy offered the envelope that had been hidden in the fireplace mantel. Poppy then busied himself with pulling the truck around and aligning the back bumper with the axle of our new camper.

Pulling the chain from his neck, Poco’s daddy squatted down in front of me. His coal-colored eyes pierced mine until my neck grew hot.

“You and Poco are buddies, yeah?”

All I could do was nod and reach for the silver chain.

“Hang on to this for him.”

The charm attached to the necklace showed an old man dressed in a robe, carrying someone on his back. The metal was still warm from his skin. I turned it over and rubbed the ridges of the carving.

“It’s St. Christopher,” he said. “He’ll take care of you and Poco.”

Poco’s daddy then got into the truck with red fringe hanging from the back window and drifted away faster than the storm clouds that rolled overhead.

Seven

W
hen I woke up, the green sign with orange letters was fast approaching us. The bright sun and the stickiness from heavy sleep made the words blur until all I could make out was a drawing of a smiling sun.

“Here we are, Brandon. Florida. Feel that sun beating down on us?” Poppy began pulling at his sleeves until they were up to his elbows.

“Pay attention to your driving,” Nana said. She pulled a container from under the seat.

The confining rows of pine trees on each side of the road made me feel that we were already in jail.

“How about a doughnut? Poppy stopped by Krispy Kreme and got the chocolate kind you like.”

“What about Nairobi?”

Soft country music from the radio filled the truck. Poppy glanced at Nana and then turned his gaze back towards the road.

“Well, sugar, what about her?”

“Is she gonna get in trouble?”

Nana folded the flap on the doughnut box. “What makes you ask a thing like that?”

“That lady from the government won’t like me being gone. I don’t want Nairobi to get in trouble.”

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When Nana turned to look at me, her eyes looked as if someone had traced the insides with a red pen. “Don’t you study about Nairobi. She’s just fine.”

“Aw, look out now. Don’t you start worrying about any of this,”

Poppy said. “We always said we wanted to go to Florida and now is as good a time as any.”

“Well how about that lady senator? What’s she gonna do when she finds out?”

Nana leaned forward and pointed to an open-air market painted orange. “Oh look, Brandon. Fresh boiled peanuts. Who in the world heard of boiled peanuts this time of the year?”

Instinctively, Poppy turned into the parking lot covered with sand and lime rock. Pictures of red peanuts and oranges were painted on the outside walls. The store was nothing more than a hut surrounded by two gas pumps. A fat man with tobacco juice tattooed on the crevice of his chin greeted us.

“The finest people in the world pull up to this store,” the man shouted from a stool next to the cash register. His pasty-colored arm rested on the register while his fingers fished inside a pack of Red Man.

“How you doing?” Poppy said.

While the two discussed a sale on tobacco, Nana busied herself with the bags of oranges. A pole lined with various colored cowboy belts caught my eye, and soon I pictured myself wearing one with my name stamped on the outside. I wondered if I would be able to keep my name. Everybody on TV who was wanted by the police always had to change their name, and I knew that tight-lipped lady with the government would be after us in no time. She’d probably ride in the back of the police car herself so she could deliver me directly to Mama. She’d drop me off at Mama’s new beauty shop, where I’d have to sweep the floor every day as punishment for running off with Nana and Poppy.

“Where y’all heading?” the fat man asked.

“Abbeville, Florida.” Poppy propped his boot up on the edge of the wooden counter. “We got us a place down . . .”

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“How about the boiled peanuts? They fresh?” Nana tossed a bag of oranges on the counter and glared at Poppy.

“No, ma’am. Frozen. But I bet you five dollars you can’t tell no difference. I season them with plenty of salt.”

“I’ll take a bag.”

While Poppy continued to talk as if he had known the man all of his life, I ran my fingers across the indented letters on the belt. Jack.

Maybe I could talk Poppy into buying it and use Jack as my new name. Just when I pulled the belt off of the pole, I spotted the blue light.

The light on the highway-patrol car stuck up over a rack of packaged crackers. A broad-shouldered man with sunglasses and a big hat got out. I clutched the belt and looked at Nana and Poppy. She flicked through the stack of cash that lined her billfold, and Poppy propped his arm on the counter like he had decided to stay for a while.

With each step of the patrolman’s shiny black shoes my heart sank lower. I pictured that government lady sitting in the backseat with her clipboard tucked in her lap. The belt began to twitch in my hand as if it was some sort of snake coming to life.

“Afternoon, Ervin,” the patrolman said.

Poppy jerked his arm from the counter faster than the time he touched the electric fence back home.

“Matt, I was just about to give up on you,” the fat man said and then turned towards Poppy. “He comes in every day at noon time. Just as regular as sunrise. Comes in here for a bag of peanuts, nothing more.”

Poppy tried to chuckle but it ended up resembling a choking sound. “Well, we can’t wait to try them ourselves. Y’all about ready to hit the road?”

The patrolman pulled off his sunglasses and winked at me. A chalky taste built up in my throat, and I fought the urge to throw up all over the green indoor-outdoor carpet.

“Go ahead and bag ’em up,” the patrolman said.

By the time he reached the counter, Nana and Poppy had moved towards the truck. But I was still standing there with the smell of fresh leather tempting me to vomit.

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Nana slightly turned. “Hurry up now.”

I tossed the belt towards the pole and didn’t bother to pick it up when I heard the buckle meet the floor. As I ran out of the store, my shirt clung to beads of sweat. When I heard his deep voice, the metal-lic taste returned.

“Ma’am,” the patrolman said. “Hold on, ma’am.”

Nana and Poppy stopped at the same time. The flowers printed on her blouse stretched wide as Nana’s chest rose higher.

When the patrolman reached her, his sunglasses were back on.

The sun sparkled off of the dark lenses the same way it did off the rocks in the parking lot. He reached out and touched Nana’s arm.