The Promise of Jesse Woods (16 page)

My mother looked at me like I’d tried to play “Clair de Lune” with my feet. “Matt, I can barely handle the load I have. I can’t take on Daisy Grace. And that Jesse’s mother would suggest it . . .”

“I don’t know that she suggested it. It’s just an idea. There’s got to be a way. Maybe Mawmaw . . .” The words escaped my lips before I realized their futility.

My mother frowned. “Let me call your father.”

She went into the house and I walked to the front yard. Jesse was looking up at the hickory nut tree, where a squirrel flitted from limb to limb, swishing its tail. Daisy Grace was at the bottom of the walk going round and round the lamppost, her hand turning black from the fading paint.

“That party was fun,” Jesse said. “That was my first one.”

“Seriously?”

“Other than at school when they bring cupcakes. Daisy Grace loved those hot dogs and that root beer. She wasn’t whining about being hungry when she went to bed. Full as a tick. Just went right to sleep like nobody’s business.”

I hadn’t heard Daisy Grace say more than a handful of words since I’d met her, even when, in the last week, she’d accompanied us on all our bike rides and fishing.

My mother came out, shutting the screen door gently behind her. She smiled at Jesse and sat, watching Daisy Grace. “She’s got a lot of energy, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, ma’am. But she wears out real good when you give her enough leash to run.” Jesse’s hair was shining in the
morning sun. She wore the same cutoff jeans every day and a T-shirt that was a size too big. Her feet were dark from walking barefoot, and she pulled at some clover by the porch as she spoke to my mother. “We was talking last night walking home and saying that you all have the nicest family.”

“Why, thank you, Jesse,” my mother said. “That’s kind of you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. We sure appreciated the party and the food and the invitation to the ballgame.”

“We were glad you could come. And about the game,” my mother said, lowering her voice. “I don’t think we can take Daisy with us. I’m really sorry.”

“I understand, ma’am. She’s a handful. Especially in a long car ride. One time we took her up to Charleston and I had to sit in the back with her and she squirmed and kicked the whole way. She slept coming home and I was glad of that. But she can wear a body out.”

“That was the first birthday party Jesse’s ever been to,” I said, playing the sympathy card as if it were the Rook.

My mother ignored me. “Does your mama need help? I’m head of the women’s group at church, and we’re setting up a list of people who can provide meals. Would that be something she’d say yes to?”

“We don’t go to your church, ma’am.”

“I understand. We just want to bless people in the community who are . . . going through a rough patch.”

“I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Plumley, I truly do,” Jesse said, standing. “But we’re fine.”

She walked to the hickory nut tree and picked up her bike lying in the shade. My mother looked at me with concern.

“Daisy Grace, come on, we got to get home.”

“Would you like some cake for your mom?” my mother said. “We’ve got plenty left over.”

Daisy Grace skipped toward Jesse singing, “Cake” with every step.

“You hold on and I’ll get you some,” my mother said.

She disappeared into the house, the screen door banging twice behind her as the hydraulic hinge took over. Jesse lifted her sister onto the back of her bike.

“I wish you could come,” I said. “Won’t be the same with just Dickie and me.”

“I reckon there’ll be another chance down the road,” she said, but I didn’t believe her.

“There’s a pool at the hotel. We were going to get there early and swim.”

As soon as it was out of my mouth, I regretted saying it because Jesse’s face fell.

“I don’t have a bathing suit anyway,” she said. “My mama took us to Rock Lake once. I ain’t never seen so much water. There was these spray things at the front you had to go through. I think they wanted to hose us down before we jumped in. But I squealed going through that cold water.”

From the sound of her voice, Rock Lake was a good memory.

My mother returned with a green Tupperware container
filled to the brim with cake, frosting oozing. She put it in the front basket of the bike.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Jesse said, digging a hand into her pocket. She pulled out three dollars and handed them to me. “Mama’s check came. This is what I owe you for the bike.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Jesse,” my mother said before I could.

“No, ma’am, I do. I promised I’d pay him back. And if you can’t keep a promise, what can you keep?”

My mother and I watched them ride away. Then she put an arm around my shoulder. I think she wanted to say something but couldn’t.

JULY 1972

I suppose with every loss there is gain. The extra ticket meant my mother could attend the game with us and that we’d only need one hotel room. We pulled out early that Wednesday morning and I looked up the road toward Jesse’s, wondering what she was doing and if her heart was aching like mine. I wanted my mother to get to know her and not judge her. I wanted to sit next to her and watch her react to the game and see her swim in the pool.

When we pulled up to Dickie’s place, he was sitting on a ratty duffel bag as tall as he was. My father tossed it in the trunk and Dickie jumped in.

“You planning on staying a few extra nights, Dickie?” my dad said.

“No, sir, just want to be prepared.”

“How are you, Dickie?” my mother said, filing her nails.

“Good.” He smiled. “Lookin’ for a breakthrough.”

“Did you bring your swim trunks?” I said.

“My mom gave me a pair of my dad’s. They’re a little big, but I can tie them tight.”

We started out in the crisp morning air, a fog lifting from the hills. When we hit the interstate, my dad glanced back. “So your father is in Vietnam?”

“Yes, sir. First Cav.”

“I’ll bet you’re real proud of him,” my mother said.

“Yes, ma’am. Keeping us safe from the Communists.”

“Things seem to be winding down, from what I hear on the news,” my father said. “Have you heard when he’s coming home?”

“No, sir, but my mama and me have our fingers crossed. I mean, in a Christian sort of way.”

My father looked in the rearview and I could see a crinkle of a smile on his face. My mother turned and gave him a look that I interpreted as a warning to change the topic of conversation.

“This has not been a popular war,” my dad continued. “But I want you to know we appreciate your father’s sacrifice and the sacrifice you and your mother are making.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The talk of Vietnam brought my brother to mind and as we settled in for the long ride, we played some games Ben and I would play on trips to the beach in the summer. We’d count the number of air conditioners we saw sticking
out of houses and then try to find the alphabet on road signs and license plates.

“Sure wish Jesse could have come,” I said kind of low to Dickie. “It would have been fun to go swimming and to the game.”

He nodded. “Yeah, won’t be as much fun. But it’s probably for the best. Her mama’s not well.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

Dickie shrugged. “Coughs a lot. My uncle had the black lung after working in the mines. She kind of sounds like that. Rattling when she breathes.”

“I’ve never seen her. I’ve just heard her talking to Jesse and Daisy.”

“I’ve only seen her a couple of times. Jesse don’t like people going into her house.”

“Why not?”

Dickie looked away. “I expect it’s because of how it looks. Their furniture is the stuff other people toss out. Sometimes we pass trash by the road and Jesse’ll say, ‘Wonder if we could get that to my house.’ They get by. And Mrs. Woods is real pretty.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, there’s not much to her, but you can tell she was beautiful once. My daddy taught me about the mother principle.”

“The what?”

“The mother principle. He said if you get interested in a girl, look at her mother, ’cause that’s what she’ll look like in twenty years.”

My mother and father had not turned on the radio or any of their music. They were looking straight ahead, but my mother’s neck was red.

“I’ve thought about it and it works,” Dickie said.

“Does it work with fathers?”

“I expect it would. If you was a girl interested in a guy and wondering how he would turn out, look at his daddy.”

I looked at my father’s receding hairline and the crow’s-feet by his eyes and wondered if I would look like him in thirty years. And I wondered if sons are destined to become like their fathers in other ways.

Dickie picked up the black case that held my parents’ eight-track collection. He unlatched the hook and studied the names of the artists, mostly classical music. He pulled out one and held it up. It was an essential collection of music by Wagner, including my favorite, “Ride of the Valkyries.”

“Is this Porter?” Dickie said.

I tried not to laugh. “No, Wagner is a German composer,” I said, pronouncing the
W
as a
V
. I handed the eight-track to my father. “You’re thinking of Porter Wagoner.”

“My mama likes ‘Burning the Midnight Oil,’” Dickie said.

Dickie watched in fascination as the eight-track engaged with a clunk and the speakers filled the car with horns and strings. My father rolled his window down, stuck his hand out, and wove back and forth like we were flying. Dickie laughed and asked to hear the song again when it was over. My mother told my father to stop weaving, that she was
getting carsick, but when he played it again, he repeated the maneuver. After Wagner, my dad put in the
1812 Overture
. Dickie didn’t recognize it until a few minutes in just before the cannons sounded. He said he’d heard that on TV during a July Fourth celebration.

My mother put in her favorite, the “Blue Danube” waltz, and it felt like Dickie was getting his first taste of culture. He listened to the music enveloping us and smiled.

“It sounds like we’re riding on the ocean, don’t it?”

We exited the interstate and took the back way over a big hill, finally coming to some dirty streets with redbrick buildings and lots of stoplights. The Ohio River was nearby and across it the Queen City, Cincinnati. Older black men walked along the street and I couldn’t help staring. This didn’t look much different from some parts of downtown Pittsburgh. Dickie sat forward and I wondered what he was thinking but didn’t ask.

Once we checked into the hotel, I grabbed the key and opened the door to our room and turned on the air conditioner full blast. This was always my job when we went to the beach. It rattled and blew the curtains. Dickie found a metal box with a coin slot mounted by the beds and asked what it was.

For your comfort and relaxation,
the sign said,
Magic Fingers. Try it—you’ll feel great.
There was a slot to put in a quarter that would vibrate the bed.

Dickie put a quarter in but nothing happened. He was about to put another one in when my parents suggested we
go for a swim. Dickie dressed in the bathroom and I put on my trunks and kept my white T-shirt on. Dickie was in the water before the gate closed and I eased in. My father sat in a lounge chair and watched. There were three other families there with children. One girl was a little older than us and wore a skimpy bikini, and I tried not to stare.

“Why don’t you take your shirt off?” Dickie said from the other side of the pool.

“I don’t want to get burned,” I lied.

“You guys are going to be hungry soon,” my father said. “I’m going to get some food. No running, okay?”

We watched him leave and I tried again not to stare at the girl. Dickie found a beach ball and we batted it. I spiked it and the thing flew straight at the girl, landing by her with a splash.

“Sorry,” I said.

She frowned and threw it in my general direction, then got out and toweled off, the water dripping from her bikini bottoms. I wondered what Jesse would look like in a bathing suit.

The girl left and I realized all of the people in the pool had gotten out.

“Looks like dinner’s being served,” I said.

“Nah, they got out because of me.”

“Why would they do that?”

Dickie dipped his head as if anyone with half a brain could understand. “All those people were white. They got out because they think I’ll dirty up the water.”

“I’m still here.”

He hit the beach ball to me and we swam, if you could call it that. We both tried to float but had to touch our feet on the bottom to get to the other side. We had a contest to see who could hold his breath the longest. Then Dickie found a life preserver that said,
For emergency use only
and sat in it with his hands behind his head, squinting into the sun.

“What if you could put on a pair of glasses and see everything?” he said.

“I saw glasses in a catalog that let you see through people’s clothes,” I said.

“I’ve seen those. I don’t believe it. They don’t cost enough to really work.”