Shaking the Sugar Tree Part 8

I lay down on the bed next to him and stretched out, feeling incredibly tired. I took his hand in mind and held it and said nothing.

Five minutes later, he was fast asleep.

12) Having jumped off the bridge

IN THE THE morning I padded to the kitchen in boxers, opened the kitchen window, and switched on the overhead fan. How we were going to get through the summer without air-conditioning, I did not know. It seemed to get harder each year. I didn't think Noah noticed it as much as I did. morning I padded to the kitchen in boxers, opened the kitchen window, and switched on the overhead fan. How we were going to get through the summer without air-conditioning, I did not know. It seemed to get harder each year. I didn't think Noah noticed it as much as I did.

I got a pot of coffee underway, flipped on the radio to listen to KUDZU, sat down at the table, thought-briefly-about getting my laptop off the counter and getting back to work on my latest novel.

I wasn't in the mood for writing. The novel wasn't going to write itself, unfortunately, but it wasn't going to be written that particular day either.

Our kitchen table, a cast-off from someone or other, had once sat in a garage where the legs had been chewed by a rodent. One had been chewed so badly it was missing a couple of inches, and I had to put a cinder block beneath it to keep the table even.

"You can't tap your feet to the songs on the other stations," KUDZU said. "Why? Because no one's feet can tap that fast! Keep it here on Cla.s.sic Country KUDZU 104.9!"

Bobbie Gentry began to explain about Billy Joe McAllister jumping off the Tallahatchie Bridge. There really was such a bridge over in Greenwood, Mississippi, I knew, but Gentry said she made the song up. The bridge itself collapsed in 1972. Rolling Stone Rolling Stone did a famous expose on it, deciding it wasn't a very promising spot to commit suicide since it was only a twenty-foot drop. did a famous expose on it, deciding it wasn't a very promising spot to commit suicide since it was only a twenty-foot drop.

I sighed.

I should not have taken Noah to see his mother's release from prison. She had told me not to, had made no bones about it. I had refused to listen. I'd gotten his hopes up, and she had dashed them. Might as well have thrown a bucket of ice water in his face.

I should have known. I thought time or circ.u.mstance might have changed her mind, or just the happiness of finally getting out of prison, or....

I don't know what I thought.

Seems like nothin' ever comes to no good up on Choctaw Ridge And now Billy Joe MacAllister's jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge I made toast, fixed a cup of coffee, stood at the window looking outside at Jackson Street as Tupelo got ready to face another day of heat and humidity. I thought about the impossibility of knowing what was in peoples' hearts, of ever really knowing what they thought, or what they wanted, or why they did what they did.

Noah came to the table. He hadn't dressed and had ugly bruises on his forehead. He sat down without checking in with me, which was not a good sign. The bones on his ribcage were clearly outlined, as if I was starving him to death.

I went to him, looked at the bruises. He winced when I pushed on one of them too hard.

Are you hungry? I asked. I asked.

He shrugged.

I made toast, lathered it with grape jelly, grabbed a strawberry yogurt from the fridge, set them before him with a gla.s.s of juice.

He looked at it with disinterest.

Are you okay? I asked. I asked.

He shrugged.

I have to get ready for work, I said. I said. Eat your food. Get dressed. Eat your food. Get dressed.

He took his eyes away, ending the conversation.

I stood behind his chair, put an arm across his chest, bent to kiss his hair. He put his hands over my arms, letting his head lean back against me. Checking in at last. Touching me to make sure I was real, that I was still there, that everything was all right.

I crouched down next to him, looking at him carefully.

Why, Daddy? he asked. he asked.

I don't know.

Why does she hate me?

She's confused.

He lowered his eyes, bit his lip. Then he sighed, picked up a piece of toast, and began to eat.

I showered, dressed in my FoodWorld uniform, and soon we were out the door and walking down the street hand in hand to Mrs. Humphries's house a block down.

An old black woman now retired from FoodWorld, Mrs. Humphries was helping to raise her deaf granddaughter, Keke, who was Noah's best friend. Keke's mother Tonya had gotten one of the coveted jobs at the new Toyota plant in Blue Springs working the night s.h.i.+ft.

Keke saw us coming and hurried down from the porch.

Hi, Mr. C!

"Hi, Keke," I said.

She took Noah's hand and led him inside, anxious to get underway with the day's activities. With Keke, there was no telling what it might be. Last time they had made little concrete bricks with their handprints. One day had been devoted to a formal dinner inside Keke's large doll house.

Mrs. Humphries sat on the porch with her suitor, Mr. Eddie.

"Good morning, Mrs. H., Eddie," I said.

"Morning, Wiley," Mrs. Humphries said. "I don't like that look on your face. Did you take that boy to see his mama?"

I nodded.

"Was it ugly?"

"Yeah."

"Well, don't you worry. The Lord gon' make a way in his own good time."

"I sure wish he would make a way for me," Eddie said, leering at her just slightly.

"You shut up," she said in a friendly voice.

"Hear the way she sa.s.s me?" Eddie said. "If we was married, I'd be taking you across my knee!"

Mrs. Humphries laughed at this ridiculous image.

"Don't take no nonsense off him, Mrs. H.," I said.

"You know me," she replied. "I'll throw him off this porch if he don't do right."

"How's Miss Tonya?" I asked, referring to her daughter.

"Oh, they work her like a dog, but it's good pay. She stopped at the store to get some food for the kids. Ought to be home shortly."

"I'm off at two," I said.

"You have a good day, Wiley."

"Y'all be good," I said.

13) Fifteen items or less

WORKING THE THE express lane, wearing my FoodWorld T-s.h.i.+rt and name badge, I tried not to think about Kayla. Trying, of course, is not the same as succeeding. express lane, wearing my FoodWorld T-s.h.i.+rt and name badge, I tried not to think about Kayla. Trying, of course, is not the same as succeeding.

A little old lady approached with a cart positively stuffed with way more than fifteen items, distracting me from my grim thoughts. I went around the counter and helped her unload her purchases onto my conveyor belt.

"I think I might have more than fifteen items," she said with a girlish, oh dear me oh dear me smile. smile.

"You're being a very naughty girl, aren't you, darling?" I asked. "I may have to call security and have you arrested."

She laughed.

"Did you bring your FoodWorld card?" I asked.

"I never leave home without it," she said proudly.

"Well, let's get you sorted out," I said, taking her card and returning to my side of the register.

This particular lady was rather evil, always complained it was too cold, and always made a fuss about payment, which was invariably a check that required two minutes to extract from the depths of her humongous purse.

It all screamed: I want attention!

"How you doing today?" I asked as I ran her purchases through the scanner.

"It's so cold in here," she complained. "Especially on that frozen food aisle. I didn't think to bring my coat."

"Did you find everything you need?"

"And more. I always do."

"I do the same," I agreed.

Any idiot can run items through a scanner, which is, I suspect, one of the reasons they hired me.

"That will be forty-six dollars and thirty cents," I said after I'd scanned her items.

She arched her eyebrows and made a face, like it was my fault that food was so dear.

"I feel your pain, darling," I said. "They ought to line up all these food manufacturers against the wall and shoot the whole lot of them, don't you think? Just machine gun all of them. Just blow them all away."

"Oh, goodness no, Wiley!"

She laughed nervously, as many of my customers do when they're trying to figure out whether I'm serious or just kidding.

"I think we should have a free food day," I said while she dug around in her cavernous purse looking for her checkbook. "Just pick a day, and anything you can put in your cart is free. I think it would be awesome."

"Oh, my, wouldn't it be?" she asked.

"I shouldn't say that too loudly or my boss will hear me," I added.

"They should put you in charge," she said.

"I'd have to wear a tie and cut my hair, and we both know that's not going to happen, don't we, darling?"

She laughed.

"Hey, boo," Jalisa said, walking by the express lane. She was a young black girl with tattoos up and down her right arm who spoke rather like a man, and acted like one, too.

"Hey, Jalisa," I replied. "You doing all right?"

"I'm having a blessed day," she said.

She took up roost at the next checkout lane over from me, punching in her sign-on numbers like a pro.

While the old lady scratched out her check in surprisingly lucid handwriting, my line grew deeper and I sighed rather too heavily.

"Bad weather's moving in," the old bird said, finally handing me a check. "Never seen so many tornadoes in my life."

"We don't need no more of those," I agreed. "Last time one went through, the wind blew so hard I had to have my b.u.t.t cheeks sewn back together."

"Oh, Wiley!" she exclaimed, a flush of red stealing across her face.

During this time, a very large woman went over to the change machine bearing a huge jar of coins in her fat arms. She proceeded to dump the change in the metal bowl and they began to clack, one by one, as their total was rung up automatically. The change machine was just opposite the express lane and a good deal of my day was spent listening to that horrid clacking, which grated my nerves. It was like having to listen to pop music all day.

"You have a good day," I said to the old lady when I was finally able to tear off her receipt from the printer and hand it to her.

"I will," she said.