A Place Called Wiregrass (17 page)

The horn from Aunt Stella’s station wagon blared just as I was zipping up Mama’s cotton shift. Like a herd of cows expecting feed from the automobile, the kids ran out the door and took their usual places inside the backseat compartment. I gave up my regular spot in the front for Mama and said a silent prayer for her best behavior.

“This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it,” Aunt Stella announced before Mama could close the car door.

“I’ll rejoice,” Mama said, slamming the door, “whenever you get this thing moving and get some wind circulating. I’m ’bout to burn slam up.”

The Pearl River was nothing new for me. Before Daddy left, while I could still be a kid, I went to the river all the time. I loved riding the tire swing and falling carelessly into the oil-colored water. It did feel weird walking into the same water that I used to play in, dressed in my only good clothes. When the cool water splashed against the hem of my cotton dress, I half expected to hear Mama revolt. “Don’t take one more step and mess up that dress.” But all I heard were the choir members humming “Shall We Gather at the River,” while the big-faced preacher, who’s name has been long lost, declared my membership into his church.

The dunk was fast and furious. It only hurt when he pinched my nose, but was over as quick as a shot of penicillin. Aunt Stella stood by the bank to greet me with her beach towel. A white one with brown letters spelling out the word
Coppertone
. While I hit my head to get water out of my ears, I couldn’t hear all the amens, but I could see everyone mouth the word. Everyone but Mama. She looked away in the distance towards the tree-covered riverbank. After the pastor
presented me with the little white Bible with my name spelled out in gold letters on the bottom, I was hopeful. I cradled the good book in both hands and lifted it in Mama’s direction. She casually shooed me away as if I was a pestering housefly and returned to her steady gaze.

Two Sunday mornings later, when I returned to my Sunday school class to retrieve that white Bible, which I had mistakenly left behind, I realized how I ranked in the church family. Mrs. Penny Jackson, my Sunday school teacher, was talking to the preacher about children who needed second-hand clothes for the upcoming school year. My last name rang out like someone had shouted, “Freeze.” Leaning against the classroom door frame, I could see the white spike pumps and the baby blue edges of Mrs. Jackson’s crinoline skirt. Her voice sounded so twangy. “Yes, my goodness. That poor little Collins girl. Definitely. Might as well add the whole family for that matter.”

“What’s her first name again?” the pastor asked.

“Erma Lee. Every time I see her in that dingy dress, I feel so sorry for her I just don’t know what to do. Poor little thing. Her mama’s just a pure heathen to boot.”

“We’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Aunt Stella said after the church service. She found me in the parking lot sitting in her station wagon. My brothers and sisters leaned on the open window and overflowed behind her green skirt. “I got a stomachache.” I unglued the sweat-matted hair from my forehead and leaned back against the sticky car seat. “I just didn’t feel like going to church today.”

I continued to claim a stomachache every Sunday morning until I had done what Mama thought was impossible. I wore my sweet Aunt Stella down. Silly as it may be, I still stood out on the front porch every Sunday morning at nine-fifteen, half expecting and half dreading to see that black spot from her missing hubcap rounding the corner of our rooted-out driveway.

The nudging of Gerald’s elbow delivered my thoughts back to Wiregrass Community Church. “Yonder’s Marcie,” he said, pointing to his firstborn with the cleft of his chin. She was standing at the front of the church talking with the pianist, a thin woman with bright red hair twisted in a loose bun. Soon a pudgy girl with short wiry hair joined them at the piano bench. Marcie put her knee on the bench and placed her hand on her hip. She was leaning over, animated by the group topic. Her back was to us, so she missed Gerald’s wave. But the pudgy girl saw him, and soon the others turned to face us.

“There’s Marcie,” Gerald kept repeating as if he was seeing Miss America in his place of worship. In an attempt to satisfy whatever it was that made him keep calling her, I finally lifted my hand and waved. The energy it took to lift my hand could have been saved. Marcie’s mouth cracked a little, and her green eyes widened. Only the pudgy, wiry-headed girl waved and smiled. The type of uneasy smile that told me she expected somebody to jump out any minute and say she was on
Candid Camera
.

Marcie never did join us in Gerald’s pew, choosing instead to sit in the front row with her husband, Chase. After the offering, she took to the stage for children’s moments and invited all the little ones down to the front. Marcie held the mike and tossed her long blonde hair behind her shoulder so often that I almost got tickled. It was like she was in some sort of beauty pageant with her legs glued together and her left shoe pointing out towards the congregation. Her right white pump was properly placed behind it. When she began telling a story about trust, I sort of felt sorry for this young lady who was queen of this country church. Could I blame her for disliking me? Here I was the lady friend, sitting in the same pew her mother had, probably the night she was killed by the drunk driver.

Lee stood behind the pulpit, and his voice cracked with the frailty of an embarrassed altar boy. But any pity I had for the
spider-haired man was soon lost. With each second he gained more momentum, and soon I watched as he confidently walked away from the podium. Finally he stopped long enough to sit on a yellow padded stool, as sure of himself as any nightclub singer.

“Somebody once told me praying to my Savior is a sign of weakness. Well, Mr. Gentleman, let me tell you right now, I am weak. I sin. Yes, ma’am, I do. Every day. I fail Jesus time and time again. But are you ready for this? Listen to me now. Jesus has never failed me.”

“Amen,” an older man yelled from the congregation. Before I could tap Cher on the leg to stop her from staring at the man, she had already turned back to face Lee.

“Jesus loved me before I loved myself. I told y’all before that I’m a nothing. Who would ever have thought Jesus would have called a something like me to preach his Word. I’ve done it all, lived it all, and lost it all. I’ve been so low that I stole money from my grandma’s social security check to buy crack. But praise God, when I was sitting in jail after robbing a liquor store on a winter night, my grandma didn’t give up on me. She came to visit me, and I’ll never forget it. Her eyes near ’bout drowning in tears, she begged me to lean on Jesus.”

“Preach it,” Brownie yelled from the pew behind me.

“She said that she had prayed for me to reach rock bottom. She sure did. My own grandma prayed for me to be in jail. And then she told me why. Because when you’re lower than a snake’s belly and you’re lying there looking at the mud, all of a sudden you can look up and realize that the Lord is your Everything. Surgery on sin’s cataracts, she called it.” Lee’s chuckles made everyone else follow along.

Once the chuckles died to a few coughs, Lee suddenly fell, stomach first, on the stool’s yellow padding. A few members gasped and leaned forward, probably thinking that he had a heart attack from all his excitement. Lying face down with
wisps of his black hair dangling from his pale scalp, he held his microphone close to his mouth. “Jesus tells us in Matthew to take his yoke and to learn from him. For Jesus is gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. To rest. That’s what Jesus wants to give us. He wants us to rest on Him, to lean on Him. And friends, Jesus will carry our burdens. He’s the eternal stool we can all lean on. He’s not saying you will be burden free. But Jesus does promise us a love and peace that passes our human understanding.”

Cher was leaning forward, hands on her chin, with her elbows propped on the pew ahead of us.

“People, that’s why I’m here today and not in the graveyard somewhere. I leaned on Jesus. I turned my soul to Him and asked Him to take over as leader of my life. Getting off that crack had nothing to do with religion. It had everything to do with me leaning on the everlasting Lord. Not religion, but a relationship. Not religion, but a servantship. Not religion, but a friendship.”

“Amen,” Gerald softly said. I doubt anyone else other than me heard him. But I did not flinch. The unattractive young man’s words cut through my ears like a scalpel. Somewhere in a Louisiana prison my daughter sat at the level of a snake and needed to hear this message. I pictured her soul empty and drained.

“And don’t sit there thinking who else needs to hear this message,” Lee said, suddenly standing. A few sprigs of his hair still stood on end like he had undergone an electric shock.

“We’re all the same in God’s sight. We all have to take the same step regardless of our circumstance.”

“The church is not a place for anybody who thinks they’re perfect. We’re a hospital for hurting people. Do you know the One from Galilee who can heal the weary and bear your yoke? The Word tells us no one comes to the Father except by Jesus. All you have to do is call on Him. Ask Jesus to
forgive you of your sins. Confess Him to be the great I Am who was crucified and rose on the third day so we may have eternal life in glory. Folks, the Jesus who died for us gives us a second chance. What truer friend could we have?”

Gerald’s wide index finger, manicured with automotive oil, guided my eyes on the page of the battered hymnal through the stanzas of “Turn Your Eyes upon Jesus.” The humble voices rang out against the steady strum of the piano. I was too tired to sing. Too tired of predicting, fixing, and controlling.
Hush, just listen,
I imagined Aunt Stella telling me. Gerald’s low, deep voice echoed in my ear. “And the things of earth will look strangely dim in the eyes of His glory and grace.”

“Mama wants a glass of orange juice,” Patricia said the following Saturday morning. She entered the kitchen, the part of the house I claimed as my territory. She smelled of Miss Claudia’s flowered perfume and carried a wooden tray with a plate of wheat toast. One piece was torn at the edge as though some tiny mouse had nibbled it.

I started to protest and demand that Patricia make Miss Claudia eat.
Now we’re at the point where she won’t even eat toast
. I yanked the refrigerator door open so hard Richard’s physician appointment cards slanted under the rainbow magnet. “All right. Let me get her some Florida sunshine,” I said with an edge to my voice.

Patricia ignored me and studied the yellow legal pad she held out in front of her. “Oh, Lord. Doctor Tom slipped up and invited the Thompsons.” The way she threw her teased hair back and fanned the pad in the air, I expected her to pass out any minute. I would step right over her plump waist and barge into Miss Claudia’s room. “Lauren Thompson said she’d
rather take a beating than attend Cotillion with Margaret Linville. And Margaret’s daughter is coming out. So naturally I have to include her.” Patricia’s bright pink fingernail began scanning the guest list.

Did Lauren whatever-her-name-was even know what a beating felt like?
I wondered as I poured the orange juice into the crystal glass.
And for that matter, did Patricia even know the black-and-blue souvenirs left by licks to the flesh and soul?
But Miss Claudia and me knew. All the more reason I should be the one seeing after her. While Patricia shook her head and scratched off names on her pad, I pushed the white swinging kitchen door open.

“Now, you know Mama’s not up to visitors,” Patricia said, not looking up from her list of Wiregrass’s social best.

I wanted to lash out at Patricia. To tell her the secrets Miss Claudia shared with me. I watched Patricia’s broad khaki rump twist down the hallway with Miss Claudia’s glass of breakfast, lunch, and supper. I hated Patricia that moment. Hated her for making me feel less than the person I knew Miss Claudia respected. Hated her being lucky enough to have a mother like Miss Claudia and not having the sense to appreciate her.

“Girl, you got to be either crazy or sick to miss Mel Gibson. You feeling all right?” Kasi asked and fluffed up her platinum hair in the reflection of my living-room mirror. The one with the red Coca-Cola logo on the bottom, won, most likely, by a member of Miss Trellis’s family at a traveling carnival. Now the soft-drink-inspired furniture was part of the extra hundred-dollar rental collection I paid.

“No, really, y’all go on,” I said, not even bothering with a reason why I didn’t want to join Kasi, Laurel, and Cher at the dollar movie.

My mood struck faster than a migraine and caused me to want to curl up into a ball on my bed.
Come on, gal, you been through worse than this,
I reminded myself. The usual strength visited me for a second and then evaporated like smoke from a fired shotgun.

“I just reckon that leg’s giving her a fit,” Gerald said on the other end of the phone. I was sorry I even answered. Part of me hoped it was LaRue calling for Cher. I was in the mood to cuss and blame to damnation. LaRue would’ve been the perfect specimen. But I should’ve known better than to think he would call Cher. Their communication was always her financial responsibility.

“Don’t worry about her. She’s got a strong constitution.” Gerald’s tone sounded too fatherly, and I resisted hanging up.

A sigh is the only noise I could make. He made his feelings known about my worry about Miss Claudia the day at the lake. I heard the sounds of squealing brakes and fast-paced music.
More than likely he’s watching TV and not even paying a bit of attention to what I’m trying to say about Miss Claudia
.

“Marcie just left. You should’ve seen this place when I come in from the shop. I bet you I could eat supper off the kitchen floor it’s so clean.”

I raised my free hand up in the air and rolled my eyes. “Well, I guess…”

“Her and Chase are going out to eat tonight. They got a new barbecue place. Old boy I used to go to school with opened it up. I was thinking maybe we could…”