Jimmy (13 page)

“I got stuck in court because a special hearing backed up the judge's calendar,” Daddy said. “It's almost time for your mama to pick you up. I appreciate you making neat stacks of paper, but next time, I'll make sure you have something worthwhile to do.”

“I did the year, month, and day,” Jimmy said.

Daddy stopped and stared again at the papers on the table.

“What?” he asked.

Jimmy pointed to the completed correspondence files. “Those are letters.”

Daddy picked up the nearest stack and turned over the sheets. “This file was a mess. Now, they're organized in chronological order.”

“Year, month, day,” Jimmy repeated. “Delores made it easy. She would be a good teacher in school.”

“That's very nice of you,” Delores said from the doorway. “But you're the one who did such careful work.”

Daddy shook his head. “I knew he could do routine tasks but never considered it might be so useful to us.”

He turned to Jimmy and stuck out his hand. Jimmy stared down at it.

“Shake my hand,” Daddy commanded. “You've got a job.”

T
HAT NIGHT AT THE SUPPER TABLE,
D
ADDY GAVE
M
AMA THE
full story. Jimmy listened between bites of broccoli casserole, carrots cooked in butter with brown sugar, and sliced ham.

“According to Delores, the key is to give him tasks in small increments,” Daddy said. “I never realized the importance of structure in what he can do.”

Mama squeezed some lemon into her tea. “I've known that for years. He's a great helper around the house so long as I don't try to load too much on him at once. It takes him a long time to do the job, but he doesn't leave a single weed in the garden. If you spent more time one-on-one with him, you wouldn't be so surprised.”

Jimmy chewed a bite of carrots.

Daddy continued. “There are future vocational implications to all this. Jimmy could have a degree of independence—”

“Lee,” Mama interrupted. “Jimmy could work in sheltered workshop programs, but that wouldn't provide enough money to live on. Surviving on his own is not a goal we need to set for Jimmy.”

Jimmy swallowed. “What do you mean, Mama?”

Mama's voice softened. “That you are going to live here with us for as long as you want.”

Jimmy scooped up a perfect portion of broccoli. “That's good. I never want to be anywhere else. You cook good food, and this is my home.”

—
Nine
—

J
immy's favorite summer activity, except for playing with Buster, of course, was pole climbing. Almost every Saturday, he and Grandpa waited for Grandma to go to the beauty shop and then headed into the backyard for a practice session. Part of the training included lessons in what Grandpa called “utility-pole anatomy.”

“What is the black sticky stuff on the pole called?” Grandpa asked one morning in July.

“Creosote,” Jimmy answered promptly.

“Right, and we don't want you to get it on your clothes or your skin. That's why you always wear gloves when you're on the pole.”

Grandpa's extra pair of work gloves swallowed Jimmy's hands. Jimmy wiggled his fingers in the gloves while he sat on the step in front of the toolshed. Grandpa knelt at his feet attaching a climbing hook around Jimmy's left boot and the straps to his calf.

“How does that feel?” Grandpa asked.

“Tight,” Jimmy answered. “But it's supposed to be tight. When are you going to teach me how to put on the hooks?”

“Later. I still want to do it myself. You've got enough to think about.”

Once both hooks were firmly in place, they walked across the yard to the pole. Garbed in his climbing gear, goggles, and heavy work gloves, Jimmy looked like a pint-sized medieval knight preparing to enter the lists.

“Tell me about this pole you're about to climb,” Grandpa asked.

“It's a forty-five-foot, class-B pole made from a south Georgia pine tree.”

“What does the forty-five mean?”

“That it's forty-five feet tall.”

“What does the class-B mean?”

“That it's thicker than a class-C pole and thinner than a class-A pole.”

They reached the pole. The coating of creosote produced a pungent odor in hot weather.

“Why doesn't the pole get eaten by termites?” Grandpa asked.

“Because they don't want a stomach full of creosote.”

“Tell me what you're going to do,” Grandpa said.

Jimmy stepped close to the pole. “I'm going to put my safety strap around the pole.”

He put the thick leather strap around the pole and fastened it on his belt.

“What next?”

“I'm going to lean back against the strap.”

This had been hard for Jimmy to learn. Every instinct urged him to hug the pole, not push away from it. Grandpa stood behind him, and Jimmy leaned back until he felt Grandpa's thick hands in the middle of his back. Jimmy dug his right hook into the face of the pole a few inches above the ground. Leaning against the belt, he dug his left hook into the wood. He was now suspended in air. He moved his right hook up a few inches and dug it into the wood. He matched the movement with his left hook. He repeated the process until he was now about two feet above the ground.

“Move the safety strap,” Grandpa said.

Putting his weight on the hooks, Jimmy leaned slightly forward and scooted the strap up the pole. This maneuver had taken many times of trial and error. On several occasions, he'd grabbed the pole without thinking and banged the side of his face against the dark wood. He pulled out the right hook and moved it upward.

“That's good spacing,” Grandpa said, keeping his hands against Jimmy's back.

Up Jimmy went, the hooks cutting into the wood and the belt squeaking as it rubbed against the far side of the pole. He passed several white spots painted on the black surface. The white spots marked a new height he'd achieved during the past few months. In a utility belt around his waist, Jimmy carried a can of white spray paint.

Buster ran to the bottom of the pole and looked up at Jimmy before scampering to another corner of the yard to investigate an interesting smell. Grandpa's hands remained in place until they were on the back of Jimmy's thighs. An additional upward positioning of the strap brought Jimmy above the highest white mark and beyond the range of Grandpa's help.

“You're on your own,” Grandpa said.

Jimmy glanced down over his right shoulder and froze. He was about eight feet above the ground. Grandpa's strong, reassuring hands hung at his side.

“No!” Jimmy called out.

Grandpa spoke in a calm voice. “You can keep going higher or come down the way I've taught you.”

Jimmy shook his head. “I need you holding me up!”

“I've not been holding you up for weeks,” Grandpa replied. “You're holding yourself by the hooks and the belt.”

Jimmy's right leg began to tremble.

“Something's wrong with my leg!”

“It's just that your leg is getting tired. Come down slowly.”

Jimmy jerked his right hook from the pole, but instead of keeping tension on the safety belt, he leaned toward the pole and wrapped his arms around it in a tight grip. A woman's voice screamed across the yard.

“Jim! What are you trying to do to that boy?”

Still hugging the pole, Jimmy looked toward the house and saw Grandma standing on the steps beside the back door.

“I'm getting the ladder!” Grandpa called out as he left the pole and jogged toward the toolshed.

Grandma walked briskly across the yard, exposing her fresh, perfect hairdo to the hot August sun. She reached the pole and looked up at Jimmy.

“Hold on!” she commanded.

Jimmy had a tight grip on the pole, but he was getting used to the height. He pulled up his right leg up and dug the hook into the pole. Pushing upward, he put weight on the climbing hooks and leaned back against the safety belt.

“Be careful!” Grandma called out.

“Don't worry. I'm learning how to climb the pole,” Jimmy responded. “I got scared when I couldn't feel Grandpa's hand on my back, but now I'm getting used to it.”

Breathing heavily, Grandpa arrived with a six-foot ladder. He put his hand to his chest.

“Keep calm,” he managed between breaths. “I'll have him down in a second.”

Grandpa opened the ladder.

“Wait, Grandpa,” Jimmy said. “Let me show Grandma what I can do.”

“I don't want to see you fall off that pole,” Grandma began.

“I won't fall,” Jimmy interrupted. He took a step down. “All I have to do is remember what Grandpa taught me. Lean back against the safety belt and don't get in a hurry.”

Grandpa opened the ladder but didn't climb it. Jimmy kept talking.

“Pull out one hook at a time. It's like coming down a ladder only in smaller steps. Make sure the hook is in the pole before moving lower.”

Grandma watched in surprise as Jimmy descended the pole. Grandpa scooted back the ladder so it would not be in the way. When Jimmy reached chest height, Grandpa put his hand on Jimmy's back.

“That's perfect, Jimmy,” he said.

Jimmy reached the ground and looked up the pole.

“Uh-oh,” he said.

“What?” Grandma managed.

“I forgot to paint the place on the pole where I stopped.”

“That's okay,” Grandpa replied. “You'll have another chance.”

“Not so fast,” Grandma shot back. “His parents need to know what you've been doing before he sets foot on that pole again. He's okay today, but you don't have any right to put him in such a dangerous situation.”

Jimmy patted the safety belt.

“I have on a safety belt.”

Grandpa held up his hand. “We'll save the discussion until later.”

“And I can't believe you've been sneaking around behind my back,” Grandma said to Grandpa. “Waiting until I went to the beauty shop!”

Grandpa didn't answer.

“Tell her about the surprise,” Jimmy said.

“What surprise?” Grandma asked.

“That it was going to be a surprise for everyone when I learned to climb the pole. If I ever want to work for the Georgia Power Company, I have to be able to climb a forty-five-foot, class-B pole.”

“Get him out of that rig,” Grandma said as she turned back toward the house. “I'm going to call Ellen right now.”

Jimmy watched the back of Grandma's gray head as she returned to the house. Not a hair on her head moved. Grandpa picked up the ladder and turned toward the toolshed. Jimmy followed, the hooks making tiny holes in the dirt beneath the grass. He sat on the step while Grandpa released the straps that held the climbing hooks. Grandpa's thoughts seemed to be somewhere else.

“Are you mad at me?” Jimmy asked.

“No.”

“I got scared.”

“But you got over it and came down the pole like you've been doing it for years. There are a lot of things you could do if someone would be patient and give you a chance.”

Jimmy wasn't sure exactly what Grandpa meant, but he could tell by his voice that he was proud of him.

“Yes, sir. And I didn't tell anyone what we were doing. I wanted to, especially Mama, but remembered what you told me about it being a surprise and a secret. I've never kept a secret before.”

Grandpa gave him a wry smile. “It's not a secret anymore. If your mama is at home right now and we're real quiet, we might be able to hear her reaction to our surprise.”

Jimmy and Buster walked home without any problems. Grandma and Mama had a system. Grandma would call Mama when Jimmy left his grandparents' house. That way Mama could figure the time it would take him to get home.

Today, because Grandpa said he should, he marched straight home. He put Buster in the backyard and entered the house. Mama was nowhere in sight. He entered the kitchen and found Mama on the phone.

“They're coming over after supper to talk,” she said. “Can't the committee let you make your report first?”

Jimmy turned on the faucet and filled a glass with water. Mama always told him to drink plenty of water in the summer.

“Then you'll just have to leave. This is important. No later than seven thirty. Bye.”

Jimmy took a big drink of water. He gave Mama a hug.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Glad you're not in the hospital with a broken bone or paralyzed from the neck down,” she replied.

Jimmy nodded. “Me too. Do you think Max could come over this afternoon?”

“No,” Mama replied sharply.

“Why not?”

Mama started to speak, then stopped.

“Maybe that's a good idea,” she said. “I'll call his mother.”

Max arrived in early afternoon. Mama and Jimmy greeted him on the front porch.

“You boys have several hours until we eat an early supper and Max's mother comes to pick him up. Are hamburgers okay with you, Max?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Mama left, and Jimmy turned toward his friend.

“What do you want to do?” Jimmy asked. “I got a new baseball glove for my birthday. You can use my new glove, and I'll use my old one.”

“No, I've been playing so much baseball that I'm tired of it. Let's mess around with Buster.”

Jimmy smiled. He wanted to be a good baseball player like Max, but playing with Buster sounded like more fun to him too.

“Buster would like that.”

Max didn't own a dog. His little sister, Tiffany, was allergic to animal hair and couldn't be around a dog for more than a couple of minutes without beginning to sneeze and rub her eyes. After playing with Buster, Max would have to change clothes as soon as he entered his house. Jimmy felt sorry for Tiffany. She was a good reader, but not being able to have a dog was one of the worst things that could happen in life.