Chapter 2 post 1

Chapter 2

The rough edges of our land crease together near the forest that picks up at the far reach of things. That forest is full of night, no matter when you get there. It climbs toward the sky, but can’t reach it. It winks at you, and tugs you closer to it at every chance it gets. And another thing, the land is musical, and that music seeps into us all, from the creeks that stream down the hillock and mountainsides, to the farmed patches, and the rocky deposits. The music says things. It says, heed me, hold me, it says, don’t give in, but most of all, the music that sprouts out of the soil here, says this; play my song. Tell my tale.

One thing Daddy did best, having scrubbed his hands free from natural and mechanical providence at the end of the day, having told of his daily exploits, was to sing. Momma loved to listen to him sing. She discovered a level playing ground. She learned mountain spirituals they could both enjoy, and if the time was right, and their hearts were matched, her voice would take the melodious high road as Daddy’s journeyed down its own crooked, but harmonious path. I’d take up the clogs, Cub Koda clapping a scattered rhythm on his hands. We would lose ourselves in song. I heard tell all people need a habit they can sustain. That was our deluxe habit. The place where each one of us joined the other, and knew what I thought was the glory of love.

Momma’s absence ended that kind life. Existence, as Cub and me, and Daddy knew it had taken a wrong turn at the fork. We were left fending for ourselves. You’re Mother wrote down the chores, ‘fore she let out. He handed me the list. How come there’s more on here than we used to do, I asked him. He got ready to blow, but he didn’t. Get your head on straight. She’s gone, there’s more chores, Daddy said, and I can’t do  ‘em all. Cub hardly manages the trash can when it’s empty. Then add that one to yours.

I could see how the conversation was going to end. What’s more, I figured Daddy intended to keep off his feet once the sun downed. He didn’t make dinner. He didn’t clean floors. He didn’t wash dishes. I couldn’t resist. What about your chores? He stopped. You’ll have food on the table. In the fridge. Power, and Light. Fresh water. Same as ever. My lot is more ‘n any y’all can chew, don’t try bossin’ the driver ‘less you ready to steer  the ride. Think you’re ready for ‘at, Six?

He called me Six when he wanted me to think real hard on something. I wanted to be ready for all of that. Oh, how I wanted to tell him. Why’d he have to ride Momma so? Why’d he let her go? Why’d he raise his voice? I nodded my head, and mumbled yes sir with a small mouth. Remember, just ‘cause your Momma’s gone don’t mean you give up on Ellard, either, ya heard me?  Yes sir. Here’s a letter.

 

This time the envelope was free of the wreathy garlands and weird pontifications Ellard liked to dress his letters in. It bulged at its seams. I thought to ignore it, but I couldn’t. Daddy called for my brother to come outside, and the boy ran outside like an obedient pet, in need of direction, and living on reaction, and reaction alone.

I got a pitcher of lemonade from the fridge, poured a cup, sat down and opened the letter.

A half hour went, then an hour. I heard them outside, pretending to work. If I wanted I could spy on them from the kitchen window. I didn’t. Ellard’s letter was delirious. He had sent me the letter he intended Uncle Gus to read. Suddenly, our problems vanished. That had little to do with the severity of Ellard’s, and Uncle Gus’ and Aunt Jessamine’s predicament. This view into their lives surely lacked enough comparison to soothe my personal angst. But it wasn’t that, either. Ellard had written with such conviction, such tenderhearted frankness; I forgot the history that linked us to each other. This wasn’t like book reading. It spelled me.