Chasing Lilacs (14 page)

Liquid rose in my throat, more bitter than a green persimmon, and I leaned my head against the hard vinyl seat of the Buick.
The world swirled gray around me, and when I tried to speak,
my mouth felt as dry as a cotton ball. No words would come. My fingers and toes went numb, then my arms and legs. When I
tried to swallow, my throat filled with even more bitterness, and I screamed, “Stop. Stop the car!”

I waited until George pulled over before yanking on the door handle. I jumped out and heaved in the dry grass, letting slime
and vomit pour out of me. Every time I retched, tears sprang from my eyes. Over and over, I puked. Twice, three times. Six.
I lost count, just letting my insides roll out every time a cramp came until at last the puking stopped, leaving me empty.
And hollow.

Goldie wiped the mess from my face with George’s handkerchief and guided me back to the car. She held me quivering in her
arms all the way home. Then she guided me into the house where Daddy sat like a stiff wooden soldier in his rocker. Other
people were there too—faces I don’t remember, standing like they’d been waiting for me to arrive. No one said a word, just
looked from Daddy to me to Goldie.

Daddy pushed himself up and came to me. “Sis…” He wrapped his arms around me. “It’s Mama.”

“I know. Goldie told me.”

He ran his rough hand over the back of my hair and everyone kept on not saying anything. When a knock came at the front door,
George opened it and nodded for Daddy. A man wearing a black suit said Daddy needed to sign a paper. He stepped out onto the
porch. I went to the window, saw Daddy shake hands with the man, and then the man in the suit walked to the end of the sidewalk.
A long, black station wagon with darkened windows drove up, collected the man, and they drove off. No one said, but I knew
Mama was in the back of that car.

I wanted to run after them and yell at Mama to come back.
Don’t leave me. I’ll be a better daughter. I’ll stay home from school and
take care of you.
The words pounded in my head so loud I figured everyone in the room could hear them. I watched, and when the black car turned
onto the road up the center of camp, I bit my lip, then lifted my hand to my mouth and blew Mama a kiss.

Mama!
The voice in my head screamed. My insides started shaking so hard I thought I would burst. Daddy came back in and put his
arm around me, but I shoved him away. Daddy had done this. He could have stopped Mama. All that talk about going back to that
hospital did it.

“It’s okay, Sis. There tweren’t nothing we could do.” He put his hand on my arm, but I flung it off.

“It’s all your fault! You wouldn’t listen to her.” I glared at him, his outline fuzzy through the tears staining my eyes.
“She said she would die before she went back to that place. You could have stopped her.”

I ran into my room, threw myself on the bed, and hammered on my pillow with my fists. I wanted to hammer Daddy and all those
people who said Mama would be fine. Just fine. She would never be fine again, and neither would I. I beat on the pillow until
my arms ached and I couldn’t lift them anymore. Then I curled into a ball and shut my eyes to keep back the river of tears.
Dead. I wish I were dead like Mama.

Inside I felt as cold as if I were.

I must’ve fallen asleep because when I woke up, a woolly blanket had been tucked around me. The morning haze filtered in my
window, and far away, in some other world, Goldie’s parakeets chirped. A faint smell of maple syrup drifted to my nose, and
it surprised me that I still had on my school clothes from the day before. A small tan circle of the washed-off maple syrup
remained
on the front of my blouse.
Maybe Mama made waffles again this morning.

A knot formed in my throat.

I turned to face the ceiling and noticed for the first time the faint pattern of lines left by a paintbrush. I followed the
lines back and forth, up and down, not letting anything come into my mind. My stomach growled, and I needed to go to the bathroom,
but my legs and arms felt like they had weights attached to them. Moving would take all my energy.

Daddy poked his head into my room, and I turned my head the other way.

“Sis…” He sat on the edge of my bed, but I shut my eyes tight to keep from looking at him. “Some of the neighbors brought
food. It’d be best if you got up and ate a bite.”

How does he know what’s best?
The urge to pee got stronger, so I swung my legs over the bed and, without looking at Daddy, shuffled into the bathroom.
My mouth tasted sour, so I brushed my teeth and then let the water run hot so I could wash my face. In the mirror I saw the
same old Sammie and wondered how I could look the same when inside I felt shriveled and old.

I found Daddy in the kitchen hunched over a cup of coffee. He looked as ancient as Slim. Our kitchen counters had enough food
for a church bake sale. Cookies and pies covered with cellophane. Unknown dishes hidden under tinfoil. “Where’d all this come
from?”

“Neighbors. Church ladies. I can recommend Irene Flanagan’s cinnamon rolls, right there by the toaster, if you’re hungry.”

“I’m not…. Maybe some juice.” Hams, casserole dishes, and fried chicken jammed the icebox, but no juice. “Who’s supposed to
eat all this food?”

“You and me, I guess.”

My stomach lurched up into my throat.

Daddy took a slurp of coffee. “Gotta go to the funeral home later and take the clothes for Mama to wear. I thought her blue
dress with the lace collar. The dress matches her eyes.”

“What difference does it make? Her eyes won’t be open. Not now. Not ever.”

“I just thought… well, that’s the one I’ll take, if it’s okay with you.”

I shrugged and got a glass of water.

“I’ll have Goldie come over while I’m gone.”

“I’ll be fine. Just leave me alone.”

“Sis…” He stood up and was fixing to hug me, I could tell. I turned around and ran into my room and slammed the door.

I waited until I heard Daddy leave before I got up to change clothes. When I opened my underwear drawer, I noticed something
I’d never seen before. A little brown book with gold letters.
Holy Bible.
Inside it said
New Testament, Psalms, and Proverbs
. It had thin pages with gold edges. I flipped to the second page and found Mama’s name written in blue ink.
Marguerite Samuels, presented on the day of her baptism, June 6, 1937.
Underneath the date, in a child’s writing, it said
Me, Rita, age 10.

I studied the page and wondered how the New Testament got into my drawer. Somewhere, floating around in my head, I knew Mama
had left it for me to find.
Why?
That’s what I couldn’t figure out. A ribbon hung from the bottom, marking a page with some words underlined.

Ask, and it shall be given you;

seek, and ye shall find;

knock, and it shall be opened unto you.

I read them over and over. Did Mama mean to tell me something? Maybe she left a note for me somewhere and meant for me
to find it. A note that told me how much she loved me. My chest had a tight feeling, and I tried to think where to look.

Then I remembered something else I’d seen in my underwear drawer. There on top of my nylon panties I found a smooth leather
case about the size of a deck of cards, the color of honey. I opened it, and curled on black velvet inside the box, a strand
of pearls, each pearl exactly the same size, shone with a luster. Not the flat, plastic look of the pop beads in my dresser,
but smooth and satiny. With my finger I traced the curve of the strand. I lifted it out and looked under the velvet, hoping
to find the note where Mama told me she loved me. The bottom of the case stared up at me. No note.

I lay back on my bed, clutching the testament and the jewelry case. When my fingers grew numb, I let the Bible rest on my
tummy and opened the case. I lifted the pearls and closed my eyes, hugging the strand to my chest. Then with both hands I
worked my way around, noticing that the pearls weren’t perfectly round like I thought earlier. Each individual bead had a
rise or a dent, small bumps that I could feel. When the clasp touched my fingers, the metal felt lacy, web-like. Beginning
with the first pearl, I counted my way around. Eighty-four pearls joined to form a circle. I opened my eyes and stared at
them, trying to think why Mama had put them in my drawer.

Scarlett jumped onto the covers beside me, her eyes like two lumps of dull coal. Tears rolled down my cheeks and Scarlett
licked at them. Time seemed frozen, and even though it seemed I should be doing something, I couldn’t think what.

The front door opened, and Alice Johnson yoo-hooed. “Anybody home?”

Quickly I coiled the pearls back in the case and stashed them with the New Testament under my pillow. Then I went to the front
room. Mrs. Johnson had a peanut butter pie in one hand and
a feather duster in the other. She went right to work stirring the dust around, chatting nonstop about how sorry she was.
“Benny Ray just feels dreadful about your mama. Said she had the best time riding in the Edsel, and he went on forever and
a day about how much she had improved over the summer. Which proves, you never can judge a book by its cover.”

I plopped onto the couch while she kept on dusting and straightening. “I tried to get Tuwana to come with me, but she’s in
an awful state. Just one thing after another for her this week. Not getting to be a cheerleader. Finding out Gina Hardy didn’t
invite her to her slumber party. Not to mention your mother. Adolescence is such a difficult age, as I’m sure you’ve guessed
by now. I lost my own mother when not much older than you. At least you’ve got a father you can depend on.”

Daddy?
It was all his fault, but I wouldn’t tell that to Mrs. Johnson if she threatened to yank my hair or pull my teeth out. It
was none of her business, and the more she dusted and chattered, the madder I felt. Who did she think she was, swooshing in
here with her feather duster?

“Where do you keep the sweeper?”

“In my bedroom closet, but I don’t want you to…”

She ignored me, and soon the whirring of the Electrolux filled the air. I stretched out on the couch, propping my feet on
the arms to fully extend, thinking about nothing.

“All done.” Alice wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “Now, if you’ll come in the kitchen, I’ll show you what
I’ve done.”

She handed me a list. “These are the people who’ve brought food with what each one brought. If you’ll notice, I’ve numbered
them and Scotch taped the corresponding number on the cake plate, casserole dish, or whatever. This will simplify things when
you write the notes, thanking people for their particular dish when
you return the various containers. I would explain this to your father, but men are hopeless with this sort of thing so it
falls on us women to take care of the niceties.”

My head felt swimmy, but I took the paper from her. “I don’t feel all that nice at the moment. My mother is dead, in case
you hadn’t noticed. I wish everyone would just leave me alone.”

“Oh dear, I was afraid this would hit you pretty hard. Would you like a hug?” She held out her arms to me.

“No! Please don’t touch me.” My body started shaking again, just like when Goldie told me about Mama, but I took big gulps
of air and glared at Mrs. Johnson. “I don’t need you or Daddy or anyone else. I want to be left alone. A-L-O-N-E.”

I ran from the room and flopped onto my bed, letting sobs escape from my throat and lungs.
All I ever needed was Mama. And she’s never coming back
. I bawled until I thought my insides had turned to mush. Under my pillow, I felt for Mama’s Bible and her pearls. They were
all that was left of the only thing in the world I ever wanted—a regular mother like everyone else had. And I didn’t think
I could stand another minute of my life without her.

Somehow I made it through that day and into the next. Daddy tried to talk to me, but I wasn’t having any of it. From my spot
in bed, I heard people come and go, bringing food, food, and more food. At this rate we’d have enough to feed half the starving
children in the Congo. Once I thought about getting up to number the dishes like Alice suggested, but I didn’t. It was too
hard.

Along in the afternoon, Daddy came into my room.

“Sis, we need to talk about some things.”

“There’s nothing to say.” I turned and faced the window.

“At least hear me out. What your mama did was terrible. I know you blame me, and I can see where you might. Truth is, if I
could,
I’d be the one laid out in that casket, not your mama. I loved her. You need to understand, no one could see what was inside
her, what she was thinking. That’s what depression does.”

Depression?
That’s the first time I’d heard a name for her sickness. Always before it was
nerve problems
or
those spells
. It had a name. I repeated it in my head. I turned over and looked at Daddy. He looked terrible. Eyes drooping at the corners,
whiskers sprouting all over his face, and sadness coming out of his eyes. A twinge of something fluttered inside me. Then,
just as quick, I remembered his arguing with Mama, and I didn’t know what to do. Mama was dead, and all I had left was Daddy.
I lifted my hand to him, and he took it and knelt down by my bed. He put his head on my covers, holding my hand in both of
his. His shoulders shook and gurgles came from his throat. He stayed like that a long time, crying beside my bed.

With my other hand, I touched his shoulder. Tears fell out of my eyes too, and after a while Daddy sat on my bed and hugged
me to his chest. I could hear the
thump-thump-thump
of his heart through his shirt. It sounded good in my ears. Steady. Strong.

Inside I didn’t feel quite so cold.

When a knock came at the front door, Daddy got up to answer it. A voice crackled from the front room.

“I swear, Joe Tucker, I thought I’d never get here. But here I am, plumb parched and as weary as a lost lamb. Where’s that
sugar-dumplin’ niece of mine?”