Dear Hank Williams (11 page)

My heart pounded when I heard the announcer say, “Now here's the Goree All Girl String Band performing ‘Will the Circle Be Unbroken.'” I could hear Momma's voice singing lead as it drifted from the speaker so loud and pure. It was as if she was standing smack in our living room singing.

When Momma sang the solo part of the next song, Uncle Jolly turned to Garnett and whispered, “That's Jordie June.”

Garnett smiled and mouthed “Oh my!”

“That's my momma,” I told Lovie. Frog was quiet, hugging his legs, and I could see how he was feeling like me. He missed Momma real bad.

After the Goree Girls finished, Garnett began to clap. Then we all did. Uncle Jolly flipped off the radio. “Hard to top that.”

Everyone wore a happy glow, the kind you get when something wonderful has happened. I remember thinking,
This
is the perfect time. I stood up. “I can't top it, but I've got some good news to share.”

Right off, Garnett leaned forward like she couldn't wait to hear. “What's that?” she asked.

“I'm entering the singing category of the Rippling Creek May Festival Talent Contest.”

Well, you would have thought I'd let the air out of everyone's tires. Everyone except Frog and Garnett, who slapped her knees and said, “Tate, that
is
wonderful news!”

But looking at Aunt Patty Cake's and Uncle Jolly's faces, it didn't seem so wonderful to them.

Garnett didn't let me down. “I'll bet you have your momma's gift. Why didn't you tell me that, Jolly?”

Uncle Jolly stammered, “Well … I … well, I … just don't know.” Little beads of sweat spotted his forehead.

Aunt Patty Cake leaned forward. “Are you certain you're up for that, Tate?” Why didn't she say what she was thinking? “You can't sing, Tate. Not like your momma.”

Garnett started to fill in all the miserable holes Aunt Patty Cake and Uncle Jolly were shooting in that happiest day. She kept talking about how delightful it was and how she could take off work and maybe she could get a front-row seat and she could borrow her friend Mabel's camera and take a picture of me. But it made no difference. Nothing she said stirred Uncle Jolly or Aunt Patty Cake to her way of thinking. I didn't bother telling them I'd been practicing for months. I'd rehearsed so much, Frog was probably tired of hearing me. After I went to bed that night, Frog sneaked into my room and tiptoed over to my bedside. “I think you sing real good,” he whispered. “I like ‘You Are My Sunshine' the best.”

That was not the song I was planning on singing in the talent contest, but I knew he was trying to make me feel better. I reached out to squeeze his hand, but he rushed away before I could catch it. And even though my little brother thinks I'm a good singer, my head was crowded with Aunt Patty Cake and Uncle Jolly's reaction when they'd heard the news.

And that, Mr. Williams, is how the best night ever became the worst.

In a sorry state of mind,

Tate P.

 

March 2, 1949

Dear Mr. Williams,

A
FTER MY BIG ANNOUNCEMENT,
Aunt Patty Cake made me practice the piano every single day except Sunday. She was hoping to change my mind about entering the singing part. More than a few times, she said, “You might think about playing a song on the piano, Tate. That's where you have the most experience.”

The only song I could play on the piano was “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” and I was not going to let Verbia Calhoon have the satisfaction of hearing me play that in front of the audience. It doesn't matter how you jazz up that song, it still sounds like a silly kiddy tune. But I keep Aunt Patty Cake happy by showing up at Mrs. Applebud's every day after school and playing those stupid scales.

And almost every day Mrs. Applebud says to me, “I could wait and go over to the cemetery later in the day, if you would want to go with me.” And when she says that, I say, “No, ma'am. Thank you, kindly.” I don't have plans to take up cemetery walking as a hobby.

Mr. Williams, I've learned that just because some folks don't believe in me doesn't mean I should stop believing in myself. And I'm not alone. She's never heard my singing, but Garnett believes in me, and so do Frog and Lovie, and they've heard me.

Rest assured, I'm still singing at the talent show.

Living on the sunny side despite all opposition,

Tate P.

 

March 6, 1949

Dear Mr. Williams,

F
ROG AND ME
got so excited about seeing Zion with her momma coming up our driveway. We waved, but when she started toward us, her momma said, “Remember what I told you.”

Zion said, “Yes, ma'am,” then walked slowly over to us.

“Frog and me were wondering when you would come back,” I told her. She looked scared. Then I realized Lovie was with us and she'd never seen her.

“This is Lovie.” I showed her how to hold out her palm and let Lovie smell her good.

Lovie sniffed at her hand and licked her knuckles. Well, Zion practically melted into a puddle. Her fear seemed to disappear, and her face broke into a big grin. That warmed up my insides. I like when people like my dog.

“Do you want to hear my song again? I've been practicing a lot.”

She nodded, and I told her to sit right next to Frog.

She kept standing.

“I don't want to sit next to him,” she said.

“Suit yourself,” I said, but I could tell Frog was sad about it.

Zion settled across from him. Lovie left Frog's side and settled down by Zion. I wonder if Frog forgot to take his bath last night and I'd gotten used to his stink.

I began to sing my song, but Zion didn't look impressed. She stared toward my house like she couldn't wait to leave. Then, right in the middle of my song, her momma walked outside. Zion stood up and took off. “I gotta go.”

I thought about hollering, “How do you think I did? Do I sound like I'm singing from my heart now?” But I changed my mind because of the way she'd treated Frog.

I was so mad, I took it out on him. “Get over here, Frog. Let me get a good whiff of you.” Frog obeyed. I took a deep breath through my nose. He smelled as sweet as honeysuckles. Some folks have peculiar ways, and clearly Zion Washington is one of them.

Fuming over rude people (but not for long),

Tate P.

 

March 12, 1949

Dear Mr. Williams,

T
ODAY IS MY BIRTHDAY.
I woke up to the sound of the light ping of rain hitting our roof. A moment later sheets of rain came down, and thunder growled in the distance. When a bolt of lightning cracked the sky, Lovie crawled under my bed and whimpered. This is not the way anyone wants to start off her birthday. But folks should never let the weather decide what sort of day they're going to have. So I put on my happy face and wandered into the kitchen.

Silly Uncle Jolly stood in front of the stove, banging an iron skillet with a serving spoon. He started singing some made-up song. He sang it to the tune of “The Farmer in the Dell.” “
The birthday girl is up, the birthday girl is up. Ding Dong, jig-a-long, the birthday girl is up. It's pancake day today, it's pancake day today. Ding Dong, jig-a-long, it's pancake day today.
How many pancakes do you want, Sweet Tater?”

Aunt Patty Cake walked in and poured herself a cup of coffee. “I believe I like your birthday almost as much as you do.”

I decided to take full advantage of Aunt Patty Cake's good mood. “Can Lovie stay inside until it stops raining?”

“After she does her business. You'll need to dry her off before she steps back in this house.”

Lovie did her business real quick. She didn't want to miss any of the fun. Of course the boy who loves yams but hates pancakes decided to sleep in.

Garnett helped celebrate my birthday that night. Aunt Patty Cake made fried chicken, dirty rice, and a chocolate cake. I got a pair of black Mary Janes from her and Uncle Jolly and a new Nancy Drew book from Garnett.

After I opened my gifts, Garnett asked, “Tate, have you planned a dress rehearsal? You could rehearse in front of us.”

Mr. Williams, by now you're an expert about dress rehearsals. I'd figured Miss Mildred would want to have one with me too. Last week I told her that I was entering the singing category of the contest. Her mouth hung open a long time. It hung open so long, a fly flew inside and she sputtered and shook her head like it was on fire. Then she repeated what I'd heard her say when I first wanted to take voice lessons. “You know, Tate, some voices aren't meant to be heard.”

This time, I said, “Yes, ma'am, that's a fact. And it's a pity Verbia Calhoon don't know that.” Miss Mildred's mouth went back to catching flies again.

I decided to take Garnett's suggestion and use my family as my dress-rehearsal audience. Considering Uncle Jolly and Aunt Patty Cake's reaction to my announcement, I was real nervous. Not to mention Zion's low opinion of my talent. But if I'm not ready now, I'll never be. And this was my birthday. Good things were bound to happen.

I had to sing without music, but I'd been practicing that way. I stood in front of them in the living room. Garnett patted Uncle Jolly's knee, and he squeezed her hand. Aunt Patty Cake examined her fingernails. Frog sat cross-legged on the floor, smiling.

Finally I took a big breath and opened my mouth. I pretended I was in bed next to Momma and we were singing together like old times. I closed my eyes to help take me there. And when I finished the song, I opened them.

Aunt Patty Cake had tears running down her eyes, and Uncle Jolly looked like he could catch a few flies himself.

Garnett pressed her hands together. “Oh my, Tate!”

“I still have some time to practice,” I said.

“That was beautiful,” Garnett said. “I can't imagine it being any better.”

“When did you start sounding like your momma?” Uncle Jolly asked, which is about the best thing anyone ever said to me.

And then Aunt Patty Cake wiped her eyes and announced, “I'm going to make you a new dress.”

Which should have been the nicest offer to hear, especially after knowing Aunt Patty Cake hadn't taken to the idea of me singing. Unfortunately Aunt Patty Cake is not the best seamstress in the parish. The last time she tried to make me a dress, she accidentally sewed up the armholes. Thank goodness she got frustrated and gave up. But now she looked determined, and I don't think a dress made by Aunt Patty Cake could hold up to Verbia Calhoon's golden curls.

Happier, but fretting some about my festival dress,

Tate P.

 

March 18, 1949

Dear Mr. Williams,

A
UNT
P
ATTY
C
AKE
didn't wait for the temperatures to grow warm. As soon as she heard about the special fabric sale at Bolton High School, she made plans for my competition dress. The ad in the
Town Talk
said there were thousands and thousands of yards of chambray in every color and pattern. I hope Aunt Patty Cake didn't decide to think I'd look darling in polka dots. Thank goodness before she drove away for the sale last night, she rolled down the window and asked, “What's your favorite color?”

“Blue,” I said.

“Perfect.” Aunt Patty Cake put the car in drive, and I didn't see her until this morning.

The blue fabric is beautiful. It has a purple hint to it, like the lilac chaste tree in Irma Bitters's yard. That morning, I stood there admiring it draped over Aunt Patty Cake's bed. It's a downright pity, because with Aunt Patty Cake as the seamstress, this is the best that fabric is ever going to be.

Garnett thought it was pretty too. She stroked the fabric. “You are going to look gorgeous at the talent show.”

I sure hope Aunt Patty Cake manages to sew on the sleeves this time.

I need to forget about that dress and concentrate on my singing. I'm curious, Mr. Williams, does someone make those cowboy shirts for you?

Trying to stay focused on my song,

Tate P.

 

March 25, 1949

Dear Mr. Williams,

W
HEN
I
LEFT FOR SCHOOL
Monday morning, Aunt Patty Cake was laying out the pattern pieces of my dress. I would have asked to see the cover, but she had a mouthful of pins and she didn't glance up when I walked into the kitchen. Frog and I ate bread and fig preserves on the front porch. Aunt Patty Cake didn't bother saying good-bye when I hollered to tell her I was leaving to meet the school bus.

That afternoon, when the school bus dropped me off at home, I left Lovie on the front porch and went inside. Aunt Patty Cake was sitting in front of her black Singer.

“Hi, Aunt Patty Cake,” I called out.

With her back to me, she lifted her hand in a quick wave. That afternoon I heard words I'd never heard coming out of her mouth. I can't write them here, but to give you an idea, Frog and me would have had our mouths washed out with soap if we'd whispered them under our breath. I was getting real nervous thinking about how that blue dress was going to turn out. I guess it would be better to be laughed at because of my dress than because of my singing.

Before I went to bed, I ducked my head inside the kitchen. Aunt Patty Cake was glaring across the room, and I swear there was meanness shooting out of her eyes. When I realized her focus was the blue fabric wadded up in the corner next to the broom, my stomach felt like someone was squeezing it hard. That night, I tossed and turned, and when I finally fell asleep I dreamed of wearing a dress that not only had missing armholes but also no place for my neck to come through either. I was a blue ghost.