It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining (23 page)

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Authors: Ernest Hill

BOOK: It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining
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Chapter Thirty-one
O
n Sunday, Omenita and I spent the entire day together. I apologized for having left her, and she apologized for getting so upset, and we agreed to put it behind us and get on with the business of preparing for our impending nuptials. And so, that afternoon, we drove to Monroe and purchased our wedding bands. Then on Monday, we applied for our marriage license. On Tuesday, we met with Mr. Bailey, the justice of the peace, and he gave us final confirmation that he would marry us on Thursday, at twelve o'clock in his office. And today, which was Wednesday, we had lunch together in town, and afterward we bid each other good-bye, and she went back to work, and I went back to Grandpa Luke's house.
When I got there, I saw that Grandpa Luke and his camera were missing. I briefly looked around outside for him and when I could not find him, I went back inside, took a seat in the recliner next to the fire, and clicked on the televison. I wasn't worried about him. I just figured he had gone for a walk, and though I did not know where, I suspected he had gone to the cemetery to visit grandma again. Their wedding anniversary was approaching and I sensed that he needed to be close to her.
I was still sitting by the fire, watching the television when I heard someone pull into the yard and stop next to the front porch. Then I heard a car door open and close, and then I heard the dry leaves in the yard crunching, and I went to the door and pulled it open to see who was out there, and to my surprise, I saw Danielle standing on the stoop, clutching a small purse.
“Hi,” she said, and though she was wearing a heavy coat and gloves, I could tell by the way she was standing that she was still cold.
“Hi,” I said.
“Do you have a minute?”
“Of course,” I said. “Please come in.”
She entered the house and sat on the sofa near the door, and I sat in Grandpa Luke's recliner next to the fireplace. She sat for a moment, and when she was warm, she removed her coat and draped it across the arm of the sofa. I looked at her, trying to figure out how she knew I was here and wondering what in the world she wanted.
“Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you,” she said, and when she looked at me I could see that the side of her face was red from the weather.
“Well, what can I do for you?”
She sighed deeply, as if what she had to say was difficult.
“I wanted to talk to you about Mother Audrey.”
I frowned, then looked at her.
“What about her?” I asked.
“She's hurting,” she said. “She's hurting really bad.”
“I'm hurting too,” I said.
“Can't you work this out?” she asked.
“I'm getting married,” I said. “And she can't handle it.”
“She's your mother,” Danielle said.
“But I'm not her boy anymore,” I said. “I'm my own man.”
“Yes,” she said. “I understand, but does that mean you have to hurt her?”
“No,” I said, “but it does mean that I have to live my own life. And she has to accept that.”
“And are you willing to live your life without her?”
“If I have to,” I said.
“You won't be happy,” she said.
“I'll try.”
“It's not going to work.”
“I think it will,” I said.
“It's just not possible.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked her.
“Because Mother Audrey won't be happy.”
I shook my head.
“I can't worry about that,” I said.
“But you will,” she said. “And you know you will.”
“I don't think so,” I said.
“I know so,” she said.
“You do?”
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
“And how is that?”
“Because of something Thomas Paine once said.”
“And what is that?” I asked her.
“No man can be happy surrounded by those whose happiness he has destroyed.”
“He said that?”
“Yes, he did,” she said. “And I believe he was right. Especially as it pertains to you and your mother. I've known Mother Audrey all of my life. And all she has ever talked about is you. And from the short time that I have known you, I can see how special you are. And how special your relationship is with her. And you should never allow anything to change that. Because if it does, she won't be happy and neither will you. Now, if Omenita is the one—”
“She is the one,” I said abruptly.
“Then help Mother Audrey see it.”
“I can't,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because I can't even make her see me.”
“I don't understand.”
“I'm a man,” I said, “but she won't acknowledge that. And until she acknowledges who I am, she will never be able to acknowledge how I feel.”
“She loves you,” Danielle said. “She loves you more than life itself.”
“And I love her.”
“Then talk to her.”
“And say what?”
“Tell her that you love her.”
“She knows that.”
“Tell her anyway.”
“And what will that do?”
“Give you a nice point from which to begin.”
“No,” I said. “This is something that she has to work out for herself.”
“I think you have to work it out together.”
“I disagree.”
“Well, will you at least consider it?”
“I'll consider it,” I said.
She smiled, then glanced at her watch.
“Well, I know you probably have a lot to do,” she said, “so I won't take up much more of your time. But, in spite of everything, I know that Thursday is a very special day for you. And because it is, I want to give you something. A wedding present of sorts.”
“You don't have to,” I said.
“I know,” I said, “but I want to.”
I saw her open her purse and remove a small present. Then she stood and handed it to me.
“No,” I said. “That's not necessary.”
“Please,” she said. “I want you to have it.”
I looked at the gift then at her.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Open it and see.”
“Now?” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “Now.”
I placed the gift in my lap and gently removed the wrapping. Inside, I saw a rather crude-looking drawing encased in a frame. I gazed at the drawing, then smiled.
“What is it?” I asked her.
“It's a map.”
“A map,” I said.
She nodded.
“I don't understand,” I said.
“Well, this is probably the most precious thing that I have ever owned in my entire life.”
I looked at the drawing again, then frowned.
“This!” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “And I want you to have it.”
“Thanks,” I said, then looked at it again, still confused.
“It was given to me by your mother.”
“My mother!” I said.
“Yes,” she said.“When I was thirteen years old.”
“Why?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Because she knew I needed it.”
“I don't understand,” I said.
“Well, let me explain,” she said. “When I was thirteen years old, my folks sent me back East to finishing school. In the long run, that turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me. I learned things at that school that I still utilize today. And I met my best friend there, as well as any number of other wonderful people. And in hindsight, I am so thankful that I had an opportunity to go there. But the night before I left was the absolute worst night of my life. For much of the evening, I sat in my room and I cried, and I cried, and I cried.
“Well, I guess Mother Audrey heard me. And she came in and sat at my little desk and took out a piece of paper and drew this map. Then she folded it and put it in my purse. Then she looked at me and said, ‘there is no need to cry and there is no need to be afraid. You go on up there and if things get too bad this is the way home. And as long as you know the way home, there is nothing in this world to worry about.' ”
She paused and I looked at the paper again
“And I will have you know, that for the first full week at that school, I carried this little map with me everywhere I went. And just having it seemed to ease my mind and give me peace. Well, it has served its purpose for me. Now I want you to have it. And I want you to look at it. And when the time is right, I want you to use it to find your way back home. Mother Audrey loves you. And she needs you. And seeing this gulf between the two of you is breaking my heart.”
She turned her back and I could tell that she was crying.
“Thank you,” I said, then I stood and hugged her. “This is really sweet of you,” I said, then I released her.
She nodded, then dabbed at her eyes with the tips of her fingers.
“I'm sorry,” she said.
“Don't be,” I said.
“I hope you and Mother Audrey can work this out.”
“We will,” I said.
I saw her look toward the door.
“Well, I better go,” she said.
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks for coming.”
She retrieved her coat from the sofa then turned and faced me.
“Oh, by the way, I spoke to Father. He's going to have someone look into your cousin's case.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“You're welcome,” she said. “I just hope they can help.”
“May I ask you a question?” I said.
“Sure,” she said.
“Why are you doing all of this?”
I saw her smile. “I told you,” she said, “We're practically family.”
“You must think I'm terrible,” I said.
“To the contrary,” she said. “I think you're fantastic.”
Suddenly I laughed and so did she.
“I think you're fantastic, too.”
“For a white girl?” she said jokingly.
“No,” I said, “for any girl.”
“Well thank you,” she said. “That's a very nice thing to say.” She put her coat and scarf back on and turned to leave then stopped. “Best of luck to you and your new bride.”
I walked her to the door. Then I watched her climb into her car and drive away.
Chapter Thirty-two
I
took the tiny map into my room and placed it on the nightstand, then I laid across the bed and cried. And though there was in me an overwhelming desire to go to my mother, I consciously fought to keep that desire at bay, for deep inside of me, I realized that to act on such a feeling would be nothing short of engaging in an exercise of futility. For as it stood, I could not tell my mother that I would not marry Omenita nor could my mother tell me that she would accept Omenita as my wife. Thus, I had to choose between the woman who gave me life and the woman I would give my life to. And that choice, however right I knew it to be, still pained me. And now, more than ever, that pain seemed too much to bear. And so, I did all that I knew to do, I cried. And I cried not out of any fear of the future, but I cried because I loved my mother, and I knew that my mother loved me. And I cried because I was a man, and as such, I had to leave that which had been safe and comfortable and embark upon that which, though exciting, was laced with uncertainty. And I cried because I loved Omenita and tomorrow all of this would end and she would be my wife. And I cried because my daddy had cried, and my granddaddy had cried, and my mama had cried.
Through the open window, I could see the large branches of the huge oak tree swaying majestically in the cold, stiff wind. And I could see the dark gray clouds lingering in the dull, overcast sky. And I could see the thin layer of ice floating atop the water barrel that Grandpa Luke had placed out back under the eave of the old storage shed. But in spite of the cold weather, and in spite of the fact that I had no transportation, there was in me a sudden impulse to go see Omenita.
So, I rose from the bed and put on my coat and gloves and went into the living room. Grandpa Luke had returned and was sitting in front of the fire watching the evening news. I spoke to him and bid him good-bye then I stepped out onto the porch. Instantly, the cold wind hit me, and I dug my hands deep into my pockets, and I hunched my shoulders and walked out of the yard toward the railroad tracks. And once I reached the tracks, I walked between the rails, measuring my stride against the length of the cross ties. And as I walked, I looked around. On the west side of the track, for a quarter of a mile or so, I could see acres and acres of barren cotton fields. The fields had been recently harvested and the huge trailers of cotton had been dumped at the end of the fields and covered with a tarpaulin in lieu of being transported to the gin.
Along the east side of the track, I could see Highway 17. And beyond Highway 17 I could see the long row of wood-frame houses all neatly aligned, one after the other, and all perfectly following the contours of the highway. I followed the track, passing one house after another, until finally, jutting out from beyond the huge oak tree, I saw the familiar sight of my parents' house. I slowed and stole a glimpse of the house. Daddy's truck was in the yard, and the curtains were open, and the lights were on, and I had a strong desire to climb from atop the tracks and leap the drainage ditch, and cross the highway and enter the house. I had not seen my mother in days, and there was in me a strong desire to see her but an even stronger desire to live my life.
And so, I turned from the house and I looked far up the tracks. And I could hear the steady sound of automobile tires passing on the asphalt highway. And my mind drifted to Omenita, and no sooner had it done so than I heard my mother's voice calling to me from a time long past: “When she show you who she is be man enough to accept it.” And I embraced that thought. For I was a man, and as a man, I would go to Omenita, and I would gaze upon her as I had not done before, and I would trust my eye and not my heart, and I would see whatever there was to see. For I was confident that I knew her and she knew me and that this love we shared was truly meant to be.
At Omenita's house, I crossed into her yard and climbed onto the steps. The blinds were opened and I could see that the television was on. I knocked on the door and immediately I heard the lone voice of a young male yell, “Who is it?”
“Maurice,” I said.
The door opened and Omenita stood before me, smiling. She was still wearing the wool slacks and sweater that she had on earlier when we met with the justice of the peace.
“Hi, beautiful,” I said.
She smiled again, then I saw her looking past me out toward the street.
“You walked over here?” she asked me.
“Every step,” I said.
“In this weather?”
“It's not that bad,” I said. “Once you get moving.”
“Why didn't you call me?”
“I just felt like walking,” I said.
She hesitated, then frowned.
“Is anything wrong?”
“No,” I said. “I just wanted to see you.”
“But you just saw me a few hours ago.”
“Seems like days ago,” I said.
She smiled, then blushed.
“Well come on in,” she said, “and get a good look.”
I came in and her mother, her sister, and her two brothers were sitting in the living room watching television. The two boys were sitting on the floor—the older one still eating his dinner, and the two women were sitting on the sofa. No one was sitting in the recliner. Come to think of it, in all the years I had been coming here, I had never seen anyone sit in that chair other than Mr. Jones.
I spoke to everyone then Omenita and I went into the kitchen and took a seat at the table. I sat with my back to the wall and she sat directly across from me. And I could tell from the clutter that they did not actually use the table for meals. Instead, it appeared to be utilized for additional storage space. On the far end were several aluminum pots and pans. Near the center was an assortment of bananas and oranges. They had been there for a while. Several of the bananas had begun to turn brown and one of the oranges had begun to mildew. A half-eaten chocolate cake was concealed under a plastic cake dish and sat near the fruit. On the end nearest us was a stack of mail and a pile of old coupons that someone had clipped. And just beyond the mail were several jars of canned figs. One was half empty and the other two had yet to be opened.
And other than the table there was no additional furniture in the moderate-size room. Only a white refrigerator, a gas stove, and a small microwave oven, which sat on the counter next to the window. The back door leading onto the rear porch was closed but through the rear window I could see the branches on the large fig tree closest to the house swaying in the wind. The temperature was dropping, and I was happy to be out of the weather and in the warm, cozy kitchen with the woman that I loved. I was looking around the room when I heard her voice calling to me.
“I'm glad you came,” she said.
“So am I,” I said.
She looked at me and smiled.
“Well,” she said, “this time tomorrow, we'll be husband and wife.”
“Yes,” I said. “This time tomorrow.”
“Are you happy?” she asked me.
I looked at her.
“Am I happy!” I said. “What kind of question is that? Woman, do you know how much I love you?”
She smiled again.
“No,” she said. “Why don't you show me?”
I looked over my shoulder at the closed kitchen door. Then, I rose from my seat and went to her. She tilted her head back and I bent low and kissed her softly on the lips. She kissed me back then gently pulled away.
“You better not let my daddy catch you doing that.”
“I ain't scared of your daddy,” I said.
“Oh, is that a fact?”
“It must be a fact,” I said, “because it sure ain't fiction.”
“You talking mighty big,” she said.
“Why shouldn't I? I practically got papers on you.”
“Correction,” she said. “We practically got papers on each other.”
“And I wouldn't have it any other way,” I said.
I kissed her again. Then I sat back at the kitchen table. “Do you know that there is nothing in this whole world that I would not do for you? And nothing that I would not give up.”
“Yes,” she said. “I know.”
I paused and my face became serious. “Do you?” I asked her again.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I do.”
I looked at her again.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I love you too,” she whispered back.
And when she did, I instantly looked into her eyes and searched her face for any sign that her words were a true indication of how she felt and not simply a response given without thought and offered without meaning. I needed to know that she loved me, and that she would stand by me as I had stood by her. And I needed to know that this woman whom I had loved since the first day I laid eyes on her would share a crumb with me. I continued to look deep into her eyes, for what I do not know. Suddenly, I saw her eyes soften, then water.
“I hope you mean that,” I said.
“I do,” she said. “I really, really do.”
I smiled and leaned back, and I was about to rise again and move around the table and kiss her, this beautiful woman with whom I would spend the rest of my life when the kitchen door opened and Miss Jones walked through. She was carrying a glass and an empty plate, which she placed in the sink, then turned back toward us. I released Omenita's hands and looked at Miss Jones. She looked at us and smiled, and I could see that she was happy that we were together and that we had worked things out and that we would be husband and wife.
“Have you eaten dinner, Maurice?”
“No, ma'am,” I said. “Not yet.”
“Got some red beans and rice on the stove,” she said, then paused. “Omenita, why don't you fix Maurice something to eat?”
I saw Omenita roll her eyes.
“I'm not hungry,” I said.
“Are you sure?” Miss Jones said.
“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “I'm sure.”
“Okay,” she said. “Then I'll leave you two alone.”
She left and I looked at Omenita, then at the stove. There was a skillet and several pots of food sitting on the burners. I looked at the food a moment, then back at her. I had not eaten and the offer of food caused me to realize that I was indeed hungry. Omenita looked at me and frowned.
“What?”
“I am a little hungry,” I said.
I heard her sigh.
“What?” I said.
“I see how you're looking at me,” she said.
“How?” I asked.
“The same way he looks at her.”
“Who?” I asked.
“I'll be your wife,” she said, “but I won't be her.”
“You won't be who?” I asked her.
She didn't answer. Instead, she rose to her feet, walked to the sink and pulled opened one of the doors to the cupboard. “Here's the plates,” she said. “Then she pulled open a drawer. “Here's the forks.” She pulled opened another door. “Here's the glasses. Food's on the stove. Drink's in the refrigerator. If you want a plate, fix it yourself.”

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