Read It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining Online

Authors: Ernest Hill

It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining (6 page)

BOOK: It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining
6.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“Tank should be full,” she said, “but here's a little something in case you have any trouble ... although I don't expect you will.” She handed the keys and the envelope to Mama.
“Yes, ma'am,” Mama said.
“Insurance and registration papers ought to be in the glove box.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Mama said again.
Then Miss Hattie turned to me.
“I hope you're a careful driver.”
And after she had said it, she looked at me as if to let me know that she was entrusting me with something valuable. No, something precious.
“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “I am.”
She looked at me like she didn't know whether to believe me.
“You had much experience?” she asked, and when she did she never took her eyes off me, and the fact that she didn't made me uncomfortable.
“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “Been driving since I was thirteen.”
“Thirteen!” she said.
“Not on the highway,” I said. “On Mr. Levi's farm.”
“But you do have highway experience?”
“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “Plenty.”
“No tickets or anything like that?” she asked.
“No, ma'am.” I said.
I looked at her, and she was still watching me, and I felt myself becoming a little nervous. I wanted to glance away, but I did not. She looked at me a little longer, then turned back toward Mama.
“Now Audrey, there's no need to hurry.”
“Yes, ma'am, Miss Hattie,” Mama said.
“If you get there a little late, Danielle knows to wait for you in the baggage area. Okay?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Mama said again.
We turned to leave, but Miss Hattie stopped us again.
“One more thing,” she said.
Mama stopped and turned back toward her. “Yes, Miss Hattie,” she said.
“There may be a little ice on the road between here and Monroe, so do be careful.” She was looking at Mama as she spoke, but I knew she was talking to me.
“We'll be careful, Miss Hattie,” Mama said. She turned back toward the front door to leave, but before she could, Miss Hattie stopped her.
“Be closer to go out through the kitchen,” she said. “The car is still in the garage. I had Henry warm it up a little while ago.”
Mama and I followed Miss Hattie through the large, spacious kitchen, and when she reached the rear door, she pulled it open, then stepped aside. And no sooner had she opened the door that I once again felt the cold rush of air whipping through my clothes, chilling my bones. I pulled my coat tight and buried my hands in pockets still warm from our brief sojourn in the house and made my way toward the car. And as I walked, I looked it over. It was a 2002 Lincoln Town Car. Dark, sleek, top of the line. I turned and looked. Miss Hattie was still watching me. Maybe this was why she was so uptight. She was uneasy entrusting such an expensive vehicle to someone like me. She knew she could trust Mama, but of me she could not be sure.
I went around and opened the door for Mama. She handed me the keys and the envelope, then gathered the hem of her dress in one hand and the back of the seat with the other, then slide inside. When she was settled, I handed her the envelope and shut the door, then stepped back to make my way to the driver's side. And when I stepped back, I glanced toward the kitchen door. Miss Hattie was still watching and at that moment, I wondered if I had slammed the door too hard. Feeling clumsy and ill at ease, I walked stiff-legged to the door, opened it, and gently slid under the wheel, aware of Miss Hattie's menacing stare. I closed the door and looked up. Yes, she was still watching. With nervous hands, I grabbed the seat belt and pulled it across my shoulder. I stole a quick glance. She was still watching. I inserted the metal clamp into the tab. It clicked. I paused, then looked up at Mama.
“Wish she would quit staring at me,” I said.
“Mind your manners,” Mama said. “You hear?”
“Yes, ma'am,” I said and inserted the key into the ignition, then switched it on. I heard the low, steady hum of the well-tuned machine. I glanced up again. She was still watching. And like a nervous kid taking a driver's test, I put the car into gear and eased off the brake, ever mindful of the fact that I was clutching the wheel too tight, and that my shoulders were too stiff, and my back was too straight. I pulled out of the drive and into the street. And in the rearview mirror I could see the garage door slowly coming down. At the stop sign I made a left onto Highway 17, traveled two blocks and made a right onto Main Street. I cleared one signal light then the other, and when I was well outside of town, I leaned back into the seat and stared headlong through the windshield. I adjusted the radio. Then, I heard the sound of heavy breathing. I looked to my right. Mama was sound asleep.
Chapter Seven
I
t was 5:00
A.M.
when I drove across the railroad tracks into the small village of Mer Rouge. And when I did, I did not slow enough, and the wheels of the car elevated slightly, then landed with a thud on the opposite side. Instantly, I heard Mama's sleeping body bouncing on the seat next to me. I stole a quick glance at her out of the corner of my eye and I saw her head tilt forward, then her eyes flew open.
“Be careful,” she said.
She looked around to see where we were, then she looked at me hard and menacingly to let me know that she was not satisfied with the way I was driving.
“Yes, ma'am,” I said.
I eased my foot off the accelerator and the car slowed, and as we eased through the center of town, I could feel her eyes on the side of my face and I was sorry that I had awakened her for now she would want to talk and what she would want to discuss would be Omenita. And I did not want to talk and I did not want to be talked to. I leaned back into the softness of the seat and looked headlong through the windshield. This was not much of a town. It was more like a village. And a small village at that. There was the one caution light through which we had just passed. And on either side of the street were several nondescript businesses. There was a police station, a post office, a service station, and a small hamburger stand all contained in an area considerably smaller that a city block. At the end of the block was a small residential area of no more than four or five luxurious houses with large beautiful yards with well-manicured lawns. It was twilight and in the distance seemingly well beyond this universe, the large orange sun sat low on the horizon casting off the dawn's early light.
“Look like it's gon' be a pretty day,” she said.
“Yes, ma'am,” I said.
I glanced at her again, making sure to avoid her eyes. She had been looking out the window, but now that daylight had broken and we could finally see that which heretofore was concealed in darkness, she busied herself scanning the inside of the car. It was a beautiful vehicle. It had a sleek leather interior, large bucket seats, a navigational system, a telephone, a CD player, the works. She saw me looking at the car and she spoke again. “This some automobile, hunh.”
She waited for me to respond, but I kept quiet. I did not want to talk and I did not want to be talked to. I continued to stare at the road. And when she realized that I was not going to speak, she continued. “When I was your age black folks couldn't dream. Oh, we could pray and we could hope that things would get a little better, but we couldn't dream.”
She paused again and I could feel her eyes on me. And I sensed she was looking at me, but she was not seeing me. She was seeing her past.
“No,” I heard her began again. Her voice was low, distant. “It ain't like it was when I was coming up... . Back then living was hard. Wasn't no whole lot of choices. Folks did good just to get by.” She paused and looked out the window. “I can remember on days like this, it'd be so cold you could hardly stand it, and Mama and Papa would have Brother and me out in the woods picking up wild pecans to sell so we could have winter shoes. Most times we didn't have salt to go in bread. No, it ain't like it was when I was coming up.”
She paused again and I glanced at her. She had turned her head and was staring out of the window. I turned my head back toward the road.
“Didn't think things was ever gon' get better for us,” she said. “Then one day Mr. Harvey just up and quit farming. Told everybody they was gon' have to find something else to do. That's when Mama and Papa moved to town. Papa found a few odd jobs here and there. And Mama went to work for Miss Lindsey, Miss Hattie's mama. And that's where she worked for the rest of her days. And that's how me and Miss Hattie come to know each other. I was too little to stay at home by myself, so I would go to Miss Lindsey's with Mama. Miss Hattie would be there sometimes. And while Mama worked, me and Miss Hattie would play together. Then later on in life when we was both adults, Miss Hattie married Mr. John and I married your daddy—too early, I might add. But it ain't like I wasn't warned. When Miss Hattie found out about it, she was some upset. And said I ought to go to school and make something out of myself before I got tied down with a husband and a bunch of children. But I was hardheaded and couldn't nobody tell me nothing. So I went on and married. Then you come along. And shortly after that, me and your daddy fell on hard times. So, I went to Miss Hattie, and she give me a job. And I been working for her ever since. And I gotta say she been good to me. And she been good to this family. And I owe her and Mr. John so much. Much more than I can ever pay 'em.” She paused a minute, and I saw her looking far up the road. Her mind had drifted and I could tell she was deep in thought. “Don't know if your daddy understand that,” she finally said. “Don't know if he ever will.”
We reached the small town of Bastrop and drove past the courthouse and as we did, I gazed up at the large, beautiful steeple, high atop the building and suddenly I noticed the hands on the huge white-faced clock. It was a quarter 'til six. And I also noticed that traffic had thickened, and for a minute I was baffled until I remembered that this was a mill town and that the residents were shift workers and right now was shift change. I slowed a bit, following the traffic, and as I neared the paper mill I smelled the foul, pungent odor that was indigenous of the mill and in the distance I saw the huge white clouds of billowing smoke emanating from the tall, far-away towers. Mama stopped talking and I knew she had grown concerned by the increased traffic.
“Reckon we'll make it in time?” she asked me.
“We'll make it,” I said.
After I answered, I did not look at her. Instead, I continued to stare ahead. Her southern demeanor had little to do with Papa. I knew that. And I knew that she knew I knew. This was about me and Omenita and the choice I was making. And because this was about Mama challenging my right to choose the course of my own life, I felt myself becoming angry. So angry until I convinced myself that it would be better that I not comment at all. I looked farther up the road at the long line of cars, and as we slowed even more, I could not help but wonder if this was more than work traffic. The road was a little slick. And the weather was less than favorable. Maybe there had been an accident. I looked at my watch again.
We'll make it,
I told myself.
If nothing else happens, we'll make it.
I was still looking ahead when Mama spoke again.
“Hope you think about what I'm saying before you jump up and do something you gon' regret.”
“I have thought about it,” I said.
“Then you need to think about it some more.”
She paused and waited for me to say something else. But I kept quiet.
“Son, you got choices me and your daddy never had.” She paused again, and I could feel her eyes on the side of my face. I tightened my grip on the wheel and continued to stare ahead. “But if you don't make good on the choices you got, then them choices won't mean a thing. Now you need to think about that ... and you need to think about it good.”
She became silent again. And without a clear picture in my mind as to what she was doing, I stole a quick glance at her out of the corner of my eye. I saw her gather her purse in her lap and lean back against the seat. I shifted my eyes back toward the highway. I did not want her to see me looking at her. For now, I was convinced that she was thinking about me and Omenita, and pondering what she needed to do to persuade me to see things her way.
We crept along a minute more until just past the turnoff to the mill; the traffic cleared, and instinctively, I pressed the gas pedal and instantly the car accelerated. Relieved to be moving freely again, I relaxed my grip on the wheel and watched the open road unfold before us as we passed beyond the city limits and onto the final stretch of highway leading into Monroe.
In Monroe, I did not bypass the city as I would have normally. Instead, I turned left just before the overpass into a residential area just west of campus and followed the street leading to the university. Normally, I would have stayed my course, but this was a shortcut, and because we had been unexpectedly delayed in traffic, I now feared that we would be late.
I saw Mama fidgeting, and I knew she was wondering what I was doing. I started to explain, but quickly reconsidered. I did not want to engage her and give her an excuse to start up again. She was quiet, and I wanted it to stay that way.
I saw the back of the campus come into view, and I followed the road past the old library and through the center of campus. And as I eased through the campus, I looked about. There was very little activity. Most of the parking lot was empty, and the only people I saw milling about was a lone officer standing outside the security building and a couple of students walking along the bayou; but other than that it seemed desolate and deserted, which for me was no surprise for like my own school this one was also closed for winter break. I followed the road through the campus and when I was on the opposite end, I turned left onto Desiard Street and followed the highway to Airport Boulevard. I turned right onto Airport Boulevard and when I did, I saw Mama pull down the visor in front of her and begin primping in the small mirror. We were close now, and I saw her checking her hair and her eyes and her lipstick, and when she was satisfied that all was as it should be, she flipped the visor into position and sat back in her seat, clutching her purse on her lap and staring straight ahead.
At the airport, I parked in front of the terminal just across the street. I put some coins in the meter, and we hurried inside out of the cold. And from just beyond the entrance, I could see the terminal in its entirety. To the right were the ticket counters. To the left down a short hall were the restrooms, several telephones, and a small concession area. Straight ahead was the waiting area and just beyond that behind a glass wall and through a security entrance was the boarding area. To the left of the boarding area was another short hallway that stretched past the rental car counter and opened into the baggage claim area. As we stood searching for Danielle, I figured her plane was either late or had already landed. For even though no one was in the lobby, I could distinctly hear the dull, low rumbling sound of chattering people emanating from the baggage claim area. I looked at Mama. She wore an expression of concern.
“Must be in baggage claim,” I said. And when I said it, I did not wait for Mama to respond, instead I started toward the area and she followed.
When we got there Danielle was standing next to the conveyor belt. Her back was to us, and I would not have known her from any of the others crowded around the conveyor belt. I had not seen her since we were children and even then I had seen her only once, and from a distance at that. I watched Mama ease next to her and tap her lightly on the shoulder. She turned quickly and I heard Mama call to her in an uncertain voice.
“Danielle?”
There was a brief hesitation, then her eyes widened and the corners of her mouth turned up.
“Mother Audrey!”
She threw her arms about Mama's shoulders and hugged her, and as she did, I observed her. She wore a long coat with fur about the collar. On her hands were a pair of brown leather gloves and on her feet were a pair of stylish leather boots that stopped just below her knees. And though the coat partially covered her, I could tell that she was tall and slender with long blond hair. They held each other for a moment or two, then I saw Mama pull away and look at her.
“How was your flight?” she asked, still smiling.
“Long,” Danielle said, “but pleasant.”
“Haven't been waiting long, I hope.”
“No, ma'am,” Danielle said. “As a matter of fact we just walked into the building.”
Mama looked at me and I knew she wanted me to come closer. I had been standing back, but now I stepped forward.
“This is my son, Maurice,” she said. “Maurice, this is Danielle.”
She smiled, removed her glove, and extended her hand. I gently took it into my own and to my surprise her hand, like mine, was cold.
“Pleased to meet you,” she said.
“Likewise,” I said. And no sooner had the words passed through my lips, a horn blared and a light flashed.
“Oh, thank God,” she said, turning back toward the conveyor belt. “Our luggage is here.”
She moved closer to the conveyor belt and Mama moved next to her. I hung back just behind them.
“Hope they made it,” I heard her say.
I saw a couple of bags dart through the chute and fall onto the conveyor belt and make their way past us.
“Got many bags?” I heard Mama ask.
“Just two,” she said. “A trunk and a small suit-case.”
I looked at the conveyor belt again. A couple of cardboard boxes passed. I watched them circle until a tall stranger wearing a large cowboy hat lifted them off and set them on the floor next to him. I looked at Danielle again. Her cheeks and nose were still red from the cold. I was still looking at her when Mama spoke again.
BOOK: It's All About The Moon When The Sun Ain't Shining
6.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Diesel (Aces MC Series Book 1) by Aimee-Louise Foster
Choice of Evil by Andrew Vachss
Magonia by Maria Dahvana Headley
The Lies of Fair Ladies by Jonathan Gash
Playing Well With Others by Lee Harrington, Mollena Williams
Pure (Book 1, Pure Series) by Mesick, Catherine