Taking The Heat (11 page)

SYDNEY

After living for a considerable amount of time with nothing, I now looked at all life offered me and truly appreciated everything, being careful not to take even small things for granted. I learned in my time of misfortune that a friendly voice or a smile can be as valuable as anything else life has ever had to offer me.

“If you don’t get another piece, Miss Sydney, I be likely to eat
all of it
,” Junior grinned as he looked down at the remaining pizza.

“You go right ahead Junior, I’m full,” I said as I pushed my chair away from the table slightly.

“Ever see you a pizza sandwich, Miss Sydney?” Junior asked.

I had an idea of what he planned, but I tilted my head slightly and narrowed my eyes, “No, I don’t guess so.”

He picked up a slice of pizza and laid it flat on the palm of his hand, “You takes you one like this, but he’s got to be
cheese up
.”

After removing another slice and holding it over the top of the first, he looked up and smiled, “And you lays you one down on top of it, but you got to go
cheese down
on the top slice.”

“Now,” he held the two pieces of pizza together, twisting the assembly back and forth, “you can eat it like a sandwich, and as long as you keep you a tight grip, nothin’ falls on the floor. It’s pizza, but it’s a sandwich.”

“That’s a good idea,’ I giggled.

Junior’s hands were like everything else, huge. His fingers were as large as hotdogs, and his hands the size of small saucers. The size of a slice of pizza at the local pizza place was huge, but dwarfed by the size of Junior’s hand. As he lifted the
pizza sandwich
to his mouth, he closed his eyes and moaned. After a few bites, he opened his eyes and lowered what little was left to his plate.

“You know the best thing about eatin’ pizza sandwiches, Miss Sydney?” he asked as he wiped pizza sauce from the corner of his mouth with his finger.

“What’s that, Junior?”

“You can eat a whole pie twice as fast. It gives you more time to do other things,” he grinned.

“You don’t like eating? Don’t you enjoy it?” I asked.

He picked up the makeshift sandwich, took a few more bites, and as he finished chewing, responded, “When I was a young un, I used to eat and eat and eat. Momma says I wouldn’t stop ‘till my jaw got tired. I loved me some food when I was a boy. But now, I just eats to stay alive, Miss Sydney. If I still liked to eat like when I was a boy, I’d be a might bit bigger than I am now.”

“I like to eat, I just don’t eat very much,” I grinned.

“You ain’t much bigger’n a minute, Miss Sydney. But most white folk don’t be quite as big as us black folks,” he chuckled.

I shook my head and laughed. Talking to Junior was always a joy, regardless of what the subject was. It seemed most of the time when we talked, we talked about food or work. Now that he had another job, I hoped we would expand our conversations a little and get to know each other better. After he finished his pizza sandwich, he wiped his hands and took a drink of tea.

“I’ll have to invite you over for some of my momma’s cookin’. You’d eat like a little pig if you got a taste of some good southern food. My momma come up from Alabama. Her momma and grandmomma taught her how to cook just like the southern folk cooks. Ain’t nothin’ she can’t cook, so she just cooks it all. You like macaroni and cheese, Miss Sydney?”

I grinned and nodded my head as I reached for my tea, “I suppose so. Yeah, I like macaroni and cheese.”

He rubbed his palms together and grinned, “Well, my momma bakes it with crumbs on top. If you’re lucky enough to get a corner piece, you can get some of that baked hard cheese; and whoooeeeee, that baked hard cheese is some good eatin’.”

“It sounds good,” I nodded.

He widened his eyes and shook his head from side-to-side, “Talkin’ about it sure nuff ain’t the same as having a helpin’. You know what a man ought to do, Miss Sydney?”

“What?” I responded.

“Make him a cookin’ pan what has eight corners instead of four. And eight cornered pan. Then everyone could have ‘em a corner piece. Cause if you ain’t eatin’ a corner piece, you ain’t really eatin’,” he said as he rubbed his hand against his stomach.

“Sure sounds like you enjoy your momma’s cooking,” I grinned.

“Sure nuff do. So, what’s your mommas specialty? What’s your momma’s best food, Miss Sydney? The one you always have a hankerin’ for?” he asked.

I knew at some point in time one of our conversations would have ended up heading in this direction. In time, they always do. The most difficult part for me was trying to be genuine while accepting all of the sympathy and sorrow when people expressed their condolences. I had learned in my short time on the earth that acting as if something was insignificant, in some respects, made it seem far less profound. Often I wished people would merely say
I’m sorry
instead of going on and on about my not having parents. After taking a shallow breath and exhaling I responded.

“Both of my parents passed away when I was really young. I never got to know them,” I sighed as I studied my fingernails.

“I don’t rightly know what to say Miss Sydney, other than I’m powerful sorry. What about your ‘stended family? You got you some ‘stended family, don’t ya?”

I looked up from my fingernails, “It’s okay. And what? My what family?” 

He stretched his arms wide and smiled, “Your ‘stended family. You’re aunties and uncles and all of them.”

“Oh, yeah. My
extended
family. I guess there’s a few out there, but I don’t know them. They didn’t want us when we were little, so my big brother and I grew up in foster homes. I think it’s crappy of them, so I haven’t tried to get to know them, even now,” I shrugged.

“Well, if’n you ain’t got you a family, you can just go on and act like my momma’s your momma. She likes her a big ‘stended family,” he grinned.

“It’s okay, Junior,” I said under my breath.

It’s always nice to know when someone is sincere. So many times, people say things and you never really know if they’re genuine or not in what they offer. Junior was sincere, and there was really no need to question him, his facial expressions confirmed it. As his eyes widened drastically, he reached for the last slice of pizza. Holding it in front of his mouth, he smiled and continued. 

“My little brothers and sisters ain’t even my momma’s babies. They’re my aunties. She went off to the big house for smokin’ that crack,” he paused and took a bite of pizza.

“So is my brother. He’s in prison,” I chuckled.

My brother being in prison wasn’t funny by any means, but the thought of all of it was, at least at this point. Junior’s aunt in prison for crack, and his mother raising her children was admirable. Sometimes it seemed I couldn’t catch a break, but regardless, I kept my chin up and was grateful for what life offered me.

“Prison makes me mad. For one man to lock another man up in a cage because he did something wrong. You know, when we was kids, my momma would slap our backside with a belt. That made us learn what to do and what
not
to do. She coulda locked us up in some cages, I suppose. But it shure nuff wasn’t necessary. I don’t think it’s necessary for a man to lock another man in one of em, less maybe he killed somebody. Your brother didn’t kill nobody, did he?”

I shook my head, “No, but they say he wanted to. A government agent asked him if he’d kill a member of…”

I hesitated and thought of how to word things. I wasn’t ashamed of my brother’s involvement in the motorcycle club, but I didn’t want Junior to associate Toad’s club with the actions or beliefs of my brother’s club. I decided to simply call it a gang.

“…say, kind of like a rival gang. So, after discussing it for a few years, one night in the bar after several beers, he said he’d kill a member of the rival bunch if they were around. Or something like that.”

He furrowed his brow and shook his head, “So the po-lice talked to him and fed him some beers till he said he would, then they put him in the big house just for
saying
it?”

I nodded my head, “Pretty much.”

“Well, they ain’t lookin’ to keep him for long, is they?” he asked.

The thought of it made me want to cry. What he got and what he deserved were two totally different things. I wasn’t one to complain, so I simply accepted it as what it was. I took a deep breath and exhaled. After a drink of tea, I shifted my gaze toward Junior and responded.

“They gave him life, Junior. He’s in a federal prison in Kentucky. He doesn’t ever get out.”

Junior poked the remaining portion of pizza into his mouth. After chewing it and taking a drink of tea, he looked down at his shoes for a moment and closed his eyes. At the end of a lengthy awkward silence, he looked up.

“I said me a prayer for your brother, and for you, Miss Sydney. Sometimes tryin’ to figure things out makes me want to just take off and scream real loud. Did I tell you ‘bout the screamin’ tree?”

I shook my head as I laughed, “No, you sure didn’t.”

“Well, I used to spend me some time out there when I was little. Now, I just goes out there once in a blue moon. She’s a big tree north of town, by the river. She’s old and mighty big and has branches reachin’ for the sky,” he hesitated and reached upward with both arms.

“One of her big bottom roots come up out of the ground and makes for a real nice chair. So, you can sit on that there root and scream all you want, and nobody hears ya, ‘cause it’s north of town. You go screamin’ in town and folks think you’s crazy, so it ain’t a good idea. But screamin’ makes me feel good sometimes, so I go’s to my tree. It makes me a pretty good thinkin’ tree too,” he grinned.

I wasn’t sure if I had ever screamed for nothing more than the sake of screaming. Something about it sounded fun. One day maybe I’d go to Junior’s screaming tree and let out a lifetime of frustrations and anger.

“I’d like to see it sometime. I probably could use a good scream,” I said.

“Well, as my momma always says,” he hesitated and stood from his seat.

“There’s no better time than right now. She says,
don’t talk about it, be about it
,” he said as he turned his palms upward.

“I don’t really have anything to scream about,” I said.

“You can always scream about what you’s happy about,” Junior shrugged.

“Well, in that case, let’s go,” I smiled.

Because I’m about as happy as I’ve ever been.

SYDNEY

The screaming tree proved to be therapeutic. My yelling about the good things seemed like so much fun, I decided to scream about the bad things as well. After a few short bursts about my imprisoned brother, my parent’s death, and my non-existent extended family, I was exhausted. After returning home I felt cleansed, relieved, and far less frustrated. Having a friend in general is always nice, but having one as genuine as Junior was a totally different type of blessing. For some reason, the majority of my friends since childhood had been male. I felt more comfortable with boys, and it never seemed I was in a competition with them for anything. With women, it was always a struggle for me. I always dismissed my reluctance to befriend women to lacking a father in my life and growing up with a brother as a best friend. Whatever the cause, I naturally migrated toward men for friendship and subconsciously avoided women.

After I sketched the final touches on the chalkboard, I leaned back and admired my work.

Not bad.

I stood, took a few steps back, and looked at the design for symmetry. Everything seemed pretty well placed. Even as a little girl, drawing and sketching had been an outlet for me. It seemed to provide a means of escaping reality back then, and now provided tremendous self-satisfaction. Although I hadn’t done it for years, I purchased an old wood framed window from a local antique store, painted the frame, and painted the glass with chalkboard paint. After it dried, I used colored chalk and sketched a design on the board. Now I could hang my first piece of art on the walls proudly, knowing it was created with my hands and my mind. I blinked my eyes and took another step backward.

Happiness

is a friend

who doesn’t judge

Each portion of script was encompassed in a banner, separated by various flowers and a leafy arrangement. The top banner was curved upward into the shape of a smile. It was perfect. I turned to walk to the utility room to get a screwdriver from the tools Toad had left, and was immediately startled by the doorbell. I hadn’t heard a motorcycle, and from what I understood, Toad was going to Austin. I glanced down at my chalk covered sweats, grinned, and wiped my hands on my tee shirt. I quietly tiptoed to the door and pulled it open.

A woman holding a large cardboard box stood on the porch. Dressed in a vibrant blue dress, blue hat, and smiling from ear to ear, she spoke, “You must be Sydney. I’m Junior’s momma, Shirley.”

I grinned and opened the door, “Come in.”

“Thank you, Baby. This darned weather can’t decide whether to rain or just drizzle. Now grab this box if you can, it’s killing my arms. I’ve got bad elbows from carrying all my babies around the house,” she said as she extended her arms.

I reached out and took the box from her hands. The top was covered with cloth, so I wasn’t able to see inside, but I assumed it was food of some sort. One easily identifiable smell was that of apple pie, one of my all-time favorites. As I moved aside, she stepped into the house and quickly took a look around the room.

She raised both hands to her mouth and screeched, “Oh Lord have mercy, you get robbed, Baby?”

“No, ma’am,” I chuckled, “I just moved in. Well, kind of.”

“Is this all of your belongings?” she asked as she motioned around the empty house.

I nodded my head, “Yes, ma’am, this is it. I’m grateful for what I
do
have, a roof over my head, and a bed to sleep in.” 

“Well bless your little heart. I do like your cute little table,” she smiled as she pointed to the table Toad had left.

“Thank you. It’s not mine, the landlord left it,” I sighed.

She nodded her head toward the table, “Now put that box down on that table before it stretches your little arms out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I grinned as I walked toward the table.

As I carefully placed the box on the table, she walked over and pulled a chair away from the table. After wiping the seat with her hand and inspecting her fingers for dust, she sat on the chair and grinned.

“Now let’s have a us a seat, shall we? Like I said when I come in the door, my name’s Shirley, but my friends will just call me Bee,” she smiled.

“And I’m Sydney. Nobody calls me anything but that,” I shrugged.

She smiled, removed the small towels from the box, folded them, and placed them on the table beside the box. One by one, she lifted the items from the box, placing them on the table carefully. As she did, she explained what they were.

“This is one of my apple pies. I won the spring contest down at the river with that exact pie. 1
st
place if I do say so myself. And this is sand hill plum jelly. Junior picked the plums, and I made it fresh last spring. And this here’s a jar of my pickled eggs. They’re good for a snack or to eat with a sandwich, but you need to be mighty careful, Sydney. They’ll make you pass gas,” she paused and held the jar in the air.

I nodded my head and grinned.

“This is a jar of dill pickles, and this is a jar of sweet pickles. I don’t mark the lids, but you can tell the difference because the dill pickles has a little red hot pepper inside, see it there?” she asked as she pointed to a very small red pepper in the side of the jar.

“Yes, ma’am, I see it,” I nodded.

She pulled a Tupperware container from the box and placed it beside the pie, “This is my macaroni and cheese casserole. Kids cut all the corners out of it as quick as I took it out of the oven, so I couldn’t get you a corner piece, but the middle’s just as good. Now, Baby, you have to listen to me…”

I nodded my head and smiled, “I’m listening.”

“Don’t you dare take a bite of this casserole if it’s cold. Promise me that,” she said.

“I promise,” I giggled.

“And when you heats this up, you can’t do it in one of them microwaves; it’ll ruin it. You’ve got to heat it in the
oven
at 350 degrees. Now be sure and pre-heat your oven, and about ten or twelve minutes is plenty. Now don’t dare heat it in my Tupperware, put it in a casserole dish or a metal cake pan. It’s the only way to get it back to right. Understand?” she asked.

I nodded my head eagerly, “Yes ma’am.”

“Oh Lordy, you don’t have you any dishes, do you?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. I have dishes and silverware. I’m just a little short on furniture,” I chuckled.

As she carefully placed each item back in the box, she began to speak, “Now Junior tells me your momma died when you was a baby. And your daddy too. I’m downright sorry that happened, Baby. I know I can’t ever replace your momma, but I can sure be here for you when you need me. A little girl needs to have her a momma to talk to. When you grow up, you’ll understand. Now how old are you, Baby? About eighteen?”

“No, ma’am, I’m not eighteen, that’s funny. I’m uhhm, I’m thirty. Well, I’ll be thirty on October 1
st
. And yes, my parents both passed when I was young.”

“Well, just because you’re a grown woman don’t mean you can’t use a little lovin’. Like I said, if you ever need me you just give me a call or come on by. My phone number is in the bottom of the box. I wrote it down with my recipe for the casserole. Now I’ve got to get out of this hard little chair. My hind end is a killin’ me,” she said as she stood from the chair.

I grinned and stood from my chair, “I appreciate all of the food, and just I love apple pie. From what Junior said, I’ll love it all. As soon as I’m finished with them, I’ll bring all your dishes back to you.”

“Whenever you’re done. Oh my, now did you make that? That’s cute,” she said as she pointed to the chalkboard leaning against the wall.

“Yes, ma’am, I just finished it,” I said as I tilted my head toward the wall.

“
Happiness is a friend who doesn’t judge
. Oh, Baby, that’s precious. Happiness is a friend who doesn’t judge, amen to that,” she said as she raised her hand to her mouth.

“I like it. I made it after Junior took me to his secret tree.”

“When he was a little boy, well now let me tell you, Junior was never
little
but when he was a
boy
, if I couldn’t find him I always knew where he’d be. Out at that darned tree sittin’ and thinkin’. Junior’s a thinker for sure. And Junior sure don’t judge. No, Baby, he sure don’t. I raised him different than that. I can tell you had good upbringing, you’re respectful and polite, and you don’t judge either. Cute little white girl bein’ friends with Junior. We don’t see that too much, especially in this small little town. Junior’s boss is a blessing too,” she said as she clasped her hands together.

“He saved me from the mess I was in, that’s for sure. He put me up in this house, gave me a job, and asked for nothing in return.”

“I love what that man has done for Junior, I just don’t like his name.
Toad
. Now you know a toad is the warted frog, the one that’ll put warts on your fingers if you touch him. You know that don’t ya?’ she asked.

I grinned and nodded my head even though I knew it wasn’t necessarily true, “It’s short for his last name.
Todelli
, I think.”

“Well, I knew it was something like that. But yes, he’s a good man. He’s proof you can’t judge. Townfolks call all those boys names; the ones on the motorbikes. Ain’t never been nothin’ but friendly to me. This little old town is like a step back in time. I guess it’s both good and bad. Now I better get to gettin’, I’ve got some errands to run,” she said as she turned toward the door.

“Thank you again,” I said as she turned around.

“Don’t even mention it, Baby, and you let me know what you think about the pie,” she said as I opened the door.

“I sure will. Bye, Bee,” I grinned as she stepped onto the porch.

She raised her hand and waved as she cautiously stepped off the porch. I watched as she walked out to the street and got into her car. After she pulled away, I closed the door and turned toward the table. The smell of apple pie filled the house. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, wishing I was at the old tree again.

To scream about the good things.