The Sweet by and By (17 page)

Bernice, whom to this point, I have not seen, is standing by the barbecue grill, alternating between clapping wildly and whistling with two fingers in her mouth. She is holding Mister Benny under one arm, squeezing the monkey doll’s head beyond recognition. She spots me and waves; I wave back and beckon her over. I have no idea where Lorraine is, but that’s all right. I know she probably wants to talk to somebody besides me, somebody young who watches the same TV shows and goes shopping for shoes for their children on the week- ends, someone who goes out to eat fish every Friday night. I don’t expect anything of her. I know she cares about me. That ought to be enough for a person.

Ada is talking to two volunteer firemen who have walked over to congratulate her on her solo. I guess they wanted to hear something patriotic too, and she’s the closest anybody could come to that around here. Independence Day doesn’t ring too many bells for most of us.

Bernice is holding Mister Benny on her shoulders with his legs wrapped around her neck, like holding a small child to watch a parade. Unfortunately, there is no parade. She takes Mister Benny down and holds one of his worn monkey paws outstretched as she begins to walk from chair to chair, greeting people. Most everybody stops eating and says hello, pretending to have never met Mister Benny before, but a few, like Josephus Parker, whom I know because he owned the drug-

store near me for close to twenty-five years, don’t have any patience for Bernice. “Don’t bring that doll around here, woman, I don’t have any use for your foolishness!” he yells at the top of his lungs. Ada Ev- erett stops talking to the firemen and whispers something to Lorraine. Josephus is not a happy man, but barking at Bernice is not gentle- manly, which in his day, would have meant something to him. Now he’s given up on form altogether, which makes me wonder if this is what was underneath all the time. I have seen a lot of people suffer- ing worse melancholy who can put on a face for someone who needs to see that face, for the sake of comfort or recognition, or to feel for a few minutes like we’re all in this together and have something in common.

The truth is we don’t have much in common except the fact that none of us is here by choice. I personally don’t resent that anymore, except on bad days from time to time. On those days, it can be some- thing as simple as seeing the same walls over and over, not remember- ing much about my own walls at home, that makes me mad.

“Look here at what I’ve got. I know you’re gon be satisfied with this here.” Lorraine is bending over me, holding out a huge bowl of banana pudding. She has scraped off most of the meringue and piled some extra vanilla wafer crust on top, exactly the way I love it.

“Bless your heart.” I put the bowl in my lap because it’s too heavy to hold with one hand while taking a plastic spoon in the other. “I know it’s not going to be as good as your mama’s though.”

Bernice strolls over with Mister Benny on one arm and the other waving out to the side like she’s in a beauty contest. I’ve become used to such changes of manner. She’s gazing around the landscape like she’s on the Biltmore Estate. “Hello there,” she twitters, “we are so glad you could come today. Welcome.” She obviously thinks this is her party, or maybe Mister Benny’s.

“My name is Bernice Alton Stokes, and this is Mister Benny Stokes.

I’m thrilled he could join me today.”

“Yes honey, we’ve met on several occasions. Always a pleasure.” I shake the paw that is offered me. She does a sort of f lip with the hem of her dress, like she might be wearing a ball gown and is off to the next person. Josephus Parker has a mouthful of stringy coleslaw that he is chewing slowly to a near-liquid state. Maybe he shouldn’t be eating that, it’s hard on your stomach, I don’t know, it’s none of my business. Josephus gets up and precariously approaches the big metal cooker, made out of an old oil drum. He’s going back for seconds, and he gets around just fine without a cane or anybody’s help. The nurse on his hall is a pretty Filipino woman named Kiri or maybe Kari—it’s a funny name, it sounds like an exotic bird when you say it out loud. Whenever she tries to help him walk, he shoos her off angrily. More power to him I reckon. Bernice has made her way around the seated crowd and over to the cooker. She has welcomed almost everyone in the spirit of a true hostess at a party that unfortunately has absolutely nothing to do with her.

“Hello there, how’re y’all?” She sticks out Mister Benny’s paw to Josephus Parker, but he’s serving his plate at the condiment table and doesn’t look up. Bernice starts to speak again. “I told you once,” Jo- sephus glares at her, eyes wide. “And I’m not going to tell you again, you crazy thing.” He snatches Mister Benny and raises him over his head as best he can, like he’s going to haul off and throw him. Bernice is stone silent, her mouth is open but nothing comes out. I am watch- ing this scene, and it seems like things are moving slowly enough that I can stop them, there’s space in between each action, each word. But I’m paralyzed. Mister Benny lands square in the barbecue. He’s on fire, lying on top of the grill with sizzling beef patties all around him. Somebody yells for Ada Everett, I can’t tell who. Kiri or Kari is trying to reach down into the deep cooker, but it’s too hot and she can’t find any tongs, primarily because one of the volunteer firemen is clacking them like a crab claw while talking away to Ada, presumably praising

her vocal expertise. Her expression alters dramatically when she sees the commotion by the cooker.

“Bernice, leave him alone!” I shout when I see her reach toward the barbecue. I know she hasn’t got enough sense not to stick her hand in there. I want to get up and slap Josephus Parker in the face, and if I could, I would. Lorraine grabs Bernice’s arm and extinguishes Mister Benny with a spatula before lifting him out and handing him off to Kari. He is black and smoldering.

“We’ll clean him up, darlin,” Lorraine says, “he’ll be all right.” Lorraine is not a sentimental woman, but she can see that Bernice is on the edge of a cliff and is trying to avoid what might happen if she jumps.

“That’s not him, take it away from me. That’s not him,” she screams at Kari. “He’s burning. Reach in there and pull him out. Reach down in there!” Ada Everett is standing near her now, the crowd is silent at the sound of Bernice’s cry.

“Bernice, that’s enough,” Ada says, putting a hand on her shoulder from behind.

Bernice snaps her head around, she has terror in her eyes. “Reach in there! You!”

“We have Mister Benny out, he’s right here, Kari will clean him up.” Ada is embarrassed in front of the firemen, who are stunned. One leans over to me and says, “They ought not to have crazy people in here with you all. There are places for them these days that are good, real good.”

Bernice is struggling in Lorraine’s strong arms. “Nobody knows him but me. Stop it. Nobody knows him. I know him. Get him out.” “Kari, go wash him off,” Ada says. “And call Dr. Jordan, you’ll have

to have him paged. Get something to calm her down. Lorraine, you walk her back to her room if she’ll go.”

“She’ll go with me.” I’m startled how loud my voice sounds. “Let

her come with me. Bernice, come on with me, we’ll take care of it. You know how much Lorraine loves Mister Benny and she’s not going to let anything happen to him. Now come on here, let’s go rest. I need to rest, you come and help me get settled in like you do, hear?”

“Reach down in there and get him. Please, will you please?” Ber- nice is crying, softly now, more of a whimper. “Is he in there? He’s little; he can’t get out. Reach in there and get him out.”

I can’t do anything to help her. She’s walking with me, but I’m not really doing anything. I wish I could look inside her and save her from everything that hurts her, the pain of a dead son, the mourning which had found its way into a vessel that could, for a time, seem to hold it. I want to scoop up her, and Mister Benny, and put them in my car and drive to Nags Head. That’s what I want, to see the ocean again, and not look back. Not ever lay eyes on anybody here again. Lorraine can come too. She’s scared of water, but I want her with me. And we’ll call Ann once we get down there, at a fish camp eating some fried f lounder with tartar sauce on it, and we’ll tell her we’re fine, and not to bother to come after us. And the waitress will come over and ask us if we want some more tea, and we’ll say, “Yes, we sure would. What kind of pie do y’all have today?” Then she’ll go and have a look at what’s left. I know they’ll have old-timey chocolate with meringue on top because they always do, and we’ll sit there together as long as we want to, laughing and eating our chocolate pie.

ch a p t e r f i f t een

Rhonda

I

might have on too much makeup, I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard to cover up something there ain’t no use hiding. I used to have some better fitting jeans too. I know how to go out at night, but in the daytime, I haven’t had a lot of prac- tice in a while. There’s a million cars already here, I’m probably not gonna know but a handful of these people. I should have stayed home and taken my day off like most people and watched TV, gone to Kmart, maybe planted some petunias in the yard to

give it some color.

Connie Donnell spots me as soon as I get out of the car and waves with both arms like she’s signaling an airplane in for a landing. “Hey girl, we been waiting for you! Come on in!” I think it’s strange she said “in” cause everybody’s standing out in her yard, she couldn’t fit all these people into her trailer if she wanted to. Connie glances behind her to a group of guys in a circle, looking serious like they might be solving the prob- lems of the world with Budweiser and Marlboros. It’s also strange she said, “we,” cause she’s standing next to a couple kissing each other that I’ve never seen before.

She looks over her shoulder again and hollers in a high voice that could curl hair, “Hey Mike, why don’t you go get Rhonda a beer?”

A tall guy with thick blond hair and a goatee turns. “Am I the only one’s got hands around here?”

“Yeah and I thought you had a few manners to go along with em but I guess I was wrong.”

I interrupt. “I can wait on myself Connie. I been doin it a long time.”

“I know that.” She smiles and lowers her voice. “That’s Mike, Rhonda.
The
Mike I told you about?”

My goal in coming to a pig pickin was to eat some good food and

get a little tipsy. I shoulda known Connie would take it on herself to make things more complicated. She knew my luck in men lately and also that I was near giving up. So many assholes, too little time. I’ve been on a lot of dates, but only because I thought I ought to. Mike approaches with two dripping longnecks and touches one, icy cold, to the back of Connie’s neck. “Shit!” she screams. “I’m gonna kill you!”

Mike jumps back, faking being scared, and bows from the waist, arms stretched out holding the bottles. “A brew for Your Highness. Or Highnesses, I oughta say.” He winks.

“Now that’s more like it.” Connie recovers. “Mike, this is my friend Rhonda. We both used to do hair at Evelyn’s before I saw the light. Rhonda still works down there.” Connie drives a UPS truck now and preaches the glories of it like she was born again. I know she makes good money. She says she’s saving up to haul off that trailer and build her a house.

“I guess that means I did not see the light, which would not be the first time, I promise you.” I put out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Mike.” His hand is soft like a woman’s, not what I expected. I look at the ground. God, I hate these jeans I’ve got on.

Connie pats me on the shoulder and steps away from us. “I’m gonna let y’all get acquainted a little bit. I got a bunch of slaw and stuff in the house that I need to put out. We’re fixin to eat soon.” She

breaks into a little trot towards the porch. She’s running funny like she might have to pee.

Mike crosses his arms and stands with his legs spread apart like he’s planting himself to keep from getting blown away by a tornado. “So,” he says, “you been doin hair for a long time?”

“Only thing I’ve ever done. You could say it’s my callin.” I hear the sarcastic edge in my voice.

“Well I think it
is
a callin. Look around here and you’ll see a few heads that look like they could use a come-to-Jesus moment.”

“Too many permanents,” I point out. “There’s no goin back.” “Sorta like plastic surgery. The more you do, the more you need

to do.”

“What do you know about plastic surgery?”

“Not a damn thing. I don’t know what I’m talkin about.”

“I like a man who stands by what he says.” I catch myself looking into his face. I like this guy, but I’ll never let on to Connie that she was right in telling me I would. It’s a nice open face. I don’t love that goatee cause it seems like everybody’s got one, but I like his face, es- pecially his nose. It’s hard to find a nose that is exactly the right size. I always have the feeling that it was the last thing God added to the face and then reached down into a grab bag and whatever came out got plopped on underneath the eyes whether it looks worth a damn or not. Some of em come out all right like Brad Pitt’s, but most of em are off to begin with and get worse the older you get.

Connie yells from the porch. It’s that shrieking voice again; she oughta work on that or either put it to use calling hogs. “Let’s eat y’all! Come and get it ’fore I throw it out!” Somebody turns up the music; I guess the time for polite talk is over and now it’s time to get rowdy before the sun goes down. Last time she threw a pig pickin and it lasted into the night, somebody called the police from down the street and said they could hear Alan Jackson like he was in their living room.

Mike looks at the long table on the other side of the yard, now loaded up with huge platters of barbecue, fried chicken, corn on the cob, and every kind of cake you might want. I wonder if this is the end of our conversation.

“Well it was nice meetin you, Mike,” I say, so I can be the one to finish first.

“You not gonna eat?” Mike asks.

“Yeah I am, but I thought you might want to eat with your friends.”

“I don’t know none of those guys. I know Connie from work, that’s all.”