Upside Down in the Middle of Nowhere (2 page)

Once, I tried counting folks sitting or standing out front of houses, but I lost track and had to start over two times. Memaw said most of them were loafers, and they needed to get off their rear ends and make themselves useful. That's when Daddy reminded her that we needed to mind our own business, and leave the loafers to their loafin'.

The week I started the fourth grade, I took to counting all the pink houses. Light pink, dark pink, it didn't make no difference, so long as there was some kind of pink to its color I went on and counted it. I'd counted nine pink-colored houses when we turned the last corner before the stop where we got let off. I was used to seeing window fans shoved up in windows—anybody with good sense had one. We had three real nice ones ourselves. Well, except for the one in Memaw's room that made a chirping bird sound every time she turned it on. But I was
not
expecting to see the new, clunky metal box sticking out of the side window on Danisha's mama's boyfriend's house.

She seen it too, and went to hollerin' and singing in the aisle, “We got us some air, we got us some air. . . .” the whole time swinging her big butt, doing some kind of happy dance.

All week long she took to saying stupid things like, “Well, I guess I best be gettin' back to my
air-conditionin',”
or, “It's sooo hot, y'all wanna come sit awhile in my
air-conditionin'?”
Stuck-up Danisha and her lame air conditioner got on my last nerve.

After letting out kids here and there across the Lower Ninth Ward, Mr. Frank let us off in front of the tire shop where my Uncle T-Bone
worked part-time. From there, it was just a short walk to get home. Eight kids got off at our stop: the Boman kids, Danisha and Bugger, and me and Sealy. Danisha and Bugger got off because their mama's boyfriend, Mr. Charlie, worked at the shop too. I don't know why they liked going in that nasty place. It reeked of gasoline, motor oil, cigarettes, and rotten ol' men. The only good thing about that shop was Mr. Jasper Junior Sr. and the sound of his saxophone pouring out into the air. We could hear the sweet sound of his horn playing clear down by our house every day of the week except Sunday, when the shop was closed up and Mr. Junior Sr. was at church making his music for Jesus instead of for the rest of us.

“Y'all have a good weekend,” Mr. Frank said, and pulled the bus door open. “Don't forget to watch the five o'clock news, now.”

Sealy was on the step in front of me. She stopped so fast I almost plowed right into the back of her. “Why do we need to watch the news, Mr. Frank?”

He took a second to chew on the toothpick sitting between the couple of teeth he had left, then he pulled the dirty ball cap off and rubbed his bald head. Staring out the bus windshield, he said, “There's a storm brewin'—a big one—out there in the Gulf.” He let out a whoosh of stale old-man air. “Reminds me of Betsy.”

“Who's Betsy?” I asked.

Mr. Frank put his cap back on his head and looked me in the eye. He plucked the toothpick from his mouth. He squinted up his already wrinkly eyes and said all serious, “Betsy was the storm that sucked the life outta me. She took away everyone I ever loved.”

Sealy gasped. “That's so terrible, Mr. Frank.”

“Yes it is, child,” he sighed. “All right, then,” and just like that, he turned and looked straight out the bug-spattered windshield. “Y'all have a good weekend. Tell your daddy an' them I said hey.”

I got a whiff of something that smelled ripe as rotten gumbo, and I knew right off them Boman kids had to be coming up behind me. Scared that the smell was contagious and could possibly stick to my clothes and skin forever, I gave Sealy a nudge.

Once we were off the bus, Danisha and Bugger went on into the tire shop, the oniony Boman kids took off running to Lord knows where, and me and my sister crossed over the road to walk home.

Sealy pulled out one of her books and started reading.

“How can you read an' walk at the same time?”

She shrugged, never taking her eyes off her book. “I guess it's because my feet know the way home.”

“Yeah, but ain't you worried about trippin' over somethin'?” I almost wished she would trip, just to prove my point.

She stopped and looked at me over the top of her book. She rolled her eyes real big and took a slow, deep breath. “I can walk and read at the same time, but I sure can't talk and read at the same time.” For a split second she reminded me of Mama, with that soft, sweet,
I-feel-sorry-for-ya-face, 'cause-you're-so-cute-and-young-and-ain't-smartenough-to-know-yet
look. She gave me a little sympathy smile, then
went to reading and walking again. I was left there, just staring after her with my mouth hanging open.

While Sealy walked on ahead of me, I let my eyes wander up to the sunshiny sky. I couldn't help but notice that there wasn't one tiny cloud up there. Mr. Frank was a nice man and all, but I got to thinking that he must be getting really old—maybe even too old to drive a bus. There wasn't no storm coming, even I could tell that. It was a perfect day. And it was Friday.
And
it was my birthday weekend. I smiled to myself and hollered, “Wait up, Sealy!”

“Mama Jean, turn off that TV and come sit for supper,” Mama called for Memaw from the kitchen. Memaw had been glued to the nothing-but-weather television station and barely even looked up to say hey when we got home. The year before, she was so fixed on not missing a single episode of that genius man on
Jeopardy!
that she straight-up broke one of Mama's biggest suppertime rules and took to eating her meals right from the comfort of her TV-watching chair.

Memaw clicked off the television and shuffled on over to the table, mumbling under her breath about needing the good Lord to do something. “I sure don't like the looks of that storm,” Memaw said to no one in particular. She sucked in her belly so she could scoot past the twins' high chairs lined up on her side of the table.

It didn't make no difference to Mama what else might be going on: If there was eating to be done, she wanted us sitting at her table. Mama loved that oversized, scuffed-up table, especially when the eight of us were taking up space around it.

“Well,” Mama said, “I don't think that storm is anything we need to fuss about at the supper table, Mama Jean.” She scooched her chair up to the table and went straight to fixin' plates for all us kids.

Baked macaroni and cheese, pan-fried pork chops, collard greens, Memaw's sugar-topped cornbread, and a big ol' pitcher of iced-down sweet tea. Mama had outdone herself again. We were all sitting around the big table Daddy had made out of the old high school gym floor, eating and talking like always. With the high chairs pushed up to the table and the rest of us all gathered around in our mismatched chairs, it was all shoulders and elbows. There wasn't even room for a night crawler to shimmy through.

I was fixin' to tear into my second pork chop when I remembered an interesting fact I'd learned at school.

“Daddy, ya know what my teacher told us today?”

“Armani, don't talk with your mouth full,” Mama said without even looking up. She kept right on cutting up meat and tossing it onto the table in front of Khayla and Kheelin. They didn't use the high chair trays no more, not since springtime when they made three.

“What'd your teacher tell you?” Daddy asked.

I swallowed and sat up a little straighter in my chair. “Well, she said that yesterday, somewhere in Idaho, a cow gave birth to a chicken.”

Georgie, my older—
not
smarter—brother, spit a wad of half-chewed chop across the table. He put his fist up to his mouth and started cracking up. He threw hisself back in his chair so hard, he just about fell over backward. “Oh, my gawd! You're so stupid, Armani!” The boy was laughing so out of control, tears were streaming down his ugly face.

“I ain't stupid!” I yelled.
“You're
stupid!” Heat filled my cheeks. My head throbbed. I slumped into my chair wishing I was an only
child so I didn't have to be in the same room with thickheaded people like Georgie.

“That's enough, Georgie,” Daddy said, trying to stifle his own laugh.

Memaw and Mama chuckled and shook their heads. My whole face was on fire.

“I'm sorry, Daddy,” Georgie said, shaking his head back and forth, wiping tears and holding back more laughs. “But that's the dumbest thing I ever heard. A cow having a baby chicken! What'd they call it, Armani—a cow-icken?” Everyone at the table was laughing—except Sealy. “Or, wait, wait, I got it . . . how 'bout a chick-ow!”

“Chick-ow! Chick-ow!” Khayla and Kheelin sang, moving their shoulders up and down. They were banging away on the tabletop doing some kind of chicken high chair dance, singing the ridiculous word. My whole family was acting like fools.

“Why are y'all smilin' an' lookin' so crazy?” I whined.

“Is that true, Armani?” Sealy asked with big puppy eyes. She was interested in what I had to say.

“Yes, Sealy, it
is
true. My teacher even said it was on the news.”

“Lord, have mercy,” Memaw said.

“Then your teacher's a dummy,” Georgie said, shoving a pile of collard greens in his mouth.

“Mr. Curtis, I think that will do,” Mama said to Daddy. But her head nodded at Georgie.

“Shut up, Georgie! You think you know everything!” I hollered.

Daddy wasn't laughing no more.

“Well, I know more than you do,” Georgie mumbled under his breath, still feeding his face.

“Yeah, right, that's why you barely made it to the sixth grade,” I said, putting sass behind my words and a slide to my head.

Daddy stood up. I can't speak for Georgie, but I'm smart enough to know that when Daddy goes and stands up like that, it's best if I just shut up altogether.

“Your mama's right. That's enough,” Daddy said. “Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” we fussed at the same time.

Daddy sat back down. Before he went to eating he turned to Georgie. “I don't ever want to hear you speak disrespectful toward a teacher again. I know Armani's teacher and she's a good woman.”

“A good woman with a vivid imagination,” Memaw said into her napkin. Mama bit down on her bottom lip, shaking her head at Memaw.

I seen my opening and took it. “You need to speak respectful to your sister too.”

“Oh, Lord,” Memaw coughed. “Here we go.”

“In your dreams,” Georgie said. His voice sounded like a whiny little girl's.

Sealy leaned in so close to me I could see food stuck in her back teeth. “I can't wait to get to fourth grade,” she happy-whispered. “Y'all learn so many interesting things.”

After supper Daddy handed out chores. Georgie had to cut the grass, and I had to clean up the kitchen. I didn't care. I'd rather clean ten kitchens than push that rickety ol' contraption across the yard.
The blades on that ancient thing were so dull, it took going back and forth over the same spot at least twenty times before the grass looked even close to cut.