Dear Carolina (29 page)

THE SAME PERSON

When you get to thinking 'bout it good, the only real tough part in canning is getting all the mess ready. Shuckin' the corn, stringin' the beans, snappin' them little peas right outta the pod. But me, I was born to work with my hands just like my daddy.

I knew it good as I know it now the day I got them college applications. It weren't that I wanted to go to school so that I could do something different. I knew right good that I wanted to spend my days in my kitchen filling up jars with love all the time I was writing them essays and calling Mrs. Petty, the high school guidance counselor, for transcripts. Graham, he said that maybe if I was thinking 'bout going to college I should go to culinary school, seeing as how I knew that cooking was what I wanted. But I already knew how to cook good as I knew how to breathe. It was a different kind of knowledge I was getting after.

Mrs. Petty, she'd tried getting me to go to that early college while I were still in high school. And I guess you could say I got to
wishing I had done it. But my daddy, he was dyin'. And Marlene, she and me, we was gonna go to cosmetology school after we graduated. Turns out, we stunk worse than sauerkraut at cosmetology. We couldn't near do our own fingernails. So Marlene, she got to waitressing down at Andy's, and me, I was working at the garage.

Oh my Lord, Marlene was gonna be right hot I was going off to college and leavin' her. But I didn't tell no one save Buddy that I was thinking of applying. But even then, I weren't near believin' something like that could happen to a girl like me. My family, we was mechanics, farmers, cooks. Not learners.

“Until now,” Mrs. Petty said. “You were always so bright, Jodi, and I had such high hopes for you.” She slid a schedule with dates for the SAT listed on it real perky like across the shiny, fake wood desk with chips all on the corners and asked, “What do you think you might like to do?”

I shrugged. “Well, I was thinkin' I might like to major in business long as I still get to take other classes like English and science too.”

Mrs. Petty nodded and said, “Are you going to want to live on campus?”

I hadn't thought about it, but it weren't a hard decision. I was gonna be home for you. Plus, I couldn't stomach the thoughts of sharing some pink polka-dot room with a sorority girl who covered the sink with curling irons and makeup.

“I've got a job I like, and my schedule's right flexible. I'd really like to do both.”

Mrs. Petty, she was rustling around in the laminate credenza behind her desk when she turned and handed me a bright purple pamphlet like it were some sorta medal. I knew what that meant.

“ECU is probably your best bet because you can take most of your classes online, and the commute is only a half hour when you need to go in person.”

She turned again, pushin' them half glasses down her nose, her blond curls getting all up in her eyes. I looked around the room. It was dingier than ever. The dark green chair fabric was all threadbare, and the college course catalogs, they looked even dustier. Mrs. Petty's head popped back up.

“Shew.” She got to wiping her forehead, slid a pamphlet across the desk, and said, “Plus, with your grades, assuming you do okay on the SAT, we can probably get you some scholarships.”

“Scholarships,” I repeated.

Now it don't make one lick a' sense. But me, a girl who spent her whole damn life figuring how she's gonna have enough left over to eat, I hadn't given one thought to how I was gonna pay for college. That would be right near like Khaki designing somebody's house and forgetting to pick the furniture. I was getting up, realizin' college weren't something poor girls got to do. Just rich folks.

But Mrs. Petty, she was just jabbering on, “Yeah, between the scholarships and financial aid, if you have some place to live we could probably get you through ECU on a shoestring.”

Even I got a shoestring. “All right, then. Go, Pirates!”

I thanked Mrs. Petty even though them flickering fluorescent lights had give me some sorta bad headache.

She called, “Don't forget to fill out those financial aid forms and bring them back to me!”

I weren't forgetting.

“I thought you had dreams a' going off to college and walking the campus and professors with bow ties,” Buddy said, when we was just sitting there on a real slow, drizzly day at the Raleigh market. “You shouldn't just give all that up if it's what you really want.”

I shrugged. I didn't do it often, but, just this once, I let myself look deep in his eyes, my stomach all flipping around and a wreck.

“I ain't gonna do it for real,” I said. “I ain't the kind of girl that goes to college.” I looked up at him again, and it was like my mouth just couldn't help itself. I had to say it. “Sometimes dreams change.”

A momma with a baby perched right up on her hip was asking me if my pickles were fermented. Khaki, she told me people was all worried about their bacteria levels. Turns out, she was right.

After the lady paid, like he'd been thinking on it the whole time, Buddy said, “I'm real glad you told me.” He paused. “Sometimes you cain't make a dream come true all by yourself.”

Some people, they see picking vegetables from the garden as a chore. They get to complaining 'bout bending over and sore backs and dirty fingernails. They don't like the squattin' or kneelin' or diggin'. But me, I ain't like that one bit. Seeing something I planted months earlier grow is a miracle—don't matter how many times I done it. I get down there in the dirt, planting them seeds, and even I cain't believe something delicious is gonna come from 'em. But them little seeds, they sprout every dern time. And me, that's when I know God's up there working it all out for me.

My little garden, that's where I got to feeling right normal again after my trip to Palm Beach. And it's where I got to thinking hard 'bout my college dreams. I was real glad to get back to cooking and canning—and, you caught me, to Buddy. But the thought a' having to see my momma, it was like a rain cloud over the outdoor wedding I could just see me and Buddy having.

Khaki and Graham, they asked me to housesit, which were right funny seeing as how I hadn't left their house for weeks. I pulled down that long, tree-lined driveway, and I could just make out a truck at the end. My fingers and toes got all tingly and numb like.
Please be Buddy, please be Buddy.

When I got closer I could make out that the truck was much older than Buddy's—and a whole hell of a lot dirtier. Buddy, he was right particular 'bout keeping his things clean and orderly. He were real appreciative of everything he had, and he kept it real nice.

But then I figured it. And my heart screeched to a stop like a front tire trying to miss a baby bunny. All that stringy gray hair that was way too long for her age—it were my momma's. It took damn near all I had in me not to turn around, back out of the driveway, and keep on drivin'. But my momma, she was waving at me like a kid picking up his daddy at the airport. That was the thing about my momma. When she got clean, she just expected all us to love her like nothing happened.

She got to running, hollering, “Oh, it's my baby girl! Oh, you're so gorgeous!”

“Hey, Momma,” I said real quiet. If her hug was neon pink, mine weren't nothing more than taupe.

“I's looking for Graham,” she said. “But this here's an even better surprise.”

“I'm just grabbin' the mail.” I said it real casual, not wanting her to know I was living here. Me and my momma, we wouldn't never have dreamed of even walking in a place like this. “Graham, he won't be back for a few weeks. You can come on back then.”

You didn't have to be real smart to figure it. I was as sure Momma was gonna ask Graham for money as I was that putting up lettuce don't work no way you do it. And she was just standing there, looking like it weren't nothing. This weren't her first visit.

She was waiting, them huge, nothing-stylish-about-'em glasses over the makeup all piled on her face. She was still wearing them faded-out old blue jeans with the up-high waist that made her look like she got a big poochy tummy, even though she weren't
ninety pounds. I knew right well they was from a Goodwill rack. And I felt sad for her. Me, I may've been wandering around in Khaki's fancy hand-me-down coat and living in this big ole house and making me a living. But me and my momma, we was the same person way deep down inside. I got to choking on the fear that I would go back to that life, that being like my momma was something I couldn't escape. I had to get her outta here.

“So, I been dying to see you ever since we talked.” She swallowed real loud. “Let me see your place.”

“Momma, this ain't the best time.” My voice was real rushed. And I was madder than hell. This is what she does. She ain't nowhere to be found for months and then she just shows up expecting me to forget whatever I got going on. She stole my childhood, ain't never helped me none, and she was just standin' there like we was best friends.

But then she got to lookin' sad, and, wouldn't you know it? I was the one that felt sorry. And I reckoned that she cain't help who she is when she's drinking. She's fighting real hard against that drink just like me.

Them tears got all pooled up in her eyes.

She'd got me again. “Well, maybe we can visit for a minute. But then I got to get back to work.” I pointed down the gravel path toward the trailer, feeling that sick on my stomach that Ricky might be waiting for me.

“So what you been up to?” I asked Momma.

She shrugged. “Well, you know, I'm just trying to get back on my feet, trying to make ends meet off of disability, keep my car payment made, keep the trailer payment made, you know.”

She was fishing, but I weren't bitin'. I had just got a few emergency dollars in the bank, and I weren't giving them up for nobody.

“Gosh, Momma. Maybe you should get a job.”

I didn't look at her, but you just know she was real shocked by me mentioning something so crazy.

“You still down at the garage?” she said.

“No. I'm runnin' markets for Graham and Khaki, and I've started me my own canning business on the side.”

She got all smiley and happy. “Maybe I could help you with that! I don't need much, just a little to help me get through the month. And, I mean, it's gotta be cash so I don't lose my check. You understand what I'm sayin'.”

Lord knows, even sober, I could never, ever trust my momma. So I was trying to change the subject when we got to the door. But I didn't need to, 'cause Momma did.

“This sure is fancy.”

Momma was looking around, real impressed by all the designer stuff Khaki'd done in my trailer. If I had showed her where I was really living she probably woulda dropped her dentures. I always told her you couldn't drink on a empty stomach, especially when you was smoking all the time. But you cain't tell her nothin'. It pure ate them teeth up.