Jimmy (37 page)

“I don't think you should bring this up with Jimmy,” Grandma said. “It's not right to put him on the spot.”

“It's okay,” Jimmy said. “I told everyone that I wanted to stay in Piney Grove with Mama, Daddy, Grandpa, and Buster.”

“Don't ask him anything else about it,” Grandma said. “I'm sure he's been through enough. Let's be thankful everything is going to stay the way it is.”

Jimmy and Grandpa went into the backyard. By the time they reached the shed, the heat caused Grandpa to wipe the sweat from his forehead with the red bandanna he kept in his back pocket. Sitting on the single step in front of the shed, Jimmy glanced up at the power pole. The white marks striped the pole like a giant black-and-white candy cane.

“Is today the day?” Grandpa asked.

Jimmy strapped on the climbing hooks without assistance.

“I don't know, Grandpa. I've been thinking about it all morning.”

“What were you thinking?”

“Inside my head, I saw myself touch the top of the pole and feel a cool breeze.”

“If that happens, send it down to me. What time will your daddy get here?”

“He was reading the paper and drinking a cup of coffee when I left.”

“I hope he doesn't give up on us because of the heat.”

Grandma opened the back door.

“Lee is on the phone!”

“Wait here while I talk to your daddy. Don't try to climb that pole on your own.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jimmy called Buster, and the dog came running. Grandpa kept a can of old tennis balls in the shed. Jimmy threw all three balls at once and waited while Buster retrieved them as fast as he could.

Grandpa returned.

“Your daddy can't come, but he said for us to go ahead without him.”

“Are you sure?” Jimmy asked.

“Yes.”

“Did he ask Mama about it?”

“She's at the grocery store.”

They approached the pole. Grandpa grabbed the safety rope and attached it to Jimmy's utility belt. On two occasions the safety device had proved its worth. Neither time resulted in more than a slight scrape.

Jimmy began to climb. He passed the now fading marks of his early progress. He continued to the midpoint he'd reached after several months of climbing. He slowed as he approached three-quarters of the pole's height and looked down. Grandpa had shrunk in size. Buster looked smaller too.

“How are you?” Grandpa yelled.

Jimmy put his gloved hands against the black surface of the pole.

“I feel strong.”

“Then keep going!”

Five more digs into the wood brought Jimmy to his previous best. From this spot he could see the sights he'd first observed during his days resting in Grandpa's arms. The top of the pole was in sight. Jimmy adjusted the safety belt and leaned closer to the pole so he could climb monkey style. He looked up after four more digs, but the top of the pole seemed as far away as before. Sweat streamed down the back of his neck, and his shirt stuck to his chest and back. He wanted to rub his eyes but couldn't because a piece of creosote on his glove might get in his eye and sting. He reached to the side and felt the can of paint in his utility belt. He looked down at Grandpa. The old man stood still, holding the safety rope.

“Are you going to stop?” Grandpa called out.

Jimmy left the paint in its place, blinked the sweat from his eyes, and kept climbing. Twice more he moved the safety belt upward. Staring at the pole in front of him, he dug in and raised himself higher. He leaned forward and slipped up the safety belt. Leaning back, he managed to rub his eyes on his shirt sleeve. He looked up.

Just above his head was the top of the pole.

He strained to reach up and touch it. When he did, he lost tension on the safety belt, and his left hook came loose.

“Ride it!” Grandpa shouted.

Jimmy knew what he meant. They'd rehearsed this many times two feet above the ground in case it became necessary to do it at forty feet in the air. He rode the momentum of the belt to the right and then let it take him back to the left. Waiting a split second longer than instinct urged him to, he reached the correct distance, solidly planted his left hook in the pole, and leaned back against the belt. He stopped swinging and looked down.

“How was that?” he asked.

Grandpa gave him thumbs up. “I'm very proud of you. That's very good. Come on down.”

“No, sir.”

Grandpa didn't answer for a second, then called out, “Four more digs! Keep tension on the belt!”

Jimmy stepped down a few inches, regained the proper form, and slowly went up the final four digs. His head cleared the top of the pole. He leaned back against the belt and put his hand on top of the pole.

Closing his eyes, he felt a cool breeze.

When he looked down, Grandpa was dancing around the pole, whooping and yelling. Buster had joined the old man and barked and barked and barked.

An explorer reaching the top of a mountain knows it is a moment to savor. Jimmy didn't know anything about mountain-climbing rituals, but he didn't want to depart the summit too quickly. He patted the top of the pole and inspected the place where the safety harness screwed into the wood.

“Paint the top of the pole!” Grandpa cried out.

Jimmy looked down, puzzled. “But no one will see it!”

“But you'll know it's there! That's all that counts.”

Jimmy took out the can of paint and shook it. He could hear the little ball inside rattling around. Checking the spray arrow on the button to avoid a face full of paint, he quickly coated the top of the pole in white. Returning the paint can to his utility belt, he took a last look around and descended the pole. When he reached the ground, Grandpa stood back while Jimmy took off the safety belt. Then the old man stepped forward to give him a big hug. When he released him, Grandpa put his ear to Jimmy's chest.

“Why are you doing that, Grandpa?” Jimmy asked.

“I'm listening to your heart.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to listen to the heart of a champion.”

Jimmy returned to the step in front of the utility shed and began taking off his gear. He handed the climbing hooks to Grandpa.

“I wish Daddy had been here,” Jimmy said.

“Me too.”

They stowed the climbing gear in the shed.

“What am I going to do now that I've climbed the pole?” Jimmy asked.

Grandpa stopped, put his hands on Jimmy's shoulders, and looked directly into his eyes. “Anything you want. Do you believe that?”

“Yes, sir.”

They walked to the house.

“I'm thirsty,” Jimmy said. “It was hot up there.”

“A glass of lemonade to celebrate sounds good to me,” Grandpa said.

Grandpa poured Jimmy's drink, then left the room. In a minute, he returned with a medium-sized paper sack.

“This is for you,” he said, handing the sack to Jimmy. “I didn't wrap it up fancy, but I've been saving it for you.”

Jimmy opened the bag and pulled out an old red cap. A stick figure with lightning bolts for arms and legs danced across the front. Underneath were the words, “A Citizen Wherever We Serve.”

“It's a Ready Kilowatt hat!” Jimmy said in an excited voice. “Is this your hat—”

“No,” Grandpa interrupted. “I found it on the Internet and bought it to give you when you climbed to the top of the pole. It's yours. You've earned it.”

Jimmy slipped the cap on his head and looked up at Grandpa with a big grin.

“My very own Ready Kilowatt hat!”

W
HEN HE RETURNED HOME,
J
IMMY PUT HIS
R
EADY
K
ILOWATT
cap in the middle of his collection. Mama watched from the doorway.

“How do you like my new cap?” he asked.

“It's very nice. What did your daddy think about your accomplishment?”

“I don't know. He wasn't there.”

“Why not?”

“I'm not sure, but he told Grandpa it was okay.”

Mama pressed her lips together. “We'll discuss that when he gets home.”

Jimmy continued. “I'm going to wear my new cap when Grandpa and I go fishing. There is a big carp contest in a few weeks at Webb's Pond. Can I go?”

“Maybe. I don't want you climbing the pole anymore without your daddy there.”

“Yes, ma'am. If I'm ever going to be a Georgia Power Company lineman, I have to be able to climb a lot better than I do now.”

“Has Grandpa told you that you could be a lineman?” Mama asked in surprise.

“No, ma'am, but he told me I could do anything I want. I'm not afraid of being up high in the air, and now I have my own Ready Kilowatt hat.”

—
Twenty-six
—

T
wenty-nine days after Judge Reisinger signed the order prepared by Bruce Long, Jimmy's birth mama filed an appeal.

Daddy, Mama, and Jimmy were eating supper in the kitchen. Mama had fixed veal parmesan, rice, and fried okra. Jimmy liked veal parmesan but not as much as meat loaf.

“I wish she'd given up.” Mama sighed. “What are her chances on appeal?”

“Slim and none,” Daddy replied.

“What does appeal mean?” Jimmy asked.

“She wants some other judges to change Judge Reisinger's decision.”

Jimmy poked his fork into three pieces of okra at once. “Will they pray about it too?”

“I don't know,” Daddy answered. “But it will be close to a year before we know anything.”

“I'll be in high school,” Jimmy said.

“You'll be finished with ninth grade,” Mama said.

“How do you feel about going to high school?” Daddy asked.

“Okay, I guess.”

When Jimmy thought about Cattaloochie County High School, with eight hundred students coming together from the county's three middle schools, his stomach felt queasy. “Ninth grade is a big step,” Daddy said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you thought about any extracurricular activities?”

“What's that?”

“The high school has groups and teams that do things after school.”

“I heard about a club that builds model rockets,” Mama said. “They also study the stars. You'd be good at painting the rockets. Do you think you would like that?”

“I had something else in mind,” Daddy said, putting his napkin beside his plate. “I went by the stadium this afternoon and talked to Coach Nixon. The football team starts practice in a few weeks.”

Jimmy put down his fork. Mama's mouth dropped open.

“Lee, you've got to be kidding. There is no way Jimmy should be on a football field.”

“I disagree,” Daddy replied with a grin. “I think Jimmy is perfectly suited to be on a football field. They have an open spot for a manager, and Coach Nixon is interested in talking to Jimmy about the position.”

“A manager?” Jimmy asked excitedly. “Who goes down on the field and rides in the bus with the team and stands behind the coaches and gives the players water and towels?”

“And a lot of other things you'll learn to do.”

Jimmy forgot about his food. “When would I start?”

“Two-a-day practices begin in four weeks, but first, you have to talk to Coach Nixon.”

“What is he going to ask me?”

“I'm not exactly sure—probably whether you're a hard worker who will obey the rules.”

Jimmy stared unseeing across the table, trying to imagine the interview as Daddy continued, “If you want to talk to him, I'll take you tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes, sir!”

To be associated with the Cattaloochie County High School football team would be a thrill beyond words. Jimmy loved Friday night football. He also loved the band. He'd practiced drumming with two sticks on top of a metal trash can in the backyard. Mama told him it sounded great, but it didn't sound right to his ears.

The following day, Jimmy could hardly contain his excitement. Several times he asked Mama how long it would be until Daddy picked him up. The hours dragged by. Finally, Daddy turned into the driveway in front of the house. Jimmy opened the door, ran to the car, and got in.

“Not that hat,” Daddy said. “Coach Nixon went to Auburn. Do you have the Cattaloochie cap I bought you last year?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jimmy returned the University of Georgia hat to its place and found the cap with a Cattaloochie Captain mascot on it. The short, bearded figure looked like a cross between a Confederate officer and a California gold rush prospector.

“That's better,” Daddy said.

G
RANDPA HAD ATTENDED
P
INEY
G
ROVE HIGH, A SMALL, ALL
-white school located within the city limits of Piney Grove. By the time Daddy and Mama reached high school age, the city and county schools had been brought together, combining city, county, black, and white. Everyone went to a new school, which made integration easier. Having a successful sports program that exceeded the accomplishments of the older split system helped even more.

The high school, a mile beyond the city limits, was a collection of long, one-story, brown-brick classroom buildings surrounding a taller gymnasium in the middle. The football stadium lay several hundred yards south of the main campus. The athletic offices were beneath the home stands. Signs in front of the athletic department indicated reserved parking spaces for Coach Nixon and his secretary, Mrs. Bradford.

Coach Nixon
drove a small green sports car. Daddy parked beside his vehicle. Without any fans present, the stadium felt odd. Jimmy looked at the metal bleachers overhead. He never walked under the bleachers during a game. To do so might result in a shower from a spilled soft drink.

The front door of the athletic office was unlocked. Daddy entered and turned right. At the end of a hallway stood a door with the words “Vance Nixon—Head Coach” written in gold letters. Daddy knocked lightly on the door.