One Mississippi (15 page)

Between the second and third floors Byron pulled out the
STOP
button, jolting us to a halt.

I said, “Hey, what are you doing?”

“Be cool.” Byron brought from his wallet a skinny hand-rolled cigarette and a book of matches. His eyes came up to mine. “Are you cool?”

“No!” I cried. “I mean yes!” Jesus, what was I doing here? Be cool, Daniel. At least act like you are. “I mean sure, go ahead. Not for me. What is that? Is that pot?”

“Tim? Are you cool?”

Tim said, “Fire it up.”

I said, “I thought all you guys were, like, Jesus freaks.”

“We are,” Mickey said.

“Praise the Lord and don’t Bogart that joint,” said Byron, striking a match. He touched it to the end of the cigarette, sucked in the smoke, and handed it to Mickey. Mickey inhaled and twisted up his face, and blew out the smoke laughing. The elevator filled with acrid perfume.

“What about Ben?” I said.

“Ben doesn’t partake,” Mickey said. “Ben is naturally stoned.”

“Stoned on Jesus,” said Byron.

I was shocked to see Tim take a puff. We had talked about pot, and decided it was stupid. Go to jail for smoking a weed? No thanks! Besides, the smoke made a terrible stink. I thought of that Three Dog Night song, “Mama Told Me Not to Come.” I put myself in the role of the guy who wants the hell out of the creepy party. If somebody caught us in here . . .

“I bet Jesus got high,” Mickey said. “There must have been dope growing everywhere in the Bible times. There was no law against it back then.”

“I can’t really picture Jesus using that stuff,” I said.

“You don’t think Jesus was cool?” Byron sucked in a chestful of smoke.

“I’m sure he was,” I said.

“But he couldn’t have smoked weed, Mickey, they were out in the desert! I bet they had hash or something.”

“Man, did you see Alicia Duchamp?” Mickey said. “In that little stripey thing? Wouldn’t you love to take that thing off with your teeth?”

“I hear you, man.” Byron offered the burning thing to me. I waved it away and watched Tim take another sip of smoke. I was impressed and appalled at how sophisticated he was pretending to be.

Byron said, “I’m done. Tim?”

“No more for me!” Tim’s grin was stupid. “You guys make a hell of a
Combo.
”

Byron spat on his fingers, pinched out the tiny cigarette. Then he pulled out a tiny spray can and squirted mint deodorizer over our heads. Mickey pushed in the
STOP
button. The elevator jerked back to life.

The three of them tittered all the way down the hall. We passed a couple necking just inside the double doors to the sanctuary.

This was not like any church I’d ever seen.

My favorite part of
Christ!
so far was a plaintive Act II ballad by the teenage Jesus, played by earnest, red-haired Matt Smith.

I’m just a boy with two dads

One is a carpenter, he’s so sad

One is a Father I never see

He’s up in heaven, waiting for me

I watched Eddie Smock huddling with Carol Nason, the tall silky blonde in the role of Mary Magdalene. Eddie sang a scrap of melody, and Carol sang it back. “Give it everything you’ve got,” he said. “This is your Ethel Merman showstopper.”

People said I was a girl of the streets

I wasn’t worthy to sit at his feet

Can’t they see that I’m not that kind of girl?

He fills the world with his beautiful song

He feeds the hungry, he rights the wrong

I’d like to help, but I’m not that kind of girl

Not that kind of girl, no!

I’m just clay in God’s hands to play with

Not that kind of girl, no!

I’ve only got two hands to pray with

This time she belted it out, really let it all go. We whistled and clapped. “Carol!” cried Eddie. “That was heart-stopping! Oh folks, I don’t want to jinx us, but — is anybody else beginning to think we’ve got something really special here?” His enthusiasm roused the chorus for the remaining songs, of which there were many. Edwin B. Smock the songwriter was extremely prolific. It was way late in the night by the time we reached the chorus of “Find a Way to Believe,” the Invitation, the closing anthem intended to rouse people from their seats and bring them down front to accept Jesus Christ as their personal savior.

We played the last bars and collapsed in the pews.

“Of course it could use a trim here and there,” Eddie said, “but I think it’s just great, don’t y’all?” He was up on the balls of his feet, smacking gum, bursting with energy from hearing his masterpiece for the first time.

We all tried to swallow our yawns. Mrs. Passworth rose up from the pew where she’d been snoozing. “Kids, you were wonderful! Eddie, we need to cut it.”

“Yes, I was just saying that, Irene!” he said in a tight voice. “While you were sleeping! But did you have any opinion of the parts you managed to stay awake for?”

“Wonderful,” she said, “really, it’s wonderful, but look at the time! My Lord, it’s half-past eleven!”

Eddie’s smile froze. “Okay! Well! I’m just the composer and lyricist and director, so maybe that’s why I thought it went great for a first run-through!”

“Of course it did, Eddie, we’re all exhausted,” she said. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

He stalked up the aisle, waving goodbye over his shoulder.

“Beautiful,” Tim said as we climbed into his dad’s Buick. (I had tried to pay for the new seat belt in back, but Patsy Cousins wouldn’t hear of it.) “Start to finish, every moment a memory that will last us a lifetime. Do you agree, Skippy?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Edwin B. Smock will go down in history,” he went on. “Centuries from now they’ll be building monuments to Edwin B. Smock.”

“And you wanna know the weird thing? I
like
him,” I said. “I mean, yes he is a total goofball, but also — he really believes in this stuff. He means it. You can tell.”

“Yeah, my bones hurt from trying not to laugh,” Tim said. “What a massive fruitcake!”

“Tim — how did it feel, getting high? I can’t believe you did that.”

“I didn’t really feel it, but I didn’t want to say anything. Apparently there’s all kinds of wild action going on at this church. Byron said last year some of them got drunk and stole the preacher’s car and drove to Biloxi. They didn’t even get in trouble.”

“You think all the kids are that wild, or just Byron and Mickey?”

“I don’t know, but we’re gonna have fun finding out,” he said. “And the great thing is — it’s church! Church! Who’s gonna question us? Did you see those girls sneaking out to smoke? Some of them were making out, too.”

“With each other? Gross!”

“No, Dumwood, with guys. Mickey said all these Christian girls are super horny.”

I reached for the seat belt, thought better of it. “He said that?”

“Their daddies are Christian, so they never get to go on dates or anything. The more Christian they are, the hornier they get. By the time they get old enough for youth group, they’re on fire.”

“Do you think — wow.”

“And no chaperones. Telling you, son, bad boys have all the fun. We shoulda known, the place to find the wild bunch was church.”

“You should be careful,” I said. “I don’t think you oughta be smoking that stuff.”

“Was that not crazy? Right in the elevator! I couldn’t believe it.”

“I mean, seriously. With your police record and all.”

He braked for the first stoplight of Minor. “Are you gonna keep throwing that up to me from now on? Damn, I’m sorry I ever told you.”

“You didn’t tell me. I forced it out of you.”

“Oh forget it,” he said.

“You said reckless driving? They put you in jail?”

“You ready to go home now, Skippy?”

“Tim, what the hell is so bad that you still can’t talk about it?”

He turned east. “My God, you love to drag stuff up! It was nothing, okay? A stupid speeding ticket. They put me in jail for one night, to scare me.”

“But they suspended your license. And you’re still driving around without it.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, son. You’re not as much fun as you used to be.”

I couldn’t argue with that. We rode in silence down the Old Raymond Road.

Tim said, “Look, truce. Okay?”

“Sure. I don’t care.”

“What can I say?” He grinned and started singing. “I’m just a boy with two daaaaaads . . .”

I couldn’t help joining in: “One is a carpenter, he’s so sad!”

10

I
WAS UP LATE,
skimming
Great Expectations
for the final. Three more exams, then Contest in Vicksburg, and school would be out for the summer. Outside I heard a car horn —
shave and a haircut, two bits!
— answered by the howl of Mrs. Grissom’s beagle.

Jacko snored on the other side of the Freak Annex. I hurried out, flapping my flip-flops down the driveway.

Tim spoke from the darkness. “Check it
out!
”

“You’re waking up the whole neighborhood!” I hissed.

“Would you shut up and check out my wheels?” He slapped the roof of a gleaming dark blue Ford Pinto, spotless and sleek-looking, with pinstripes and the dealer sticker in the window.

“Wow. Timmy — this is yours?”

“Bet your ass, Skippy! Mine, all mine! Happy birthday to me . . .”

“My God, they gave you a car? I didn’t even know it was your birthday.”

“Actually it’s not till tomorrow so you still have time to get me something.” He patted the hood. “Pretty damn fantastic, huh?”

Maybe twenty kids at Minor High owned their own cars. “They gave you a new car
plus
they let you drive it around at one in the morning?”

“I snuck out. It was too late to call your house, but I couldn’t go to bed without you seeing it. Mom and Dad haven’t even told me yet — I had this sneaking suspicion and I went to the carport and — ta-daa! There it was, with the keys in it!”

“Anytime you’re ready to swap parents, just let me know,” I said. “Man! And brand-new! Hardly anybody in the whole school ever got a
new
car.”

“Red got that Mustang. And Sandie Baxter got that orange Maverick last year, but that was so ugly it doesn’t count,” he said. “You ready for a test drive?”

“I have to go back in. This is the time of night Jacko tends to get weird. The other night he woke me up to tell me Dad was beating Mom over the head with a skillet.”

“Well, was he?”

“No. But I gotta admit, I did go back there to make sure.”

“Aw come on, Durwood, live a little! We’ll drive around for five minutes, I’ll bring you right back.”

“Really I can’t. I just hope all the honking didn’t wake up old Hitler.”

He snorted. “Great, okay, we’ll wait till the
next
time I get a brand-new car for my eighteenth birthday.”

“Let me sit in it, anyway.” I opened the passenger door and eased in. “Aw, man. Smell that smell. Nothing like it in the world.”

“It’s the GT, the sport edition — see the stripes, and AM-FM, eight-track tape deck, tuned sport suspension, custom floor mats . . . don’t you love it? The color is Starlite Blue.”

“Starlite Blue is definitely a better color than Sky Blue.” I stroked the woodgrained plastic dashboard. “They didn’t give you any clue?”

“None. They were so good. I never even suspected until yesterday morning, I heard them whispering and rattling keys.”

I tried to imagine my parents conspiring to give me a surprise like this. “You know what this means,” I said. “You have to be nice to them for the rest of your life. You can’t complain about anything, ever.”

He grinned. “It sure makes up for a lot of god-awful sweaters through the years.”

“You better be careful, though, driving around without a license. When are you supposed to get it back?”

“I already got it, no problem,” he said.

“That was fast. I thought you said —”

“Put your leg in, Durwood. Shut the door. We’ll just run her down the street and right back.”

“I told you, I can’t.”

“We won’t even leave your stupid street,” he said. “We’ll just ride right down to the circle, turn around, and come back.”

I stepped all the way out. “Sorry. Not tonight.” Why was his new car making me angry? It meant freedom for me too. Tim would drive me anywhere I wanted to go. It wasn’t the car I coveted, it was the size of the gift. My parents would never love me that much. They loved me the price of a bicycle, maybe. Never as much as a car. If Bud hadn’t joined the Marines, I bet they would have bought him a car.

“Congratulations.” I patted the doorsill. “Great car, Tim. And I love Starlite Blue. Pick me up after band? — no, wait, I promised Arnita.”

Tim’s smile was a little off-center. “You go over to her house every day now, huh?”

“Not every day.”

“Yes, you do. What do y’all do all that time?”

“Her homework. Sometimes we go for a walk or something. We hang out by the river. Nothing much.”

“You like her, don’t you, Skippy.”

“She’s nice.”

“No, I mean, you
like
her.” He raised an eyebrow.

I scoffed. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Why, because she’s black?”

I made a face. “You think I want to get in her pants?”

“Well, don’t you? She’s so fine, that’s what any red-blooded American boy would want.”

“Knock it off, Tim. She got hurt, remember? She’s still not okay. You and I had something to do with that.”

His smile dwindled. “But your face gets this gooey look when you talk about her.”

“I’m just trying to help her. You can believe me or not. I don’t care.”

“Well if the big moment does arrive, son,” he said, wagging his finger, “be sure and use some protection. We don’t want any little coffee-colored babies running around.”

“Would you shut up?”

He sang out in a throaty voice: “Half-bree-eed! That’s all I ever hearr-rd!” His Cher imitation was getting better. “Get in, Durwood. Let’s go to Jackson.” He revved the engine.

I backed away. “I can’t.”

“Aw Durwood, you’re always so scared.” He pitied me for a moment with his eyes, then put the car in gear and hummed off down Buena Vista Drive.

He was right — what would have happened if I’d gone for a ride? Nothing. I was scared. Even Ella Beecham had pointed it out. I walked around every day with this chronic low-grade free-floating fear of everything. It started with life under Dad. I’d spent most of my life being scared of him, trying to stay out of his way. It was hard to get out of the habit.

I went back to the house. At the door to the Freak Annex I stepped around Jacko. “What you doing still awake, old man?”

He peered up. “Where you been at, boy?”

“You’re the mind reader. You tell me.”

“Talkin that Tim,” he said. “Got him a new car, huh.”

The skin on my neck prickled up. “Jesus, how do you
do
that?”

He laughed.

A
RNITA JUMPED OFF
the porch when I rode up. “You’re late!” she sang in a teasing tone.

I laid my bike against a bush. “You’re worse than your mother,” I snapped. “I’m not punching a clock here, you know. Sometimes I have other things to do.”

The irritation in my voice rocked her back on her heels as if I’d slapped her. In all the time we’d spent together, I had never been anything other than extremely nice to Arnita. “Wow, are you in a bad mood. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Tim’s accusations were bothering me. I needed to prove to myself that I was not getting carried away with my thoughts about this girl.

“Come on, Daniel, you’re always happy. You’re
never
like this. What is it?”

I turned my face away. “What should we do? Walk? Homework first? You decide. I’m tired of being the one who always has to decide.”

“Hey,” she said. “Whatever it is, don’t take it out on me. I didn’t mean to.”

“Sorry,” I sulked. “I don’t mind coming over here, you know. I’m glad to help you. But I don’t like getting yelled at if I happen to be five minutes late.”

“Did I yell?” She searched my eyes. “I’m sorry. I guess I was anxious. I get so scared you won’t show up.”

My tactic wasn’t working. She was supposed to be mad at me by now. Instead she was sweeter than ever.

“Didn’t you notice I’m always out here waiting for you?” she said. “I wait every day. I don’t let myself come outside ’til quarter to three. Because you’ve never gotten here before three, except that one time when school let out early. I’m sorry, Daniel, I can’t help it. You’re the high point of my day.”

She was so lovely in her white cotton summer dress, scratching the back of her leg with a bare toe.

I frowned. “Don’t try being nice to me. I’m not in the mood.”

“Let’s go to the river.” She reached for her shoes. “You definitely need to throw rocks.”

I headed straight for the hiding place in the bridge stanchion. One by one I hurled all the rocks, the whole collection, into the river, one satisfying splash after another.

Arnita stood watching. She knew better than to talk to me.

Tim had set all the alarm bells ringing in my head. Was I falling in love with this girl? I’d never been in love, so I didn’t know the symptoms. At first I thought I was only going over to her house to make up for what happened on Prom Night. But now I couldn’t help going over there. I had to be with her. I felt sick if I had to miss a day. I felt rattled and short of breath whenever she stood anywhere near me.

Theoretically it would be great to fall in love with a smart, beautiful girl like Arnita. Theoretically. But she was black, I was white, it was impossible at this time in Mississippi. Maybe in Indiana, or New York, or Europe. Not here, not now. No use even thinking about it.

Also: Arnita was too pretty for me. She was the Prom Queen, I was a brain/loser nobody Five Spot pariah. The idea of us together was laughable. I was the perfect buddy for her, a babysitter, bringer of homework, taker of walks. Also I satisfied her mother’s need to have a white boy she could boss. Anything beyond that was just my own overheated imagination, or Tim trying to get on my nerves.

I threw myself on the grass, yanked up a dandelion, and began scraping out the yellow heart of the flower with my thumbnail.

Arnita knelt beside me. “You were throwing those rocks at me, weren’t you?”

I shook my head.

“That’s how it felt. Don’t be like this, Daniel. Everybody else in the world can be in a bad mood, but you’re not allowed. You’re the only fun I get to have.”

“That’s because you never see anybody else.” I tried not to sound mad. “You had friends before the accident, lots of ’em. What happened? I think you depend on me too much.”

“They don’t come to see me,” she said.

“Have you called them? No. You don’t go out. You just stay in your house and don’t see anybody.”

She smiled. “I see you every day.”

“You can’t blame people for thinking something’s wrong with you. You haven’t been back to school once. They all think you’re damaged.” I saw her wince at that word. “Why don’t you come next week?” I suggested. “Finals are over. Come for one day. Let everybody see you’re okay.”

“They’ll expect me to be Arnita,” she said. “And that’s just not who I am.”

I put the stem of the ruined flower in my pocket. “You can pretend, can’t you? I think that’s what you’re gonna have to do. What choice do you have, really? You can’t go around telling people you’re Linda the white girl. They know you’re Arnita. They’ll all think you’re nuts.”

“You can help me,” she said. “You can tell me about her. What was she like?”

“It was you,” I said. “She was you. You know that. You were real popular. The smartest, prettiest girl in the whole school. Why do you think we all voted for you?”

“You like me, don’t you?”

I frowned. “Sure.”

“You don’t look at me and think, Oh, poor her, she’s so damaged?”

“No.” But she was damaged, and “poor her” is exactly what I thought sometimes.

“Because I think I’m getting a little crush on you,” she said. “I’m not sure if I really am, or it’s just something going on inside my messed-up head.”

It had to be her injury. What I really thought was, She’d have to be brain-damaged to have a crush on me.

But who cares why? I could take the hand she was offering, follow her down that path. I could stroke the skin of her shoulder, trailing down . . .

“Honestly?” I said. “I think it’s all in your head. You’re lonely, and I’m the only one here. I mean, we used to have classes together, and you never even noticed me at all.”

She leaned back against the tree. “How awful. Such a sweet boy and I never noticed?”

“Nope.”

I heard a noise, above. A gang of boys stared down from the bridge with accusing eyes. I waved, trying not to look like the guy who had just cleaned out their whole stash of rocks for the second time. They muttered among themselves but kept walking.

The moment they were gone Arnita grabbed my gawky hot hand and pressed it between her cool brown hands: a hand sandwich. Our eyes met. I started skidding down an incline toward the vast darkness that seemed to be opening beneath my feet.

I stood up and put both hands in my pockets. “This is not a good idea.”

She reached for my hand.

I wouldn’t let her have it. “Don’t, okay? Let’s go back to your house. Your mom’s waiting.”

“She’s not my mom.” She locked my wrist in her fingers, tugging me closer. “Kiss me, Daniel.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Yeah, you do. It’s easy. Like this.”

Oh it was soft, flowing warm honey straight from her lips. She closed her eyes and urged her mouth against mine. I didn’t want to kiss her, then I didn’t want to stop.

It went on a good long time.

At last we came up for air.

Man. That was nothing like kissing Dianne. The urgency, the heat, the tongues, the way the whole world seemed to shut down while it lasted — the way we twined around each other — it felt more powerful, like that terrible kiss outside the emergency room in Alabama. But sweet.

“Did you like that?” she said.

I grinned. “You’re trying to get me in trouble.”

She flashed a glittery smile. “Yes I am.”

“Listen — you’re the prettiest girl in the world. One of these days you’re gonna remember that, and you’ll forget all about me.”

“Just be my friend, okay Daniel? And kiss me once in a while.” She placed her hands on my shoulders and pulled me in again.

I closed my eyes. My whole self narrowed down to the warm softness of her mouth. Her sighing was like music.

This kiss was just as much mine as hers. We kissed all the way, like lovers in a story.