Precious Bones (14 page)

A car with a New York license plate pulled up to the gas pumps. The car door opened and a thin man got out. He wore a white shirt and blue plaid shorts that reached down to his skinny knees. His white legs and arms were blotched with patches of pink and crimson where the sun had burned away the top layers of skin. He walked past us and into the store.

Little Man made a clucking sound. “I swear, some of these
Yankees wear the dangest things. Did you see them shorts he had on?”

“Of course I saw ’em, and I know what they’re called: Bermuda shorts. Ain’t that right, Mr. Speed?”

“Yes, sir, Bermuda shorts, they are called Bermuda shorts.”

Little Man scrunched up his face and said, “Why are they called that?”

“I don’t know why,” I said. “I just know that’s what they’re called. Maybe they were made in Bermuda or something.”

“Well, I swear you never will see me in a pair of them things.”

The Yankee man walked out of the store, got back in his car, and drove away.

Little Man nibbled on his moon pie and said, “Now, that man’s sunburn looked like it would be mighty painful. I can’t believe people come down here and just sit in the sun like that. I like going to the beach, turtle huntin’ and fishin’, but I sure ain’t gonna lay down and fry like a piece of sausage.”

Mr. Speed bobbed his head up and down and said, “Florida got thirteen hundred miles of beach, thirteen hundred miles. Most of it fish poop. Just plain ol’ fish poop.”

Little Man and I exchanged looks before he replied, “Lordy, Mr. Speed, you mean to say all that sand is no more than a fish outhouse?”

“Most of it. Just parrot fish poop. They eat the coral and turn it into sand. Gets washed up and makes a beach, thirteen hundred miles of beach.”

Little Man slapped the side of his leg and let out a little hoot. “Now, if that ain’t a sight, all those Yankees come down
here and pay money to get sunburned while lying on top of fish poop.”

Nolay walked down the steps carrying a cardboard box of supplies. “Be seein’ you later, Speed. You kids ready to go?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied. Turning back to Mr. Speed, I said, “I’ll try to stop by this Monday and tell you all about the movie picture. Okay, Mr. Speed?”

Mr. Speed was having a good day, the pages in his mind dry and turning nicely.

He tilted his lopsided head in my direction. From under his green baseball cap he looked at me, his bright brown eyes shimmering with little flecks of gold. His head slowly bobbed up and down. A crooked smile crossed his face. “The movie picture, the movie picture.”

I didn’t know it then, but Mr. Speed and John Wayne had a lot in common.

All Saturday morning, me and Little Man patiently waited for Mama to drive us up to the railroad tracks so we could catch the train and go to the movies. We finally got her out to the truck, only to look up and see Ironhead’s pickup bouncing its way along our driveway.

He got out of his pickup and walked, stiff-legged, over to our truck. We could tell by the way his breath came in little spurts that he had some important news to share. He leaned one hand against the car and scratched his fiery red hair. “Morning, Miss Lori. Is Nolay around?”

“No, Ironhead. Actually, I thought he was off fishing with you.”

“No, ma’am, Miss Lori. I ain’t seen Nolay for a week or so.”

Mama cocked her head to one side. “Well, he must have changed his plans.”

Ironhead huffed and puffed and shuffled his feet in the
dirt. Finally he said, “I tell you what, I just tell you what, I don’t know what’s goin’ on in these parts anymore. Early this morning, Jackson, Blue’s boy, found ol’ Peckerhead Willy lying across the railroad tracks, cut plumb in two. Deader than a doornail.”

“Good Lord, Ironhead,” Mama said, leaning against the truck. “Where about did they find him? What happened?”

“Ain’t sure, Miss Lori. They found him up near where the shortcut goes back of Charlie’s place and into the Reemses’. They figure he musta passed out, and the early-mornin’ freight train run ’im over.”

Mama shook her head. “Alvie, that poor woman. What will she do now? Good Lord, I have to go see Melba. We have to start getting stuff together for Alvie and the kids.”

Me and Little Man looked at each other. It was plain to see that Mama’s mission was no longer to get us to the railroad tracks. Her sole intent now was to gather up an abundance of comfort food to share with that poor woman and those poor kids. I cleared my throat and said, “Mama, maybe Ironhead could give us a ride to the railroad tracks. That way you could get started on what you need to do.”

“Well, that would be fine, if it’s no bother for Ironhead.”

“No, ma’am, I’m headin’ back that way right now.”

As we got out of the truck, Mama said, “Now, you remember to catch the six o’clock Greyhound bus back home. I’ll meet you two at the Last Chance.”

On our ride to the tracks, Little Man asked Ironhead, “What do you think happened?”

“Don’t rightly know. He musta got liquored up and stumbled
onto the tracks. I don’t know. There’s just too much strange stuff happenin’ around here, I can’t keep track of it anymore.”

When we arrived, Blue and a group of colored kids were already standing at the railroad crossing. When we were going to catch a ride on the train, Blue was always there to make sure everyone got on board safely.

As we got out of the truck and walked toward the group, the air was thick with excitement. We chattered about Peckerhead Willy’s body and our big adventure going to the movies. The movie was a double feature: Roy Rogers in
The Golden Stallion
and John Wayne in
Sands of Iwo Jima
.

One of the older colored boys told us, “It was my pa that found ’im this morning. He went out to check on rail spikes and come across the body. He went down to the Last Chance and asked Mr. Ball to call the sheriff to come out.”

Little Man let out a whistle. “That musta been something, coming across a sight like that in the morning.”

Even though it was Saturday, everyone wore their Sunday best—we were going to town to see a movie! The colored girls had on bright starched dresses; their hair was braided in multiple pigtails and adorned in a rainbow of colored ribbons. The boys’ overalls were clean and crisp, a knife-sharp crease ironed down the front of each leg. Me and Little Man had on our best dungarees and polished cowboy boots.

At the sound of the train whistle, Blue took out a white handkerchief, stepped up to the tracks, and began to flag down the approaching train. The huge locomotive slowed, its steel wheels screeching and whining against the tracks.

As the train came to a stop, an invisible wall of separation silently slid between us and the colored kids. Me and Little Man handed the conductor a quarter and boarded the first car. The colored kids walked down to the last car.

We picked a window seat in the middle of the car and sat down. As the train jerked and squeaked to a start, I looked around the nearly empty car and said, “It don’t seem right that they can’t just sit up here with us.”

“You know whites don’t sit with coloreds.”

“Well, it still don’t seem right.”

“I swear, Bones, I don’t know where you get some of your ideas from. It’s just natural. You don’t see blue birds mixing up with red birds. And whites don’t mix with coloreds. Next thing, you’d have us marryin’ up with ’em.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to marry one of ’em, but I don’t see no harm in sitting together or even going to school together. Blue birds and red birds sit in the same birdbath, don’t they?”

Little Man’s big brown eyes rolled around in his freckled face as he groaned, “Good Lord, Bones.”

Suddenly, he pointed out the window. “Looky yonder, there’s the sheriff’s car and the funeral car. We must be going over the very place where ol’ Peckerhead got run over. I bet his body is in that funeral car.”

I looked out the window and saw Sheriff LeRoy and several other men as they stood by a big black hearse. The sheriff was looking down into his right hand at something bright red. Something that looked very familiar.

“Little Man, that is a terrible thought. I don’t want to
have that picture in my mind. I don’t want to think about a train running over ol’ Peckerhead’s fat body. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Well, it did happen.”

“I know it happened, but I don’t want to think about it.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t care, anything but that.”

“Okay, suit yourself, I don’t have to talk about nothing. I can just sit here and be quiet.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to Little Man. I just couldn’t get my mind off what Sheriff LeRoy was holding in his hand.

Me and Little Man leaned back in our seats, and the rest of the ride was spent listening to the steady click-clack of the train wheels speeding along the steel tracks.

When the train finally pulled into the Melbourne train depot, Little Man and I started the short walk to the theater. The colored kids followed at a respectful distance. We paid our dime, got a box of popcorn, and entered into the dark, damp, magical world of the Van Croix Theater. At the front entry was a sign with black letters that said
Colored Section
, with an arrow pointing toward the balcony.

For the next few hours, we sat spellbound as John Wayne and his loyal band of Marines smoked hundreds of cigarettes and killed thousands of Japanese. The auditorium filled with sniffles and tears when John Wayne died. At the end, when
the American flag was raised in all its glory, we clapped and cheered.

We watched as Roy Rogers went to jail before he would let his best friend, the beautiful palomino Trigger, be killed. All too soon, Roy and Trigger rode off into the sunset while “Happy Trails” played. The lights inside the theater came on, and reluctantly, we got up and slowly moved with the throng of kids toward the doors.

Once outside, like ducks in a row, with the colored kids a respectable distance behind us, we headed toward the Greyhound bus station. Being that there was only one passenger train a day, we had no choice but to catch the bus back home.

At the bus station, we purchased our tickets and sat on a bench out front and waited for the bus to come. There were two water fountains along the outside wall. A sign above one said
Whites Only
, and above the other one it said
Coloreds Only
. I had no idea what would happen if someone white drank out of the Coloreds Only fountain, but I always wanted to sneak a try. The picture of all those different-colored birds splashing around in the same birdbath popped up in my mind.

Finally, the bus arrived, belching gray smoke and gasoline fumes. Me and Little Man got on and sat in the front seats and watched the colored kids silently walk by, heading for the back of the bus.

“Little Man,” I said, “do you know when I was little, I thought I was going to grow up to be Roy Rogers?”

“You cain’t grow up to be somebody else.”

“Well, I know that now, but when I was little I didn’t.
Anyway, when I grow up I’m gonna be a veterinarian. I’m gonna open up an animal hospital and live right here for my whole life. Do you know what you want to be?”

“I sure do, I’m gonna join the army and be a soldier. I’m gonna go out and see as much of the world as I can.”

“A soldier! But what if you get hurt, like Mr. Speed or Jackson?”

“I ain’t gonna get hurt ’cause there ain’t gonna be no more wars. You heard Mr. Speed; we got a bomb that melts people. Do you think anybody is gonna be crazy enough to go to war with someone that can melt ’em? Anyway, my daddy and your daddy were both in the war, and neither one of ’em got hurt.”

“Well, I reckon not, but I still wish you would think about being something else.”

For the next hour, the bus swayed and lurched down the highway. Finally, it jerked to a stop in front of the Last Chance. Our pickup was parked alongside the store. I could see Blue leaning against the side of the building. Mama was sitting on one of the benches with a small group of women listening to the radio, the sounds floating out through one of the store’s front windows. Mr. Speed was nowhere to be seen. He had already gone home for the night.

We got in the truck with Mama and started to head home. The colored kids, along with Blue, were walking up the road. Mama stopped and told them, “Y’all jump in the back and I’ll give you a ride home.” After she dropped them off at the neat row of shanties, we headed to Little Man’s house.

More to myself than anyone in particular, I said, “Do you
think one day we’ll go to the same school and sit together on the same bus as colored people? I mean, it just don’t seem right that we can be friends and talk with each other here, but we can’t do anything in public together. We can’t even drink out of the same water fountain.”

Little Man was first to answer. “There you go again, Bones, with your strange ideas. What difference would it make? They got their place and we got ours.”

Mama let out a little laugh. “Little Man, you might be surprised, it just might happen someday. We don’t know what the future will be.”

“Well, if it happens, I sure will be surprised.”