story.
“Right,”
she says pulled out of that dream where she’s seeing Grampa standing up there
right out of Hollywood, or Salem Missouri take your pick.
“Then
what happened?” I say to get her going again.
“Well
we had him to dinner because folks did that you know, had the new teacher in.
And we were friends for a while and I finished school and I was sixteen and we
married.”
“That’s
not all,” I say cause she always rushes that part about the four years unless I
ask her at night. “He was a Baptist man and they had him to dinner and when you
got sweet your family said he had to get made into a Catholic, but his family
said you had to get Baptist, but the Catholics got him cause he had to sign
papers and that’s where you had the wedding, so he went your way and oh his
mother was mad, and then he didn’t practice anyway—being Catholic that is—but
everybody was pretty happy with it cause he was also a carpenter, like Jesus,
and he could fix most anything so they didn’t stay mad for long, and then you
had my dad and they forgave all of it mostly.”
“Well…that’s
about it I guess.”
“Well,
they shouldn’t have judged someone they didn’t know,” I say as she pulls the
brush through my hair.
“That’s
right,” she says.
“Cause
someone might be a good person even if…they’re not Catholic. Like Grampa wasn’t
Catholic but he was good.”
She
just keeps brushing.
“And
if someone’s poor they can still be real good,” I say.
“Yes.”
“So
it wouldn’t be right…right?” I say.
“What
wouldn’t be right?”
“To
hold something against someone else that they can’t help.”
“Course
not, now get downstairs before you give me the headache.”
But I talk almost all
the way to the market. We walk there when the weather is good. It’s eight
blocks, but they aren’t all long. Granma pulls the wire cart and its rubber
wheels don’t make much noise on the sidewalk. I can’t wait because I’m getting
a pack of Hostess Cupcakes, but mostly I’m telling Granma how I can find homes
for the kittens. One for Abigail May, one for me, and I don’t tell her, but
maybe Easy could take one. Maybe Cap. Then we could let our cats visit and play
and they’d be so happy.
Well
I would be, that’s for sure.
And
what do you think it’s about that time he goes riding past so fast on his bike
and Cap is with him and a couple of boys I don’t know, all of them riding so
fast and he pops a wheelie and circles around and passes me again and I almost
take my good hand out of Granma’s and wave, but I catch myself because he isn’t
looking at me. And I’m thinking he is just as handsome in the sunshine as in
the moonlight.
And
Grandma looks at me. “He came with Ricky the day you broke your arm,” she says.
And
I say, “That’s Easy.” Because it is.
And
she keeps looking at me and I look at her.
“He’s
nice,” I say.
Then
we just keep walking.
Darnay
Road 14
When
we get home I see that trellis pulled away first thing. I say oh no and run to
the side of the porch and the kittens are nowhere to be seen. Easy’s shirt is
still under there. I wiggle between that trellis and the footing and grab that
almost rag as if I might shake it and those four babies will fall right out.
I’m
coming around to the front and Granma has the cart parked on the walkway and
she’s still standing on the sidewalk and I meet her with that shirt in my hand.
“They
are gone,” I say in a terrible voice. “I know someone took them, maybe Disbro.”
She
is taking that shirt from me, shaking it out and holding it arm’s length like
it’s the most nasty thing.
“Hold
on,” she’s saying. “Now hold on.” And she’s looking at that shirt, thin and
tattered, dirty white.
Maybe
Easy came for his shirt and thought he should take the kitties so I didn’t get
in trouble. Maybe that’s what he was saying when he circled back and went
“Right,”
she says pulled out of that dream where she’s seeing Grampa standing up there
right out of Hollywood, or Salem Missouri take your pick.
“Then
what happened?” I say to get her going again.
“Well
we had him to dinner because folks did that you know, had the new teacher in.
And we were friends for a while and I finished school and I was sixteen and we
married.”
“That’s
not all,” I say cause she always rushes that part about the four years unless I
ask her at night. “He was a Baptist man and they had him to dinner and when you
got sweet your family said he had to get made into a Catholic, but his family
said you had to get Baptist, but the Catholics got him cause he had to sign
papers and that’s where you had the wedding, so he went your way and oh his
mother was mad, and then he didn’t practice anyway—being Catholic that is—but
everybody was pretty happy with it cause he was also a carpenter, like Jesus,
and he could fix most anything so they didn’t stay mad for long, and then you
had my dad and they forgave all of it mostly.”
“Well…that’s
about it I guess.”
“Well,
they shouldn’t have judged someone they didn’t know,” I say as she pulls the
brush through my hair.
“That’s
right,” she says.
“Cause
someone might be a good person even if…they’re not Catholic. Like Grampa wasn’t
Catholic but he was good.”
She
just keeps brushing.
“And
if someone’s poor they can still be real good,” I say.
“Yes.”
“So
it wouldn’t be right…right?” I say.
“What
wouldn’t be right?”
“To
hold something against someone else that they can’t help.”
“Course
not, now get downstairs before you give me the headache.”
But I talk almost all
the way to the market. We walk there when the weather is good. It’s eight
blocks, but they aren’t all long. Granma pulls the wire cart and its rubber
wheels don’t make much noise on the sidewalk. I can’t wait because I’m getting
a pack of Hostess Cupcakes, but mostly I’m telling Granma how I can find homes
for the kittens. One for Abigail May, one for me, and I don’t tell her, but
maybe Easy could take one. Maybe Cap. Then we could let our cats visit and play
and they’d be so happy.
Well
I would be, that’s for sure.
And
what do you think it’s about that time he goes riding past so fast on his bike
and Cap is with him and a couple of boys I don’t know, all of them riding so
fast and he pops a wheelie and circles around and passes me again and I almost
take my good hand out of Granma’s and wave, but I catch myself because he isn’t
looking at me. And I’m thinking he is just as handsome in the sunshine as in
the moonlight.
And
Grandma looks at me. “He came with Ricky the day you broke your arm,” she says.
And
I say, “That’s Easy.” Because it is.
And
she keeps looking at me and I look at her.
“He’s
nice,” I say.
Then
we just keep walking.
Darnay
Road 14
When
we get home I see that trellis pulled away first thing. I say oh no and run to
the side of the porch and the kittens are nowhere to be seen. Easy’s shirt is
still under there. I wiggle between that trellis and the footing and grab that
almost rag as if I might shake it and those four babies will fall right out.
I’m
coming around to the front and Granma has the cart parked on the walkway and
she’s still standing on the sidewalk and I meet her with that shirt in my hand.
“They
are gone,” I say in a terrible voice. “I know someone took them, maybe Disbro.”
She
is taking that shirt from me, shaking it out and holding it arm’s length like
it’s the most nasty thing.
“Hold
on,” she’s saying. “Now hold on.” And she’s looking at that shirt, thin and
tattered, dirty white.
Maybe
Easy came for his shirt and thought he should take the kitties so I didn’t get
in trouble. Maybe that’s what he was saying when he circled back and went
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