in Nacogdoches, and a nervous man with slick black hair and a tattoo of his dead Rottweiler on his naked pec kept reaching into the small of his back and telling Eddie, You better go home, kid, ’cause shit’s finna go down right the fuck here, son. He pointed to the ground with both index fingers. Eddie met two kids younger than himself who wanted money for a Butterfinger. At first they threatened him verbally, but after he turned his pockets inside out and explained his journey, one of them offered to help him find his mother. Eddie declined, and as he walked away sideways, it occurred to him that nobody else had volunteered to help. Two or three dark sedans slowed by the roadside, powering down their tinted passenger-side windows. Eddie ran from them.
On his second night of searching, drawn to the bright pink and orange of a 24-hour donut shop, he thought he might finally find people inside who would not only know and remember but also know what they knew and remember what they remembered, and have some of it turn out true. He understood that he couldn’t rely on the night people, who frightened and angered him, and he experienced a deep burn in his stomach when he thought about how his mother had joined them or died with them, like his father, and at best they had engulfed her and made her vanish into this ruined land where true and false didn’t matter, where the differences disappeared among memories, dreams, and a young man standing in front of them asking a desperate question.
Conjure
N ot long after Darlene arrived at Grambling State University, she gained a sorority sister, Hazel, who transferred in from Florida State. Hazel had a vivacious, confrontational attitude, fueled by her determination to override the social strikes against her—a mahogany complexion, features too small to fit her face, a large mole muscling in on her nose, unusual height for a woman, a tough demeanor.
All this Southern gentility baffles me, Hazel sometimes said. I always feel like I’m playing the trumpet at a tea party. She made up for her brashness with camaraderie. Hazel organized the group’s bowling outings, oversaw the decoration of the house, and made an astounding barbecued brisket packed with smokiness. Her flowing red-and-turquoise blouses often had African designs or palm trees printed on them, and the loud clothing seemed to complement her frank conversation—often about her main vices, chocolate, bourbon, and sex—and her bawdy sense of humor. Everybody took to her, especially several doe-like, unremarkable Sigma Tau Tau sisters, and Darlene, who, as she grew into womanhood, joined Hazel’s shocked but delighted audience and found it hard to avoid imitating her infectious insolence. April Woods, a light-skinned, straight-nosed, and polite senior beauty queen, served the function of official role model, but Hazel’s charisma got everybody wearing brighter clothing. She loosened their tongues, their attitudes, and their belts.
Hazel ignored her presumed lack of status and thereby overcame it. She accepted herself and demanded reciprocation as the price of her esteem. In association with these strong values, a sense of moral outrage ran like an underground stream through her sense of humor. She took the greatest delight in skewering hypocrites and had immediate and unforgiving scorn for anyone who gave even the appearance of doing something unethical for personal gain. At one point, Tanya Humphrey (It’s Tan -ya, not Tahn -ya, she would say) insisted that Sigma tap Jamalya Raudigan, a notoriously self-involved cheerleader whose father ran a black Atlanta law firm where Tanya aspired to intern, and in the middle of a potluck supper, Hazel quieted everybody, stood on a coffee table, and told Tanya, Stop promoting this annoying social climber because you want to work for Curtis, Gitlin, Raudigan, and Sindell. When Hazel exposed your failings, she made you feel like she’d stuck a blowtorch full of truth up your
On his second night of searching, drawn to the bright pink and orange of a 24-hour donut shop, he thought he might finally find people inside who would not only know and remember but also know what they knew and remember what they remembered, and have some of it turn out true. He understood that he couldn’t rely on the night people, who frightened and angered him, and he experienced a deep burn in his stomach when he thought about how his mother had joined them or died with them, like his father, and at best they had engulfed her and made her vanish into this ruined land where true and false didn’t matter, where the differences disappeared among memories, dreams, and a young man standing in front of them asking a desperate question.
Conjure
N ot long after Darlene arrived at Grambling State University, she gained a sorority sister, Hazel, who transferred in from Florida State. Hazel had a vivacious, confrontational attitude, fueled by her determination to override the social strikes against her—a mahogany complexion, features too small to fit her face, a large mole muscling in on her nose, unusual height for a woman, a tough demeanor.
All this Southern gentility baffles me, Hazel sometimes said. I always feel like I’m playing the trumpet at a tea party. She made up for her brashness with camaraderie. Hazel organized the group’s bowling outings, oversaw the decoration of the house, and made an astounding barbecued brisket packed with smokiness. Her flowing red-and-turquoise blouses often had African designs or palm trees printed on them, and the loud clothing seemed to complement her frank conversation—often about her main vices, chocolate, bourbon, and sex—and her bawdy sense of humor. Everybody took to her, especially several doe-like, unremarkable Sigma Tau Tau sisters, and Darlene, who, as she grew into womanhood, joined Hazel’s shocked but delighted audience and found it hard to avoid imitating her infectious insolence. April Woods, a light-skinned, straight-nosed, and polite senior beauty queen, served the function of official role model, but Hazel’s charisma got everybody wearing brighter clothing. She loosened their tongues, their attitudes, and their belts.
Hazel ignored her presumed lack of status and thereby overcame it. She accepted herself and demanded reciprocation as the price of her esteem. In association with these strong values, a sense of moral outrage ran like an underground stream through her sense of humor. She took the greatest delight in skewering hypocrites and had immediate and unforgiving scorn for anyone who gave even the appearance of doing something unethical for personal gain. At one point, Tanya Humphrey (It’s Tan -ya, not Tahn -ya, she would say) insisted that Sigma tap Jamalya Raudigan, a notoriously self-involved cheerleader whose father ran a black Atlanta law firm where Tanya aspired to intern, and in the middle of a potluck supper, Hazel quieted everybody, stood on a coffee table, and told Tanya, Stop promoting this annoying social climber because you want to work for Curtis, Gitlin, Raudigan, and Sindell. When Hazel exposed your failings, she made you feel like she’d stuck a blowtorch full of truth up your
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