Wakulla Springs by Andy Duncan and Ellen Klages Page B

him.
    “Hey, Levi, thanks,” Jimmy Lee said, snatching the hat off the boy’s headwith his free hand and brushing it on his uniform pants. His other hand was around the waist of Levi’s mama. “Can’t have my parade duds getting dirty, can I? Pretty gals won’t flag me down in the road anymore.” Levi’s mama kissed him again.
    “Y’all might as well hop in,” the driver said. “Only what, half a mile, I reckon. No extra charge.”
    Levi’s mama hopped into the backseat with Jimmy Lee—hopped onto Jimmy Lee, it seemed to Levi. He slid into the front seat beside the driver, whose big belly was dented by the steering wheel like a cushion. In front of Levi, taped to the dash, were a half-dozen faded magazine photos of Lena Horne, aging from left to right. The man thunked the car into gear and pulled forward, asking the rear-view mirror, “Employee dorm, right?”
    “No, sir,” Jimmy Lee said.“You pull right up to the main entrance.”
    “Main entrance?” asked Levi’s mama.
    “Can’t let just you and Levi see me looking this fine, can I?” Jimmy Lee asked. “Got to show off a bit.”
    The driver squinted at the mirror. “They expecting you, son?”
    “They ought to be,” Jimmy Lee said. “I got a reservation.”
    “Oh, my God,” Levi’s mama said. “You ain’t still on about that, are you? Jimmy Lee, thisis Florida, not Korea.”
    “I know where I am,” he retorted. “And I know where I’ve been, and what I’ve seen—”
    “You like baseball?” the driver asked Levi, loudly, as his mama and Jimmy Lee started talking all at once, voices raised. “Boy, I hated to see the Dodgers lose, didn’t you? But Campanella, he sure had him a season. One hundred forty-two RBIs, can you imagine? New team record. You playbaseball?”
    “I swim,” Levi said.
    “Wish I could swim,” the driver said. “Throw me in that swamp over there, I’d sink like a rock. I might as well—”
    “Roy Campanella!” Jimmy Lee cried out, interrupting the driver. “Now there’s an example for the boy. Larry Doby. Jackie Robinson. Six colored players in the major leagues now.” He looked at Levi’s mama. “See, times change, baby. And people like us,we’re going to keep changing them.”
    “Jimmy Lee, you could get me fired! And where would we be then?”
    “Orlando,” Levi murmured.
    At the fork, the driver slowed nearly to a stop before he turned left toward the Lodge, shaking his head. He followed the woodcut arrow labeled CHECK IN; the right-hand drive toward the dorm and other outbuildings was unmarked. The backseat quarrel raged as the familiarred tile roof swung into view. “Soldier, you making a big mistake,” the driver said.
    “Mind your own business, old man,” Jimmy Lee replied.
    With an erk , the driver slammed on brakes, a few yards shy of the turnaround at the front door. Levi braced himself against Lena Horne. There was silence from the back seat as the driver flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, threw the gearshift into Park,then slowly turned toward Levi, the cracked seat leather creaking as he shifted.
    “Listen,” Jimmy Lee said. “I’m sorry.”
    The driver ignored him and addressed himself to Levi, who was trying to smooth down one ragged Lena Horne corner, where his palms had crimped it. “Son, could you help me with this luggage?”
    “Yessir,” Levi said.
    Everyone got out. The driver opened the trunk, and he and Levihauled out a bulging duffel bag and a battered suitcase that used to have stickers on it, but now just had fuzzy tacky outlines. Jimmy Lee awkwardly held a wad of bills out to the driver, who waited a beat before he accepted it.
    “Keep the change,” Jimmy Lee said, as the driver reached for his wallet.
    “You watch your ass,” the driver told Jimmy Lee. He turned to Levi’s mama and said, “You havea good evening, ma’am. And you, son,” he added as he turned to Levi, “you take care of your mama, you hear?”
    “Yessir.”
    “And keep on