some begging in it. “We ain’t gonna talk ’bout it no more.”
Eula’s voice got some louder. “But, Wallace, they’s jus—” Her voice cut off like it had been snatched from her mouth. I thought of that bruise on her arm and wondered if he’d just added another one. Wallace seemed like a shaker to me. I’d had plenty of arm bruises myself from Mamie jerking me so hard my mouth snapped closed.
It got quiet then. I wondered what Wallace meant. It couldn’t be good if Eula had been begging like that.
I couldn’t believe my biggest problem this morning had been missing the fireworks. As I looked out that stuck window at the black night, hearing tree frogs and crickets that sounded big as cats, I wished I was back in my hot, sweaty bedroom in Cayuga Springs.
5
b
ack when I was in second grade, I come home from school and caught Mamie stuffing something in the trash barrel back by the alley. Usually I used the front door and heard Mamie call, “Go change your clothes,” even before the door closed behind me. I hated changing my clothes after school. Not so much the changing. It was more setting away shoes and putting my dress on a hanger, which was a real pain in the behind. That day I’d got a brilliant idea. If I just went straight to the backyard, I might be able to get dirty before Mamie saw me. And if I was already dirty, there wouldn’t be a reason to make me change.
I walked along the side of the house, crouched low in case she was looking out the windows. It was cold so they were closed and I didn’t have to worry about noise givin’ me away. Once I got to the back corner of the house, I made a run for the tire swing Daddy’d hung when I was fi v e .
That’s when I saw her by the trash barrel.
Well, she looked as surprised as I was. She jumped and squeaked, grabbin’ her chest like he heart was gonna leap right out. She hurried toward me and, with a hand on my shoulder, moved me toward the back door. She said I’d startled her, but she looked for all the world like she was doing something sneaky, something she didn’t want me to see. It was my job to take the trash out and Mamie never did my job, even when I had tonsillitis. I got even more suspicious when she sat me down in the kitchen before I’d changed my clothes, poured my glass of milk for me, and let me have two cookies—and they were the good ones Mamie bought for bridge club that I wasn’t allowed to eat.
As I ate my cookies, I got to thinking. If Mamie didn’t want me to see what she’d put in the trash, I was gonna have to be crafty like a fox in finding out what it was. If she knew I was suspicious and looking, she’d just make up something I was doing wrong and send me to my room—believe me, she’d done it before. She’d send me to my room all right, and then hustle right out there and either burn the trash (which wasn’t supposed to be done until the next day) or move whatever it was she’d been hiding. Either way, I’d never know.
I needed a plan.
For the rest of the afternoon I went around the house gathering up every scrap of trash I could find. There was a good stockpile underneath my bed. I took a grocery bag to my room and stuffed it with broken crayons, filled-up coloring books, two socks with holes in the toes, and wadded up Kleenexes. I even pulled out all of my gold-star papers from school; I’d been keeping them in one of my drawers so I could show Daddy when he came home to visit. All of the sudden it was more important to find out what was in that trash barrel than it was to show Daddy I could spell bakery and away, match a chicken to an egg, and tell the number of stripes on the American flag. There weren’t any arithmetic papers, ’cause arithmetic gave me fits.
I blew my nose ten times, just to make more Kleenexes. Mamie heard and told me to wash my hands if I was getting sick. In the living room, I found two old church bulletins and threw them in the bag. I sure hoped Mamie was done with them.
By
Eula’s voice got some louder. “But, Wallace, they’s jus—” Her voice cut off like it had been snatched from her mouth. I thought of that bruise on her arm and wondered if he’d just added another one. Wallace seemed like a shaker to me. I’d had plenty of arm bruises myself from Mamie jerking me so hard my mouth snapped closed.
It got quiet then. I wondered what Wallace meant. It couldn’t be good if Eula had been begging like that.
I couldn’t believe my biggest problem this morning had been missing the fireworks. As I looked out that stuck window at the black night, hearing tree frogs and crickets that sounded big as cats, I wished I was back in my hot, sweaty bedroom in Cayuga Springs.
5
b
ack when I was in second grade, I come home from school and caught Mamie stuffing something in the trash barrel back by the alley. Usually I used the front door and heard Mamie call, “Go change your clothes,” even before the door closed behind me. I hated changing my clothes after school. Not so much the changing. It was more setting away shoes and putting my dress on a hanger, which was a real pain in the behind. That day I’d got a brilliant idea. If I just went straight to the backyard, I might be able to get dirty before Mamie saw me. And if I was already dirty, there wouldn’t be a reason to make me change.
I walked along the side of the house, crouched low in case she was looking out the windows. It was cold so they were closed and I didn’t have to worry about noise givin’ me away. Once I got to the back corner of the house, I made a run for the tire swing Daddy’d hung when I was fi v e .
That’s when I saw her by the trash barrel.
Well, she looked as surprised as I was. She jumped and squeaked, grabbin’ her chest like he heart was gonna leap right out. She hurried toward me and, with a hand on my shoulder, moved me toward the back door. She said I’d startled her, but she looked for all the world like she was doing something sneaky, something she didn’t want me to see. It was my job to take the trash out and Mamie never did my job, even when I had tonsillitis. I got even more suspicious when she sat me down in the kitchen before I’d changed my clothes, poured my glass of milk for me, and let me have two cookies—and they were the good ones Mamie bought for bridge club that I wasn’t allowed to eat.
As I ate my cookies, I got to thinking. If Mamie didn’t want me to see what she’d put in the trash, I was gonna have to be crafty like a fox in finding out what it was. If she knew I was suspicious and looking, she’d just make up something I was doing wrong and send me to my room—believe me, she’d done it before. She’d send me to my room all right, and then hustle right out there and either burn the trash (which wasn’t supposed to be done until the next day) or move whatever it was she’d been hiding. Either way, I’d never know.
I needed a plan.
For the rest of the afternoon I went around the house gathering up every scrap of trash I could find. There was a good stockpile underneath my bed. I took a grocery bag to my room and stuffed it with broken crayons, filled-up coloring books, two socks with holes in the toes, and wadded up Kleenexes. I even pulled out all of my gold-star papers from school; I’d been keeping them in one of my drawers so I could show Daddy when he came home to visit. All of the sudden it was more important to find out what was in that trash barrel than it was to show Daddy I could spell bakery and away, match a chicken to an egg, and tell the number of stripes on the American flag. There weren’t any arithmetic papers, ’cause arithmetic gave me fits.
I blew my nose ten times, just to make more Kleenexes. Mamie heard and told me to wash my hands if I was getting sick. In the living room, I found two old church bulletins and threw them in the bag. I sure hoped Mamie was done with them.
By
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