Bombshells, page 9
Birdie slips her sweaty little hand in mine and we head down the sidewalk. The map doesn’t have any markings for our street, but there’s a circle at the corner where our street ends and we have to turn right onto March Street. I pour out a blob of paint on March Street and the fumes rise quickly in the hot air.
“Okay, Birdie. Here’s the first one.”
“I don’t want to walk in it.”
“But Mama said that’s what you’re supposed to do.”
Birdie puts her fists on her hips, and I see a tantrum building up in her face. “I don’t want to.”
“Why are you mad at me? I’m just trying to help you.”
“But what if we do get in trouble for painting on the road?” Birdie asks. “How does Mama know we won’t get arrested or something?”
“So many kids will be walking on those dots, they’ll be worn off before too long. Besides, we won’t get in trouble at all. If the police come, we’ll tell them Mama told us to do it. Then they can go talk to her, like she said. C’mon, Birdie. Let’s get this over with.”
“No. I’m not a baby, and I’m not making footprints to follow.”
“You’ll have to tell Mama you wouldn’t do it.”
“Maybe she won’t find out. You won’t tell her will you?”
I shrug. “Depends.”
Birdie grabs my hand again and we start walking. A yellow cat slinks across the road in front us.
“Depends on what?”
“Depends on if you make me mad or something.”
Birdie stops walking for a minute and looks up at me. “Do I make you mad all the time, Mellie?”
Damn. She looks like she’s going to cry, and I know if she starts, then I’ll cry, too. Then we’ll be walking through our neighborhood, pouring green circles of paint on the road and bawling our stupid eyes out.
So, she can’t cry. That means I can’t tell her how often she makes me angry. “No. You don’t make me mad all the time. Like right now, I’m not mad at you.” And I’m not, now that I think about it. Birdie had a much worse first day of school than I had. How can I be upset with her?
“Well, I’m mad at someone. Debbie Robison.”
“Is her brother Jimmy? He’s a safety patrol this year, isn’t he?” I remember him from the ceremony at the end of school last year.
Birdie nods, still looking angry. We stop at the next corner: March and Champion. I spill some more paint and look at Birdie. She shakes her head. “I’m not making footprints.”
“Okay. It’s your map we’re making.”
After a few minutes Birdie says, “I’m mad at every kid who was at that corner.”
“I can understand that.” Some boys are throwing a ball around in front of Mark Mitchell’s house. I make sure the jar is hidden between me and Birdie. But they ignore us. After all, Mark Mitchell is still in sixth grade.
Birdie sighs. “But really and truly, I’m mad at Mama.”
I look down and see that Birdie’s face is getting red like she just ran around the house five times. I don’t know what to say. I get angry with Mama, too, but I’ve never said it out loud. In fact, I was upset all day because of Mama insisting on giving me that stupid home permanent. Still, I can’t tell Birdie it’s okay to be mad at Mama, because it isn’t.
Is it?
“I keep thinking that if she wasn’t going to have that stupid baby…” Birdie stops walking and looks up at the sky. “I’m sorry, God. I know the baby isn’t stupid, at least not yet.” She skips to catch up with me and says, “Then Mama would’ve come to school on time. And none of this would’ve happened.”
“I guess so.” I’m surprised at how much sense Birdie’s making. And I sure understand what she feels about the baby, though I don’t think I’ve ever even admitted to myself that I think the baby’s stupid.
Gee, we’re terrible sisters, aren’t we?
A car full of laughing teen-aged girls drives past us. They have their elbows sticking out of the open windows and the radio is playing. I wonder if I’ll ride in a car and laugh like that with Steph one day? The thing is, I’m not sure if Steph will still be friends with me if I don’t start wearing make-up and kissing boys.
Birdie and I don’t talk for a while. There’s nothing left for us to say. We keep walking and pour circles at Champion, then at Triumph and Ally Boulevard, where the school is. Thankfully, we don’t see any more kids around here. It’s like they’re staying as far away from school as they can.
At the intersection of Ally and Triumph, Birdie stops and looks around. “This is where I got mixed up.” She points to her left. “Debbie crossed that way instead of this way, and before I knew it, I was far away.”
“So we need to make sure you remember to turn this way when you leave school, right?”
We cross to the other side of Ally Boulevard and I pour out three circles this time. “With three circles you’ll know this is the important corner.”
“Yes.” Birdie points to the wide drainage ditch that runs beside Ally Boulevard. “I need to remember that deep ditch over there and then the yellow house with the fence and the big dog.”
“Yep.”
The German shepherd barrels toward the fence, barking his head off. He runs back and forth on the dirt path he’s worn next to the fence.
I take Birdie’s hand and we walk toward the fence. “Hello, Heinzie.” Heinzie sits and waits for me to come pet him through the fence. I put the mayonnaise jar and the rag on the ground. “He’s always lived here. He won’t bite or anything, he just likes to run and bark at people. I think he wants to play with us, but he never gets out of the fence. His owner said we could pet him, but not to let him out.”
Birdie puts her hands behind her back and watches while I rub Heinzie’s head through the fence. His tongue is flopping around and he looks like he’s got a silly grin on his face. “Heinzie, this is Birdie. She’s my sister. You take good care of her and make sure she comes by to pet you every day, okay?”
Heinzie lowers his head and sniffs at the ground like he’s trying to smell Birdie’s flip-flops. She takes a step closer, right up to the fence, and Heinzie licks her toes. She giggles and smiles for the first time all afternoon.
“Hi.” She puts the tips of her fingers through the fence and touches the dog’s nose, before snatching her hand back. “Ew! His nose is wet.” Heinzie barks, and Birdie jumps away.
“It’s okay, boy. It’s okay,” I say, and the dog calms down. “You have to move slow and certain around him, or he’ll think you’re going to hurt him.” I put my hand out in front of me and hold it still for a second, then slowly reach through the fence. “Like this.” Heinzie puts his ear right under my fingers for a good scratch. “See?”
Birdie looks up at me. “He likes brave girls, doesn’t he?”
I look back to see Birdie watching me with her big blue eyes full of wonder. She thinks I’m brave? I guess that shows what a six-year-old knows, huh? “He’s just old and fidgety. See how his eyes are cloudy? I don’t think he can see very well, so he likes things slow. You try again.”
Birdie does exactly what I did: holds her hand out in front of her, really still for a few seconds, and then puts her fingers through the fence. Heinzie dips his head under her fingers and moves it back and forth, like he’s helping her give him a rub. Birdie giggles and says, “I’m a brave girl, too, Heinzie.”
“Hi, girls.”
I recognize that voice, that smooth, melting chocolate voice.
Robert.
BIRDIE
I skip over to meet Robert as he walks toward us. Heinzie starts barking and running all over again. “Hi, Robert. Do you know Heinzie?”
“Yep.” Robert smiles and puts his hand on my head. His palm is hot. “Old Heinzie’s been running behind that fence for a long time. Did you pet him?”
“Of course. I’m a brave girl.”
“Sure you are. How’s the arm?”
“Got some new names today.” I wave my cast around. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, but it itches like crazy.” Just saying that makes me itch, so I rub it against my belly, but that doesn’t do much good. I look over to see where Melanie is. She’s still standing beside the fence, with the jar of paint by her feet. “C’mon, Robert. Say hi to Heinzie.” When Robert and me get to the fence, the dog stops running and waits for Robert to give him a pat.
“Hi, Melanie.”
For just a second everything is quiet. Heinzie isn’t barking. No cars are driving past. I can’t even hear any birds singing. I watch Mellie, waiting for her to answer Robert. She’s taking her sweet time.
“Hi, Robert.”
Finally. I was beginning to think she didn’t want to talk to Robert.
“How was the first day of school?” Robert is still looking at Melanie, not me, so I don’t have to answer. I’m so glad.
I hear the rumble of a jet that sounds far away, and look up. The plane is so high, it’s just a speck of shining silver in the sky. The long white cloud behind it is puffing up, changing from a straight line to a dotted one. When I look back at Melanie, her face is kind of pink. She shrugs and says, “Okay, I guess. I have Mrs. Marchman for math. Did you have her?”
Robert nods and grins. “Sorry ’bout that.”
“Sure you are.” Melanie picks up the paint jar and rag. “Come on, Birdie. Let’s go home.”
“Mind if I walk with you? I’m headed home, too.”
Melanie looks at him like she’s surprised, but she never answers. So I decide to take charge. I grab Melanie’s hand with one hand and bump Robert’s leg with my cast. “Let’s go.”
After we walk across the newly painted dots on the street, Melanie starts to talk. “What are you doing over this way, Robert?”
“Just checking on a few yards to mow. I need some work until I leave in a few weeks. By the way, my folks are giving me a going away party next Saturday. Will you be able to come?”
I look up at Melanie and she’s quiet, her lips closed like she’s never going to talk again. I have to take charge once more. “Sure, Robert. We’ll come. Are you going to have ice cream and cake?”
He laughs. “I’ll make sure we do.”
“Oh, goodie. Where are you going, anyway?”
He looks over my head at Melanie. “I’m going into the Navy. I have to go to Michigan for basic training.”
“You’re really going?” Mellie says.
“Yes. I’m really going.”
This is a grown-up conversation we’re having, so I stop swinging my arms and just hold hands with them both, all connected together. We stop at the corner and wait for a car to go by. Robert looks down at the green dot on the road and then at the jar of green paint Mellie is holding. He says, “Are you two painting graffiti on the road?”
Mellie smiles, and I think for a minute I’m looking at someone else, a girl much older and a lot prettier than my sister.
But I’m holding my breath, because I don’t want her to tell Robert what we’re really doing. She might tell him I wet my pants. I don’t want anyone else to know. So I have to take charge one more time. In a rush, I say, “Mama told us to come paint some graf-a-tee-tee on the road. She said it needed some.”
Robert and Mellie laugh really hard, and sound kind of like Mama and Daddy laughing at one of my circus tricks, except I don’t remember doing a trick.
Robert leaves us when we get to his driveway. As soon as he is in his house, I ask Mellie, “What is graf-a-tee-tee, anyway? Just dots on the road?”
“Graffiti is when kids go paint things in places where they aren’t supposed to. You know those words painted on the trains? And the black paint on the highway bridges? That’s graffiti.”
“Uh-oh. Robert knows that, doesn’t he?”
Mellie laughs again. “Yep.”
Hmm. I don’t know what kind of trouble I’m in now. Is it worse to tell a lie, or worse to do something bad, like painting graf-a-tee-tee? I’m not sure, but I think Mama will think telling a lie is the worst. But maybe she won’t find out.
“Are you going to tell Mama I told Robert a lie?”
“Depends.”
“Depends on what?”
Mellie frowns like she’s thinking really hard about something. I get those rolling waves in my stomach. I wonder what I can do to make her not mad at me. “How about if I make up your bed in the morning?”
“Okay.” She opens the front door for me. “And you have to do a good job.”
I run in and tell Mama, “Robert thought we were painting graf-a-tee-tee on the road. Isn’t that funny? He also said he was going to have ice cream and cake at his going-away party. Hi, Flossie. Is it time for you to go home?”
Flossie nods her head and unties her apron. I go over to stand by her. I want to say something about her being so nice to me after school, but I’m not sure what to say. Instead of talking, I hug both of her legs. She drops the apron over my back and rubs between my shoulders. “It’s okay, Sweet Baby. Tomorrow will be better.”
I nod against her white dress. She smells good. Warm and sweet, like those white flowers that turn brown if you touch them. Just like she did at school today when we were in the janitor closet. She pats my back and lets me go.
Behind me, I hear Mellie say, “He joined the Navy. Did you know that, Mama?”
“Yes,” I say. “Robert joined the Navy.” I’m holding Flossie’s shopping bag for her to put her apron in.
Mama nods. “When’s the party?”
Mellie puts the jar of paint on the kitchen counter. “Next Saturday.”
“How would you like a new dress to wear, Mellie?”
“Really?” Mellie sounds a little out of breath. Is she excited about a new dress? I guess so. Maybe I should have a new one, too.
“I want a new dress for the party, too.”
“I’ll see what I can do about that. I have some purple fabric that will work for you, Bird-girl.”
“Yay! I get a purple dress. I get a purple dress.” I dance around the kitchen, watching Flossie put on her straw hat.
“Mellie,” Mama says, “what do you think about a jumper made out of that polished navy cotton? You can wear it without a blouse under it for the party, and then still get some use out of it during the winter.”
“Yes, ma’am. That would be nice.”
“Navy blue always looks sharp and neat, Miss Mellie,” Flossie says. “It sure does. Well, Miz Adams, I’m gonna be headin’ to the bus stop, now. Y’all have a good evenin’.”
“Okay, Flossie.” Mama gets up from her chair and shakes Flossie’s hand. “Thanks for everything today. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
“No trouble. No trouble at all. I’ll see you on Thursday.”
We stand at the door and watch Flossie until she gets to the end of the driveway. I’ve got a knot in my chest from thinking about how awful the end of school was. “I wish Flossie could live with us, Mama.”
Mama closes the front door, and goes in the kitchen to wash her hands. “Where would Flossie sleep? We’ll be out of room when the baby comes.”
That darned ol’ baby is messing up everything. Mama takes a head of cabbage out of the fridge. Oh, no. We must be having coleslaw for supper. Yuck. “Flossie can sleep with me in our room, right Mellie?”
Mellie just wrinkles her nose at me, and I can tell she thinks that’s a bad idea. Well, I don’t care. I think it’s a terrific idea.
“Mama, can I wash my hair?” Mellie tugs on her ponytail. “It smelled bad all day today.”
“You have to wait three days unless you want frizzy hair.” Mama motions for Mellie to come stand beside her while she grates the cabbage. Even though I don’t like slaw, I like to watch the cabbage turn into little specks of whitish green. The shush-whush-shush sound is like an instrument we played in school today. I forget what it’s called, but it makes me want to wiggle in a little dance.
Mama sniffs Mellie’s hair. “It doesn’t smell bad. You’ll be fine.”
Gee. Mama’s smeller must be broken, because Mellie’s hair does smell bad. Almost as bad as cabbage.
Thursday, September 13, 1962
NORAH
The girls have been in school for almost two weeks now, and everything seems to be settling down. Birdie hasn’t had another accident, and she seems to be adjusting. The only thing I’m worried about with her is she’s chewing on her bottom lip. It’s red and raw. Something must still be bothering her, but she won’t tell me. I’m going to send a note to ask about having a parent-teacher conference. I need to do that before the baby comes in a few more weeks.
Right now, Birdie seems happy enough. She’s coloring and humming a new song.
Melanie comes through the door, looking hot and tired, like she has every day since school started. “Hi, Mellie. How was school, sweetie?”
“Okay, I guess.” Melanie leans over and kisses me on the cheek. I’m resting on the sofa with my swollen feet propped up on two bed pillows. The doctor told me to make sure to put my feet up for at least an hour every morning and an hour every evening. My blood pressure is still running high and my feet stay swollen.
Having Flossie coming to help me out was strange at first, but honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without her. She’s noticed how wilted Melanie looks and is heading to the kitchen in my place, so I can stay here with my feet up.
“Melanie, would you like some iced tea?” she asks. “I made some for your Mama’s lunch today.” Flossie words sound round, like bubbles floating up from her throat then drifting through the air. Her voice is smooth, with no sharp edges at all.
“Yes, ma’am. I’d love some iced tea,” says Mellie, my good girl.
Flossie hands Melanie a cold glass of tea and then resumes ironing Clay’s shirts. I haven’t had to iron anything for several weeks now. She does a real fine job.
“Do you have homework, Mellie?” I ask.
“Yes, ma’am. I need a current event.”
“The newspaper is on the end table. I noticed there was a big article about President Kennedy’s visit to Cape Canaveral yesterday. They say we won’t be behind the Russians in the space race much longer. That should be good for current events, right?”
