Short Stories from Wing's Authors.

Bailey Avenue

by

Mary Edwards

It will soon be daylight, but I won’t go downstairs until I hear the city busses running on the street and the ringing of the telephone. Until then my thoughts will be on the other side of town my grandma’s house. I can see her sitting on the side of that high white bed, fully dressed, clenching and unclenching her hands. She’s trying to think of a way to slip out without Miss Anne seeing her go. She’ll have two bus tokens tied in the handkerchief that she has hidden between her breasts. If she gets out she’ll walk swiftly on stick-thin legs to the bus stop. I feel excited. I’m pulling for her, the way I always pull for the underdog at a wrestling match or at ball games. “Come on Gran. You can make it,” I say softly into the darkness, letting my mind travel with her on that furtive, scurrying journey. I hope she makes it. I see the bus with the sign on it that says Bailey Avenue in black letters against a lighted white square. The bus will pull to the curb and she’ll get on.

In a little while the phone will ring. Mom gets up early and she’ll answer it. She won’t call me because she knows I’ll be awake. I’m always awake early to get as much writing done as I can before breakfast. You see-- I’m keeping a journal about Gran.

I keep thinking about what I overheard Mom say. Something about Gran’s mind and there being a fusion and that to Gran I’m not her grandson, but her son. I didn’t know what she meant then, but gosh, it hurts me now because I know that all the pieces that used to make up a sensible old lady just don’t fit anymore. Anyway, when the phone rings I’ll get dressed and eat as quickly as I can. Mom will drive me to Bailey Avenue because I don’t have a license and I haven’t learned Jackson, Mississippi well enough to drive in. Things have been this way ever since Grandpa died.

I know Mom is trying to make it up to Gran and me that she moved from Mississippi to California and lost touch. She didn’t tell me it was because my daddy didn’t want us anymore, but I knew. She had given Gran our address and told her not to use it unless she had to. We didn’t hear from Gran until Grandpa took sick to die.

Mom gripes a lot but she does things like driving me on these trips because she loves me. I see her watching me sometimes. I know that since I’m almost seventeen years old it won’t be many years until I’ll have grown away. I don’t know how to tell her, but I won’t ever leave her the way my daddy left his parents.

Looking back to the days when I didn’t know my grandparents makes me wonder. I’ve got this tender feeling for Gran, it’s there as if I had known and been with her all my life. I feel as if I have to be waiting when she needs me, to protect her against any more pain. Sometimes, though I’m still just a boy, it seems that Gran is my child. I get to feeling mixed up because I can’t talk about it. Boys aren’t supposed to think that way I guess, but I do. To keep from bursting with the way I feel, I’m writing this down.

I suppose I feel this way about Gran because her son was my daddy. She didn’t know, or refused to take in the fact that he didn’t have it in him to carry his own responsibilities. Maybe he didn’t know how to love, I don’t know. I don’t ponder on it.

I didn’t feel much one way or the other about grandpa, except hating to know he was dying. I would never be close to him because he didn’t know I was there. He will never give me a smile I can remember. I only saw him for a few minutes the day we arrived. The reason Gran didn’t see me, or know I was there was because of friends going in and out of the house. I had come into the hall with mom. I stayed in the background, making sure I didn’t attract attention to myself. Mom went directly into the bedroom. I sidled close to the door and kept to the shadows in the hallway. I could see most of the room. It was so clean it would have been painful for me to spend time in it. I saw a high old bed with white sheets turned back over a blue bedspread. The only thing that I could see that looked out of place was the grizzled hair. It stuck out in wisps on Grandpa’s head where it dented the pillow. I saw too the constant movement of the gnarled old hands that picked at the covers.

Gran came to mom and held her cheek for mom to peck with her lips the way women do. I heard mom whisper, “how is he?”

“You don’t have to whisper,” Gran said. “He can’t hear you.”

“Why did they let him come home from the hospital?” Mom said, and I wondered at the calmness of her voice. My mom is not a calm person, especially in a situation like this one.

Grandma looked at her. Her eyes were bleak, defeated and held a terrible loneliness. Her jaw hardened and she swallowed twice. "To die. I suppose they figured there was no use running up a bill I couldn’t pay. He would take a bed away from somebody with a chance to get well.”

“But he needs fluids. Don’t they know you can’t do that for him?” Mom asked angrily.

“He rouses up now and then. I spoon pot licker into him, give him water with a spoon. That ain’t the hard part. Keeping him clean is what’s hard.” Gran walked to the fireplace and leaned her head against the mantel. “I ain’t big enough or strong enough to take care of him by myself. That’s why I sent for you. I hope you don’t take it wrong, things being what they are between Daniel and you.” She said. She put her hands to her face and cried, “Why don’t he come? Why don’t Daniel come?”

Gran’s voice was almost drowned out in the noise of people crowding into the hall. One of the men caught and held my attention because he mirrored my image only older. I turned my body so that I wouldn’t be noticed and eased my way around a couple of women and the man I looked like.

The one I looked like went into Grandpa’s room, and I heard Gran give a shriek of joy and I heard a man’s voice say, “Hey now, sweetheart, you know I would have come sooner if I could have, don’t you?”

I couldn’t hear what Gran said, but I could hear the murmur of her voice and it had a happy sound. Mom came into the hall and motioned me into the kitchen with her. She seemed to know her way around in the big old-fashioned kitchen. She reached into a cabinet and took down a can of coffee. She washed the old blue granite pot under the water faucet and filled it. She measured coffee into it and set it on the stove. She struck a match, turned the gas jet on and lit the fire under the pot. All this time I was looking at the stove. I had never seen one like it. It stood on legs and underneath it was a basket with a big yellow cat asleep in it. Mom didn’t say anything until the coffee had started to perk.

She turned to me and said, “That’s your daddy in there. I want you to keep away from him.”

She sat down at the table and pushed her hair back with both hands. “My God, why didn’t I stay in California?”

I really looked at her then. I could see that her eyes were red from crying. I saw a lot more too. No matter what she said, she still loved my daddy, and that’s why there had never been anyone else. She loved Gran too, and that old man in the bed. I could tell she was really hurting. I knew the trips she had taken alone had been to be with daddy. I pondered a moment about women.

I was certain the old lady who was my grandmother was somebody special. I couldn’t help but think my daddy would have something good in him. I learned something from the two women who loved him that I hope I never forget. I don’t ever want to treat a woman the way my daddy treated them.

I left mom with her thoughts and the hope that daddy would follow her into the kitchen. I went out to the front porch where a deputy sheriff leaned against the porch rail. He was dressed in a khaki uniform and wore a gun on his hip. There were some men with him who hadn’t been inside the house. They were talking and didn’t notice me. I could tell from their talk that they knew my daddy was in the house. I went down the steps and sat in the grass by the Oleander bushes that hid me from their view. It didn’t take long to know they were catching up on the news about Daniel from the deputy whose name was Roscoe.

“Wonder if he’ll stay with the old lady now?” one of the men asked.

“I hope he don’t. He’s pulled some shady deals and I don’t want him on my back.” Roscoe said.

“He’s some kin of yours, ain’t he?”

“Yep. We used to be as close as brothers, but that don’t mean nothing when it comes to my job. Sometimes it gets to me awful bad, but I’ve got my job to do and I do it. I just hope he don’t foul up around here.”

“How much kin is he, Ros?” One of the men asked.

“That old man in there and my daddy are brothers,” Roscoe said.

My chest bumped with excitement and pride. I raised my head from my knees and stood up. I got a good look at Roscoe. He looked a real man in my eyes. He was good looking in a rough sort of way. He had the look of being brown all over, hair, and eyes, skin and uniform.

The skinny man who had been asking all the questions said “You reckon he’s gonna try to pull anything around here?”

Roscoe looked thoughtful, his face was hard and from where I stood I could see the sad look in his eyes. His voice sounded cracked and husky when he said “I hope not, but let's get something straight. He hasn’t been guilty of all the things he’s been accused of.”

I must have made some sound but I don’t know. I only know I wanted no trouble. I didn’t want trouble for myself or for Mom and those two old people in the house. I wanted my daddy to go away, even if I never got to know him.

The men got quiet all of a sudden and I turned to see why. Roscoe was looking at me. The others were looking too and it was as if they recognized me. I know my face turned red, because I felt too hot and my shirt was sticking to me. The way they stared made me feel strange and guilty. I wondered if they knew I had heard them talking. I turned and ran across the street and into the cool recess of the drug store. I thought I felt their eyes boring into my back as I bolted through the door.

I was just getting comfortable on a stool at the soda fountain when someone sat beside me. I knew it was Roscoe before I looked around.

“I can tell by the favor that you must be Daniel’s youngun. What’s your name, son?” he said.

“Daniel,” I said in a low voice, not proud the way I wished I could have been. I sounded defiant too, because even if I couldn’t feel proud of my daddy I still didn’t want him badmouthed to me. It was as if Roscoe knew how I felt, for he put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

It was then we heard the commotion across the street. Roscoe jumped up and told me to stay put. I was afraid to disobey the authority I heard in his voice. I wavered, but not for long. I had heard the brakes squealing and the impact when the car hit. I wanted to do as Roscoe said do, but I couldn’t. It was as if I knew.

I ran out just before the ambulance got there. I pushed through the people crowding around something in the street, but Roscoe got to me and held me back. He repeated over and over, “He was trying to come to you, boy. He wanted to be with you.”

When the men came with the stretcher I could hear mom screaming. I can’t explain the things I was feeling, or why I started the crazy sounding laughter. Roscoe slapped me and I was crying when they brought the stretcher by me. I saw the man who had fathered me, and it hit me hard that this wasn’t just someone called Daniel. They were taking away my daddy.

Something broke way down inside me and I felt myself choking, needing to cry more and not able to. Mixed up with those feelings was a yearning, a straining toward him. I felt that if I could get to him and put my arms around him I could make him know my feelings. Make him feel all my suppressed love. It still comes back to me in my quiet times that part of me went away on that stretcher and that I was the one who held Mom back when they took him away.

It was while they were on their way to the hospital with daddy that grandpa died. Gran had stayed in the room with him and nobody told her about daddy. I was glad she didn’t know. I wondered how she had missed the noise and confusion, but I know now it is because the bedroom is on the back and from there it’s hard to hear from the front of the house.

Someone offered to drive Mom and me to the hospital. I went inside the house with her to get her purse, and we could hear Gran crying. We went into the bedroom and saw her leaning over Grandpa. I don’t know why, but I stepped back into the hall and other people got between the door and me. In between her sobs Gran called for Daniel. When she wailed, “Don’t you care son?” I felt the tears running down my face because she cried for someone who couldn’t come.

Grandpa and my daddy had a double funeral. That day I knew that something had gotten twisted in Gran’s mind. She refused to accept the fact that she was at a funeral. She stayed close to me, smiling and reminding me that we ought to get on home. I knew very well, she said, that Papa wanted his supper on the table when he got home from work. Papa is what she always called Grandpa. She didn’t ask for Daniel anymore either. She was content as long as she knew I was near.

Roscoe talked Mom into staying in Jackson. He reminded her that she needed a big brother close by. I had the wish he could have been something more. I think he’s swell and I’m glad we’re going to be around where I can see a lot of him. He also found Miss Anne to come and live in with Gran. He said it was that or a home for old people. I knew Gran was living in the past but I couldn’t stand the thought she might be put away. Mom wouldn’t consider my wish that we live with her. She said she had too much to forget and she didn’t want constant reminders.

When she talked to me she put her arms around me. She said she was sorry that she had kept me away from my grandparents. She said she had cheated me of the relationship we could have had. I wanted to tell her it didn’t matter, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t true. I know I’ll always feel sad that Gran doesn’t know me for who and what I am to her. I could have loved Grandpa too, if I could have known him.

This is my last year in high school. I started to the school near our rented home. I know Mom didn’t know it was the school my daddy had gone to or she would have made me go somewhere else. I felt shy, as I always do in a new situation. That’s why I was so pleased to see Gran waiting for me that first day. I took her arm and walked with her. She continued turning her head and smiling at me, her eyes twinkling in her little childlike face. She talked the proverbial blue streak as we walked.

“You know, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it rains today. I cooked a pot of your favorite soup. I’m glad the weather’s cooler.” She skipped around with her short sentences.

I was so busy listening I hadn’t noticed the direction we had taken. It came as a shock to see that we were on the porch of a strange house. Gran opened the door to walk in as if she lived there. She hesitated and pulled the door closed. Then she turned to the rocking chair at the end of the porch.

“I think I’ll sit out here a little while. The sun feels good to me.” She said.

I stood behind her. My nerves made me jumpy because I didn’t know what to do. It was then a woman came to the door and peered out at us. I motioned to her that I needed to talk to her. When she signaled that I should come in I told Gran that I had to get a drink of water. Once inside I asked to use the phone. I tried to explain about Gran as she led the way to the back of the hall where the phone sat on the hall desk. The woman told me her name was Eunice Frith. She said that she would go around the house and come up the walk as if for a visit. I called Mom and was back on the porch as Mrs. Frith came up the steps. She introduced herself to Gran and was invited to sit and rest a spell. Mrs. Frith carried it off real well. I believe she liked Gran on sight. She’s been mighty big about helping out when Gran manages to get away and go there.

She listens while Gran tells her about the childhood diseases that she nursed me through. What a curly cap my hair had been when I was a baby. She said that every time she caught the scent from the cotton mill, it took her back to the day I was born.

Soup cooking, wood smoke and falling leaves will always remind me of these days with Gran. She has gone so far back in time that I know she will go back to the house where she lived when her Daniel was a boy. Mrs. Frith will call and Mom will take me there. Once again Gran will be with the one she believes is her young son.

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