Also Known As Harper (17 page)

Dorothy stood up slowly. “I'm going to go make up some of my date bread for tomorrow. Everyone used to love my date bread.”

Hem and I went back to the drive-in to wait for Mama. With all the good luck floating around today, she was bound to have found herself a big housecleaning job. One that paid enough to let her have a day off once in a while.

 

 

 

 

 

THE BAD NEWS
arrived right along with the good the next morning. Mama hadn't found herself another housecleaning job yet, but she wasn't leaving right away. She was going to take a couple of hours off from her looking to come listen to me read my poems on Dorothy's porch. She had gone over to the motel first thing. She said she wanted to take her shower and get herself all gussied up for the performance. I couldn't wait to see her face when I was reading my poems.

Hem and I were decorating the fold-up lawn chair for her to sit in. I wanted everything to be perfect for her.

“Mama will be the guest of honor.” I pulled apart a big brown paper grocery bag and tore it into thin
strips. “Here.” I handed a couple of strips to Hem. “Color some designs on these. Some zigzags and some stars. We're going to wind these through the armrests and fancy up the lawn chair for Mama.”

Hem rooted around in his shoebox and pulled out a pointy blue crayon. “I was saving this for something special.” He touched the point with his finger and put it to the paper, drawing a careful zigzag.

“Listen,” I said to Hem. “You and Randall need to remember to look at your audience when you read. Mrs. Rodriguez says you need to look up every few words to let your audience know you mean business.”

He nodded.

“Otherwise, their attention tends to wander, and they might just wander themselves right out of the performance.” I hoped no one would get up and leave while I was reading. I wasn't at all sure who was going to show up. We had put posters up everywhere.

My fingers felt shaky as I thought about flipping through my poetry notebook. I hadn't read in front of more than one or two people before, and those people were usually just Hem and Mama.

At least I knew that Mama would stick around until the end. And so would Hem and Lorraine and Randall. And Dorothy. I wanted Mama to get a look through Dorothy's screen door. I wanted her to see Dorothy's walls of books.

Hem bent low over a strip of grocery bag and moved his crayon in a careful swirl.

“Get a move on there.” I took the strip from him and wound it around an armrest. “We need to get this over to Dorothy's so Mama can have herself a front-row seat.”

I picked the chair up from behind. “We can't fold it together or we'll tear the decorations.” I kicked a crayon out of the way and headed toward the door.

“Wait!” Hem ran back to his backpack and grabbed
We Ride and Play.
He had managed to memorize the entire first story. All six pages.

We took some time getting to Dorothy's. I wasn't taking any chances in ruining the chair. I wanted Mama to feel special sitting in that chair while she listened to Hem and me read.

We were just about there when I saw the red and blue lights.

“Police cars!” Hem got excited and went into a trot.

But it was the ambulance I was noticing. The back door was wide open, and the drivers were lifting in one of those skinny stretchers on wheels. I could see straightaway who they had strapped to the stretcher, and my breath caught in my throat. I'd have recognized that pink stocking cap anywhere.

I dropped the lawn chair and took off behind Hem.

Randall was crying and trying to climb into the ambulance in back of the stretcher.

“I'm sorry, son.” The tallest ambulance guy put his arm out to stop Randall. “No kids allowed in the aid car.”

Randall had Dorothy's suit jacket in his hand. The one that looked as if it had belonged to Dorothy's dead husband. “She needs it.” His voice came out small and squeaky.

Seeing Randall like that made my eyes pool up as I scanned the area around the ambulance for Lorraine.

She finally came around to the back of the ambulance and took the jacket from Randall. She stood
head to head with the other ambulance guy and pushed right past him, climbing up into the ambulance. She unfolded the suit jacket over Dorothy and smoothed it out carefully over her stomach. Then she put her face down next to Dorothy's so their cheeks were touching.

I rubbed at my eyes with the back of my hand and tried to swallow over the dry spot in the back of my throat.

Randall was a lot stronger than he looked. He pushed a shoulder into the other ambulance guy and almost got past him.

Lorraine looked back at me, her face all blotchy and her eyes wide. “Hold him. Grab his hand. Please?” Her voice was low and raspy, and I wasn't even sure it belonged to her at first.

I couldn't believe there were real words coming out of Lorraine's mouth. My brain was trying to match those raspy sounds to her. Whenever I had imagined her voice in my head, it had always seemed more like mine. But her eyes were definitely the same, and they were telling me to listen to what she was saying.

I grabbed hold of Randall's arm good and tight.
“Go on, now,” I whispered to Hem. “Get yourself out of the way.”

Lorraine squeezed Dorothy's hand. “Come on, Dorothy. Please!” Her voice was still scratchy, but it was louder this time, and it got my tears going fullforce.

I caught a good look at Dorothy as the tall driver was closing the back door, and right then I knew why no one seemed to be in any hurry. As nice as Lorraine had smoothed out that suit jacket, Dorothy didn't need it.

In that quick second, my whole body got cold.

Dorothy was gone.

I gulped back some air and wished it was like on TV, where in the next moment I'd see her eyes flutter open.

But the peach part was gone from her cheeks, and her eyelids didn't move.

I pulled Hemingway and Randall up onto the porch and watched the ambulance pull away. It rolled slowly across the rocks beside the dirt pile, as if it was taking care not to jostle its insides.

I wanted to run after it and sit with Lorraine. I wanted to help her get out the right words for Dorothy.

But instead I pointed the boys toward the kitchen chairs on the porch and scooted Dorothy's chair between them. I sat myself down in that chair and leaned back against the screen, like Dorothy had done when she was listening to my poems. She had made her way into my poems, and I wasn't ready for her to leave.

I saw Randall's wide eyes, and a fresh batch of tears ran down my own face. Lorraine's voice came back to me, with its rough scratchiness. In all the times I'd tried to think of ways to help her find her words, this wasn't how I'd imagined they'd spill out.

Everything felt different up there on that porch. The last few minutes hadn't seemed real to me. And now it was as if everything had slowed down.

I wished I could back everything up to yesterday and make it all go in a different direction.

Randall's voice was shaky when he finally spoke, kind of like when Lorraine first found her words. “She was sitting underneath the tree when we got here.” He pointed across the yard at a toppled-over lawn chair. “I thought she was taking a nap.” He sniffed in hard and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. “But Lorraine knew something was wrong.” He stared at the air above my head, like he was
remembering. “Lorraine said her face looked too quiet.”

I remembered Dorothy's face under that pink stocking cap, and I knew there wasn't anything Randall or Lorraine could've done. My whole heart hurt for Lorraine and Randall. I didn't want them to have to feel that Flannery kind of sad.

Then Randall worked himself up to a fullfledged cry.

Hemingway scooted closer and patted him a couple of times on the back, but I could see he didn't quite know what to do.

Neither did I. I gave Randall a couple of pats myself, but then I decided to let him cry. Sometimes a person needs to let it out until they're bone dry. I watched his shoulders shaking and tried to make myself think back to Flannery. I tried to think of the right words.

Lorraine's totebag leaned up against the porch on the other side of the door. I reached inside for my poems and sat back to read the one that seemed most fitting. The one I was working on when I first saw Dorothy Pine outside the motel room. I cleared my throat and read loudly, so loudly as to make those words reach after Dorothy.

 

Also Known As Harper

by Harper Lee Morgan

I have been Harper Lee Morgan

Mostly all of my life.

The way I figure

That name has soaked itself into my bones.

Lately, though,

I've been figuring on something different.

Something without the Daddy part hooked on.

Being just plain Harper Lee

Might help my brother know

It's time to come in from that long wait on the porch.

Being just plain Harper Lee

Might help my mama know

It's not her fault Flannery never opened her eyes.

It'd be nice to start out fresh

Without the ragged part of me

Tagging along behind.

 

I hadn't been paying much attention to what was happening out front of the porch, until I heard the clapping. Mama stood to the side, the kindness in her eyes reaching out to me. That face of hers always
made you feel better no matter what was happening inside yourself.

Seeing Mama in front of me like that softened up the sharp edges inside of me.

I flipped through my notebook to look for the perfect poem, just for Mama this time, but I couldn't seem to concentrate.

I could see something spinning off to the side of the porch. When I leaned out, I saw Dorothy's clipboard hanging by a string from a handle of her wheelchair.

I remembered how carefully she'd written my name so Hem and me could have a warm shower. The fresh running water had felt so good. Just thinking about that made my tears get going again, rolling down my cheeks like the shower water.

I looked at Mama. “I'll be right back.”

 

 

 

 

 

THE PARKING LOT
of the motel was empty, except for Mrs. Early's cart. It sat in front of our old motel room, folded sheets piled high on top, and all her cleaning bottles dangling from the side.

Dorothy's voice made its way into the front of my brain and reminded me of why I was there.
She's the one that's never bothered to have the lock repaired. She looks the other way when folks go in to use the shower. Who do you think left this clipboard out to begin with?

I knew Dorothy wouldn't want all those people missing their warm water. I had to give the clipboard to Mrs. Early. She'd know what to do with it.

I hugged the clipboard to me and looked in the window of our old room. The woman straightening up the velvet horse painting reminded me straightaway of
Mrs. Early, without the extra-large part. When she turned more to the side, I saw she was Winnie Rae's aunt, mother of the truck stealer from our old dirt pile.

I moved quickly to the next window, hoping real hard she hadn't seen me. That's when I heard all the crying and carrying on. It sounded suspiciously like Winnie Rae Early, and it was coming from the direction of the end unit.

I was pretty good at sniffing out the Early stink, and wouldn't you know, there she was, blubbering away on the floor of the bathroom.

She had wedged herself down between the bathtub and the sink, and her crying was the kind where you forget to take a breath for a while.

I took a couple of steps in and stopped. “You hurt?” I wasn't used to this kind of Winnie Rae. A mean Early was so much easier to deal with than a crying one.

She seemed more like Hem's age, all hunched over like that. She wore pink patent-leather sandals with glittery jewels on the straps and her toes pointed in toward each other.

She looked up from behind her knees and took a big hiccupping gulp of air. I knew that not to be a hurt cry at all. It wasn't the kind you let out when you've taken a fall on the pavement. It was a sad kind.
It was the inside kind of hurt that doesn't plan on letting up for a good while.

“What happened?” I ducked down by the sink so I could understand her hiccupping words better.

“Birdie.” That was the only clear word I could get out of her.

“Who in the world is Birdie?” I didn't know what was wrong with Winnie Rae, and I needed to find her mama and get back to wait for Lorraine.

I didn't have time for her blubbering. Why should I, when she hadn't even taken the time to explain to Mrs. Rodriguez where I was? I could still hear Winnie Rae's nastiness in my mind.
I told Mrs. Rodriguez you're not sick. You just don't live there no more.
She loved telling me how the teacher was skipping over my desk.

I picked myself up and started to head for the door. My feet wanted to take me right out of there, and just leave Winnie Rae sobbing her eyes out in the bathroom.

But that sad crying of hers was swirling around me, and I couldn't stand seeing her hunched over like a hurt animal in a corner. That kind of hurt had taken hold of me before, and I knew I had to try to help. Even if it was Winnie Rae Early I was helping. It was the gasping that got to me most, and without
my thinking much more about it, my feet turned themselves around and took me back to her.

I put my hands on my hips. “You're going to have to tell me what's wrong, and you're going to have to tell me who Birdie is, Winnie Rae Early, or I'm turning around right now.”

She looked up at me. “My mama's baby came today.” The words were so quiet, it was hard to believe they were coming from Winnie Rae.

“Your mama's at the hospital?” I squatted down next to her.