Beneath a Meth Moon (3 page)

this storm coming

THAT DAY,
I stopped just telling M'lady my stories and started writing them down. M'lady said as long as she was living, she'd make it her duty to keep me in little notebooks, took me to the office supply store in town and bought me four right on the spot. Pencils and pens and some dog-shaped erasers for the times I changed my mind about what I wanted to write. A few mornings later, I came running home to her, holding high up in the air a notebook filled with stories I'd written just that day.

Laurel, you do any listening in school or just all this writing?
M'lady asked, flipping through the pages, trying real hard not to smile.

I did a little bit of listening,
I said back.
But the teacher didn't say anything interesting to me. And the people in my stories, they just started talking louder.

Then M'lady laughed hard, throwing her head back, blue hair flying. Strange how being able to make a person laugh fills you up with something good.
Lord, girl, you're something else.

Late in the afternoon, after the hot Pass Christian sun went down, you could feel the breezes coming off the water. We'd head slow toward it, M'lady's dress blowing, always pale blue or gray or green. Always reminding me of the water.

We'd walk on Market until the sidewalks turned to sand, then we'd turn and head along West Beach, walking along the water.

Mississippi heat's hard to explain. Like walking out into thick steam some mornings and hard to move. But the afternoon I brought my first story home to M'lady, the weather had turned, the thick air heavy and wet, dark clouds hanging low over us as we walked.

They keep talking about this storm coming,
M'lady said. She stopped walking, leaned hard on her cane and looked up at the sky.
Saying we need to be heading inland, find shelter.

We got shelter,
I said
.
Our house.

M'lady shook her head and started walking again. I could see the water now, the small waves higher than usual, white capped and angry-looking.

They said it's gonna be badder than a house can hold. Your daddy's taking y'all up Jackson tomorrow, stay with your cousins there and wait it out.

Not going to Jackson,
I said.
They can go by themselves. I'm staying here with you, M'lady. Or you come with us if it's supposed to be bad like they're saying.

M'lady shook her head again.
It's just talk, Laur. People need something to get people scared about. A storm's a storm, and I've waited out plenty of them. But your daddy's taking you and your mama and baby Jesse just in case, so you'll go. I'll be right here when y'all get back.

We walked slow the rest of the way to the water. Stood at the edge of it a long time, watching it move toward us.

galilee sunrise

GALILEE SUNRISE IS LIKE NOTHING
anybody could ever dream of, except God. I guess he decided to take the prettiest sunrise and put it down right here. When we first moved here, me, Daddy and Jesse Jr. would go to the sunrise service at Christ's House Church, and we'd get up real early. I'd have my clothes laid out on my bed so I just had to wash up and get in them. Then I'd sit brushing my hair while it was still near dark out. We'd wait to the very last minute to wake Jesse Jr. because once he was awake, nobody could do anything except make sure he didn't break something or break himself. I'd braid my hair down my back and wrap a colored elastic around the end. Daddy would be in the bathroom shaving and humming. Mostly he hummed Christian songs because that was mostly all he listened to.

Just a little while before we left, we'd get Jesse Jr. up, dress him and feed him something. Jesse Jr. shared a room with me, and his bed was in one corner, mine in the other. Aside from those two beds and a small rug, there wasn't much to our room. Wasn't much to our house. A couch and two chairs in the living room and a coffee table with a wobbly leg. A small TV connected up to a big satellite dish outside. Some pictures on the wall. A few pots and plates in the kitchen. We had a white tablecloth that I put out for birthdays and Thanksgiving. In the two closets in the living room, we had clothes—me and Jesse Jr.'s in one closet, Daddy's in the other. My daddy would say,
When our ship comes in, there won't be enough closet space in this house, so I guess we're gonna have to move to a mansion then.
Then we'd be all dressed heading out to the car with that pretty sunrise looking down over us. Those mornings, as we drove quiet to church, it felt like we'd been given a whole new life. It was different, but it was ours, and in it, we had just about everything we needed—we had each other and God and that beautiful Galilee.

daddy: part one

I DID LEAVE THE MOON ALONE
for a while. After Daddy found it under my pillow, he sat on the edge of my bed and cried.

It isn't mine,
I said, turning away from him.

I hadn't seen him cry since the day we buried Mama and M'lady, and to see the tears coming that way—hard and fast, him taking big gulps like his breathing was gonna stop, made me take my own deep breaths and pray that the moon flowed out of me. Forever and ever. I didn't want to hurt my daddy like that. Never wanted to hurt my daddy.

Outside, a freezing rain was falling hard. Maybe it was a Saturday, but already I had mostly stopped going to school, so the days blurred over themselves with the only distinction being night breaking into day and day to night again.

Whose is it, then? And what the hell is it, anyway?
Daddy opened the bag and sniffed it. He turned back to my pillow and flung it to the foot of my bed. There was a small metal pipe there, blackened at one end from the flame and the moon.

Oh, dear Laurel . . . dear God!
my daddy said, closing his eyes tight like that could make everything disappear.
Dear God in Heaven help—

Give it to me!

Daddy looked up, like he'd forgotten I was there, his tears still coming.

Give it to me!
I whispered, my voice trembling. I had just come out of the shower, and my hair was wet and dripping, my back and legs still damp in my shorts and T-shirt.

You're not this, Laurel. Me and your mama and M'lady didn't make you this!

Just give it to me!
I said again. I had been standing across the room from him, but now I moved fast toward him, hitting at him and trying to grab the moon. But my daddy was faster. Even though he was crying, he snatched the pipe and the moon away from me and with his other hand grabbed my arm so hard it hurt.

You're hurting me!

But he didn't let go.

Where did you get it, Laur?

It's Kaylee's!
I was crying now, needing the moon that was so close . . .
Kaylee asked me to hold it for her!

Does Donna know?

I didn't answer him.

Does Kaylee's mama know she's using this stuff, Laur? Answer me!

Give it to me!
I was shivering now.

My daddy put the pipe and the moon in his pocket, then took my face in both of his hands, looking hard at me. His own face was red and wet from crying, and even as he held my head, the tears kept coming.

God help us,
he whispered, dropping my face and turning away from me.

Give it to me!

But my daddy was walking out of my room. In another minute, I heard his car starting and then speeding down the road, my moon in his pocket, toward Kaylee's house.

I leaned against the wall and lowered myself down. My whole body trembled with wanting the moon. Jesse Jr. came in, dragging his stuffed bear behind him.

Don't cry, Laurel,
he said, his tiny hand rubbing my back
.
Mama's in heaven. Don't cry.

Leave me alone for a little while, Jesse!
I said.

But Jesse Jr. ignored me, his tiny hand moving in circles over my back, his voice soft in my ear.
Don't worry, Laurel. She's not scared anymore.

water rising up

I USED TO WALK AND WALK
after I ran away. Had to keep moving, had to let the moon move through my body, keep flowing, and didn't feel the heat on me till my skin burned. No rain hardly, but still if I stopped moving, the visions of the water came at me. I heard the crushing of rock against rock. Heard the Mississippi roaring. Couldn't breathe through all the water coming down and over me. There's my house . . . washing away. Water like somebody's angry hand slamming it to pieces.

And you'll smile,
M'lady said.
Remembering me.

Her voice inside my head over and over . . . There's my friend Emmajean's daddy's Honda—EJ's doll against the window as the car twisted through the water, landing topside down two hundred feet away.

There's the oak tree we used to climb, lying on its side now, five feet high.
Count the rings,
my science teacher said that year.
And it'll tell you the age of the tree
. How many hundreds of rings beneath that clump of dirt and roots? How deep is that hole the tree left behind?

EJ's daddy stayed behind. I hear her and her mama settled in Texas. What was the song me and Emmajean used to sing together?
Miss Sue. Bless You. Say it with an eye closed. Touch your head, shoulder, nose. Miss Sue . . .
Strange not to know anybody who remembers the words.

But we were already gone by the time the water rose up. We'd driven away at sunrise, the clouds low and dark, the gulf already angry and creeping high up, rain coming down. My daddy said,
The storm might pass right over,
and my mama looked at him.
Y'all getting out of here till it does, Charles. Come right back to me when it's passed on by.
And so we pulled into the long line of cars driving away from the water. Behind us, M'lady waved.

But you were coming with us, Mama.

I can't leave M'lady here, precious. And she's too stubborn to leave.

Then Mama touched my hair, pulled my braid to her lips and kissed it.
You be sure to brush your hair in the morning, you hear me? Keep it pretty.

I reached through the car window and held on to her real hard.

If it gets bad, we'll go over to the Walmart,
Mama said.
That's our plan. I don't want y'all worrying. Me and M'lady going to be fine.

Big store like Walmart should be safe enough,
M'lady said
.
No storm coming through those heavy walls.
And to me she said,
I'll buy you something pretty.

I'll buy you something pretty.

I'll buy you something pretty.

I'll buy you something pretty.

galilee

WE STAYED IN JACKSON
for two years. Jesse Jr. learned to crawl in Aunt G.'s kitchen, took his first steps across Aunt G.'s sunporch floor, said Laur before he could say Daddy and called Aunt G. Mama the morning we packed up the car to head to Galilee.

As we stood in Aunt G.'s driveway, hugging our good-byes and wiping away tears, I wondered if this was the beginning of some new life for me—a life filled up with tears and good-byes and moving on to the next place.

We took Route 55 out of Jackson, then 80 all the way across. There was a job waiting for Daddy in Galilee. They'd even found a place for us to live there.
A small house outside of town,
Daddy said.
I love your aunt G. like she's my own sister, but we need to be in our own home again, Laur. Need to be moving on.

I sat up front with Daddy, stared at the flat land as we drove. Big sky that I couldn't look up into without thinking about M'lady and Mama. Green land moving fast toward us, then passing us by. Farms and fields. Whole stretches with nothing at all. I watched Mississippi grow small behind me.
Next time I see you, you'll be a lady,
my aunt said, hugging me hard.
Already look so much like your mama I can't hardly stand to look at you.
And then more tears.

We stopped for hamburgers somewhere. We slept in the car and washed up in a gas station. I woke up once, and we were in Iowa. Woke up again and it was near morning and we were here. Moving slow past a big blue sign that said

WELCOME TO GALILEE
WHERE LIFE IS A WALK ON WATER.

S
ounds promising,
my daddy said.
New place. New life. Put our past behind us.

Jesse Jr. slept hard in his car seat behind me. I listened to the soft sound of the motor and my daddy's hand drumming against the steering wheel. On the radio, a deep-voiced man was talking about lamb and sheep, about Christ and blood. I stared up at the sky—blue and cloudless. The morning we had the service for M'lady and Mama, my daddy took my hand, pointed up at the same blue and cloudless sky.
That's where they are now,
he said.
Safe.
Closer to God.
Water's never gonna rise that high.

We drove slow down the main street—past a grocery store and a secondhand shop. A flower store with its gray gates pulled halfway down and a bucket of wilted daisies out front. I rolled down my window and let the warm air come over me. A group of teenagers was hanging out in front of a 7-Eleven, and as we drove past, they looked at me and I looked back at them. They looked different from my friends in Pass Christian—dark haired and pale skinned, like the sun wasn't on them year round. I put my hand on my own face, knowing the color was already leaving it, my freckles fading, the sun's heat on it feeling like something from a long time ago. We looked at each other, and I tried not to think about my Pass Christian friends—scattered all over and none of us knowing where the others were. Tried not to think about us together in the school yard, at the beach, walking to get ice cream. Just a group of kids going somewhere, that's all we were. Like something real normal, real
always.

After a few minutes, I rolled the window up again and lay back against my seat. Galilee looked like a whole lot of other towns we'd been through—flat and small and landlocked.

You okay, baby girl?
my daddy asked. He put his hand on my leg, then patted it quick and put it back on the steering wheel.
How okay can I be?
I wanted to scream.
My whole life got washed away.

But my daddy looked so hopeful, so ready to make this new place work for us.

Yeah,
I said.
My life is a walk on water.