Legend of Buddy Bush (9781439131824) (3 page)

“Hey, Mr. Charlie. Hey, Grandpa.”

Grandpa don't look the way he did yesterday. He is dark compared to his light skin that usually look like a cake of butter from their old cow that I named Sue. The poor cow was nine years old and didn't even have a name until last year. Rooms on Rehobeth Road got names, why can't the cows?

“Are you okay, Grandpa?”

“I'm all right, child. How you this mornin'?”

“I'm fine. I got up really early today.”

“Is that so? And why did you do that?”

“Well the ground too wet to chop, but I picked a basket of cucumbers. I'm trying to sell a lot so that I will have extra money when I go North. Uncle
Buddy said there's lots of stuff to buy in Harlem.”

“He did, did he? And just where is Buddy this morning?”

“Working as usual. But he is taking me to the movie house tonight.”

Grandpa said he was never going to that theater as long as colored folks have to go in the back door. But he is glad that I am going.

“Well, that will be nice.”

“You aren't going anywhere if you don't get your tail off of Poppa so that we can leave.”

The voice of trouble have caught up with me.

Ma has made it down our long path and she looks so pretty as she give me the look.

“Leave her alone, Mer. She just saying good mornin'.”

Thank God, Grandpa is coming to my defense. Not that Ma is listening. She says Grandpa can't raise her children. Now she says that to me, not to Grandpa. She don't do no talking back to Grandma or Grandpa even if she is forty-eight.

“Fine, but we have to go.” Now she's giving me the “I'm going to tear your tail up later” look.

I ease out of the car and stand on the wet grass hoping Ma will let me go.

Instead she starts giving me orders for the rest of the day.

“Now you know you can't stay home by yourself. Go on up to Ma Babe's and I will come there when we leave Dr. Franklin's.”

That's what Ma call my grandma, “Ma Babe.”

“But I haven't taken my bath yet.”

“You don't need a bath. You are going straight to the strawberry patch.”

“Bye,” I say as I wave.

They wave back as Ma points her finger, saying something. Who knows what. I will have to talk to Ma later when Grandpa and Mr. Charlie ain't around. I know she knows I'm becoming a woman and I'm getting too old not to wash up before leaving home. I don't know when, but soon I know I'm going to get my period just like Denise and Sylvia at school did. Denise told me she was sick as a dog when Mother Nature came to visit her the first time. Sylvia said she didn't hurt at all. Accordingly to the conversation I overheard between BarJean
and her best friend Boogie, Miss Doleebuck's granddaughter, the only reason Sylvia didn't hurt when she got her first period is because she had been messing with boys already. What a horrible thought. I think Sylvia might be a slut, too, like Mattie. Denise, Sylvia and me suppose to be best friends at school. But I like Caroline much better than both of them. We call her Chick-A-Boo. She lives right down the road. She is my real best friend. Those other girls are not like us. They are town people. They got more than two pairs of shoes and they have daddies. Beside, they spend all their time talking about boys. Uncle Buddy has already warned me to stay away from boys. He said they will give me worms. God forbid what that means.

I just pray we move into a house with a bathroom before my period comes. I don't want to use the outhouse for such personal matters. But I'll worry about my period when it comes.

Right now I just want Grandpa to get well. I feel like crying just thinking about Grandpa going to the doctor. Specially Dr. Franklin. Now Grandpa don't know that I know this, but one day when I
was fishing with Uncle Buddy over in Jackson Creek, he told me that Dr. Franklin and his brother Eddie, who is the sheriff, had mistreated Grandpa about thirty-five years ago. See, before the Holy Ghost came and saved Grandpa one Sunday morning at Chapel Hill Baptist Church where he has been attending for fifty years, he would go into town and drink in what colored folks called “the bottom” on Saturday nights. It was really an alley where the colored men would get together every Friday and Saturday night to play cards and enjoy their moonshine. Grandpa said he had a mason jar of moonshine too many when he decided to go home before Grandma came looking for him.

Just as he tried to climb into his old pickup truck, the sheriff stopped him.

“Where you going, boy?”

“Home, Sheriff Franklin. Just heading home.”

“Not tonight, you ain't!”

Grandpa was more than willing to sleep the moonshine off in jail. But that old mean sheriff took it upon himself to hit Grandpa over the head
with his billy club before arresting him. Knocked Grandpa cold and threw him in jail. Uncle Buddy said Grandpa was convinced that Dr. Franklin, whose office was upstairs from the jail, knew he was hurt and didn't come to see about him until morning. Both them Franklin boys are mean. Now if Grandpa even mentions their names, he'll say, “Yes, evil and evil sleep in the same bed.”

When Dr. Franklin finally checked on Grandpa just before day, he wrapped his head in some bandages and let him drive himself home. Well it turned out Grandpa had a brain concussion (whatever that is) and he drove his old red Ford right into a tree down on Brown Hill Road. Grandpa passed out and slept for hours. By seven in the morning, Grandma and Miss Doleebuck headed out on foot searching for their husbands. Yes, Mr. Charlie was in the cell next to Grandpa the night before for no reason at all. They just arrested him for coming to the jail to look for Grandpa.

They released Mr. Charlie later on that day when Boogie's mama, Fannie Mae, went down to that jail and cussed them out like they weren't
even white folks. Around 8:30 that morning, Grandma and Miss Doleebuck made it to Grandpa's truck where he was still passed out. It took them a while to wake him up, and when they did they had to walk all the way home. Poor Grandpa started having blackouts after that and he never took another sip of moonshine. Been saved and sober ever since.

The other thing Grandpa don't know is Uncle Buddy told me that although he was little he remember the whole thing. He also don't know that Uncle Buddy and some of his friends, Lennie, Hosea, and Earl, went out to town that next weekend and put holes in every Franklin car tire that they would find. They sure did. That's what Uncle Buddy said and I believe him. Mercy to the highest, it's nice to have all this grown folks business at twelve.

I better stop thinking about all of this before I reach Jones Property because Grandma can read your mind. Now she is a piece of work. I swear that woman knows what I am thinking before I do. Smoke coming from the chimney in the kitchen at
Grandma's house and I know she has not put out the breakfast fire yet. Thank God, she'll cook me some breakfast, I'm thinking, as I walk faster. I can't make it till noon without food.

That pleasant thought ends quickly when I find myself face to face with the bulls from Mr. Bay's dairy. He is Grandpa and Grandma's neighbor and compared to us, Mr. Bay is a rich man. Rich and mean. I don't think he like colored folks very much and he laughs every time one of us forget and wear red while passing his terrifying bulls. Today that would be me. There is a big fence between me and the bulls, but I am still afraid to run, because I know they will run all the way down the fence with me. That alone scares me to death. Uncle Buddy walks by here whenever he wants to, wearing blue, red, whatever colors he please. He says, “I ain't scared of no damn bull. I'm going to eat them for dinner one day. They ain't going to eat me.”

I can't run if I want to since my dear sweet ma locked me out of the house in my bare feet. I want to stick my tongue out, but that's red too.

I walk in slow motion as the mama cows join the
bulls at the edge of the dairy farm field. There must be fifty all together.

I finally reach the path that divide Mr. Bay's dairy from Jones Property. I am still nervous when I reach in my pockets and feel my new letter from BarJean. The bulls have scared me so bad that I almost forgot I had it. I stop at the pecan tree to catch my breath and to read my letter. Grandpa planted this tree forty-eight years ago for Ma. The day she was born. He calls it Mer's tree. In the back there are trees for her sisters, the Louise tree and the Rosie tree. Yes, Uncle Buddy has a tree too, right over there at the pond. Since he ain't blood kin, Grandpa just took Uncle Buddy for a walk when he was ten and let him pick out his own tree on Jones Property. The day I was born Ma said Grandpa went right outside and planted my tree. But the Pattie Mae tree ain't big enough to sit under yet. So I'll just set under Mer's tree to read my letter.

The paper is blue like always and it smells like BarJean's favorite perfume. I can hardly wait to sit down as Hobo, who has followed me all the way,
lies down beside me. The words make me feel closer to the North that I will soon see.

Dear Pattie Mae:

How are you, Ma, Grandpa, Grandma, and Uncle Buddy doing? I am doing fine and so is Coy. You know we have been sharing an apartment together all year. Well, the big day has come and I am moving into my own place down on 125th Street. Your big brother has met a really nice girl and they are getting married. That's right! Now you will have two big sisters.

Guess what? Her name is Mary, just like Ma's. Isn't that nice?

Now you have to keep this whole marriage thing a secret and not tell Ma. Coy wants to tell her himself. So be a big girl and don't tell her. Okay?

My dear little sister, I'm glad you want to come here in late August.

I have to go now and I am looking forward to seeing you soon. You, my dear sister, will be my first guest in my new apartment.

Love, your big sister

BarJean

Coy is going to get married! More importantly, BarJean trust me enough to tell me a secret.

I put my letter back in my pocket and tuck my secret in the back of my mind. At least until I see Grandpa. I'll tell him and he will tell no one. Difference from me.

I stick my tongue out at the bulls that are far away now and start walking as fast as my legs can carry me to get me some breakfast.

I
can smell Grandma's biscuits as I get closer to the steps that Grandpa built with his bare hands. Their house is painted white with green trimming around the windows. Yes, my grandpa painted the house. He tried to get Old Man Taylor to let him paint our house, too. Ole Man Taylor said no and Grandpa ain't spoke to that white man since then. Grandpa's cat, Hudson, meets me at the door. He and Hobo sure ain't friends. They fight like . . . Well, they fight like cats and dogs. I open the back door that's painted green too, and there she is. My grandma. The woman of the house. And everybody that walks in this door knows that. She ain't no taller than I am. Black, as Grandpa is yellow. Her hair the same color as the
silver quarters that Uncle Buddy gave me to save. He said that Grandma is what men folks call “black gal pretty.”

“Good mornin', Grandma. How are you feeling today?”

I know the answer before she even answers. All my life I have asked her the same question and get the same answer.

“Child, Grandma don't feel so good today.”

She just loves saying it, like it was a hymn she and Ma sang in the choir on Sunday morning. No matter how many times you ask, she gives you the same answer. When BarJean and Coy were at home with me, each of us asked the same question and got the same answer. Ma would skin us alive if one of us run in and just said “Hey.” We had to line up like soldiers ready to salute our commander and ask her how she was doing. Then we stood there and waited for her to answer. I still have to do the ritual. Sometimes it takes Grandma five minutes to answer. Sometimes ten, if she really ain't feeling so good. Whatever the time, you just stand there and wait.

Grandpa said that was Grandma's way of controlling us. He and Mr. Charlie use that word “control” a lot when they are talking about their wives. They said them two live to tell other folks what to do. I guess they are controlling Grandpa and Mr. Charlie too, because they don't ever say that mess about the women loud enough for the women to hear them.

I wish I were grown so I could do like Uncle Buddy does when he comes in Grandma's house. He don't ask her nothing. He just says, “Ma Babe, you shoo looking good today.” He said he ain't asking her nothing, because he might die waiting for an answer. “Besides,” he said, “ain't nothing wrong with a woman who can pick two bushels of strawberries a day. Nothing.”

I wait as Grandma wipes her hands in the end of her apron and start thinking about when she might tell me how she's feeling. First, she takes out her breakfast dishes and puts them on the table. One by one, she pulls out the white plates with the dancing white ladies on them. I want her to hurry up because I can't tell her I cried in my eggs and
didn't finish eating my breakfast until after she finish her ritual.

Finally the words come. “Child, Grandma don't feel so good today.”

There, she said it.

“Oh, I'm sorry, Grandma. What's wrong?”

“Nothing special, just old age I guess. How are you this mornin'?”

“I'm okay. Just hungry.”

“What you doing hungry, child? Didn't Mer fix you breakfast?”

“Well, she did, but I didn't get to finish because Mr. Charlie came to get her.”

I start praying immediately that Grandma will forget the lie that I just told and don't tell Ma. The last time Ma caught me in a lie she wore my behind out with a plastic cake-mixing spoon. Grandma don't look like she believe me. But she never could stand the sight of a hungry man, woman, or child. “Never mind, just sit down and let Grandma fix you someteat.”