Raney (17 page)

"No, you all go ahead and talk, if that's what's got to be done. I'll write. I've done said too much."

(So I wrote some more:
I
think you can get some things out in the clear and that's the best thing in the world to do. But not necessarily
—
like when Harold Sikes's German shepherd threw up Fred Woolard's pet rabbit at the church barbecue that time.)

Dr. Bridges ended the session. "Let's try to pick up here next time. I'd like to suggest that we leave our present discussion here in the room if possible, rather then take it with you. The subject, as you see, creates a good bit of tension. Raney, would you like for me to read what you've written or would you like to keep it, and perhaps bring it back next time?"

"You can have it," I said. I handed it to her.

We walked to the car without speaking.

I was so mad at Charles I didn't know what to do. I was in a rage. I decided not to speak until at least after we passed the Triple
A
Rent-All. Charles didn't speak either, so about a mile past the Triple A, I said: "Charles, I think you got a lot of gall going into that psychiatric's office and
—
"

"Raney, she's a psychologist. A psychologist! Can you say psychologist? Psy-cho-lo-gist?"

"Yes, but that has absolutely nothing to do with it and you know it. You're trying to change the subject so you
—
"

"Just say it, Raney! Let me hear you
say
the
word."

"Charles, if you're going to start hollering you can stop the car and let me out. I'll just walk home. It's bad enough already, without that. You had a lot of nerve going into a psychiatric's
office
and
—
"

"Jesus H. Christ, Raney!"

"Okay, stop the car. STOP THE CAR."

"Raney, I'm not going to stop the
—
"

"STOP THE DAMN CAR."

I've never been so upset in all my life. Here I was, cussing right there in the front seat of our Dodge Dart. I felt humiliated.

Charles wouldn't stop the car. He wouldn't even speak. He kept driving
—
his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his chin stuck out so far it about touched the windshield.

I didn't speak again until we passed the Tastee Freeze. I figured I'd wait until we got to the Tastee Freeze to see if Charles would speak.

"You got a lot of nerve," I said, "going in there and telling a stranger all those things."

"Raney, I didn't tell her anything. If you want to stop going to the marriage counselor
—
fine. Otherwise, that's what therapy is about: talking. Talking about problems."

"Anybody can talk about problems. Howdy Doody can talk about problems. Charles, if you ever tell her what you said to me on our honeymoon I'll never speak to you again as long as I live."

I'll tell you, I do not understand men. Charles figures the minute we're married he can start acting like
a
African Brahma bull. There I was on my honeymoon night, a virgin
—
well, almost
—
laying in bed, and my husband standing in front of the Mary Tyler Moore Show with nothing on but his Fruit of the Loom, drinking champagne out of a plastic cup, looking at me with a grin that would have moved mountains. And then he started talking. I will not repeat the things he said but I will say they were unnatural. And I did not hesitate saying so that very night: "Charles, that is disgusting," I said. "That is something niggers would do." (He always perks up when I say nigger, but that time didn't even phrase him.)

"Raney, honey." He kept calling me honey. "It's okay. Try it. Try it."

"You
never seen
dogs do that, Charles. Don't you see," I said, "dogs wouldn't even do that."

Let me tell you the truth. I can see a man bringing up something like that after he's been married for a year or two. I can even understand Charles picking this up in a book somewhere. I won't
born
yesterday. But what got to me was him standing there in the middle of that floor talking that way before our marriage was ever consumed, or whatever it is
—
before we ever did the act of love intended for a husband and wife on their first night of marriage.

I've read
The Flame and the Flower.
I know a little something about pornography. But what could I do? One of the most important parts of the honeymoon was ruined as far as I was concerned: the very reason for a honeymoon. Charles had
blew
the whole thing.

I don't know what's going to happen in these marriage counseling sessions. It seemed like they were good and now I don't know. We do need a little something to get us straightened out like Aunt Flossie said, but I never had any idea we'd be plowing down into things which are nobody's business. I've forgiven Charles for the way he behaved on our honeymoon. And I've told him so. We all make mistakes. I've made my share. But I don't understand what good it can do to dig up all this sex stuff.

One of the good things me and Charles have finally agreed on is to try to listen to each other. From the time we first get in
a
argument neither one of us usually ever pays any attention to what the other one is saying. I know it's true. So we've agreed that when we have an argument only one person will talk for awhile and the other person will listen.
Then,
the person listening will have to explain how the other person
feels
about what's going on. We actually went through this procedure during our last session when we had
a
argument about ... well, I can't remember what it was about. I think it's a good idea. But it's hard.

Now if we
do
talk about sex in a counseling session, I won't know what to say. Charles is the one who sets things up, as I said. He figures out the time and place and we just do it. Usually in bed where it's supposed to be done of course. There was that one time on the rug. That was certainly different. And it did make me feel kind of brazen or whatever the word is. I guess if Charles and
me
did talk about it, I could say that I didn't mind that on the rug and it would be all right with me if we did it in there again. I kind of liked the way the rug felt on my back.

Oh well, maybe I can suggest it sometime. That's what all these E.R.A. people are starting to say:
that women
can do about whatever they want to.
Cosmopolitan.
My Lord. But I would feel very unnatural taking over the man's position like they talk about. I just couldn't do it.

PART THREE

The Feed Room
  

I

Dr. Bridges agreed for us to stop therapy after seven sessions and see how things go for a while. We don't stay mad so long at a time as we did and we're able to say how we feel better than we were before.

I've got a new part time job.

Daddy's store
—
the Hope Road General Store
—
is at the intersection of Crossville and Hope Roads. It's a normal general store with a porch on the front and a feed room built onto the side and three gas pumps out front. Daddy's had it as long as I can remember. When I was little I used to go with him out there some nights and help. I'd wait on a few people while he watched and he'd let me make price signs with crayons and meat wrapping paper. And I would go into the feed room where the feed sacks were as big as me and tight as ticks and smelled musky and I'd climb up on them and crawl around until Daddy came in and got me and we started home.

I stopped in yesterday morning when I was coming back from the dentist. I walked in and stood just inside the door.

In the back, behind the stove, was Uncle Nate's wicker bottom chair
—
with the little flat navy blue pillow. It hit me all of a sudden that I could take Uncle Nate's place
—
in a way. I had been thinking about doing some part time work. Daddy gives Charles and me money
—
he insists. I hate to
keep
taking it, but he won't talk about it, or else goes on and on about how he don't want us to have the same hard times that him and Mama had when they started out.

The store definitely needs a woman. First of all, right in the middle of the bread section
—
which is just inside the door
—
is this great big minnow tank which they don't keep cleaned out good. The water's so muddy you could drive a fence post down in it. And it smells. Who's going to want to buy a loaf of bread standing there beside that mudhole with several dead suffocated minnows floating on top?

The thing to do is clean that thing up and move it to the back where the overalls and water buckets and wash tubs and stuff like that is. Then we could put a sign up in the bread section saying MINNOW TANK IN BACK.

Sneeds Perry, who as I said is running the place, will sit with a toothpick in his mouth watching the air move while the floor fills up with cigarette butts and the bottle cap holder on the drink box gets so full that your bottle cap just plings down onto the floor and rolls up under something.

But Sneeds is generally nice. That's why I think I could work with him. And Daddy said the other day that it was going to be hard to find part time help to take Uncle Nate's place. I could take care of the stuff inside while Sneeds pumps gas. Like I say, this all hit me out of the clear blue. It seemed like just the thing to do.

Sneeds was working on a radio that was sitting on a shelf over behind the cash register. He had the front off and was doing something to it with a screw driver.

I spoke to him. He looked over his shoulder and said, "Howdy, Raney." Then I walked along the canned and boxed food aisles. Some of the food had just about disappeared under dust: there were cans of corn that could
grow
corn.

Then there are all those shelves built into the front windows. They're so stuffed you can't see out. Or in. There are hats and boots and oil cans all
stuck
in there. And combs and handkerchiefs on these dusty cardboard displays. I figured I could have all that cleaned out and windexed in
a
afternoon. Just that little bit of work would change the whole atmosphere.

I knew I'd be a real asset to the place and if Sneeds and Daddy and Charles all said okay, I'd be in.

I walked over to the cash register and said, "Sneeds, you need a woman's touch around this place."

"That's for sure," he says. He put down his screw driver, turned around and shifted his toothpick. "What you got in mind?" Sneeds always wears a little black toboggin, engineer boots, rolled up dungarees, and a flannel shirt
—
summer or winter.

"Well, if I worked in here part time for a while I could have this place looking real nice. What I mean
is
I got some ideas about moving things around, you know: rearranging a bit. To help sales go up. Then too, when you have to go out and pump gas I could stay in here and watch things."

"Fine with me," he says. "I'll tell you there's plenty of woman's work around here and like I always said: a woman's work is for a woman. I hate it. Talk to your Daddy."

I'll say he hates it. "Then it'd be all right with you?"

"Sure."

That was easy enough. So I drove to Mama's and Daddy's. Daddy's truck was out front. He was in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee and eating a piece of pound cake like he's done just about every day of his life.

"Afternoon," he says. "Where you been?"

"I've been to the dentist. Fourteen dollars
—
just for a cleaning. Listen daddy, I've got
a
idea: why don't I start working at the store?"

"What's the matter with you, honey? You don't need a job."

"Daddy, it would just be part time. That store is a mess. And with Uncle Nate gone now
—
you need somebody part time. If I move a few things around in there and get it cleaned up, you'll do a better business. I guarantee it."

"Honey, don't
nothing
much but farmers come in there. We sell more cigarettes, drinks, chicken wire, fence posts, and such than anything else.
No need to try to make it into something that won't have no market."

"I don't mean change it. I mean make it better. That fish tank stuck in the bread section is just awful. It ought to be moved to the back. The place needs a woman's touch. All I want to do is go in there a few afternoons a week after I get the housework done. It'd give me a chance to talk to people and make a little spending money." Daddy didn't say anything. "Don't you think it'd be all right, Mama?"

"Well, I don't know. Maybe. Until you all start thinking about raising a family." She was drying the last dinner dish.

"Now, honey," said Daddy, "I told you not to worry about money for a while. You know I don't want you going through the troubles me and your mama had."

"Daddy, I'm getting bored at home. I need a place to work
—
part time at least."

Daddy stuck the last piece of cake in his mouth and put down his fork. "I'm not so sure it'll be as much fun as you think it will," he said with his mouth full of cake, losing a couple of crumbs; "but if you've got your mind set on it, go ahead. I'll tell you what, try it for one week and then let me know what you think."

I hugged his neck and told him to brush the crumbs off his chin.

Next, Charles.

It was Friday, so Charles had cooked: pork chops, new potatoes, and some early turnip salet Aunt Flossie had brought by. He's been cooking on Friday nights because he says it helps him unwind from the library.

"Charles, this pork chop is delicious," I said. "I declare, we're going to have to open you up a restaurant."

"Thanks."

"Listen, Charles, not to change the subject, but I want to work at Daddy's store. Full time." (I figured I'd give myself room to compromise down to three-fourths and finally to half time.)

"Raney, we don't need the money. Your father said he'd help us get on our feet. You know he wouldn't want you working at that store."

"He said it would be fine. I asked him this afternoon."

Charles sat there looking at me and chewing on a piece of pork chop long after it was chewed up. "Your daddy said okay?"

"He sure did. You're so cute."

"Raney, you'd get tired of it. Why do you want to work at that store?"

"It needs a woman's touch. And it'd be fun. I stopped in there this afternoon and that's exactly what it needs
—
a woman's touch. That place could be fixed up real nice, so housewives would enjoy shopping in there. That minnow tank had two dead minnows in it and there's Sneeds Perry working on a radio; and most of the time he's sitting out by the front door, leaning up against the side of the building with a toothpick in his mouth, counting to see which is most that day: Fords or Chevrolets."

"Raney, you can't just walk in there and change that place around. And you know what kind of people go in there all the time."

"No, I don't," I said. "What kind of people go in there all the time?"

"Well, housewives don't
—
much. They go to the Piggly Wiggly in Bethel."

"What kind of people do go in there then?"

"A bunch of men who ... who stand around and spit on the floor."

"Charles, there are three oil cans with dirt in the bottom over by the stove for people to spit in."

"It's not the clientele you should be around all day."

"Please tell me what that is supposed to mean."

"What it means is: the people who hang around that store are a bunch of rednecks
—
in the truest sense."

"Charles, Uncle Nate used to work out there, and my own flesh and blood daddy happens to own it, and he 'hangs around' out there."

"Look, Raney, it would never work. It would never work. I just don't want you stuck in that store all day. Especially with Sneeds Perry."

"Charles Shepherd, you've got to be kidding. Sneeds is as harmless as a flea. The main reason Daddy has him there is Sneeds knows everybody and has a real easy way about him with the customers. It's his cousin Sam that causes all the problems. And he's honest. That's what I've heard Daddy say. And for heaven's sake, he's got rotten teeth and wears the same clothes all the time." (The thing is
,
I've never actually
smelled
Sneeds. Daddy says he has just three shirts and that he'll wear them for two or three days each and then he'll wear this sweater one day
—
the day he's getting the shirts cleaned. Then he starts over again. But he's never actually smelled as far as I could ever tell.) "I'll tell you what, Charles: if you're so worried, I'll work just three-fourths time."

"Raney, we don't need the money."

"I'm getting bored staying home and I don't feel right about keeping on taking handouts from Daddy, Charles."

Charles chews for a while. "Your Daddy wouldn't be happy unless he was helping us out."

"Maybe so, but that's off the subject...."

"Raney, I don't think
—
"

"Okay, okay, okay. Half time
—
but then I might as well not be working at all. Half time; I'll do it half time."

Charles chewed some more. "Go ahead. I don't want to be the one to stop you. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Warn me about what?"

"You won't like it."

"I bet I will."

While Charles cleaned up after supper, he left the strainer out of the sink and the water turned on, but I was so happy about him saying yes about me working, I didn't say anything about it. But I do need to mention it next time. In marriage counseling we talked about how you shouldn't carry around little grudges because they grow bigger and uglier while you carry them around. Next time he leaves the strainer out, I'll mention it.