Sullivans Island-Lowcountry 1 (30 page)

of sense to me. I think that colored kids should have the same

opportunity that white kids do. Then it would be more fair. I

mean, if they have the same schoolbooks and the same chances at

the same tests, then colored kids can grow up and do more. I’m

not talking about you and me, here—after all, you sent all your

kids to college, right?”

“Yes, I certainly did. And it wasn’t easy. I cleaned toilets to

buy textbooks.Think about that.”

“Right, I’m sure you’re right. But I’m talking about kids

that probably aren’t even born yet. And kids from families who

don’t value education.”

“Even iffin they gone let all the colored children in

Charleston in the white schools tomorrow, it ain’t gone bring

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them four little girls back to life, Susan. Four little girls died

yesterday because white people will always hate black people,”

she said.“That’s just how it is.They want to hold us down.”

“It’s true, those little girls are gone.There will always be red-

necks and bad guys. Can’t change that either. But we can change

education, Livvie; it’s a step. Equal education could be a big

step.”

“Maybe, but it ain’t the answer,” she said, and pointed to her

chest.“The answer got to come from ’eah. In the heart.”

I took a big gulp of my milk and nodded at her. She was

right about the solution coming from the heart. I knew that you

could pass all the laws you wanted to but if somebody didn’t

want to obey them, they wouldn’t. She got up from her ironing

board to hang the shirt she had been pressing.“Momma’s com-

ing home tomorrow,” I said.

This made her smile again. We really didn’t want to argue

with each other. “I know. Spent all morning getting they room

fix up. Can’t wait to hold them babies! When I told Harriet I had

two new grand babies, she got so jealous I thought she’d pop!

Oh, Lawd! You should’ve seen her face! Yes, ma’am, thought she

would pop.”

We began to talk about the twins and how I would help her

with them and then, our discussion about integration finished

for the moment, I left her and went out for a bike ride with

Timmy and Henry.

The water had receded somewhat from our yard and

the Island was beginning to dry up from Hurricane Denise.

We rode our bikes all over Sullivan’s Island looking at the

damage. Seemed like every house had something happen to it,

especially those on the oceanfront.We had merely lost shingles

and screens and had some fallen branches plus a lot of beach

sand in our yard.The old Island Gamble had another notch on

her belt.

We came home late in the afternoon to do homework and

have supper. I could smell the okra soup and the sweet corn-

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197

bread as I climbed the back steps. Livvie was putting her coat on

to catch the five o’clock bus. “See y’all on the morning train!”

she said. She was leaving early and coming in early tomorrow.

She smiled sadly at me and patted my arm before she went out

the back door. Things had changed a little. A tiny line of color

had been drawn. It broke my heart.

Ten

Write Away

}

1999

week had passed since Hurricane Maybelline had

ripped through the Southeast. Damage was in the

Amillions of dollars and everywhere you went you

heard stories, stories and more stories. I ventured out to buy paint

for the guest room. I knew it was all covered by my insurance

policy, but I thought I’d get estimates, do the work myself and save

the money for something else. Everybody does this, don’t they?

I joined the throngs of ersatz interior and exterior decora-

tors on line at the Home Depot. Customers staggered under

their armloads of screening, two-by-fours, boxes of shingles and

cans of house paint. I stood on the shortest checkout line—

twenty people—and while I waited, the comedy hour was free.

“Found a dog in my yard! Tag was from Pawley’s Island!

Dog was fine. Can you believe it?”

“Came home from my mother-in-law’s house and my

curtains were sucked right through the windows! Not a rip in

them! Have you ever?”

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199

“Got drunk, went to bed like usual with my old lady, every-

thing was fine. Never heard a thing all night! Got up and half

my roof was gone!”

I had been dealing all week with claims adjusters, tree sur-

geons, carpenters, window guys, the carpet store. Roger hadn’t

called. Big shock. But he’d probably turn up at some point. And

Mr.Tom hadn’t called once. So much for his passionate concern.

But embittered I’m not. Dumb dates and failed marriages make

you either a boozehound or a philosopher. I was not even par-

ticularly surprised that Tom hadn’t called. Leaving someone is a

process, not just an impulsive decision. It takes a long time to let

go. In some peculiar way, I was relieved that I hadn’t heard from

him.When I finally got home, I called Maggie.

“Hey! You want to go grab some lunch with me? I’m dying

for fried shrimp, haven’t had ’em in months. I’m in the mood to

eat neurotically.”

“Why not? Sounds good as long as you don’t look at my

fingernails. Cleaning up after that hussy Maybelline wrecked my

manicure.”

“Now there’s a tragic story if I ever heard one. I’ll pick you

up in thirty minutes.Wanna go to the Yellow Dog on the Isle of

Palms?”

“I’ll be ready.”

As my car swung around East Bay Street to take the bridge

east of the Cooper, I found my heartbeat slowing down. I was

on my way to the beach—the cure-all for whatever ails me. I

mean, I was feeling philosophical because it was Saturday. Up

until now, I’d been cussing like a sailor every time I passed the

silent phone. And I’d been giving myself lectures ninety ways to

hell and back for sleeping with Tom.

I lowered all my windows to let the air in. The air felt so

good. It was a gorgeous September day and I was going to have

lunch with my sister, the good egg of all times. I sneaked through

Mount Pleasant (a notorious speed trap) like a drug lord with a

trunk full of contraband, vigilant for redneck policemen hiding

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behind billboards with their shaved heads, beady eyes and radar.

It was a game I played. I’d never had a speeding ticket, and I was

determined never to get one. In fact, I thought, the only flawless

thing in my life just might have been my driving record.

The Island looked like a wreck, the same way it always did

after a storm. The million-dollar new houses on the oceanfront

had taken a terrible beating, but the old shacks still stood.The tire

swings in their front yards hadn’t even gotten tangled in the trees.

One thing I had to say for Maybelline, she had taste. And, true to

her history, the Island Gamble was waving the victorious flag of

survival after one more bout with Mother Nature.

“House looks good!” I called out to Maggie, who came

down the back steps with her purse, ready to go. “Where’s my

brother-in-law and my nephews?”

“Gone fishing early this morning—out to the Gulf Stream.”

She got in the car, slammed the door and looked at me with one

of her martyr faces. “Shoot, my house should look good! I

nearly broke my back this week cleaning this yard and then we

power-washed the whole house!”

“You’re a good woman, Maggie. A good woman.” I started

to back out of the yard. “I’m sick of Maybelline and her mess

too. You should see my third floor.”

“Under control now?”

“Yeah, God, but only after eighty million phone calls and

this incessant waiting for a human being to talk to. By the time

they pick up the line, I forget who I called! I hate automated

phone systems.” I started toward the Isle of Palms.“I hate work-

men too. You could spend your whole day waiting and they still

don’t come.”

“How ’bout Tom? Hate him too?”

“Nah, he’s just an asshole who can’t help himself. I could

put him on one of those daytime talk shows and a thousand

angry women could tell him what a jerk he is and it wouldn’t

make a bit of difference.”

“Didn’t call, right?”

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201

“Right. Didn’t call.” We drove past the gas station, Station

22 Restaurant and Dunleavey’s Pub. “Bump him. It’s okay with

me, and it doesn’t matter anyway.” What a liar. “As soon as I’ve

stuffed my face with fried food,” I continued,“I’ve got an idea I

want you to think through with me, okay?”

“I’d be grateful for any excuse to use my mind, and besides,

you know how I love telling you what to do.”

“Well, this time I’m inviting it. Show me no mercy.”

The young waitress showed us to a booth that faced the

ocean.We slid across the leather benches opposite each other and,

driven by some shared genetic compulsion, we wiped the crumbs

from our respective sides of the Formica-topped table.

Knowing the menu by heart, we ordered without it. The

waitress brought us our drinks and we settled in for the next

hour or so, watching the beach and fishing through the mayon-

naise seafood dip with Club crackers, looking for pieces of crab-

meat or anything that resembled seafood.

“Think this is worth the calories?” Maggie asked as I popped

a fat gram–laden cracker into my mouth, washing it down with

Diet Pepsi and lemon.

“Nope, but I’m tired of dieting and today is a day for cele-

brating.”

“It is? Tell me why.”

“Do you know what the total damage was to my house?”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“Sixty thousand.”

Maggie let out a low whistle. She couldn’t whistle for

beans.

“The insurance company is only paying fifty thousand. I

had a five-hundred-dollar cap in my policy on landscaping.”

“Bunch of thieves, they are, the whole bunch of them,Yankee

carpetbaggers.”

“Yep, worse than lawyers. But I have a plan.” I drained my

glass and motioned to the tiny waitress in cutoffs, T-shirt and

platform sandals.The waitress teetered over, smiling.

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“Can I he’p you?” She smiled a wide, self-medicated smile.

Prozac, I imagined.

“Just some more Diet Pepsi,” I said,“thanks.”

“Sure ’nough!”

“There but for the grace of God go I,” I whispered to Maggie.

“In a pig’s eye, honey. You and I would’ve dug ditches before

we wound up doing this for a living. Besides, we’re at least two

decades on the back side of cutoffs and platforms.”

“Backside is the operative word.” I giggled.

“Okay, okay.Tell me what the plan is!”

“Remember when I was a kid and I used to keep all those

diaries? I found them in a big trunk in the attic when I was up

there with the workmen checking the support beams.”

“What’s that got to do with the insurance money?”

“Just hang on, I’m gonna tell you.”

The waitress returned with our baskets of fried shrimp,

potatoes, a small plastic tub of coleslaw and hush puppies.

“Kin I git y’all anything else? Ketchup? Some more Pepsi?”

“No, thanks, we’re fine.”

She tottered away and I bit into a hush puppy, burning the skin

on the roof of my mouth. I gulped my drink to put out the fire.

“Hot, huh?”

“Yeah, bu’ good.Whew! So listen, here’s the deal. I’ve figured

out that if I hang the wallpaper myself and do all the repainting

myself, I can save ten thousand dollars out of the insurance set-

tlement. My neighbor, in a fit of guilt, is replacing my shrubs.”

“No kidding? That’s a break. So what are you gonna do with

the money? Run away to Paris and be a writer like you always

said you would?”

“No, no. I wish. But nothing that exotic. I’m buying a

computer for myself. I decided, and tell me what you think

about this, to try to put together some essays with cartoons!”

“What? For who?”

“For the newspaper. A column about being a single mother

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203

in the nineties, about growing up in the sixties, about being

Geechee children, about dealing with a husband with the zipper

problem, you know, about sexual harassment . . .”

“Sweet Mary, Mother of God.You’re serious!”

“Yeah, I’m dead serious. Look, Maggie, I never have two

nickels extra to rub together. Beth wants to shop, and God for-

bid I should ever get my wardrobe together and look like some-

thing attractive to the opposite sex. What kind of money am I

ever gonna make working at the Charleston County Library? I

can write at night; it’s bound to pay something!”

Maggie got very quiet and I waited for her to say some-

thing. She picked up a fried shrimp, squeezed a lemon over it,

ran it around in her tartar sauce and finally bit into the thing. I

watched her chew as she stared at me.

“Well, say something,” I said.“Christmas is coming.”

“Are you doing this for an excuse to get on-line in those