The Crowning Glory of Calla Lily Ponder (11 page)

“I have known y’all since you were little babies,” Olivia said to us, “and I have never lied to you.”

Then I saw Sonny Boy in the hallway, leaning in closer.

Olivia continued, “Listen to me, and believe me when I say now: everything gonna be all right.”

I took a deep breath, and I tried to believe her.

T
he day of the funeral I could barely get dressed, my hands were shaking so bad. Will and Sonny Boy each held one of my arms as they helped me into the church and sat on either side of me.

How could this happen? M’Dear in all her beauty and dancing and laughing and greatness, how could she just be lying there in that coffin? How dare they put her there where people could just file past and look at her! I prayed with everyone during the Rosary, but couldn’t believe how they acted like this was just a regular prayer session—even with M’Dear lying right there in front of them. If it hadn’t been for my brothers and Tuck, I would have run through Our Lady of the River and jerked the rosaries out of their hands, yelling “Pray for yourselves! She doesn’t need it! Pray for those of us who don’t have her anymore, you rosary-clinking fools!”

Goddamn them! Goddamn breast cancer! I still couldn’t accept that the cancer ate up my mother through her breasts, the breasts that fed me and my brothers so lovingly.

And goddamn Aunt Helen. “Lenora, we love you,” she had said to M’Dear. But she didn’t listen to her! She broke her trust. M’Dear had told both Papa and me that she wanted to be laid out in a nude-colored leotard. “I want to show them what breast cancer does to the body. I don’t want to hide it or seem ashamed in anyway. I am going to show them my flat, boy-breasted body.”

But Aunt Helen betrayed her. In the funeral home, before the wake or visitation, as we Catholics call it, I confronted Aunt Helen. “How dare you! How dare you let them put her in a dress, and make it look like she still had breasts!” I screamed, unable to stop in my anger and grief. “You knew what she wanted, Aunt Helen!”

“I didn’t know,” Aunt Helen said quietly, Uncle Richard standing next to her.

“Yes, you did,” I said, feeling so enraged I wanted to slap her.

“Calla,” Aunt Helen told me, “things change once people move on. I couldn’t stop them. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Calla.”

It was then that I realized Aunt Helen was going through her own sadness of losing M’Dear. We all had to share this. We all had to carry our own load. When Aunt Helen reached her hands out to me, I took them in mine. We were a family.

I was sixteen. M’Dear was thirty-nine. I was in her body for nine months of her life. For almost a year I lived inside her. And now she would live inside me forever.

When we got back from the funeral home, our house was full of pound cakes and casseroles. Even Mrs. Sally, Sukey’s mama, brought her string bean, mushroom soup, and onion ring casserole. She must have baked it right after she got home from work. Seeing Mrs. Sally was like seeing her for the first time. She had so much understanding in her eyes that I reached out for her and she held me in her arms, Sukey’s mama, who had only ever touched the top of my head before Sukey and me went to sleep. Sukey’s mama holding me in her arms.

The rest of the day, all of it, was a blur. Miz Lizbeth finally got me to eat something at some point, but the taste of it came back up.

Eventually I had to get away from everyone, and Tuck came out to the pier with me. I couldn’t even speak till we got down there. We sat down together, and Tuck put his arm around me. That made me cry. When I started to speak, I felt like I was choking.

“Oh, Tuck, I knew M’Dear was sick, but I still kind of believed that her heart would go on and she would live forever. Why couldn’t she? Why did M’Dear have to die?”

I was sobbing so hard that I could hardly get the words out. “She never did anything wrong. She never hurt anybody in her life! Tell me, damnit, tell me! Tell me why!”

I started pounding my fist on my leg, and then I began to slap my face,
slap my own face
. Tuck pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me even further. I raised my fists and tried to shove him away.

“Goddamnit!” I cried, pounding on his chest. “Damnit, damnit to goddamn hell! How did that cancer get into M’Dear?” Then I started to beg, “God, please take M’Dear and make her alive again. Make it before the cancer got into her!”

I stopped pounding on Tuck and buried my face in his chest, running my fingers through my hair and pulling at it for comfort.

“Calla, I’m gonna hold your hands now, okay? You’re pulling your hair too hard. I’m just gonna hold your hands like we always hold hands. Just hold them in my lap.”

I tried to pull my hands out of his, but he held on tight. I yelled at him: “I hate all those people and all that food and flowers! How can any of that make us feel better? Nothing can make me feel better.”

I collapsed in tears again, and Tuck cradled my head in his lap, stroking my hair. That calmed me a little, and after a moment, he said, “Calla, you oughta look up at the sky. The moon is what you always call a fingernail moon, a little tiny sliver, but still so bright.”

I lifted my head to look at Tuck. “I need for her to come back, Tuck.”

Very gently, he said, “I know. I know, Calla. I do know.”

I stared at him hard until I remembered that he
did know
. I remembered the face of Tuck’s mother as she left him on the Tuckers’ porch. He kept stroking my hair as he dropped his head, and his own tears began to fall, for the pain I was suffering and for the pain he hid so well for the mother he had lost.

Then he continued to hold me as I murmured for both of us: “M’Dear, you weren’t supposed to die. I know you said all those words about living and dying and living again right away and not ever really even leaving. But you were wrong, M’Dear. You have gone and left and I am so angry that I can’t find anything big enough to hold my tears.”

I am big enough to hold your tears.

I slowly lifted my head from Tuck’s lap. I looked out at the river our little town is built on. I looked up at the sliver of a moon. A river, a moon. They could not replace M’Dear. But they did give me comfort.

The river and me, La Luna—together we can hold your tears. Go ahead and cry.

The day after M’Dear’s funeral, Papa brought an envelope over to show us. In it was a letter in M’Dear’s handwriting, written in heavy black ink and in her own way of talking. It was her final letter to all of us. We taped it to the refrigerator door, and we each couldn’t help but read part of it every day.

E
verybody knew we were going through a lot with M’Dear’s passing, and chipped in wherever they could. But it was Nelle who was most persistent. She was part of a rotating group of lady-friends who had organized themselves to help with groceries, cooking, and cleaning, working alongside of Olivia and staying when it was time for Olivia to go home to her
own
family. But besides those chores, Nelle often stayed after supper. Just sort of hung out, visiting whoever in our family needed visiting the most. While Renée and Sukey were my best friends, like sisters, Nelle I could talk to, well, not like a mother—nobody could be a mother but M’Dear. But I could share stuff with her that I somehow couldn’t share with my girlfriend sisters, Tuck, or Aunt Helen. School stuff, stuff I was so embarrassed about—like my mile-long legs, or how tall I was.

“You look like a model,” she’d say. “Girls would
kill
to be tall like you—the way clothes drape on you like a runway model. You’re no Twiggy, although you’re gonna get too skinny if you don’t start eating. No, you’re an original; you are calla lily. Tuck sure seems to know it. He’s a cutie-pie,” she said, trying to get me to smile. “Isn’t he?” I didn’t answer. “He certainly is one helluva cutie-pie.” I turned away.

“That olive complexion of yours can’t hide the fact that I know you are blushing inside, if not on the outside.” She paused. “Like so many things, huh, Calla?”

“Yeah,” I said. “How’d you get so smart?”

“On-the-job experience,” she answered and gave a little laugh, then leaned over and gave me a kiss on my forehead.

For a week or so, Nelle stopped her long visits and only came by for a short “good night.” It didn’t seem to bother Papa or my brothers. But it bothered me. I missed her. I’d gotten used to her being there every night. But I knew she had duties at the Shop ’N Skate.

Then one afternoon, Nelle came up to my room where I was listening to Simon & Garfunkel. She was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, tied at the waist over a pair of baggy khaki shorts, the waist cinched in so tiny, she looked cooler than most girls my age.

“Come on!” she said, lifting the needle off the LP. “Get dressed! No more mournful music!”

Next thing I knew, she was driving me to the Shop ’N Skate, which had a new sign out front. “Shop, Snack ’N Skate,” it read. If that wasn’t enough, there was a red ribbon going across the skating rink door, which had been widened and repainted. Everybody in town was there, it seemed, including the gang—Sukey, all dressed up in a yellow mini-dress, Renée, and the boys. Even the grown-ups had taken off work, including Papa, who had the La Luna band there, playing a lively tune.

“Here,” Nelle said, and handed me a shiny pair of scissors. I looked at her and at the whole crowd, and decided to laugh and have fun. I cut the red ribbon and walked through the threshold into a place that I didn’t recognize at first. Tuck came up behind me and hugged me. I looked over at Nelle, who stood on the other side of the crowd and just gave me a wink.

It turned out that, as Nelle put it, “Y’all are around this joint so much, doing nothing but drinking Coca-Colas and eating peanut butter crackers, that I thought I ought to bring some decent
food
into this joint. Besides, a good businesswoman has got to have a sense of timing.”

She had put in three diner-style booths between the grocery items and the skating rink. And she had hired her a cook, Bertha Bonton, Cleveland’s mama and Olivia’s daughter, and one of the best you could ever find. Oh, just the smell of her homemade French fries! She also hired Cleveland to wash dishes, and to help with all sorts of chores.

“Just let old fat-ass Sheriff Ezneck fool with having Negroes on the premises now,” Nelle said.

I said to Nelle, “I can’t believe you didn’t think of serving food before.”

I kept telling myself that I was lucky. Because everyone showed me so much love. Miz Lizbeth and Uncle Tucker invited me in their home like I was one of the family. And I already felt like family with Tuck. The way he held me, looked at me, told me that he’d never leave—he’d say it out of the blue like a chant or something, and I’d realize that it was just what I wanted to hear.

Sukey and Renée were the best friends a girl could have. They were by my side all the time. There were, of course, many days when I had to stay home from school because I was just too sad. On those days, my brothers were champs. They brought me hamburgers and fries and
Seventeen
magazines from Nelle’s. Then Will would sit and play songs that he called “Calla Tunes” on his little guitar. M’Dear must have been looking down on us then, keeping an eye on us and smiling.

I loved my friends’ mamas, too. One day, Renée’s mama, Mrs. Jeansonne, thought it would be nice to take Sukey and me shopping for school clothes at Richardson’s Department Store in Claiborne, since Sukey’s mama was busy at work. Now, I’m sorry to say this, but I just kept wishing and wishing that it was M’Dear who could have taken us.

First of all, Renée’s mama liked clothes for us teenage girls that made your body feel boxed in. M’Dear always said that clothes were meant to make your body want to dance. Renée’s mother liked clothes that make you want to sit down and fold your hands. You could tell by her hair how formal she was—it was always up in a super tight French twist. I never saw Renée’s mother with her hair down in my whole life.

Still, she was dear to take us, and mostly, I just missed M’Dear. She had just been so much more fun than any other mother. When she took us to Richardson’s, I loved how she would dance around the store—and oh, how she loved the scarf department! M’Dear would pick a scarf and she’d twirl and twirl around and finally whirl the scarf in the air! She knew Miss Betty, the lady behind the counter, and Miss Betty would just shake her head and smile as she and the other salesgirls watched. She’d say, “Oh, you just go ahead, Lenora. Just play with any scarf you want.”

Then M’Dear would hand some scarves to me and say, “What do you think?”

I’d say, “Oh, M’Dear! I can’t decide—I love them all.”

Then M’Dear would say, “You know which one speaks to you, Calla.”

M’Dear was right. I did know the scarf that spoke to me. It was light purple with blue swirls in it, like the ocean, and we bought it right there on the spot.

Renée’s mama was different. When we got to the store she told us, “Girls, I want you to find outfits that match the clothes you already have. Always try to mix and match. It’s the way to build a wardrobe that can serve you without breaking the bank. Bring a little list of skirts that need new blouses to match them, or blouses that could use a little sprucing up with an accessory—a little pin, or just the right scarf, for instance. There is really nothing like an accessory for stretching the dollar!

“Accessories make the girl, wouldn’t you agree?” Mrs. Jeansonne said, and gave me a smile.

It took me a moment to realize she was talking to me. My mind was still picturing M’Dear dancing with the scarves.

“No, ma’am, I don’t agree. Accessories don’t make the girl.”

“It was just a figure of speech, sweetie,” she said, apologetic. I knew she was trying her best to be nice to me now that M’Dear had passed.

“I suggest you start with three items of clothing apiece,” Mrs. Jeansonne went on. “That way you won’t get the clothes mixed up.”

I nodded and smiled, but then piled on about twenty different items and walked into the big dressing room with three mirrors, urging Sukey and Renée to join me.

Once we were all in there, I took off my miniskirt and tights and started dancing around. “Come on, y’all,” I said. “We’ve never had this many mirrors before. Let’s do our Supremes number!”

Sukey peeled off her bell-bottoms and turtleneck and then her panties, and swayed there, almost nude. I was a little shocked, but I just started loosening up my shoulders and warming up, like it’s good to do before you dance. Then I took off my blouse.

“Come on, now, Renée,” Sukey was saying, “don’t be a fuddy-duddy.”

“I don’t
want
to take off my clothes,” Renée said, looking at the door, her eyes peeled to see if her mother was going to step in. “I’ll get undressed if Sukey at least puts her lingerie back on.”

“Oh, brother,” Sukey said, crossing her eyes. “All right. Y’all are no fun! I’m only putting my panties back on because you called them
lingerie
. Anyway, I hate my boobs. I can’t even take my bra off in front of y’all because they’re so tiny. They look like mosquito bites!”

“No, they don’t,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Renée.

“Look,” I said, “I’ll take off my bra, and you can look at mine. They’re not
big
.” I took off my bra, which I never would have done if I didn’t need to make Sukey feel better.

“See?” I said, then mouthed to Renée to join me. Renée slipped her blue wool jumper over her blond hair, then took off her bra, even though I could tell that she was mortified.

“Look at our boobs, Sukey,” I said, reaching for Renée’s hands.

“Yeah, do,” Renée said, keeping her hands firmly covering her breasts.

“See?” I sighed. “Boobs are simply the size we need to fit our own bodies. You’re really petite—” I started to say.

“—so you have petite boobs!” said Renée, finally uttering an intelligent phrase.

“Okay, girls,” I said. “Bras back on. We are the most famous girl group in the world! Hit it!”

We had done our “Stop! In the Name of Love!” number countless times at the Swing ’N Sway, standing in front of the long mirrors and copying the Supremes’ dance movements. We each had our own verse tied to our own movement, and we put as much emotion as we could pack into those lines. Sukey sang first, jumping in front of her mirror, her hand held out in a stop signal. I sang my verse next and leaped in front of my mirror, with my hand held over my heart.

Then there was a little pause. “Come on, Renée!” I whispered. She looked at me, and I nodded. Finally our Renée jumped in front of her own mirror, put her hand up, and made circles around down from her head and sang about thinking it oooover!

We did the whole song, with all the moves we’d made up. After we finished, we all cracked up laughing, squealing together, “Oh, we all are
so
good!”

“Maybe we’re the La Luna Supremes,” Renée exclaimed.

“No!” I said. “We are the Lunettes!”

“No, no,
non
,” Sukey said. “We are the La Lunettes! Calla, you were perfect! You get to be Diana for now unto eterrrrnity!”

“And Renée,” I said, “girl, you are learning to shake it.”

“Maybe big old boy Eddie done stirred up the honeypot,” Sukey said.

“Will you stop that!” Renée was blushing.

“Okay, okay, we’ll stop,” I told her. “But let’s be sure to get some outfits today for our magic performance nights.”

“Yes!” Renée said.

We were all still dancing around in our panties and bras when we heard, “Girls, yoo-hoo, anybody in there?”

Mrs. Jeansonne stuck her head in the door. She looked down at the clothes that we’d just left lying there in piles, then up at us in our underwear. I thought that for sure we were in for some stern correction, but people will surprise you sometimes.

“Y’all been having fun in here?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am!” we said.

Then she looked at me, almost a little shy. “I got you something, Calla.” She stepped into the dressing room carefully, and handed me a Richardson’s box. When I pulled back the lid and tissue paper and peeked inside, there was a scarf I knew that M’Dear and I would have wanted. It was big and blue, silk, with soft, almost undetectable white swirls. Pulling it out of the box, I held it up. I could see Sukey’s eyes open wide, and Renée smiling at her mother. They all watched as I swirled the scarf around, like M’Dear used to do in the dance studio, moving with the scarf, barefoot, hearing the rhythm of the cloth, as she would say.

“Thank you, Mrs. Jeansonne! This is gorgeous. It’s so, so—” And I couldn’t find the right word. “It’s just so right, somehow. Know what I mean?”

Mrs. Jeansonne closed her eyes for a second and smiled. “I do, Calla,” she said. “Do you think you might be able to work it in with your other outfits?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do. Absolutely.”

“Good!” she said. “Well, y’all keep on having fun and meet me in women’s shoes in thirty minutes.”

“Okay,” we said.

After Mrs. Jeansonne left, Sukey and I saw that Renée was holding up an orange crêpe blouse that I picked out.

“I like this,” she said. “Maybe we could wear something like this to perform.”

“Yeah,” Sukey said. “Wild paisley blouse, tied at the waist, and these!” From under a deep pile of her clothes, she pulled out a pair of brown suede hot pants with butterflies on the sides.

“Those are mine!” I said.

“Well, can’t I get a pair too?” Sukey asked.

I thought for a minute and said, “Let’s all of us get the same outfit! We can triple-date and surprise the boys!” And I swished my scarf around.

“We can get dressed at my house,” Renée said, “and walk down the stairs wearing our coats. When we get into the living room, we’ll say ‘Hey, y’all.’”

I swished my scarf again like a punctuation mark.

“And then, and then,” Sukey said, “and then we’ll swing open our coats, and
Voila!
Tuck, Eddie, and—well, whoever my date is—will fall out on the floor!”

“On the floor!” I said with a
swish
of my scarf.

We were cracking up laughing, and with each idea we had, we struck different poses in front of the mirror like we were fashion models. Then, all of a sudden, a dark wave of sadness came under the door of the dressing room. My sadness seemed so sudden and so private that I’m not sure what made Sukey drop what she was doing and put her arms around me before my sob was even fully there. Renée put her arms around both of us. None of us had to say a word.