The Essay A Novel (26 page)

“She had a tough run with the old man, there's no disputin' that, but she had no business running off in the middle of your senior year, especially when you're doin' as good as you are. She could have waited another couple of months. Hell, you ought to be upset, too. She left you in the care of an ex-convict, for God's sake.” He grinned, pulling on his coat and ball cap. “I'll see you tonight.”

I looked out at the sleet that continued to pepper the windows and build up in tiny mounds on the sill. “Maybe you should wait awhile until it lets up a bit.”

“I'm an hourly employee, Jimmy Lee. No work, no paycheck. This is why you're going to college. You don't want to work like this the rest of your life.”

“There's nothing wrong with honest labor.”

Edgel squeezed the top snap of his coat and pulled the collar up around his ears. “Jimmy Lee, do you know what kind of man it takes to stand out in the snow and sleet and shovel wet ashes for twelve hours?”

“A tough man?”

He shook his head. “No, just a man without a lot of options.”

By the time I started down the drive to catch the bus, the sleet had been replaced by a wet snow with flakes so heavy that they fell like rain and slid down my collar and chilled my neck. I wore my work boots and carried my dress shoes in my gym bag, not wanting to ruin them in the slush and mud. Polio Baughman was already at the foot of the hill, bouncing from foot to foot and shivering in a thin, hooded sweatshirt that he was holding closed by wrapping his pocketed hands around each other. His tennis shoes were untied and the laces sucked mud water like a candle wick draws hot wax. “Damn, Polio, don't you have a coat?”

He sniffed twice, drawing in the runny discharge. “I don't need no coat. I'm not cold anyways.”

“No, of course you're not. My teeth always chatter like that when I'm toasty warm. Did you get your government report done?”

I think he shook his head no, but he was shivering so bad it was hard to tell what was intentional and what was the result of his plummeting core temperature. “Hell, no. I'm not doing any more of that shit. I'm not going back to school after Christmas anyways. I enlisted in the Army.”

“What? You enlisted? When?”

“Day before yesterday. The recruiter says I'm first-rate infantry material. That's exactly what he said—‘first-rate infantry material.' I report to basic training right after the first of the year.”

“Infantry material? Anyone with a pulse is infantry material. Why didn't you wait until the end of the school year? You've almost got your diploma in the bag.”

The bus was creeping toward us on the snow-covered Red Dog Road. “I'm going to flunk government and senior English, and you can't graduate without passing both classes. Besides, I'm sick of school.”

“Yeah, but it's East Vinton, Polio. If you keep showing up between now and the end of the year they'll pass you.”

He gave me a look that said he could barely stand the sight of me. “You still going to college?”

“I hope.”

“Well, goody for you, college boy. You get off Red Dog Road your way and I'll get off my way.”

He got on the bus and stared out the window in silence all the way to school. For years, Polio had viewed me simply as another dogger—a kindred spirit. Then I won the essay contest, and earlier that week I had been named first team All-Ohio in football, the first player from East Vinton to ever earn the honor. He knew that I was getting scholarship offers for football and I think it was a little more than he wanted to swallow.

The buses were late getting to school and the front hall was covered with water and the dirty slush that had fallen from shoes and boots. Students took calculated steps to avoid becoming a victim of the slick linoleum. When I turned the corner of the main hallway, Coach Battershell and Miss Singletary were standing near the principal's office. Miss Singletary held a crumpled tissue in her hand, her eyes swollen and red, and rimmed with tears. When she saw me, she ducked her head and climbed the stairs. Coach Battershell simply pointed toward the ramp that led down to the gymnasium; I followed. I could only imagine that the school administration had found out that Miss Singletary and Coach Battershell were dating and in light of Miss Singletary's confrontation with Mrs. Johanessen and Principal Speer, were now making an issue of their relationship.

I couldn't have been more wrong. I had seen Coach Battershell angry on numerous occasions, but there was no fire in his eyes on this morning. Rather, it was a look of hurt and fear, the same look found in the eyes of family members who had just followed an ambulance to the emergency room.

“Mrs. Johanessen has accused Miss Singletary of having an improper relationship with a student,” Coach Battershell said, closing the door to his office.

I frowned, pondering his words only for a fraction of a second before realizing the implication. “Me?” He nodded, and I felt my knees buckle as a burning began deep in my loins, not unlike a kick to the balls. “Coach, honest to Jesus, there's never been anything going on between us, I swear, I never . . .”

He stopped me with a raised palm and a sad chuckle. “I know that, Jimmy Lee. That's not an issue. It's the allegation that's the problem.”

“It's not a problem. I'll just march into Mr. Speer's office and tell him it's a bunch of bullshit. Nothing improper ever happened and I'll tell him so.”

“Unfortunately, that isn't going to matter, Jimmy Lee. Mrs. Johanessen has made the accusation and Mr. Speer is obligated to take it to the school board next Monday. There will be an investigation; Miss Singletary will be suspended with pay until it's completed. They won't find any wrongdoing, but the hook will have been set. Once someone makes that kind of allegation, you can never escape it. Other teachers will know. The community will know. Do you realize how personally embarrassing this is to her? She won't be able to stay, and the specter of doubt will follow her wherever she goes. It could end her career as a teacher.”

“Why would Mrs. Johanessen do something like that?”

“Apparently, when she was unsuccessful in stopping you from winning the county essay contest, she turned on Miss Singletary. Mrs. Johanessen said she witnessed Miss Singletary give you a hug that was very intimate, kiss you on the ear and heard her say, ‘I love you,' after you won the contest.”

“She gave me a hug and said she was proud of me. You were sitting there, for cryin' out loud.”

“My word against hers. Again, it doesn't matter if it's true. It just has to be kicked around long enough to ruin her career. It's like cat piss in your carpet. You can scrub all you want, but the stink never really goes away.”

I couldn't recall ever feeling so helpless. I wanted to punch something. “So, what can I do?” I finally asked.

“Keep your mouth shut and stay away from Miss Singletary. She's going home today so she won't be in class. Word might get out. If anyone asks you about it, just tell them you don't know what they're talking about, and for God's sake, no matter what anyone says, don't punch them.”

I sat through three classes, staring out the window as the snow continued to fall. Mr. Speer sent his secretary, Mrs. Green, to monitor Miss Singletary's class and we were instructed to read quietly. They closed the school at noon. I rode the bus back home and then drove to the truck stop in the 1963 Plymouth Belvedere, the old cop car my dad had been unable to start the day he left Vinton County. After football season, I had begun working at the truck stop in the afternoons and one weekend day a week. I knew Mr. Monihan would want me there early to shovel the snow. The job paid a dollar-fifty an hour and a tub of beef stew or whatever extra food Mrs. Monihan had in the kitchen.

That day, I spent six hours in the refueling docks, shoveling the freshly fallen snow and lugging away the dirt-caked ice chunks that fell from beneath the wheel wells and undercarriages of the tractor-trailers. It was mindless work and I could not get Amanda Singletary or Gloria Johanessen out of my mind. Miss Singletary I wanted to comfort, but Mrs. Johanessen I desperately wanted to hurt. The more I concentrated on the situation, the faster and harder I shoveled, wishing the grip I had on the shovel was around Mrs. Johanessen's neck.

By 7
PM
, I could no longer feel my toes and it was difficult to uncurl my fingers from around the handle of the shovel. I was tired and smelled of diesel fuel, which had mixed with the slush and soaked into my work boots and the cuffs of my jeans. The temperature was beginning to rise slightly and a light, misting rain was coming in from the west. When I came in to sign my time sheet, Mrs. Monihan had an aluminum tub of sauerkraut, kielbasa, and mashed potatoes ready to go. Four slices of bread and two pieces of pumpkin pie were wrapped in separate pieces of aluminum foil.

She carried the hot tub to the Belvedere and sat it on the passenger side floor. “Share it with your brother,” she said, repeating her daily admonition to me.

“I always do.”

“I know you do, sweetheart.” As she held the side of the door, Mrs. Monihan shook her head and made a clicking sound with her cheeks. “I surely do feel sorry for you boys up there in that old house all by yourselves. Your mother worked here for fifteen years and I love her like a sister, but I just don't understand how she could just take off with you still in high school and your brother just getting back on his feet. Of course, if I was . . .” Her voice trailed off and she looked embarrassed that her thoughts had nearly escaped unchecked from her mouth.

“What's that, Mrs. Monihan? If you'd been married to Nick Hickam you would have left, too? It's okay. I know what he was like. I lived with him for nearly eighteen years, too.”

She tried to force back a smile. “You're a good boy, Jimmy Lee.”

I put the pan in the oven to keep it warm, then took a shower until I felt the water starting to cool and realized I had drained the hot water tank. It was after eight by the time I had dressed and was ready to eat. But there was still no sign of Edgel.

Ever since Mom left, Edgel Hickam had been working like a man possessed. He took the responsibility as the new head of the household very seriously. He saved his money, paid the bills on time, and spent no time in the bars, which was virtually unheard of for a Hickam male of legal drinking age. Edgel was up for work each day at five forty-five. He made us breakfast and we ate together before he headed out the door at six forty, and I went down to meet the bus. Most nights, he didn't get home until after seven. I would start warming up dinner while he jumped in the shower and tried to wash away ash that had crept into every crevice of his body. Some nights, he would eat a quick dinner and make a late night run for the Farnsworth brothers. I'm not sure when he slept.

It was difficult for me to believe this was the same man convicted of burglary and arson. He was not the devil incarnate my dad had led me to believe. He was a hard-working man who was concerned about the welfare of his little brother.

When Edgel hadn't shown up by nine, I started to worry, so I hopped in the Belvedere and drove down to the sawmill. As soon as I entered the property, I could see the three stands of floodlights shining on the open doorway that led to the subbasement. The dump truck was backed in near the opening and a wooden ramp made of rough-hewn oak planks led from the ground to the bed of the truck. The front-end loader wouldn't fit in the subbasement, and Edgel pushed wheelbarrows full of ash up that slippery ramp and into the truck bed.

I walked around the side of the building and was making my way down the dirt hillside as he was heading toward the ramp with a loaded wheelbarrow. “Hey,” I said.

It startled him and he nearly upset the wheelbarrow when he jumped. “Jesus Christ, Jimmy Lee, you scared the shit out of me.” He balanced the wheelbarrow and set it down. “What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?”

“Sorry. I didn't mean to. I was worried about you. It's almost nine thirty.”

He swiped at his sweaty forehead with a forearm that looked like a piece of twisted rope. Edgel wasn't big in stature, but there was hardly an ounce of fat on him and he was tight and muscular. The blue veins bulging in his forearm looked like a road map. “This might surprise you, little brother, but I know perfectly well how to tell time. I'll be home in a little bit. I've got one more load to drop off.”

“Need any help?”

“No, I'm good. You scoot on home. I'll see you in a little bit.”

“I can shovel for a little bit. I don't mind.”

“I've got it under control, Jimmy Lee. Now, get your ass out of here.”

I smiled. “You're awful damn protective of those ashes.”

He picked up the wheelbarrow and started toward the ramp. “That's because Mr. Morgan hired me to do the job, not you.”

“You've been putting in a lot of hours, Edgel.”