“Stuff about you. The man’s paying me two cents apiece to give them away to every house in the neighborhood.”
“Everyone in the neighborhood will see this?”
“All the neighborhoods. My whole Cub Scout pack signed up. It’s our weekend project.”
“I’ll give you a dime apiece for what you’ve got there.”
Twin lights went on behind the glasses. The boy was a born MBA. “Fifteen cents.”
“Twelve. And if you go back for more, I’ll buy those too.”
“How about the other kids?”
I wondered how many fliers had been printed compared to how much my reputation was worth. “Okay, twelve cents, but the man can’t find out where his fliers are going.”
Ivan blinked behind his glasses. “Ten cents for the other kids and I get a two-cent fee for bringing them in.”
“When you grow up, come see me and I’ll give you a job.”
“No, thanks, Mr. Callahan, I’m going into the insurance field.”
The flier was about what you’d expect. A Xeroxed photo of me sat in the upper right hand corner. I don’t know when Mike Newberry took my picture, but the graininess made me look like a man who robbed gas stations.
The left side had a big headline that read PROTECT YOUR CHILDREN FROM THE NEIGHBORHOOD PERVERT and under that, in slightly smaller letters:
Then it listed twelve major social blunders:
Impregnated a 13-year-old girl
Arrested for copulation on a carnival ride
Writer of pornographic children’s books
Had simultaneous sex with twins
Frequent drug user including LSD and Double Humpies
Contributor to left-wing radical organizations
Gambles on cockfights
Frequents Oriental brothels
Commits perversions involving oral sex and food
While married, carried on an adulterous relationship with his colored maid
Tells slanderous lies concerning his parentage
Spat on the Confederate flag
At the bottom of the page it said:
Gus wasn’t going to like number ten. Any problems Skip and Wanda thought they had with me were diddly compared to what would happen if they pissed off Gus.
And the sex with twins charge wasn’t true. I’d fed that one to Mike Newberry Friday night. I once had sex with a twin, but I didn’t know whether she was Melissa or Melinda. They were always switching clothes and personalities to fool people. I wanted sex with the other twin but I was afraid to give it a shot because I didn’t know which one I’d already been with.
The left-wing radical group and spitting on the Confederate flag incident happened at a Charlie Daniels concert in Georgia. I paid a girl wearing an Earth first! T-shirt five dollars for what she said was genuine Macon County moonshine but was actually Coleman fuel and mint leaves. I spewed on the biker in front of us, whose leather jacket had you-know-what sewed on the back. He would have beat the crap out of me if the Earth first! girl hadn’t lit a match and torched him. In the ensuing confusion, we ran and hid in her van.
Ivan brought in 3,500 fliers before ten-thirty. When I left to meet Atalanta Williams, Shannon was at the kitchen table, passing out money to a steady stream of Cub Scouts. Eugene sat on a stool, reading the flier over and over and asking questions that began with “Did you really…” I think I’d finally impressed the dork.
I waited in the park across from Atalanta’s church, watching the weather, the traffic, and squirrels. The weather was mixed, puffy clouds and cool. Traffic was light to none. “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” wafted from the red brick church, across the neat lawn and juniper hedge, and past the Signs on Wheels sign that read Have God, will travel.
I was more than a little uneasy about this meeting with Atalanta. I’d hurt her unnecessarily and deserved any scathing accusations she wanted to hurl. But, sitting in the Sunday morning quiet of the park, I was even more uneasy about the direction my life was headed.
People who mattered—Maurey, Shannon, Gilia—were being shortchanged, emotionally speaking, while people who didn’t matter—Katrina, the fathers, Wanda—were taking control.
I’ve had this recurring dream ever since college, where I’m in the backseat of a speeding car with no driver. I fight to reach the wheel as the car careens through crowded streets, killing people and animals. It flips children up onto the front hood where their faces flatten against the windshield and I can see their mouths open to scream. Real life was beginning to ache like that dream.
The double doors opened and people began coming out of the church—men in dark suits and women in shiny dresses. The worshipers were all black except two older women who seemed to be dressed alike. They had on blue hats and white gloves. A lot of people lit cigarettes. That’s one of the big differences between North Carolina and Wyoming. Most everyone in North Carolina—black and white—smokes cigarettes. Not many white people in Wyoming smoke, and there aren’t enough black people to tell what most of them do.
Atalanta Williams was one of the last ones out of the church. As she made her way through the groups of people, the thing I noticed was her posture. I imagine Eleanor Roosevelt had posture like Atalanta’s. Nearly everyone she passed smiled and said something to her. Atalanta said something back, but she didn’t smile.
I met her on the edge of the church parking lot. She held her white leather Bible in both hands. The red ribbon marked a place toward the back of the book, one of St. Paul’s letters or Revelations or something.
Atalanta looked toward the church. “I have to apologize for the way I behaved toward you and the young woman last week. It was inhospitable and un-Christian.”
“I’m the one who should apologize, Mrs. Williams. Had I known about your husband, I would never have come to your house.”
“Let’s find a bench.”
Atalanta didn’t speak again as we crossed the street back into the park and sat on a wooden bench next to a sumac. The amazingly bright leaves gave off a shimmery bonfire effect.
“The fall of our junior year, Jake played in a Guilford County all-star game,” Atalanta said. She sat very straight with her eyes not focused on anything present. “Jake had played against white boys before, but that was the only time he ever played on the same team with them. He thought it was a great opportunity, even though the Negroes had to come to the game already in uniform because they weren’t allowed in the white boys’ locker room.”
I decided not to say anything. My personal apology had been lame enough, without trying to apologize for the entire white race.
“After the game, Jake started spending time with some of the white football players. I didn’t like it much, and I must admit we had words. Jake seemed to think it was modern or hip or something. He bragged about introducing the white boys to John Lee Hooker.
“That Christmas I spent with my grandmother in Asheboro. The entire family went down and I had a fight with Papa over inviting Jake. Papa didn’t approve of Jake.”
“Fathers never like their daughters’ boyfriends.”
Atalanta didn’t comment, but you could see the past playing through her mind like a home movie. The fight with her father. The trip to Asheboro. I’ve had long periods of living in memories and it’s hard. Too many booby traps.
