This cookout started two and a half hours ago. Bein’ fashionably late is one thing. Standin’ somebody up is another.
“Why ain’t nobody dancin’?” Bernadette hollers, and turns up the radio playin’ Bunker Hill’s “Hide and Go Seek” and proceeds to mash potata like she invented it.
“Too hot,” I call back.
“Y’all ain’t no fun,” she argues, and keeps on dancing, sweat flyin’. A couple other folks join her, and pretty soon this is just a big outdoor dance party. While everybody’s occupied, I slide up to the punch bowl and add a few drops a joy from my purse flask. Just enough to stay happy. Smells like the burgers are burnin’, and I wanna help out, but it’s so hot, and it’s surely hotter over by that grill! I keep on fanning myself like I done stepped into Hades. I am South Carolina born and bred. And we are in the south of South Carolina (Savannah’s just a short ride away). So I can’t for the life a me figure why I feel like a withered wild flower soon as the mercury hits ninety.
I do have a theory, though. I think it’s got somethin’ to do with the haints.
I was seein’ haints before I knew I had the strangeness inside me. Probably before I could walk. These are restless spirits that can’t seem to get to wherever they sposeta be goin’. A lot of ’em are angry. All of ’em are sad. Not everybody can see ’em. I tried to introduce one of ’em to a neighbor girl when I was about three or four, and she couldn’t see a thing. That’s when I learned that they weren’t people.
I can ignore ’em usually, but I know they’re always around. I know this because if I focus, I can know what’s goin’ on in more than one world at a time. Imagine you could tune your radio so you could hear several different stations at once and understand everything you hear perfectly. That’s the best way I can describe it. So I wonder if the heat is such a trial for me cuz I got haints flockin’ all around me, crowdin’ my atmosphere all the time.
R. J. attempts to dance over to me while looking hip, but he can’t pull this off.
“Evalene. You not gonna come out here?”
I pretend I don’t hear him and sorta walk-dance with my homemade fan over to the grill to salvage the meat that ain’t been burnt to a cinder. I try to overlook the heat as I plate a couple hot dogs, the few burgers that survived, and when I turn around…
“Hey, Evvie girl,” he says to me, and I try to act cool, like I ain’t jumping up and down inside at just the sight of him. He smiles this real shy smile, and I smile back even though I know he’s a liar. There ain’t nothin’ shy about Clayton Alexander Jr. Least I ain’t never seen that side of him.
“Hey there,” I say back. “Didn’t think you was gonna show.”
“And miss an opportunity to see you in a dress? Am I a damn fool?”
I roll my eyes but keep on smilin’. Only Clay can get away with flirtin’ with me like this.
“I don’t know. Are ya?” I flirt back.
He chuckles and looks down at his feet, but he doesn’t say anything. I wish to high heaven I had a hand mirror right now and two minutes of privacy so I could pat down my hair in the spots that have poufed up and double up on my cherry bomb lipstick.
From the corner of my eye I catch R. J. watchin’ us like a lost puppy. If he didn’t look so pitiful, I’d fling a burnt patty at him. I shift my position to cut him outta my view.
Because it’s still in my hands, I hold out the plate to Clay. “Weiner?” I offer, regretting the word as soon as it left my lips. I honestly thought that was gonna sound sexy when I said it. Lesson learned.
He just grins. Once again, I think he’s tryin’ not to laugh at me.
“Well…” I try to regain my dignity. “Do you want anything to eat?”
He doesn’t answer. He just keeps lookin’ at me. The way he looked at me last summer when he pulled me outta that puddle. I feel dizzy in a good way, but I try not to let it show.
“Okay then.” I put the plate down and walk back to my seat and my lemonade. If he has somethin’ to say to me, I’m sure he’ll say it sooner or later. I ain’t gonna beg him to talk to me.
“Evvie?”
I take a big gulp of lemonade before answering, just to show him how much more interested I am in it than him. “Yeah?”
“Will you come dance with me?” he asks. Now, if I didn’t know better, I could swear that Clayton was just a teeny bit nervous asking me that question. Did he really think I’d say no?
I take one more sip and close my eyes, savoring the sweet, tangy goodness before I look back at him.
“Why not?” I offer him my hand. He smiles and takes it, leading me to the trampled patch of grass that has become the dance floor. Just as we stop, feeling that we’ve found the optimal dance spot, not too far away from the music and not too
