“I’m pretty sneaky. My mama says it’s not bad to be sneaky. That part of life is being sneaky.”
Jazzy was certainly getting a special education.
“You don’t look so good,” Jazzy said.
“I don’t feel so good.”
“Did you get beat up?”
“Nothing like that. Unless you count life as the thug.”
“Do what?”
“I was attacked by a wild turkey and a big part of Milwaukee.”
“What?”
“I’m joking. I’m just tired.”
“You’re not funny.”
“I get that a lot too.”
“If you got beat up, you can tell me,” she said. “I been beat up.”
That’s all I needed to hear to top off a perfect day, something to charge on into the weekend with. Knowing the little girl that lived next door to us had had beatings. And my guess is she didn’t mean spankings, but exactly what she said. Beatings.
“Who beat you up?” I asked.
“I’m not supposed to tell.”
I understood exactly why my dad had knocked the shit out of Daddy Greg.
“You got bumps on your face,” she said. “Do you have pimples?”
“I have mosquito bites…Have you eaten, Jazzy?”
“I had a banana this morning.”
“You must be hungry.”
“We don’t have nothing but cornflakes and some beer. There’s not any milk to put on the cornflakes. Mama puts beer on hers, but I’m too young for that, she says.”
Thank goodness for small favors.
“She don’t cook much, but she can do a Rubik’s Cube. She’s real smart.”
“Are you going to school?”
“It’s summer, silly.”
“Did you go before summer?”
“Some. Mama slept late a lot and I didn’t always get a ride. She had places to go a lot of the time. Mostly I wasn’t here. I went all the time when I lived in Houston with Mee-maw. She died.”
I got it then. Foster care. And now with Mee-maw out of the picture, the mother had once again ended up with the child.
“Why don’t you come in with me, see if my mom can fix you something?” I said. I looked at my watch. It was after five. My folks ate dinner early. It was perfect timing.
“Your mama is nice. So’s your daddy.”
“They are at that. Come on. It’s all right when you’ve been invited.”
10
Jazzy climbed down and reached out and took my hand. I hoped that wasn’t something she did with any stranger. She smiled at me and I smiled back. Jazzy smelled a little like the elm, a pleasant smell that comes from broken leaves.
I walked her through the open garage and to the side door that led into the kitchen. I wanted to make sure she got a meal, and I thought if she was with me, Mom and Dad might be less inclined to ask me where I was the night before. At least it would help me avoid a thorough investigation: fingerprints, a urine specimen, a cavity search and a DNA swab.
Inside, the house was a little warm, the kitchen full of the smell of something cooking and the smell was a good smell and it made my stomach roll both from too much liquor and not having anything to eat for some time. Mom was at the stove with a long wooden spoon, turning something in a boiling pot. She looked at me, and though she smiled, her eyes told me she had been worried about me. Of course, she knew I had been drinking.
“Jazzy’s come to visit,” I said.
“Oh, good,” Mom said, as if it was the best idea she had ever heard. “Come in, Jazzy. Why don’t you go to the bathroom and wash your face and hands. Supper is almost on the table.”
Jazzy darted for the bathroom. I went over and kissed Mom on the cheek.
“Hello, sweetie,” Mom said. “When Jazzy gets out, brush your teeth. I think there’s a hops farm in your mouth, maybe a nest of wild turkeys, if you know what I mean. And those mints you chewed, they just make your breath all the more nasty.”
“You still have that super nose, don’t you?”
“I do. And you might put some alcohol—the rubbing kind—on those bites. Did you sleep under a tree?”
“Just a place with open windows.”
Mom studied me for a moment, then patted my arm. “Go in and see your brother and Trixie. I’ve got a chicken in the oven, and it’ll be ready soon.”
In the living room, Dad was on the couch next to Jimmy. He was laughing about something Jimmy was telling him. Jimmy was thin and looked as if he worked out. He had strips of white hair over his ears. It gave him an air of sophistication.
Trixie, looking fetching in blue jeans and a loose green jersey, a silver-white necklace lying against her dark brown skin, sat with her legs crossed, flip-flops on her feet. She smiled when I came in. Her hair was like a golden helmet and she seemed to have more teeth than a human should have, but they were good and bright and straight teeth. She was so good-looking if you stared at her for long you might need a trip to the ER for heat exhaustion.
I went over as she got up and gave her a big hug, making sure I kept my brewery breath behind her shoulder.
I shook hands with my brother, smiled at my dad, sat down on the end of the couch, laying my file folder on the coffee table.
“Abducted by aliens last night?” Dad said.
“Yeah,” I said, “but they gave me back.”
“The anal probe,” Jimmy said. “They didn’t like what they found.”
Dad nodded at the file on the coffee table. “Homework?”
“Kind of,” I said.
“You look like you been in a fire-ant hill,” Trixie said, in that peculiar voice of hers. It was Southern as all get-out, and it sounded as if it came from a throat that had just swallowed broken glass and followed it with a hundred-proof whiskey chaser.
“Mosquitoes,” I said. Then to Jimmy: “See you got a big ride out there, brother.”
“Gas-guzzler,” Dad said. “Just supporting the goddamn oil companies. Don’t they make enough money without you helping them?”
“Now they’re making more,” Jimmy said, “and off of me. I got it slightly used. We don’t run it all the time. Trixie has a smaller car. We use it most of the time. That make you feel better, Dad?”
“Just a fraction.”
The conversation changed then. We talked about this and that. Jimmy and I laughed about some past events. Trixie, making sure Jazzy was with Mom, told a very off-color joke, which I loved. We did all this as sounds and smells from the kitchen filled the background.
I finally went and brushed my teeth, then messed them up again because we ate chicken and dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, had gallons of ice tea to drink, pies for dessert, apple and pear.
When we finished eating we spent some time bragging properly on how good the meal was, then me and Jimmy slipped off and went to our old room. He looked at the planes hanging from the ceiling. “I used to lie on the top bunk and look at those planes, pretend I was in them, and that I was flying away,” he said.
