Chapter Two

At eighty-nine years old, Clara Denise Graham is nearing death. While spending her last days in a hospice care center, she concocts a plan to amend the relationship she has with her daughter.

Chapter Two

The letter arrived on a Saturday--one week into summer vacation. Rolly and I were still training our body clocks to wake us up at noon, counting down the days until Bruce left for college, and planning every minute detail of our summer vacation. Saturday was designated as snake day, which meant that Rolly and I were searching for snakes in the waist-high weeds with our Moses inspired staffs. Rolly was doing his best impression of Crocodile Dundee--declaring that his faux Australian accent would coax the snakes out of their hiding places when Grandmama stuck her head outside of the screen door and called me inside.

“Can I come?” asked Rolly.

“No,” said Grandmama.

Her refusal to allow Rolly to come in with me told me it had something to do with Mama. That was the only time Rolly wasn’t allowed to be around.  I think Grandmama did it to protect him because his mama never called or wrote.

Grandmama’s face was sullen like she had just come from a funeral. She didn’t say a word. She handed me an envelope and turned her back toward me. My hands grasped the envelope tightly, and my eyes landed on Chicago, Illinois before moving to Mama’s name, Elizabeth Graham and finally to my name--written ever so neatly in the left hand corner. I held the envelope delicately--rereading my name and Mama’s name in astonishment. My name was finally catty-cornered to hers. She had written the letter to me--although Grandmama had already opened it.

Out of thirteen years, the letter was the first and only piece of mail I had received from her. I often wondered why she never wanted to talk to me. She always called or wrote Grandmama--providing her with brief updates about her life and asking questions about my wellbeing. Grandmama would pass the second-hand information to me as if I was just an afterthought.

            My heart raced and my palms perspired as I flipped the envelope over and pulled back the flap. Before removing the letter, my eyes moved from the envelope to Grandmama’s hair dancing in the wind. Why was she so sad? What did the letter say? Why wouldn’t she just tell me? The questions swam in my head and dove out one by one. I refocused my attention on the letter knowing that it contained the answers to all of my questions. 

Hey Baby,

This is your mama. I hope you are well. I’m writing you to let you know that I found work as a seamstress. I’ll be there to get you in a week. Give everyone my love.

Liz

My eyes rolled across the first line and then the second.  The letter abruptly fell from my hand and slowly cascaded to the floor.

            “AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I screamed, shattering the silence.

I couldn’t speak. All I could do was scream. My screams must have startled Grandmama because the plate she was drying fell from her hands and crashed into many pieces as it kissed the floor. I stopped screaming and fell to the ground--unable to stand in the room that seemed to spin around me.

“Baby,” said Grandmama.

“No, don’t touch me,” I screamed, scooting away from her and standing to my feet. “You don’t want me anymore.”

I threw my body through the screen door, but before I made it down the steps, Grandmama grabbed me around my waist and pulled me into her. I collapsed into her arms and wept into her neck.

“That’s not true. I will always want you, but she wants you back.”

“What’s wrong?” Rolly asked, running toward us. “What happened?”

“Clara is…Clara is…”

Grandmama repeated the two words over and over--each time unable to move any further. Her voice shook despite her attempt to keep it steady. She couldn’t bring herself to say the last word that would complete the sentence: Clara is leaving. Saying it aloud would make it true. It would make it real when neither one of us wanted it to be.

“Clara is what Grandmama?” Rolly asked hysterically. “Clara is what?”

Grandmama held her arm out toward Rolly. “Come here baby.”

“No, just tell me what’s wrong.” Rolly walked to my side and placed his hand on my shoulder. “Clara look at me.”

I buried my face deeper into Grandmama’s neck and shook my head. If Grandmama’s neck suddenly opened up, I would have climbed in there--okay with never being heard from again. I didn’t want to face Rolly. I didn’t want to tell him.

“Clara, please.”

I lifted my head from Grandmama’s neck and looked at him. Tears wet my cheeks like someone had thrown water in my face.

“What’s wrong?”

I opened by mouth to tell him, but when I thought about the words I would speak, I closed my mouth, shook my head, and cried.

“Is it something about your mama?”

I shook my head confirming that it was.

“Does it-” Rolly abruptly stopped speaking and stared into my eyes.

I followed his eyes as they moved back and forth like he was reading.

“No.” Rolly covered his mouth and took one step backward. “Please tell me it’s not what I think it is.”

Grandmama said the eyes are the windows to the soul. However, my windows must have been closed to everyone except Rolly. Like an open book, he could always read me with accuracy, and I knew as soon as he said “no,” he had figured it out.

“Clara.” Two solitary tears rolled down his cheeks. “Please.”

I didn’t say a word. I stared at his now blurry figure--wishing that it was all a joke that had gone terribly wrong but could be cured with a “gotcha.”

“No,” Rolly said barely audible--shaking his head back and forth. “No,” he said louder. “No!” he screamed.

Rolly’s scream seemed to shake the very foundation I was standing on. However, when I looked around and saw that everything was perfectly still, I realized his scream only shook me. Rolly ran out of the backyard and toward the church. Wait Rolly come back. I screamed the words inside my head wanting to say them aloud, but glad that I didn’t. I didn’t possess any words that could comfort Rolly, Grandmama, or even me. I needed someone to comfort me--someone to tell me that everything would be okay--even when I knew it wasn’t. Nothing would ever be okay again. I nestled my head back into Grandmama’s neck and cried myself to sleep.

The next morning, the warmth and brightness of the sun woke me up where I found myself lying next to Grandmama. She was still asleep. I laid my body closer to hers and committed myself to taking as many mental pictures of her as my mind could hold. The slender tip of her nose, the brown hue of her skin, the fullness of her lips, and the thickness of her hair were things I would now have to commit to memory and revisit every time I missed her. Waking up to the smell of Folgers invading my nostrils, Grandmama drinking coffee on the porch, finally kicking the church doors open with Rolly, and escaping the swats of Grandaddy’s cane were things that were now lost to me forever simply because Mama wanted me back.

***

“I’m leaving” is all she uttered when she placed me in Grandmama’s arms and climbed into the cream-colored four-door sedan. Mama had been trying to escape Rhemus since she was eighteen, and when I was five-months old she succeeded. When I asked Grandmama why she left, she said Mama wanted to make a better life for me. I never understood what Grandmama meant by “better.” I had lived in Rhemus my entire life; I didn’t need any better than what I had.

One day while eavesdropping on a conversation Grandmama was having with Grandaddy, I learned how Mama made her escape. Five months after I was born, Mama met a woman name Ursula during a pool game at the Dew Drop Inn. Ursula must have smelled Mama’s desperation and eagerness to get out of Rhemus because the first day she met Mama, she promised her a better life. The better life was allegedly in Chicago and now that’s where I was headed.

***

I sat up in bed--careful not to make any detectable movements that would wake Grandmama up. Clara, please. The sound of Rolly’s plea came flooding back to my mind and reminded me of yesterday. I needed to find him. I tossed my legs over the side of the bed and took two steps toward the foot of the bed before seeing Rolly sitting upright with his back against the wall facing me.

“Hey,” I said, surprised to see him sitting there.

“Finally. I’ve been waiting for you to get up,” Rolly said, standing to his feet. “Come on. We gotta get ready for church.”

“I didn’t think you would be here. I was on my way to find you.”

“Well, I made you a promise. Just because you’re leaving doesn’t change that.”

“I know. I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“About what?”

“Me leaving.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Rolly turned away from me and walked down the corridor toward the stairs.

The conversation was over.

“Okay,” I said quietly behind him.

Maybe he was angry or still in shock, I thought to myself, following him up the stairs into my room. God knows I was. It was probably too soon. I wouldn’t force him to talk about it. Eventually he would realize that we only had a handful of days to spend with each other and concoct a plan to convince Mama to let me stay. He would come around. I knew it. Well, at least I hoped so.

   ***

At church, Grandmama announced my departure to the congregation during the church service announcements. As soon as she stood up from the pew and motioned for me to follow suit, my face felt like it was emanating fire. I was sure it was a fire-engine red--resembling those cartoon character’s faces that turned a deep red and had smoke shooting out of their ears.

“Miss Clara Graham are you leaving us?” asked Pastor Johns from the pulpit.

“Yes,” I said, shaking my head up and down"careful to avoid all of the eyes that were now upon me.

“Well we’re going to miss you Miss Clara. I remember the first time your Grandmama brought you to World Faith. You were a lil ole thang and now look at you. It has been such a blessing to watch you grow into a lovely young lady and one of the best singers in our choir. I know I speak for the entire congregation when I say you will be missed.”

I flashed a closed-mouth smile and slammed my butt down onto the pew--happy that Pastor Johns’ public send off was over and the congregation’s attention was being redirected to the money needed for the church’s new roof.

In anticipation of the offering, I pulled one collection envelope and pencil from the pew in front of me. Grandmama twisted her mouth and smacked her lips in disapproval. She didn’t like me using the collection envelopes to write notes to Rolly, but I couldn’t help it. This one was urgent. Please help me get out of here. I wrote frantically--hoping to beat Pastor Johns’ dismissal. I don’t wanna deal with them today. I leaned backward and draped my left arm across the back of the pew and around Rolly"dropping the envelope into his lap.

Rolly picked up the envelope and flipped it over--slightly moving his head from left to right while reading the message. He grabbed the pencil resting on my lap and pressed its tip against the envelope. I watched him labor to write his response"trying desperately to write hard enough so his message was legible and light enough to avoid sticking holes in the paper.

Five minutes slowly ticked by and more than half of the congregation had made their trip to the altar to drop their envelopes into the brown straw basket before Rolly flung the envelope back onto my lap in similar fashion. Finally! I thought. Why did it take so long for him to write “okay” anyhow? I knew that’s what it said.

I held the envelope close like it was my most prized possession--quick to make it disappear and reappear when Grandmama walked to the altar to tithe her offering. Sounds like a personal problem to me. You’re the one leaving. I lifted my head and looked at Rolly who was staring straight ahead. I snatched the pencil from his hand and angrily scrawled on the envelope. It sounds like nothing because I didn’t say anything. WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM? I threw the envelope at his chest"not caring if Grandmama, who had returned to her seat, saw me.

Rolly read my response and ripped the envelope in half. “I don’t have a problem and the next time you ask me I’m not going to respond.”

“Fine.”

“What’s going on with you two?” Grandmama asked, leaning forward and moving her eyes from me to Rolly.

“Ask him.” I flung my hand in Rolly’s direction.

Grandmama looked at Rolly, but before she could say anything, he shot out of his seat and walked toward the exit sign. I turned around and watched him until he disappeared among the church members who were rushing to be first to the parking lot.

“You need to be nicer to him,” said Grandmama. “This is hard on everyone but especially on him. He needs your love and understanding right now.”

“How? He’s being mean. He treats me like I’m the enemy.”

“You’re not the enemy Clara. He’s just angry you’re leaving?”

“But why is he angry at me? I don’t wanna leave.”

“It doesn’t matter. The only thing he understands is that you’re leaving. Now come on. We’ll talk about this later,” Grandmama stood up from the pew and nodded toward the choir and congregation members who had gathered a few inches away from us. “They want to say goodbye,” Grandmama whispered. “Smile.”

I plastered a smile on my face and led the way out of the pew into the aisle"thinking of Rolly as the choir and congregation members hugged me one by one and said their personalized goodbyes.

***

The next week flew by--just as time does when you desperately try to hold on to it. The more I fought to stay in every second, every minute, and every moment, the quicker time seemed to pass. Grandmama must have seen the pained expression I unconsciously wore every time we greeted another morning and said goodbye to another sunset, because she promised to convince Mama to let me stay. She told me everything would be okay"and I believed her until I received my first lesson about living up north.

“People up north are rude but that’s only because they don’t know the southern way,” said Grandmama. “They’re all in a rush to get nowhere, but don’t you pay that no mind. Don’t take it personal. Respect is universal. Always say may I, please, and thank you. And always say yes ma’am, no ma’am, yes sir, and no sir to your elders.”

“Yes ma’am,” I said, showing her I was paying attention.

“And you gotta remember that there are three s’s to staying with anyone successfully,” Grandmama continued. “Stay quiet, stay clean, and stay out of the way. You want to give the illusion that nothing has changed since your arrival. You do those three things when you get there and you’ll be just fine.”

“Yes ma’am.”

As the week slipped away, Grandmama’s anecdotal lessons were accompanied by practical ones. I received a crash course in sewing, gardening, cooking, and cleaning. According to Grandmama, every woman, young or old, should be proficient in all of them, and I wasn’t an exception to the rule. During each lesson, I hung on her every word and looked into her eyes when she spoke to me. I worked hard to show her that I had mastered each lesson"knowing that it somehow made me leaving a little less worrisome to her.

I knew Grandmama’s lessons were her way of telling me that Mama wasn’t going to let me stay, and I tried to accept it. At night, before the thought of leaving the only family and home I’d ever known caused me to dry heave and eventually puke my dinner into the waste basket next to my bed, I tried to psych myself up. It’s not that bad. I would think to myself. You’ve always wanted to meet Mama, and it’s not like you won’t see Rolly, Grandmama, and Grandaddy again. Everything is going to be okay.

I tried to dwell on those thoughts and remain optimistic, but I always failed. Eventually those thoughts were replaced by new ones. Yeah, you wanna meet her, not have her take you away from your family. She’s not your family. She didn’t even want you, but now she does. It’s not fair. If you leave, you’ll never see Rolly, Grandmama, and Grandaddy again. Like a game of tennis, I rallied the thoughts back and forth until there was a winner. Each time the same thoughts prevailed: I don’t want to leave. I have to find a way to stay.

Since Grandmama couldn’t help me, I held out hope for Rolly. Although I didn’t have a reason to, I clung to the possibility of Rolly helping me concoct a plan to stay in Rhemus. Despite his anger, I wanted him to save the day like he had done so many times before. I wanted the Rolly who beat up Jared Hollingrass after he called me a honky and refused to let me play kick ball. I wanted the Rolly who said I wasn’t a rape victim but a rape survivor. I wanted my guardian angel back; however, given his current state, I knew that would require heavenly intervention. So I did the only thing I could do, I prayed.

 “God I need you to help me. I know you already know all of this, but I hope you don’t mind me telling you anyway. Mama is gonna take me to Chicago, but I don’t wanna go. Can you please make Rolly help me? Amen.”

I recited the prayer habitually. It wasn’t restricted to a specific location or time of day. Anytime I thought about leaving Rolly, Grandmama and Grandaddy, I recited the prayer. Eventually it transformed into a single question I continually posed to God: Can you please make Rolly help me? I desperately wanted His answer to be yes so I believed as hard as I could that it would come to pass. However, from the moment I asked for God’s help, I knew I needed to do more than just believe.

“Faith without works is dead Clara.” Grandmama reminded me of that golden principle every Sunday when Mrs. Jenkins addressed the congregation and gave the same testimony. According to Mrs. Jenkins, Mr. Jenkins enjoyed spending all of his time at the Dew Drop Inn drowning his sorrows with libations and keeping the company of younger women. Mrs. Jenkins begged us to pray for her husband’s return to God and his deliverance from alcohol and women.

“When is she going to kick his sorry behind out?” Grandmama would lean over and ask Grandaddy.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

“Well, I hope it’s soon because I’m tired of this. She gives the same testimony every Sunday because she hasn’t done anything. We can pray for her all day long, but we all know God only blesses what you do.”

Because I needed God to answer my prayer quickly, I didn’t have the luxury of taking Mrs. Jenkins' approach. I decided early on that I was going to do something--anything. I took Grandmama’s advice and tried to be nicer to Rolly. I met his sullen and angry disposition with love and understanding--which meant not retaliating against him when he was mean to me and ignoring his snide remarks and self-deprecating humor. I stuck to my plan and didn’t force him to talk about me leaving"hoping that he would come around naturally.

On the eve of my departure, Grandmama announced that it was Clara’s day. Like being queen for a day, I was allowed to pick anything I wanted to do. I chose two of my favorite things: eating Grandmama’s barbecue chicken and lying in the churchyard grass listening to her read a mystery novel that Rolly and I competed to solve.

Because I wanted barbecue chicken, Grandmama decided my last dinner would be a cookout celebration. I helped her set up for the cookout, although she said I was breaking the rules.

“You do know that Queens aren’t suppose to do manual labor. They have servants for that.”

“Well I can be the first working queen,” I said, pulling the frozen chicken, hamburgers, and hotdogs from the white deep freezer and handing them to Grandmama one by one.

“Okay your working majesty, go out there and clean the grill.”

“But Grandmama I-”

“Go on. I already took it out the shed.”

I ran out of the screen door and down the steps--careful not to step on Rolly who was sitting on the bottom step. Grandmama already had a box of matches, a wire brush, and a bucket of water sitting on the ground next to the grill. Like I had seen her do so many times before, I dipped the wire brush into the water and scrubbed the rack until I could no longer see any residual grease or food particles.

“Make sure you put it in the shade baby,” Grandmama said, watching me through the screen door while taking swigs from a brown paper bag and smoking a cigarette.

“Okay.” I picked up the box of matches and rolled the grill underneath the biggest tree in the backyard--hoping the low hanging branches and leaves wouldn’t catch fire. “Can I light it?” I yelled.

“No you cannot.” Grandmama walked out of the back door holding a plate filled with the chicken, hamburgers, and hotdogs that had been unthawed by a copious amount of hot water. “Give em to me,” Grandmama said, holding out her open palm. “You know you’re not allowed to use matches.”

“I know.” I placed the red and white box of matches onto her palm"remembering the time Rolly and I set the churchyard on fire. Given Grandmama’s reaction, I knew she had remembered it to.

“That applies even in Chicago. Do you understand me young lady?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Grandmama sprayed the lighter fluid on the charcoal, scratched a match against the side of the box, and tossed it into the pit. Soon black smoke bellowed into the air and the smell of burning charcoal entered my nostrils. Grandmama doused the growing flame with lighter fluid before putting the first round of hotdogs, hamburgers, and drumsticks on the grill.

“Are you ready?” Grandmama asked, covering the grill.

“Yeah,” I said, smiling.

“Well go in-”

Before she could finish, I took off across the backyard and ran to the backdoor. “Grandmamas gonna read. What book do you want?” I asked Rolly, sitting on the bottom step. 

He didn’t respond. As if I were invisible, he remained silent"looking straight ahead and blinking intermittently.  

“So you’re not talking to me now.” I sat down next to him on the step and stared at the side of his face--waiting for him to confirm or deny my statement, but he didn’t respond or acknowledge my presence. “Rolly!” I said, nudging his shoulder with mine.

Without warning, he stood up and calmly walked out of the backyard and toward the church.

“Rolly!” I yelled behind him, but he continued to walk as if I hadn’t called his name.

“Go on baby,” said Grandmama. “He’ll come around.”

When. I wanted to ask her. When is he going to come around? When I’m gone. I ignored Grandmama’s prompting and watched Rolly walk to the churchyard and sit Indian style on the grass. I stared at him as he leaned backward on his hands and tilted his head toward the sky. I wondered what he was thinking.

“I know you don’t need my advice God, but now would be the perfect time to tell Rolly to help me,” I said to myself, looking up at the sky and visualizing the clouds parting, a dove descending from heaven, and a deep thunderous voice commanding Rolly to devote all of his time and energy to helping me stay in Rhemus.

“Clara.” Grandmama’s voice reached my ears and interrupted my vision. “Miss Clara Graham.”

I dropped my head from the sky and looked at Grandmama. “Yes ma’am.”

“Go on now,” said Grandmama. “Rolly and the sky will be here when you get back.”

I took one last glance at Rolly, hoping he would be there when I returned, before opening the screen door and stepping into the kitchen. I ran out into the hallway, through the corridor, and up the stairs--skipping every other one in an attempt to make it to my room faster. I opened my bedroom door and saw the black three-shelf bookcase standing against the same wall it had been since Grandmama brought it home from a garage sale. It held every book Grandmama had bought Rolly and I since we could read.

I zeroed in on the second shelf, which held all of the mystery novels written by our favorite authors--Francine Pascal, John Peel, and R.L. Stine. I studied the titles and ran my hands back and forth across the spine of the books before choosing Sweet Valley High: Super Thriller #4 Deadly Summer.

“Why didn’t you pick a Goosebumps book?” I knew that would be Rolly’s first question when he saw Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield on the cover. “You know those books are for girls.”

“No there not, and even if they were it doesn’t matter. It’s my day, not yours. If you wanted a Goosebumps book, you shoulda told me when I asked you.”

I smiled at the thought of my hypothetical response--hoping I would say it verbatim when Rolly ridiculed my selection. I ran out of my room, down the stairs, through the corridor and hallway, into the kitchen and out the screen door holding the book tightly in my hands. I was excited to listen to Grandmama read, but more excited to be near Rolly--have him look at me and talk to me"even if we were going to argue.

“Are you ready?” Grandmama asked, standing at the bottom of the steps.

I shook my head and looked toward the churchyard. “Where’s Rolly.”

“He went to a friend’s house. Looks like it’s just gonna be me and you today.” Grandmama held her hand out toward me. “Come on.”

We walked hand in hand to the churchyard while Grandaddy and Bruce manned the barbecue grill. Grandmama spread a blanket across the grass and sat down. I crawled into a fetal position and laid my head in her lap.

Grandmama opened the book to the title page and cleared her throat. “Sweet Valley High: Super Thriller #4 Deadly Summer by Francine Pascal.”

I closed my eyes and let the gentle breeze caress my face as I relaxed every muscle and bone in my body. I inhaled the fresh, summer air into my nostrils and exhaled it through my mouth"trying to release my anger, frustration, and disappointment all at once. I focused on Grandmama’s voice and tried to delve into the fantasy of the novel but my thoughts catapulted me back to reality. In less than twenty-four hours, Mama would arrive in Rhemus to collect me like an old pair of shoes she had left behind, and I didn’t have any idea how to stop it. Grandmama had all but told me I was going to Chicago, my plan to let Rolly come around naturally had failed, and God’s answer to my prayer was obviously no since Rolly treated me as if I no longer existed.

As I contemplated the facts that made my departure more and more likely, I opened my eyes and stared at the house I had called home for thirteen years. Memories of the good times I had with Grandmama, Grandaddy and Rolly came rushing back. As if someone was showing a movie of my life up until that moment, I vividly saw Rolly and I looking for snakes in the grass, playing h-o-r-s-e in the backyard, and making mud pies in the dirt. I saw Grandmama on her hands and knees in the garden ripping the weeds from the ground by their roots and planting tomatoes, cabbage, and sage in their respective rows. Grandaddy sat nearby in his wheelchair reading the paper and occasionally sneaking glances at Grandmama when he thought no one was looking. Although he had seen Grandmama everyday for sixty years, she still transfixed him. Nothing about us was perfect"we were still happy and unhappy in our own ways, but we were a family.

I refocused my attention on the wide-eyed, happy, young girl running around the backyard with a twinkle in her eye. I wanted to be that young girl again. She had everything I wanted"love, happiness, joy, Rolly, Grandmama, and Grandaddy.

“Can you take me with you?” I whispered the words, hoping I was in an alternate universe where time could be manipulated and the younger version of myself could hear me and invite me to stay with them forever.

“Please.” I slammed my eyes shut and repeated please over and over in my head.

After a few seconds, I opened my eyes one by one to find the vision gone and my head still lying in Grandmama’s lap. I guess things like that only really happen on television. In that moment of realization, I knew that if I wanted to stay in Rhemus with my family, I would have to make it happen in the natural and not the supernatural. I would have to take matters into my own hands. I would have to come up with a plan.

I checked back into the story long enough to find out that Grandmama was halfway through the book before drifting out again. I watched the bumble bees pollinate the sunflowers and visualized myself running away in the middle of the night with a couple of lunchmeat sandwiches, a change of clothes, and a few books in my back pack. I would leave a note for Grandmama on her nightstand telling her not to worry, and I’ll return when Mama agreed to let me stay in Rhemus.

I knew once Grandmama read the letter, she would fly into hysterics, Rolly would be interrogated within an inch of his life, and everyone Grandmama knew in Rhemus would be dispatched to keep an eye out for me. Since Grandmama and Mama hated the police--and the mayor for that matter, I knew the police wouldn’t be called--at least not right away. Before the word spread through Rhemus, I would have enough time to make it to the next town without being picked up or questioned. And even if anyone saw me, I would be hours ahead before Grandmama and Mama found out.

I smiled with satisfaction. This just may work"and to think I came up with it all by myself. I closed my eyes--letting the heat from the sun warm my face as I dissected each step of the plan. Upon further review, I was satisfied that it was a decent plan. However, there were some flaws that needed to be cured if it was going to work.

First, I would have to get past Rolly--which was nearly impossible since he slept in front of my bedroom door and escorted me around at night to protect me from Bruce. Second, I would need money and transportation. A few cold-cut sandwiches weren’t going to last me long and the next town over was more than twenty miles away, and I couldn’t walk there. Third, I needed someone I could stay in contact with. Once I left, I would have no way of knowing what was happening or when to return once Mama had given into my demands. I expected her to fold quickly, and I didn’t want to be away a second longer than I had to.

The way I saw it, I had only one option: Rolly. He was the cure to all of my problems. If he were in on my plan, I wouldn’t need to sneak past him. My money and transportation problems would disappear once he gave me ten dollars of his birthday money and the ten-speed bicycle he kept padlocked in the shed. And since he would have a front row seat to all of the action, he was the perfect person to stay in contact with. Yes, Rolly was definitely the cure, now I just had to convince him to help me.    

***

“Are you hungry baby?” Grandmama asked Rolly when he walked through the backdoor and sat down at the kitchen table.

The yellow light emanating from the lightning bugs was becoming fluorescent. My barbecue celebration was over, and Grandmama and I were in the kitchen putting the leftover food into bowls and wrapping them with aluminum foil.

“No, I ate at a friend’s house,” Rolly said through clamped teeth.

“Well, we got plenty of leftovers so if you get hungry you better fix you a plate.”

Rolly didn’t bother to respond. He laid his folded arms across the table and bowed his head to his forearm. The good mood I’d hoped for was nowhere in sight. He was angry. I knew it, and Grandmama knew it. This is going to be very interesting, I thought to myself, rearranging the refrigerator’s contents to make room for the leftover chicken, hamburgers, hotdogs, coleslaw, potato salad, and rolls.

“Here let me help you,” Grandmama said, kneeling down next to me. “There’s an art to this.”

I moved from in front of the refrigerator and let Grandmama take my place. Although she was being nice by offering to help, I read between the lines--knowing that she was really saying “just let me do it because you are slower than molasses and we’ll be here all day if it was up to you.” Like a professional who had rearranged plenty of refrigerators in her lifetime, Grandmama stacked the condiments on top of one another and moved things around until empty space miraculously appeared on the top and bottom shelf. I handed Grandmama the bowls one by one until all of them were in the refrigerator.

“See, we did it,” Grandmama said, closing the refrigerator shut. “Team work makes a dream work.”

I jumped up and slapped Grandmama’s open palm. “So what else do we have to do?” I asked, looking around the kitchen.

“You, my dear, don’t have to do anything. I’ll finish up here. You go on to bed and take Rolly with you.”

I wrapped my arms around Grandmama’s waist and rested my head on her chest. “Thank you for the barbecue Grandmama.”

“Awww, you’re welcome baby.” Grandmama wrapped her arm around me and kissed the top of my head. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

On cue, as if he had been listening the entire time, Rolly lifted his head from the table and stood up.

 “Goodnight baby,” Grandmama said, looking at Rolly.

“Goodnight.”

Rolly and I walked in silence up the stairs and into my room. I didn’t say a word or even acknowledge his presence. I moved around the room gathering my pajamas, towel, and washcloth as if he wasn’t there--knowing that was the way he wanted it. If I actually believed it was our last night together, I would have regretted the awkwardness and silence. I would have told him how silly it all was--how much it hurt my feelings and how he was ruining our last precious moments together. But instead, I appeased him--knowing that it wasn’t the end for us.

After taking showers, brushing our teeth, and washing our faces, Rolly and I laid down in our usual spots--he on the floor in front of the door and I in bed swallowed by my blankets and comforters. We no longer said the Lord’s Prayer in unison, and Rolly stopped secretly praying for me the day he found out I was leaving. I guess he no longer saw the use in praying, and now that I knew God wasn’t answering my prayer, I understood why.

Gone were the nights we said I love you or stayed up laughing and talking into the wee hours of the morning. Now we spent our nights in silence--listening to the crickets chirp until we fell asleep. I laid motionless on my side--giving the illusion that tonight would be no different until Rolly crawled to my bedside and examined my face. Instead of feigning sleep, I looked at him and whispered.

“Hey.”

Rolly leapt backward away from the bed. “Whoa. You scared me. I thought you were asleep.”

“No, I need to talk to you,” I said, sitting up in bed.

Rolly shook his head and turned away from me. “About what Clara? What is there left to say?”

“I’m running away.” I blurted the words out, not caring how crazy they sounded.

“What.” Rolly spun around to face me--his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth agape. “You’re running away?”

“Yeah,” I said confidently. “I’m running away.” I threw the covers off me and climbed out of bed. “Bruce is gonna help me.”

Rolly’s eyes seemed to grow two sizes bigger. “Bruce.”

“Yeah.”

“Bruce is helping you run away?” Rolly asked again, as if, to make sure he had heard me correctly.

“Yeah.” I diverted my eyes and walked pass him toward my backpack lying on the floor. “I’m leaving right now.”

“No.”

“No what Rolly?” I unzipped my backpack and emptied the old notebooks and folders onto the floor. “Don’t act like you care now.”

“I do care.” Rolly said loudly. “So you’re gonna trust him after what he did to you.”

I nodded my head affirming I was. “I told him if he didn’t help me, I would tell everyone what he did.”

“I said no.” Rolly reached over my shoulder and ripped the backpack from my hand--causing the two t-shirts and pair of jeans I had stuffed inside to fall out. “I’m not letting you leave with him.”

“Then you got a choice to make,” I said, turning around to face him. “Either you help me or you give me my backpack and let me go with Bruce.”

Rolly moved the backpack behind him. “What do I have to do?”

I smiled inside at his question.

“I need ten dollars and your bike.”

“Where are you going?”

“Roxville.”

“That’s at least twenty miles away.”

“I know, that’s why I need your bike.”

“What are you gonna do when you get there?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far.”

Rolly cracked a smile. The first one I’d seen in a week. I smiled in response before realizing he was making fun of me.

“That’s crazy Clara.”

“No, it’s not. I’m not really running away.” Rolly looked at me confused. “I’m gonna come back when Mama says I can stay.”

“That’s not gonna work.”

His prediction made me angry. If it’s not gonna work, why didn’t you help me come up with a plan that would, I thought to myself.

“How do you know?”   

“Because I just do.”

I turned away from him--kneeling down to pick up the t-shirts and pair of jeans off the floor. “You’re not gonna help me, are you? I should’ve known. You don’t even care. You want me gone.”

“Clara, look at me,” Rolly said, standing behind me.

“Just forget it.”

“Clara, look at me,” Rolly said again, raising his voice.

I turned around to face him"feeling angry, sad, and defeated all at once.

“Do you honestly believe I don’t care? Do you honestly believe I want you to leave?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know"I mean yeah. You’ve been so mean to me. I needed you-” The approaching tears choked my words. I dropped my head and stopped talking--knowing that the tears would come if I continued.

Rolly dropped my backpack to the floor and knelt down in front of me. “And what Clara?” Rolly asked, lifting my head and searching my eyes.

“You weren’t there.” Like I suspected, the tears fell from my eyes and ran down my cheeks like water bursting through a levee.

Rolly pulled me into his arms and held me tightly. I turned my head sideways and rested it on top of his shoulder. Like a life jacket in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, I held onto him for dear life.

“Clara listen to me.” Rolly pulled me away from him until we were face to face. “The day we found out you were leaving, I went to Grandmama and asked her to call your mama. Grandmama was sitting at the kitchen table in a daze and you were asleep in bed next to Grandaddy.”

Like a soldier at attention waiting for his next command, nothing around me mattered except the words coming from his mouth.

“I was standing next to Grandmama when she called her. I heard her beg your mama to let you stay. She promised she would look after you and take care of you, but she said no. She said even if she had to call the National Guard, you were going back to Chicago with her.”

“That’s how you know it’s not gonna work.”

Rolly shook his head. I’ve been angry ever since because she’s gonna take you away from me. There’s nothing I can do.” Rolly lowered his head in defeat. “I failed you.”

“You didn’t fail me Rolly.”

“Yeah, but that’s how I feel.” Rolly lifted his head and looked into my eyes. “Who’s gonna love me when you’re gone?” A single tear rolled down his left cheek and off his chin.

I placed my hand on his cheek and erased the tear with my thumb. “Come with me.” I interlocked Rolly’s hand with mine and led him to the side of the bed. It was officially my last night with Rolly, but I wasn’t going to spend it crying.

Rolly looked at the bed and then at me. “Clara.”

“Please, it’s our last night together.” I released his hand, pulled back the covers, and climbed into bed--scooting to the other side to make room for him. “Come on, it’s okay,” I said reassuring him.

Rolly sat down on the bed facing the wall. After a few seconds, he laid down on his back and stared at the ceiling.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I come closer?”

Rolly lifted his right arm, and I moved closer to him--laying my head on his chest and closing my eyes.

“Are you nervous?” I asked, although his rapid heartbeat, faint trembling, and rigid stiffness told me he was.

“Yeah, because you know what this means?”

“What?”

“We have to get married now.”

I opened my eyes and smiled at him. “You promise?”

“Yeah, but that means you have to come back to me Clara.”

I gently kissed the side of his face. “I’ll come back to you Rolly,” I said softly in his ear. “I promise.”

Author's Note

Please feel free to leave a review. I want to become a better writer so any criticism, good or bad, is strongly encouraged! Thank you so much! :-)