Shaking the Sugar Tree (15 page)

“From what I’ve seen, neither is his wife.”

She admitted rather ruefully that was true.

“Getting involved with the deaf is not for the faint of heart,” I said. “They look at you. They
see
you.”

“I imagine he does.”

“On the other hand, they live in their own world, and it’s not that you’re not invited, it’s just that you don’t live in that world of silence with them. So there’s always a distance, a bridge you can’t cross over, places you can’t get to.”

“Sort of like being gay,” she observed, glancing at me and offering a smile as she said this to indicate that she meant no disrespect.

“Kind of,” I agreed. “I guess we both live in our own worlds that outsiders can’t get to. I never thought of it that way.”

“You’re just as strange to me as he is,” she said, looking at me now, her gaze frank and suddenly unafraid. “You can’t know how much I’ve tried to understand you, Wiley. At the end of the day, I don’t understand. I was always taught….”

She trailed off, then smiled.

“I guess there’s no need to tell you about that,” she added.

No, there wasn’t.

“I grew up in Jackson,” she said, folding her hands over her laps. “During the 1960s. During the Civil Rights Movement. I saw all of it. The riots, the protests. All that fuss at Ole Miss when James Meredith enrolled. The murders. But you know what I remember?”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I remember Woolworth’s in Jackson because my father worked there. I remember seeing a picture in a magazine of one of those lunch counter protests. And I knew that lunch counter, because I had sat there often waiting for my daddy to finish work and take me home. At that time, it was whites only, of course. But in this picture, they were trying to integrate the counter and there were a bunch of whites standing behind them, dumping food on their heads, laughing, making fun of them, with the police standing outside and doing nothing—and I remember staring at that picture all evening long. It was shocking. It opened my eyes to the world that I lived in. It showed me what that world was. Of course, everyone was talking about all of it, the protests, the killings, all of that, and I listened to it and never understood it until I saw that picture. Those black folks weren’t hurting anyone, just sitting there and letting the people dump food on their heads. It made me sick inside. It was so stupid. And there were white folks sitting at that counter with them, trying to help them, and getting food dumped on them too because they were what we used to call race traitors.”

She fell quiet for a moment, rubbing her hands together.

“I grew up Baptist,” she said. “I had a crisis of faith after all of that settled down. I had to ask myself how my church could have gotten it so wrong. All of it. Blacks. Slavery. Race. Thinking we were superior, that God wanted us to have slaves, that blacks deserved to be slaves. How could we have been so wrong, Wiley?”

She seemed like she really wanted an answer.

I had no answer.

“I tell you all of that as a way of explaining that when I look at you, I think about that picture, Wiley, and I have the same feelings in my heart, the same confusion and doubt. I know what my religion tells me. I know what society says about people like you. But you’re nothing like what I’ve been told. My daughter ran off on her responsibilities. You stayed. We offered you a way to walk out. You refused. Ten years later, there you are, and there’s my grandson, and you’re at the prison waiting for my daughter to be released. My daughter! You’re the one who’s supposed to be the criminal, or mentally unbalanced, or unfit, but you’ve done your duty, you’ve raised this difficult child, and I didn’t do a thing to help because I was afraid of what my husband would say, or what my church would say, or what people would think. I just thought to myself how ridiculous it all is. How stupid. I’ve been just as bad as my daughter, walking away from my responsibilities to my own flesh and blood because my church said I was supposed to. I’m not sure I have much faith in my church to tell me the proper way to deal with homosexual people.”

“Gay is the new black,” I pointed out.

“I don’t really know anything about you, Wiley. I remember you as that long-haired boy who used to come and play with Kayla when y’all were both little. I knew your mother and father. Then there was that summer when you came back from Ole Miss and you and Kayla started hanging around again. She was always very sweet on you, and always said you were such a sweet boy, the perfect gentleman. I thought you would be able to pull her away from that crowd she was running with, but of course that didn’t happen. Her father forced her to have the baby, thinking it would settle her down, but she’s just as willful as he is. He was stunned when she walked out on you and the baby. He felt responsible. He couldn’t believe his own daughter would do such a thing.”

She paused, smiled at me.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t really know you, Wiley, but I’d like to. Instead of listening to my husband tell me who you are, I thought I’d come and find out for myself. Do you suppose it’s too late for something like that?”

“It’s never too late,” I said, amazed at her painful honesty. “And I meant what I said. I would love for you to be part of Noah’s life.”

We watched Noah for a while in silence.

“He’s so fragile-looking,” she said quietly.

“He’s stronger than he looks.”

“He’s so small.”

“His growth might pick up,” I said.

We watched Noah once more. He was reading a graphic novel, his eyes scanning the pages, puzzling out words but relying on the pictures to convey the gist of the story.

“Why don’t I call him over?” I suggested.

“I don’t know what to say to him.”

“I’ll translate for you. Just say hello. It’s not that hard.”

She put a hand to her throat again as if to consider this.

Without waiting, I got up and fetched Noah.

I’m talking to Mrs. W-a-r-r-e-n. She’s your grandmother. Would you like to say hello?

He dropped the graphic novel he was looking at and jumped up, his face beaming with a huge smile that perfectly displayed his bad teeth.

I took his hand and led him to her.

“Hello!” Noah squawked.

“Hello, Noah,” Mrs. Warren said, standing up and peering down at him awkwardly. Then she crouched down to get a better view. She put her hands on his shoulders rather tentatively. “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time,” she said as a tear slipped from her eye.

Why is she crying?
he signed to me, alarmed.

She’s happy to meet you.

“I love you,” Noah proclaimed.

“Ai of ewe….”

She smiled.

“I love you, too,” she said.

She looked up to me for help.

I signed to Noah:
Let’s teach her how to sign, okay?

He grinned and nodded.

N
OAH
POPPED
Monsters, Inc.
into the DVD player as soon as we got home, and I fished out my phone and called Jackson Ledbetter.

“How do you feel about nude camping?” I asked straight off.

“As in camping while nude?”

“Something like that.”

“I’ll try anything once.”

“Good boy.”

“When would you like to go?”

“We usually go Friday afternoon, head out to Mama’s house, take the horses.”

“Horses?”

“Those things with long legs and big teeth. You can ride them and stuff.”

“I know what horses are!”

“You off this weekend?”

“I get off Friday at noon. I can get my stuff and meet you at your house. I don’t have to be back to work till early Monday morning.”

“We’ll get you back in time.”

“Good deal. Who’s we?”

“Me and the cheese-eater. We love camping. We’ll do some fishing, too, and we’re pretty serious about that because there won’t be any dinner if we don’t catch anything.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“So what are you wearing?”

“At the moment, all I’m wearing is my Polo cologne. I’m getting a head start on the nude camping thing.”

“Practice makes perfect,” I agreed. “Are you lying down on your new couch?”

“I’m in my new bed, actually.”

“And what are you doing in your new bed?”

“I was looking at porn, feeling myself up.”

“Good boy! I take it the horse is out of the barn.”

“He sure is. And he’s a
big
horse.”

“If you stroke his neck very gently, he’ll calm down.”

“I don’t want him to calm down.”

“What are you thinking about as you stroke him?”

“You, of course.”

“What about me?”

“I’m thinking about your ass right now. It was so smooth and soft. It was like a baby’s bottom. I wish I could kiss it right now.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I’d kiss it and lick it a bit; then I’d spread your cheeks and put the horse in the barn.”

“He likes being in the barn.”

“He does indeed!”

“And you like older men, huh?”

“They’ve already been broken in. They don’t cry as much when you pop their cherry.”

“You’ve got a filthy mind, don’t you?”

“You started it.”

“If you need to put the horse in the barn, you know where I am. Just bring more lube.”

“The cheese-eater goes to bed at nine?”

“Like clockwork.”

“I’ll be there with a very large tube of lube and a very large and eager cock.”

“You’re going to bale my hay?”

“Is the pope Catholic?”

N
OAH
WOKE
me. He looked at Jackson and grinned from ear to ear as he tapped his wrist.

“Shit,” I said.

You’ll be late,
he said.

You’re not kidding
, I thought.

Noah grabbed my bath towel from where it hung on the back of my closet door and handed it me.

I made coffee,
he said.

Let me wake up
, I said.

I couldn’t afford to be late again, not with Mr. Owen ragging my ass.

I sat, pulled the sheet over to cover my nakedness, and smiled sheepishly.

Noah didn’t seem to notice or care.

Me and K. are going to the B-u-f-f-a-l-o P-a-r-k today with Mrs. H. Can I have some money for a soda?

Of course. No soda. Juice. That’s the rule.

Please can I have a soda?

You know the rule.

Please, daddy? If you let me have a soda, I won’t tell Memaw about him.

He threw a significant glance at Jackson Ledbetter.

You little turd!

Please?

Okay. Only one!

Thanks! K. said she wants to be my girlfriend.

What did you say?

I said no. I don’t want a girlfriend. She’s my friend, not my girlfriend. We’re too young to get married and I don’t want her to get pregnant. I want her to go to school and be a lawyer.

What did she say?

She said I was right. Are you and J. getting married?

I shrugged.

If you get married, will you still love me?

Of course.

Are you sure?

Absolutely.

Okay. You can marry him if you want.

Thank you.

Why do you want to marry a boy?

I sighed wistfully, our sign for “that’s a long conversation.”

Do you love him?

I don’t know.

He’s nice.

He is.

He tapped his wrist impatiently, again reminding me of the time. He pulled on my hand and forced me to stand.

I put a finger to my lips in the “Be quiet” gesture while glancing at Jackson.

He rolled his eyes, went to my closet, and started digging around for a clean uniform. He could be a real Nazi when it came to getting to work on time. He certainly didn’t get that from me.

I showered, dressed, went back to my room, and sat down on the bed next to Jackson, watching him longer than I had time to. I gently shook him awake.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he said, looking up at me.

“I’ve got to go to work and I’ll drop Noah off at the babysitter on my way. He made coffee for you, by the way. It’s terrible, but don’t tell him that. It’s the thought that counts and all that. Lock the door when you leave, okay?”

“Are you leaving now?”

“I’m late. But it was worth it.”

“It certainly was.”

I kissed him chastely on the cheek.

“Wiley,” he said, sitting up, rubbing at his bare chest.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“Isn’t it a little soon for that?”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But it’s true. I am smack-dab in the middle of being hugely in love with you. If you’re not serious about me, don’t jerk me around.”

I looked at him for a long moment, several things on the tip of my tongue just wanting to be said, the verb “jerking” providing endless opportunities for double entendres.

“Gotta put in your courting time,” I said at last, choosing the least risky and offensive of the alternatives.

“I will,” he promised.

“I’d give you a good morning blow job but I’m really, really late and customers don’t like it when you have pubic hair in your teeth.”

O
N
F
RIDAY
afternoon, Jackson came by the apartment to pick us up. Our bags were packed and we had a cooler full of beer and juice waiting for a bag of ice from the gas station. My guitar was the last thing we loaded.

“My mom’s head might explode when she sees you,” I said.

“That bad, huh?”

“Be on your best behavior. She thinks all homosexuals are criminals, whether we know about it or not. She hates it when you behave and prove her wrong.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised.