U.S.A
HARMONY CHAPTER THREE
Meet the Family
It wasn’t until they were twenty miles within reach when they finally discovered they could get a cellphone signal and call ahead. It was Cliff that answered, and he didn’t sound too happy to hear from them. But still, they came.
Shelley, a tall and lanky woman was out on the front porch, wearing a sun dress and smoking a cigarette, waiting for the trio who parked at the curb. She seemed very happy to see all of them, a smile blooming out from her poached face. Long spindly arms came reaching for Jean and Belle who each hugged her and they kissed each other. Loretta was struggling some to climb out of the car. Loretta had gained weight since the last they had seen each other.
“Jean! Come here and help me,” she called. Cliff was already responding as he emerged from the house.
Jean, being only eleven years old was really little help to her mother who was easily a chunky two hundred eighty pounds. Cliff, on the other hand, even with the physique of an overly trimmed, dried up, old tree stump, easily could meet her weight with his own strength, easily pressing two hundred pounds on the bench. He nearly pulled her arms out of their sockets on the first try. When he did, he accidentally slammed into Jean who kept from flying back by grabbing onto Cliff’s suspenders, swinging around the two larger adults like a rag doll.
“Fuck Girl! What happened to you? You chunked up like a turkey on Thanksgiving.” Cliff wasn’t known for his tact, and Belle grimaced as always when she heard crude language. It had been a long hard drive, and the remark remained in her head and her gut churning and boiling. But just as if her anger boiled out of her body and into the clouds, the sky opened up and it began to rain hard and sudden.
“Girls, leave your stuff in the car and get yourselves in Aunt Ora’s house, next you get struck by lightning.”
Shelley chased the girls inside followed by Loretta and Cliff.
Cliff and Shelley’s three year old son, Dallas was playing with his toy cars on the floor of the living room, while Aunt Ora sat in her favorite rocking chair watching him, and knitting. The TV set was on showing non-stop coverage of the havoc of Hurricane Katrina. Loretta went over and gave her Aunt a peck on the cheek.
“How you been, Aunt Ora?” Loretta asked.
“Oh, fine … fine,” she responded. “I’m so glad you’re all okay,” she said. “You’re all okay, aren’t you?”
“A few bumps and bruises, and Belle cut her hand on the window.” Loretta lifted Belle’s hand for her to see the massive bandage caked with blood. Belle quickly recoiled at the prospect of further tampering with it.
“Oh, my dear Belle! Does it hurt much?” Ora inquired from the shy girl hiding behind her mother’s dress.
“No ma’am!” she shook her head, “It feels much better thank you!”
“The whole house blew away, Aunt Ora. Just like in the Wizard of Oz, kind’a.” Jean added with some excitement.
“Oh! The whole place was a complete mess,” Loretta elaborated. “Water surrounded the house and the house was de-a-destroyed. We all had to spend a couple nights in the Dart until the roads were su-su-safe enough to travel. And I fear the worst for Bob. No telling what happened to him. I think he was at the boat shop on the ‘Sippii when the storm hit.”
Sippii was a word many locals used, short for the Mississippi River.
“Bob?” Ora asked confused. “Who’s Bob? My memory ain’t so good no more.”
“It’s okay, Auntie!” Loretta explained. “I don’t believe you ever met Bob. He’s the girls’ daddy.”
“You got married Loretta? You never told me,” Ora inquired.
“No ma’am! That wasn’t to be. And it’s best kept that way. But it was his house that got destroyed. And who knows where Bob’s at, if he’s anywhere at all”
“Oh, that’s too bad. But I’m certain everything will turn out all right? Don’t you think dear?” she reassured her. Then Ora turned her attention to the girls. “So the young one’s Belle. And how old is she?”
“I’m going to be seven just this month ma’am!” Belle spoke before her mother could answer.
“And you’re Jean,” Ora said. “See! I remember.”
“And now I’m eleven,” Jean included. “And I’m going into 6th grade when I go back to school. Right momma?”
“That’s right dear!”
“And this little one playing cars is Dallas,” Loretta acknowledged reaching out and touching him on the shoulder. When she did however, Dallas pulled away and barked, “Don’t touch me. I’m busy.”
“Dallas is six this last June. He’s at that age I’m afraid, of wanting to be independent I guess,” Ora explained apologetically.
“So how long you guys plannin’ on stayin’ little girl?” (Emphasis on ‘little’) Cliff wanted to know.
“I’m not sure. We’ve ga-ga-got to find out some things first. Like, Bob’s gone missing. We-we haven’t seen him a-or-or heard from him since the storm.”
Loretta tended to stutter whenever she was under any kind of stress.
“God knows! He was in Baton Rouge on that-that-that boat. We were hoping he got the devil out of there before the storm came. But who knows?”
“You tell the girls yet?” Cliff asked.
“Tee-a-tell them what?”
“That their daddy’s dead!”
“Keep your mouth shut!” Loretta demanded. “We dee-a-dee-a-don’t know that.”
“You still got that stuttering problem girl?” Cliff asked, stabbing a Kent cigarette in between his thin lips.
Loretta gave him a stern look to cover any embarrassment she may have had and replied, “It’s the diabetes Cliff. Ya-um you know that. And I’d thank you not to bring it up again.”
Cliff threw his hands up and replied, “Sorry sweetheart! I didn’t remember how touchie you were about it. ..Never mention it again!”
Cliff reached across Dallas and turned the TV volume up a bit while a reporter standing in the rubble of somewhere near Lake Pontchartrain talked about the damage to the Causeway Bridge.
“Have you seen the damage from that storm? You seen the TV?” But the way Cliff said it, sounded more like ‘Tay-Vay’ due to his own thick, uneducated ‘Lee-zee-ana’ accent.
“We only know what we’ve heard on the car radio. And only when we could get a station.”
“Well, it’s amazing you ever got a station at all, girl,” Cliff chuckled. “Fuck! I think all Louisiana’s under water. God damn, girl! There’s no lights, no phone, no power, no-o-o radio stations I know of. Not a sing-gle luk-shur-ee.”
Loretta was getting perturbed. She angled Cliff into a corner out of earshot of her girls whose eyes were glued now to the TV set and 24/7 news on Hurricane Katrina.
“You..” (she was pointing her finger) “..keep a civil tongue in your mouth. And their daddy ain’t dead. Nee-not that we know anyhow.”
Shelley poked her scrawny head alongside Loretta and said, “You can all stay as long as you need to,” she politely interjected.
Now, it was Cliff that had his finger pointed – at Shelley. “And you! You keep your God damned mouth shut.” Cliff turned back to Loretta. “Nothing personal darling. I’m just expecting some more company of my own, and we’re a might bit cramped here.”
They all noticed Belle, who had come up from behind.
“And how may I serve you?.. What’s your name again?” Shelley asked.
“Bonjour madamoiselle. My name is Belle.”
“Well, I’m sure glad to meet you Belle. And what may I do for you today?”
“Mommy, I have to go pee,” she told her mother.
“Na-na-now, you ask your Aunt Shelley if she can show you to the bathroom,” Loretta told her.
“Aunt Shelley, can I…?” Belle started.
“I’d be right happy to show you to the bathroom.” Belle took her hand as she led her away. Jean went with them.
Loretta turned her attention back to Cliff who was now standing closer to her, obviously to get a look down her blouse. She pushed him backward.
“Now, come on Ler-etta! It’s not every day a good-ole-boy like me gets a look at a couple ‘a sweet pillers like you have there. Why don’t you let the boys out to play awhile?”
Loretta nearly wretched. “Good-a-good-a-good ole boy, my ass! You’re nothin’ but a slimy swamp lizard. And anyway, you need to think about your wife and boy.”
“Shelley? She ain’t got no chest,” Cliff told her emphasizing ‘chest’ rudely.
This just made Loretta angry on top of nervous. “Na-now that’s your problem Cliff; not mine,” she snapped. “Now let me by,” she barked as she pushed her way around Cliff, nearly knocking him over with her weight. She went straight up the hall to meet Shelly waiting faithfully at the bathroom door.
“You don’t need to wait here no longer Shelly. I’ll tend to my daughters.”
Loretta looked shaken.
“I don’t mind. Really! You feelin’ all right darlin’?” Shelley asked. It was apparent that Shelley had been in the proximity to have witnessed Cliff’s advance.
“Na-nu-nothing that a good swim in the swamp wouldn’t cure,” Loretta chimed.
“Cliff ain’t all that bad really,” Shelly said sheepishly.
“He’s a turd!” Loretta blurted out without thinking. “Oh, I’m sorry I said that Shelley,” she immediately told her.
“Oh, don’t worry Loretta. You’re probably right!” She quietly said, and they both chuckled. Then there was this uncomfortable moment of silence between the two women who barely knew each other. Then Shelley said, “I’ll make sandwiches.”
“I’ll come with you,” Loretta said, and followed her to the kitchen.
“Don’t open the door Jean,” Belle begged her.
“Why not?”
“I don’t like Uncle Cliff. He’s mean,” she complained. Children are painfully honest, especially Belle.
“I know. Me neither. But Aunt Shelley seems nice.”
“Uh-huh?” Belle nodded in agreement. “Is Aunt Ora Mom’s real aunt?”
“Mom said she was Grammy’s sister,” Jean explained. “Come-on. Gim’me your hand. Stay right with me all the time and I’ll make sure nothin’ happens to you. Okay?”
Belle agreed, and Jean lead her carefully out of the bathroom and went straight to the kitchen where Loretta and Shelley were chatting away and making a plate full of tuna fish sandwiches.”
“Dave’s comin’ over tonight for supper. He’s bringin’ his son Daniel,” Shelley was saying. You remember Dave, don’t you Loretta?”
“We-we-well, I certainly do Shelley. Oh boy! What-a-what-a night that was,” Loretta said with some disdain.
“What happened momma!” Jean asked, not willing to let a good story slip away.
“Well, it-it-happened the last time we came here Jean. I think you-you-you were – let’s see – That-that was four years ago now. You-you must have been – oh, I think about five. And Belle was only a baby – a few months old.”
“Was that when Uncle Cliff got in that car accident, and we went to the hospital to see him?” Jean remembered.
“Yep! And that’s the night I met Dave. What’s his last name?” Loretta asked Shelley who just shrugged her shoulders as she chopped celery and onions. “And he had a little boy – Daniel, I think.”
“That’s right,” Shelley remembered. “David and Daniel Figg. Poor things. Dave’s wife got hit by a truck on the interstate. I think that’s what he told us. Killed her – poor thing. But that was ten years before that.”
“Yup! Travelin’ on down the dark highway, dark as yer’ daddy’s skin on a moonless night,” Cliff whispered down at Jean. Cliff swiped his oil stained hand over the top of the other and continued, “Not a good place to get a flat on the highway.”
Cliff couldn’t resist a bad pun when it crossed his mind, especially if he knew it would upset Loretta as he shot her a glance while he said it, and it did. Loretta shot back a look of her own, one that could even give him a chill up his spine. He backed away from a perplexed Jean, a child who couldn’t yet fathom the remark.
“She was inside the car,” Loretta growled.
“Well, it still was a damned shame,” he began as he moved cowardly toward his wife.
Cliff began fondling his wife from behind her has she stood at the kitchen counter in her sun dress preparing the sandwiches. Cliff began kissing her neck and slipped his hands from her arms and down between her legs. As he cuddled his wife, he was watching Loretta’s breasts and thriving on taunting her.
“It was a real mess. Truly tragic. They never could get all of her out of the car. That’s what you get when you’re driving a foreign car, I suppose.” Cliff continued fondling Shelley who was giggling as she tried to fend him off.
“Come on Cliff! Really! Not in front of the children,” she protested.
“I don’t know why? We’re just acting like any normal married couple,” Cliff told her: emphasis on ‘married’. But he did move his hands back up to her shoulders and begin stroking her hair.
Loretta wanted her children out of there and led them out of the kitchen.
“Let’s go in the front room and check on Aunt Ora. We haven’t had a chance to visit with her yet so much.”
“Are you girls in school?” Ora inquired.
“We don’t have to go to school, because it’s summertime,” Belle answered politely.
“We were supposed to start this month, but the schools all got shut down ‘cause of the storm and everything,” Jean explained.
“So when you do go back to school, what grades will you and Belle be in?” Ora asked Jean.
“I get to start sixth grade. Belle’s going into second grade,” Jean told her great aunt.
“No I’m not!” Belle protested. “It’s third grade.”
“Okay! What-ever!” Jean spoke flippantly. “It’s not like it’s such a big deal anyway.”
Ora was concerned, coming to Belle’s defense. And the way she talked impressed Belle as being so eloquent and proper. And the way she spoke sounded rich and delightful; like rich gravy over warm biscuits.
“Wait a minute Jean. It is a big deal. It is for Belle. You’re both growing up so fast. You don’t want to miss a single moment. I remember all the way back when I was your ages. And do you know something? When I was eleven years old, I had my first boyfriend. His name was Mark Thompson – about my age at the time. Oh, he had the most beautiful black hair and funny ears that kind of flopped outward. The other boys used to make fun of him, so he let his hair grow long to cover them. And then all the boys started making fun of him for that – calling him a girl. In those days, boys always kept their hair short,” she added.
“Anyhow, Mark always seemed so sad. Until one day, when we were in middle school, a couple of those boys started picking on me. Oh, they were hateful – saying nasty things to me – trying to lift up my dress so they could see underneath. But then one day when I was coming home from school, those same two boys were bothering me, like they always did. But this time, Mark was nearby and saw what they were doing to me. I didn’t know he was there. But oh, it really got his dander up I guess, and that gave him cause to want to do something about it. That’s when he finally stood up to those boys.”
“So, then what happened?” Jean asked, completely engaged in her story.
Ora sank her head forward and squinted her eyes with real concern. Her body becoming noticeably ridged, she raised her arm and swung her fist and said, “Well he marched right up to them, and kicked the shit out of the both of them. And no one ever bothered him or me again.” Then Ora smiled, relaxing completely. Big grin. “End of story!”
Loretta’s jaw dropped. She had never in her life heard her aunt before swear, and she was positively speechless. And she watched her two daughters react very ‘matter-of-factly’, just as if ‘that was just how it was supposed to be’. Loretta glanced down at her two daughters standing side by side. Belle looked back at her mother and shrugged her shoulders while Jean was fighting a grin on the verge of losing control of herself. The girl’s mother knew what was coming.
“Jean, you take Belle back to the bathroom and get washed up before Aunt Shelley comes back with the sandwiches.”
Jean began shaking uncontrollably from her gut, almost unable to move.
“NOW!” Loretta shouted, and that drove them out of the room.
“What was so funny?” Ora asked, perplexed.
“Well, you know how girls get at that age,” Loretta feigned an explanation.
“Really dear. I don’t remember to many things any more. But I’m getting old now, and there’s a lot I’m afraid I’ve just forgotten.”
Loretta felt a bit sad at the thought, and she bent down and hugged the frail woman. “Your memory seems just fine to me Aunt Ora.”
Ora smiled cheerfully and patted Loretta’s arm telling her “It’s okay dear! When you get to be my age, you begin to forget that you forgot. A wise man once said, ‘The key to a happy life is a poor memory.”
“Now who told you that? Confucius?” asked Loretta.
“No!” Ora corrected. “Fortune Cookie!”
Lightning flashed through the front windows of the house, then the thunder followed by a heavy downpour of rain. Dallas ran to the front window to look out at the mayhem of water flooding the front yard and street. Instinctively, Loretta rushed over to Dallas and pulled him back, afraid of a repeat performance of what had happened earlier with Belle’s hand.
“I not afraid of lightnin’ Auntie Leretta,” the six year old boy spoke.
“Well, I just don’t want nothin’ to happen to you,” Loretta acknowledged. “You’re a brave little tyke, aren’t you?”
A car outside came to a stop at the corner, its headlights illuminating the falling rain. Then it turned and came up the gravel driveway toward the house. Dallas broke lose from his Auntie Loretta’s arms and he shuttled to the front window. Ora came up from her chair to see who it was, and she recognized the car. She went to the front door and opened it.
“Cliff! Your friend Dave Figg and his son‘r here,” she hollered and sat back down to continue knitting.
The driver emerged: an older balding man, heavy weighted, a bit awkward when he walked. That was Dave. Then his son came from the passenger side of the car, tall and spindly, black long curly hair. Obviously Daniel. They both pulled their duffle bags with them: army colored dark green. They came up the steps and across the porch carrying the obviously heavy bags. Loretta was kind enough to open the door up for them and let them inside. About the same time, Shelley came out with a large plate of neatly cut tuna fish sandwiches. She seemed a bit unnerved because of the extra guests and she declared, “I think we’re going to need more sandwiches”. Then she turned and went back to the kitchen.
“And we could use some tater-chips with them sandwiches if we got ‘um,” Cliff hollered. “And beer!”
“I’ll see what I can find,” she called back.
Jean came out on the veranda to discover she had company. Daniel had already beat her out there. And there he was, leaning over the wooden railing that surrounded the porch and was smoking a cigarette. Jean came up behind him.
“Are you supposed to be smoking a cigarette?”
“Who gives a fuck!” Daniel retorted.
“Just asking.” Jean replied. She leaned against the railing next to him.
“Mind if I try?” she asked.
“Knock yourself out.” And Daniel passed the cigarette to her.
Jean took the cigarette and inhaled half a breath before she began coughing and hacking.
“You get used to it,” Daniel laughed. “Go ahead, take another.”
Jean did, then handed it back to Daniel, once again coughing.
“Won’t your dad get mad if he catches you smoking?”
“Who do you think gave it to me anyways?” Daniel laughed.
“My mom would kill me if she caught me smoking.”
“How old are you anyways?” Daniel asked, and waited until she stopped coughing. “I figured you to be about maybe eleven or twelve.”
“Really? Honest?” she said with some delight. She reached for the cigarette again, but Daniel held it back from her to tease her.
“Answer the question,” he insisted.
“I’ll be eleven in two months,” she answered. “So you think I look older?”
“Nah!” Daniel said. “I guess you just look older ‘cause it’s dark out here. “But it looks like you’re getting some titties on you,” looking down at her chest.
“Don’t be all look’n at me like that,” she shyly complained folding her arms defiantly. But Jean still took it as a compliment.
Daniel reached his hand toward her to hand her the cigarette, and Jean quickly moved back away.
“I’m just giving you the cigarette. I’m not gon’na touch you or anything,” he assured her.
Jean gingerly took the cigarette from Daniel’s fingertips and moved back closer to him to take another drag.
“Easy this time,” Daniel instructed. “Slow and easy. And try not to cough.”
This time Jean didn’t cough after she exhaled the smoke.
“Good girl! Now you’re getting it.”
“So what about you, um, um, …”
“Daniel,” he finished.
“Oh ya! Daniel,” she managed to ask once she gathered her composure and felt more confident.
“Eighteen,” he shot back.
Jean looked at his face more carefully.
“There’s no way you’re eighteen,” Jean challenged.
“Okay then, sixteen!” he played.
“Younger!” she insisted.
“How old do I look? Really?” he asked, taking the cigarette back as if he were holding it hostage. “Guess right, or you don’t get it back.”
He asked her, “Doesn’t your mom smoke?”
“Yeah! But less than she used to. I remember she used to smoke all the time. Especially if she got nervous.”
“Why would she get nervous?” he asked.
“Well, when I was real young, I remember my dad would come home real drunk sometimes after work. He worked real hard and had some bad days at work. He was a fisherman on the ‘Sippi and being a fisherman is hard work. Sometimes he’d come home late ‘cause he’d stopped at a bar on his way home from work. Mom would get so mad. He’d come in and my mom and dad would start fight’n ‘n stuff. And sometimes he’d hit her and break a lot of stuff. He’d hit, but not too hard or nothin’. After my dad fell asleep finally, momma would come in and sleep with us to make us not be so scared. She’d tell us ‘yer dad works real hard, but sometimes he just gets to drinkin’ and he can’t control himself. He doesn’t know what he’s doin’. Then she’d say, ‘but I swear to God Almighty that one of these days I’m likely to clock him one good. I don’t wann’a kill him, but it might end up that way some day.”
“Damn girl! That’s tough,” Daniel said, trying to be supportive.
“No kid’n! A’course, she’d never really do it,” Jean said. “I mean, intentionally is what I mean! But damned if he didn’t deserve it. I swear to Jesus, sometimes we were all scared of him. Especially when he’d get like that.”
Lightning in the distance and then thunder startled Jean. Then the sky opened once more and came the rain, hard and steady making a conversation near impossible. Jean went back into the house.