The Fourth of July Page 2

  Leland was the first to speak.

  “Let me watch the mom.”

  Ernest’s eyebrow went up.

  “Didn’t see no daddy. Just like their kind, have kids and they daddy go and run off.”

  Ernest huffed.

  “She ain’t had the boy with no white man. Now that’s for damn sure. He would have come out a mutt ape. That boy over there is pure stone white like the rest of us. No way in hell that boy is hers all the way.”

  From the moment he saw the two standing in the middle of the street, he wondered how in the hell had she gotten that white kid.

  “What you need me to do?”

  Marvin was five years younger than the rest of the men at 30 years old and more than eager to get his hands in some dirty work.

  Ernest wiped his hands on his filthy jeans.

  “You just look pretty and don’t screw anything up. That nigger and her kid will be flying out of this neighborhood before you can say NAACP.”

  Ernest Jr. stood, wrapping his arms around his thin torso and made his way to the stairs. Marvin took the boy by the neck, pinching his head between his bent elbow and sweaty armpit.

  “You make this up to your daddy, ya hear? You got no time to be sulking about it. You got licked, but next time, you have the boy on the ground.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hell, your daddy is just trying to teach how things should be,” Marvin added, twisting a cap off another beer. “The boy over there living with that… that. I don’t know, you just have to put them in the same boat as the rest of them. You gotta teach them a lesson that neither of them will forget. Tomorrow you go over there and make nice, even if it kills you.”

  More beer dropped on Ernest’s pants than in his mouth. His father fell back on the sofa. “You bet your ass you will. Go upstairs put some clothes on and wash up for supper.”

  Never disobeying an order from his daddy, Ernest Jr. did what he was told. In the shower, he replayed the whole incident.

  Anthony wasn’t a bad guy. He seemed smart and could play basketball real good, too. In all of his fifteen years, that one word wasn’t scuffed at by any white person that he ever met. Hell, he meant it as a compliment to him.

  Letting the water drip over him, he watched as streams of blood and dirt escaped down the drain. How easy it was to fall into a hole and disappear and never be seen again.

  ★★★★★★★★★★

  Thanking God for hindsight, I set my cell phone alarm for five a.m. My body was still operating on west coast time, which was three a.m. in Washington State.

  I pulled myself up out of bed, tripping over the discarded pizza box that Anthony didn’t take out. I splashed some cold water on my face, preparing myself for another day of adjustments.

  Deciding that my son had a rough first day in our new neighborhood, I took it upon myself to finish the rest of the unpacking. Peeking in on my son, I saw that one pale, hairy leg stuck out from under his covers. He lied there, mouth wide open with hair sprouting out of his head like an overgrown bush. I couldn’t help but smile. He was a good boy, and from the first day that I held him in my arms, I had fallen in love.

  Throwing on a pair of U of W sweatpants and a Seahawk shirt, I padded down the stairs until my kitchen. A real kitchen. Not that galley sized crap that we lived in before the move. The previous owners, from what the real estate agent told me was an older couple, who put their heart and soul into this place. The home got too big and too much to handle, so they wanted to sell and quick. It was nothing for me and Anthony to move in. The house had enough space for Anthony to be a boy and for me to do my work. It was perfect.

  Cracking the refrigerator open, it stared back at me. It was completely bare. Nothing would be perfect until I got food in the house. With a growing fifteen-year-old boy, food wasn’t just a means for survival, it was a means to combat this boy’s boredom without him licking the walls.

  Taking my purse off the counter, I went to the front door. Pausing, I thought about whether I should wake him.

  I shrugged it off. If he was anything like me, I knew he wouldn’t be up until noon. By a quarter to six, I was in front of the Walmart that I saw on the way in. A peace came over me; with this new job, I was closer to home and no longer needed my parents to keep an eye on Anthony. The online reviews of the school district were outstanding, to say the least.

  This would be his first year in high school and he was getting older. That’s if my work kept me here that long. Regardless of where Anthony and I laid our heads at night, I couldn’t escape the inevitable.

  My internal grin faded, thinking that soon, he would be driving, then girls, then graduation and he would be out of the house. I wondered if the folks that previously owned the house felt the same after their children had left.

  Trying to stay optimistic, I pushed my cart, which everyone here referred to as a buggy back to my SUV. At this time of the morning, it was starting to get warm, and a fresh blue sheet of sky hang high above. I had enough food to last us for a while, but it all depended on how bored my son got doing the day while I was at work.

  Trying to clear my head like the sky above, a crack of thunder snapped in my head while looking down at my flat tire.

  “Come on,” I groaned and threw my head back. “Not today.”

  With my groceries still in the basket, I popped the rear door and removed the jack. It was a tad after six and the parking lot was good and clear enough to get the spare on. Twisting to remove the spare from the under carriage of my SUV, I noticed the damage to my spare. While on my hands and knees, I heard the hiss of the spare deflating.

  As my SUV began to settle from the flat on the driver’s rear, I sat on the pavement. It would take at least three days for my dad to drive down here. The thought of calling him, and for him to drive nearly two thousand miles to save his only daughter almost made me smile…. almost. I hadn’t made any friends and Anthony couldn’t drive, even if we had a spare vehicle that we could use.

  “Damn.”

  I stood and dug in my purse for my phone. There had to be a tow service around here somewhere, hell, I pay for it with my insurance every month.

  Walking to the passenger side to get into my glovebox, the sizzling noise came from the front tire as it too began its slow descent to the ground. I gripped the phone and looked around me.

  The parking lot was damn near empty. There were just a few employees, who were dreading coming to work with their matching khakis and blue shirts. I was the only thing that looked out of place. I was standing here like a dummy.

  “Insurance card, where are you?”

  I dug into the glove box, tossing a pair of pantyhose, an old lighter that I kept for some odd reason and a surplus of maxi pads.

  “Need some help?” a low deep voice resonated behind me.

  Any other day, the male voice wouldn’t have rattled me, but with the obvious assault to my car, it made me tremble. Whipping around and nearly knocking me out on the inside of the door, there stood a man that couldn’t place. Filling his eyes up with a bowl full of me, he smirked.

  “You ain’t gonna fix that flat with that,” he said, pointing down to my clenched fist.

  He was way too close. His wide body had me wedged into the door hinge.

  “Huh?” I returned, not taking my eyes off of him.

  Taking the bill of his Atlanta Braves hat and twisting it back and forth, he responded, “That. That’s not gonna fix the flat.”

  There in my hand was a choked to death maxi pad.

  “Yeah, I know that,” I said, tossing it on the passenger side of my car.

  “Ma’am, you need help, right?”

  His voice still had that tone of mild irritation and Southern hospitality that I forgot about. It was as if he didn’t really want to help me but saw that I was standing there looking stupid. For some reason, I thought he was doing it out of pity.

  “No, I’m good. I’m about to call a tow truck. Thank you.”

 
I wanted to turn back to resume my search of a very small piece of paper that had disappeared, but his gaze on me kept my body in place.

  Pinching the bill of his hat again, he continued, “Well, you are in luck. I got a wrecker right over there.”

  He pointed, hitching his thumb up the row of empty stalls. There it was, a beat to hell truck.

  “I’ll remove the jack and put it on up for ya.”

  I continued staring at the truck, taking a few steps back which made it easier for me to breath.

  “Thank you. I’d rather use my insurance for it. It’s no bother,” I finished, sucking in my tummy and sliding past him. “But, thank you though.”

  Feeling him take my wrist, I gasped and he released me.

  “My mom told me a story about a praying woman. One day, there was a storm and the woman’s house began to flood, and she prayed. When her neighbor came by to help, the praying woman said she was waiting on God. When the waters got up to her porch, a man in a boat came by, but she refused. The woman had to retreat to the roof of her house. A helicopter came, but she wouldn’t budge. She still said that she was waiting for God to come and get her.”

  Smiling down at me, I studied his days old beard mixed with a tad of grey poking out in the dark brown. “Now, if you want to wait, that’s fine with me,” he said, shooting his hands out to his sides. “Just saw that you need some help.”

  I took my time walking to the rear of my SUV. Getting my phone out of my sweats, I scrolled down my list of contacts.

  “Yes, hello, my name is Lauren Neilson. I was looking for a tow truck. It looks like I got a flat.”

  I waited for the lady to find my account. I whispered over my social security number for verification and waited.

  I turned to the man, placing my hand over the phone.

  “You can go now. I have my insurance company on the phone,” I assured, flashing a quick smile at him.

  He just put his arm on top of the car, leaned over and gave me a blank look.

  I gave the woman on the phone the best description of where I was, the year, make and model of my car. Hanging up, I saw that he continued to stare.

  “Like I said, you can go now. I got a tow truck coming.”

  I folded my arms.

  “I’d rather just wait, if that’s fine with you?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  I hiked myself up and sat on the utility area of the back of the SUV.

  The guy shook his head.

  “What?”

  “You shouldn’t sit there, you’re adding extra weight on the jack,” he said, amused.

  “Thanks, you’re calling me fat and all.”

  Stretching until my toes hit pavement, I got out of the car.

  He shook his head. “You’re not heavy just saying that you up there being all wiggly, you’re making the car unstable on the jack is all I was trying to get across to ya.”

  His phone rang in his tattered jeans.

  “Yeah, this is Leland.”

  He looked down at me.

  “Sure, I’m not far from there. What’s the make and model?”

  He smiled, showing a perfect set of teeth, in spite of the dribble of chewing tobacco on his shirt.

  “Yeah, Ford Explorer. Yeah, in the parking lot of Walmart. I’ll be there in a second.”

  He hung up the phone while pushing himself off my car.

  “So, are you ready now?”

  I felt all the blood begin to rush to my face. “Look, I’m sorry but-”

  He waved his hand in my face. “No need, lady. You don’t know me from Adam’s house cat. I understand.”

  I gave him the key and I stood to the side like a dummy. With just as much ease as tying a shoe, he pulled my lopsided car up on the flat bed.

  I worried while looking at the rusted chain that he clanked on my SUV to secure it to the flat bed.

  “How much do I owe you?”

  “Your insurance will pay me,” he answered, making his way towards me and biting the fingers of his gloves to remove them. “Would have been free if you wanted to listen.” Leaning on the edge of the flat bed, he crossed his ankles. “So, are you gonna call a cab or you gonna let me take you home?”

  There was no use in fighting and if something happened to me at least the insurance company had a record of me calling.

  “Thanks,” I accepted, hoisting myself up in his truck.

  I was taken aback by how clean it was on the inside. It was a complete contrast of the Sanford and Son look of the exterior. There wasn’t a French fry smell as I expected or gobs of chewing tobacco remnants sprinkled around.

  He fired up the engine and the cab came to life. I gripped the door handle and he gave that wicked smile. He moved that truck like a late model Caddy and I couldn’t help but take glances to the back window, looking at my poor violated car.

  “You shouldn’t lean on the door like that. It’s been known to just fly open when it feels like it.”

  I released the door handle and dug my hands into my purse.

  “You’re planning to jump out or something?”

  I didn’t know what say. He was right; if something got freaky, I could bail.

  “No.”

  “Man, oh man, you are high strung. No wonder your kid snapped,” he said, never taking his eyes off the road.

  Now I knew where I’d seen him before, he was one of the men that wouldn’t leave my neighbor’s side.

  “You don’t know a thing about me or my son. Just drive your raggedy truck to my house… please."

  He started to gnaw at his bottom lip, probably itching for some chew. “There’s just one thing I don’t get--"

  “His mother died and I adopted him. I know down here you don’t see a ton of blended families.”

  Giving me a glance, he spoke, “I wasn’t gonna ask you that. Just wondering why, you live alone in that big ol’ house. You ain’t got no man to take care of you or nothing?”

  “I can take care of me and my son just fine, thank you.”

  “You got your hand in that purse like you gonna pop me with a little pistol you got hidin’ in there at any given moment.” He smiled. “Oh, I was just pulling your chain about the door.” He slapped the dashboard. “This baby hasn’t lost a passenger yet.”

  “It’s still early.”

  Being dropped into a black abyss would have been more appealing than having to sit shotgun with one of the Clemets all the way home.

  As soon as he parked right in front of my house, I hopped out.

  “Ma’am,” he said behind me. “You gonna need this.”

  His dirty pointer finger stuck out towards me while my keys swayed.

  “Thank you,” I said, Snatching them from him.

  Fumbling to find the right key, I let myself in the house.

  I heard my son’s laughter and the last hour seemed to wash away.

  “Anthony?”

  “In here, Mom."

  He could barely get the words out from his giggling.

  Coming into our family room, I saw my lovely boy sitting on the floor next to the neighbor kid that he fought.

  The boy took his gaze off the video game for a moment.

  “Pause the game,” he said, smiling at my son. “Hello, Ms. Neilson. My name is Ernest.”

  Little Ernest was roughly my son’s height, but where my son had a better build, the other boy was pretty gawky and thin for his age.

  “Hello, Ernest.”

  I shook his outstretched hand and my mind went back to yesterday when my son all but refused to touch him.

  Looking around the boy at the flat screen, I made a comment on the video game, “Killing zombies this time of the morning?”

  ” No, ma’am. Killing our military enemy,” the boy corrected.

  Ernest looked back to my son and smiled. “Y’all have a nice house. I told Anthony whenever you or Anthony want to come over, my dad says it’s okay.”

  “Well, tell your father that’s sweet of him. And vice
versa.”

  I had to remind myself that they were just kids. They could be yelling and screaming at each other one second, and in the next second, they could be best friends.

  My son looked pleased, and at the end of the day that’s all that mattered.

  Ernest gave me a goofy grin and sat back down on the floor.

  “You’ve been lucky, but now I got my second wind, buddy.”

  Both he and my son filled the gap between where they were sitting and the entertainment center with those long legs of theirs.

  Dipping my knee, I took post on the door jamb and watched my son and his new friend. Despite life’s garbage being handed to me, I knew that we were going to be happy.

  “Where do you want this?”

  Shifting my weight back on my legs, I watched as the tow truck guy tracked years of mug and God knows what else on hardwood floor. I should have been grateful that he carried all the bags of groceries in one trip.

  I saw the mild strain in his biceps protruding while getting all our food goods in the house.

  He didn’t wait for my response. He just put them on kitchen counter. “Man, lady,” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I know you got a son, but damn, are you feeding an army, too?”

  “I take it that you don’t have any children, sir.”

  Taking his hat off, he folded it and put it in his back pocket.

  “Just Leland. You can call me Lee if you’d like, everyone else does. And no. No kids…well none that I know of,” he answered, placing the gallon of milk by the sink, then retracing his steps and putting it in the fridge.

  “If you did this, food will only last about week and half. Boys get bored and then they eat. Just thank God my home isn’t made of gingerbread, we’d be homeless.”

  Walking back to the sink, he leaned over to look at the backyard. “You got a mower? If you need someone to tighten up the back for ya, I know a guy.”

  I had to remind myself that this was the south, and a small town at that. People here tried to help one another. Where I’m from though, they call it intrusion.

  “That is Anthony’s job for the summer while I’m at work.”

  The realtor had the back looking fancy three weeks ago, when I came down to sign paperwork. I knew that it was going to be a chore, well not for me, but for my son.