Buddy Page 17

  “I’m getting to be your post office, boy,” he says.

  But this letter ain’t from California. I start to get a little dizzy. It ain’t from Chicago either, but I recognize Jamilla’s writing in a second.

  “She’s looking for you,” Brother James says, and goes on back in the church.

  I sit myself down on the front steps and hold that letter in my hands. It’s clean and flat. She wrote it with a purple pen. It says it’s from Virginia.

  I reach in and pull out two sheets of paper. The top one is a letter. It says, “Dear Brother James, Do you remember me? I hope so. Chicago was too cold so we left. We’re in Virginia now but it’s cold, too. We miss New Orleans. We heard about Katrina. We’re worried about Li’l T and his family. Where are they? How can I write him a letter? He wrote me about his dog. If you know where he is, please send him this picture.”

  I look at the second page. It’s a drawing of a dog. A black, three-legged dog. Across the bottom, in big, square letters, she wrote, “Li’l T’s Dog—Buddy.”

  I fold up the letter. I fold up the picture. I put them in my pocket.

  I sit there a minute until I don’t feel so dizzy, then I head home.

  When I get back to the house, I start right in to taping Sheetrock. It’s a quiet job. You mix up the mud. You smear it on the joints. You press the tape on top and smear on some more mud. When it’s dry, you sand it smooth.

  It’s a job I can do all by myself. Mix, smear, press. Mix, smear, press. After a while, I forget about all the letters. I forget about Eddie. I forget about my money. I keep hoping I’m going to forget about Buddy, but there ain’t enough Sheetrock in the world to make me do that.

  The rest of that week, I think about writing Jamilla back but I don’t do it. I guess she can wait. I did. I don’t even tell anybody she wrote. It don’t change anything, so what’s the use.

  On Sunday when I go to church I don’t look at anybody as I walk in. I sit in the seat next to Daddy and I stand up when everybody else does and I open my mouth and I sing, but I ain’t feeling joyful.

  I look over, and Eddie’s standing across the aisle and he’s singing. He glances over at me and smiles, but I don’t smile back. I’m feeling sad. I’m feeling angry.

  When we get to the part where Brother James does his long prayer, I wish I had earplugs. I wish I could stick my fingers in my ears and hum.

  “First off, Lord,” Brother James starts out, “we have so much to thank you for. Brother Eddie is here today because you showed us how to help him. You showed us the true meaning of money, Lord. It’s a tool. It’s something you use, not something you keep. You helped us help Brother Eddie, and we are eternally grateful.”

  “Amen,” somebody sings out in the back.

  I look over at Eddie. His head is bending down and his lips are moving. All a sudden I wonder what it’s like sitting in jail. I wonder what it’s like thinking about your aunt who raised you up. I wonder if you say a prayer of thanksgiving that she ain’t there to see you. I wonder if you just want to shrivel up and die right there. I wonder if you think life just ain’t worth living if you’re sitting in jail like that.

  “The Lord giveth,” Brother James goes on, “and the Lord taketh away.”

  “That’s the truth,” people say, and I agree with them.

  Tanya starts banging her shoes on the chair and Mama pokes her.

  “A few Sundays ago, Lord,” Brother James says, “this church was papered over with signs.”

  I look up. Brother James’s eyes are shut tight.

  “Signs about a dog,” Brother James says.

  I get all hot.

  “Signs about a dog that ain’t where he belongs. A dog that’s been whisked away to a distant place.”

  Daddy’s beside me, sitting real stiff.

  “Signs about a boy who wants that dog home so bad he thinks he can work his way out to California and get him.”

  Tanya casts her eye at me and grins. “That’s you,” she mouths.

  I purse up my lips like I’m sucking a lemon. I bend down my head.

  “Lord, you watched that boy give all his California money to set Brother Eddie free. There you were, Lord, sitting up in your heaven and looking down on us, and you saw him do that and it filled you up with joy.”

  I’m hotter than I’ve ever been in my life. I’m thinking I’m going to melt into a puddle right there on that seat.

  “Lord, we know you are proud of your child. You are proud of his generosity and his courage and his strength. And so you reached out your hand from on high, and you made a move.”

  I’ve got myself tucked low as I can get but I still feel like there’s a spotlight shining straight down on me.

  “Those signs,” Brother James goes on, “didn’t stay in this church. They made their way out into the world. People out there saw them. Phone calls were made. Letters were written. Hands were shook.

  “Lord, the Bible says the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. But maybe they got it backward. Maybe it ought to say the Lord taketh away, and the Lord giveth back. Because you’re giving today, Lord. You’re giving to that boy who made those signs. Lord, you’re the one who touched the people out there in the world who read those signs. You’re the one who moved their hearts to generosity. You’re the one who gathered them together exactly where they needed to be. And you’re the one who, through your almighty power and everlasting grace, has delivered to this congregation on this very morning, two airplane tickets to California leaving on Wednesday.”

  I can’t help it. I pop up out of my chair without thinking. The whole congregation starts cheering. It ain’t like a prayer at all. It’s like a football game. They’re all cheering and clapping. Eddie comes right across the aisle and starts pounding me on the back, and Brother James comes walking down from out of the pulpit with two folded-up pieces of paper in his hand and a grin as wide as the Mississippi River shining on his face.

  “God picked you for that dog, son,” he says, and he hands the tickets to me. “You fly on out there, and you bring your Buddy home.”

  34

  I ain’t never flown on a real airplane before but Daddy did. He says when he was in the army a thousand years ago he flew around to various “garden spots” of the military. He won’t talk about any of them. He just nods and says, “Um-hm,” and that makes me think about Granpa T saying that exact same thing.

  Wednesday morning, we pack up a little suitcase borrowed from the widow. Mama gives us some pralines for the lady in California. She wraps them up in tissue paper and sticks them in a box so they won’t break. She says I have to carry them in my hands the whole way. When she walks out the room, Daddy tells me real quiet not to worry. He says we’ll put them in the suitcase when we get to the airport. If they get broke, they get broke. I tell Tanya she’s going to have to feed Rover while I’m gone. She says okay and can she dress him up. I give her a look and she don’t ask again. We put on the nicest clothes we’ve got, and Brother James drives us out to the airport.

  All the way out there, Brother James is talking nonstop. He’s explaining about how he knows somebody who knows somebody who knows a man who flies around in airplanes on his business so much he sometimes gets tickets for free. When that man heard about Buddy, he was falling all over himself to give us those tickets. He says maybe he’ll come meet Buddy when we get him home, and Brother James says maybe we’ll call the newspaper and they’ll do a story. He says we could use a happy story instead of all the sad ones we read all the time. Like about how it was at the airport during the storm when the old, sick people were laying on the floor all scared and tired and confused, and the helicopters were whomp-whomping in from the hospitals with more and more people, and that lady who wasn’t even a nurse had to deliver a baby right out there on the runway in the middle of the afternoon in the scorching hea
t and sun.

  Brother James keeps on talking but I ain’t listening to any of that stuff. I’ve heard enough about Katrina to last my whole life. I’m thinking about California now. I’m thinking I’ll see some different stuff out there. I’ll see mountains. I’ll see the ocean. In some places, they say, you can see them both at the same time.

  Then I’m thinking that’s all going to be just fine, but the most important thing I’m going to see is Buddy.

  Brother James waves us good-bye and we walk through the metal detector and stroll on down that great big old hall like we’ve been doing this all our lives. They’ve got that zydeco music playing and they’ve got a Lucky Dog cart right there inside the building. Daddy says I can get a hot dog if I want. He says we’ve got plenty enough money for something like that.

  Then that plane rolls down the runway and takes off, and I’m thinking, I’m flying for real. I’m really up in the sky. I’m really looking down and seeing things with my real eyes.

  I can see the swamp spreading out down there all brown and fuzzy with trees. I can see roads like snail tracks shining in the sun. I can see the top sides of the clouds when I ain’t never seen nothing before but the bottom sides.

  And when I think about why I’m in that airplane and where I’m going and what I’m doing, I can’t hardly sit still in that scratchy, old seat.

  The flight attendant squats down beside me. “Is this your first time in the air?” she asks, and smiles all pretty.

  I nod.

  “Don’t be scared,” she says. “We’ll take good care of you.”

  I laugh. I ain’t scared. I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my whole life.

  You can’t see as much with real flying as I thought. We pass over the deserts. We pass over the mountains. But we can’t see any of it. I read the magazine in the pocket in front of me. I eat the food, and it ain’t good. I look out the window at enough clouds to last me forever. Just about when I think I’m going to go crazy with clouds, a voice comes over the radio and says we’re about to land.

  “Praise God,” Daddy says, and all a sudden I realize he’s been scared the whole way. He’s been doing just like Granpa T, pretending he’s asleep because he don’t like where he is.

  “You been scared, Daddy?” I say.

  “Course not.” He huffs up his shoulders and shivers his head.

  I laugh, but he don’t think it’s one bit funny.

  We drag off the plane with everybody else. People are carrying all kinds of stuff. We ain’t got nothing but the one suitcase and it’s somewhere in the belly of the plane. We’re walking slow. We pass out of the hall into the airport.

  “What do we do now, Daddy?” I say.

  And then I don’t wonder. There’s a woman and a boy standing not ten feet away. They’re holding up a sign. It says, WELCOME, TEE JUNIOR AND LITTLE TEE.

  I frown. I ain’t “Little Tee.” I’m “Li’l T.”

  Daddy’s walking straight over to them. He’s holding out his hand. He’s shaking hands with the lady and they’re talking about the plane ride and the heat and all the people they’ve got in that great big airport.

  That boy and me are just looking at each other.

  He’s white, just like the woman. He ain’t as tall as me but I guess he’s about as old. He’s got brown hair flopping around in girly curls. He’s wearing something that looks like a bathing suit and a T-shirt with a surfboard on it. He’s got on flip-flops.

  I’m standing there in my Sunday best and feeling like a fool, so I hold out my hand. “I’m Li’l T,” I say. Then I can’t help myself. “Not Little Tee. Li’l T.”

  He takes my hand. “I’m Brian,” he says.

  We pump once and let go. Then we look away.

  “Thank you,” Daddy’s saying. “Come on, son.” He and the white lady are walking off talking a mile a minute. Brian and me follow, but we don’t say anything.

  After we get our suitcase, that lady puts us in the car and drives us out into the city. It’s night but I can tell California don’t look anything like New Orleans. I don’t see any columns on any of the houses. There ain’t no iron fences. There ain’t no big old live oak trees.

  Once we get into the mountains, it’s pitch-black dark, just like Mississippi. Then we go over a big hill and there are lights spread out everywhere in front of us. We go around a curve, and it’s all dark again.

  Daddy and the lady are sitting in the front seat talking away but Brian and I don’t say anything.

  We drive and drive and drive.

  We get to a little town and then we pull in the driveway of a house. It’s a new house. It’s got a wide driveway and a tall wood fence around the backyard.

  “Buddy’s here?” I say to Brian.

  He nods.

  I feel my heart going like a race car.

  We walk inside. She flips on the light and drops her keys on a glass table. They make a loud rattling noise and then I hear a click, click, click somewhere on the tile floor in that house.

  I’m standing there with my hand resting on that glass table top and part of my mind is saying, Take your hand off. You’ll make a spot. But I don’t move. I’m looking down the hall.

  And then there he comes.

  He’s a shadow in a hall of shadows. He gets into the light and then he stops. He’s standing there looking at us and I’m looking at him. I notice two things. He’s got a fake, metal leg stuck on his stump and his tail is curved up, but it ain’t wagging.

  “Hello, Buddy,” the woman says.

  She stoops down and Buddy comes trotting into the room. “You remember Little Tee,” she says, “and his daddy.”

  “Li’l T,” I say. I walk over and hold out my hand. Buddy lays his nose in the palm of my hand. His tail starts thumping. He looks up at me with his big old eyes and there’s his caterpillar eyebrow, still sticking out like crazy on his forehead.

  “He remembers me,” I say. I look up at all those people and I smile. “Of course he remembers me,” I say. “He’s my dog.”

  Brian spins around all a sudden and walks out the room. I hear a door slam down the hall.

  “I’m sorry,” the lady says.

  But I ain’t listening. I’m watching Buddy clicking down that hallway, following after Brian as fast as he can.

  35

  The next morning the lady says we’ve only got one day in California, and she’s going to show us a good time. She says we’re going back over the mountains to the beach because I ain’t never seen the ocean before. She says nobody’s quite lived until they’ve seen the ocean. I feel like I’ve done plenty of living already, but I don’t say nothing. We all pile in the car. This time, Buddy’s sitting on the backseat right smack between me and Brian.

  We ain’t hardly got started when we pass a school.

  “That’s Brian’s school,” the lady says.

  It looks like a school on TV.

  “You’re close enough to ride your bike,” I say.

  “I don’t ride a bike.”

  “You ain’t got one?”

  He cuts his eyes at me. “I didn’t say that,” he says. “I said I don’t ride one.”

  I shrug my shoulders and look out the window again. Now I can really see the mountains. They are giant hills with dry, brown grass growing on them. In some places you can see where the dirt just fell off the side of the mountain and piled up a couple of hundred feet below. Sometimes there are great big old rocks sticking out of the dirt or perched up on top of a cliff. Sometimes there’s a cactus hanging on the side of the hill, just like in the movies.

  “Are those mountains ever green?” I ask Brian.

  He swivels his face toward me. “When it rains,” he says.

  “How long has it been since it rained?”

  He looks
like he’s thinking. Then he shrugs. “Three, maybe four months.”

  I can’t believe it. “In New Orleans, it rains almost every afternoon in the summer.”

  He don’t say nothing. He puts his hand on Buddy’s head. Buddy shifts a little and puts his head in Brian’s lap. Brian turns and looks out the window.

  We keep on riding.

  Finally we’re down out of the mountains and in the city. Eventually we park on a street where there are all kinds of little stores selling stuff that looks like it was made for ladies. Daddy gives me some spending money and I buy a hair bow for Tanya and a soap that’s shaped like a shell for Mama.

  The lady says, “You’re so thoughtful.”

  I say, “You try going all the way to California and not bringing them back something.”

  Daddy’s standing over in the corner and he starts tee-heeing, and I say, “Where is that ocean anyway?”

  We walk out of the store and down the street, and at the end of it—boom—there’s the ocean. We step on a walkway made out of boards up near the street. People are everywhere. Then there’s about a mile of sand before you get to the water. Then the land just stops and there ain’t nothing but water, as far as you can see, and those great big old waves rolling in and crashing on the people swimming. I’m standing there all amazed and Daddy’s um-hmming beside me when Buddy takes off running across the sand. And then I’m even more amazed. I ain’t never seen him run before. Not once.

  Brian goes running after him. They’re chasing up and down.

  The lady says, “Little Tee, why don’t you go with them.”

  So I step off the walkway into the sand. I walk and walk and walk. They’re running back and forth. Brian pulls a ball out of his pocket and throws it a long way. Off Buddy goes, racing after it. He brings it back to Brian and Brian throws it again.

  Finally I get all the way down to them. Brian’s squatting down and rubbing Buddy’s neck. He looks up at me.

  “When Buddy first got here,” he says, “he was afraid of the water.” Brian stands up and throws the ball. Buddy goes flying after it.