JD

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9J.D., Momma & Me Roland. R. LangleyBy: ¬ RRL Productions 2005 I I remember December 17, 1938 so clearly. Early evening and me, still in bed, hiding from winter, burying myself deep under heavy calico quilts. I remember the wind roaring through Three Mountains like a freight train, blowing madly under the floorboards, howling and scratching like a cat at the walls. I remember the house shaking so badly I thought the roof would fly off; Remember hunkering down and pulling at the heavy calico covers. "Three Mountains" were just three large sweet gum and dogwood covered hills that jumped out suddenly three miles east of Valley Station. Little Creek ran between them to join up with Big Creek, and Big Creek ran past our farm, one mile south of Valley Station. My mother was born on The Mountains. Like all the women in her family, she grew up tall and slender, with clear dark skin, thick long hair and snuff brown eyes. Their supple beauty and firm character were well known and respected all around Valley Station, because they had stiff backs and were tough as hickory, just like their men folk. "They can cut and gut a man before quick gets ready!" Alvin used to say. It took a tough man to get my Momma down those mountains, but Alvin Brady did it; and when they went back to visit, he never had a problem. Funny. I never saw Alvin get angry, but I do remember how he smiled a big, friendly smile that lit him like a Christmas tree and his laugh, that made his belly jiggle. Momma always said she'd never had a good enough reason to leave those mountains 'til the day she met Alvin. "He came one Friday, haulin' corn," she'd remember smiling, "and the first time I saw him, I just I was so She may have been sure, but she still made him climb the Mountains eleven times, just to make sure was sure. Once they'd married, Alvin moved her down to Valley Station, but Momma went home from time to time, "For a breath of old family and fresh air." The first thing Alvin did was attach another room to the house for Momma. He promised to build her a "decent, proper house," but as time passed, farming took all his time and sharecropping took all the money. It was a struggle, just to survive, and that took a lot out of Momma. Then my brother J.D. was born, and two years later Little Celia was born, but she only lived a year. By the time I arrived, J.D. was already nine years old. Life was starting to weigh heavy on Momma, but she kept her head up, even though her spirits started sinking. Alvin worked long, hard days in the fields, and he worked hard because he liked to. I remember him still, big and bright as summer corn. Sometimes he'd take me and J.D. down by the creek and tell us how good it felt to work the land and reap its fruit. J.D. acted like he was listening to the voice of God Himself, but I never got it. I preferred to run through the green woods and swim in cool water; I liked ant hills and rabbit holes; I liked slab bacon and fat back; I liked puffy clouds flying on blue skies. I liked dreaming and pretending, and bare feet and cobbler. II In the spring, when I was seven, I had to stop playing and help with the planting. Alvin tied a bag of corn kernels around my neck; put a bag of minnows in one hand and a long, pointed stick in the other. He firmly showed me how to jab a hole in the ground "Not too deep, Son" every other step. He showed me how to place the corn seed and a minnow it the hole, and then cover it up. Soon I could do it without even thinking. It wasn't long before dreams took me away and I was a ship's captain, sailing the seas for plunder and glory. My ship was large, my crew loyal and fierce. Our flag knew only victory as we swept the seas of our enemies. I was still racing on the winds of good fortune when I realized I'd finished the last row. The sun burned bright and hot as I wiped my brow with a skinny brown arm and smelled the minnows on my hands. Alvin had turned the mule and was headed for the next field. I watched his broad back grow smaller in the distance that grew between us, all caught up in his dreams for the fields beyond. He'd completely forgotten me. I stood there for a long moment, watching him. Then I raced back to the creek to wash my hands in cold water and dirt. I scrubbed them very hard, but the minnow smell remained. I took a long drink from the creek and happily belched out the air I'd swallowed. Then, I sat with my feet in the water, dreaming 'til I heard Momma calling. J.D. was already there, knocking dust off of himself by the time I got there. "Where you been, J.D.?" Momma was asking. "Over yonder," J.D. answered, pointing west. J.D. never had too much to say. "Where's Daddy?" he asked me, looking as if I'd stolen something from him. "Down yonder." I pointed south. Momma placed her hands on hips and called out in a sing-song voice. "Alviinnn! Alvin! Alviiinnnnn!" Then she stood there, smiling and shaking her head. "What's that man up to now?" she said, mostly to herself. "Lawd that man'd rather work than eat!" She stood in the afternoon sun, waiting. Then she called again. The sun's light suddenly dimmed behind a large, milk white cloud, and a look I'd never seen flashed in Momma's eyes. Telling me to wait in the house, she pulled off her apron and, dragging J.D., rushed out of the yard toward the field. A few minutes later I could hear them both, screaming and wailing. I don't remember much after that, except J.D. talked even less than usual and for a long time Mommas remained as blank as fresh paper and her voice was never louder than a whisper. When I caught the Fever a few months later, Momma turned hard and cold and swore to God she wasn't letting me go too. I didn't know what she meant, but it wasn't hard to tell that she meant it. She said the same thing when I got sick again the next year, and that time I fell out of a sweet-gum tree and almost broke my head. I stayed sick for a long time after that, but Momma pulled me through, fiercely. Now I yawned and climbed out of bed. Then I rushed into my clothes and boots and raced into the kitchen just as J.D. entered the house, cussing under the weight of an armload of snow covered wood. Hew threw the wood and snow into the corner by the stove and the snow that hit the stove hissed and steamed, just like my brother. J.D. cussed everything, the wind, the world and the weather. Mostly though, he seemed to be cussing me. I was hungry, but there was nothing on the stove. I sucked my teeth and opened the breadbox. It was empty. I got my cup out of the pantry, just in case, and sat at the table while J.D. glanced at me with eyes of fire. "Hey now," I said. J.D. stopped fueling the fire to look at me. "What's th' matter wit' you, boy? Is you sick?" His voice was icy with contempt. I rose from the old wooden table, picked up my cup and shifted over by the door. J.D. snorted and slammed the breadbox shut. I didn't say a word. I knew how little it took to get him started and I wasn't going to get my neck broke by messing with him, even though I had a list of ready-made answers to his questions tied, neat-as-you-please, in my head. J.D. always said that I was "just plain lazy," but I bet it never crossed his mind to ask me what I'd do if ever got the chance to go school and get an education. I knew I'd learn to read, and write too; something he thought unimportant. He never knew I stayed up late into the night, figuring out how to save my money, get rich and get us all out of the shack we called home. He didn't know I'd already managed to save sixty cents. He never even knew how many nights I spent dreaming of going to Washington to help President Roosevelt get the whole "Negro Question" thing squared up. I had lots of good ideas, too many to explain right now. "Anyway," I retorted in my mind, "It ain't my fault Momma made you chop the wood. Besides, you wasn't doin' nothin' special no-ways." When Momma had told him to do my chore, J.D. started cussing a blue streak under his breath. But he wouldn't argue with Momma, no matter what. He simply went outside and did as he'd been told. J.D. probably had good reason to hate me, but at the time I couldn't see it. I felt it when he came in and threw the wood into the corner, though. perked me up right quick, and I smelled danger. Just then, Momma came in wearing Alvin's heavy coat, shuffling in her old slippers. "You gittin' you somethin' t'eat, boy?" she asked me. "No'm," I said. Momma was galvanized. She crossed over to the ice box, opened the door and squinted inside for a long moment. "Well," she sighed at last, "You find you somethin' t'eat, hear? There's some corn meal in the pantry. Make a batch of johnnycakes . . ." She turned to face my older brother. "And just what are fussin' 'bout now, J.D.?" There was a time when she'd have shot J.D. a withering glare and slapped him down too. But now her voice and body seemed suddenly old, worn and tired, defeated by a truth she could no longer deny. "I ain't fussin,' Ma. Just tryin' to get him to tell me why he's so lazy! I swear I can't figure it-" Now don't you start botherin' that boy again! You know he's sickly." She stroked my shoulder. "That's the trouble wit'im," my older brother snorted. "He don't hardly work, 'cause he don't hardly have to! He just lays up under you all day, like a baby. "Well, you'll come out a lot better if you just keep a mind on how that layin'! Momma snapped. The old glare was suddenly back. "Besides," she clucked sweetly, "he my baby." She sighed and hovered over me and I started cringing. I mean, it's natural for mother's to hug and pet their children, but Momma always latched onto me at the oddest times. Like, down at the free clinic, or in Bergman's General Store, with its kerosene smell and sawdust floor; or at Marian's "Friendly Thrift Shop," where Miss Marian was never any friendlier than the cut of a customer's wallet. Even in church, when most people were basking in the glow of God's Good Grace, Momma always had to tell anyone in earshot about Artis, her youngest boy, "You know," she'd say, "The Sickly One." Then she'd recall every accident, every sickness that had ever happened to me, and swear that one more illness of mine would be the death of her. It had gone on like that for so long that I likened it to the embarrassment I always felt whenever Alvin's sister Ella came to visit and insisted on slobbering all over my face with her big, fat lips. J.D. turned to the stove and added pieces of wood. He looked into the fire and its reflection lit his eyes brightly. Then he turned to Momma and the fire in his eyes died; and all that remained was a dull, smoky darkness. "Wood won't last the night," he muttered. "What we need is some coal!" The burning wood hissed and crackled as the fire inside the stove grew. Something crackled inside me too, as the thought of golden johnnycakes and syrup suddenly rose up and filled me, heart to soul. Through the window, I suddenly thought I saw a wide oak tree with a sapling in its shadow. The vision burned, and then faded, like a match light in the dark. I began to feel light-headed as my chest suddenly puffed up full and started to ache. I fought for a moment to catch my breath The wind died down. As the snowfall grew lighter, I got up and ran for my coat, counting my money in my mind. Bergman's had coal to sell. Momma, who'd sat down at the table, looked up at me curiously. "And just where do you think you're going in all this weather, boy?" I pulled up sharply at the door. "Out to chop us some more wood, Momma," I said. I thought J.D. would drop through the floor. "We ain't got enough to last the night," I finished. "Then I'm walking over to Bergman's." "But you'll catch your death messin' 'round out there!" Momma wailed. "I don't want you gittin' yourself sick again! Lawd o' Mercy, my heart can't take it!" Her voice turned shrill and emphatic. Momma stood up and lifted her hand as if she was going to slap me, but she stopped and slumped back into her chair, shaking her head. J.D. stood as still as stone, a look of amazement plastered his face. I finished buttoning my coat and walked out into the cold. J.D. walked out behind me, staring bug-eyed and whispering. Although I couldn't make out the words, I remember that they sounded . . . well, The snow stopped falling and as I walked to the wood pile I could see The Mountains glistening brightly in the light of a full winter moon. I could hear the beat of my heart and the sound of the money jingling in my pocket as I thought about the coal I'd buy when I finished the chopping wood and walked through the snow to Bergman's. knew!sure!"heIThatyoufire'sispleased.