Read Online Shaking the Sugar Tree by Nick Wilgus - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nick Wilgus
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fine-looking folks shifted and sallied across the stage, and would often try out some of their moves on the living room carpet, dancing to music in his head that no one else could hear.
“ Like a Rhinestone Cowboy, riding out on a horse ….” I bellowed.
We swayed side to side, round and round in a circle on the kitchen floor.
Glen Campbell gave way to John Denver, who sang “Back Home Again . ”
We slowed the pace. He put his face against my chest, listening to my heart and to the vibrations in my chest as I sang. We rotated in a small circle.
When he was small, I used to dance with him in my arms all the time, dancing and singing and having fun. Even then, it seemed that what he enjoyed wasn’t the music or the dancing, but the vibrations in my chest from my vocal chords. He would lay his head in the crook of my neck, and he always put his ear against my throat. Very often he fell asleep.
We’d learned this because, like most meth babies, he used to scream and howl long after his addiction had been dealt with. Screaming out his soul pain, my mother used to say. Screaming from the phantoms that haunted him that we could not see or understand.
I had discovered that putting him on my chest and singing to him would quiet him down. He would also calm down almost immediately if put against bare skin. When he got especially bad, screaming, out of control, in a rage, I would take off my shirt and hold him against my skin, which always did the trick, as if only the warmth of a human being could satisfy whatever demon haunted him.
“There’s all the news to tell him, how you spend your time….”
We were so busy singing and enjoying the moment that I didn’t hear the knock on the door.
As I rotated through a slow circle with Noah in my arms, I looked up and saw Jackson Ledbetter standing in the doorway of the apartment, watching us.
“Jesus!” I exclaimed, startled to see someone standing there.
Noah broke away, glanced around.
“Sorry,” Jackson said. “Your door wasn’t locked….”
“You scared the crap out of me,” I said.
Jackson came into the kitchen. He held out his hands to Noah.
Beaming, Noah took hold of his hands and climbed up on top of his spiffy Nikes.
They began to dance.
“Sometimes this old farm feels like a long lost friend….”
Noah stared up at Jackson, his pale-blue eyes boring into this man as if to divine his secrets. Jackson stared back at him, grinning his confident grin that made me feel faint and nervous. Suddenly the kitchen was entirely too hot.
“It’s the sweetest thing I know of just spending time with you….”
Jackson had his own dancing style. Like a chameleon, Noah mimicked him, following him perfectly, step for step, letting Jackson hold him and swing him and set the pace.
As he rotated into my field of vision, Jackson looked at me, offering a huge smile.
I imagined them dancing at our wedding, both of them in tuxes and tails. It would be a happy day for all of us as we became a modern family. I would have to meet Jackson’s parents. He would have to meet Mama and Papaw and Bill. We’d have a big to-do at the Link Centre, maybe, or some old plantation home down in Monroe County. Noah would have two dads.
We’d….
I put a hand to my mouth and took my eyes away from them. Such a rush of grief swelled up in me, I thought I would burst into tears. What was the point of dreaming about things that could never happen?
16) Can we court?
W HILE I like guys—you have to if you want to sleep with them and stuff, or it just doesn’t work—they make me nervous. Especially the cute ones. I feel like a little girl with a crush on her teacher. I can’t speak properly. I say the dumbest things.
“So you’re not dead,” I said.
“Dead?”
“You didn’t call.”
“ I didn’t call? Here I was thinking you didn’t call.”
“So do you need to borrow an egg or something?”
“Wiley Cantrell,” he said, shaking his head back and forth.
“ Like a Rhinestone Cowboy, riding out on a horse ….” I bellowed.
We swayed side to side, round and round in a circle on the kitchen floor.
Glen Campbell gave way to John Denver, who sang “Back Home Again . ”
We slowed the pace. He put his face against my chest, listening to my heart and to the vibrations in my chest as I sang. We rotated in a small circle.
When he was small, I used to dance with him in my arms all the time, dancing and singing and having fun. Even then, it seemed that what he enjoyed wasn’t the music or the dancing, but the vibrations in my chest from my vocal chords. He would lay his head in the crook of my neck, and he always put his ear against my throat. Very often he fell asleep.
We’d learned this because, like most meth babies, he used to scream and howl long after his addiction had been dealt with. Screaming out his soul pain, my mother used to say. Screaming from the phantoms that haunted him that we could not see or understand.
I had discovered that putting him on my chest and singing to him would quiet him down. He would also calm down almost immediately if put against bare skin. When he got especially bad, screaming, out of control, in a rage, I would take off my shirt and hold him against my skin, which always did the trick, as if only the warmth of a human being could satisfy whatever demon haunted him.
“There’s all the news to tell him, how you spend your time….”
We were so busy singing and enjoying the moment that I didn’t hear the knock on the door.
As I rotated through a slow circle with Noah in my arms, I looked up and saw Jackson Ledbetter standing in the doorway of the apartment, watching us.
“Jesus!” I exclaimed, startled to see someone standing there.
Noah broke away, glanced around.
“Sorry,” Jackson said. “Your door wasn’t locked….”
“You scared the crap out of me,” I said.
Jackson came into the kitchen. He held out his hands to Noah.
Beaming, Noah took hold of his hands and climbed up on top of his spiffy Nikes.
They began to dance.
“Sometimes this old farm feels like a long lost friend….”
Noah stared up at Jackson, his pale-blue eyes boring into this man as if to divine his secrets. Jackson stared back at him, grinning his confident grin that made me feel faint and nervous. Suddenly the kitchen was entirely too hot.
“It’s the sweetest thing I know of just spending time with you….”
Jackson had his own dancing style. Like a chameleon, Noah mimicked him, following him perfectly, step for step, letting Jackson hold him and swing him and set the pace.
As he rotated into my field of vision, Jackson looked at me, offering a huge smile.
I imagined them dancing at our wedding, both of them in tuxes and tails. It would be a happy day for all of us as we became a modern family. I would have to meet Jackson’s parents. He would have to meet Mama and Papaw and Bill. We’d have a big to-do at the Link Centre, maybe, or some old plantation home down in Monroe County. Noah would have two dads.
We’d….
I put a hand to my mouth and took my eyes away from them. Such a rush of grief swelled up in me, I thought I would burst into tears. What was the point of dreaming about things that could never happen?
16) Can we court?
W HILE I like guys—you have to if you want to sleep with them and stuff, or it just doesn’t work—they make me nervous. Especially the cute ones. I feel like a little girl with a crush on her teacher. I can’t speak properly. I say the dumbest things.
“So you’re not dead,” I said.
“Dead?”
“You didn’t call.”
“ I didn’t call? Here I was thinking you didn’t call.”
“So do you need to borrow an egg or something?”
“Wiley Cantrell,” he said, shaking his head back and forth.
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