fill Ma in on what happened.
“Lyle Kenzie is small-time,” she says. “Don’t let him scare you.”
“He doesn’t scare me. I scared him. Who is he?”
“I used to think he was her boyfriend. She was checking in with him all the time. But I think he’s a contact.”
“Pills, pipe or needle?”
She averts her eyes. “I don’t know exactly. It don’t make her see things or nothing like that, and she won’t do it in front of the kids. But she needs to have it. That’s what she always says. She needs to have it, just like food. She says she wishes she never got it in her blood because now she can’t get through the day without taking something.” She shakes her head. “I’ll never understand it.”
We stand there with our arms crossed, staring down at the dirt.
“There’s something I got to show you just down the road.” Ma says. She looks at me kind of funny and lights a cigarette, takes three or four hauls on it before crushing it out with her heel. She goes to the door and tells Janis we’ll be right back, locks it with her key. We start walking, Ma and me, and it’s sort of like the reunion I’d once imagined: me all grown up and Ma with grey in her hair, strolling down a sunset road.
“I’m taking you to your brother.”
“Which one?”
“Bird.”
“Bird! Really? What I remember most about Bird are the whoppers he’d come up with. Like that time you asked him where he got that brand new gold watch with the price tag still on it and he said he found it in the empty ice cooler out back of the Kwikway. Or when he said he failed math because the teacher added up his marks wrong. Remember how he used to kiss people’s mothers on the hand when he met them?” I laugh. “Does he still have all that long blond hair?”
I keep rambling until Ma stops short in front of a little blue house and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Now, Tabby. Don’t you say nothing about it.”
“About what?”
She goes up the stairs and in through the screen door, and I follow. We enter a dank room with wallpaper that’s been ripped to shreds in two-inch-wide strips at waist height along every wall. The ceiling fan is missing two paddles and the cord that makes it spin is so long it drags on the brown shag carpet. Three men are sitting around a table drinking rye. The one with his back to us isslumped in a wheelchair. The man on his right has an eye patch and a good eye that won’t hold still, and the squat, fat man on the left doesn’t seem to be wearing any pants.
“Hey, Birdie!” Ma trots over, scoots in behind the wheelchair, leans down and kisses him on the cheek.
I come at the table from the other side so I can see his face. He has a scar that runs from his left temple all the way across to his right jawline. It looks like an eel, all grey and rubbery. There’s a bald spot on the back of his head with a flaky rash on it and his fingernails are bruised black, as if he slammed every one of them in a drawer. He’s drooling all over his shirt front.
Ma pats his head. “What are you boys doing? Getting in trouble?”
“Nothing,” the fat one says. Now I see he’s not even wearing underpants. Just a T-shirt, like Winnie-the-Pooh.
“This is Tabby,” Ma tells him. “She’s Bird’s sister.”
“Hi, Bird,” I say, trying to hold a smile. “Do you remember me?”
His tongue dangles out of the corner of his mouth as he shakes his head side to side.
“That’s okay,” I say finally.
He keeps his eyes on me as he slowly reaches his arm out, grabs hold of an edge of wallpaper and tears it off in a long line. Ma leaves the room to check the cupboards, and the rest of us go mute until she comes back and sets a bowl of soup down in front of each of the men. She ties a dishrag around Bird’s neck and starts to feed him with a plastic ladle. After he slurps a few mouthfuls, she taps the elbow of the man with the eye patchand says, “Go ahead and eat your soup, Stanley. Tabby won’t bite
“Lyle Kenzie is small-time,” she says. “Don’t let him scare you.”
“He doesn’t scare me. I scared him. Who is he?”
“I used to think he was her boyfriend. She was checking in with him all the time. But I think he’s a contact.”
“Pills, pipe or needle?”
She averts her eyes. “I don’t know exactly. It don’t make her see things or nothing like that, and she won’t do it in front of the kids. But she needs to have it. That’s what she always says. She needs to have it, just like food. She says she wishes she never got it in her blood because now she can’t get through the day without taking something.” She shakes her head. “I’ll never understand it.”
We stand there with our arms crossed, staring down at the dirt.
“There’s something I got to show you just down the road.” Ma says. She looks at me kind of funny and lights a cigarette, takes three or four hauls on it before crushing it out with her heel. She goes to the door and tells Janis we’ll be right back, locks it with her key. We start walking, Ma and me, and it’s sort of like the reunion I’d once imagined: me all grown up and Ma with grey in her hair, strolling down a sunset road.
“I’m taking you to your brother.”
“Which one?”
“Bird.”
“Bird! Really? What I remember most about Bird are the whoppers he’d come up with. Like that time you asked him where he got that brand new gold watch with the price tag still on it and he said he found it in the empty ice cooler out back of the Kwikway. Or when he said he failed math because the teacher added up his marks wrong. Remember how he used to kiss people’s mothers on the hand when he met them?” I laugh. “Does he still have all that long blond hair?”
I keep rambling until Ma stops short in front of a little blue house and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Now, Tabby. Don’t you say nothing about it.”
“About what?”
She goes up the stairs and in through the screen door, and I follow. We enter a dank room with wallpaper that’s been ripped to shreds in two-inch-wide strips at waist height along every wall. The ceiling fan is missing two paddles and the cord that makes it spin is so long it drags on the brown shag carpet. Three men are sitting around a table drinking rye. The one with his back to us isslumped in a wheelchair. The man on his right has an eye patch and a good eye that won’t hold still, and the squat, fat man on the left doesn’t seem to be wearing any pants.
“Hey, Birdie!” Ma trots over, scoots in behind the wheelchair, leans down and kisses him on the cheek.
I come at the table from the other side so I can see his face. He has a scar that runs from his left temple all the way across to his right jawline. It looks like an eel, all grey and rubbery. There’s a bald spot on the back of his head with a flaky rash on it and his fingernails are bruised black, as if he slammed every one of them in a drawer. He’s drooling all over his shirt front.
Ma pats his head. “What are you boys doing? Getting in trouble?”
“Nothing,” the fat one says. Now I see he’s not even wearing underpants. Just a T-shirt, like Winnie-the-Pooh.
“This is Tabby,” Ma tells him. “She’s Bird’s sister.”
“Hi, Bird,” I say, trying to hold a smile. “Do you remember me?”
His tongue dangles out of the corner of his mouth as he shakes his head side to side.
“That’s okay,” I say finally.
He keeps his eyes on me as he slowly reaches his arm out, grabs hold of an edge of wallpaper and tears it off in a long line. Ma leaves the room to check the cupboards, and the rest of us go mute until she comes back and sets a bowl of soup down in front of each of the men. She ties a dishrag around Bird’s neck and starts to feed him with a plastic ladle. After he slurps a few mouthfuls, she taps the elbow of the man with the eye patchand says, “Go ahead and eat your soup, Stanley. Tabby won’t bite
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