Everybody always says I just blurt out whatever I’m thinking but that’s not true. I think lots of stuff nobody knows about like how come I don’t stutter in my head and how will we know if Henry David stutters too if he doesn’t ever talk and why the boys all have two names and I don’t even have one. I’m real careful about what I say on account of sometimes it makes my Mama cry and where is my Mama? She never goes anywhere alone. I don’t even think I’ve ever seen my Mama alone, and if I ask that, will Gramma answer?
But she’s already moving down the hall saying, “Let’s look at pictures,” which is just about my favorite thing to do in the whole world so I don’t ask. Later Gramma plays the piano and we sing “Dead in the Coach Ahead” and “I’m Only a Bird in a Gilded Cage.” Grampa, who doesn’t sing, recites “Little Willie” and Gramma says “Oh, Laurie” in her aggravated voice which is practically her only voice. We have weenies and macaroni and cheese for dinner ‘cause that’s Henry David’s favorite but my Daddy still doesn’t come home and then it’s time for bed.
They put us down in the back bedroom, the one that’s really mine since I stay there when I come on vacation which is different from just coming over to spend the night. Henry David is nearest the wall, Samuel Taylor in the middle so he won’t roll off and break like our cousin Amy did, and me on the outside ‘cause sometimes I have to get up in the middle of the night to make sure everything’s all right. The boys go to sleep right away but I stay awake listening for my Daddy’s car and hearing crickets and neighbors laughing and music far away…
…And loud voices in the front room. I must have fallen asleep and it’s probably real late. I can’t tell who Gramma’s yelling at, so after I check to make sure the boys are still breathing, I crawl out of bed and tiptoe down the long hall towards the front room. I wonder if the places where the floor boards meet are like cracks in the sidewalk ‘cause I sure don’t want to break anybody’s back, especially not my Mama’s.
My Daddy leans up against the wall and Gramma’s got her back up like a cat and she’s hissing “…your fault…” at my Daddy. I can tell she’s winding up to give him a piece of her mind so I better save him. I take a running jump at my Daddy and he catches me like always and swings me up high. I hug his neck and whisper “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy” right in his ear. He hugs me back right back real tight and I know everything is all right.
My Daddy slides me around to his back and hooks his arms under my knees and I rest my chin on his shoulder so I can see what’s going on.
Gramma stands across the room and I can tell she’s real mad. Her mouth is a thin line, her eyes are hard and mean, she vibrates like a guitar string, and it looks like her pin curls might just pop their metal clips at us. “She should be in bed,” she spits out.
“You sleepy?” I shake my head “no” into my Daddy’s neck, and hang on tight.
“Let’s go.”
Gramma sputters now ‘cause she’s not through with us but my Daddy ignores her and grabs an afghan off the sofa on his way out the door. Gramma slams it hard behind us as we cross the yard.
In front of the house, my Daddy tips me through the car window into the front seat, tossing the afghan over my head. Its dark and quiet out here. Me and my daddy are the only people awake in the whole world.
“Up or down?” he asks and I say “down.”
“You driving?” and I shake my head, “Not tonight.” He pushes a button and the soft top of car slides away while we glide away from the curb into the night.
I sit for a while with the afghan covering my feet ‘cause they’re always cold but as we leave town and head toward the highway, I stretch out across the front seat and lay my head in my Daddy’s lap. There’s no crackle from the two-way radio like in the daytime and the regular radio’s playing real soft, rock ‘n roll on WLS out of Chicago, ‘cause all the radio stations around here go off the air at dark. My Daddy has one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the top of my head. The end of his cigarette glows red in the dark.
“I can hear you thinking,” he says. “You’ll never fall asleep if you don’t stop. Just watch the stars and go to sleep.” And I try, but it’s real hard and my head is so full of stuff tonight, I probably got a question for every star I see flashing by.
“What'd you do to make Gramma so mad?”
“Your grandmother’s always a little bit aggravated at me.” And, boy, is that true! I don’t think Gramma can stand my Daddy. She’s just about the only person who can’t, ‘cause everybody else just loves my Daddy. ‘Course, I’m not sure Gramma can really stand anybody. But that’s not what’s bothering me tonight.
I’m quiet for a while, listening to the sound of the car on the road and the music on the radio until, finally, I just blurt out “Where’s my Mama? If we’re not getting another baby, where’d she go?”
My Daddy’s hand reaches across me to turn off the radio. He flicks his cigarette out of the car and, after a while, says, “Your mama’s real tired.” Well, of course she’s tired, it’s the middle of the night. Only me and my Daddy are ever up this time of night.
“Is she at the house, our house?”
“No, your mama, she’s gone away to rest – somewhere quiet.” I think about all the noise me and the boys make and I feel real bad. Except Henry David never makes any noise, and Samuel Taylor’s just a baby so the noise he makes doesn’t count, and it’s my fault, my fault, my fault.
“When’s she coming back? She has to take me school shopping and bake cookies Friday for the end of Vacation Bible School.” There’s lots of stuff only my Mama does and who’s gonna take care of all that stuff if she’s not here?
“Soon,” he says, “She’ll be back soon. Don’t worry. We’ll get your cookies. Go to sleep now. Go to sleep.”
We drive on into the night, trees and stars and telephone wires flashing above us. My Mama doesn’t come home for a long time.
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