Dear God,
I don’t know why I lied to that man about Papa and the stolen truck, except I was just excited and couldn’t help myself all out of breath and sweating that Mama would come down with another heart palpitation or fainting spell like she’s famous for, and me not knowing how to treat it, even though I’ve see it happen for years. Papa’s dragged off to jail now, not that they’ll keep him long once the money shows up to spring him, but it’ll take a week for me or Uncle Tory to trade off something to raise the bail. I’m mostly just thinking and calculating on account of I’m too young for them to take seriously, though I did bail Papa out of a mess just last year when that low-life Mr. Luling came collecting on a debt. I pulled all my summer car wash money out from under my bed mattress and slapped it into his greedy hand, and told him to haul it. Normally I don’t disrespect my elders on account of I was raised better, but Mr. Luling don’t deserve any special treatment. That man cut off his wife’s hand with a Skil saw a few years back and had her convinced he didn’t mean it, even after all the beatings he’s gave her through the years. He’s a big lout of a man, always sweaty and dirty looking, even when he’s doffing his hat at folks downtown to curry favor or encourage trade at his grocery store. And his wife ain’t much better, with her high and mighty airs of respectability, when everybody knows she came from the same row of shacks in shanty town as her husband. The Lulings were known for fisticuffs and donnybrooks, even the women, with all that red hair and Irish temper. Just a splinter in the town’s foot, all of them.
Papa don’t stand a chance against his charges. He admits to taking the truck and he says he’s not sorry for it. Says he can’t have a good feeling in his heart or soul for somebody that takes folks’ money, then turns on them when the chips are down and they got nowhere else to turn. Worse than un-Christian, Papa says, and the Good Lord won’t let such meanness go unnoticed. Even if he’s not around to see it, he knows Ben Luling will get what’s coming to him, the mean-hearted, money-grubbing hypocrite. “Plopping in the front pew at Bethel Baptist every Sunday at 11:00 a.m. on the nose won’t get him no extra points,” Papa says. “God knows he’s a lyin’, cheatin’, philanderin’ fool with more money than morals, and a wife near ’bout as bad!”
I’m going over to Sawville tomorrow and try to borrow some money from the owners of the carwash where I worked last summer, even though I suspect they’ll turn me down flat. Gary, that’s my brother, he’s not much good in these matters, just usually holes up in the bedroom whenever Papa gets in a fix, knowing I’m at work on it and if I can’t fix it, it can’t be fixed. Mama frets and carries on so. Like I said, she’s no help at all, so I don’t even tell her sometimes. Me and Papa can usually take care of things one way or another, whether it’s selling off a watch or the TV or giving blood down at the clinic. Which I can’t do again for several weeks ’til I build up enough to spare again.
And of course, the one time we had to sell Papa’s pickup for pennies on the dollar when he got himself hip-high in gambling debts, and men came around to collect what he didn’t have.
Papa’s been like this all my life, and even before according to Mama, who chose to stick her head in the sand ’til the law forced her to yank it out and have a gander at the real world. That’s when she started the palpitations and bad spells she’s famous for. Gary’s apt to be just like her I’m afraid, running and hiding every time bad news comes knocking. As for me, I’m steadfast and quick on the draw, and I can be quite resourceful when push comes to shove. Soon as I get back from Sawville, I plan to sit down and have a long talk with Gary, on account of he needs to toughen up a bit if he expects to make it in life. No woman would have him if he don’t show some backbone and initiative. I do worry about the two of them so, Mama on the verge every minute of the day, and brother off somewhere behind a tree or bush or something, sucking up honeysuckle.
Papa will be all right, soon as I get him out of this. I’m bringing him home and have a heart-to-heart with him, too. I’m old enough he should listen to me now, ready to graduate next year and get out on my own. Maybe even join the Navy. Papa’s got to see the light. I got to make him see he’s not getting any younger, and taking risks is not in his, or nobody else’s best interest. Uncle Tory says Papa got like this when they were just kids together and Papaw Simpkins took them down to Stubb’s Catfish Cabin, where they gambled illegally in the back room and Papa got his first taste for it. Papaw never had the bug like Papa, but he taught him how to shuffle and deal and count cards pretty fair. And how to bluff and call the other players out. It left Papa with a taste for it he can’t seem to satisfy or control, and never had the money to make it big time like he’s always lusted after. I’ve seen him sit down at the table and don’t have two nickels to rub together, just floating on a loan or advance from another player who more often than not walked away with Papa’s IOUs.
Today, I’m not going to the picture show with Shelby on account of my family obligation, and tomorrow’s church day, and the shows are off limits in his family on the Sabbath. So, I got to do something soon, or run the risk of losing the boy I hope to marry and settle down with when I get back from Hawaii or Iwo Jima or wherever the Navy sees fit to send me. And I don’t have much time to pull everybody together. Papa, and Mama, and Gary, all of them desperately needy in different ways. And to tell you the truth, I’m about out of ideas and earning power, which is a bad way to be starting adulthood and marriage.
I might be able to get the money for the bail and pay off the fine for Papa taking that truck without permission, but I don’t know that I can keep him from going to prison if Mr. Luling decides he wants to play hardball. I won’t sleep ’til it’s all resolved. And I do hope Papa learns something this time before it’s too late and they take him from Mama permanently. She’ll cross over for sure if they do. I just know it. If you got any ideas or inspiration that might help us out, now is the time to share it. Otherwise, I’ll keep you posted on my progress. Until then I remain,
Faithfully yours,
Teresa
p.s. I’m writing you this letter though I know I can’t really send it, so I’ll just count on you to read it in your own mysterious way.