CHAPTER 13

David left Swamp Creek early Monday morning. His church needed him, he said. Parishioners think more of their pastor than they do each other, he added, so he had to return before chaos erupted. He laughed although he didn’t think it was funny.

TL had underestimated how much he’d grown to love him. And need him. David was far more grounded than he was. David’s words gave TL perspective and kept him from doing things he’d later regret. David tempered TL’s drama—something TL didn’t always like, but he definitely needed.

Before leaving, he told TL he could have it all. Everything. “This house, this community, this place is your life”—that’s how he’d put it—“so no need haggling. This is your legacy here—not mine.” Envy and sarcasm colored his tone. David had a right to resentment, TL thought. He believed he did, too. But since both needed memories of a mother far more grandiose than the mother they’d actually had, they agreed subconsciously to continue living the way they’d always lived—without each other—as they imagined how great their mothers must have been to someone else.

They’d gone through boxes for days, looking for a will or other significant documents, but found nothing. Just old utility bills and a picture of TL at birth. David held it up and smiled. “You’re definitely her child.” It was an awkward statement, like one confessing a long-kept secret. He said it as if to say TL was something he wasn’t, something he should’ve and would’ve been if things had been different. TL wanted to apologize for his existence, but he didn’t want to patronize him. David said there was no reason for TL to fail. He’d had the dream life—a mother who sacrificed everything to be with him and a father who wouldn’t leave him. Of course TL didn’t see it that way, but his pitiful expressions sounded like a spoiled child’s whinings, so he relinquished the fight. He’d never thought of his life as a dream, but he was sure he wouldn’t have wanted David’s. Not now. What was he returning to? In the weeks they’d known each other, he’d never mentioned anyone important. No girl, no family, no best friend. God seemed to be the center of his life, and maybe that’s all he needed. TL hoped it was. It seemed to be all he had.

You’re definitely her child. The more TL considered David’s words, the more he realized the enormity of what his brother had said. David was suggesting that he’d been the neglected one. And he had, TL thought, but hadn’t they both? David obviously didn’t think so. From where he stood, TL had spent his whole life in heaven. Ain’t it funny how we always want the life we don’t get? What he was calling heaven TL had been calling hell. It’s only because we don’t really see others’ lives. We glance at people’s exterior and wonder why we aren’t blessed to be them when, really, if we examined the interior, we’d understand that our own life is the real blessing. TL began to understand this the day David left.

They hugged as if sure they’d never see each other again. David chuckled, once they released their hold, and TL wiped teary eyes. They didn’t say anything more. David simply got in his car, rolled down the window, and waved slowly. In the years to come, TL would wish he’d gotten to know him better, but for now they were long-lost brothers returned—and suddenly estranged again.

TL reentered the house and stood in the center of the living room. How had his life shifted so drastically? And so quickly? He studied the room. David had been wrong, he thought. This isn’t my life. I don’t know these walls, these books, these floors, these memories, lounging around windowsills and antique furniture. I’d always admired the house, but from a distance. Now, in the middle of it, TL had absolutely no idea how to make it his own.

But it was his own. It was all he had. Like David, he had to figure out how to make a life from the remnants of what his mother left behind. Make no mistake about it: She’d had as much baggage as Daddy. Maybe more. TL could ask him about his life, but he’d have to piece hers together, with the few precious pieces he had. And he knew that any time you do that, you’re bound to get things wrong. Sometimes people get everything wrong, then they pass the error to the next generation and so forth, until, in the end, nobody looks anything like their original selves. That’s what happened to black people, Grandma said. Slavery robbed us of so many critical pieces to the puzzle that when we started writing our own history, we told only stories of tragedy, struggle, and loss. The other stories, of triumph, beauty, and achievement, faded into myth and left our young people wanting to be part of someone else’s history. TL swore that, if he did nothing else in life, he’d find those missing pieces and tell our children their stories. Their real stories. The ones they obviously hadn’t heard.

Funny thing—Miss Swinton’s house made him think of Momma. It was clean to the point of feeling uninhabitable. That’s how Momma kept house, even with kids and a husband. They’d come home on a Saturday evening, and Momma would have the house locked up like a prison. All the doors and windows would be bolted shut as if she were trying to create her own perfect little universe. They’d knock and holler, but Momma would act as if she couldn’t hear them, walking around the house touching newly polished ceramic pieces like she was in a museum. Daddy would tolerate it for a while, finding other things outside to occupy his time (and forcing them to do the same) until hunger got the best of him, and he’d call Momma’s name slowly, sweetly, seductively—Marion—and Momma would open the door as if oblivious to our frustration. Daddy didn’t press the matter. He must’ve understood what she needed. She wanted to enjoy her clean house, she said. At least for a while. It was as close to perfection as she might get.

Momma was kind to TL sometimes. She’d call him first to lick the cake batter bowl. He remembered that. And sometimes she cooked chitlins just for him. She said it wasn’t just for him, but of course it was—he was the only one who ate them. She hated the odor they left behind, and despised standing at the sink for hours cleaning them, but every now and then, for Thanksgiving or New Year’s Day, she’d do it. That was her way of saying she loved him, although TL would’ve preferred the words. Since he couldn’t get them, he settled for the chitlins.

That stopped when Momma had her last child. The day they came home from the hospital, Momma acted like TL was invisible. He was only ten. He stood at the living room window, waiting anxiously for Momma’s return, and when she came, she walked past him without saying anything. He went to his room and cried. Nothing he did impressed her anymore, and when he mentioned baking cakes or homemade cookies, she said she didn’t have time. Plus, he was too old for cookies. “Boys should be outside playin’,” she said. So that’s where he went.

Their relationship deteriorated into mere formality. Of course he didn’t know then what he knows now. He figured she loved her daughter more because she’d lost a daughter once. Or perhaps she just didn’t like him anymore. The best he could do, he thought, was to love whomever she loved. Maybe then he’d be loved again.

That’s when he began learning about Momma’s life. She was from a little town called Damascus, no more than ten or fifteen miles east of Swamp Creek. He’d only been there once. Momma’s parents died before she finished high school, and her only sibling, Uncle Rayford, moved to California when TL was a little boy. He vaguely remembered him. Uncle Rayford was gigantic and muscular like a gladiator. Most kids were scared of him.

Momma said there was nothing in Damascus for her anymore, and since she never liked the place, the family never went. She flew to California once, to show her brother the new baby girl, and when she returned, she said, “I’ll never do that again.” TL asked what happened, but she told him to stay in a child’s place.

One Saturday night, TL came home from a party at the community center in Morrilton and found Momma sitting on the den sofa in the dark. She cleared her throat when he entered, startling him. TL stumbled and froze.

“Be careful, child,” she whispered. The voice didn’t sound like hers.

“Were you waiting up for me?”

“No. You know I don’t do that.”

TL took a few steps forward before she said, “Don’t never let nobody else have yo’ life.”

Confused, he stopped and frowned, but she didn’t notice. Or maybe she did.

“My daddy took mine. Momma let him.”

Did she want to talk? To me? Why?

“He never let me go nowhere. I was his little girl, his precious baby, and I liked it at first. He showed me off everywhere we went. I always had nice things although we weren’t rich.”

TL eased backward and sat in the chair opposite her. She shifted slightly to face him.

“When I got to be a teenager and wanted to go out wit’ other kids, he wouldn’t let me. Said I was better than them. ‘Decent girls don’t run the roads at night,’ he said. Momma didn’t say anything. That’s why I was mad at her. She coulda helped me, but she didn’t. So I sat ’round on nights like this, listenin’ to Daddy read the Bible, when all my friends was out havin’ fun. That’s why I can’t stand the Bible now!

“Then he died. Nobody knew why. Just up and died one day. As much as I had wanted to get away from him, I felt lost without him. That’s the way life works, son. You end up lovin’ the thing or the person you was determined to hate. It’s almost like hate and love is the same thing, you know? Both of ’em have the same result.”

She’d never called him son before. He’d always been boy or child, but never son.

“So the day we buried Daddy, Momma told me I needed a husband. I wunnit but sixteen. She said I needed to find somebody who would take care o’ me and my children. I told her I didn’t have no children, but she assured me I would. Guess she was right, huh?”

TL nodded.

“I asked her if we was s’pose to be in love, me and this husband o’ mine, and she said that would be good, but it wasn’t necessary. ‘Love don’t make no marriage, girl. Respect is what you better be lookin’ for. Any man what respect you will be easy to love.’ I disagreed with her, and set out to prove her wrong. When yo’ daddy winked at me one day after school, I thought this was my chance. He obviously loved me, I thought, and that made me love him. We started courtin’ and carryin’ on, and I got pregnant.”

She paused for TL’s reaction, but he didn’t give one.

“We got married a month after we finished school. It was all right at first. We was in love—at least I was. After the weddin’, yo’ daddy disappeared and I didn’t see him ’til later that night. I asked him where he went, and he said to celebrate with some of his friends. I told him we was s’pose to be together on our weddin’ night, and he said we’d have a lifetime to be together, so what was the rush. I refused to tell Momma she’d been right. I stopped questionin’ yo’ daddy and let him do whatever he wanted. I learned to do the same. That’s how we got along all these years. It ain’t been so bad, I guess. We done had some good times. Only bad thing about it is we don’t know each other. It’s a shame to live wit’ somebody thirty or forty years and never know ’em, ain’t it?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“That’s how most folks’ marriage works. They just stop expectin’ what they once dreamed of. They figure they’re better off wit’ somebody than wit’ nobody, and it usually takes ’em a lifetime to see that, even wit’ somebody, they still ain’t got nobody. That’s why I say don’t never give yo’ life away, son.”

There was that word again.

“You’ll never have nobody to blame but yo’self. You can give everything you have, out of the goodness of yo’ heart, and, if you ever expect something in return, folks’ll turn ’round and tell you they didn’t ask you for nothin’ you did. They’ll tell you you did it ’cause you wanted to. Ain’t that somethin’? Who in the hell thinks people do anythin’ just because they want to? I don’t care what nobody say—any time we good to others it’s ’cause we hopin’ they gon’ be good to us. I lied to myself for the first ten years of my marriage. I told myself I was cookin’ and cleanin’ and havin’ babies ’cause I wanted to, when the truth was that I was hopin’ yo’ daddy was gon’ love me for it. Well, he didn’t. That was my fault ’cause he never said he would. So I had to decide if I could live wit’ the life I had created. And I decided I could, although it wasn’t my life. I guess I ain’t gon’ never have my own life, but if I could do it all over again, I can’t promise you I’d have this one. In fact, I can pretty much promise you I wouldn’t.”

TL couldn’t think of anything to say. He tried to look into her eyes, but, in the dark, all he could see was a silhouette of her face. She reached her right hand toward him and he took it, reluctantly. It felt warm and soft and inviting. Then she extended her left and totally enclosed his right, and TL wondered who this woman was.

“Make sure you have the life you want, you hear me? You ain’t gon’ have but one, and even then it ain’t gon’ be perfect, but at least it’ll be yours, and you can change it whenever you get ready. Folks been runnin’ my life since I was a little girl, and now I ain’t got no life. Everybody think bein’ a daddy’s girl is cute, but I’m here to tell you it kills you in the end ’cause when you wanna start thinkin’ for yo’self, you don’t know how. So you find another man to finish what yo’ daddy started, and at some point you start lookin’ for yo’self, I mean yo’ real self, and you realize you wouldn’t recognize it if you saw it. I guess it can happen to men, too, but it usually don’t. Men are expected to tell everybody else to go to hell. Women are expected to go to hell for everybody else. That’s just the way it is. But just in case, I’m tellin’ you what to do. You smart. People like you. I’m smart, too, but people don’t like me. I don’t have the personality. Never did.” Her fingers massaged TL’s hand sensually. “But you do. So keep yo’ life, son. That’s all I’m sayin’. You ain’t gon’ get but one.”

She dropped his hand, as if it stung her suddenly, then reclined, sign that she’d said what she’d wanted to say. TL stood and went to his room. He didn’t know how much longer she sat there, maybe minutes or until morning, but by sunrise she’d returned to her old self. He’d expected her to be much kinder, after such a vulnerable moment, but she acted as if the conversation never occurred. Maybe, somewhere in the night, she’d regretted having shared her heart, and now she was committed to erasing the memory. So TL forgot it, too. Until now. Standing in the midst of Ms. Swinton’s house, he recalled that the mother he’d had hadn’t been as awful as he’d once thought.

In the bedroom, where Ms. Swinton once lay, TL reclined across the bed. David had said he couldn’t sleep there. The last thing he wanted was to see his mother’s spirit. TL didn’t believe in spirits, and even if he did, he didn’t believe they were bad, so what was there to fear? David agreed, but slept in the guest room.

TL got up and retrieved from his bag the last of Ms. Swinton’s journals. Since he wasn’t sleepy, he decided to read for a while.

Children never understand. How can they? By the time they grow up, the world’s a different place. Circumstances shift, people change, contexts become unexplainable. What once made perfect sense can easily leave one looking like a fool years later. That’s how I’ll look to TL. Like a fool. How could it be otherwise?

I’m tired of trying to change the past. I did what I thought was right—after I did what I knew was wrong. If someone finds these words, I hope they understand. If that someone is you, TL, if for whatever reason you become the keeper of my secrets, read everything before you judge me. I couldn’t possibly have loved you more. That won’t be hard to believe. I didn’t hide my affection very well. Half the time I didn’t even try although I should’ve. Others noticed, especially the children, and that wasn’t fair. But I was far less invested in their opinions than I was in nurturing the gifts in you. You were mine. I owed you something. I owed you everything. I pray I gave it to you. If I didn’t, Lord knows I tried.

Who am I fooling? This won’t make sense years from now. You can never give children your heart, and that’s the only way they’d understanding everything—if they could look into your heart and see why you did what you did. Since that can’t happen, all you can do is hope they have a child one day in the midst of their own imperfections. Then they’ll know.

TL thought of David. He needed to read this, too.

If God hears my prayers and, TL, if you read this one day, I want you to do me a huge favor. Please.

He paused. Whatever it was, he knew it wouldn’t be easy. Somehow he also knew he had no choice.

Tell your mother I’m sorry. I know I should’ve told her myself, but that wasn’t part of the plan. Your father said she didn’t want to talk about it. Ever. To anyone. So I honored that. But, still, I should’ve said something. I was too ashamed, I guess. Or too selfish. But I really meant to do it. Every time I started toward your house, I collapsed with guilt and returned home. I wasn’t half the woman people thought I was. Maybe the apology will help. Somehow. I hope she lives long enough to hear you say this for me. She’s been waiting a lifetime. We’re funny like that, women are. We wait all our lives for people to say what we always knew. You’ll understand one day when you get a woman of your own. For now, just tell Marion I’m sorry. And thank her for having done half my job.

Closing the journal, TL turned over and stared at the ceiling. Yes, you should’ve apologized. That would’ve been the right thing to do. In order to believe that though, he had to relinquish his image of a perfect, polished Ms. Swinton, and he didn’t want to do that. She’d always been divine to him, even after he learned the truth. Everyone messes up once, right? But now, in her own words, she admitted that she’d been a failure, a coward, a woman he might not’ve been proud of had he known the truth. And he didn’t want this Ms. Swinton. He wanted the one he had, the one who read with him after school and told him God smiled when He looked at him. The one whom everybody in the community praised. The one who’d lived as close to Christ as anybody he knew. But that Ms. Swinton was dead, and so now was his perfect image of her.

It didn’t really matter anymore, he told himself. He was an adult who was supposed to be able to deal with the truth. The real truth, the absolute truth. He just didn’t know that the truth could be so ugly. And intrusive. This was the lesson Daddy had been trying to teach him. That everyone’s truth is ugly. “No pedestals for nobody,” Daddy used to say. Now TL understood why.

But Ms. Swinton’s request wasn’t about him or his truth. It was about the people who preceded him and the circumstances that had created their truths. He was simply being used to mediate the collision. Just my damn luck! If this was what Ms. Swinton meant by “saving your people,”then I don’t want the job.

Turning over again, TL sighed and continued reading:

She knew. Women always know. Cleatis found every excuse to come by here, and I never sent him away. Marion and I were always cordial, even after things got exposed. Occasionally, I’d catch her staring at me or through me and I’d look away, wondering just how much she knew, but she never confronted me. She might’ve done me a favor, now that I think about it. I would’ve lost everything had she said anything, so the truth is that Marion was a far greater woman than I was. I never knew her personally, but I know enough to say she isn’t crazy. Or selfish. She might be aloof and haughty, but there’s another woman deep inside—a woman who had the power to destroy me, but chose not to.

I thought I’d have to leave when I got pregnant, but I didn’t. All the superintendent asked was whether I was married, and since I was, he told me I could stay. He couldn’t promise people wouldn’t talk about me, but that was something I would have to endure.

When I first realized my condition, I left and told my husband the truth. He was disappointed, he said, not that I was pregnant, but that it wasn’t his. I told him I wasn’t in love with him and he said he knew, but still he had his own private hopes. David, my sweet boy, looked forward to a brother—he prophesied it’d be a boy—with hopes of having someone to play with. I knew they’d never play together, but the gleam in David’s eyes kept me from telling him the truth. He’d know soon enough.

Once I returned and began to show, people must’ve concluded I’d gotten pregnant in Detroit. No one asked anything. No one. They just smiled and glared at my ballooning belly like one stares at a facial abnormality. Of course I didn’t volunteer any explanation, so for the last three months of TL’s in utero life, I smiled along as Swamp Creek residents ignored the obvious. I wasn’t fooled. If there’s one thing I know about country folks, it’s this: They might not say a word, but they know. Their highest virtue is discretion. They hate nothing more than someone who talks too much about the wrong thing or doesn’t know HOW to talk about the right thing. They’re indirect, so they could be talking about you to you and you’d never know. If you accused them of doing so, they’d never admit it. But they might say, “A hit dog sho’ will holla.” I never thought for a second that people didn’t know. I just didn’t know how much they knew.

Thank God I delivered over the winter break. The midwife came quickly, much to my surprise. I definitely needed her. She didn’t ask anything. Just coached me through it, and after the baby came, she cleaned it up, smiled kindly, and left. Cleatis showed up a half hour later. I guessed she told him. Tears came when he looked into the baby’s eyes. All he said was “Wow.” I remember smiling and thinking we had created something beautiful. Then I thought about Marion and told him we had to tell her. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair. He told me to let him handle her, so I did. That’s when he said he should be the one to raise the boy. It was a boy after all, he emphasized, one who needed to know how to be a man one day, and what did I know about being a man? Plus, he looked too much like Cleatis for anyone to deny it, so the decision was made. “Keepin’ him would ruin you,” Cleatis said. “And too many children need you. He’ll be right here. Teach him whatever you need to.” So that’s what I did.

I don’t know where he is now. Probably reading a book or arguing with someone about something. That boy was always questioning things! He said that, one day, he was going to call all the citizens of the world together and create one religion. I laughed, but he was serious. He said Jesus, Gandhi, and Muhammad would’ve been friends had they known each other. “They all taught the same thing!” he declared, sounding like a preacher. So if their followers would just come together, they’d probably discover a new spirituality—or at least throw their old concepts away—and realize that there was only one thing to do to be holy—love. I frowned at this twelve-year-old boy, birthing a theology out of the bowels of his belly. I knew then that he’d never be satisfied until he shifted the course of thinking in the world. I hope he’s doing it now. I hope others are listening.…

The only thing that could destroy TL is his preoccupation with others’ opinions of him. He always cared too much about that. I used to see how his spirit diminished when other children teased him or tried to make him fight. I could’ve helped him, but I wanted him to learn to stand up for himself. He didn’t seek refuge in my authority anyway, not like other children; instead, he recoiled within himself as if bearing self-induced pain. He would have to be tougher to survive. I knew that much. His father’s discipline seemed to have done the trick. TL thinks Cleatis is mean and cold, and I guess to a fragile, sensitive son he is, but Cleatis loves that boy. It’s a shame he won’t tell TL or show him, but I don’t interfere. What could I say about doing something the right way?

I remember the day TL changed. Children were playing football in the field beside the school and one of the bigger boys ran into TL intentionally. I thought he’d probably quit the game and sulk, but suddenly he balled his fist and smashed it into the other boy’s mouth. The children screamed as the two went at it. Normally, I would’ve stopped it immediately, but this time I waited to see what TL would do. The other boy’s lip was bleeding pretty badly, but that didn’t hinder his strength. He punched TL’s right shoulder so hard I flinched. TL trembled but he didn’t fall. They traded punches for the next few minutes until both of their faces were streaked with blood. That’s when I went outside and made them stop. For the rest of the day, children bragged about TL having beaten Henry Joe, acting out the motions as if the two had been in a boxing ring. They were proud and surprised, I think. They didn’t expect TL to do anything. Neither did I. But I guess there’s a point in every young man’s life when he decides whether to live or die, and TL must’ve been tired of dying.

He and Henry Joe were friends after that, so I stopped worrying about him. He hated fighting, but he could do it if he had to, and that’s all I needed to know. His anger with his father was probably the adrenaline he needed to wrestle the world. He surely never knew that Cleatis sparked it intentionally.

“Yeah, right!” TL murmured, refusing to believe that Daddy was smarter than he’d presumed. A month before the incident, Daddy had brought home a set of boxing gloves one evening and tossed them at TL as he walked through the door.

“Put ’em on,” he said casually, “and meet me in the barn in five minutes.” He turned and exited.

“What?” TL said, but Daddy didn’t repeat himself. Momma warned him not to underestimate his father’s strength. Her admonition frightened him, but he tried not to show it. Willie James relayed the details later. He said that when TL entered the barn, Daddy was already gloved and dancing like Muhammad Ali. TL looked around, confused.

“You ready?” Daddy said, shuffling toward him.

“For what?”

The punch came so quickly TL didn’t see it, but he certainly felt it. He stumbled to the ground.

“Aw shit, boy! Get some balls!” Daddy lumbered back a bit.

TL rose slowly, wondering what had gotten into this crazy man. He didn’t want to fight him, but he appeared to have no choice.

“We jus’ havin’ a lil’ fun. Don’t take it so seriously. I jus’ wanna see what you got. If you got anything at all.”

His sarcasm unleashed TL’s adrenaline. I’m not some weak, puny country boy, he wanted to say, who doesn’t know how to defend himself. True enough, TL had never fought anyone, except Henry Joe, and that wasn’t a real fight, but he wasn’t about to let Daddy punk him.

“That’s right! Get mad! Come on wit’ it, boy!”

As Daddy teased, TL’s fuse flamed. With newfound strength and confidence, he joined in the dance. Daddy’s gratification increased. TL’s aim was to get close enough to deliver one blow. Of course he couldn’t beat Daddy—old man strength is real!—but he intended to make Daddy know he wasn’t weak. He’d waited a lifetime for the opportunity, and damn if he wasn’t going to take it.

TL could imagine his glove slamming into Daddy’s wide, flat African nose, releasing a river of blood about which he wouldn’t feel badly. After all, Daddy’d brought this on himself. Why did he want to box anyway? What was he trying to prove?

Dancing in closer, TL studied Daddy’s eyes as his laughter multiplied. This is nothing more than a joke to him, a way to humiliate me! If it was the last thing he did that day, TL intended to make Daddy regret having used him for his own personal pleasure.

Daddy swung a left hook, which would’ve leveled TL, except that he dodged it quickly. Obviously surprised at the boy’s agility, Daddy’s laughter calmed to a pensive chuckle. TL watched the old man’s movements, his rhythm, his timing. He was far more supple than TL would’ve guessed for a man his age, but even with that, TL continued plotting how he’d take him down. Or at least wound him.

Wham!

TL’s left shoulder trembled from the blow, but he shook it off. Daddy winked. TL smiled patronizingly. Willie James chewed his bottom lip, hoping TL would knock Daddy out. The desire glistened in Willie James’s eyes. He knew TL couldn’t do it, but he urged TL on until the younger brother bore the weight of every son’s subconscious desire to kick his father’s ass. Just once. If nothing else, TL had to show the man he wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

TL shuffled cautiously to keep from falling. That would’ve been his luck—to trip and crumble to the floor, inviting a lifetime of ridicule from which he’d never recover. Together, they danced a hypnotic dance, moving from side to side and jabbing the air with gloved fists in preparation for someone’s knockout. Daddy moved in closer.

“TL! Watch out!” Willie James cried.

A sudden move to the right saved his left eye. The rush of air following Daddy’s failed punch convinced TL that this was no game. The old man had swung to kill.

TL had no choice now. He had to hurt Daddy. Either that, or Daddy was going to hurt him.

Cloaked in a royal-blue, long-sleeved shirt, with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and worn, bleached blue jeans stained with grease, Daddy actually looked ten years younger than usual. It was amazing, TL noted, how he danced so easily in those heavy, steel-toed brogans. Actually, TL had clearly underestimated the man’s finesse, and the more TL looked at him, the more afraid he became. Confidence and pride seeped from Daddy’s pores, while TL exhibited nothing but nerves and fragility. Daddy was sure he’d win; he just didn’t know how long TL would last. TL didn’t know, either. If only he could get close enough to deliver one good punch, he’d quit, he told himself. Yet, from the looks of things, Daddy wasn’t going to allow that. If TL hit him, it would result solely from his own cunning and stealth. Something unexpected needed to happen. Something Daddy couldn’t foresee.

Willie James coaxed TL along. Whenever he moved, his big brother was behind him, whispering instructions only TL could hear. Daddy glanced at Willie James occasionally and shook his head. Why hadn’t he given Willie James the gloves? TL asked himself. He was the oldest! The fight would’ve made more sense. Willie James was almost Daddy’s size, and everyone knew he was strong as an ox. He might not have beaten Daddy, but his chances would’ve been far greater than TL’s. TL was half Willie James’s size, and two inches shorter, so he couldn’t understand what achievement it would be for Daddy to level him.

“Hit him on the left, TL. That’s his weak side.”

TL had forgotten. Years ago, Daddy had broken his arm when the old tractor turned over on him. The wheels had locked and, trying to brace his fall, he splintered his left arm. It healed, but he couldn’t lift it quite as high as the other. Most people never noticed.

If he’d had the time, he would’ve exchanged his tight overalls for something looser and more comfortable. The close fit worked for revealing an amazing physique, but now the snug denim clung to him like the Shroud of Turin, restricting his movements. As he danced, the overalls seemed to tighten until, like the Incredible Hulk, he wanted to scream and break free. But he couldn’t worry about that now. He had to concentrate on getting his glove to Daddy’s face.

The old man rushed in again, and TL retreated.

“Don’t let him intimidate you, man,” Willie James murmured. “Make your move this time. It might be the last chance you get.”

Hungry for a victory, Daddy gazed at TL and plotted his strategy. He shuffled closer, then closer still, and TL knew something was about to happen. He stopped retreating and stood his ground. If he backed away any farther, he’d look like a coward; if he charged forward, he’d be a fool. So he trembled in place, dancing the dance of terror. Daddy perceived his angst and swung a right jab. Like before, TL barely dodged it, but this time, his glove, like a heavy field plow, burrowed into Daddy’s left shoulder. He hadn’t meant to hit him there. He’d aimed for Daddy’s cheek but his reach fell short. He didn’t care. He’d hit him and that had been the point. Daddy closed his eyes momentarily, wincing with pain.

“Knock him out, man! Do it now!”

TL threw a hard right into Daddy’s nose, and sent him stumbling backward. Blood trickled down his top lip. Suddenly TL felt ashamed.

“Yes!” Willie James shouted.

Daddy wiped blood on his sleeve, nodded affirmingly, and resumed the dance. TL had hoped they could quit now, but apparently not. Daddy shook his left arm as if it were asleep, then said, “Good. Good.” TL didn’t know what “good” meant, but he knew it wasn’t good for him. Daddy’s laughter returned dry and sinister. He eased upon TL and delivered a right hook, which TL thought he had dodged, but when he regained consciousness, he found himself on the barn floor.

“TL! TL!” Willie James shouted, slapping the boy’s face.

The room swirled and swayed. TL felt nauseous.

“You okay, man?”

He blinked, but didn’t speak. Willie James raised him to a full sit-up position. TL looked around. Daddy was gone.

“What happened?” he mumbled.

Willie James chuckled. “What happened? Daddy knocked you out! That’s what happened!”

“And he just walked away?”

“Naw, not at first. He made sure you was breathin’.”

With Willie James rubbing his back, TL recovered. Together, they stood. The room swirled again and TL clutched Willie James’s arm.

“Take it easy, man.”

“I’m all right. I ain’t dead.” He leaned against a pillar in the center of the barn.

“You want some water?”

“Yeah. That’d be good.”

TL’s breathing stabilized as Willie James ran into the house. When he returned, TL gulped and said, “At least he didn’t punk me.”

“Naw, he didn’t punk you. You did way better’n I thought you would.”

They laughed.

Daddy returned, with a look of sincere concern. He’d changed into ragged boots and a T-shirt, and wore an expression far less aggressive than before. As he approached, Willie James retreated like a young lion conceding his kill to the master.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No sir. I’m fine.”

“All right.” Daddy examined TL’s face. “You done good, boy. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

TL wasn’t sure, either, but he had to try. Now, he felt proud.

Daddy turned and filled the cows’ bucket with feed.

“I didn’t mean to hit your bad arm. I was trying to hit—”

“You ain’t got to apologize. You did what you had to.” Lifting the bucket with his right hand, he added, “That’s what a man’s ’posed to do.”

TL brushed his overalls and walked toward the barn door.

“Sometimes a man’ll try you, son, and you gotta be ready. If you ain’t, he’ll kill you. You don’t always get time to prepare. Stay ready and you won’t have to get ready.”

“You’re my father! Why are you trying me?”

“’Cause it’s my job to get you ready. If a man kicks yo’ ass, it’ll be ’cause you won’t fight—not ’cause you can’t.”

Daddy hauled the five-gallon bucket of feed through the barn door and into the field. TL never feared another man.