25
Check Mate

Sunlight through the floor-to-ceiling window greeted me when I was awakened earlier than anticipated. The sound of Dad’s truck pulling up outside the house prompted the move to consciousness. That’s when I felt something heavy on my chest and remembered what had transpired last night.

“Oh shit!” I exclaimed.

Tammy was startled awake. “What’s ailing ya, Will?”

I unknowingly directed, “My folks just pulled up outside! You’ve gotta get out of here!”

With a look that came from somewhere beyond confusion, “Where’s I’m gone go to?” Tammy asked.

I nervously began explaining, “Look, if my parents find you in my room…”

“But this room mine’s too,” she said.

Gathering my senses, I corrected, then instructed in a panic, “Okay, hurry, get off my bed. Quick; back to yours!”

Tammy stood up but remembered how we’d left the bathroom and started toward the door, “I’s gotta gits our stuff!” she said.

My knees nearly buckled, “You might want to put on some clothes your damn self before going out there!”

She stopped to look down at her naked body as if it wasn’t a part of her, “Oh shit…what is ya done did, Willie?”

“Why does everything always have to be about what I did? I think we both had a hand in the events of last night,” I defended. “Here, get into your bed…under the covers. I’ll take care of getting our things from the bathroom and draining the tub.”

“Hur’y,” she ordered. “They’s git’n outta the truck!”

I dashed across the hall and quickly gathered our clothes from the floor when I heard the front door open.

Mom’s voice sounded as she entered the house, “I gess dem chillins is still sleepin.”

The disdain echoed in dad’s, “Hmmph, ‘an dis time o’ da day.”

“Well, Ed, seben-thirty ain’t all that late no more. Dey’s still plenty time ta git thangs done ‘fore da day all gone,” Mom offered. “Most da real work finished ‘til next plantin seasin anyhow.”

They passed down the hallway right by the bathroom door with me, like a statue, poised behind it.

Dad was positioned outside our room, “I still ain’t fo sho if I’m lik’n da idea o’ dem two in da same room… Dey ain’t young-ons no mo,” he said. “Why dey gots ta push up da doe?”

Mom planted a seed without knowing how fertile the soil was, “Ed, git on ‘way from dere ‘fore ya wakes dem chillen. I knows dey’s all growed up…but…I figers it can’t be all dat bad if’n da two o’ dem does git t’gether.”

My old man questioned, walking into their room and pushing the door to close it, “What ain’t so bad, Martha?”

I heard Mom as their door swung closed. “We’s, a’ways talkin ‘bout how she need ta finds huself a good man ‘an, well, he ain’t a bad boy. ‘Sides, maybe that be reason ‘nough fo ‘em ta comes home from dat city fo good,” Mom presented.

I heard Dad engage in his protest of the concept, “Dat ain’t no kinda right,” he said. “Dey’s kinfolk.”

Lodging a rare difference of opinion, “Only ‘cause dat’s what dey’s a’ways been told,” Mom said.

My old man didn’t like the idea, “Well, ain’t no time fo dat kinda talk,” he said en route to their bathroom. “I gotta gits some r’lief from dat Mex’can food we ett fo dinner yestiddy night.”

I took advantage of the opportunity to sneak into our room and crawl back into bed; dropping the armload of clothes into the closet.

Tammy mouthed silently, “Did ya gits e’ryth’n up?”

In like fashion, “Yeah….and drained the tub,” I confirmed.

With a serious expression, she asked, “What ‘bout da wrap’er?”

“Wrapper...what wrapper?” I questioned.

She said, in a hushed yell, “Da wrap’er fo that thang!”

I continued the quiet debate, “Tammy, what the hell are you talking about? What wrapper for what thing?”

Tammy let out an exasperating sigh, “Da one fo that thang ya used ta put on yo thang!”

I felt a panicked heart kick at my rib cage trying to jump out a, now, inadequately sized chest, “Oh damn! Where did you leave it?” I asked. “If my old man finds that shit…Damn, I’m screwed!”

Tammy looked at me with the biggest Cheshire cat grin and commented while displaying the wrapper between her fingers, “Sweetie.”

I pretended to yell, “Ooh! That wasn’t funny worth a damn! You know that one’s going to cost you.”

Just then, we heard Mom at the door, “Will…Tammy.”

It gently came open when we both pretended to be asleep. I watched Mom through one squinted eye as she crossed the room to my cousin’s bed, paused, then reached to pull the second blanket up over Tammy’s shoulders.

Mom said while covering her, “Chile gone catch huh death…can’t b’lieve dat gurl sleepin like dat all night…night time git pretty cold in dese parts dis time o’ year,” and exited without another sound.

It was nearly ten-thirty before I meandered into the kitchen for some much needed nourishment but didn’t feel like breakfast and wasn’t sure about lunch. Resolving to pick through the leftovers and see what I could create that might be interesting, I spoke more to myself than anyone. “New York has gotten me spoiled. Definitely no Chinese takeout in these parts,” I whispered.

Mom’s voice summoned me from behind the opened refrigerator door, “Well honey, if’n ya gives me a few, lunch be done in a bit.”

Somewhat startled, I popped my head up like a prairie dog from its burrow, “Ma’am?”

“I’s sayin lunch be done shote-ly,” she repeated.

“That’s okay, Mom,” I explained. “I’m really not all that hungry anyway.”

“I sees,” she sighed. “Den dat ‘splain why ya all up in da ice box in yo bed clothes…’cause ya ain’t hongry?”

“Well, I can eat but I’m just not much in the mood.”

“Now, if’n dat ain’t ‘bout da dangdest thang I done e’er heared. Ya hongry, but ya ain’t in da mood ta eat. What’s dat, some ole city folk foolishness?”

“No ma’am, it’s just that things are usually always moving so fast that you stop to eat when time allows a chance to,” I said.

“Well boy, ya ain’t been gone so long ya done furgits dat ‘round dese parts, we eats when our belly tells us to,” she established.

Tammy’s soprano intruded on my feeble attempt at explanation, “Maybe he gots more’n ‘nough ta eat last night, Aunt Martha.”

“Well, what wuz it ya fixed fo ‘em Tammy dear? I ain’t seent no lefto’ers in da ice box ‘cept da ones dat was ar’eady dere,” Mom questioned.

“Oh, Auntie, I fixed him up someth’n ta eat real special-like.”

Unknowingly, mom asked, “It musta been real good. Will, ya ett e’ery bit?”

My jaw hung like a possum from an old oak tree as I stood with my mind trying to find a way to close all the doors Tammy’s comment could have possibly opened, “Uh…ma’am?”

While making eyes at me, “Yes’um,” Tammy answered. “He say he watn’t hongry none a’tall when he first gits back, but he ett up e’ry bit, even after he ett da chicken ‘n dumpl’ns,” she said.

“Well darlin, ya gonna spit out what ya say’in ‘an tell me what it is ya fixed or y’all jest gone keeps it sec’ret?”

I searched for the words, “It was…uh…”

“Well, it ain’t rea’ly gots no name, Auntie,” Tammy said. “But I can writes down da n’gredients ‘an maybe…”

“You can’t do that!” I yelled.

“Why da heck not?” Mom asked.

“Yeah Will, why da heck not?” Tammy snickered. “Aunt Martha ‘an me be do’n stuff like com’n up wit new ways fo fix’n grub all da time. T’was da one wit da beef ‘an veget’bles, Auntie. I jest added some mo ingred’ents.”

“So Will, how ya liked it?” Mom asked.

I picked up on Tammy’s diversion, “Uh…well, I liked it fine, Mom. I liked it just fine.” I said. “It was exactly the way I prefer it.”

“But I thought ya say ya ne’er had nothin like it ‘fore,” Mom quizzed.

Tammy saved me again, “He mean when I puts in a li’l moe season from when he first taste it.”

“Well Tammy, ya be sho ‘n keeps all ‘em rec’pees t’gedder fo when we d’cides what we’s gone does wit all o’ dem,” Mom directed.

Tammy was talking toward Mom’s back with her at the sink but looking directly at me, “Yes ma’am, it sho be shameful to let someth’n so good get’way, won’t it?” she asked.

Attention was momentarily diverted by the sound of Dad’s truck in the yard.

I started, while moving from the line of Tammy’s seductive gaze, “Speaking of getting away,” I said, “I plan on leaving later this evening.”

Mom responded without looking up from what she was doing, “Will, why ya tellin me dat? Ya knows you ain’t gots ta tells yo bidness…ya comes ‘n goes as ya please. Ya ain’t been a chile since long ‘fore ya left here.”

“No ma’am. I mean, I’ll be leaving for New York,” I clarified.

I heard the knife she was using to cut the chicken fall into the sink. Almost instantly, mom composed herself. “But ya jest gits here two days ‘go Will. Did somethin happen ta make ya not wanna be here wit us?” she asked; her voice full of concern.

Moving around the table closer to where I was standing, “Why ya gots ta be leave’n so soon?” Tammy asked.

I commented with as straight a face as possible, “Well, there are some things I didn’t have a chance to finish before I came down, so I’ve got to get back and take care of them,” I said.

Tammy eased up close to me and whispered, “I done someth’n? Ya wasn’t happy wit me?”

“Yes, of course,” I responded.

Mom spun around from the sink. “Did Ed said somethin ta ya? What fool talk he done spat outta his face now?”

“No, it was no big deal,” I assured.

“It wasn’t?” Tammy snapped.

“But ya jest says it was,” Mom countered.

“Now hold up! I can’t keep up two different conversations with two different people at the same time. The answer to your question, Mom, is no. Dad hasn’t said or done anything I wouldn’t expect him to say or do. And Tammy, the answer to your question is: yes, everything was good.”

“Tammy, ain’t nob’dy complainin ‘bout yo cookin,” Mom defended. “He done say ta ya da food good.”

The look of bewilderment on Tammy’s face told more than Mom needed to know, “What cook’n ya talk’n ‘bout, Aunt Martha?”

Now Mom was confused, “What? Da same thang I figer we’s all talkin ‘bout. Where yo head at, chile?”

I tried to bring things back to order, “Okay, everybody stop! I can explain…”

Coming through the kitchen door, my old man demanded, “Gosh danggit, ya damn well bet’er, mister!”

My mom was in awe, “Ed, what ‘n God’s cre’tion done got inta ya?”

I could feel Dad’s beam searing my skin through the T-shirt I wore, “Now dis ain’t gots noth’n ta concern ya right now Martha. Dat boy knows what I’s talk’n ‘bout.” he said. “Boy, jest what it is ya feel’n a need ta ‘splain?”

“What do you mean?” I questioned.

Dad was noticeably irritated, “What mat’er is what you’s mean’n. What bidness ya gots com’n back hure brang’n troubles wit ya?” he asked.

Mom was shaking like a leaf in a storm, “What troubles Ed?” she asked, and then turned to me, “Will, what troubles ya done gone ‘n gits yo’self in?”

“Well, Mom, that’s what I was tryin to explain,” I began. “The thing I have to go back to New York and take care of…”

My father’s brows nearly met in the middle of his forehead, “Da thang ya gots ta takes care…? How’s ya s’pose ya gone take care o’ be’n wonted fo killin a man?”

Mom wailed, “Oh my Lord! Ed, what nonsense dis ya talkin?” She again turned to face me, “Will, what he talkin ‘bout…killin a man?” And back to my dad. “What foolishness ya sayin Ed?” By now, Mom was hysterical.

“Martha, I’s o’er ta da feed stowe where I tells ya I’s gone be ta pick up dat new futilizer stuff dat ya puts ta da dirt ‘tween plant’n seasins…” Dad started.

Mom’s patience was gone, “Ed, if’n ya don’t git dat thought outta yo head in a hurry, I’s gone goes in dere ‘an gits it out m’self.”

“Any how I’s back o’ da feed when dese two fellas comes in talk’n ‘bout one o’ dem fancy set ups I’s mentien’n ‘bout gitt’n fo da CB rade’o…one o’ dem scan’ers dat lets ya list’n in on what da po-lice be say’n…”

“Ed!” Mom snapped.

My old man detailed, “Well, dey’s in dere talk’n ‘bout some feller by name o’ Willie from ‘round dese parts dat gone up ta New York City ‘an kilt someb’dy ‘an den he come back…dey say dey’s a war’nt out fo his a’rest fo run’n from up dere.”

Tammy stood silent, mouth hanging open, with eyes that shone like two full moons and when I faced her, she simply whimpered, “My Lord!” and fell to the floor like an old wet dishrag.

Immediately, I dashed to where she had fallen but before I could get to her, Dad stepped between us, “I thanks ya done ‘nough.” He bent, gently scooped Tammy into his massive arms, turned, and started toward the couch.

In an effort to explain, “But, Dad,” I started.

Without ever looking back over his shoulder, he muttered, “I’s thank’n ya done plenty ‘nough, Will.”

I turned to my mom, “But, Mom, I didn’t…”

“Martha!” That was enough to silence us both as Dad stood erect, “Boy, I say ya done ‘nough now!”

Mom stood silent with cupped hands, dropped her head, and began walking in the direction of Tammy and Dad. As she passed me, “Jest git Will,” she whispered again, “Jest git.”

The old man’s gaze never left me as I crossed the kitchen and walked within a few feet of where he stood, motionless. Tammy slowly regained her composure as I passed through the den toward what had become our bedroom.

She stretched out her hand, “Will.”

Dad gently pushed Tammy’s arm back, “Gurl.”

The three of them were in virtually the same positions when I returned from the bedroom after gathering the few things I’d brought with me, “I’m gone,” I said to no one in particular, with no response from any of them while I continued toward the screen door.

Mom stood and Tammy sat; both with tears streaming down their cheeks but dared not make a sound in the presence of my dad, who’d morphed into what resembled an evil taskmaster overseeing the duties of two subjects. I stood at the door for a moment and looked at the three of them while imagining myself attempting to offer a suitable explanation. It was then that realization registered; there was nothing I could say that would sound anything close to justifiable; let alone, right. My exit was to the sounds of the two women; one the caretaker and the other, who had become the caregiver, openly displaying displeasure in the moment but wisely maintaining their respective positions. I was down the steps and into the car in what seemed the blink of an eye. Pausing long enough to consult my many traveling partners until the infamous BB King agreed to ride shotgun…and so, we began our journey back to the Apple.