Poetry
I hadn’t written since Lissa died. Not that I hadn’t thought about it. I’d brought my journal with me. I still owed twenty poems to Icky and Marilyn. Luckily, I hadn’t spent the two hundred dollars. But the part of me that wrote poetry had turned into a desert.
“P” is also for painting.
Lissa was a painter, and so was my new cousin Raynor Grimes.
But Ray was also a boy with a horse complex. That’s what Aunt Cleo had said, and that’s sure the way he acted. Every morning I saw him from my window, galloping. What a ham! He circled and pranced, even had the nerve to jump a fence. Then he looked up at me for a minute and darted away, as if he was daring me to come after him. So, I did. The problem was once I crossed the road, I couldn’t find him. I knocked at the door of the mobile home. Lola answered, half asleep. She slept most of the morning, since she worked the night shift.
“Yeah?” She was wearing rollers.
“Is your son around?”
“Do you see him anywhere?”
“No. That’s why I’m asking.”
She stretched her arm across the door, barring my way.
“He isn’t in here, if that’s what you’re wondering. He’s in the root cellar.”
“Where’s that?”
She yawned and shut the door.
I circled the house looking for stairs. A cellar was like a basement. Maybe there was an outside entrance. But I couldn’t find one.
“What’s a root cellar?” I asked Aunt Minnie once I was back in the store.
She had opened a new pack of chewing tobacco and was storing it in a pouch. “A root cellar is just what it sounds like.”
“How does it look?”
“Like a root cellar.”
Aunt Cleo looked up from her sewing. “Come thread me a needle with red thread, Orphea.”
I fished around in her sewing basket and quickly did what she asked.
“You have got the sharpest eye,” she praised me.
“Then how come I can’t find Ray Grimes?”
“Ray? Oh, he’s in the root cellar.”
“But where?”
“You sound frustrated.”
“I am. I see him running in the field, then he just vanishes.”
Aunt Cleo chuckled. “It’s over there behind the house somewhere or another. Probably grown over with trees. It’ll be close to the ground. You’ll find it.”
“Take him a root beer,” Aunt Minnie said. “He’ll guzzle that up.”
I rolled my eyes. Root beer would be the perfect gift for someone who spent all his time in a root cellar. I took the can of soda from the refrigerator case, put on my coat, and crossed back over to the mobile home.
It had been freezing cold since I’d come to Proud Road. My breath froze on my face. Now I was holding an ice-cold soda, to boot. I tromped in the snow to the back of the Grimeses’ house. Ray’s tracks from the morning were everywhere.
I walked behind some trees and spotted a light. It seemed to be coming out of the ground! I followed it to a small window hidden behind a fallen bough. A sort of camouflage affair. The window was part of a small stone building half buried in the earth. No wonder I hadn’t been able to find him. I climbed behind the fallen bough and tried the door. It was locked. But a light was on. So I knew he was in there. I remembered that Lola said he liked candles. Maybe he’d fallen asleep and was about to burn himself up.
“Ray! Are you in there?” I pounded on the door loudly. “Raaay … are you in they-air?” It was embarrassing. I circled round and peeked in the window. He was on the other side of the glass staring at me.
I jumped, almost dropping the root beer. “Brought you something.”
He grinned and disappeared. A second later the door opened up.
I climbed down three small stone steps. Ray grabbed the soda. At first I couldn’t make out what I was seeing, the light inside was so dim. He had a candle perched on a stone in the corner. I squinted, trying to get my eyes adjusted. Then I saw! He was naked except for his underwear! His pale skin was painted all over. He was a walking tattoo.
“What the hell?”
Then I noticed that the walls were painted, too. Not painted a solid color, but painted with pictures. All horses! Phosphorescent horses in yellow, purple, maroon, blue—horses floating and flying and climbing and frothing at the mouth.
“A regular psychedelic rodeo you got here!”
Ray grinned and downed his root beer. “You guessed it.”
“It really is a rodeo?”
He nodded.
“It’s great. You’ve got every wall covered. I’ve never seen a mural this good in my life.”
“That’s what Mama says.”
That’s when I noticed his brushes and pots of paints, scattered every which way.
“Are you some kind of mad genius?”
He looked baffled. “I took off my jeans because it gets hot in here.”
“I didn’t ask about your jeans. I asked if you were a genius.”
“Hell no,” said Ray. “I just got kicked in the head.”
I got down on my knees and peered at the wall. “Mind if I light another candle?”
“I’ll do it,” he said, scrambling to find his pants. He pulled out some matches and lit another stubby candle. He handed me the light. Then he scurried to a corner and climbed into his jeans.
“Don’t let me cramp your style,” I quipped.
“No problem.” When he turned around his face was red, but he didn’t put his shirt on.
“You must have the metabolism of a snake. If you haven’t heard, it’s winter.”
“It’s warm down here, I promise.”
“Kind of like an igloo?”
“I guess.” He motioned to a couple of cushions. “Wanna set down?”
I did. “So, your mother told you who I am?”
“I reckon. Knew you were a Proud by your face.”
I kind of liked that. “I’m Orphea. Thought I’d drop by. Heard you were a painter.”
He tilted the soda can up to his lips. “What else did you hear?”
“That we’re cousins.”
“Yeah. The old ladies told me that Prouds got some Grimes in them. I’m kin to them, too, I expect. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No … how about you?”
“Fine with me. Always wanted more relations. Them rich Grimeses who live down in town don’t want nothing to do with me. I’m glad to have a cousin, hope ’n’ die I am.”
“What’s that? You hope to die?”
“I said hope ’n’ die—it’s just an expression.”
“Oh, I get it—as in ‘cross my heart and hope to die’?”
Ray scratched his head.
“Forget it.” I settled back and looked at the paintings. “I think your horses are incredible! They’re so alive. And they’re really weird! I don’t know why horses aren’t purple for real. I think it’s a good idea. Lissa would like them.”
He tossed his straw-colored head. “They aren’t meant to be like real life. I’m not simple, if that’s what you’re thinking. Who’s Lissa, anyway?”
“My friend.”
He gave me the once-over. “So, how come you’ve been spying on me?”
“Me? What about you? Don’t tell me you weren’t doing all that galloping for my benefit.”
His eyes gleamed. “Oh, galloping is just a habit. I did gallop a little fancier because you were watching.”
He sat down in the middle of the floor. He dipped a paintbrush into maroon paint. I stared at his back. It was decorated all over with a small crescent design.
“Are those tattoos on your back?”
“No, paint. I did it myself with a piece of sponge. Horseshoes.”
“You sponge-painted your back with horseshoe designs?”
“Glued the sponge to a back scratcher. Looked at my back in the mirror while I was painting.”
“You really do have a horse complex.”
“Horseshoes are good luck,” he snapped. “Don’t know what you mean by complex.”
“You got to admit, it’s odd for a person to gallop around every morning and spend the rest of his time painting his back with horseshoes.”
“Odd for a person to spend all her time staring out the window, too.”
“I don’t spend all my time that way,” I protested.
He gave me a look. “You dropped out of school. Mama thinks you’re sad because you’re pregnant.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Well, how come you ran away here, then?”
“My brother kicked me out,” I blurted. “But don’t tell my aunts—it’s a secret. And don’t tell your mother.”
He turned back around and began painting a hoof.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yeah. It’s a secret. I understand. Now I have to paint, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. I’ll just watch.”
I curled up my legs and watched him paint. No wonder he was hot. His arms went fifty miles an hour. He painted over things he’d already done. I heard Lola’s car peel out. Then around four it began to turn dark. Outside the wind was whistling. Ray stopped to light more candles.
“When do you eat supper?” I asked him.
“In a while. Mama leaves something for me on the stove in the house.”
I stood up. “Thanks for letting me stay. I have to go help my aunts.” I opened the small wooden door. “See you out the window.”
“Want to come galloping?”
“I don’t think so. But … can I come back here? I’ll bring you another root beer.”
“How about a cupcake?”
“Are you sure? Those cupcakes at our store are mighty stale.”
“That’s the way I like them.”
“Hey, Ray … you’re funny.”
“Thank ye, thank ye.”
“You’re welcome. Hope ’n’ die.”
I went the next day and the day after that. Watching him paint was like being swallowed by magic. Then one day I brought my journal. Since I was spending so much time there, I figured I might as well do something. But all I did was bite my pencil. Then I began scribbling a word. The same word over and over.
“What are you writing?”
“Somebody’s name.”
“Lissa’s?”
“How did you guess?”
“I don’t know, I just did. If you miss her so much, why don’t you call her?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t, that’s all.” I fumbled through my journal. I’d tucked a picture of her in the back. “Want to see what she looks like?”
He reached for the photo.
“It’s an old one, from ninth grade. But it still looks pretty much like her.”
He studied the picture for quite a while, then gave it back. “She’s pretty.”
“Her eyes are gray. You might not be able to tell from that.”
“My eyes are gray, too.”
I peered at his face. “I hadn’t noticed. So how come you’re not in school?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Have trouble reading.”
“That’s no reason to drop out.”
“You dropped out on account of your math.”
“That’s a lie, huh?”
“Look, there are some things I can’t talk about. Let me ask the questions.”
“Okay.”
“How did you get kicked in the head?”
“That’s easy. A horse did it.”
“So that’s why you paint horses?”
“It’s only one horse I paint, just all in different colors.”
I looked at the mural. “There is something about the eyes that’s the same.”
Ray nodded. “His name is Saint. He’s scared.”
“How come?”
“He knows he’s going to get shot.”
“Mind explaining?”
His fingers dripped green. He wiped them off with a sponge. He covered his legs with a blanket.
“When I was eight years old, I went to a rodeo with Mama and Jerome. I went off by myself to the corrals, while they were winning me a stuffed animal.
“There was a real powerful horse named Saint. He was a star in the rodeo. He was snorting and pawing the ground like crazy. His leg was tethered. So, I hopped in to help him.”
“You hopped into a corral at a rodeo? No wonder you got kicked in the head!”
“Folks were scared of Saint. But for some reason I wasn’t. When I climbed into the corral, he calmed down. He let me on his back. I was going to ride him.”
“Are you telling the truth or is this some kind of tall tale?”
“I was on his back for just a minute. I whispered in his ear. Then I got off his back and kneeled down next to his foot. He got spooked and kicked me. After that, I went to the hospital. I didn’t wake up for a long time.”
“Man, you could have been killed!”
“I was trying to let him go free. Saint was a good horse.”
“Where is he now?”
“People got upset with Saint. They thought he’d set out to kill me. They said he was crazy and good for nothing, so they shot him. And it wasn’t even his fault.”
“It wasn’t yours either, Ray,” I told him. “You were just trying to help. You were a little kid.”
“He was beautiful. That’s what I whispered in his ear. ‘Saint, you are beautiful.’ ”
“Did your brain get hurt?” I asked quietly. “Was there damage?”
“I expect, though I can’t tell the difference. Anyway, Lola says I missed so much school, I’d never catch up in reading. Since I have a talent at painting, I might as well do that.”
“You are very talented. At least I think so.”
“Would Lissa think so?”
“Yes.”
Ray touched the wall with his brush and painted a blue mane.
One evening, Lola caught me out in the yard. “You’re spending a lot of time with my boy.”
“I like his paintings. Anyway, he’s my cousin.”
“Don’t go foolin’ around.”
“With Ray? He’s a kid.”
“So are you, missie.”
I stood taller. “I’m sixteen.”
“And little Ray is mighty cute. I saw you with him through the window. Ray was near naked.”
“He gets hot,” I explained. “I’m not going to tell him how to dress when he paints. Besides, I’m not remotely interested in dating my fourteen-year-old cousin. Another thing—I’m not pregnant. Ray told me that’s what you think.”
“Still waters run deep. Why are you here? It ain’t because of your math.”
“I’m here because my aunts want me here.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it’s something I’d come to believe.
“Sorry to get your back up. I worry ’bout Ray. He needs protecting.”
It was about two weeks later. I finished my chores for the day, scouring out the oven in the kitchen and setting the mousetraps. I grabbed the last of the root beer out of the refrigerator case. When I closed the door to the case, Aunt Cleo’s head popped up. She was over by the cash register, snoozing as usual, wrapped up in her quilt. “Can I help you?”
“It wasn’t a customer, Cleo,” Aunt Minnie said. “Just Orphea running across the road as usual.”
“When is the soda delivery coming?” I asked. “We’re out of root beer.”
Aunt Minnie grunted. “Spring. He’ll drink ginger ale, I reckon. Next time take him one of them.”
The day was overcast but not as cold. I’d been on Proud Road for six weeks. The daylight was lasting longer. Ray and I had fallen into a routine. Every day after chores, I went over. He painted. I sat. The whole idea of writing had gone down the tubes. This particular day when I got there, something unusual occurred. The door to the cellar was padlocked. Whenever Ray locked his root cellar it was always from the inside.
I knocked. “Hey, Ray! It’s me! Are you in there?”
He stepped out from behind a tree. He wasn’t wearing his coat. He did, however, have on his shirt and jeans.
“Good morning. Going for a gallop? Didn’t see you out here earlier.”
There was a glint in his eye. “I was up all night.”
“Painting horses?”
“Not exactly.”
He unlocked the padlock on the cellar door with an old iron key. “Didn’t want to take a chance on you getting here before I woke up.”
He propped open the door with a loose rock. The cellar walls were washed with light. To my right, I saw the usual horses. But directly to my left I saw something that hadn’t been there before. A life-size girl with pale gray eyes, taking up a whole wall! I drew in a breath. Lissa!
“How did you do that, Ray?”
He had gotten her just right!
“You showed me her picture, remember? But then she kind of painted herself.”
“She looks so alive.”
“Glad you like it.”
He’d managed to capture the light in her eyes, her moon-shaped face, her long arms and thick black braid … she was wearing an orange blouse.
“Orange was one of her favorite colors. How did you know?”
“I didn’t. Color just goes good with her hair.”
I felt a stab in my chest. “I miss her, Ray.”
“That’s what you keep saying. Ask her to come for a visit. She can stay with us, if your aunts ain’t got the room. She can sleep in my bed.”
“Thanks, that’s sweet. But there’s a reason she can’t visit. She died.”
He hung his head. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“It’s a secret. Don’t tell my aunts, okay? And don’t tell Lola.”
“If that’s what suits you.”
I sat down in front of the portrait. I couldn’t stop looking at her, even though it hurt.
Ray scooted for the door. “I’m going to my house. I ain’t brushed my teeth.”
“Want to know another secret, Ray?& I loved her.”
“Same way I loved Saint?”
“Sort of …”
The tears I’d saved up since I came to Proud Road began to trickle out.
That night I tossed and turned in the little bed in the loft. Seeing Lissa in the root cellar looking so alive made me remember how happy she made me; and that made me remember that she was gone. I got up and tiptoed downstairs. Aunt Cleo and Aunt Minnie were sound asleep in their room, both of them snoring. The only light came from the glowing embers in the potbellied stove and the half-moon out the window.
I felt my way to Nadine’s room and sat stiffly on the side of her bed. The room smelled like musty lavender. Was that the way she had smelled? I tried to remember. She had smelled like … herself. But what was that? I began to cry again. The memory of her fragrance had disappeared. I peered at the walls covered with pictures of Nadine as a child. Since I’d shied away from coming into her room, I hadn’t yet gotten a good look at them. And now it was too dark to see. But I could feel her all around me.…
She had lived in this place before I existed. She’d gone away and had me. Then she’d left the world. And me.