Forever This Summer Read online

  I took another whiff and tossed my head back. “Smells delicious,” I said. It did. I was hoping that Markie would hear my voice and come and see if it was me. Nothing. So I left Aunt Essie to her stirring and crept around the partition. There, with a gold pair of earphones on, was Markie bobbing to a beat. I hadn’t figured out how I’d ask her about Aunt Vie and tell her about my ideas, but I’d know when the time was right.

  I was pressed against the table for a few seconds before she looked up.

  She uncovered her right ear.

  “You into bounce?”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “That’s a no. You’re either into it, or you’re not.”

  “Guess not, then.”

  “If you stay here for any real time, that’ll change. Town is small but folks love good music.”

  “Let me check it out.”

  “No can do, lil buckaroo. I don’t have the clean versions.”

  “Oh” was all I could manage. Although it was unlikely that Mama would drop from the ceiling and demand to hear what I was listening to, if she did and I was listening to “explicit lyrics,” I was a goner—as in Radio Disney until I was eighteen.

  “Bet my best friend, Nikki, dances to it. She’s fire,” I said.

  “What about you?”

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  “One short arm and two left feet. Nobody is picking me for any dance team anytime soon. But I know kids around here who can outdance anybody you see on TV without even trying hard.”

  The bell in my head was dinging. I tried to calm myself. Markie didn’t even know it but she may have been giving me exactly what I needed.

  “What are you doing?” I changed the subject, so I could think things through.

  “Making grab and gos for the people who don’t have time or that much money to sit down for a full lunch. It’s a day-old fried chicken sandwich, a slice of pound cake, and a cold drink to wash it all down. Costs less than the lunch special.”

  “Sweeting’s Extra Value Meal,” I said.

  She pointed her index finger at me and clicked her tongue. “There you go.” Markie whipped open another brown paper bag and it filled with air. When it stood on its own, she plopped everything in the center of it. To form a crease in the top to close, she pressed it against her hip and flattened it. It was about her twentieth impressive maneuver.

  “It’s cool, the way you do that,” I said.

  “Do what?”

  “Open and fold that bag. Easy, like you buttered your biscuit when we first met.”

  She tilted her head as if that would turn me sideways. “What world do you live in that those things are cool? Just say what you really mean: It’s cool that I can do it with one hand… Well?”

  “It’s cool that you can do those things with one hand.”

  “Was that so hard? I’m a regular kid with a jacked-up arm. That’s it. I make the best of it. Someone told me once that everybody got lots of obstacles they face every day that make life a little harder. One of mine is visible. That’s it.”

  “Someone like my aunt Vie,” I said.

  She nodded and said, “Yes, Aunt Vie.”

  “You’re close to her, aren’t you?” I blurted out.

  “Yeah,” she said. And secured a grab and go.

  “Why haven’t you asked about her? Come to see her?”

  “My bad.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “Means ‘my fault.’”

  “I’m talking about what does it mean about Aunt Vie,” I explained. “I thought she was remembering me today. But it was you.”

  “Really?” She sounded like a kid for the first time. Then I guess she thought about my feelings and said, “Oh, sorry. She’ll remember you soon.”

  I stepped closer and lowered my voice. “Something bad happened.”

  That made her stop working and face me. “What?”

  “She… she slapped my mom.” I remembered my wish earlier not to forget anything. I hadn’t thought about bad memories.

  “Dang. I’m sorry that happened, but don’t say it was her. That was the opposite of her,” Markie said.

  When Markie said “opposite” I thought about my parents’ divorce. It stole our family from us, but then returned it in a new way. A way we had to learn to love. Maybe Aunt Vie’s sickness would do the same thing. I just didn’t yet know how.

  “While I’m in Bogalusa, I want to do something to help her and other people with Alzheimer’s,” I said.

  “Like what?”

  This was my chance. A fundraiser was too generic. What could we do to raise money and give the town a chance to join in? My idea had marinated long enough.

  “A talent show,” I said with confidence.

  She nodded. “Sounds cool. I’ll certainly be down to help. You’ve put on one before?”

  “No, but I can’t think of a better reason to learn. I’ll have more to share tomorrow… Oh, one more thing.” She raised her eyebrows and waited. “About when we first met. Guess I sorta acted like a doofus.”

  “You mean the staring.” I nodded. “No sweat. I’m used to it.”

  “Doesn’t make it right,” I said. “Anyway, I’m here to help.”

  “Well, get an apron. They don’t play about aprons and gloves when you’re in the kitchen. Just get one glove. I pulled two out by mistake. So I got an extra. Ba-dum-bum ching,” she said and hit an air cymbal.

  “Ha. Good one.”

  In the far corner there was a coatrack where the aprons hung. I picked up a green one that had a picture of an alligator with a chef’s hat on and shrimp, crab, sausage, and all kinds of seasoning dancing around a pot. How to Make Gumbo, Louisiana Style. I put on the apron and tied it behind me. I said a quick prayer that my day would only continue to get better.

  7

  DRIVING-DRIVING?

  Markie put on a playlist that had the radio version of some of her favorite songs. She dropped the headphones to her neck, so I could listen in as well. Aunt Essie would call, need some grab and go’s, and I’d rush out with neatly folded bags. When I came back after one delivery to the register, Markie had taken off her glove and was on the phone.

  “Okay… okay… I’ll bring something in a few minutes,” Markie said.

  Aunt Essie came through the kitchen to go to the pantry.

  “Ms. Essie,” Markie said, “are you gonna need me much longer? Rosella wants me to bring lunch.”

  Aunt Essie glanced at the joker-faced clock in the kitchen.

  “If you and Georgie could make about five more that should hold us.”

  “Georgie, you can leave when Markie Jean does. Probably won’t pick up again until around three or four.”

  “Can I stay? You can show me how to do something else.”

  “Like how to play a mean game of Scrabble,” she said and laughed. “This is summer! Your grandma and I want you to enjoy some of it. Vie would, too.” Aunt Essie sighed. “It’s so hard trying to figure out how she’d want me to do some things, you know. But kids being kids, I know she’d want that. Markie Jean, Georgie can come with you, yeah?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Markie said, not making eye contact. Scared either of them would change their minds, I rushed to get more bread for the chicken sandwiches. When I returned from the pantry, Markie was zipping up her backpack. I noticed that two of the grab and go’s were gone. Since I didn’t know whether Aunt Essie took them or Markie, I didn’t say a word.

  Markie hadn’t said much since her call. Once we were outside, we headed back toward Aunt Vie’s. Right before we got to that daycare, Boga-Littles, at the intersection of Fifth and Columbia, she hooked a left. And I mean hooked. Markie turned the corner like she wanted to punch a tree trunk.

  “I can go back if you want,” I said.

  “It’s not that,” she said. “Not this time, anyway.”

  About five minutes later, we were at a corner store with Need It. Got It hand-painted on a slab of wood.
r />   Three guys stood next to a green-and-gold car that twinkled in the sun. Another guy wearing a Southern University T-shirt straddled a bright red sports bike. They all had huge cups filled with what looked like slushies. Before Markie went in, she turned to me and said, “Hey, you need to wait here.”

  She stuck her hand in front of me like a stop sign. If she was that serious about it, I wouldn’t try to go anyway. “Be out in a sec. And those guys are cool. One is the owner’s son.” I couldn’t say I wasn’t a little nervous. I stepped back some and held on tighter to my purse. But then that made me feel horrible, like I was doing it because I thought they’d steal it. But I just needed something to do with my hands. I folded my arms and rocked to a beat that wasn’t familiar.

  “You’re new around here, Lil’ bit,” the one with the Southern T-shirt said.

  “Yes, I’m from Atlanta, Georgia,” I said.

  Two of them laughed. I knew I sounded silly saying the city and state.

  He nodded. “Moms graduated from Morris Brown. Welcome to Boga,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said, though I’d never heard anyone shorten it like that before. I guess whenever someone likes something, they give it a nickname. That’s as far as the conversation with me went, and the guys were back to joking around while the sports bike’s engine revved.

  Before I could even decide on a stance that didn’t make me look like such an oddball, Markie was out of the store. I unglued myself from the concrete and got in step with her as she nodded a goodbye to the guys. Two long subs stuck out of one bag, and she had a tiny black bag that was tied in a knot.

  “Be easy, shorties,” one said.

  “All right, y’all, too,” Markie said while I gave a tambourine wave. “Listen up. We’re going to where I stay. Rosella doesn’t welcome company, so just wait in the yard.”

  “No problem.”

  On East Fourth Street, we passed two places that had pool tables I could see through the open doors. The second one, Al’s BBQ Pit, had two barrel-shaped barbeque grills side by side in the front of the restaurant. The smoke coming from it was as thick as the paper mill, but the smell made my stomach grumble.

  When we turned onto Martin Luther King Jr. Drive, about two blocks from Al’s, clotheslines appeared, looking like mini telephone poles. Some had no wires. Others had wires with shirts and pants hanging from them. The house Markie went toward sat on cinder blocks and leaned to the left. The screen was new but torn like it had been slashed. Its color was canary yellow and various shades of dirt. A Big Wheel was upside down against the house, and alongside it was a purple tricycle with plastic fringe dangling from the ends of the handlebars. There were curtains in the downstairs windows, but upstairs, sheets hung as Woody and Buzz Lightyear watched over us.

  She huffed. “Be right out.”

  I stood at the edge of the patch of grass in front of the house. I wanted to give Markie all the privacy I could. I was sure that guardians weren’t different from parents when it comes to embarrassing kids.

  Markie knocked, then turned the knob. Soon as the door opened, a baby wailed.

  “What took you—” was all I heard before the door slammed.

  I didn’t know how long Markie would be, so I called Nikki: voicemail. Before I tried Tangie, the door opened and closed and Markie said, “Let’s go.”

  As we stomped down the street, she kicked a weed sprouting up through the concrete. In a vacant lot two blocks away, boys were zooming around on four-wheeled dirt bikes.

  “Wish I could still drive. All this walking is for the birds,” she said and tugged at her headphones.

  “You mean you were driving-driving? Or just doing parking lot stuff?”

  “Parking lot stuff? Like when your daddy lets you pretend to drive while he is in the next seat steering for you?”

  “No,” I snapped, though that was exactly what happened to me.

  “Look around, it’s not like I was on the autobahn, but I handled these roads pretty well.”

  I made a mental note to look that up. She said it with such ease, it seemed like something I should know. “And you could drive with one arm,” I said.

  Markie steered an imaginary wheel with her palm open like Daddy does. Mama was always at ten and two like on a clock.

  “I whipped it like you wouldn’t believe.”

  Even with the temperature feeling like it was ninety-five, I got a chill just thinking about her driving. “That must have been cool.”

  A puny German shepherd walked next to Markie, and she rubbed its head. After she stopped and opened her backpack, she dug around and pulled out a foiled-wrapped piece of chicken. She unwrapped it and tossed it to him.

  Seconds later she’d zipped up her backpack, and we were on our way again. The dog trailed as Markie cut down a narrow street with box-shaped houses with no porch or gates. One house had about five bikes lined up out front, all leaning on their kickstands.

  “You girls need a bike, now?” a man said. His accent was the first Jamaican one I’d heard in Bogalusa. He sat on a butterfly-shaped folding chair. “Gotta be tired of footin’ it in this heat. This heat made for riding. Thirty-five dollars, nearly new. Two for sixty-five.” The skin of the apple the man was peeling spiraled down. His red, green, black, and gold knit cap held what I imagined to be a mountain of hair.

  “We good,” Markie said.

  “These beauties might not be here when your mind change, now.”

  We walked for a few seconds, then Markie backtracked and stood in front of the bikes. Only when she stopped did he stand and slink toward us. His beard was tangled but it glistened.

  “This one best for you. Easy steering, new chain.”

  “Twenty,” Markie said.

  “Put too much work in for that. Let it go for, say, thirty. I see the lion in you. Thirty just for you.”

  Markie opened her backpack and took out a coin purse. It was crocheted around the top and the rest was shimmering emerald beads. She clicked the metal fasteners and pulled out her roll of money.

  “Where did you get that coin purse?” I demanded.

  “It was a gift,” she said.

  I bit my tongue. There was a feeling raging in my stomach that I fought back. It looked like the one Grandma Sugar had, but I wasn’t sure.

  “Twenty-five. That’s all I got,” Markie said to the man. “Had to return beaucoup bottles to earn half of that, rest is tips.”

  He thought for a second. “You’re not pulling my leg, now.”

  “No, this is it.”

  He lightly tapped the kickstand with his sandal and rolled the bike toward Markie. I followed the coin purse as she eased it into her backpack.

  She handed him the money. “Thank you,” she said.

  He nodded and went back to his apple and his butterfly chair.

  Markie held the handlebar and I helped with my hand on the seat.

  “Probably going to have to practice getting my balance before I can ride it. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a bike. But this will come in handy soon.”

  “Maybe Mama will buy me one to keep here, then we can ride together.”

  “Yeah, okay,” she said like riding with me or with anyone was the furthest thing from her mind.

  I took my hand off the seat for a second and wiped it across my shorts. “Was that coin purse Aunt Vie’s?”

  “Was. She gave it to me.”

  I waited until a car whose muffler was scraping the ground passed us. “You sure?”

  “What does that mean?” Markie didn’t raise her voice or break stride.

  “Grandma Sugar has a similar one. They both collected coin purses.”

  “Aunt Vie loved thrift stores, especially in New Orleans. I get a knot in my stomach when I think about her. So I try not to. Maybe that’s not right. But it’s sorta all I can do right now. I have other things I need to deal with.”

  “Like what? Every time I ask you about you, I get nothing.”

  “Sometimes I do
n’t feel like talking about anything. You learn that when you realize that some people don’t really listen. It was never that way around Aunt Vie, though. But then things started to change.” She steered the bike straight ahead, her eyes fixed.

  “When I’m going through a rough time, talking to my best friend helps or even my stepsister. Sometimes, you might not believe this, but talking to my baby sister even helps.”

  “Is that your way of saying you want me to talk to you?”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, I guess that was my long way of saying that.”

  “I’ve been thinking about a lot of things lately,” she said and glanced at me. “Nothing I really need to talk about but do. I could use your help.”

  Honestly, I didn’t think I was getting through to her. I was pretty much up to help her any way I could. Selling peanuts, working closer with her at the diner, maybe even helping her run errands for Rosella.

  “Sure. Shoot,” I said.

  “You don’t even know what it is.”

  Soon as she said that, I bit my lip and hoped I hadn’t done what Grandma Sugar says you should never do: “let your mouth write a check your actions can’t cash.”

  Last time she said it, I told her that one of our teachers said that checks were just about obsolete, everybody was using plastic or a smartphone. She said that may be true, but getting in over your head wasn’t going nowhere, no time soon.

  I doubled down. “Don’t get quiet now. What can I help you do?”

  “Find my mama,” she said.

  I stopped walking and she whizzed on by me like she hadn’t said a word.

  8

  POLYTETRAFLUOROETHYLENE

  After Markie knocked me out with “find my mama,” she disappeared for two days straight. I felt guilty for hammering her about not visiting Aunt Vie, then dropping my plans for the talent show on her like she didn’t have enough to deal with.

  “When is Markie coming back?” I asked Grandma Sugar.

  “Since she just works for tips, she doesn’t have a set schedule. I’m sure she’ll show up soon.”