the hang of things, praise the Lord.”
We had dressed, and I was helping him back to the couch.
“I had somebody on my mind,” I told him. My boldness surprised me. “Somebody who likes me…”
“Well.” He paused, and tilted his head, beaming proudly. “I guess I still got it, huh?” He let out his breath and slapped his hands on his hips.
I sat down on the arm of the couch and stared at him in disbelief. “Uh…no, not you. The pretty girl across the street. The undertaker’s daughter.” I wondered what it would be like to hug her and kiss her the way Mr. Boatwright hugged and kissed me.
“Rhoda?” A sad look appeared on his face. He was clearly disappointed.
“Uh-huh. She’s real nice to me. One time she gave me her French fries at lunch and went and bought me some M&Ms. She said me and her and Pee Wee can study sometime.”
Mr. Boatwright gasped. “What—now why would a gal like that want to hang around with a booger like you? That little heifer think she white anyway!” His comments hurt me severely.
“She’s a nice girl, and I think she likes me,” I told him. “I think she wants to be my friend.” I smiled; he frowned. “My first real girlfriend,” I added, still smiling.
The scowl on his face became so profound, his mouth looked like it had been turned upside down and his eyebrows seemed to protrude. “That whole uppity Nelson family ain’t nothin’ but a generation of vipers, girl. With they no-pork-eatin’ selves! When they shit it stink just as pooty as ours—probably worse!”
“I don’t care what you say—”
“You sassin’ me?” It was hard to believe, but the scowl on his face got even worse. He drew back to slap me.
“No sir,” I whimpered, with my head bowed submissively.
“Now. Let’s find the TV Guide,” he said, almost cheerfully. His scowl suddenly disappeared, and he looked like his old self, which was still bad, but not nearly as threatening.
Later that night, just before Mama got home, Mr. Boatwright came to my room and dropped his evil body onto my bed right next to me and started rocking and humming “Hush Little Baby.”
“Mr. Boatwright,” I began.
He turned to face me, still rocking my bed and humming.
“Mr. Boatwright, why do you keep doing what you do to me after all these years?” I asked. I had caught him off guard.
“What you mean?” He gasped and stood, his narrowed eyes darting from side to side.
“You know I read a lot of books.”
“And that’s another thing, you and all them books. Gibberish! Worldly! I can smell the brimstone. Everything you need to know in the Bible, girl.”
“I’ve learned a lot from books other than the Bible. Things I really need to know. I know that what you do to me is wrong,” I said calmly. I think the fact that I didn’t raise my voice or seem mad made him even angrier. If looks could kill, I’d have dropped dead on the spot right then and there. I had never seen him look at me in such a mean way.
“You mean what we do.”
“But I don’t want to, and you know I don’t want to,” I wailed. “You know I don’t like it. Why do you still do it?”
Suddenly, he looked at the floor and let out his breath.
Then he looked at me with a straight face, and whined, “After all I do for you, how come you so mean to me, possum?” His words made me gasp. When I didn’t respond, he lowered his head and shuffled out of my room, gently closing the door.
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