until his eyes blurred.
Juanita had given birth to two sons at that point, and she made the sad mistake of saying, “I’m glad they ain’t take you, ’cause our boys need their daddy.”
J.W. flew at her, wrapped his hands around her throat, and choked her until the capillaries in her eyes exploded.
In 1955, that boy came from Chicago down here to spend the summer with his mama’s people. They called him Bobo, but his given name was Emmett.
He arrived with a few casual clothes, one suit, one tie, and a white shirt that was one size too small and frayed around the collar. His black Sunday shoes were scuffed at the toe and veined with cracks. His pride and joy was a pair of brand-new navy blue Converse sneakers that his mother had saved three months to buy.
He was brown and stout with full cheeks and a generous belly that jiggled when he laughed. His ears were long and the lobes were curved upward. He wasn’t anything Padagonia would look at, but Tass was head over heels.
“That boy don’t even know you exist.”
“Says who?”
“Says me.”
“He does too, I saw him looking at me just the other day.”
“What day was that? Where was I?”
“You were wherever you were and we were someplace else.” Tass giggled at her wit.
Padagonia crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out of the side of her mouth. The two laughed until Padagonia’s mother stepped out onto the slanted porch and tapped the broom handle against the wooden door jamb.
“You out here playing the fool while I’m in the house working like a slave?”
Their eyes swept across Willie Tucker’s gnarled toes.
“Well, what you waiting for?” Willie admonished. “Get the hominy grits out your ass!”
Padagonia sulked into the house.
“And you, Miss Ting-a-ling, I’m sure you got some chore you need to be tending to, don’t you?”
Tass didn’t, but she nodded her head and said, “Yes, ma’am.” And scurried across the road to the house that her mother owned, free and clear.
By the time Padagonia finished her chores, the sun had taken on a tangerine color. Tass was sitting on the bottom step of her porch biting her fingernails. When she saw Padagonia emerge, she jumped to her feet and bounded across the road.
Hemmingway’s face appeared behind the gray mesh screen of the door. “Girl, where you going?”
“To the store!” Tass hollered back as she and Padagonia double-timed it down the road.
The front yard of Moe Wright’s home was a cemetery of rusted cars, bicycle frames, and the metal guts of farm machines. Emmett was seated on the edge of the porch, the blue jeans he wore were rolled up to his knees, and his bare feet were covered in Mississippi mud dust. He was chomping on a slice of sweet pink watermelon.
The girls stepped into the yard and Padagonia called, “Hey, Bobo,” in that singsong fashion girls are partial to using.
Emmett looked up and they could see that his chin was glistening with watermelon juice. He nodded at them and winked.
Padagonia strolled into the yard and was a full five strides from Emmett before she realized that Tass wasn’t at her side. “Come on, Tass,” she urged with a flip of her hand.
Tass could not move. The nod was expected, but the wink he’d added unraveled her.
“Come on,” Padagonia said again.
But Tass did not take a step. Instead, she bashfully dropped her chin to her chest and focused her attention on the bright red polka dots that covered her shirt.
Padagonia sighed and skipped ahead. When she reached the porch, she scaled the steps and proceeded to knock noisily on the door. “Mr. Wright! Mr. Wright!”
“He gone to town.”
Emmett’s voice dripped Midwestern nectar. Padagonia kept knocking, just so she could hear him say it again.
“Hey, girl, I said he ain’t home, they gone to town.”
“Oh,” Padagonia cooed coyly before clomping across the porch and plopping down next to him.
Tass was trying hard to mask her jealousy, but even from where Padagonia sat, she could see the rush of steam streaming from Tass’s nostrils.
Padagonia chuckled and beckoned Tass once again:
“Come on!”
Tass turned and gave Padagonia her back.
“What’s wrong with her?” Emmett asked as he tossed the rind down to the ground.
Padagonia shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno, I guess you make her nervous.”
Emmett looked Padagonia full in the face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah!” Padagonia shouted as she leapt from the porch and kicked the rind across the yard. “See you later.” She darted back to Tass and whispered, “You better stop acting the fool ’fore that boy start thinking something wrong with you.”
Tass sucked her teeth and started walking away. Padagonia fell into step beside her.
“Did you have to sit so close to him?”
Padagonia stopped and laughed. “What you say, Tass Hilson?”
Tass kept walking. “Did he say anything about me?”
“Yeah, he said you a few eggs short of a dozen!”
Tass turned horrified eyes on her friend. “He said that?”
Padagonia giggled. “Nah, girl, I’m just pulling your leg.”
“Oh.”
Padagonia stooped down and plucked a dandelion from the blanket of grass that bordered the road. “Here.”
Tass offered her a lopsided grin. “Thanks.” She took the weed and slipped it into her hair. “How do I look?”
“Like the cutest little country girl in Money, Mississippi.”
To Tass, Emmett was everywhere and present in all things. He was all over her mind, pressed into the seams between the floorboards, glowing amidst the stars, and there in the sweet swirl of sugar, milk, and butter in her morning bowl of farina.
Who knows why some fall victim to love so easily?
Tass
