out from in there! That grass is filled with snakes and rats and God knows what else!”
The laughter continued.
Padagonia rolled her eyes, sucked her teeth, and returned to her furious sweeping.
Tass stepped out onto the porch and nearly slaughtered the bouquet of wild flowers someone had placed in the doorway.
She uttered a sorrowful “Oh,” and bent to retrieve the gift. Of course she thought Padagonia had put them there. But when she walked across the road to thank her, Padagonia gave her a strange look.
“Is it your birthday?”
Tass shook her head.
“Then why would I give you flowers?”
Tass blushed. “But who else?”
Padagonia shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know.”
Tass scanned the row of houses on either side of the street.
“Maybe you have a secret admirer,” Padagonia suggested.
Tass considered the flowers and then decided she couldn’t spend time trying to figure out the who or the why. “I need to go get some food. Come along and give me some company.”
Padagonia insisted on driving her weathered, beaten Pacer. The shocks were shot and Tass swore she could feel every groove, pebble, and pothole the road offered. The radio was on and the broadcaster was talking about a tropical depression forming over the Bahamas.
“I sure would like to go there one day,” Tass commented.
“Where?”
Tass pointed at the radio. “Where he said. The Bahamas.”
They drove happily along until the store came into view and snatched the merriment out of that car.
Tass tried to look away, but couldn’t. With her eyes glued to the store she hissed, “Why’d you have to come this way?”
“Because this is the way to the Piggly Wiggly.”
Fifty years later and Bryant’s grocery store was still standing. Vacant and ghostly, it had survived high winds and treacherous storms, holding onto a life that no longer wanted it—it slouched there, plastered with advertisements and riddled with racial epithets, Bible verses, and swastikas. It stood as a reminder of the then and the now; refusing to die, it clung stubbornly to this world always, loudly insisting upon itself.
Why no one had set fire to it or the city fathers hadn’t demanded that it be bulldozed to the ground was fodder for all kinds of conversations.
Virulently racist whites wanted it to remain as a reminder to black folk that what had happened here could happen again. And black people wanted it to remain for the very same reason.
Padagonia stepped down on the gas pedal and the store became a blur outside of Tass’s window.
That evening, Tass baked four chicken thighs, two sweet potatoes, and made a pot of string beans. When she went to the door to call Padagonia for dinner, her friend was already climbing the porch steps. She had a beaten black pocketbook slung over her shoulder.
“Why do you have your pocketbook?”
“I plum forgot that tonight was bingo. You wanna come?”
“But I just made dinner.”
“We’ll eat it later.”
Tass’s stomach growled. “I gotta eat before I go anywhere.”
Padagonia grunted, “Sorry for you then. Bingo ain’t gonna wait for you to fill your belly.”
“Some friend you are!” Tass cried as Padagonia turned and started back down the steps.
After dinner, Tass pulled the rocking chair out onto the porch and sat down. The street was quiet, and a placid dark sky hung overhead. She was grateful for the serenity.
A mischievous breeze wafted across her bare arms, raising goose bumps. Tass shivered. When she rose to go inside to retrieve her sweater, she saw movement in the tall grass next to Padagonia’s house. Soon, a dark figure emerged.
The two stared at one another for some time, before the stranger raised a hand and waved. Tass waved back and waited for something more, but the man or woman—she couldn’t tell—stepped back into the grass.
Odd, she thought. The sweater forgotten, she went into the house and prepared for bed.
The next day, the 28th of August, the stranger was little more than a foggy memory. Tass’s focus that morning was on the backyard.
Hemmingway’s once beautiful garden was now a patchwork of bald spots and weeds, and a toilet for stray cats.
As a child Tass had spent plenty of hours out there, playing house and helping her mother wash and hang the sheets. Back then, the small bit of yard was lush with vegetables and a rosebush heavy with pink blossoms.
Now, all that was left from that era were a rusted washtub, hoe, and shovel.
“I’m going to need some help with this,” Tass commented aloud.
She grabbed her purse and went out to her car. Tass would take the long way to the Piggly Wiggly—she didn’t want to ever lay eyes on that store again.
At the Piggly Wiggly, Tass stood behind people pushing shopping carts loaded with cases of water and canned goods. On the drive back, she passed cars with lumber and plywood tied to the roofs.
You would think it was the end of the world, Tass laughed to herself.
Later, she and Padagonia stood in the center of the yard outfitted in floppy hats, old T-shirts, and sweatpants. Scattered at their feet were vegetable seedlings, a young rosebush, a shiny new spade, and dozens of packets of flower seeds.
The sky above their heads was as clear as any I had ever seen.
“You start over there.” Tass pointed to the far left of the yard. “And I’ll tackle this area.
They raked, dug, pulled, and planted, and in less than an hour the two women were parched and clothes soaked with perspiration.
“Water break, boss?” Padagonia cried from her side of the yard.
Tass chuckled. “I think we both need one.”
They retreated into the kitchen, where Tass filled two glasses with ice water. Padagonia drained her glass before Tass could even steal a sip from hers.
