Saving Cicadas Page 3

  And my granddaughters. I had to play it up for them. I needed them, Janie especially, to believe I was the detriment to the family. Why? Well, that would be revealed in due time. Let’s just say it was one of the many sacrifices a loving matriarch must make.

  She was tossing and turning now, so I straightened her covers. Before I tiptoed out of Priscilla’s room and left her to her restless dreaming, I kissed my daughter softly on the cheek and whispered into her ear, “Go home, sweet child. It’s time for you to go home.”

  Chapter Five

  GREAT MOTHER OF GOD

  {Janie}

  The light was coming in through the window, frosting Rainey’s wild hair. I was mesmerized by the sound of her tap, tap, clacking on the keyboard. Our computer was one they were going to pitch from the Y, seeing as the screen went dark whenever it pleased as if a ghost were in charge of the on-off button. That, and the keyboard was missing the letter Q, but Mama figured we could get along just fine without our Q s, and occasional black screens wouldn’t hurt anybody.

  If it were up to me though, there would have been a law against letting people with Down syndrome Google themselves. There was too much stuff on the Internet to misunderstand. One time Rainey Googled her own name and cried when she read she’d died in a car accident. Today she’d made the honor roll at some Presbyterian college in West Virginia, so she was happy. Now, she’d found every single online baby store for Mama and was making a list of things we were going to need for the baby: a blue crib, blue blankets, blue baby clothes. She was very good with her letters and lists. And her reading. But I really didn’t think this was helping much.

  “Rainey,” I said, annoyed, “why is everything blue? Not that we’re getting any of it, because we don’t know yet if we’re even going to need any of it. Right? But why in the world do you think everything should be blue?”

  “He the boy, silly,” she said, matter-of-fact.

  “Oh. A boy. How do you know?”

  “Duh. Everybody know it.”

  Rainey was still adding things to her list, so I turned away from her and the computer screen showing blue baby stuff flashing, flashing. I thought I might scream. I wished the screen would go black. I was still clutching my own list. Mama needed something that could actually help her make a decision.

  The one thing Mama did for us, good or bad, was to teach us how to make lists. They helped keep us organized. Rainey fought the whole list thing for the longest time, but Mama practically forced them down her throat. Me, I took to them naturally, and they really seemed to work. I loved to check things off my lists. It made me feel as if I’d accomplished something. Mama had them taped inside every cabinet in the house, listing all the contents—medicines, batteries, misc. knickknacks. She worked hard, trying to keep our lives in order. I wished it would work right now. Two days ago, I’d woken up knowing who I was, what my place was in this family, basically not having a care in the world. Today, it was as if we were on that teacup ride at Disney where you’re spinning, spinning, and your stomach twists all up. It had been five years since we’d been to Disney, but I still remembered that twisty feeling.

  I sat on the couch and stared at the TV . It being summer, I really had nothing to do. I sort of wished I did so the day would go by quicker. By ten thirty, it’d been a million years.

  I pulled my crumpled list to within inches of my face and thought on it. Hard.

  Choices for Mama

  #1: Keep the baby.

  Cons:

  1. Mama’s too busy for a new baby.

  2. And she’s too tired.

  3. Her life will totally change. All of ours will.

  4. She won’t be able to have any more fun or friends. Not that she has any now, except for me, and Alisha, who really isn’t that much fun or that great of a friend.

  5. She doesn’t have money for babysitters or day care.

  6. We only have a two-bedroom house.

  7. I’m not sure who the father is, but he might want to marry Mama. Mama might not want to marry him. I might not want him to be my new daddy. He might not be good for Rainey.

  8. The father might not want to marry Mama. This might hurt her feelings because maybe she loves him. Maybe he won’t want anything to do with the baby at all. Mama will wind up raising the baby all alone. She’ll have to take a second job working the night shift at McDonald’s just to take care of us all. Such a hard, sad life.

  Pros:

  1. Babies love you no matter what, even if you happen to work at McDonald’s the rest of your hard, sad life.

  2. Mama won’t really be raising the baby alone. She’ll have Rainey and me to help. And Poppy and Grandma Mona too.

  3. God must think Mama needs another baby, or he wouldn’t have given her one, especially being a virgin and all.

  4. Babies are cute.

  5. And small. They don’t take up that much room.

  6. I might like to have one around. I’d like to be a real big sister.

  “Mama?”

  I found her on the sunporch. It was really just a big closet with windows, but the sun came in this time of day, and if the windows were open, a real nice breeze blew through. It was Mama’s favorite wind-down place. She was always here after getting off work. Mama was wearing her black polyester pants and white short-sleeve blouse. There was a red stain on the sleeve where somebody must have rubbed up against her with strawberry sauce. She lifted her head from her romance novel and stared right past me, sleepy eyed. Her eyes were still puffy from crying, her hair dropping out of a ponytail. She looked old at this moment, much older than thirty-two. She might as well have been fifty.

  “Hey,” I said.

  I sat down next to her, and she kept her bare feet propped up on the glass coffee table. The plants behind her needed watering bad. “Mama, can I ask you something?”

  She raised her eyebrows in a weak sort of way and plopped her head on the back of the sofa.

  “Well, after Daddy left, you still had us two kids.” I stared at the plant slowly dying behind her. “I mean, I know it’s hard, being a single mama, but is it . . . awful?”

  Mama teared up and lifted her hands to her face. She rubbed her eyes so hard I thought she might go blind. Then she stopped and let her hands fall slowly to her lap.

  “I’m . . . I’m sorta glad you’re having a baby, Mama. Rainey and me, we’ll be good big sisters. I promise.”

  She looked toward me and tried to muster a sad smile.

  “I’m just so tired,” she said. “How can I possibly have another child? Oh, goodness. My life might have been completely different. I could have gone to college. I wouldn’t be waiting tables for old folks who lick maple syrup off their fingers. I might have met a guy, a nice guy, and gotten married. Oh, who am I kidding? But being a mom . . . it’s the only thing I’m proud of. Being a mother is the only thing that makes any sense to me at all. It’s who I am.”

  “So you’re saying you’re gonna keep the baby?” My heart raced, and I looked out the open window at a green lizard scurrying up the gutter. Mama stayed silent, rubbing her temples.

  “I just need to take some time to figure this out.”

  “Oh. Okay. But Mama, I’ve been thinking. I’m kind of excited about being a real big sister. I mean, I know it won’t be easy and all, but, well, I can get a job bagging at the grocery store. I can help out. I can. It’ll be good. You’re a really great mama.”

  She interrupted me, screaming, “Uuugh! I am just so angry!” I looked over at her in horror.

  “Ha! You’re angry? You ought to be angry. At yourself. Imagine, a single woman your age, expecting. It’s indecent.”

  “Grandma Mona, please. I didn’t even hear you come in.”

  “Well, I’m here now. And is that any way to welcome me to your home, Janie? I’m her mother; I’m needed at a time like this.”

  There was really nothing more I could say. My grandmother was a force to be reckoned with. And not in a good way. More like an iceberg. Sinc
e I’d turned about four or five, I could only remember a handful of times she’d left me feeling the teensiest bit warm and fuzzy. She wasn’t always this way though. I could remember her kisses and hugs when I was little, her telling me she loved me. But not anymore. The older she got, the meaner she got. And I had to protect Mama from her.

  Rainey came at us waving a piece of paper. She had this strange look on her face. “Mama?” She showed it to her. “The world gonna end. When Jesus comes.”

  “Rainey, what?” Mama asked, confused and trying to reach for the paper.

  “We got to get ready,” said Rainey. “It says right here.”

  Mama studied the paper called “Jesus Is Coming,” and shook her head. But I thought I understood it, and it just made me sad.

  “She’s talking about you being pregnant,” I mumbled. “She keeps printing out baby things and won’t stop. Would you please tell her to stop it?”

  “Rainey? What’s going on, honey?”

  Rainey smiled as if she was fully in tune with what was going on for once and could contribute to our conversation. She often felt left out.

  “You got the baby Jesus in the tummy,” said Rainey, poking the paper. “Jesus is coming. And the world gonna end. He not the reg’lar person, Mama.”

  “Oh, this is rich,” said Grandma Mona, folding her arms and leaning against the wall.

  “The world is not going to end, honey,” Mama said. “And would you please stop printing things? This paper costs money.”

  “Janie,” said Grandma Mona. “You told that poor child your mother is having the baby Jesus?” Her voice was flat and critical.

  I stood up, unable to take any more and screamed, “No I did not, Grandma Mona! She figured that out all on her own. And I tell you what, I’ve been waiting for angels to come and tell us about this baby, but I haven’t seen any! Not a one! So I don’t know. Is Mama carrying the Son of God, or not?!” I waved my finger in the air. “She could be, for all you know! Mama’s a good girl. You might be carrying the Savior, Mama! You’re gonna save the whole world as we know it!”

  “That is quite enough!” said Grandma Mona.

  I closed my fists and burst out of the room. I didn’t even look back. I wasn’t sure what’d come over me, but I was crying and scratching at the door to the bedroom. The knob always stuck. When I finally got it open, I shoved all Rainey’s clothes off my bottom bunk and flopped down on it. Then I remembered I’d left my list of pros and cons—and my poor pregnant mother—in the other room with the meanest, most unhelpful woman on the face of the earth. Some daughter I was. No wonder Mama was so upset about having another baby. Who wouldn’t, with a child like me?

  Chapter Six

  THE WIND AND THE HOLLOW

  By the time I woke up, it was lunchtime. I stood in front of the dresser mirror and stared at the red hand mark pressed in the side of my face from lying on it. I tucked my hair behind my ears and stumbled to the kitchen where I found my mother mashing hard-boiled eggs like a maniac. There were three cartons on the counter, all open.

  My grandmother was leaning on her elbows, smiling, but not in a nice way. “There’s a sandwich in the fridge for you,” she said. “Or two. Or three.”

  My mother was mashing, mashing away, and I couldn’t imagine eating all these eggs, but I didn’t ask. She stopped long enough to open the refrigerator door and pull out a gallon of milk and an egg salad sandwich on wheat bread, cut into halves lengthwise. She set it in front of me. The Young and the Restless was on in the other room, and I watched a little through the doorway while I nibbled. This one man was crying on his knees while this lady stood over him, seeming happy about it.

  Mama went back to egg mashing.

  “That’s a lot of eggs,” I said.

  Grandma Mona piped up. “Apparently they were on special. Can’t you see?”

  Mama picked up the jar of mayonnaise and scooped a spoonful, plopping it in. Then she squeezed the mustard, which made farting noises, spitting a glob out now and again. “Dang, dang, dangit,” she said. Her face scrunched up like she might cry. She bit her lip and turned away from me, resting her chin on her shoulder.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  Still looking away, she said, “I’m out of mustard. I can’t do this.” Her shoulders started to shake. She grabbed the big bowl, wrapped some cellophane on top with a fury and said, “Well, I’ll just go to the store and get some. You have a problem, Priscilla, you just go take care of it. No big deal.” She was talking to herself the whole time cleaning up.

  “I can walk to the store if you want, Mama.”

  She looked at me as if she’d forgotten I was here.

  “No, no,” Grandma Mona shooed at me. “Obviously she needs to get out of the house. I’ll go with her.”

  “You really shouldn’t do that. I mean, really. You shouldn’t do that.”

  “I’m her mother.”

  “Rainey?” Mama called. “Rainey, going to the store. Back in a few minutes!”

  “When you’re done, Janie, why don’t you go check on your sister?” said Grandma Mona. “She’s in the backyard. Been out there for a while.”

  “Okay,” I grumbled. Mama slung her huge brown leather purse over her shoulder and grabbed her keys from the hook next to the door. I heard her sigh. Then they were gone.

  The bread was a little soggy, so I scraped out the egg salad with a fork. Eggs. Chicken eggs. Little baby chickens.

  I pushed the plate away and looked at all the egg cartons staring at me with their empty cradles.

  Pregnant.

  I just couldn’t believe there was something growing inside my mother. The back of my neck grew hot, so I picked up a glass of milk. Milk. Kids need milk. Babies need milk.

  I had to get out of there. I wasn’t even hungry.

  Our backyard was a small patch of yellow grass, scorched from Mama’s overfertilizing and lack of sprinklers, and then there was a great big oak tree surrounded by a chain-link fence. The tree was completely hollow. The only reason we kept it was because it would cost too much money to take it down, and it was leaning away from the house. Mama being so pretty, Mr. Rufus down at the hardware store offered to take it down for next to nothing, but Mama said it was no real risk to us if it did happen to fall. Plus, it gave us shade and Rainey liked it. That was the end of that.

  I saw Rainey’s bare foot sticking out of the hollowed-out part. For some reason, she was blessed with the most flexible joints ever. It came with having an extra chromosome, I guess. She liked to sit cross-legged with one foot over her shoulder, leaning facedown. Maybe it made her feel like she was in Mama’s belly again. That’s what it looked like anyway.

  Mama’s belly. Ugh.

  I approached the tree carefully. Rainey retreated here when something was bothering her. One time it was because this silly lady wouldn’t let her take her groceries to her car. That was her job. The lady obviously wasn’t a regular shopper at Jerry’s Supermarket or she would have known that you always let Rainey Dae Macy walk your cart to your car. She took her work in this world very seriously. Rainey ended up squabbling over the cart with the lady, screaming, “I can do it! I can do it myself!” You never told Rainey she couldn’t do something. She’d always prove you wrong.

  “Rainey?” I said, announcing myself. Her foot stirred. “You in there?”

  She sighed real loud.

  I scooted to sitting on the dirt and on the buckling roots in front of the hole. Rainey’s head was down, foot over her shoulder.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  She lifted her head and sat up, pressing her foot down into the ground. She looked like she’d been sleeping. The cavern around her was dark, and I knew for a fact that bats lived in the upper part of the hole. I’d seen them. And one time we saw a real live skink in the bottom part. How she could love being in here, I just didn’t know. It creeped me out.

  There was a baby doll lying naked in Rainey’s lap, its tiny dress lying in the yellow grass
behind me. The sight of it hurt me.

  “Is that your baby?” I said.

  “Uh-huh. It like the baby Jesus. He like God. I listen for God in here.”

  “You’re listening for God in a hollowed-out tree?”

  “Yeah. ’Cept for the bats squeak sometimes. God don’t squeak.”

  “Well, what does he say? What does he sound like?”

  The wide space between her almond-shaped eyes grew narrower, and she squinted up into the void at the hiding bats.

  “He sound like the wind.”

  “Huh,” I said. I did not know that.

  “You feel like coming out now? Mama made a truckload of egg salad.”

  “No thanks. I had cheese toast.”

  “Okay.” I thought of going back inside, but I didn’t really want to be alone. “Mind if I sit here with you? I promise I’ll be quiet.” I leaned up against the bark and closed my eyes with the sun on my face. It felt so warm, and the backs of my eyelids turned orange and glowy. “Let me know if you hear from God again,” I added. “Tell him I have a few questions for him.”

  “Okay,” she said. From the rustling in the tree I could hear her moving back into position. After a minute or so she sat back up again. I startled when something cold pressed into my arm.

  “God said you want the baby, so here.” The bald-headed doll’s little eyes stared up at me from my forearm.

  “No, Rain. You keep it.” I pushed the doll away, leaned back and closed my eyes again. “Let me know if he says anything I don’t already know.”

  “Oh. Okay,” she said. And we sat in silence for an hour or so—until Mama came to check on us. She left the door open and let the screen swing shut. I got up to talk to her, to put my arms around her or something, but I could hear she was on the phone.

  “Oh, hey, Alisha,” she said. Mama worked with Alisha. She wasn’t my favorite person. She drank too much and smoked, and sometimes when Mama’d been hanging around with her, going out on her nights off and all, Mama turned . . . different. Like somebody else. “No, took a test already,” she said. “Yep. Ohhhh, yeah. I don’t . . . I just . . . I can’t believe it. I don’t know yet. Please don’t say a word. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”