CHAPTER EIGHT: YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH
The following portion of Shirley’s Story contains a scene of violence that she was the victim of. I have derived this portion of the story from her verbal description of it to me and a journal she once kept wherein she described it in detail. The journal was lost in the Flood of 1993 which is a shame because there were so many other things of beauty in it that counterbalanced the dark areas of her life.
I am including the act of violence within her story for several reasons; First and foremost because this one solitary act had a lasting effect on Shirley’s mental state and would dictate how she interacted with people from that moment on. Next this incident plays an important part in a moment that occurs later on in the story.
Another reason is because of this moment I was born in Topeka, Kansas instead of Houston, Texas. Without this incident my history would have been different, and you may have never read Shirley’s Story.
Last but certainly not least this must be told because it is a part of her history. I have no animosity towards the perpetrator, in fact I forgive him for his moment of poor judgment and drunken stupidity, and I just wish that my mother could have forgiven him but alas, she never did.
“Hello, is anyone home?”
It was my second cousin Lori who was sitting beside me in the back seat of my Uncle Cecil’s car. I had been looking out the window watching the miles roll by as we headed for the cemetery in Holton. “What? I’m sorry,” I said as I turned to look into her eyes.
She was sitting crammed up against me, two other nameless cousins squeezed into the back seat beside her. Her thigh was pressed against my thigh, and she reached out and took my hand.
“Are you OK?” She asked softly.
I could feel the warmth of her body next to mine and I was very aware of her closeness. Looking into her big blue eyes I had a moment of regret that we were related. I immediately felt a twinge of guilt and I let the feeling pass as quickly as it had come.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I said, “just fine.” as I let my gaze drift back to the farm fields that flashed by the speeding vehicle.
***
Lee Roy had only been able to stay with Shirley that one night. The ship he had been a hand on was setting off again in two days and he had some business to take care of concerning Wilma and his new infant son.
Wilma had become pregnant with James Thomas shortly after Shirley had lost her child. It made her angry to think that Wilma had from Lee Roy what she could not. Lee Roy had yet to see his child so even though she did not like it she understood why he could not stay.
***
Pulling through the gates of the old cemetery I was struck by how rundown and deserted it seemed even though it sat next to busy highway 75. Maybe it was the day or just my mood, but the air seemed thicker and colder within this park of the dead than it had seemed earlier in the day out on the highway.
I released Lori’s hand and exited the car. Looking across the endless rows of granite stones I could see the hunter green tent that sheltered a dark bronze coloured coffin. A large hard rock congealed within my throat, and I took a step forward. Uncle Cecil’s strong but gentle hand came to rest upon my shoulder.
“Let’s wait for the others,” he said.
Cecil George was slightly shorter than me with thinning sandy brown hair and a permanent twinkle in his eyes making you think he had an amusing secret that was only his to know. His three piece grey checkered suit seemed strangely out of place on his stout frame. His vest voiced its objections by straining at the buttons that held it captive. His large hands and short fingers bespoke of one who would rather have dirt under his fingernails than have a manicure over them.
“Who else is coming? I asked.
“More family.” Came the simple reply.
I moved to the edge of the road scrutinizing the memorial setup.
“Do you have X-ray vision?”
Lori had moved up beside me and was looking at me with a look that was half amusement and half concern.
“What?’ I was confused by the question.
“X-ray vision, you know, like Superman, able to see through solid objects.”
Why was she asking such a silly question?
I let out a small chuckle, “No, of course not, why?”
She pointed towards the dark bronze coffin.
“The way you were staring at that I thought maybe you were trying to look inside to see if he is really in there.”
I continued to look at the coffin letting the still cold air fill the silence between us. There was a nudge at my elbow; Lori was holding out a pack of cigarettes that she had shaken two sticks out of. Taking one of the offered smokes I popped it into my mouth and dug in my jeans pocket for my lighter.
“He’s not in there,” she said as she pulled the other cigarette from the pack with her lips.
I studied her face as she bent over to light her cigarette off the lighters blue and yellow flame. Her high rounded cheekbones glowed pink from the cold giving her a natural blush. The rounded tip of her long nose was like a small red cherry. The breeze played with her long dark brown hair that fell in layers from under her kerchief bandanna.
“You’re not going to give me the old, He’s gone to a better place speech, are you?” I asked.
She let a smile travel around the corners of her mouth as she exhaled a plume of smoke. “Corny, huh?” She blushed turning her cheeks an even darker pink.
I turned and looked back to the coffin. “No, not at all,” I said. “I know that,” I continued, “I know that whatever Lee Roy Everett George was has moved on to wherever our souls move onto when our body ceases to support life.”
I turned and looked at Lori. “I know that is just an empty shell inside that box, but it is all I’ve got.” I could feel the tears starting to work their way to the corners of my eyes as Lori reached out and took my hand. “You knew him, I didn’t. I have faint memories a voice on the phone, faded photos and my mother’s memory of him.” I sighed, “That’s it, that’s all.”
I turned and looked for a long moment into her eyes as I fought to hold back the tears.
“It’s Ok,” she whispered, “It’s Ok to cry.”
My tears were held in check by the arrival of two more vehicles. One an old white Ford farm truck driven by the embodiment of the proverbial “corn feed farm boy “. His name was Gene George, he was Cecil’s nephew. His passengers were his country wife Bobby and his young farmer’s daughter, Dee.
The other vehicle, a faded blue Buick, carried 6 passengers, three men and three women their ages ranged from mid-twenties to mid-sixties. The arriving group greeted Uncle Cecil and Aunt Lula with handshakes and hugs all around. Cecil said something to the group and all eyes turned my direction making no effort to hide their curiosity. I had been the center ring attraction earlier in the day now I felt as if I had been demoted to side show status.
I had become “JoJo the Dog Faced Boy”, He walks, He talks, He crawls on his belly like a reptile. Hurrah, Hurrah, Hurrah, just one thin dime gets you in to meet the freak that nature cursed. Who among you is brave enough to face the mystery of the ages?
A rather short lady in her early sixties with bright twinkling eyes broke away from the group and made her way towards me.
Give ’em a good show for their money Gypsy.
Lori released my hand as the approaching lady offered both her hands to me. Instinctively I took her hands in mine as she drew near to me and scrutinized my face. A large smile suddenly lit up her face and her twinkling eyes seemed to glow like two headlamps behind her glasses.
“You are Lee’s boy,” she said, as one in authority making a proclamation. “You’re Jimmy!” She said the smile became even larger.
“Yes ma’am,” I said.
“Ma’am?” she laughed. “I’m not a ma’am, I’m your Aunt Joeyann, your fathers sister and I used to change your diaper.”
As if her face had been made to be more elastic than the average person the grin widened even more as she released my hands and gave me a hug.
So “JoJo the Dog Faced Boy” had been accepted by the amazing “Rubber Faced Woman!”
Looking over her shoulder I saw a man standing there that could have been the embodiment of a “Droopy Dog.” His heavy eyelids were duplicated by the heavy bags under his eyes. Heavy jowls and leathery skin told the story of a man who had led a life where alcohol had been his constant companion. The thinning dark slicked back hair on his head reminded me of smooth talking used car salesman
Breaking away Aunt Joeyann turned as if she had sensed his presence and said, “Jimmy, this is your Uncle Wesley. Wes this is Lee’s boy.”
I reached out and grasping his hand gave it a shake.
“You look like your father,” he said, “But I see your Mother in you too.”
Uncle Cecil walked up and suggested that we make our way to the canopy. The group, the family started off across the dead grass that covered the dead bodies below its surface. Aunt Joeyann turned and asked if I was coming, I told her in a moment. Lori asked if I wanted her to stay, I shook my head no and removed a cigarette from my pack. As I lit the cigarette, I watched the small group of mourners approach the casket, my eyes following Wesley’s retreating form
***
Shirley sat on the small couch reading the doctor’s report. She was happy, nervous and scared all at the same time. She didn’t know how she could feel all the different ranges of emotions at the same time, but she was feeling them, and it made her feel giddy. She had suspected this, but she had to be sure so four days ago she had gone to the doctor and this afternoon she had gotten the report. Shirley was pregnant!
She pulled her bare legs up under her and adjusted the large blue work shirt she was wearing. The material was rough against her skin, but she didn’t mind. It was Lee Roy’s shirt and she felt close to him when she wore it. She wondered what Lee would say; she prayed he’d be happy. He was due back soon. He had been on ship almost 3 months and she ached from wanting of him. She read the words out loud, “Test for Pregnancy; Positive. ” Shirley lay back against the couch cushions and became lost in her dreams and fantasies of raising their child.
A few minutes later she was roused from her thoughts by the barking of the coonhound’s. A coon hound has a bark like no other dog the sound can be an eerie mixture of bark and howl. Whenever the dogs would start a ruckus it always sent a cold chill up her spine.
She looked out the trailer window into the night but could see nothing. She could smell the sea air from the gulf that drifted on the breeze mingled with the exhaust of passing vehicles from the nearby highway.
“Billy, Bo,” she yelled out the window, “shut up.”
But the dogs weren’t listening, their chorus increased. Damn, she thought, I bet Billy started this. Billy was Lee’s favorite, but she liked Bo more. Lee had named Billy and when Shirley had asked him, “why Billy?” Lee had responded, “It’s the name of the Negro cook on the ship, and I thought what better name for a Coon Dog.”
Shirley had laughed at that, but she wasn’t laughing now. Billy and Bo were giving her a headache and she would have to get them to shut up. Enough was enough and she would talk to Lee about getting rid of them when he returned. She felt they were more trouble than they were worth.
Slipping her rubber thongs onto her feet she grasped the handle and opened the trailer door. As the door swung open the light from the television illuminated a figure standing there.
Her first thought was that Lee had returned from sea then she realized that it was Wesley’s face that the light revealed. He stood staring at her, and she could smell the alcohol that wafted from him like some cheap cologne.
“Hi Wes, what’s up?” she said lighter heartedly than she felt.
She never cared for Wesley when he drank, and he often frightened her with the way he looked at her when he was drunk. She had mentioned this to Lee Roy several times, but he would just laugh it off with a wave of his hand and an assurance that Wesley was harmless.
“Wes are you OK?” she ventured but he did not respond, he just stood in the doorway slightly swaying and looking at her like a starving dog looks at a bone.
She now was truly frightened and the crescendo of the barking coon hounds was almost deafening. Wes turned and yelled out at the coon hounds, slurring and running the words together into a new word that sounded like “Shudafugup!”
Shirley grabbed the opportunity and as Wes turned away, she tried to slam the door shut but Wes was too fast. He threw out his arm and shoved into the door with his shoulder knocking Shirley back where she landed hard on the floor on her ass. Wes stepped into the trailer and stood above Shirley looking down on her. Reaching for his belt he started unbuckling it as he stared at her and said nothing.
Shirley scrambled for the door screaming, “Wes what the fuck are you doing?”
Wes grabbed her by an arm and stopping her escape threw her towards the couch. Shirley, like a trapped animal, started looking for an avenue of escape but in the small trailer her routes were limited.
She did the only thing she could think of and that was to scream at the top of her lungs for help. The louder she screamed the louder grew the bark of the coon hounds. The chances of anyone hearing her pleas were as good as her chances of escaping this situation untouched. Deep inside she knew what the outcome would be but still she screamed in the hope that someone would come before it was too late.
Wes yelled again in that slurred way that turned his sentences into a new but familiar sounding word, “Shadafugupbichyaoweme.”
He undid his zipper advancing as Shirley, now crying hysterically, screamed and kicked out at him. Fighting back her kicks, Wes fought past her flailing legs and grabbed the shirt Shirley was wearing. The buttons gave way revealing her full breasts and upon seeing this Wes’ attack grew more vicious. He pressed himself upon her and was desperately trying to separate her legs with one hand while trying to hold her arms with the other.
It suddenly occurred to Shirley that if she kept fighting that Wes might become even more violent towards her and the new life in her might be damaged. Shirley decided to stop fighting and just let him have his way. What he would take from her now was just not worth what she could lose later if she continued to fight. Shirley decided that Wes would have no pleasure from her; she would become a stone, an inanimate thing. He would have more excitement sticking his dick into a hole in the ground then he would get from her tonight.
She had just started to let herself go limp when suddenly Wes’ weight was lifted from her.
One moment she was crushed, being smothered beneath his body and the next moment the weight was gone. It was like someone had opened a window and let in a breath of fresh air. Before Shirley could suck in a full lung of air the bluish light from the Television was suddenly extinguished as Wes’ body crashed into it exploding the set.
In the shower of sparks that followed the destruction of the set Shirley saw a figure looming over the cowering figure of Wes. As darkness overcame her as she thought, thank you Lord, thank you for letting someone hear me.