An American Marriage(23)



It was bullshit and I knew it was bullshit, but something about his little soliloquy stuck in my throat like a fish bone.

Celestial, I think it was because I know I wasn’t there for you when you told me the test was positive. I said, “What do you want to do?” What I did was the same as leaving town.

Anyway, Walter saw me sitting there snuffling back my thug tears and he tried to defend himself, swearing up and down that he never beat my mama, never stole from her—even though her pocketbook was right there on the chifferobe. He said it wasn’t even personal, that he had left other women with big bellies. That this was the way things were then. But I wasn’t thinking about him, Celestial, I was thinking about you and what a piece of shit I am. This is the truth.

I was sitting on the bed, having my own private come-to-Jesus, while Walter was getting more and more agitated. He said, “You think it’s a coincidence that we are in this cage together?” He said his buddy Prejean, who is from Eloe, told him who I was, and he checked me out on the sly. He said, “They say that fruit doesn’t fall far from any particular tree. But I didn’t know which tree you fell from, me or your mama’s.” Then he said that he saw me and decided that all I got from him was “bowlegs and nappy hair.” And then he paid good money to get me moved to his cell before I was beat up any more than I already was. He said: “Admit it. Things got better for you once you moved in with me. You got to give me some credit.”

Celestial, I want to be mad at him. He left my mama like a two-dollar trick, but he would have been a terrible father to me in my real life. He wouldn’t have sacrificed to get me to Morehouse. Still, I have to give him the credit he asked for. If it wasn’t for him, I could be dead by now or at least a lot worse off. Walter isn’t the Don Corleone of the prison, but he is an old head and people stay out of his way. He didn’t have to take me in, but he did.

It’s complicated. Last night, when lights were out, he said, “I can’t believe she let that nigger change your name. That’s disrespectful.”

I pretended like I didn’t hear him. To say even one word would be a crime against Big Roy. He made me his junior with more than his name. He was my father, or should I say he is my father. But Walter is my old man in here.

This world is too much for me, Celestial. I know I said I wasn’t going to do any begging in this letter, but I will ask you once more. Please come and see about me. I need to see your face.

Love,

Roy

Dear Roy,

I’m writing this letter to ask you to forgive me. Please be patient. I know it has been a long time. At first it was because I was going through a lot, but now my reason for staying away is boring and uncomplicated. It’s just that the holiday season is here and I’m slammed at the shop. My assistant, Tamar, is going to cover for me weekend after next. (She’s a student at Emory, with talent to burn. She has a gorgeous gift for quilts. Just breathtaking.)

So while Tamar minds the store, Gloria and I are going to drive up. She wants to give your mother one of her famous blackberry jam cakes, and I could use the company.

I know that you’re mad at me. You have a right to be frustrated. But I hope that we don’t waste our visit being angry. When we sit down together, our time is precious. If you can forgive, please forgive me. If I explain, will you listen? Tell me what I need to do to make it better.

What does Walter have to say about all of this? I hope you haven’t talked about me too badly. I don’t want to meet my father-in-law for the first time and make an unfavorable impression. (I’ll get to meet him, won’t I?) How are you two dealing with this shocking development? I guess you’re the only one who’s shocked, but I’m sure that it has changed things between you. Did you tell Olive? There’s so much to unpack here. In the meanwhile, give me his information and I can put something on his commissary for the holidays.

I know you’re proud, but let me do that for him and for you. He’s family. I’ll see you soon.

Yours,

Celestial

Dear Celestial,

Thank you for coming to see me; I know the journey is long and I know that you are a busy woman. You look different. I thought maybe you lost weight because your face had more shape to it. But I don’t think the shift is on the physical plane. Are you all right? Is there something happening that I should know about? This isn’t a backdoor way for me to ask if you’re seeing somebody else. That’s the last thing on my mind. I’m just asking what is going on. When I saw you, I was looking into your face, but I didn’t really see you.

I don’t have the right words to explain.

Roy

Dear Roy,

How am I expected to respond to your last letter? Yes, I have dropped a few pounds. Some on purpose—I’ve been flying to New York a lot these days and you know they are a little bit leaner up there. I don’t want to show up looking like the unsophisticated chick from “down south” with the folk art. If my dolls are going to be taken seriously, I have to look the part. But I don’t think my waistline is what you’re talking about.

Am I different? It has been close to three years, so I guess I have changed. Yesterday I sat under the hickory tree in the front yard. It’s the only place where I find rest and just feel fine. I know fine isn’t a lot, but it’s rare for me these days. Even when I’m happy, there is something in between me and whatever good news comes my way. It’s like eating a butterscotch still sealed in the wrapper. The tree is untouched by whatever worries we humans fret over. I think about how it was here before I was born and it will be here after we’re all gone. Maybe this should make me sad, but it doesn’t.

Tayari Jones's Books