The Dry Grass of August(31)

Mama wouldn’t believe how sad I was that Leesum was leaving. All summer I’d wanted to meet a nice boy, and the ones I’d seen were creeps or stuck-up. Now there was Leesum, with those mystery green eyes, golden skin, and curly hair that looked dry in the gulf.

After breakfast Uncle Taylor took Leesum to the naval base to buy him clothes and a bag for the trip to Charlotte. We didn’t have a chance to say another word to each other. I went to the kitchen and asked Mary, “Is Leesum going back to Charlotte?”

“He is. I’m going to talk to Reverend Perkins. The boy’ll be just fine, don’t you worry.”

“Okay.” I left the kitchen and went to Uncle Taylor’s den, where I’d seen a thesaurus. I sat in his easy chair with the heavy book in my lap and looked up synonyms for heaven and paradise .





I was sitting in the damp sand, dribbling it through my fingers into cone-shaped towers that became shapeless mounds when waves washed over them. Sarah came over the dunes and said hey. She shook out her blanket next to my towel and took a pair of binoculars from around her neck.

I got up and went to her, startled by her friendliness. “Hey.”

Her hair was pulled up into a knot, and her ears stuck out above her skinny neck and knobby shoulders. She had on a bathing suit and voluminous Bermuda shorts that enveloped her matchstick legs.

I said, “I don’t remember you wearing glasses.”

“I’ve only had them six months.”

“Did your eyes get bad all of a sudden?”

“I’ve been nearsighted for ages. Nobody figured it out until Mrs. Cooper.”

“How’d she know?”

“I kept bumping into stuff. Daddy thought I was just awkward, but Mrs. Cooper . . .” she pushed at her glasses. “Sorry I’ve been a pill.”

“That’s okay.” I smoothed my beach towel.

“I just don’t want to talk about it.” Her voice had the same final tone Mama used. “Look over there.” Sarah handed me the binoculars and pointed at Mrs. Willingham in her canvas beach lounge.

I focused the binoculars. “What’s she eating?”

“Candy.”

I couldn’t think of anything more boring than watching a fat lady eat candy. I handed the glasses back and told Sarah how mean Mrs. Willingham had been to Mary and Leesum that morning.

“She can be horrible, but Daddy always takes up for her.”

I’d left out the part about me swimming with Leesum. Sometimes I didn’t want to talk, either. I put my head down on my arms, letting the sun soak into my back, thinking about him.

“She’s reaching in her bag for a Coke,” Sarah said. “You should see her lounge. Stains all over it.”

A voice thundered, “Sarah Dolores!”

I shaded my eyes against the sun and looked up. Uncle Taylor loomed over us. He took the binoculars. “Spying on Mrs. Willingham?”

“We were watching her eat candy,” I said.

Uncle Taylor held the binoculars to his eyes. He was in uniform—a short-sleeved khaki shirt and trousers—standing like an officer on the deck of a ship, fiddling with the focus ring, making a sweep of the beach. “Trash patrol.”

Sarah groaned.

“What’s trash patrol?”

“Sarah will show you.”

“How much?” Sarah asked.

“Ours, hers, and theirs,” Uncle Taylor said, pointing west.

“We weren’t hurting her.”

“You were stealing her privacy.”

“She’s sitting right out there on the beach, for all the world to see.”

“Tell you what. Go sit right next to her and watch her.”

“Jubie just told me what Mrs. Willingham did to—”

Uncle Taylor cut her off. “We’ll talk about it later.”

“What if she asks me why we’re doing her beach?”

“Tell her it’s neighborly love.”

As Uncle Taylor turned to leave, I said, “I thought your uniform was white.”

“I have a white dress uniform. Where’d you see it?”

“We have a photo in the living room at home.”

“From my graduation, I guess.”

“I like the one you have on, too.”

“Thank you, Miss June.” He took off his hat and bowed to me. I watched him walk back to the house, taking high arcing steps to keep sand from getting in his shiny shoes.

“Dad’ll do an inspection when we’re done. If he finds a toothpick, we’ll have to add another chunk of beach.”

We went to the kitchen for grocery bags to put the trash in, and I looked around for Leesum but didn’t see him.

Cellophane from Nabs, cigarette butts, soda bottles, a bloody Band-Aid. I put a candy wrapper over my fingers to pick it up and put it in the bag.

As we picked up trash, I asked Sarah, “Will you get a spanking?”

“What for?”

“Spying on Mrs. Willingham.”

“Trash patrol is for that.”

“Doesn’t your daddy spank you?”

“He says he’s going to, but he never does.”





Yellow plates were set around the white kitchen table for lunch. Ham sandwiches on rye bread filled a platter next to a bowl of slaw. A plate with slices of cantaloupe and honeydew sat on the lazy Susan with a basket of potato chips, a dish of tomatoes, and yellow salt and pepper shakers. A perfect picture of a lovely lunch. I put ice in glasses while Sarah called everybody to eat, and Mary came along behind me, pouring tea.