The Dry Grass of August(43)

As soon as Mama finished eating we were back on the road.

Stell wiped her fingers and stuffed the napkin in the trash bag. “Only three weeks till school. I can hardly wait.”

“Yuk.” I hated to think about the end of summer vacation.

“I’m excited,” Stell said, “because of the new Pledge of Allegiance.”

I had no idea what she meant.

“Congress added the words ‘Under God.’ ”

“Where?”

She said, in her most religious voice, “ ‘One nation under God, indivisible.’ It’s so wonderful.”

“Hmph.” Mary crossed her arms on her chest.

I asked her, “Don’t you think it’s a good thing, adding God to the pledge?”

“Putting God in the pledge and on money—that’s like a sign in the sky saying ‘air.’ ” Sometimes Mary surprised me, the things she thought about.

Mama raised the volume on the radio and fiddled with the dial, picking up snatches of Young Dr. Malone. The static was so bad she turned it off. “I’ve got a headache that won’t let up.”

Stell said, “Mama, please let me drive. You can sleep for a while.”

Mama pulled off the road and walked around the car, stopping to stretch, her hands on the small of her back. She got in the passenger seat. “You get a ticket, you’re grounded.”

Stell looked in the rearview mirror. I waved at her. She stuck out her tongue, then adjusted the mirror by the wing window. “All set.” She pulled onto the highway. A tractor-trailer truck came right up on our bumper, air horn blasting. Stell jumped.

“Stell!” Mama gasped. “You pulled out in front of him.”

“He’s speeding.”

The truck zoomed around us and the car rocked, but Stell kept it in the road. Mama slumped against the window.

For the next hour, Mama slept and Stell drove at a steady fifty-five.We passed a group of Burma-Shave signs. I read them aloud: “Substitutes are like a girdle. They find some jobs they just can’t hurdle. Burma-Shave.” I thought about Mama struggling to pull up the stiff elastic sheath, attaching her stockings to it, announcing she was nearly ready by saying, “I’ve got my girdle on.” I vowed I’d never wear one.

On the outskirts of Claxton, we passed farms, cotton processors, feed and grain mills. Highway 280 changed to Main Street, and Stell slowed down. Daddy said small towns were speed traps.

Davie climbed onto my lap, his body a hot water bottle.

“No.” I pushed him away.

“Doobie,” he whined, “badge.” He held out the cap from a Coke bottle.

“Quiet down back there,” Mama said.

He collapsed against me, hot and damp. I said no again, trying to whisper and be firm at the same time.

“Badge,” he shouted.

Mama swung her left arm over the seat in a slapping motion.

Stell glanced back at me. “What’s going on?”

Afterward I said I’d known at that moment that it was going to happen. I said it so much I was pretty sure it was true.

A shadow loomed. There was a screeching crunch and our car spun and tilted. We slid across the seats on top of each other. The car hung on two wheels, slammed back down. Metal hit the pavement.

Davie broke the silence, crying,“Oooh-h-h-h. Oooh-h-h-h.”

“Is everybody okay?” Mama’s voice shook.

“Jesus bless us,” said Mary.

Mama said, “Puddin?”

“I’m here,” Puddin said, her voice shaking. “Under Jubie.”

Davie wailed again.

“You okay, Davie-do?” I put his palm to my lips and felt wet on my face.

“No!” His hand was bleeding.

Stell opened the driver’s door and stood by the car, looking dazed.

“C’mon,” Mary said. “Let’s get out.”

The battered old truck that hit us was across the street, its front tires on the sidewalk.

Mama took Davie and uncurled his fist, peeling back his fingers one by one. “Oh, Davie.You’ve got a cut shaped like a bottle cap, isn’t that funny?”

Davie hiccupped and looked at his hand.

Puddin said, “You’re bleeding, Jubie.” I tasted blood where I had bitten my lip.

“Jesus H. Christ,” somebody said. A crowd had gathered. People stared, gestured, talked to each other.

“Let me see. Not too bad.” Mama pulled a Kleenex from her pocket, pressed it against my lip. Blood had splattered the front of my new T-shirt. Mama looked at the cut. “You don’t need stitches, Jubie.”

I held the tissue against my lip, looking around for Mary. She was standing by the back of the car, rubbing her head. “Are you hurt, Mary?” I asked.

“No. Bumped around a bit.” She looked at the car and shook her head. “Gone take some fixing.”

I walked around the Packard. The right front fender was bashed in and the car was turned around, heading west again. A steady drip from the front grille made a puddle in the street.

Puddin said to Mama, “I bumped my head.”

Mama parted Puddin’s hair to examine her scalp. “You’re getting a goose egg. Everything else okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”