Percival Everett: Suder

Later, I walked over to the old school building and saw Virgil Wallace. He was sitting with his back against the pole of a basketball goal which no longer had a hoop. Virgil Wallace was about eighteen and real long and skinny. One of his legs was bent and the other was straight out. He was wearing one bright red sock and one bright yellow one. His hand was in his lap and he tossed his head back and looked up at the sky. I moved toward him. I noticed the ringworm on his head.

“Virgil?” I said. I was standing off to his side and slightly behind him.

He didn’t notice me.

I walked around and stood right in front of him and I looked at the hand that was in his lap. He was holding the head of his penis in his hand and it was covered with a milky substance. “Virgil?”

He looked at me. His eyes were half-closed.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He nodded.

“Why do you pull on yourself?”

He held up his hand dripping with the stuff. “For this here.”

“What is it?”

He looked at the stuff on his hand and then, without looking at me, he said, “Life.” He laughed out loud. “Life,” he repeated, looking up at me, the corners of his mouth curled slightly up. He pushed his messy hand toward me: an offer.

I ran all the way home. When I walked into my bedroom, Martin was pacing around, sniffing.

“Come in here,” he said. “Tell me if you smell something.”

I inhaled deeply. “No,” I lied to him.

“You didn’t even breathe.”

“I did, too. I just don’t smell anything. Maybe it’s your lip.”

Martin shook his head and left the room.

I pulled the hatbox from beneath my bed and looked inside at my birds. There were a few maggots moving around. I sneaked the box down into the garage and hid it behind a couple of tires in the corner.

So, I’m sitting in the living room and Thelma is beside me on the sofa and Peter’s on the floor with his toy truck, even though it’s past his bedtime, and neither of them has got much to say to me. The doorbell rings and I get up and let David in.

“Uncle David,” says Peter, running to David.

David picks Peter up and says, “How you doing, pal?” David looks at Thelma. “Hi, Thelma.”

“Hello, David.” Thelma’s voice sounds far off and she barely looks at him.

“I’ll get you a beer,” I says and I go into the kitchen and come back with two beers. “So, who won?”

“We did, eight-one.”

We sit down in front of the television and watch the late news.

“I was thinking,” says David. “Maybe you should go to the country for a while. That’s what I’d do if I had a vacation.”

Thelma’s and Peter’s eyes turn on me. “Look,” I says, “it’s time for the sports.”

On the television the fella runs off some scores and mentions cliff-diving in Mexico and then he says, “A representative of the Mariners said today that the team will play the New York Yankees tomorrow without the services of third baseman Craig Suder, who has been put on the Disabled List. He added that Suder may be out for an extended period. He said that Suder’s pulled hamstring muscle needs complete rest.”

My son turns and looks at me and then he gets up and goes to his room.

“I should be going,” David says and stands up.

I see David out and I turn from the door to face Thelma.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she wants to know. “I thought you just had tonight off.”

“I just found out when I got to the park.”

“What does it mean?”

“Nothing. They just want me to rest and get my head together, is all.”

She looks at me and then she walks away and into the bedroom. I take to looking through the records and I find a Charlie Parker album and it’s got a song on it called “Ornithology” that I remember liking. So, I put this record on and turn up the volume. I listen to this one song maybe a dozen times. I can’t get enough of it. I can’t get past it and I’m really getting caught up in the saxophone solo and I get excited and decide to tackle Thelma.

I undress and I’m waiting for her to come out of the bathroom. She comes out and sees me naked with an erection and she smiles and walks over to me. She puts her hand on it and just like that, just like somebody turns a valve, I go limp. She throws my pecker down against my thigh and climbs aboard her exerciser and rides off.

Martin and I were out in the yard. Daddy pushed his head out of a window of his office and asked us to come in. Daddy’s office was next door to our house. We walked inside and found Daddy standing beside a sorta heavy fella.

“Boys,” Daddy said, “this is Bud Powell.”

I didn’t know who he was. I just looked up at his smiling face. I liked his face.

“Bud Powell, the piano player,” Daddy said. “The famous piano player.”

I didn’t know who he was, but if Daddy said he was famous, then he was special.

“Hello, Mr. Powell,” Martin said.

Mr. Powell nodded a hello and smiled again.

I didn’t say anything. I was staring at him with wide-open eyes.

Bud Powell laughed really loud and grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. He looked at my face and said, “You remind me of Bird.”

I moved my eyes to Daddy. Mr. Powell was still holding me by the hair.

“Charlie Parker,” Daddy said to me.

I didn’t know this name either, but I liked that he’d said I looked like Bird.

“Mr. Powell is playing over at Fort Bragg,” Daddy said.

“You’re not sick?” I asked. He was still holding my head back.

“Naw, I’m okay,” he said.

“Mr. Powell,” Daddy said.

“Bud.”

“Okay, Bud.” Daddy smiled. “We’re going fishing tomorrow morning and I was wondering if you’d like to join us.”

“Aw, gee,” said Mr. Powell. “Thanks a lot for the offer, Doc, but we’re leaving early in the morning for a gig up in New Jersey.”

“Well, maybe next time,” Daddy said. “Why don’t you boys run on along.”

Mr. Powell let go of my hair and Martin and I went back into the yard.

“I like him,” I said to Martin, looking back at Daddy’s office.

Martin didn’t say anything. He just started off.

“Where are you going?” I asked, following him.

“I’m going to shoot sparrows.”

I stopped. I didn’t go with him.

The next morning the bell rang and Ma jogged to the door and opened it. It was Mr. Powell and he was confused to see my mother wearing a heavy coat, running in place.

“Who are you?” Ma asked.

“Mr. Powell,” I said, running to the door.

“Mrs. Suder,” he greeted Ma.

“Come in,” Ma said. “Ben!” she called Daddy.

“Hey there, Bird,” Mr. Powell said to me.

“Bud,” said Daddy, walking into the room.

“Hey there, Doc. I decided to take you up on the fishing.”

Daddy rowed the boat out into the middle of the river. With the four of us it was a tight fit. The sun was strong and the mosquitoes were thick. Mr. Powell seemed real happy to be with us. Daddy and Mr. Powell were sitting at either end of the boat.

“This is my special spot,” Daddy said. “I can guarantee you the big ones.”

Mr. Powell laughed. “All right, Doc.” He looked at me. “I can’t get over how much you look like Bird. Round the eyes. Round the eyes.” He grabbed my face and tilted it from side to side, looking. “The mouth, too. Doc, your boy got lips like Bird.”

I put my finger to my mouth and traced the outline of my lips. He let go of my face.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” asked Mr. Powell.

Martin and I looked at him.

“What about you, Marvin?”

“That’s Martin.”