Jeffery Allen - Holding Pattern - Stories

Sweet daddy, bring back yo sweet jelly roll

Don’t leave me this way

Burdened with this heavy load

Hatch’s heart tightened. He rode deep waves of thought and feeling that carried him to some far-off place in the room, where he sat alone, in a small boat, spiraling on a whirlpool of blue water.

Mamma started briskly for the kitchen. Hatch went dizzily after her. Mamma? Where you going?

To do my cleaning.

Come and hear Blunt.

I can hear her from in here.

Come hear. A lasting spray of blue water, cool on his skin.

Come see Blunt play.

You go back and watch her.

He went back. Why you stop? Go on. Play some more.

No. It’s late in the evening. Folks trying to sleep. Blunt put the guitar back inside the case and closed lid and latches. Maybe I’ll teach you how to play tomorrow.

Really?

Yes.

I’d like that.

Mamma came into the room. Hatch, bedtime.

Fine.

Time for bed.

Fine.

Good night, Mamma said. She kissed him.

Good night.

Good night, Blunt said. She kissed him, her big lips wet on his face, her pug nose hard against his cheek.

Good night. Anger dragged him from the room and to a dark thinking place under Mamma’s bedsheets.

He lay there for some time, weighing, calculating, then quietly left the bed at the precise moment when Mamma and Blunt would falsely believe him asleep. He tiptoed over to the French doors and put his ear to the cold squared glass.

Please try.

I will.

You know plenty. So please …

I understand.

Yes. That’s all I’m asking. He’s still young.

I will.

Well, I said my piece. Good night, Blunt.

Good night, Joy … daughter.

Hatch hurried back into bed and pulled the covers over his head. He heard Mamma enter the room. Felt the opposite side of the mattress sag under her weight. He kept his back toward her as a wall and waited for sleep to come.

I must leave for work.

Why? Blunt said. I see no need.

Mamma seemed to ponder the words. Thank you, Blunt. I’m glad to hear you say that.

No need to thank me. Those bones is tired. It’s time for some rest.

I won’t argue … Well, I better get Hatch to school.

You two go ahead. I’ll stay here and get some rest. Still ain’t got that train out of my system.

Okay, Mamma said.

Good-bye, Blunt, Hatch said. He smiled up at her.

Good-bye, Hatch. Yall need money for a cab? It’s a bad day out there.

That would be nice, Mamma said.

Rubber boots inches above the floor, Hatch floated on the seat, an astronaut in his inflated snowsuit.

Why do I have to go to school today?

Because that’s your responsibility.

You got frank with me about Blunt and the preacher and you got frank with me about my father because you want me to be responsible? She had once explained it to him.

Yes.

Is Blunt responsible?

Why do you ask?

She still be responsible if she run away from the preacher?

Good people stick by those who are good to them.

The preacher was good?

Yes.

That’s not what you said.

What did I say?

You know what you said.

You misunderstood.

He was good?

Yes?

Why?

He helped her.

Are you being frank?

Yes.

They swung over to the curb.

Be good. She kissed his cheek.

I will. He wasn’t sure if she had been frank.

She paid the driver. Driver, could you please wait? I’ll be right back.

You got it.

They quit the cab and took the short path to the school.

Be good.

I will.

When school let out, he found Mamma waiting for him in an idling cab. He spoke excitedly about a typical school day. They had a quick ride home, the cab seemingly sliding above the snow like a great yellow sled.

Blunt! Blunt! We’re home!

He ran freely through the apartment. Blunt’s eyes stopped him, heavy on mind and skin, holding him in place like paperweights.

What happened to your eyes? Hatch asked. They’re blue.

I’ll show you. Blunt moved into Hatch’s bedroom, her large body in blue silk pajamas, hair flowing like a silver wave down to her nape. She returned with a small plastic case resting on her palm. These are contact lenses, she said.

What? Hatch said.

She removed something from the case, raised her hand to her eye. Removed her hand. Now her eye was green. The other was still blue.

How’d you do that?

Contact lenses, she said. She held out the case, full of many colored lenses, painted Easter eggs.

Wow.

Those are lovely, Mamma said.

Blunt smiled with radiant satisfaction. Eager to please, she turned her eye gray, then light brown, then green, then blue again.

Lahzonyah, Blunt called it. Lah-zon-yah. He tried to rise to his feet but found himself anchored to the seat, his stomach heavy with sunken treasure, the long empty casserole dish abandoned in the middle of the table like a beached boat.

Play some music.

Mamma glared at him over the hot coffee at her lips.

Maybe later, Hatch. Let my food digest first.

How long will that take?

Blunt laughed. Do you know that I used to have my own place where I could play music anytime I wanted and where dozens and dozens of people would come see me?

Mamma noisily returned her cup to the saucer.

What did you call it? Hatch asked.

The Red Rooster.

Did it look like a red rooster?

Blunt laughed. No. Like a barn. The only barn in Harlem.

Did it have—

Saturday, we should do some sightseeing, Mamma said. The coffee steamed up into her face. You haven’t seen the city.

That’ll be fine, Blunt said. How does that sound to you, Hatch?

Fine, he said. Please play your guitar tonight.

Why don’t you ask your mother if it’s okay with her?

Hatch looked at Mamma.

She was a long time in answering. I don’t see why not.

Great. Blunt hammered a beat on the table with her roach-slaying palm.

After some time, she arranged herself in a chair with her guitar.

If you gon walk on my heart

Please take off yo shoes

Said, if you gon walk on my heart

Kindly take off yo shoes

I got miles to make up to you, baby

And I ain’t got no time to lose

Bright stringed music radiated from the sunburst guitar and enwebbed the entire room. Job done, the rays recoiled back into the dark sound hole.

Play another one!

Bedtime, Mamma said.

No, it’s not.

Bedtime.

It’s too early.

Bedtime.

Fine.

Come on.

Fine.

Good night, Hatch. Blunt kissed him.

Good night.

He stalked out of the room. Pounced upon Mamma’s bed and clawed the sheets. Voices on the other side of the glassed door tamed his anger.

I asked you.

I’m sorry.

I mean—

I really am sorry.

I explained my reasons.

Yes. He is a child.

I mean, you know plenty. What was that one the preacher liked?

“Unchanging Hand.”

Yes. How about that one?

A solid choice.

I’ve tried. Tried my best. I’ve been patient. More than patient. I’m not one to cry over spoiled milk.

No, you aren’t. And bless you for it. If you put spoiled milk in the refrigerator at night, it’ll still be spoiled in the morning.

Yes.

Oh, Joy, I know. You may not believe it, but I know. You see, I ain’t much to look at. No feast for the eye. But the preacher chose me.

He wasn’t a pretty man himself.

No, he wasn’t, but he was a good man … Sometimes you had to fish for it. And good fish stay deep. Only the dead ones float on top.

Well, Mamma said, one might look at it that way.