I knew about the wife. If people don’t approve of something, it is discussed, and this was. She was white. And an art teacher, my good luck. In middle school they didn’t have any art, she taught at Lee High. But Mr. Armstrong took some of my drawings to show her, and she came over one day to meet with me. Ms. Annie. She talked in a voice that was almost like singing （which she did, in their band） and dressed like a hippie. Long blue skirt, flowery scarf on her long hair, earrings with little rocks on them, four colors of blue. Blond eyelashes, which you don’t see that much. We were in the empty teacher lounge that had a couch, but she put out some thick paper and pencils on the low table and sat on the floor, so I did the same.
She asked me different things. Could I show her how I went about drawing a face. Easy. Start with a circle, divide it with a cross with the sideways part below center. Eyes go on that, with a gap in the middle, same wideness as the eye. Different type eyebrows for surprise or love or mad. Then draw the jaw below the circle as a separate thing, like a skull and jawbone, because a face actually has a skull underneath it. （Something I learned from Tommy.） She asked me how I would decide what type of jaw to make. That’s simple: small jaw for a kid or a lady, big for a man, bigger for a superhero. Which is why lady superheroes are dead tricky.
She wanted to know if I’d taken any class or seen drawing shows on TV, which I didn’t know existed. She kept on being amazed until the bell rang and I couldn’t believe an hour was up. She said I had a natural talent and did I want to work with her on improving it. Perspectives, composition, etc. Long story short, she would be my Gifted teacher. I could try out other media that she had a whole studio full of. Art supplies other than pencils. Jesus God.
If you’ve ever heard that song “She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain,” that was Betsy Woodall coming to visit. No six white horses, but an occasion. Mr. Peg would say high dudgeon.
The first time was late that winter, to transfer over my paperwork. If she approved of how I was doing with Coach, they’d go to the DSS office and sign him on as my new guardian. Old Baggy would shed no tears. She hadn’t called once since I’d moved in with Coach, taking her usual approach of, if the kid’s not broke, don’t fix him. And if he is, go whistle it out your ass.
My grandmother was not that easy. Getting moved up to the harder classes won me no prizes, she wanted report cards. Mattie Kate had busted her butt clearing up the living room, piling the crap in back rooms, so we all sat around the giant table, including Mr. Dick and Jane Ellen that drove them in the Comet. Miss Betsy wanted to know if the sports nonsense was going to interfere with my education. I looked at Coach: no lanyard twirling. Eyebrows on even keel.
“There’s not any sports right now, football season is over with till the fall,” I told her. My grandmother probably being the one person on God’s earth that didn’t know that. Obviously other ones did exist such as basketball, but not in Lee County. Any sport that’s not football around here is like vanilla. Why even eat that, if they’ve invented flavors.
She asked Coach was this true, me being done with sports?
“Miss Woodall, you can leave this young man to me. I plan on doing my level best to enhance his full potential.” Total poker face.
She eyed us one by one. Angus had on this gigantic green sweater that swallowed her entire body like that Scooby-Doo girl, and her hair in these pop-up knobs like devil horns. My grandmother was like, Hmmm, maybe this one needs my educating. But Coach wouldn’t give her up. He might not say much, but he’d sometimes come up behind Angus and put his arms around her neck, chin on her head. Stand there leaning on her like a man saved.
All the sudden my grandmother hefted up her six-foot scarecrow self, and we all drew breath. She walked over and picked up the photo of Angus’s mom. Wiped it with her sleeve, looked at it, set it back down. Then announced that I appeared to be on the uphill climb, and if I kept it up, all would be well. She discussed changing my last name to hers, which I wasn’t wild about. Having the exact name of my dad seemed like asking for confusion. With a dead person, that could have consequences. Plus where was Mom in all this, erased? Otherwise, all good. I had legal kin and a guardian that didn’t hate me. Mattie Kate brought out a roasted chicken, and we had the meal that table was made for, fit for a king.
I was on notice though, and she stayed on my case. Jane Ellen drove Miss Betsy and Mr. Dick up to visit every few months, and it never stopped feeling like Survivor where I was fixing to get voted off the island. I hung on. The bright side was, our living-room situation improved, with the mayhem transferred to Coach’s office and other places Miss Betsy wouldn’t see. Once in a great while they stayed the night. Mr. Dick used a fold-out couch in a downstairs room.