Mr. Lonny came to the car, and Baybay and he shook hands. The old man asked about the family, smiling his toothless grin. He patted Baybay on the shoulder and told him, God bless.
Then we drove back out to the farm. At the creek, we debated music.
“Can’t we listen to something besides James Brown?” I asked. “Prince or somebody?”
“Prince sing like a girl,” Boukie said. “And he wear high heels and ruffles and shit. Plus, a woman start messing with a Black man’s music, it’s all over.”
“I don’t believe I see a man in this car. Even though you’ll probably be thirty when you graduate high school. You’ve been left back three times.”
“I only got left back twice, Ailey! My birthday come early!” Boukie waved his hand. “Man, forget you.”
He lay back on the crushed velvet and closed his eyes. I took off my seat belt and leaned over the seat, looking at the two boys. They had identical haircuts, low fades with a side part. Baybay’s dark skin and white teeth were downright pretty. The other boy was too light for me, but I couldn’t deny it: Boukie was handsome. His eyelashes were criminally long.
“Um, anyway, can’t we expand our horizons?” I asked.
“What you mean?” Baybay asked.
“Can’t we, like, listen to some classical music or some opera?”
“Sweetheart, you got to understand something. Mad Dog Twenty-Twenty, that’s my favorite wine. And Mad Dog and opera, they don’t go together. Opera make you want to drink some white wine in a Volvo. Some Chardonnay or something like that. But listen to this.” He turned up the eight-track and James Brown hollered. “Now, James make you want to drink some Mad Dog in a Cadillac, don’t he? This is an Eldorado, to be more specific, but James don’t sing Chardonnay music, and this ain’t no Chardonnay car.”
Happy Birthday
Every day, I looked in the mailbox, hoping for something from the City. Chris had promised he would write me three times a week, but there was nothing from him, even on my Sweet Sixteen birthday, which no one made special. Coco didn’t call, much less send a card, and neither did Nana.
On the farm, my granny baked me a chocolate cake from scratch, but she didn’t know she was supposed to sing the birthday song. And when Uncle Root gave me a package, I foolishly let my hopes get up, until I saw it was a hardcover book. He told me it was a first edition of The Souls of Black Folk. He nodded decisively, as if the matter of my happiness was settled.
I hugged the book to my chest, faking delight. “Wow. For real? Thank you so much.”
I’d been looking to my father to save the day, to send down one of his usual, inappropriately expensive gifts. Daddy only mailed me a check.
“I told your mama what to buy,” he said. “But she said you’d want the money.”
“But you always get me something nice. And I never told her I wanted a check. Where’s she getting this from?”
I didn’t know that my mother was listening on the other extension. “You should be happy with that check! Some folks don’t even have clothes or a roof over their heads or a decent plate of collard greens and corn bread.”
“I’m sorry, Mama—”
“—your father had a heart attack! I’ve been taking care of him, night and day, since he was released from the hospital. But I’m so sorry I ruined your birthday. I know that’s more important than anybody’s health.”
She hung up.
“Oh God,” I said. “Now she’s mad.”
“Don’t worry, darling,” he said. “I’ll smooth it over. It’ll be fine. But I don’t like this strict diet your mama’s got me on. No bacon, no cream in my coffee, no eggs. I didn’t even know your mama could make food taste bad, until she started listening to my doctor. You didn’t hear me say that, though. I don’t want to end up in the hospital again from a beating. Your mama beats me all the time, and yet I love her desperately.”
“You’re silly. She does not.”
“She’s capable of it. I hope you know that.”
His laughing turned into a coughing fit before he caught his breath. I told him, please take care of yourself.
The next day, Baybay was at work but had loaned Boukie the car. He told me he had a birthday surprise for me: he was taking me to the mall in Milledgeville. Boukie acted like that was a big deal, and I guess it was. Chicasetta only had a dollar store that sold everything from towels to clothes, now that the old dime store had shut down.