The Return of Buddy Bush Read online

  Out in the shed, Ma louder than Grandma.

  Jones Property is just loud this morning.

  I can’t see no peace nowhere so I might as well go back in the kitchen to save Bay Boy.

  “Good morning, Grandma,” I say “Good morning, everybody.” That’s the way you speak when other people are in the house. You have to use Grandma’s name first, then you can say “everybody” to the other folks. But you better say “Grandma” first. Let me tell you why. You have to live on Rehobeth Road to know what it is like to live around Babe Jones. She got her own rules and we follow them. She says to speak to her first because she is the oldest person on Rehobeth Road. She wasn’t but two weeks older than Grandpa was. You think she care about that, but she don’t. She care about having her way. Period!

  We eat breakfast and wash the dishes in total silent. After breakfast we all pray one more time and start working around Jones Property. She’s almost working us to death.

  “Grandma, are we going to take the white sheet off the mirror in there where Collie is?”

  “Yes, Pattie Mae, you can take the sheet off the mirror in Collie’s room,” Grandma says. “And you do not have to laugh at her to do it.”

  I’m just going to run into my bedroom where that crazy Miss Collie is and grab the sheet right off the mirror and scare her behind. Wrong again. I grabbed the sheet off the mirror and Miss Citified Collie just laughed at me. Good! Laugh your tail right out that door. Laugh all the way to the train station. Laugh all the way back to Harlem.

  For the rest of the week, we work around Jones Property. Me, Hobo, and Hudson walk back and forth between Grandma’s and the old slave house to get my clothes ready for my trip.

  Chick-A-Boo said she is coming by to help me pack today.

  “Hey, Chick-A-Boo.”

  “Hey, Pattie Mae,” she says as I jump off of Grandpa’s front porch to hug her. We always hug real tight. Chick-A-Boo said we should do this in case something happens to us, like what happen to June Bug and Willie.

  Hobo barks at Chick-A-Boo like he always do. He don’t want her to touch me. Hudson could care less. They’re all following me to the slave house. I think Hudson and Hobo are friends now that Grandpa is dead. They did not like each other much before that. I think Hudson didn’t wanted to share Grandpa. Now they just got each other.

  Me and Chick-A-Boo helping Ma wash at the slave house. It takes us half the day to finish washing all the dirty clothes. When we finish, we put all the clothes for my trip in a pillowcase and take them to Jones Property. Grandma said Ma do not iron worth a cuss. She is going to iron all the clothes I’m taking to Harlem.

  Tomorrow we are leaving.

  4

  Headed North

  All aboard!

  The time has come and I am going North. North for the first time in my life.

  Ma is staying here with her citified sisters and her crying niece. Cousin Irene left yesterday. Coy is staying too. He is going to do the driving for the women folks. Lord, do I feel sorry for him. Chick-A-Boo could have come to the train station, but she such a crybaby that she stayed on Rehobeth Road. Me, Hobo, and Hudson had to go tell her good-bye yesterday. I’m almost waving my hand off at Ma, Grandma, and Coy as we pulling off in the big train.

  Just like I thought, BarJean done fell asleep after getting us a soda pop. When she wakes up I am going to tell her about the old one-tooth lady sitting across from us that asked me about Uncle Buddy. She is from Florida and she read all about him in the newspaper down there. The old lady is asleep now too.

  Now that they both are sleep, I can go through some of these dead folks’ obituaries. When I find Uncle Buddy I am going to tell him that I finally got old enough to see the dead folks’papers. These papers are some kind of old, like Grandma Nicey’s papers. But I can still read them. This one is for Miss Bessie Rou. Uncle Buddy was real good friends with her boy Massey She use to live on Rehobeth Road with her husband, Mr. George. Mr. George is still on this earth, but Miss Bessie Rou is dead now and so are most of her children. Ma said she ain’t never seen nothing to beat it. They all just started dying at one time.

  When I open Miss Bessie Rou’s dead folks’ paper, it has all her children’s papers folded inside. Her boy Perry, who use to be Coy’s best friend, died first. I remember when word came to Rehobeth Road that he was in the hospital. Perry left home when he was sixteen, just like Coy. One day something that nobody knows but God happened on his job at a factory up in Harlem and he somehow got burned from his chest down. Burned real, real bad. He lived for about two weeks and then he went on to meet his maker. The call came to Mr. Bay’s that poor Perry was dead. One of Perry’s cousins called Mr. Bay because he was the only person on Rehobeth Road with a phone. It was early one Saturday morning when Mr. Bay walked to the path of Jones Property and yelled to Grandpa. I was playing in the front yard when he came over there.

  “Braxton Jones, you home?”

  “Grandpa, Mr. Bay calling for you,” I yelled into the house.

  Grandpa came out on the porch and yelled back. “I’m right here. Bay, what in the world is wrong?”

  “That boy of George’s, Perry, is dead. You best tell them.”

  Then he turned around and went back to Bay’s Property. That was a mean way to tell us about poor Perry. Grandpa got his cane and walked off of Jones Property and did not say a word. Me, Hobo, and Hudson followed him. Grandma had heard Mr. Bay and Grandpa talking, so she covered the mirrors and changed into her black dress. Then she got her cane and walked over to Miss Doleebuck’s house so that they could go down to see about Miss Bessie Rou. She was washing some white sheets on the back porch when Grandpa and me got there.

  “Bessie Rou, how you this morning?”

  “I’m making it, Braxton Jones. What you doing up here so …” She stopped in the middle of her sentence and looked Grandpa in the face real hard. “No, Braxton, don’t you come up here with death. Please don’t come with death. Get off this land with death.”

  Then she threw the wet sheets on the ground and fell down on the porch with a loud thump. Lord, that woman did some crying. I cried too. Hobo howled because he knew death was here. Hudson ran like he did when Grandpa died last week. He ran away from death. Mr. George came out on the porch and sat down behind his wife body that was like a dishrag by then. I just rubbed poor Miss Bessie Rou’s head until Grandma and Miss Doleebuck got there. When they got there, they saw a sad sight. Miss Bessie Rou was still lying on the back porch crying. The women folks took over and I was glad. That was a sad day on Rehobeth Road and little did we know the worse was coming for Miss Bessie Rou and Mr. George. The funeral was so sad and when it was over, we never mentioned Perry’s name around Miss Bessie Rou again because she would throw a fit. Her children took it hard too, and her oldest boy, Massey, who had come down from Harlem for Perry’s funeral, said he was not going back. He said his folks was too broken up to live by themselves, so he stayed. Matter of a fact, he never made it back to Harlem at all. Not ever!

  Trying to cheer Miss Bessie Rou up, the children on Rehobeth Road started to play stickball in her front yard on Saturdays, instead of in the field right beside Mr. Charlies house. Coy was home from Harlem, so we were having a good time. It was a Saturday and Mr. Massey was doing what he did every Saturday that God sent since he moved back to Rehobeth Road. He washed his black Chevy and polished it until we could see our faces reflecting on the door. I was on first base. ChickA-Boo was on second base. Chick-A-Boo’s brother, Randy was on third. Coy was at bat. He hit the ball. A home run. “Run, Pattie Mae, run!” Massey yelled as he shined and shined his car. We all made it home. Four home runs. A grand slam!

  “I did it, Mr. Massey. I did it.” I looked over to Mr. Massey and his face had a look of horror on it. Lord, did the ball hit Mr. Massey?

  No! It was death.

  He fell to the ground as his face turned as green as the grass. We ran to him.

  “Mr. Massey! Mr. Massey!” we screamed.


  “Get back! Get back!” Coy yelled. Miss Bessie Rou was sitting on the front porch making a quilt out of all of Perry’s clothes that her children had brought from Harlem.

  “Massey, Massey,” she cried out as she ran to the car, dropping the quilt. “Lord, no, Lord, no, not another child of mine.”

  Mr. Massey was as dead as Perry. Folks say he had a heart attack. I just started running like I had never run before. Hudson was running beside me and Hobo, until he ran straight under the house at Grandpa’s. He was running from death. I ran right past Jones Property up to the slave house where I knew Ma was making biscuits for Saturday supper. I don’t know why I passed Jones Property. I just did.

  “Ma, Ma, come quick. Mr. Massey done fell dead.”

  Ma threw the dough down on the table and wiped her hands right on her dress. Ma can run. She ran right past Jones Property too.

  “Pattie Mae,” Ma said in between breaths, “get Pa and Ma Babe.”

  I turned onto Jones Property and Ma kept on going. I don’t remember turning. I don’t remember opening the back door. Grandpa was in the kitchen getting ready to take some leftover food out to Hudson and Hobo.

  “Child, what in the sand hill is wrong?” Grandpa asked.

  “Grandpa, come with me! Mr. Massey done fell dead in Miss Bessie Rou’s yard!”

  He grabbed his cane and started walking back down death road one more time. I walk with him. Me and Hobo. He stopped and got Mr. Charlie. Miss Doleebuck waited on the front porch for Grandma, who was covering the mirrors and putting on her black dress.

  By now Randy had ran up to Mr. Bay’s with a quarter to use the phone. That Mr. Bay should be shamed of himself for charging us a quarter to make a phone call. Not anymore, though, because Grandma got a phone now. A yellow phone.

  It did not take long for Mr. Joe Gordon to get there. Before he got there, Ma took poor Miss Bessie Rou’s half-made quilt and covered Mr. Massey up in it. They had to drag Miss Bessie Rou in the house.

  “Massey and Perry, Massey and Perry,” she cried out for her boys the rest of the day.

  Another death on Rehobeth Road. Another funeral. The funeral was at Chapel Hill that next Saturday. When the preacher started to preach, he said some good things about Mr. Massey, but right in the middle of his preaching he said, “Bessie Rou, we know you hurt. We know what it’s like to lose two sons in two months.”

  That was the wrong thing to say to her.

  In her grief Miss Bessie Rou had lost her mind.

  “You don’t know a damn thang!” she yelled back.

  The church fell silent. Randy got tickled and laughed out loud. Tickled ain’t all he got. According to Chick-A-Boo, Randy got the whipping of his life when he got home.

  It took a long time for things to get back to normal on Rehobeth Road. It took a long time for folks to forget that Miss Bessie Rou yelled at the preacher man. Many funerals would follow for that family. I just stopped going after a while. Within two years Miss Bessie Rou’s girl Roe Mae fell dead in the grocery store. Her boy Wesley James died up in Harlem. And Miss Bessie Rou herself died of who knows what. I reckon her heart just broke in half.

  Mr. George, he still alive down there on Cumbo Road, where he moved in with his girl Hattie James, who was Wesley James’s twin. When it was all said and done, I think more folks died in that family in two years than all of the folks that died on Rehobeth Road in my whole life.

  I keep thinking about all those people as this train moves north taking me to a place I ain’t never been before. I hope I will like Harlem. It can’t be as lonely as it gets on Rehobeth Road, mainly when the milkman don’t blow. I think I’ll tell Uncle Buddy what the milkman done to me. Abusing a twelve-year-old. Uncle Buddy will go right over there and tell him a piece of his mind. BarJean and the old lady still sleep and I am going to read until one of them wake up. I don’t know the old lady, but I know she will ask even more questions if she see my obituaries.

  5

  June Bug

  This obituary is for June Bug and his cousin Willie. I remember when they died. Willie lived back in the Low Meadows. Willie wasn’t no kin to me, but June Bugs ma is my Aunt Rosie. They were visiting from Harlem for Christmas when he meet his maker. My Big Aunt Sally, who was Grandpa’s sister, was keeping them back in the Low Meadows so that they would help her pack pecans for Christmas presents. The Low Meadows is a place off of Bryantown Road with a long dirt path. The land was already low and after the big rain came in 1940, Ma said there was a flood and it washed away two inches of land. The only reason Big Aunt Sally house is still standing is because it was up on the hillside. It’s empty now, because she died two months after the boys died.

  Anyway, we called her Big Aunt Sally because Ma had a baby sister named Sally, who the family had planned to call Little Aunt Sally, but she died. Ma said that her sister Sally was sleeping with Grandma and Grandpa when one of them rolled over and suffocated her to death in the middle of the night. They don’t know who rolled over on her. They just know she was dead the next morning.

  Big Aunt Sally was real nice. I helped her, June Bug, and Willie pack pecans for a week until Ma made me come home. I am so glad I was not there when them boys died that I do not know what to do.

  Big Aunt Sally been telling us all our lives not to go back of the field to the pond. Well, June Bug and Willie was hardheaded and went back there anyway. They had been back there twice before the day death came. Both times I told Big Aunt Sally and she took a switch to they behinds. That did not do any good. Big Aunt Sally was sweeping the front porch when Willie and June Bug came running around the house talking about they going for a walk.

  “You both can walk all you want to, but you best not go near that pond.”

  “We won’t, Big Aunt Sally.”

  Willie’s ma, Essie, was out Christmas shopping at the thrift store over in Jackson when all of this happen. I don’t know why them boys did not listen, because they dead for not listening.

  The day my cousin and Willie died there was another boy at the pond that we call Hog Daddy. We call him Hog Daddy because he eat like a hog and he looks just like his daddy. He eats all the time just like Toe Worm. From house to house, he go telling lies to grown folks. He tells them that he hungry because he ain’t ate nothing. They feed him, then he go to another house and tell another grown-up the same lie until his belly is full. Hog Daddy had stopped by Big Aunt Sally’s for blackberry dumplings the day the boys died. He claims he could not skate because he had a belly full from eating Big Aunt Sallys blackberry dumplings. He lying! Who goes to a pond in December unless they going to ice-skate?

  The sun had been shining all day and that ice was mighty thin. Hog Daddy said that Willie got on the ice first and skated all the way to the middle. Hog Daddy said before he could say “no,” Willie fell through the ice, yelling at the top of his lungs. June Bug yelled and skated out there too. Skated out there to save Willie. Down he went! Them boys couldn’t even swim. Hog Daddy ain’t no kin to them, but he almost died trying to save their lives. He said he pulled them out one by one. Willie was dead and Hog Daddy knew it, but June Bug was still breathing, so Hog Daddy laid Willie by the side of the pond and carried June Bug all the way back to Big Aunt Sally’s house on his back. It was too late, June Bug died right there on Big Aunt Sally’s living-room floor. Then Big Aunt Sally had to walk all the way out of the Low Meadows to tell Aunt Rosie that her boy was dead. Hog Daddy had to walk to town to get Joe Gordon, because Big Aunt Sally did not have a telephone.

  Aunt Rosie was at church decorating for the Christmas party Ma said she hollered for five hours. Grandpa said he could hear her on Rehobeth Road. That’s five miles from the church where Aunt Rosie was doing her hollering.

  Thats the truth.

  Two caskets, not one.

  Two families, not one.

  Two hearses, not one.

  I can’t think about it another minute. I want to think about finding Uncle Buddy. When I do, we are going to talk about the l
iving, not the dead.

  6

  Harlem, Lord, Harlem

  I wonder how big Harlem is. For sure it is bigger than Rehobeth Road. For sure it is bigger than Rich Square. I hope it ain’t too hard to find my uncle.

  Before Grandpa died, I overheard him tell Grandma that Uncle Buddy is right here in Harlem. Well, I didn’t overhear him tell her nothing. I was ease dropping. Yes, I know it’s rude, but that’s the only way to get my information from grown folks. I just take my mason jar and put it to the door and get me an ear full. I sure hope they got mason jars up North. I have got to get me a mason jar. If I can’t find one, I am going to send Chick-A-Boo a few quarters and she can mail me one. I miss Chick-A-Boo already. Before I left she told me she did not want to be called Chick-A-Boo after she turns thirteen next December. She wants to be called by her real name, Caroline. She done lost her mind. The first thing I am going to say when I see her little face is, “Chick-A-Boo, Chick-A-Boo, Chick-A-Boooooooooooooooooo!”

  I’m thinking about Chick-A-Boo and folks back home as the train is rolling into New Yorks Penn Station. BarJean said from here we are taking a taxicab to her apartment. I ain’t never been in a taxicab before. I wonder if it is as big as Mr. Charlie’s car. I’m so excited as we get in the taxicab.

  All I can see is lights, lights, and more lights. I just believe I am going to faint. It’s a sight for my eyes to see. People everywhere like it ain’t even nighttime. I’m trying to see everything. Trying to count every light, but there are just too many. It is quite a ways to BarJean’s apartment from the train station because we still riding. It’s at least fifteen miles. I got butterflies from all this excitement. BarJean looking at me like she think I have lost my mind. But I ain’t crazy; I’m just free. Free from chopping them fields on Rehobeth Road. Free from picking cotton come fall. Lord, I’m free from picking strawberries with Grandma until I can hardly stand up.