that he’s gone
and then remember.
The Arrival
Two hundred and forty-six minutes later
we pull into
the gravel driveway
of my grandparents’ home.
They’re both sitting on the
porch just like in the picture
that hangs
on our living room wall.
My grandmother
starts speed-walking
toward us,
and before
I can barely wake up
and get out of the car,
she’s at my window,
grinning and whatnot.
Lord Have Mercy
So tall and handsome like your father, she says. I smile back, politely. Get the bags, Percy, she yells to my grandfather, who’s still sitting on the porch, bobbing his head to music I can faintly hear.
The last time
I saw them (I mean her,
’cause he didn’t come)
was at the funeral,
where I didn’t
really say anything,
and then
when we got home
I just stayed in my room
’cause I was so sick
of everybody
asking me the same
lame question:
Are you okay, son?
Hey, Momma, my mom says, leaning over me to greet her. Welcome, WELCOME! Charlie Bell, if you don’t get outta this car and give your grandmother a hug, she says, opening the door for me.
So I do,
and I almost knock her
wig off.
Dread
Charlie can get his own bags, Mom says.
Sure can, my grandfather echoes. Don’t shirk the work, Chuck.
Percy, they just drove half a day—they’re tired and the boy’s hungry. Right, Charlie?
I nod heck yeah, but
my mom,
who’s now getting bear-hugged
by Granddaddy,
shoots me a look
that says, Get the bags, Charlie.
Hustle and grind, peace of mind, he continues, that’s my motto. You do what I say this summer, everything’s gonna be fine. Just fine.
I grab my suitcases
and on the walk
up the driveway
remember the things
I love and hate
about visiting
my grandparents:
Love her good food.
Hate his corny rhymes.
What
an incredibly long
and dreadful
summer
this is going to be.
Fried Chicken
My grandmother
could put KFC
out of business
with her fried chicken
that tastes like
crispy pieces
of heaven
just fell
from the sky
and landed
right on your plate
next to
the biggest slice
of jalapeño cornbread
you ever saw—so hot,
the butter
that sizzles on top
could burn
your tongue.
Yeah, her cooking
is so good,
it’ll make you
want to
slap yourself.
Small Talk at Dinner
How was church this morning, Momma? Mom asks.
We didn’t make it this morning. Percy’s knees acting up.
My knees are made of iron. Iron Man is just fine, Granddaddy says all grumpy-like.
I know, Percy, she says, kissing him on the head and putting another piece of chicken on my plate.
How was school this year, Charlie?
Fine, Grandma.
Good grades?
Uh-huh.
Excited for summer?
Sure.
Food okay?
Yes, ma’am.
Your cousin Roxie is excited to see you.
And it’s like this
for the whole meal
back
and forth
them asking
me not wanting to answer
’cause I have nothing
to say
and I really don’t want
to even be here.
Another piece of chicken, Charlie?
Yes, ma’am.
After
listening to Grandma talk
to Mom
about family stuff,
and my grandfather complain about
the new neighbors
who let their grass
grow too long, and
who are probably over there
smokin’ that stuff, and
After
Mom lets me
drink grape soda,
which she never
lets me do,
but since Grandma
had already poured it
in my glass and I’d already started
drinking it,
well . . . and
After
I’ve eaten five pieces
of thick, tender,
juicy meat, and
I admit, almost eating
the bone, my grandfather belches
and says
to me:
Okay, enough playing, Chuck. Game’s over. We got work to do.
Work?
Hustle and Grind
The boy just got here, Percy. Let him relax a bit.
Hustle and grind, Alice. Freedom ain’t free.
Percy, you’re just talking nonsense now.
Alice, the grass won’t cut itself
Can I be excused, please?
Oh, now the boy wants to talk.
Percy!
What, Alice? He hasn’t said but two words since he got here.
He doesn’t have to speak right now if he doesn’t want to.
Well, he’s got to work.
So soon, Percy? Let him rest up.
Alice, we’re about teamwork in this house. This summer, we all got our jobs. Mine is putting food on this table. Yours is to keep cooking that good food, run this house, and give your sweet daddy some sugar. Now give me some sugar.
She gives him a kiss. UGH!
And Chuck Bell, you have one job to do. Just one.
To cut the grass? I ask.
To be on the team. To get in the game when the coach calls on you. You know who the coach is?
You.
That’s right, Chuck Bell, I’m the coach. Percy Bell, husband to Alice Johnson Bell, father to LeRoy and Charmaine and . . . your father—may he rest in peace—Joshua Bell.
Who cut the grass before I got here?
That’s your response to everything your grandfather has been saying? my mom asks, shaking her head and getting up from the table to put the dishes away.
Listen to your grandfather, Charlie. Some of this stuff might actually make sense, Grandma adds, smiling and patting me on the back.
Doesn’t matter about before, only after. The game isn’t over son—you gonna learn that. This is the first quarter. We’re just getting started.
Percy, this isn’t the Boys and Girls Club. You’re going to talk us all crazy. Just take the boy outside and show him how to use the lawnmower.
That’s what I been trying to do, ’cause the grass won’t cut itself
I know how to use a lawnmower, I say, then add, This sucks, loud enough for no one to hear but me.
Thought
I’d give anything
to be at Disney World
right now.
He watches me
push the mower
shows me how
to lift the side
to get the corners,
tells me,
Proper way is to cut it at a diagonal. Looks better.
T
hen he keeps correcting
the way I turn
at the end
of each row,
tells me never, ever
pull it backwards.
Always push, Charlie,
to get the blades
of grass lying
in the same direction, like
little green soldiers
saluting
the sky.
A friend
of his in a cowboy hat
and a way-too-tight
silver suit,
big glasses,
and tie
comes over
and they stand
near the ditch
at the back
of the yard
talking
and laughing,
which means
I get to finish
in peace
without
any more commands
from the general.
Conversation with Mom
How was your time with Granddaddy?
Horrible.
It wasn’t that bad.
You’ve sent me to a child labor camp.
At least the food’ll be good, she says, smiling.
Why does he have to call me Chuck? That’s not my name.
Just enjoy the time with them. They’re not going to be around forever.
. . .
I think I’m going to get on the road first thing in the morning.
But we just got here.
I know, but—
You can’t just leave me here with them. I don’t even really know them.
You’ll be fine, Charlie.
It’s just not fair.
I’ll call you every night.
. . .
Give me a kiss. You’ll be asleep when I leave.
You’re not gonna marry some other man, are you?
What?
Some of my friends’ parents got divorced, remarried, and the new fathers abused the kids, and that’s not cool, so I just wanna know.
I am not getting married anytime soon, and if I did, this new husband would never lay a hand on you, lest he find himself pulling back a nub. You hear me, Charlie? A nub!
And then she starts
tickling me
and I try not to
laugh,
and then
she just stops
and stares,
wiping
her single tear,
and I try not to
cry.
I wake up
the next morning
to piano
and horns
blaring
bacon
sizzling
and sun
peeking
through
pea-green curtains.
Why are all these lights on
Granddaddy says
standing
in the hallway
when I come out
of the bathroom.
Hallway light’s on. Bedroom light’s on. We gonna have problems if you waste my electricity like that, boy.
Sorry, I say.
He’s wearing
a brown cap
leather jacket
and sunglasses
big as goggles
like he’s about to
fly a plane.
You hungry?
Yeah, I say, wondering
if Grandma made
her famous
butter biscuits.
Good, go get your socks and shoes on.
Where are we going so early?
You’ll find out when we get there.
Are we going out to eat? Didn’t Grandma cook?
Too early for all these questions, son.
. . .
Don’t forget to say good morning to your grandmother, then meet me on the porch.
Yeah.
“Yeah” is for your friends.
Yessir.
Break of Dawn
Apparently
every morning
before breakfast
my grandfather
walks from his house
to a lake
at the end
of the neighborhood.
By himself.
Well, every morning
until today.
The Walk
Keep up, son.
You’re going too fast.
I’m a hundred years older than you. Where’s your hustle?
It’s just hot out here, I say, sweating, wishing I was back in my room with the fan on high.
It’s summer, boy. Supposed to be hot.
. . .
Your mother’s a real good woman. Too easy on you, though. You a lucky boy. My mother wasn’t so easy. Used to make me get a switch from our peach tree, then we got whupped good.
You mean “whipped.”
I mean she spanked us for days, it seemed like.
Oh.
Wasn’t her fault, though. She tried her best to keep us behavin’, but we were bad boys. Me and my brother. We used to cause all kind of ruckus in that house. One time we set a trap for a rat and caught a raccoon, then took it to school.
. . .
He’s gone now, rest in peace. Both of us went to war. Only one of us came back.
Sorry.
Don’t be. He died fighting for this country. Hell of a man, Jordan Bell. Rest in peace!
. . .
. . .
How far are we walking?
Till the river meets the road.
I thought it was a lake.
Till I say we’re done.
I’m hungry.
Faster you walk, faster you eat.
. . .
Kerplunk
When we get to
the lake
he skips rocks
on the surface
of the water
then hands me
one to throw.
It sinks.
Conversation with Granddaddy
Dang, boy, you gotta turn it to the side, slide it, glide it, like a Frisbee.
. . .
You play sports?
I skate.
That’s not a sport.
They have skating in the Olympics.
Unless you’re figure skating on ice, it’s a hobby. Your father played football, baseball, and basketball.
. . .
He was so-so. I never had time to play with him like I wanted. Too busy working two and three jobs. But he coulda been good.
Oh.
You ever have kids, Chuck, you take the time to play with them, okay?
Uh-huh.
Course that means you gotta know how to play something.
Yeah.
. . .
Yessir.
Okay, let’s get back to the house. I gotta shower and get ready for work.
I thought you retired.
I did. Mostly. It’s a part-time job at the Boys and Girls Club. I open the club, work for a half-day or so, help the young folks, stay out of Alice’s way. And keep her out of mine.
. . .
How about you come with me?
Do they have an arcade?
Pinball and some other machines.
Maybe, I don’t know.
Look at that! Holy bazooka!
At what?
That, he says, pointing
to the blue-gray sky
above the lake. The sun’s a coming.
A new day, a new dollar
Makes me wanna holler!
And then he does,
like a madman,
which makes all
the neighborhood dogs
do the same.
Breakfast
While I eat
three pieces
of crispy bacon
sandwiched between
a biscuit
the size
of a hamburger bun
with butter
dripping down
the sides,
Grandma fills
my juice glass,
wipes down
her silver-colored
General Electric stove,
and sweeps
the kitchen floor.
Grandma, um, I was thinking maybe I would go with Granddaddy.
WELL, IF YOU’RE COMING, THEN COME ON, Granddaddy screams from the bathroom. WE GOTTA PICK UP ROXIE AND BEAT THE TRAFFIC
I need to pack him a lunch, Percy.
ALICE, THE TRAFFIC’S NOT GONNA EASE UP ’CAUSE YOU WANNA FIX HIM A HAM SANDWICH.
Drink a lot of water today, Charlie. It’s supposed to be eighty-nine degrees.
Yes, ma’am, Grandma.
CHOP-CHOP, CHUCK!
Yessir.
My cousin Roxie
was at the funeral too,
but I didn’t talk
to her, either.
The last time
I really talked to her
was at the family reunion
when we were both
in third grade.
I remember
she thought
she could dance real well