Chapter 41 #2
If she had just took the time to read his book all the way through Tom might still be alive.
But as I go around opening all the windows around the house to let out the smell, a sad voice in my head says, No, Meg.
If not this, something else would have pulled Tom to the bottom of that lake eventually.
I think what scares me most is I didn’t even think Lucille was all that drunk when she went to bed. But she was drunk enough to light a sofa on fire and near herself and not even wake up.
I decide it is time I got organized about this. What I need is a way to keep track of this.
I bring my school supplies down to Tom’s office and set it all up on his desk.
I sit in his squeaky chair and take my new compass and draw a big black circle on a page.
Next I make a line to cut the circle in half, then quarters, and so forth, and I crayon each of the sections in a different distinct color.
Then I pull the wood arrow off the color wheel that came with the box of crayons, and I fix it to my own chart.
It does not spin as good, but it will have to do.
And wallah, what we have here is the Munsell Crayola drunkenness color wheel by Margot Lefleur.
Let us begin at the top of the chart and move clockways:
Neutral Grey. A arrow set to this color means that Lucille has not had her first drink yet, but her face is near this shade from being drunk the night before. No danger.
Rose Pink. This is Lucille’s color after she has had her first martini drink with a bite of dry toast or what have you. Bad attitude likely but not much else activity.
Gold Ochre. This is after Lucille has had a few with lunch, generally followed by a short nap. There is a high likelihood of some cursing, drunk telephone calls, and spilled drinks or food. If she has not had a nap, then go straight to number four, English Vermilion.
English Vermilion. This color means she skipped the nap and just kept on drinking. Expect destruction of property, threats to be snatched bald-headed and returned to the Orphan, and possible chicken leg thrown at you.
Madder Lake. This is a very drunk Lucille situation.
Watch for signs of dangerous behavior including sticking things in sockets, trying to drive automobile to store, or trying to drive automobile to store without any clothes on.
Pinching and cigarette burns should be expected, but under no circumstances should she be allowed to use oven or light matches.
Dark Chrome Green. This stage can occur at any time and means Lucille is about to throw up. Best to keep bowl or bucket handy.
After all that, I hardly even get to use the color chart.
A few days later, I hear something outside. I go still, I swear, I could feel it in the air when I woke up this morning. I look out my window to confirm what I already know. I run into Lucille’s room without knocking, and tell her, Get up, Lucille, it is the reasonable damn hour!
Lucille can barely move. But then she opens her eyes and sits up, blinking. She looks like hell in a handbasket. I hear the knocking on the front door, even though I know she will let her own self in soon.
I roll Lucille out of bed and get her bathrobe on her.
I beg her. Get some proper clothes on and make yourself presentable, alright?
You got to convince these people you can look after me, please, Lucille?
If she is not still drunk, she sure smells it.
She nods and goes in the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Like I suspected, Tom’s mama is already standing inside the house.
Oh how I dreaded seeing this poor woman.
She looks sick. Breathing through her mouth like it is hard to get the air in.
Her sagging face has lost the weight. The way Willy May is holding her up by the arm, if you saw her on the street, you would think, That woman’s son just died. Think it just like that.
She is shaking her head at the house without her son. Then she lays eyes on me. Come over here, Meg.
She knows Tom died because of me. She knows I am a liar. But it is too late and I got to take my licking like I deserve, so I go to her. I am surprised when she opens her arms to me. I give her a hug, and she pats me on my back like she would a regular granddaughter.
I’m so sorry, I tell her. I am so sorry, Mrs. Heidelberg.
This isn’t your fault, child. You’re not to blame. I got to cry when I hear that. My body shakes against hers. I know it is my fault, but it is like gold to hear her say it. And then I feel her straighten and some of her strength come back and I know Lucille has come downstairs.
Meg, I need you to give me and Lucille a moment to speak in private, she says. Way her black eyes are lit, she looks like she could set Lucille on fire, just hand her the matches.
Lucille looks sort of scared herself. Which is something considering she is probably the scariest thing within five miles from here. She says, Isabelle, what brings you by today? in her poor, pitiful widow voice.
I am not even out of the room when Mrs. Heidelberg says, Shame on you, Lucille. I didn’t think you could stoop any lower, but once again you’ve surprised me.
I go sit on the middle stair where they cannot see me but I can hear good. Lucille says, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Like she ought to be offended herself.
Mrs. Heidelberg says, If I’d had the means to stand, I would’ve come over sooner. Now, I want to know what’s going on here, Lucille.
Nothing’s going on here! Lucille cries. I’m grieving with my poor daughter.
I told you at the service that child needs to go stay with her cousins.
And what did you say? You insisted on keeping her here, pleading that she needed her mother, and now I find out you are running this house like some sort of a drunken circus!
Liquor bottles stuffed in closets and under the bed!
And then I learn you almost burned the house down with the poor child in it!
Lord. And all the while I thought I was doing a good job, hiding those bottles. Willy May must’ve come in yesterday without my knowing and smelled the smoke.
That’s not one bit true, Lucille says, probably wide-eyed to look innocent. I work very hard taking care of Tom’s house.
I hear Willy May say, Humph.
That girl hasn’t even been to school, Lucille. What kind of mother do you think you are?
Lucille starts moaning and carrying on then. I’ll send her to school tomorrow. She said she wasn’t ready yet, she said she needed time—
There’s no point in her starting school in Byhalia now. I want you packed up and out of this house, Lucille. That poor girl has suffered enough. The last thing she needs is a drunk for a mother.
What does that mean, packed up and out? I scoot my behind down two stairs and bend my neck to see—
Leave and go where? Lucille says. I don’t have a cent! There’s not even any gas left in that car out there!
I can’t move, waiting to hear what is to become of me. Am I supposed to go with this crazy lady? Or is the answer much, much worse?
Mrs. Heidelberg opens the pocketbook on her arm and smacks a piece of paper on the little table by the stairs. That is a check, Lucille. You will leave Meg here for me to deal with. You are no longer kin to me.
You—you can’t expect me to give up my own daughter! Little Meg is all I have left!
Mrs. Heidelberg reaches into her purse and pulls out a stack of green bills. She smacks them on top of the check.
I see Lucille look over at it. Besides liquor alcohol and a classic six on the park, money is Lucille’s favorite thing in life.
Then she looks up at me on the stairs. I hold my breath.
She is dead-eyed. And like that, she looks away.
I’ll need a few days to get everything packed, Lucille says.
I, she said, not we. What’re you going to do with her?
I will make arrangements for her to go back to Oxford. She is bound to be better off there than she was with you.
That night, I hear the slave dogs outside, snapping and screaming and whining.
Chasing a thing through the yard trying to tire it out.
It lasts longer than usual. When they have finally got it surrounded, I can hear the animal shrieking.
It is awful to listen to. And then all goes quiet and I know what’s happened.
If I wasn’t so scared of the dogs, I would just run from here.
I decide to let myself do the thing I am not supposed to do. What I promised Ava and myself I would not do. I close my eyes and think about her.
I see her in our little kitchen. Wearing the yellow dress cut on the bias.
She is playing her radio, humming a song we liked to dance to on the old rug.
It is any old day, just a regular day with nothing particular going on.
I sit her down on the settee with me so I can study her face awhile.
Her nose that flares when she laughs, her sharp brown eyes, her dark hair that falls in curls around her chin.
I study her the way I should have back then so I could see her better now.
And maybe I will let myself say it, just this one time, soft so Ava will not hear it. So Lucille won’t hear it. I curl in a ball and say it soft as a poem. Just this once, so only I can hear it: I want my mommy.