Daydee

                The fields along the flat Illinois highway had already been planted. She knew what a young corn field looked like, but had no clue about the other crop that was taking up equal acreage. She asked the woman across the aisle and was told it was soybeans.  The Greyhound bus’ last stop was Terre Haute; she was twenty minutes from home. A home she hadn’t seen in twenty-three years. How different the leaving was to this. She had been sixteen. She stole three hundred dollars from her mother’s coffee can piggy bank and hitched a ride with the bread delivery guy that she knew from the café where she waitressed.  And then caught a bus out of Terre Haute so no one could trace her. She made it to New Orleans and still had money to rent a room. No one came looking. In a moment of weakness five years ago, she had sent her mother a Christmas card and they had begun to write back and forth a little. The pain and ache she was carrying with her when she left, was now all coming back as the bus neared town. She had been mentally abused by the bitch. She had been criticized and ridiculed by her and then served up as dessert to Frank.  She’s dead, she reminded herself. Had she been in time for the funeral, she would have spit on her grave in front of everyone.  She was only coming to steal the rest of what her mother owed her.

                There was an estate, at least that’s what she was told over the phone. She couldn’t remember  what it might be. There was farm land that her Great-grandmother and Great Uncle owned. And a big empty mansion that her Great Uncle lived in. He only used the dining room and kitchen. She didn’t know what else. She had been named executor in the will. Leave it to the bitch to forget everything and keep the land in the family, no matter what.  Winston was supposed to meet her. He had been the one that called to give her the news. Had she written to her mother and had given her a phone number?  She would have to ask about that. Winston said he had been her mother’s friend and he remembered her from high school. He had been the High School Football Coach and a math teacher, she thought. She recalled what he looked like then, but he had to be in his seventies now. He was a little guy.  She wondered how many of the people she had known were still alive and still around. There had to be a few. All those souls that grow up and stay and grow old without going around the block. What was there to see?  All the guys would have bellies and a cough. She felt a little anxious; she knew she wasn’t a beauty any longer. No one in this little Podunk had to know what she had been doing with her life. She could make up anything. Or shock them into leaving her alone if she told them the truth. She’d see how she felt. She was just here to get what she could and then leave.

                The town looked the same. There were more closed store fronts then she remembered. The same wide empty streets with only a few cars. The Courthouse. God, did she really want to do this? The bus stopped downtown, if you could call it that. There was no longer a bus station. She grabbed her purse and got off awkwardly. The suit she had decided on to arrive in was a little tighter than it used to be and the heels weren’t good for bus stairs, but she was trying for a look of big cityness to intimidate old Winston. She didn’t want some grand pappy deciding that he had to take her under his wing. The bus driver was already opening the baggage bin and handing the other woman her suitcase. She had a husband who appeared suddenly to help her. She had the driver just sit her’s on the sidewalk.  He closed up and climbed back aboard and the bus was smoking down the street- on its way to Chicago, or maybe Springfield? She couldn’t remember. She had forgotten the smell. The town smelled like popcorn. There was a cereal mill. They did cornmeal for the world.  It was now two in the afternoon. This now seemed like the loneliest place in all of God’s forsaken places. No one was out. No cars were passing.  She lit a cigarette. How long was she going to have to wait? There was nowhere to sit down. Nowhere to check her bag.  She didn’t think there was a taxi or even public busses here. She’d give him another fifteen minutes and then she had to figure out something else.

                There was a hardware store a half block down the street.  She could get directions and maybe sweet talk the clerk to hold her bag for her. Everyone that was working during daylight hours in this little town was honest. She’d be damned if she was going to lug this suitcase across town on foot. She stamped out her cigarette and pulled the bag down to the entrance. The double doors were propped wide open. She didn’t see a soul. It was an old store, the shelves and racks were all well worn painted wood. A middle-aged man came out of the back. If any man was destined to be a hardware clerk, this guy was.

                “Can I help you?”

                “Hey good-looking!” (He smiled, taken off guard.) “ I was looking for this address. Someone was supposed to meet me, but I guess they didn’t make it.” She showed him the note with the name of the apartment building and the address.

                “It’s not too far. Down this way three blocks and you turn left and it’s only another block and a half. “

                “You mind if I leave my bag with you and come back for it. It’s a little heavy to tote. It’s got everything I own in it.”

                “Who was meeting you? I could give them a call.”

                “You’re real sweet, but I don’t have a phone number. All I have is the number to my mother’s place and she died recently. I don’t think anyone is there.”

                “Sorry to hear that.” He scratched his head. “I could run you over, but I promised to be here for a customer coming for cut glass panes. If you wouldn’t mind waiting a little.”

                “That’s all right, honey. You keeping the suitcase is plenty.”

                “Sorry about your Mama. Who did you say she was?”

                “Mary McIntire.”

                “Really?”

                “Yes.”

                “That means you’re Deidra.”

                “I’ve not be called that in a long time.”

                “Everyone around here thought you were probably dead.”

                “Yeah?”

                “I was a couple of years behind you in school. Everybody was all up in arms when you disappeared. Your Mama told everybody you ran away. But everybody wondered.”

                “It didn’t even occur to me that anyone but my mother would notice that I was gone.”

                “Are you kidding?”

                She had to get out of here. She patted him on the cheek.

                “You’re so sweet. I’ll come back before you close to get it.”

                She lit another cigarette out on the curb and started out, clacking in her heels on the concrete. She honestly had never thought she was missed, let alone noticed at all. How many more people are going to have reactions like that one? She had thought she could just sneak in here, get some money and get out without any trouble.  Wow, famous in the hardware store! She smiled and shook her head.

                A couple of blocks later, her feet were achy and she was working up a glow. Taking off her jacket, could be a little cooler, but she was already getting the attention of everyone going by in a car and the clerks and customers of the shops she passed.  This wasn’t the city. She hadn’t felt this ‘on view’ in years.  A car slowed beside her and then pulled ahead and stopped. A little old man got out on the driver’s side. This had to be Winston.

                “Deidra?”

                “Winston?”

                He came over to shake her hand.

                “Sorry I’m late. I lost track of the time. Boy, have you turned into a looker.”

                His little square face and bald head flushed red.

                “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

                “Don’t worry, hon. I love compliments.”

                That just made him redder still. He backed away and opened the passenger door for her. She climbed in and let him close it for her.  He ran around and climbed behind the wheel even more flushed and out of breath.  She touched his arm. She didn’t want him having a stroke on her.

                “Take a deep breath, hon.”

                He obliged her.

                “That’s better, isn’t it?”

                “Sure. Let’s get over to the apartment. You didn’t have luggage?

                “I left it at a hardware store a couple of blocks back. The guy was real nice. He remembered me from school.”

                Winston circled the block and went back for her bag. He wouldn’t let her get out of the car. He brought it out and popped it in the trunk and then drove her the short way to her mother’s apartment building. He ran the red light in the middle of town. She touched his arm again.

                “No killing your guest, hon.”

                “Sorry.”

                They reached the apartment building. This had belonged to her mother. At least that’s what Winston had said over the phone. It looked like it had about ten apartments. All with doors opening to the outside. All done up in a cheesy colonial look with white shutters and white columns out front. It looked all right by New Orleans standards.  She wanted to ask questions, but she bit her tongue. She didn’t want Winston to know what she didn’t know. She let him come around and open the door for her and then retrieve her bag from his trunk. He led the way to the door that had a little “Manager” sign on it.  It was her mother’s all right. The whiff of Chanel #5 had her almost gagging.

                “Leave the door open, honey. It’s a bit stuffy in here.”

                He handed her the keys. He was still flustered.

                “Are you all right?”

                “I’m ok. She was an old and dear friend.”

                “I never heard anybody say that about her!”

                “You were gone a long time, Deidra.”

                “You know, Winston, nobody’s called me Deidra in twenty years. I don’t think I could get used to it. My friends call me Daydee. They throw nicknames at you in the French Quarter, and that one stuck. I want you to know how much I appreciate your help.”

                “Well, I’ll come back in the morning to get you around to meet everyone and see everything. I have a lawyer friend that’s pretty good at settling estates. How long do you have before you have to get back?”

                “I’m not going back. I thought after everything was settled I might go on to Chicago or maybe Miami. I gave up everything in New Orleans. It seemed to be the right time. “

                “Well, this place will probably seem boring after everything you’ve seen.”

                “I seem to remember some wild things happening right here.”

                He looked at her like a deer who’s about to be run down.

                “I got to go. Seven- thirty too early?”

                “No, that’s fine. Thanks much, honey.”

                He couldn’t wait to get to his car. She stood at the door and waved as he pulled out. He didn’t wave back.

                Part of her wished she hadn’t told him her nickname, but the sound of her real name wasn’t anything that she would react to. She didn’t want to raise suspicions about herself. When her first pimp in the French Quarter drank too much, his mouth filled with cotton and Deidra was too much of a mouthful. No one had to be told that story. Maybe she could come up with a good tall tale about the name.  She kicked off her shoes before looking around. The apartment was an old woman’s, little bric-a brac about, worn furniture with permanently indented seat cushions and that old lady smell. She walked through the apartment and opened all the windows that would open. At least she died clean. No big blood stains anywhere. There was not one picture in the entire apartment. That said something.  The last place she would be willing to sleep was in her bedroom. She found some linen and brought it out to make up the couch when she was ready.  There were a few things in the frig. And whiskey and rum. She started rifling drawers looking for paper, anything that might be a record of some kind. She brought it all out to the kitchen table. There were boxes and an accordion file. She finally took off the jacket and draped it on the back of a kitchen chair. She made herself a bologna sandwich and a rum and diet coke and started sorting through things. She had forgotten the simple pleasure of ketchup and white bread and bologna on her tongue. There was soon a pile of deeds before her. In the bottom of the box she found a photo album. There she was. And her crazy father that disappeared. And her bike and a birthday cake. And the cast on her arm at seven.  Maybe that was the story, Daydee was what her crazy father called her and when she left to make a new life, she changed to the name he had given her.  Everyone in town that was alive way back then probably remembered him.

                She wondered if he ever turned up. She would have to ask. The last memory she had of him was when she was around eight. He had decided to mow the front lawn with no clothes on and she recalled crying and pulling on his arm to try to get him inside and the neighbors watching. The cops came and made him get dressed and then took him to jail. He vanished into thin air right after that. Her mother couldn’t tell her what had happened to him. Then the string of guys started through the house. She had disappeared the same way at sixteen and was ok. Maybe her father was out there somewhere being ok too.  There was a deed to a house out in California here. Maybe he ended up there. She was amazed by what she had found. There two farms, two houses in town, a house over in Indiana, one in California, the cemetery and the apartment building and another little ten acre patch outside of town somewhere. Plenty of stuff to sell for a nest egg. Might take a little while to settle everything.  The record of her mother’s life was all here. Birth certificates, her marriage license and the divorce degree. High school diploma. And weird stuff- a lot of brochures about burial vaults and letters from the First Church of God. She had found Jesus?

                There was a knock on the front screen. A couple that was around her age was outside. They were farm folks. The man had on bib overalls and his wife had that ‘I’ve not been out of my sweats for ten years’ look about her.

                “You’re Deidra?” the guy asked.

                “I guess so.”

                “I’m Frank Harris. You don’t know me yet. I’m the sharecropper on your mother’s land. I heard you just got here today. “

                “Was it on the radio or something?”

                “No, I was over at the hardware store for something- the one you stopped in at.”

                “Well, come on in.”

                Daydee held open the screen for them. They both were acting a little shy. She moved the linen off the couch.

                “Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

                They looked at each other. They didn’t sit down.

                “Well, we came with a purpose, Deidra,” the woman said. “I don’t know how much you know about your Mama’s life.”

                Daydee laughed.

                “I can imagine.”

                “Well, you know that she married Samuel Clinton a few years ago?”

                “No, I didn’t.”

                “Well, he was my father. My mother died quite a few years ago. He gave up his house and moved in here with your Mama. He died three years ago. When they consolidated their belongings, a lot of my Mama’s things were nicer than your Mama’s, so she got rid of her old things and they kept my mother’s things. I never felt it was right to come begging for them back, they were married and all. But we’ve been kind of waiting for you to come. We were anxious to get over here, because sometimes folks are in a big hurry to clean things up and they’ll just have the Goodwill come and cart stuff away. If you know what I mean.”

                “Oh.”

                “If this isn’t a good time, we understand.”

                Daydee shook her head.

                “So what stuff were you looking for?

                “Well, these lamps were my Mama’s, and the little elephants. She had some real nice big salad bowls and a serving platter that was hand carved and there were some other things.”

                “Tell you what. Why don’t you go through everything and gather them all here and we can figure it all out.”

                “Are you sure?” the woman asked.

                “Sure. I was just starting to go through all her papers. My mother and I were not close, so you’re not bruising my feelings here. Go for it.”

                 She went back to the kitchen to refill her drink, while the woman headed for the bedroom with her husband in tow. About twenty minutes later they had collected most of the lamps and the little ceramic animals and a couple of nice ashtrays and a large mirror. She moved so they could rifle the kitchen cabinets.

                “I think that’s all,” the woman finally said. “There’s an old mantle clock that my grandmother had. If that shows up somewhere, I ‘d like to get it from you too.”

                “So what do you think?” Mr. Harris asked.

                “Well, you know, I understand these estate things take forever to work themselves out.” Daydee offered.

                “How about a hundred?” he asked.

                “Sold.”

                “We can write you a check,” the wife said.

                “I’ve not even opened an account here yet. Cash would probably be better.”

                He looked in his wallet, she in her purse. They handed her sixty.

                “I can come back with the rest,” Frank said.

                “Tomorrow’s fine. I might be seeing you anyway. Winston is coming to show me around. You’ll be out at the farm?”

                “I’m not sure.”

                “I trust you. When do you want to come get this stuff?”

                “We’ll take it now,” the woman said. “We have boxes.”

                They started carting it all out to their pick-up truck. Daydee held the screen for them.

                “You know, if you want to wrap some of them in towels to keep them safe, I can give you some,”

she offered.

                “Thanks, but I think we’re ok,” the wife said.

                She didn’t come back, remaining at the truck to tuck everything in nicely. Frank stopped to thank her on his last trip. Daydee went back in and then began to wonder if she had made a mistake. There were no lamps left in the house. She’d have to do with the overhead lights tonight. The cash was a happy thing. She only had about a hundred to her name.

               

 Really do not want feedback on this- its a first draft. When there is more and by real writers. But this and banjo is what I'm busy with these days. Thought you might want to know.