Shaking the Sugar Tree Part 12

If I thought life had been hard up to that point, I had been sorely mistaken.

Like many meth babies, Noah was insecure, fearful, restless, had the attention span of a tomato plant. Learning disabilities followed, clinging, separation anxiety, a tendency to darkness and depression, and sometimes a wild, uncontrolled self-destructive rage. Coupled with his deafness, it was a potent brew to swallow. Only now, with about ten years under his belt, was he starting to settle down, though he was constantly fearful of separation and checked in with me many times each day to make sure I was still there. I could be sitting on the toilet and he'd wander in, wanting to know where I was, wanting to rea.s.sure himself. At least he had gotten to the point where he could sleep through the night without waking up and coming to my room and climbing into my bed, although he still did that from time to time.

For all that, he was as fierce as any drag queen, determined to make friends, to not be ignored, to have fun, to be completely alive, to do everything his friends did and more. He had guts. I'm not sure he got them from me.

Kudzu clung to the trees on either side of the road as I drove to Mama's house. It climbed up the tree trunks, engulfed the branches, choked the trees, covered the forest with a canopy of leafy green death. Kudzu is a beautiful parasite. It grows fast and its roots are deep. It can bring down huge trees, houses, barns, anything in its way.

I tried hard not to think of Noah in the same breath as kudzu.

Still....

Sugar maples were also very much in evidence, sprawling bits of green and brown soaking up the sun and getting ready to release the sap that would become maple syrup and grace a gazillion pancakes over the winter.

I had decided not to visit my mother as we would invariably start arguing, but I hit the brakes when I saw the For Sale sign in the front yard.

b.u.mblebee announced my presence.

"Are you really selling the house?" I asked in disbelief when my mom came out onto the porch.

"I believe I have the right to do what I want to do," she said, immediately defensive. "If you lived here with Noah, you could help me keep it up...."

"You're not going to guilt me into living with you."

"Then what's the problem?"

"You can't sell the house!"

"It's not like I want to, but I can't keep it up by myself. If you haven't noticed, some of us are getting older. Would it kill you to come around once in a while and help mow the gra.s.s? Don't you know how hard it is taking care of Papaw all the time?"

I sat down on a rocker, wishing I had a cigarette.

"Why did you come to over here?" she asked. "It wasn't to visit me."

"I went to see Kayla's parents."

"What on earth for?"

I said nothing.

"It's not like they're going to do anything for you you," she pointed out.

"I don't want them to do anything for me, Mama. I wanted to find out where Kayla is. Her son would like to see her once in a while."

"Why do you bother, Wiley?"

"She's his mother!"

She shook her head, sat down in another rocker, and regarded me with a sigh and a shrug.

"What?" I asked.

"You're just a d.a.m.ned fool, Wiley. That's all. I don't think I've ever seen a bigger fool in my whole life and that's saying something."

"Thanks, Mama. I want my son to have a relationship with the woman who gave birth to him, and you think I'm a d.a.m.ned fool."

"Why should you care about that woman? She ran out on Noah. End of story."

"You never were a big believer in forgiveness."

"It's not about forgiveness, Wiley. Why do you go after the wrong kinds of people? Why can't you settle down? Why can't you be like Billy and get a decent job and make something of yourself?"

"We all know that what I most definitely do not want is a decent job."

"You must not want one very badly if you won't cut that d.a.m.ned hair and stop looking like a girl."

"Yeah, that's that's keeping me back. My hair. I suppose I could stop being gay too." keeping me back. My hair. I suppose I could stop being gay too."

"You know these companies don't want to hire people like that."

"People like me me," I corrected her.

"I don't know why I talk to you. It's not like you listen. I told you to stay away from Kayla, but you wouldn't listen. I told you not to get some girl pregnant, but you knew better. When the baby was born, I told you that you were going to need help, but no, you don't listen to me. You should have worked something out with Kayla's parents."

"And give them custody of Noah?"

"Well, yes, why not?"

"He's my son!"

"But you're not suitable," she said forcefully.

"I seem to have somehow managed for ten years now," I pointed out.

"There's a difference between surviving and thriving," she said.

"How can you be so heartless?" I asked.

She threw her hands up in disgust. I resisted the urge to get up and smack her right across the face.

"You're mad now," she observed. "I'm not being supportive. I'm being mean. It's always my fault. It's always the same with you, Wiley."

"Not at all," I said. "Maybe you're right, Mama. Maybe I'm a lousy father. Maybe Noah would have been better off with Mr. and Mrs. Warren, going to the Baptist church and hating on the sinners of the world. Maybe I can't give him the kind of future he deserves. Maybe I should have just turned him over to you and let you raise him. Or let Billy and Sh.e.l.ly take care of him, and I could have visited once in a while. Maybe y'all could have done a better job. Maybe I'm nothing more than a p.e.n.i.s with legs who's going to die in the gutter with a telephone pole shoved up my a.s.s."

"It's always about you, isn't it, Wiley? You didn't have to get that girl pregnant. You didn't have to have a baby. You didn't have to keep it. You had options. You could have gotten married to a nice girl. For once in your life, why don't you think about somebody else? But no, you always have to go your own way and do your own thing no matter who gets hurt."

"I tried to do the right thing, Mama," I said.

"I'm sure that's what you think think," she replied.

I got up, glanced at her.

"See you, Mama," I said.

"Wiley, wait!"

"I'm not going to have this argument again."

"I'm just trying to make you see."

I got in my car and drove off.

21) Looking for Kayla

THERE WAS WAS only one other place I could think of where Kayla might be, and it was not a place I particularly wanted to go. I took Highway 78 back into Tupelo, then veered off onto Highway 45 South heading south down into Monroe County. only one other place I could think of where Kayla might be, and it was not a place I particularly wanted to go. I took Highway 78 back into Tupelo, then veered off onto Highway 45 South heading south down into Monroe County.

I had been tempted to ask Jackson Ledbetter to go with me, or even Tonya, Keke's mother and my best friend, but had decided against it. This was not a part of my past that I wanted either of them to visit. The trip was also not without a bit of risk, at least not for gay men and black women.

I drove by many cotton fields and soybean fields along a route I remembered well from the many visits I'd made to Kayla during her pregnancy, taking her to checkups, doctor visits. KUDZU offered Elvis's "In the Ghetto."

On a lonely stretch of pavement between Nettleton and Amory, a small dirt road led off into the trees, and I turned my car down this road feeling uneasy and uncertain about the wisdom of this visit.

About a half mile down this road was the trailer where Kayla had lived with her boyfriend. I was never clear as to who exactly owned the trailer, only that it was also used as a meth lab, and might still be used as such.

The trailer still stood on its hesitant foundation in the midst of a sea of junked cars and whatnot. There was a bonfire going off to one side with a couple of guys tending to it.

When I pulled into the drive, three large dogs barked and hurried over to my car, and the men by the fire stood up, looking my way, on alert for... well, who could really say?

The blue car that had picked up Kayla at the prison was parked in the back behind the trailer and out of sight of the road. People who parked behind their houses so that the police couldn't see their cars always had a good reason.

I rolled down my window, waiting for the two men to walk over. They took their time. They were a couple of redneck toughs, not the sort you messed with unless you wanted your tires slashed.

"I'm looking for Kayla," I said as they neared.

One of the men was heavyset. He had a real ballbuster look like he'd be perfectly happy to bury an ax in your forehead. The other was rail thin, gaunt, had that meth-user look and way too many tattoos. They might have been brothers, for all I knew. They had both shaved their heads. The fat one had a beard. The other was trying.

"Ain't no Kayla here," the fat one said.

"She's the mother of my son," I said. "She got out of Central recently. I just want to get a message to her and I'll be out of your hair."

"I reckon I don't much care about your personal business," the fat one said.

"My son is nine years old," I said. "He's deaf. He just wants to see his mother."

"He does or you do?" the fat one asked.

"Does she live here?"

"I reckon that's none of your business," the man said.

I glanced at the trailer. The drapes on the kitchen window were parted slightly. Was Kayla standing there, watching? Why did she have to be such a cornpone b.i.t.c.h?

"Tell her Wiley was here to see her," I said. "I work at FoodWorld during the morning. She can find me there. Her son would like to talk to her once in a while, that's all. I'm not asking her for child support or anything else. If she'd like to see her kid once in a while, that would be great."

"We don't know no Kayla," the thin one said, speaking for the first time. He scratched at his face as he spoke. "You with the police?"

"He ain't with the police, you f.u.c.kface idiot," the fat one said.

"How are we supposed to know?" he asked.

"Shut up."

"Maybe he wants to buy something."

"I said shut up, you stupid f.u.c.kface! Didn't I tell you shut up? You got something stuck in your f.u.c.king ears? I'll stick my G.o.dd.a.m.n d.i.c.k in your ears if you don't shut your G.o.dd.a.m.n stupid f.u.c.kface! s.h.i.t on a shingle! If you ain't the dumbest b.a.s.t.a.r.d I ever knew...."

The thin one scratched at his bare arms nervously.

"Give her the message please," I said.

"Yeah," Fatty said, turning to me and smiling. "We'll do that. Now why don't you get the f.u.c.k off our property?"

I put my car in reverse and hurried off.

22) Can you sing?

ON MY MY way back to Tupelo, my phone rang. I looked at the screen and saw that it was Jasmine, a gay rights activist that I'd met at UU Tupelo, our local Unitarian Universalist congregation. way back to Tupelo, my phone rang. I looked at the screen and saw that it was Jasmine, a gay rights activist that I'd met at UU Tupelo, our local Unitarian Universalist congregation.

"Wiley, I need you!" she exclaimed in her breathless, energetic way.

"You know I don't swing that way," I said.

"I need you to sing, fool," she said.

"Again?"

"We're protesting the American Family Alliance on September 1. Can you be there? Bring your guitar? We want you to sing 'It's a Good Day to Be Gay.' Everybody loves that song."