A few hits while going over me calculus. Kaya’s driving me to class soon. She still burns beside me but in her car she says how bad she needs her suffering. She loves feeling desirous.
Same to me. Tell a woman that and the worst you’ll get is a frown.
[Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]
Whenever I’m away at the UNC campus, Crescent visits Polly. Insurance. Polly’s doing better. Teaching a watercolor class and getting easier with people, especially Crescent, who she calls “my twin imp.”
Uh-oh, Ya-Ya’s outside screaming. Before I can run to her rescue, she busts in, screaming. “Polly slashed my tires. Go see.”
Seems like right away Ya-Ya and Hailey are raging in the kitchen. Hailey’s driving Ya-Ya to work and until she gets her Prius from Midas with four new Bridgestones, she’s not talking to me.
“Only right, sweetheart. Only right.”
Kaya arrives and links arms with Hailey and Ya-Ya. What’s wrong with me, they want to know. Caring for Polly is playing with fire. Am I doing it for pride? ’Cause pride’s a deadly sin.
“Yah, but I’m not proud. More like the opposite. I’m sorry ’bout the tires, Ya-Ya.”
Her teeny, bitty voice is big, her finger in my face. “If you’re not doing it for pride, to prove you can, then why is Polly here?”
“She made a terrible mistake. I’ll buy ya new tires and settle Polly so it never happens again. After that, we’ll ease up.”
I’m following them outside when Kaya grabs my arm. Righteous hands-on. “Check the damage, kiddo.”
Sick to the fullment.
“First sign of trouble,” Kaya says, “and you swore you’d call an ambulance.”
“Trust me. Please. Women.”
They slam their car doors and peel outta here.
Polly’s front door’s locked. After lots of knocking, I run back and pick open a deck window. The sliders pop right away.
“Polly, comma, comma.” I sing a little Bob Marley— “I been search’ the whole darn day for a little woman of mine…mine…mine”
And peek under the bed where she’s lying face down in the dust. “Come on, honey.” I ease her out and up. And the UNC cap I wear to disguise me dreads from the mobs falls off. I dip to fetch it but Polly seizes my hands. She presses them onto her chest, asking me to brush off the dust. But she knows I won’t and let’s me step away.
“Why’d you slash Ya-Ya’s tires?”
“To make her go away.”
“She can’t go anywhere without tires, Polly. Were you angry?”
“I hate her.”
“But she’s good, Polly. When you’re angry, slow down and be patient. Are you hungry?” She drags her feet getting a bowl of oranges.
Taking the bowl from her, I say, “Let’s sit on the deck and rest.” The sun’s up and warm. I peel an orange and notice she’s peeling one with a buck knife.
I make my voice gentle but serious. “Self-control, Polly. Patience and balance. You have to think: inner harmony.”
“Inner. Harm. Money.”
“Don’t think that way. Or you can’t stay here. When people saw what you did to the tires, they were screaming, Call an ambulance, Trevor.”
“For tires?”
“No, fool. For you.”
“I’ll run away.”
“We’ll find you.”
“Maybe yes, maybe no.” She’s wiping the knife blade on her skirt. I notice the polished bone casing.
“Is that my dead daddy’s knife?”
“You gave it to me. No take-backs.”
I take off the UNC cap and turn it around. When did I give Polly my daddy’s knife? Ah, right. “To cut apples, Polly, nothing else. You have to vow or I automatically get it back.”
“No take-backs.”
“It’s mine unless you use it only for fruit. Not rubber, string—anything ’cept fruit.”
“Your dead daddy’s fruit knife.”
“Let me keep it for you until people forget about the tires.”
“No. Apples and oranges, that’s all.”
(Click here to read the next episode)
