The Bernice L. McFadden Collection. Bernice L. McFadden
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leaned back in surprise. “Well,” she laughed, “you don’t have to scream. Can I help you with something?”
He swallowed, then pressed his hand to his throat and said, “Wanted to know if you needed any work done ’round the house.”
Tass glanced at the night sky and then down the dark and quiet street. “Pretty late to be inquiring about work, don’t you think?”
“Yessum.”
“Your parents know you out here … so late?”
“Yessum.”
“Step a little closer, I can’t hardly see you.”
The boy shuffled forward a bit.
“Closer,” Tass insisted. The boy moved his feet, but he did not cover an inch of ground.
“Maybe in the yard?”
“Well, now that you mention the yard, I do need some things done.” She pressed her finger against her chin. “Yeah, I think I could use some help. You wanna come back around eight or nine tomorrow morning?”
The boy shook his head no.
Tass’s eyebrows cinched. “Well, what time were you thinking?”
“Tonight.”
“Tonight?”
The boy nodded.
“No, no, it’s gotta be nearing ten o’clock. I’m sure your parents would not appreciate you being out so late—how old are you?”
The boy thought about it and then raised his hands and splayed his fingers.
Tass thought he might be retarded. Her heart thumped for him. She straightened her spine and folded her arms across her breasts. “I got children and I sure wouldn’t have allowed them to be working for no man or woman in the dead of night.”
The boy’s head fell forward.
“And besides, how you ’spect to see what you doing in the dark? I ain’t got no light out back, you know.”
The boy kept his head down.
“You go on home and come back when it’s light. Whatever time suits you, I’ll be here all day.”
The boy didn’t make a move to leave.
“Goodnight,” Tass offered sternly, and turned to go inside. Her hand was on the doorknob when she realized she hadn’t given her name or asked for his. When she turned back around, the boy was gone.
When Tass woke on the morning of the 29th, the dream was still fresh in her mind. She lay in bed for a long time staring at the ceiling, wondering what, if anything, the dream meant.
Outside, the morning was steel-colored, windy, and laced with the scent of rain. When she finally decided to climb out of bed, she knew something was wrong because her feet were covered in brown dust.
Tass sat on the edge of the bed scratching her head. It didn’t make sense. She had taken a bath before going to bed. Even if she had skipped that part of her daily routine, Tass rarely walked about on bare feet, and even if she did, the floors inside the house were clean enough to eat off.
It was all very bizarre.
The dream burned in her mind and Tass decided she needed to find out if she was losing her marbles.
Out the front door and down the steps, she marched right to the place where the young man had stood in her dream. The grass was flattened and when she bent over and laid her hand on the space, she found it to be wet.
Across the street Padagonia was sweeping. When she saw Tass her jaw dropped. “What the hell are you doing out here in your nightgown?”
Tass looked up and presented Padagonia with a grin she hadn’t seen since they were girls.
“What you cheesing about?” Padagonia started across the street with the broom in tow. “You okay?” she asked when she and Tass were face to face.
Tass was giddy. “I dreamed that I was talking to a boy who was standing right here.” She stabbed her finger at the spot. “And when I woke up this morning my feet were dirty, because the porch is dirty.” Once again she pointed at the spot on the grass. “The grass is pressed in where he was standing.”
Padagonia stared. “What in the world are you talking about?”
“I had this dream. Well, I thought it was a dream, but—”
Padagonia dropped the broom. “I don’t think you’re feeling well, Tass.” She raised a hand to her friend’s forehead and checked for fever, but Tass was as cool as winter. Still, Padagonia took her back into the house and put her to bed.
Padagonia placed the kettle of water on the stove. She battled with the idea of calling Sonny. She decided that she would wait a day, just to see if Tass was suffering from grief or had truly taken leave of her senses.
When the water reached its boil, Padagonia drained it into a mug and dropped in a tea bag.
In the bedroom, Tass was sitting up, staring out of the window.
“Drink this,” Padagonia said as she eased the mug into her friend’s hand.
Tass held the mug up to her lips and gazed at Pada-gonia through the ropes of steam. “Don’t look so worried,” she said. “I’m fine, really, it was just a dream.”
“Uh-huh,” Padagonia sounded. “Drink.”
Tass took a small sip.
“I’m gonna get my radio,” Padagonia announced. “I’ll be right back.”
Outside, the street was buzzing with activity as people hurriedly loaded their cars with luggage and irreplaceable objects.
Padagonia sauntered over to one of her neighbors and asked, “What’s going on?”
The man had a stack of photo albums in his hand. His eyes rolled over her. “Ain’t you heard?” he said with an air of annoyance. “Hurricane coming.”
Padagonia frowned and looked up at the sky. It was gray, but the early-morning wind had died down to nothing and the birds were still chattering away in the treetops.
“Where you hear that?” she asked as she trailed the man to his car.
“The news!” The man dropped the stack of albums into the trunk of the car and slammed it shut.
“It don’t look like no hurricane headed this-a-way. Maybe some hard rain, but that’s all.”
“I ain’t taking no chances,” he said, and turned his back on Padagonia’s stupefied expression.
Back in Tass’s house, Padagonia placed her six-pack of Pink Champale on the top shelf of the refrigerator. She plugged in the transistor radio and fiddled with the knobs and the antenna, but all she got was static, so she went in to check on Tass.
“How you doing, girl?”
Tass peeked out over the edge of the blanket. “A little sleepy,” she yawned.
“Uh-huh. I’m gonna make us something to eat, okay?”
“Okay.”
In the kitchen, Padagonia opened the refrigerator and removed a bottle of Champale, unscrewed the top, and took a swig. It was nowhere near noon, but under the circumstances Padagonia felt that God would forgive her this one little indiscretion.
After her drink, she returned to the refrigerator and surveyed its contents. She decided on eggs, bacon, and grits. After laying the strips of bacon in the pan, Padagonia went to the window