Swollen Red Sky

It was a Friday in July, and we were headed down I-59 towards Birmingham on our way to three days of jazz in New Orleans. The heat of that sweaty summer afternoon was finally fading, and Eugene was letting me drive, and the further south we got, the happier I felt. You see, he’d been away again on business, and I have never been too sure of exactly what that meant, and of course, I never asked. All I knew is that he was back with me for a long weekend, and I was glad to be with him - to have him by my side and laughing. That was the best part. To hear his deep, warm laugh - a rare occurrence in those days.

The truth is, we’d been fighting a lot – not about anything in particular, just a lot of little nothings. So this was a particularly special outing on account of the fact that we hadn’t fought in nearly two days.

We were all dressed up. He had on a fine green suit and big brim hat and fancy two-tone shoes – he always looked so sharp in those damn shoes – and I was wearing a flimsy little lavender chiffon number I had picked up on sale earlier in the week on my lunch break. And we had a little bottle of Jack Daniels going between us. And the sun was going down and we were driving into a big sky, swollen into bands of gold and orange. Smokey Robinson was playing on the tape deck – his music always makes me smile and feel free inside. And we were laughing and singing, “You really got a hold on me… you really got a hold on me… baby...”

Then, I saw the flashing red and white lights in the rear-view mirror. I hate those lights. They make me feel like I’m about six years old and very naughty. So I took a deep breath, turned off the music and popped a Certs into my mouth. It was chewed and almost gone by the time I offered one to Gene and he refused it. The officer came sidling up to my window and asked to see my license and registration. I flashed a smile big enough for the two of us at the uniformed man and said, ”Sure thing, Officer… I was going a little fast, wasn’t I,” and then placed my documents into his huge, fleshy hand.

“Almost 80, ma’am,” he said without looking up from my papers, which were a little beat up and hard to read. I was concerned about that, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Just wait here, ma’am,” and he walked back to his car and left us sitting there.

I looked at Gene. I could see his mood hovering on the brink of darkness, and I thought, now’s the time to lighten things up so we don’t blow the whole trip.

“You know, I sure hope that Elmore Jenkins isn’t playing tonight. He’s just too wild. I prefer that other drummer, what’s his name?”

“Leroy Parker.”

“Oh yes, he’s so tasty.”

“Mm hm…”

The car idled as the sun dropped closer to the tree line. The quiet began pressing in on my heart, and I noticed it was beating faster. In front of us, the sky was now saturated in a deep orange. I looked at Gene and felt him slipping away from me. I wanted so badly to hold him and kiss him. I reached across the seat and put my hand on his leg, but he pushed it away without looking at me.

“Not now, Laura.”

“What is it, Gene? I know I was going fast, but I didn’t even see that speed trap.”

“Things are more complicated than they seem, baby. You gotta always remember that. On the surface, they may look one way, but underneath is always a whole lot of other shit that don’t get dealt with on a regular basis. If you’re not on your toes, it’ll bite you in the ass before you know what’s what.”

I sighed, and then collected my thoughts. “Sweetheart, let’s just try to enjoy this weekend, OK? It’s been so long since we’ve had a nice time away, and I’ve missed that. As soon as we finish up this nonsense, we’ll get back on our way, and before you know it, we’ll be kickin back in one of our favorite spots in the whole world and we can forget about everything else. It’ll be just the two of us, like old times...”

And he looked out the window and said with a soft chuckle, “Yeah, old times…”

A few moments later, the officer came walking back towards us, and, stopping at my side, he hitched up his belt and leaned into the car, “OK, Miss Andrews, I’m gonna let you slide this time, cuz you gotta clean record and you seem like a nice lady. But I gotta tell you, if I catch you blazin through this way again, I’m gonna have to write you up.”

“Why, thank you sir. I appreciate that.”

I heard Gene let out a sarcastic snicker and saw him still looking out his window from the corner of my gaze. Then I felt the officer’s eyes on him as he seemed to notice the person in the passenger seat for the first time, but I tried not to let on. I cleared my throat.

“Well, thank you officer, we’ll be getting on our way now. We’re seeing a concert tonight in New-“ He interrupted me. “You got a problem there, boy?”

Oh shit, it’s starting. I bit my lip.

Gene said, “No sir, officer,” but kept his face turned out towards his window. Goddamn that man, he can be so stubborn sometimes.

“I asked you if you have a problem. Were you replying to me, or were you just over there talking to yourself?”

“I was speaking to you, sir,” and he turned slowly towards this young, pink-faced highway patrolman who couldn’t have been more than 20 years old.

It seemed his ears were catching some pink now, too, as he spoke to Eugene again. “Well, DO you have a problem?” He didn’t say “boy” this time. Maybe because he saw that Gene was almost twice his age… More likely it was the steely-eyed way Gene met his own trying-to-be-hard gaze. “Well that’s good, cuz I’d hate to think that you’d be makin’ any trouble for this pretty little lady here.

“No, sir,” said Gene, looking steadily at him.

“My husband’s just a little anxious for us to be getting on our way, aren’t you darling?” and I leaned a little out the window. “He don’t mean any harm, sir.”

“Husband, huh… well, just be careful, lady.” And he spat on the ground and walked away.

I could hear the man’s boots crunching on the gravel all the way back to the flashing lights as I got the car started up. Gene was mad, I could tell, cuz he didn’t turn the music back on and he wouldn’t look at me. Just strummed his fingers on his leg, real slow, over and over again, and stared out the window, as the police car rolled by us and disappeared up the highway.

By this time, the sky looked bloody red, and I flashed on a picture of a burnt body swinging from a tree, but I shook that image out of my head real quick as I pulled out onto the road.

“C’mon baby, let’s forget about this. He’s just a stupid young redneck boy tryinda act like a man. We both know he’s got nothing over you.”

“Nothing but a gun and a badge, Laura… and that’s all he needs.”

“Oh, c’mon baby, it wasn’t that—“

“And if you ever apologize for me to a white man again, I will leave you for good.”

And with that, he turned up the music full blast, got the JD out of the glove compartment and took a full swig before passing me the bottle. I drank a generous gulp myself, and tried to think about the music, and dancing close in a smoky bar, and laughing again. Just to hear his laugh. But I kept seeing Smokey Robinson getting pulled off to the side of the road and spread eagled on the back of his car while cops felt up and down his legs. Didn’t they know it was Smokey? Old sweet, honey-voiced SMOKEY?

I really did feel like that naughty six-year old girl.

“You’re my man, Gene, and I’m gonna make you feel good tonight.”

“Mm hm,” he said without looking at me, and took another swig of JD as the molten sun slipped completely out of reach behind the horizon.

THE END

© 2006 Deborah Oster Pannell