Legend of Buddy Bush (9781439131824) by Shelia P. Moses Page B

me the number.
    Love, your big sister
    BarJean

Dear BarJean:
    Yes, we have the telephone. It’s yellow! Ma said it is not our phone. She said that it belongs to Grandma and Grandpa. But Grandma said I can answer it all the time, because she really doesn’t want a phone anyway. The only reason she got it is so that she can call the doctor if she needs to for Grandpa. Anyway, the number is 919-555-1919. BarJean, Uncle Buddy is okay, but they have accused him of something really bad. It’s grown folks talk, so I will let Ma tell you about that. Please pray for him and for Grandpa, who ain’t feeling so good.
    Love, Pattie Mae

12
The Chain Gang
    T his morning I wake up to a horrible noise coming from the sitting room.
    A man crying.
    A woman crying.
    No! Two women crying.
    What in the world is happening this early in the morning? The rooster ain’t even crowed yet. I peep through the keyhole in the sitting room.
    Grandpa, Grandma, and Ma are all crying. Somebody must have died during the night. Lord, did them white folks hang Uncle Buddy?
    I grab my pink house duster from the bedpostthat faces the window. The window that faces Rehobeth Road.
    And that is when I see why they are crying.
    I can’t believe it. The chain gang is working on Rehobeth Road, paving the road. Is that Uncle Buddy?
    Yes, it’s him.
    Right in front of Jones Property.
    In a red and white pinstripe suit with chains around his legs, he is pushing a wheelbarrow with sand in it. Folks have been saying for years that they were going to replace the gravel road with tar—but not with my uncle Buddy’s hands.
    My feet can’t move. Something wet runs down by legs. I pee right there on the floor. Can’t control it. Tears from my eyes and the water from my private parts is the last thing on my mind.
    I let out a holler that I feel clean to my bones.
    Uncle Buddy must hear me hollering because, just for a second, his head raises up in the air like a peacock. Ma surely can hear me, but she is in so much pain, she can’t move.
    Me, I feel like dying. Heaven or hell will do, Ijust want to die. I somehow stop crying long enough to take some dirty clothes out of the hamper and wipe the pee up off the floor. Not feeling or smelling so good, I sit on the floor with no strength to move. All my strength is in the sitting room, crying right along with everyone.
    All morning we cry. No one comes to my room and I’m not going in the sitting room. No one fixes breakfast. It is as though the world has stopped. At least it has stopped on Rehobeth Road. Yes, the world has stopped on Jones Property. Only the door divides my pain from their pain.
    I guess Mr. Charlie eventually see Uncle Buddy out there in that hot sun, and I can hear him and Miss Doleebuck talking as they coming down the path that leads to the house.
    Mr. Charlie is not driving today. Mr. Charlie says when trouble comes, you should walk it to the Lord in prayer.
    â€œOpen the door, Braxton. It’s me and Doleebuck.”
    Nobody gets up to let them in, but Mr. Charlie has a key to the house like Grandpa has one to theirs, so he just lets himself in. On my knees, I lookthrough the keyhole at them hugging each other.
    Miss Doleebuck starts praying like Uncle Buddy really is dead and that makes Ma cry louder.
    â€œCome on in, Jesus, help us if you please,” Miss Doleebuck shouts.
    Mr. Charlie takes charge.
    â€œNow, y’all got to pull yourself together. Crying ain’t going to make the devil leave here. It ain’t going to make them white folks behave. What you going to do is get up from here, get dressed, and go on with your day. We can’t let Buddy see us like this. We have to get ourselves together, because we ain’t got no other choice. Y’all hear me?”
    In between “Lord have mercies,” Ma and Grandma say yes. Even Grandpa agrees, and he don’t answer to nobody but the Lord.
    One by one, we change into some everyday