Lightning Song by Lewis Nordan Page B

lips, the pinched nostrils, the rise and fall of the frail old rib cage. Did he want to tell about the secret kisses? Warn his daddy that what had happened that night at the Red Top dance with Hannah, down on the coast, was happening again? He couldn’t tellhis daddy about the kisses; he couldn’t stand to think of them, in fact. He didn’t know who to tell. He could tell Mr. Sweet, he might catch him on a good day. He could tell Screamer McGee, or his daddy, Hot. He wished he could lick his own penis like Screamer, that was one thing he was never going to tell anybody.
    He didn’t exactly decide to visit the New People, he just found himself walking through the gate and out across the mud in their direction. His shoes were getting covered with the wet red clay. The New People seemed in no way surprised to see him.
    The New Guy said, “Oh very well, very well, you may go along then, if that’s the way it’s going to be, come on then, hop in, can’t hang about all day, you see, am I right, eh, what, hm, pop right in, shall I drive, dear, what do you say, would you rather do the honors, eh, speak up, what say now, my angel?” He shook his head and the feathers of his bonnet sounded like a million beads clicking together.
    The angel, the New Lady, said, “You be the chauffeur, I’ll be the lady.”
    â€œOh quite right, very good, excellent suggestion, the Lady and the Chauffeur, should we go back for the other costumes, oh well, no, I think not, these are fine, just fine, we’ll make do, all right then, that’s that, it’s all settled, let’s see, let’s just see now—” He was looking at one of the enormous old cars in the mud. “Let’s see whether we can get this old cruiser cranking, as they say in the American South. You’ll have to situp front with me, I’m afraid, young man, all right, no complaining, front seat it is, hop around to the other side, that door’s heavy, be careful, here we go, grief therapy, all aboard, chop-chop, beggars can’t be choosers, all that, hop in, no more delays, agreed, all agreed on that count, excellent then, first rate, ready now?”
    Leroy walked around and climbed into the front seat of the car and pulled shut its heavy door like closing a bank vault. The interior was huge and his legs were so short they seemed to stick almost straight out when he sat all the way back on the seat. He looked at the vast expanse of dashboard, many dials and clocks and instruments. He put his bag of groceries on the seat next to him. The New Lady opened the back door and arranged her wings so she wouldn’t sit on them and got in. She made herself comfortable, folded her hands in her lap. The New Guy was last to step inside. He stood back and looked at the car admiringly. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and made a motion as if to polish off a speck of dust from the hood, though the car was rusted through in several places and stained and caked with red clay that had splashed up all over it during the heavy rains. He put the handkerchief back in his pocket. He walked along his side of the car. He kicked a tire, like he was buying or selling. At last he said, approvingly, “The chap I got this beauty from is still singing the blues. Oh, I admire this Southern vernacular of yours! Never mind what I paid, you wouldn’t believe the bargain, in any case. Oh, it’s still crying time for that unlucky gentleman, I can assure you.”
    The car was a Ford, and it was massive. Leroy learned that it was called a Crown Victoria. It seemed as big as the
Queen Mary
. It was the most amazing thing Leroy had ever seen. Nothing about it seemed quite real. It was a color of green that was impossible to believe anyone had paid real money for when it was new. There was no describing the color, pea green, maybe, with wild metallic undertones. The tires were slick, the rust along the underside of the car